Page 41 of Dead By Dusk

“So, I don’t remembereventsas all of you do, but I feel them all the same.”

No one makes a sound for a while. I still wonder what she could be hiding, but now…now is not the time to push for answers.

Then she’s standing and removing herself from the small huddle we had formed, her shoulder brushing past Nate’s, who had slowly inched closer the longer she spoke. Her arms curl around herself the further that she gets, and only when she’s at the door to the closest room does she stop moving just long enough to briefly look back at us and whisper one last thing.

“I feel everything.”

20

A Better Way: Silene

Not long after Carmen drifted away from the group, I found myself doing the same, dragging myself upstairs once again with six folders in hand. Dread seemed to pull me down with each step that I took as I pondered over what might be found within. I shut myself in one of the rooms hoping to be left alone while I scoured through the folders and all the information within them.

Wishful thinking on my part, I suppose, as the door slowly opens. Not trusting that it isn’t another intruder, I quickly reach for the axe at my side and prepare to throw when three knocks sound out. Next thing I know, a mop of wavy black hair and worried blue eyes appear around the door frame.

“Easy, Killer, or I might start thinking you actually want me dead,” he teases, a mocking lilt to his voice as he enters the room. I pull the axe back further and watch as he tenses. Hisback straightens at the action and I can’t help but smirk at his uncertainty.

“Who says that I don’t?” I question, one brow ticking up as he mulls the possibility over in his head. The likelihood of me wanting to kill him at this very moment. I admit, my initial desire has dimmed now that I’ve had time to think about what I saw in my dream. However, I would be lying if I said it’d completely disappeared when it hadn’t.

“Well, do you?” he asks, eyeing me curiously as he steps closer, testing the waters—calling my bluff. My grip on the axe tightens before I relent and set the weapon aside. I flick my head to the side, an invitation to join me in the bubble of solitude I had hoped to preserve a little longer.

“I haven’t decided yet…though the odds aren’t looking too good for you right now,” I reply distantly as I look over the many open folders scattered across the floor. “What do you want?” I ask.

He replies quickly, with such ease and certainty that I wonder if he was waiting for me to ask the question. “To know what you make of what’s inside.” He gestures to the haphazardly strewn pages scattered across the ground.

“Ithinkthat I was led to believe there was more information here than there actually is.” I comment, my eyes scanning the pages. Lines upon lines of information have been crossed out, concealing anything that could be of any use. Anything that might tell the story of how we ended up here or what had made us who we are is gone, leaving behind nothing but diminished, barely there basic facts.

His jaw ticks before giving me an infuriating smirk. He grabs the folder with my name and photo on display. “Hmm, I think there’s plenty to find in all this mess if you look hard enough.” The feeling of his gaze on me sets me ablaze. It’s teasing and light, yet filled with such knowingness, it almost feels like ataunt. For the briefest of moments I forget our conversation, forget the situation, and only remember who he was to me, a version of us that existed only a week ago.

What we were to each other.

Maybe he’s remembering that too because his attention flickers back and forth between my eyes and lips, coming so close that I can’t tell whose breath is whose as they mingle, my end becoming his beginning. I lose myself in the memories of what should have been a future together. But as his hand brushes along my cheekbone, a ghost of a touch against my skin, I remember it’s no longer possible for us. Anchoring myself back to reality, I quickly wrap my fingers around his wrist and bend it at what I know would be an uncomfortable angle.

“And what is there to find?” My voice is disbelieving, laced with a harsh bitterness. I hope it expresses just how unimpressed I am with his guessing game and the short-lived distraction. Rather than reading the room though, he just breathes out a laugh, not bothering to fight my hold on him. Instead, he rolls his eyes and pushes the file he’s holding—my file—toward my face.

“Smell it,” he says in such a rush it almost seems as if he has to break himself away from whatever thoughts consume him—possibly the same thoughts that consume me—and it’s all I can do to swat his hand away from me, perplexed by his sudden change.

“You’re funny, Ronan, I’m not going to—” I stammer, attempting to gather my thoughts, but he cuts me off.

“We’ve been here for days, Silene, and the sharpie smells fresh enough that it could easily have been done hours ago. Some lines are clean and precise, but most look as if the writer was in a rush. There are also too many inconsistencies in terms of just how much information is removed.”

I hate to admit it, but his ramblings make quite a bit of sense. I didn’t notice the inconsistencies that he did, nor did I bother to sniff the papers. However, I’m not sure anyone is quite weird enough to think of doing that.

“So what do you think?” I ask skeptically. I let go of his wrist and watch as the redness from my grip slowly eases and disappears, leaving no sign of the hold I’d previously held on him. If he notices my lingering stare, he doesn’t say anything about it as he roughly shakes his wrist out.

“Whoever killed the guy in the next room is the one who blacked out the information here. Something in one of these folders would’ve given them away, something we’re not supposed to find,” he says plainly while moving to set down my file and pick up his own. With furrowed brows, I watch as he flips through page after page with a sense of despondency painted on his pale and slightly freckled face.

“And why are you telling me this? You know you’re suspect number one on my list, right?” A small smile graces his lips, and any sign of the hopelessness he’d just shown is now masked or truthfully replaced by something else entirely. A soft, genuine smile that promises trust. One that appears hopeful for a feeling of reciprocation.

“Yes, and I’d suspect nothing less. I propose a truce.”

“I would rather die than trust you. Besides, I already knew someone here was untrustworthy.” I’m searching his face, looking for anything that could tell me if he’s hiding something, but if there’s one thing I know to be true about him, it’s that he can keep a secret. There is no piece of information you could pry from him, no matter what position he is placed into. Unfortunately, this is just another reason I know I can’t trust him. “I’ve known from day one.”

“Now, I just don’t believe that,” he counters, and I can’t stop myself from scoffing and rolling my eyes at the way hecompletely brushes off the idea I could have already known this information. The blatant disrespect of the notion.

“You don’t believe that I already knew?”

“Oh, I completely believe you’ve known for a while. What I don’t believe is that you don’t trust me.” A sharp laugh sounds out, one so loud and dark that I don’t even recognize it as my own.

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