Page 33 of When You're Forgotten

She rapped her knuckles gently on the wood.No immediate response.She tried again, a little louder.After a few seconds, she heard a rustling from within, then the door clicked open to reveal Finn’s tousled hair and half-lidded gaze.He wore a plain T-shirt and track pants, blinking in the faint corridor light.

“Amelia?”he mumbled, squinting.“What’s—are you all right?”The concern in his voice, even through his grogginess, made her exhale a shaky breath she’d been holding.

She tried a wan smile, but it wavered.“I’m sorry for waking you.I just… had a nightmare.A bad one.”

Instantly, Finn’s expression sharpened with worry.“Come in,” he said, stepping aside so she could pass.The warmth of his room enveloped her, and she found some solace in the faint whiff of his usual cologne drifting from his clothes.

She shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment.A small lamp on the bedside table cast gentle shadows, revealing the unmade bed and a couple of case files sprawled over a chair.“I didn’t feel comfortable staying alone,” she admitted.“Everything’s been so grim.And that dream…” She shuddered.

He offered a gentle nod, guiding her closer.“What was it about?”he asked softly, pressing a hand to her shoulder.She noticed the slight bruise near his temple from his earlier tussle with the intruder—a reminder that nightmares weren’t the only dangers lurking.

Her words emerged in fragments: “A corridor.Dragging.A body.I tried to stop it, but… it was me.I was looking at my own dead face.”

Finn sucked in a sharp breath.“Damn.”He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.“That’s horrifying.Hey,” he said softly, “it’s not real.You’re safe.I’m here.”

She closed her eyes, grateful for the contact.For a moment, the day’s tension receded.She swallowed, opening her eyes again.“It felt so real.I was sure the murderer was out there, hauling me off to… to wherever Catherine ended up.It’s just the sort of thing I’ve feared knowing that… That Wendell Reed is out there.”

Finn gently tugged her toward the bed.“Sit, please.Catch your breath.I can get some water or something.”

She let him guide her, sinking onto the mattress as he perched beside her.The warmth of his presence steadied her, dispelling the last vestiges of her dream.She scooted back, curling her legs under the covers, tension finally ebbing from her shoulders.

He watched her for a silent beat, then mustered a half-grin.“So… about that ‘professional’ boundary we talked about, eh?”

Amelia’s cheeks flushed faintly.“Tonight, I’m not feeling so professional, sorry.Just… scared.This place, the murders, the nightmares.”She turned her gaze away, embarrassed by her vulnerability.

Finn’s voice was gentle as he brushed a reassuring hand across her forearm.“Hey, no apology needed.We’re both in over our heads with spooks and conspiracies.Let’s do what we can to keep each other sane.I’d want the same if I had a dream like that.”

She let out a tremulous laugh, leaning her head against his shoulder.“Thank you,” she whispered.For a moment, neither of them spoke, letting the hush fill with unspoken comfort.Outside, the wind sighed across the manor’s stone walls, prompting a faint rattle from the window frame.

Eventually, Finn shifted, sliding properly under the covers, leaving enough space for Amelia to join him.She hesitated only a moment before nestling beside him, the shared warmth banishing the memory of that lifeless self she’d seen in her dream.She closed her eyes, focusing on the steady drum of his heartbeat rather than the terror locked in her mind.

He tucked an arm around her shoulders, his breath lightly stirring her hair.“Try to get some sleep,” he murmured.“If anything else weird happens, we’ll handle it together.”

She nodded.The thought of returning to her lonely bedroom held no appeal.The tension swirling around Brynmor Hall might remain unsolved by morning, but for now, she’d accept Finn’s presence as a shield against the intangible horrors haunting her subconscious.

Her eyes drifted shut.The dream’s nightmarish images still lurked behind her eyelids, but they were fainter, buffered by Finn’s warmth.

She nuzzled into the pillow, letting exhaustion claim her.The last conscious thought she had before drifting off was of Catherine’s wide-eyed corpse, and how easily Amelia’s mind had twisted that sight to show her own face in place of Catherine’s.Perhaps that was the house’s power—magnifying every fear.But as she drifted off, Finn’s arms around her offered the fragile hope that fear could be kept at bay, at least for one night.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Finn sat in the Brynmor Hall sitting room, a stack of case files spread across the low coffee table in front of him.The large windows let in a cool, gray morning light that revealed the estate’s grounds drenched from a recent drizzle.Amelia sat opposite him, perched on the edge of an armchair, her own batch of paperwork balanced on her knees.Both looked weary, dark smudges under their eyes from another restless night.Yet the tension in the air compelled them to keep working, sifting every clue to solve the mysteries plaguing the Penrose family.

He glanced up from a document about James Penrose’s finances, exhaling quietly.“Judd Aspen,” he mused.“You believe his story about Marianne?That she was threatening James for more money, maybe even wanting him gone?”

Amelia closed a file, setting it aside.“I’m not sure,” she replied softly.“Going by your conversation with him, he obviously has a strong opinion of her, calling her a ‘gold digger.’ It wouldn’t be the first time there was a bit of bad feeling between the best friend and the partner.And from what I’ve seen of Marianne, she’s grieving, anxious—like any widow in this situation.”

Finn nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.The sitting room felt warm enough from the small fire crackling in the hearth, but the atmosphere was thick with the weight of their conversation.“Judd claims he found that letter where Marianne wrote she wished something would happen to James.That’s direct enough to be a red flag.”

“True,” Amelia allowed.“But she clearly hadn’t delivered it yet to whoever ‘B’ was, and maybe she never would.Perhaps she was just venting.People say things in anger or frustration that they never intend literally.Still, we can’t dismiss it.Judd insists Marianne wanted him gone— that’s motive if we put it plainly.”

Finn tapped a pen against the table, mind swirling with the conflicting images: Marianne’s tear-streaked face, her genuine worry for the children, the letter Judd brandished implicating her.“She hasn’t struck me as the type who’d orchestrate two murders,” he said, voice hushed.

“And yet, we know next to nothing about her background,” Amelia pointed out.“She used to be a nurse, but we don’t have details on how she and James met, or her financial situation.People can hide a lot behind a polished exterior.”

Finn frowned, recalling the evening prior when they found Catherine's lifeless body.The grief and chaos that followed still haunted every corner of the house.Marianne had looked genuinely shaken, yet… so had most others."I guess we need more than just impressions," he said."We need proof or a reason to confirm or refute Judd's accusation."

Amelia nodded.“Agreed.”She started to say something further, but Finn’s phone rang.“Is it Rob?Probably got news from London.”

---