Page 9 of Splitting Secrets
“I prefer Fin,” he corrects in that odd accent I remember from the visions in the woods.
“You’re dead.”
He winces. “I mean, I’d like to think I’m living on rather well. And that’s no way to speak to your grandfather.” A finger jabs toward me in warning.
I’ve officially lost it. There’s no way I can see him here. No way he can talktome. That’s not how my gifts work. I can only see memories—things that have already happened and I play no part in.
He doesn’t bother waiting for me to respond. Instead, he strides closer toward me, running his fingers along the wall as he passes. His upper lip lifts in disgust at the grime that transfers onto his ghostly fingers. “Your aunt was onto something. Never trust the Midnight Syndicate.”
“I doubt my aunt was even here. Her visit was probably just as real as yours,” I dismiss.
He places his hand over his heart in mock offense. “I’mreal. And you’re in a foul mood.”
“Of course I am!” I shout, ignoring the wave of embarrassment that washes over me at the prospect that someone might hear me talking to myself like a madwoman.
“Well, shake it off,” he shouts back while shimmying with his shoulders. “We’ve got a lot to discuss, and I’d rather not do it with an ill-tempered grump.”
My jaw pops open. “You can’t insult me. You’re a part ofmyimagination.”
“Is that so? Then, how am I able to tell you how horrid you look?” he berates, giving me a once-over.
I could swear my eyes nearly fall out of their sockets with how wide I’m staring back at him. What the hell kind of upside down world have I landed in?
He doesn’t give me any time to recover. Instead, he snaps his fingers in my face and says, “You wanted to speak with me, and now I’m here. Let’s not waste any more time. The leaders of the Midnight Syndicate are debating the value of your life right now.”
5
Sonny
For being a figment of my imagination, Finley sure has a lot to say.
Once I finally lean into the idea of psychosis, I decide I might as well listen to it all, even just for entertainment purposes. If this is a dream or a hallucination, it’s much better than the reality I’ve found myself in.
I can either sit alone in silence or let my thoughts distract me.
So, what’s the harm in playing along?
“...We couldn’t risk them figuring out that Lewis was the leak.” He’s lying back on my makeshift bed, eyes cast toward the ceiling as I sit cross-legged on the floor before him.
“That’s why you left Nocturne Valley?” I’m eating up every word. His story is so interesting, and he speaks in the same pattern he did in the journals—holding back enough to keep me wanting more.
He nods once, his lips cast downward in a frown. “It wasn’t worth fighting a war I couldn’t win. It killed me to leave the place my family created a home in, but I was losing myself in NocturneValley. Lewis, bless his soul, was begging me to move on. The poor guy was destined to be with my sister and got plagued with me instead.”
“Did he ever start a new family?”
“We both did.” He shrugs, then raises his voice defensively, like I’ve argued that point. “What else was there to do? I knew that if I couldn’t take those bastards down, my future legacies would. I even had a vision about it.”
That catches my attention. “A vision? Like, of the future?”
“Yes, my darling girl.”
I shake the thought away. “That isn’t possible. The Landrys were Aeternum and Valerian. They couldn’t see the future.”
Hopelessness settles in my chest, hollowing it out as the harsh realization that none of this is really happening dawns on me. I am a lonely, lonely woman.
Fake Finley sits up in the bed, turning toward me with furrowed brows. “The Landrys were far more than those two things, and whoever told you anything different was lying.”
“I read the journals and studied the textbooks,” I argue back with what I assume is my own imagination.
