Page 27 of The Retreat

Though I know myself. If my curiosity is piqued, I won’t rest until I get answers, so I won’t be able to move forward until I solve the mystery of Mom’s link to Arcania. Maybe once that’s done, I may shake things up? Take a long trip. Head overseas for the first time. See what the world has to offer beyond the Lower Manhattan Library and my brownstone that’s so empty without Mom in it.

But for now, I’m here and I need to stop mulling over a bunch of ‘what ifs’ and focus on what’s important: getting answers about Mom and getting closure. Not that I expect my grief to magically wane once I know how she’s linked to this creepy place but my logical side that insists Mom’s agoraphobia might be self-imposed in an effort to escape something or someone rather than psychological, will be appeased.

I’ve been absentmindedly staring at myself in the mirror while changing into yoga pants and a loose T-shirt, and I’m about to turn away when I glimpse something that makes me freeze.

In the middle of the awful green wallpaper behind my bed, bulging like its straining to escape the wall, is a face.

Not just any face.

It’s Mom as a teen.

And her mouth is frozen wide in a silent scream.

Chapter20

Cora

THEN

Daphne is a godsend.I’m not sure what I would’ve done without her during the last three years. She’s not just a superb cook, she’s fantastic with Ava too and having a live-in nanny is a luxury I never take for granted. Thankfully, my beautiful daughter bypassed the terrible twos, and she’s a happy, well-adjusted child who loves frolicking in the orchards, building sandcastles on the beach and helping Daphne bake.

She’s clever too and I spend as much time as I can teaching her basic numeracy and literacy, and with her fourth birthday months off she’s almost reading. I’d hoped she’d attend a preschool in Nag’s Head, but the one time I mentioned it Harlan flew into a rage, making it more than clear Ava would be homeschooled, and I hadn’t had the guts to broach the subject again.

I do that a lot these days, back away from a fight, and at twenty-two, when most people my age are at college or partying, I’m a shadow of the feisty, determined runaway I’d been when I first arrived at Arcania.

Then again, boldness is reserved for those without responsibility, those who can afford to take risks without consequences, and that’s not me anymore. Ava is my priority and I’ll continue to do whatever it takes to protect her. If that means pandering to my megalomaniacal husband, so be it.

Harlan’s latest foible: he’s hellbent on expanding Arcania. He wants to hire more workers and bring professional divers onboard.

Finding the priceless golden compass has become an obsession.

It doesn’t help that we lose workers constantly. Harlan says they’re greedy and dive unsupervised, hoping to steal his treasure, and probably drown. But if that’s the case, why are their bodies never recovered? I assume they slip away in the night in search of alternative employment to escape my tyrannical husband; it never enters my head they drowned.

It’s not the first time my husband’s stories have raised my suspicions.

Initially, after his parents’ death, he’d been inconsolable, but there’d been an unnatural quality to his grieving, almost like he could turn on the crocodile tears at will. In front of others, he played the part of a son who’d lost his parents in a tragic accident, but in private, he’d spend countless hours planning to make Arcania great.

When I asked him why he’d been on the dock that day, he said Magnus had noticed a fault in the fuel line and wanted Harlan to double check it. According to my husband, there’d been nothing wrong with it, yet an investigation proved that had caused the explosion, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Harlan deliberately sabotaged his parents’ boat so he could assume power over Arcania.

It’s a thought I couldn’t shake at the time and it still haunts me, especially with the ongoing disappearances of our workers.

How far will Harlan go to fuel his obsession?

He’s summoned me to his office, and when I enter, my heart sinks. Andreas, a worker who’s been here for longer than me, is seated at a table.

With his tattooing equipment.

I know what this means. Harlan has made every employee go through the ritual of having thevegvisirtattooed on the sole of one of their feet to show loyalty to the cause: namely, finding the compass.

Initially, I couldn’t believe how many of the workers gave in and got it done, until I figured that for many, they have no families or are running from something and this job, and the security it provides, is everything. Some consider it a lark, a way to show loyalty to the boss. I see it for what it is.

Harlan exerting his control over those who must serve him in his crazy quest.

I’ve avoided this ridiculous ritual by citing an excessive fear of needles, but by the determined look on my husband’s face, he’s not taking no for an answer any longer.

“Harlan, please—”

“It doesn’t inspire the workers with confidence if you don’t have the tattoo,” he says, his steely tone brooking no argument. “You’re my wife. Arcania is our legacy and Ava’s birthright. You must get it done. This will be a symbol of belonging at Arcania for generations to come.”

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