Page 51 of Daughter of a Monster

“That’s not true,” I say, even though I know it’s a lie.

Gideon laughs. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. You can’t tell me it’s not true. You’re really shit at hiding what you’re thinking.”

I laugh, thinking how disastrous it would be if that were true. The contours of him morph until the likeness to Jericho disappears and he looks like himself again.

“And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Berkley. He wants you.” There’s something broken and dejected about his tone. As though he’s weary. As though he’s told this story time and time again. “And Jericho Priest always gets what he wants. Always has, always will.”

If Jericho wanted me, he could have had me. But instead, he ran away. I want to tell Gideon about the connection between Jericho and me, the way he’s forced his way into the flashes of depravity that run through my mind. And about the way those flashes have made it almost impossible for me to look at him without feeling something. Mainly lust. But I don’t. It would be unfair of me to ask that of him.

Gideon looks so sad. His hair, instead of being its usual mop of dark curls, is unkempt and messy. It flops over his eyes, getting caught in his eyelashes as though he’s too depressed to push it away. The hollows of his cheeks are deep with shadows. His jaw, usually strong and defined like Jericho’s, now looks too delicate, as though he’s an angel sent to Earth, and our humanity is gradually sucking the life from him.

I don’t know what to say. I want to reassure him, tell him everything is going to be okay, but the words get stuck in my throat. Instead, I take his hand in mine and twist our fingers together, offering him a smile. He squeezes my fingers, grateful for the touch and leads me back to my room in silence.

chapter seventeen

BERKLEY

The swans don’t seem to mind the rain. They keep floating, keep preening. Raindrops hit their feathers and roll off so effortlessly, I wonder if the swans feel it at all. It must be strange for them when water falls from the sky. Almost like their world has been turned upside down.

I’m sheltering under the small gazebo on the edge of the pond. Rain pelts heavily on the roof, thunder rumbles in the distance and forks of lighting occasionally streak across the sky. The Sanctuary looks its most spectacular during storms. It is dark and foreboding even against the graying sky. The rain obscures the surrounding trees, reinforcing the isolation of it. The Sanctuary is stark and unforgiving. Desolate and harsh in its beauty.

I’m avoiding Jericho. It’s awkward between us. Confusing. He won’t look at me and if for any reason he catches my eye, he looks away so quickly it is as though my gaze has singed him. I need time to think. To be alone. Despite the vastness of the Sanctuary, I feel claustrophobic walking the hallways and passages. Unconsciously, my eyes are always searching for him. I round corners scared that I am going to find him, yet disappointed when I don’t. And if I stay in my room, my eyes keep looking out the window and seeing the ledge from which the woman supposedly leaped to her death. Part of me wonders if there’s something sinister about the building itself. Maybe it truly is haunted. Maybe the loneliness that echoes off the walls is feeding my paranoia.

As I’m peering back at the Sanctuary, the large doors open and Jericho, Barrett and Mrs Bellamy come and stand on the steps, the ledge above sheltering them from the rain. Mrs Bellamy is dressed in her black and white finery. Barrett stands tall and rigid as though preparing himself to face an enemy. Jericho scans the landscape, his eyes coming to rest on me, perched under the gazebo. His expression doesn’t change. It remains cold and stern. A shudder runs through me and I wrap my arms about myself, suddenly feeling the coldness of the day. Or that’s what I tell myself anyway.

In the distance a car approaches. I hear the purr of the engine before I see the vehicle. It’s not until the tires crunch over the gravel of the driveway that I see it’s a police car.

Panic grips me. My track record in dealing with the police isn’t a good one. They constantly harassed me while I was recovering in hospital, insisting on hearing my testimony while I was still under the influence of painkillers and shock. They didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t remember the events leading up to my father’s arrest. And they told me that no one would be naïve enough to have lived in that household without knowing the truth.

Wrapping my jacket tightly around my shoulders, I run toward the entrance as the police are getting out of the car.

Are they here about my father?

I wonder how they knew where to find me. Maybe my mother told them. Maybe it was Dominic, or even Miss Marchand. And then I start to worry what their visit will reveal. So far, my past has not followed me here and I’d like to keep it that way.

There are two officers, one younger, one older, both men. As Jericho walks down to greet them, his demeanour changes, resembling more the playboy styled images of him splashed across the internet. His smile widens into something almost unrecognisable and he moves with casual conceit, rather than the controlled confidence that I’m used to.

Clasping one of the officer’s shoulders, he shakes his hand heartily before inviting them inside. His eyes dart to me sprinting across grass and it’s almost as if he shakes his head, though the movement is too slight for me to be sure.

“I told you I would’ve been more than happy to come into the city,” he is saying as I burst through the doors.

“Have you found him?” I interrupt.

The older officer looks at me in surprise. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“His daughter.”

He lifts a brow as his eyes dart between Jericho and me. “Whose daughter?”

Jericho clears his throat, stepping in front of me and attempting to block me from the attention of the officer. He adjusts the position of the sunglasses hooked over his shirt pocket as he directs his gaze to Mrs Bellamy.

“Would you please take Miss Berkley back to—”

I push past him. “My father,” I say again. “Have you found him?”

“We’re here to talk to Mr Priest, but if you’re saying that your father is missing, we can—”

“Please excuse Miss Berkley.” Jericho’s tone is patronizing as he glares at me. “She’s a little confused as to—”

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