Page 11 of One Last Touch

If it wasn’t Ms Weathers or Sage… It could be a squatter. Was that why they didn’t want me wandering after dark? Because they were hiding someone from me?

It wasn’t unheard of for people to move into abandoned buildings, and maybe if there was someone else staying here, somebody that the police had missed, then they might have answers for me about what happened to my mum. Or maybe they’re responsible. I shrugged the thought off. The police had inspected the house and grounds, if there had been signs of someone staying here other than my mum then they would have noticed, surely—and I didn’t think, didn’t want to believe, that Sage or Ms Weathers would harbour a murderer.

I made it half-way up the stairs, my ears straining for the smallest sound to indicate where the noise had gone and my eyes felt like they were stretched wide as I tried to take in as much as I could of my surroundings. I’d been up on this floor briefly when I first moved in and then yesterday when I’d been hoovering, but I mostly spent my time in my room or the kitchen so far. The layout felt unfamiliar but my feet found their way regardless, as if instinct guided me to the top of the stairs and around a corner. This floor was where the master suite had been.

I’d been hesitant to go inside, like some part of me just wasn’t as ready as I thought for the answers I wanted and that the rooms there might hold. Had Edward, the owner of the house and the man in love with my mother according to Ms Weathers, been my father?

The thump of a heavy tread jolted me out of the thoughts. It wasn’t a gait I recognised. Ms Weathers tended to walk with a speedy shuffle appropriate for her small form, whereas Sage loped everywhere in a casual but confident sprawl, measured steps and paces that I followed keenly for some reason. These footsteps—and I was now certain that was what they were—were heavy, not too fast and not too slow, but something about them seemed harsh. The clunk of them dominating the dark as if it did not exist, smothering all sound like they were a vacuum, and all I could do was freeze in place, my heart hammering.

What if my passing thought had been right? What if there had been someone here when my mum had stayed? What if they were the one who hurt her?

Anger, a great tidal wave of it, unfroze my muscles and made everything in me burn like I would combust until I could find this person and make them pay. The sound drew closer and my breathing felt laboured. I took a step in the direction of the noise and then another, surer step, when a pale hand reached out from the darkness so suddenly I could only stare. How had they drawn so close without me hearing them? But—no, the footsteps were still too far away, coming from the opposite direction of the disembodied hand, the rest of the unknown figure cloaked in darkness. Shit.

Were there two of them working together? How was it possible that I hadn’t heard or seen anything during the day?

The hand clamped tightly over my mouth as I began to struggle, panic taking over as images of what they might be holding me for overtook my rational thoughts. The footsteps paused before resuming their pace, slightly faster, and I worried briefly that I might throw up as my adrenaline spiked so forcefully that my head hurt.

Another strong arm snatched me out of the air as the steps rounded the corner and I panicked until a voice murmured next to my ear.

“God damnit, Georgina.” Sage’s gruff voice chided and I instinctively relaxed in the arms that held me against a firm chest and they tightened for a moment that I wasn’t sure if I imagined before they let go. “You promised me.”

He didn’t sound as angry as I’d expected him to be, instead a deep pain seemed to resonate there that confused me.

“I—”

His hand pressed against my mouth again as the footsteps paused outside of the tiny closet Sage had pulled us into. I hadn’t even noticed it when I was cleaning and it only piqued my curiosity further as I wondered what else this house might be hiding.

My breathing felt ragged, sensing Sage’s fear and urgency in the way that he gripped me, the way he surrounded me like he would drive away the darkness with his will alone and a heat pooled low in my stomach in response. My lips were touching his hand and it was so cool it almost felt insubstantial, like I could have pushed away at any time and he would have let me, even if it would seal our fates to whoever stalked these halls at night.

The muscles in my body coiled tight, like I was in the throes of fight or flight but my body had only been able to freeze. Sage slowly pulled his hand away from my mouth and instead brushed his fingers through my hair until slowly, I relaxed.

A thud sounded outside of our hiding place and my tension came rushing back as Sage dropped his hand. What use was hiding? I needed to confront this person, this maybe-murderer who thought they could enter my home, mine, and poison it. Because that’s what it felt like as I stood inside the closet with the air practically crackling around me. Like something wrong stood feet away, tainting the air, weakening my breaths.

As if sensing my resolve, Sage moved even closer in the cramped space and my skin heated. “Please,” he whispered so faintly it was more air than words. “Stay quiet.”

I hesitated and then gave a barely perceptible nod and my heart thudded unevenly as he relaxed, clearly relieved. I realised I had been selfish. Clearly, whoever this was scared Sage and if that was the case, then I ought to be careful too. It had been impulsive, foolish, to consider charging out there—they could have a gun, or an axe, or whatever it was that intruders favoured in the countryside.

A footstep fell heavily against the floor and I jolted before holding myself still as another hit the ground, followed by one more. They were retreating back the way they’d come, back to the west wing. I listened intently and heard it when a door creaked closed. The master suite.

I let out a shaky breath as slowly as I could and Sage moved as far back from me as he was able in the small amount of space. Moonlight filtered in through the crack where the door met the wall and barely illuminated the space between us. There was a strained expression on his face, his brows drawn together, his soft mouth pinched and his skin so pale I was surprised the small flickers of light didn’t pass straight through him.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually, stepping forward slightly and freezing when he cringed back like he couldn’t bear to be with me in this space for a second longer. I clenched my jaw and ignored it, resolved to focus on the more important matter at hand. “Who was that?”

Sage looked away. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me.” I grabbed for the place his hand had been and blinked in confusion when my fingers only met air. He’d somehow moved away faster than should have been possible.

He glanced up sharply. “I don’t think you’re the best person to be lecturing about lies. You promised me you would stay in your room, Georgina!”

“Whatever,” I said quietly and his nostrils flared as he opened his mouth only to close it again sharply. “I’m not a child, and the longer I go without knowing what’s happening the more danger I’m in. So just tell me what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that I’m tired and I want to go to sleep instead of following your dumb arse around this house all night.” He pushed past me and I clenched my jaw so hard I felt my teeth creak.

“Don’t you dare open that door.”

He pushed it open but didn’t walk out, holding himself back in the darkness, and I heaved in a breath that felt too heavy.

“I need answers, Sage. If you won’t give them to me then I’ll just go down to the master suite and ask whoever that was myself.”

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