by Meg Evans
“Horribile dictu.”
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?” I demand frantically.
“You’re next!” he warns me, and stretches out his arm, pointing at something far behind me. I look around in the indicated direction, but I don’t spot anything unusual besides two Afro-American women loading their trunk with dozens of shopping bags, making the car sag under the tremendous weight of the groceries.
“I can’t see any—” I turn back to him but don’t finish my sentence, for the man’s gone. He simply vanished. I blink twice, as if it will bring him back.
Was it another hallucination? A man couldn’t just evaporate like that.
Leslie Dean and the strange man who appeared out of nowhere are the final straw. I’ve been patient far too long. Being a crucial part of something that I don’t understand, and surrounded by a bunch of people who are involved in it but unwilling to talk, is draining me. It doesn’t let me live a normal life. It’s my right to know what’s going on with me. Whatever it is, I want it to be over already, even though the man told me that something has just begun.
Horribile dictu… what does it even mean?
What process?
What does Dorian have to do with Leslie Dean?
I’m at my limit. I desperately need to know the truth. No more excuses. I’m done with this bullshit.
While driving, I keep one eye on the road ahead and the other on my phone, where the list of missing people is still on the screen. I scroll down it. Bryan, Cooper, Evans, Monroe… and here we go—Prynn, Vanessa, and three people below, Whitaker, Karla. Both of them have been missing for no longer than a month.
It tumbles into my head that maybe Rafael isn’t to blame for the mysterious disappearances. Could the Hatches be behind them? A massive weight falls somewhere to the bottom of my stomach. Maybe the villains of this whole story are Dorian and Rita, after all…
That conjecture makes me press the gas pedal to the floor. I feel in my bones that this is it: the evening of truth. I won’t let Dorian or even Rita delude me again. I need to dispel all the doubts that have been tormenting me.
I make the turn onto my street. The blinding glare of ambulance and police-car lights is clearly noticeable from a distance. My heart lodges in my throat. Every second not only brings me closer to the house, but also confirms that my apprehension is right. Those vehicles are parked in my driveway.
I stop the car with a screech, feeling the blood drain from my face. Despite the late hour, my house is surrounded by a crowd of gaping onlookers, whispering to each other, on the phone, or standing with their jaws dropped. I see a yellow Police Line: Do Not Cross tape cutting off my part of the house. The last time I saw a similar scene was in a documentary where the whole family was murdered by a serial killer.
The front door is wide open; something terrible must’ve happened while I was out. My chest tightens. My knees feel wobbly. I need to pull myself together and find out what happened.
I thread my way through the dense crowd. I’m about to bend and go under the yellow tape, but I’m stopped by someone’s hand grabbing my arm. It’s a police officer.
“Can’t you see no one is allowed in?” he roars.
“I live here!” I scream right into his face, aggravated, like the fact that it’s my house is written on my forehead and the officer is too lazy to bother reading it.
“Zahara Logan?”
“Yes, it’s me! What happened? I want to get inside! Who called you in?!”
“Calm down, Miss Logan. A break-in occurred about an hour ago.”
“A break-in?!” His words panic me even more.
“We were called by Madeline Montgomery. One person was seriously injured,” the officer says, his voice unfazed. He must have dealt with worse crime scenes, so this one doesn’t make any impression on him—whereas I’m totally shattered. “Unfortunately, we got here too late and didn’t catch the bastard. We have a description of the criminal, though. Do you recognize this man?” He brandishes the sketch of a man’s face several inches from my nose. Even though it’s not an exact match, I recognize the man.
Rafael.
“Who’s hurt?”
“Cynthia Montgomery; the paramedics are already taking care of her. She will be transferred to the hospital shortly. Do you know this man, Miss?”
“No, I have no idea who he is,” I lie. “I want to get into my house.”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible at the moment,” he says, barring my way. His bulky physique makes me assume he would be able to knock me down in a second, so I don’t even try wrestling with him. “No one is allowed to cross the tape. I would appreciate it if you would stay where you are.”
“But she’s my aunt! I want to see her! That’s my right!” I protest. “Where’s Maddie?”
“If you mean Miss Madeline Montgomery, then she has already been taken to the hospital.”
“Why? You said that only one person was hurt!”
“There was a minor scuffle between her and the burglar. Miss Montgomery was in shock when we got here. She did not require immediate medical assistance, like Mrs. Montgomery, to stabilize her, but it was necessary to take her to the hospital.”
“I need to see my aunt and make sure she’s fine.” I make an attempt to walk past him, but in vain; the officer prevents me from taking even one step further. I feel warm tears running down my cheeks. It’s my fault. Rafael was looking for me, not them.
“No one is allowed to enter the crime scene. I understand your frustration, Miss Logan, but I’m not authorized to let anybody pass this zone. The most I can do for you is to take you to the hospital.”
“What did he do to her?”
“Mrs. Montgomery was stabbed a few times with a knife.”
A knife. That knife.
I’m paralyzed.
But why? What did she do to make him stab her? Why did he even break into my house? Didn’t Dorian assure me that we weren’t in danger as long as we stayed safely at home?
“Will she make it?”
“Her condition is grave.”
A pain jolts through my heart. It radiates through my bloodstream, my bones, my muscles. My whole body shakes. I don’t even want to imagine what I have put Cynthia and Maddie through. The thought of what they must have felt when that spooky man showed up at the house and attacked them makes me sick.
I’m wondering how they managed to come through it alive. How did Maddie call the police while Rafael was still inside? I obviously can’t get in, so the only thing I can do at the moment is let the officer drive me to the hospital and talk to my cousin about the incident. But before I can ask him, I feel the very well-known touch of a hand on my arm. I know this scent; I know the feeling of his hands on my body.
“Zara, come with me.”
It’s his voice. I recognize it as well as I recognized Rafael’s face on the sketch. I should jump away from him, keep myself no closer than the distance of an outstretched arm. Maybe I should even identify him as a suspect in the case of missing Leslie Dean. Actually, it’s not me who’s responsible for what happened—it’s him. His actions have contributed to the situation I’m in right now. All those secrets have led to this.
I wish I could hate him. I wish I could shout in his face that I want him to go to hell, but I can’t. He’s stolen my heart along with the will to rebel. I belong to him; he’s a piece of me. If he wasn’t in my life, I wouldn’t want to be alive.
“Dorian…” I’m not certain what I want to say. Without caring about the police officer standing in front of me, or the people who are around me, I throw myself into his arms and burst into uncontrollable tears. I need him, his closeness. I don’t ever want to break this embrace. When he’s here, I can be brave. “Do you know what happened here?”
“I do.”
“Will you tell me? I’m begging you. I need to know the truth. It’s been way too long.”
“I will. But not here. I’m taking her to the hospital,” Dorian announces to the police
officer. Holding my hand, he pulls me through the sensation-seeking crowd.
“I want to know what really happened,” I demand first thing after getting into his Bentley.
“We’re not going to the hospital,” Dorian says, pressing the engine start button.
“Where then?”
“Somewhere where we’ll be able to speak freely, with no witnesses.”
“About Rafael?”
“About everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we’ll go over everything that I’ve been hiding from you so far.”
I think I’ve misheard for a second.
“What has changed that out of blue you want to enlighten me?”
“You’re in great danger. That’s what’s changed.”
“Wasn’t it you who wanted to hurt me?”
“Not here. Keep your questions for later.”
Still weeping quietly, I fix my eyes on the windshield before me and let him drive me away.
CHAPTER twenty-four
The distance that we’re traveling seems to be endless. I sit, bleary-eyed, staring through the windshield. I’m lost in my thoughts, recalling the street in front of my house full of lights, people, the police and the ambulance. The weight on my chest doesn’t go away. I press my palm to it and try to suppress my sorrow, but it doesn’t help. My temples pulsate as if they’re about to explode. I want to yell, cry, lash out, or simply disappear. I’m willing to do anything just to numb the guilt that consumes my entire being.
Tears slip down my cheeks. I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that all this really is my fault. After all, I was the one who willfully intruded in Dorian’s life, disregarding his multiple warnings not to get too close to him. My persistence drew the attention of that bloody Rafael, who for some reason chose me as his target, as well as my whole family. But it still doesn’t make any sense to me why the man crossed the threshold of my house. Especially without me inside.
“Can you explain to me how Rafael broke into my house?” The question that’s been bothering me cuts through the silence.
“He forced the back door.”
“That's not what I meant, and you know it!” I shift my eyes from the windshield to Dorian, focused on the road. His hands are tight on the steering wheel. “Why did he even do that? Both you and Rita agreed that he was after me. You even assured me that as long as I didn’t leave the house by myself, I wasn’t in danger.”
“To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t understand it myself. He had no right to do that. It was against the rules.”
“What rules?”
“We’ll reach our destination soon; I’ll explain everything there.”
I don’t pursue the subject. I’ve managed to live with no answers for so long that a few more minutes won’t kill me. For the remaining miles, Dorian’s face is impassive. He doesn’t make a single sound—doesn’t cough, sigh, yawn. I have the impression that he’s even stopped breathing. He’s simply staring ahead at the road.
We’ve left civilization behind. There hasn’t been a single house in over thirty minutes. We come off the main road, make a turn and come to an almost invisible, narrow side-road hidden by a thicket of trees and bushes. If I were driving, there’s no way that I would have even noticed that turn, it’s camouflaged so perfectly by this green maze. I’m curious how Dorian even knows about its existence.
He stops the car in front of a mid-sized, rustic, one-story wooden cabin. The first thing I take in are blades of grass reaching the windows and a short, half-rotten flight of stairs leading to a warped doorframe. This place is obviously neglected. The outside lights are on, but no lights come from within.
“Whose cabin is this?” I ask, getting out of the car.
“Don’t ask any questions, but follow me,” he commands, and makes his way toward the cabin.
“You’ve dragged me here to the middle of the woods, so I guess I have the right to ask about my whereabouts. Besides, what are we even doing here?” I stumble over a piece of thick tree root sticking out of the ground.
Dorian takes my hand and pulls me to the cabin. He walks very fast, which doesn’t make it easier for me not to injure myself.
“Do you happen to be a psychopath who brought me here to kill me?” I step on a loose branch next, which cracks loudly and breaks in two. “Is that what your secret is?”
“No, but what I am isn’t any better.” He uses a shoulder to push open the creaky front door and lets me go inside first. “The cabin is empty. It’s just you and me.”
The first thing that hits me when we’re inside is the scent of damp wood and rot. When Dorian flips on the light, I scan the interior. The place looks completely abandoned. All the furniture is covered with sheets, and the paint on the walls is shabby. A thick layer of dust covers every surface. All around are sepia photographs of people unknown to me. Every corner of this place is mired in cold and gloominess.
We move to a medium-sized living room. My gaze is immediately drawn to a fireplace made from field stones. I drop onto a rickety, cream-colored couch, which is the only piece of the furniture without a cover. I don’t mind the dust. The aura of this place matches my current mood.
I release a long exhale. My muscles quiver with tension. I’m so miserable that it takes away my willingness to utter even a single word, but I need to clear up the mess that’s been fermenting in my head for several weeks.
Dorian falls to a bench in front of me. We remain at a distance from one another. I wonder why he doesn’t feel like sitting beside me. My heart has been smashed, and he’s the one who could help me bring all of the pieces back together. His warm arms could soothe the pain and comfort me.
“Why won’t you sit next to me?”
“It’s better this way. I need you to focus.”
My heart sinks in disappointment, but I won’t waste more time, and get straight to the point. “Can you finally tell me why you brought me here? I’d like to get it over with and go to the hospital as soon as possible because—”
“We came all the way here because it’s the only place where you’re safe. No one will know that you’re here.”
“No one? What do you mean by no one? I thought only one man was hunting me.”
“Unfortunately, there are many more.”
Silence hovers over us. I shift on the couch. At first the meaning of his words doesn’t sink in, but when my brain finally registers what he’s just said, my chest tingles.
“More? How many more?”
“As of now, there are at least four. It doesn’t seems like a lot, but it’s up to them whether or not that number increases to a few thousand more,” Dorian says, stone-faced. I have no clue whether he’s concerned, stressed, or completely uncaring. He seems indifferent.
“What?!” My jaw drops open. “You’re lying to me! That’s impossible!” I run my fingers though my hair.
“It’s better if you listen and believe me instead of denying it.”
“But why? What might anyone want from me? I’m a nobody!”
“You have something precious that they desire.”
“Something precious?” I force a laugh. “I swear that I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shake my head in disbelief. How insane it all sounds.
“I find that unbelievable. Someone must have been keeping the truth from you.”
His words reach my ears, but I don’t want to process them. I can’t even fathom the idea that he might be right.
“You’re wrong! You’re taking me for someone that I’m not—I’ve told you that multiple times.” Frustration grows in me.
“How can you be so sure?” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you tell me that you haven’t heard from your family for years?”
A small part of me shivers. He’s not mistaken. I don’t even know my real family. I’ve never heard from them, nor have I seen a single member over the years. Is it possible that Cynthia hid something from me? If so, was it at my mother’s
request? My stomach hardens at the thought.
“I’m sorry, but it’s hard for me to even imagine that I might have been living in a lie my entire life. It doesn’t make any sense.” I bury my face in my hands for a moment, and sigh heavily. “Regardless of whether I believe you or not, what is this precious thing? Is it the reason why Rafael’s been after me and broke into my house? To find it and steal it?” I raise my gaze back to Dorian. “Is he a thief?”
“Rafael isn’t a thief.” Dorian stares intently into my eyes and takes a deep breath. I can see the vein at his temple pulsing. He’s about to tell me something thorny. He speaks up with the same calm voice that I know so well, unshaken: “I am a thief.”
Time stops. The only noise around us at the moment is the wind beating against the windows.
“Say what?” I finally find my tongue. “You rob people? You burgle their properties and take their belongings?! That’s what you do after dark?” I blink faster, my pulse quickening.
“Not really. Material things aren’t of interest to me. My taste is a bit more… sophisticated. I take away the most precious thing that a human being possesses.” His gaze is so intent, as if he’s trying to burn a hole in me.
“Okay, now I'm very confused. I don’t get how to interpret that statement.” I frown, then say, “To me the most precious thing that a human being can have is a soul.”
“You’ve understood, then.”
Dorian’s eyes are still on mine. Neither of us looks away.
“Right,” I chuckle nervously, with no idea how to react. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re interested in stealing… souls?”
He nods, his face still serious, without a shadow of amusement.
“That’s ridiculous, Dorian.” I rise from the couch as if propelled by an invisible force. Now he’s definitely lying. It’s all bullshit. Maybe he’ll tell me in a second that he uses a genie from a bottle to make his dreams come true. This is crazy. Something holds me back from saying it out loud. “Stop fooling around. Do you think I’ll believe you?” I wait for his response, but he remains silent. “Tell me the truth, because I don’t feel like listening to some made-up paranormal stories. Just say something. Anything.”