The Roses Academy- the Entire Collection

by Tara Brown

  “I am your family’s man.”

  Family’s man?

  I played with the words in my mind. The word “man” struck me as odd. I had questions, but decided they should wait for my father.

  The front of the huge home was magnificent, boasting wooden double doors with carvings of an old forest scene. The handles were golden colored, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they truly were gold. My father was odd in a way only rich people were allowed to be. Gold door handles were one of the less strange things inside.

  The older man opened the door, standing rigidly, waiting for me to enter. I walked across the threshold slowly, still worried about how I had landed in a trunk, wearing nearly nothing.

  He closed the door and led me down the hall. I strode beside him silently along the hard stone floors to a back room I hadn’t seen before. Inside was a four-poster bed with dark cherrywood dressers, tables, and desks suiting the Tudor home perfectly. Suiting my father too. He was a cherrywood and mahogany sort of guy.

  “Where’s my dad?” I saw nothing but the huge bed.

  “There.” The old guy pointed.

  “Where?” I had to squint just to see in the muted light but when I did, I was stunned. A weak, discolored individual I had never seen before lay on the huge bed. A moment later I realized it was my father. This small and sickly looking version of him replaced the robust, handsome man he had always been. “Dad?” I leapt forward, terrified. “You’re sick.”

  He turned his eyes to me. “Hanna! Oh thank God, you found her, Roland,” he spoke breathlessly as if it was a struggle just to exist.

  “I did, sir, and I will leave you two now, unless you need something further?”

  “No, no.” My father waved a thin, feeble hand. “Please go and rest, old man.”

  “Hmph.” Roland chuckled bitterly. “Old, am I?” He bowed and left the room to the sound of my wheezy father attempting a snicker. It was terrifying.

  I sat in the huge wooden rocking chair at his bedside and struggled to look at his withered face.

  His dark eyes glossed over. “I-I am s-so s-sorry, Hanna.” His entire body trembled, making me think he would die any second. He’d aged in the few short months since my last visit. He smiled weakly and cleared his throat, seeming to fight himself to gain composure. “I have betrayed you in every way.”

  I frowned, not speaking, terrified to ruin a moment I had waited for my whole life.

  The apology.

  “I don’t have enough time now to explain the entirety of the situation to you.” His voice grew grainier, if possible. I wished he would just clear his throat again, but realized he probably didn’t have the strength.

  “How are you this sick?” I couldn’t believe it.

  “I am a monster—there is no denying it. You were an accident, as was your mother. Both accidents along the highway of my life, and instead of stopping to help, I left you there stranded. I never knew how to fix any of it. I’ve tried to find a cure, Hanna. I really have.” His eyes watered as he began to cry. “I left you with them as your mother asked me to and now I fear it may have been them who activated it.” He coughed as if the liquid making his voice grainy was drowning him inside. “You’ll need this. It’s your only hope. You have to finish it. Keep it safe.” He passed me a sheet of paper with messy numbers spread across it. It resembled math and diagrams, something I had no interest in.

  Nothing made sense.

  Being called an accident was painful.

  His waiting until his last moments to offer me this pitiful apology was horrifying.

  But the fact he hadn’t told me he was ill and dying was inexcusable.

  I reached for the paper he held out after a moment of watching his fingers shake. Lightning fast, as if this were all a hoax, he reached his hand to mine, gripping me as his eyes changed into a madman’s. “Trust no one but Roland. He has been with me for a long time and his wisdom will keep you safe. You need to get away from those people—your aunt and uncle. And do not trust anyone else, they will want things from you. Things I have always protected you from.” He heaved, desperate to get the words out but not having the air to do it. “I have loved you always, though my actions didn’t always show it.” He closed his eyes. “Tell her to come in.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? You know it’s me, Hanna. What are you doing? What is this?” I shook the paper.

  “The girl in the hall. I’m ready.” He ignored my questions.

  I rose hesitantly, not sure how much of this was an act or not or why. Why would he act this way? “I don’t understand. You’re speaking cryptically to me, you’re not explaining anything and I’m scared—I’m half naked.” I stopped, realizing I was shouting and leaning over a dying man who cared nothing for me. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. I honestly can’t believe I’m standing in front of you with my clothes all ripped and all you can talk about is what a mistake I was. Nothing changes with you.”

  “You can’t understand but one day when you do, remember I love you. I always loved you. You will see, my dear.” He spoke softly, his eyes still closed. “I don’t have any time left, Hanna. She is being gracious, allowing me a moment with you.” His eyes opened, filled with regret. “I need you to know that Roland is your only hope. He has instructions and my dying wish is that you listen to him. He will show you who you really are. I loved you every day. Everything else will be explained when I am gone. Your life is going to change, and for that, I am truly sorry. Please hurry. I can’t hold it.” The desperation in his voice frightened me.

  “Whatever.” I turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I know you never loved me. When I was eight you left me with relatives you hated. You barely came to see me. You’ve always made me feel as if I were an inconvenience.” My eyes burned. “That is not love, Father.”

  With the heaviest of hearts, I opened the door to a tall girl with gray eyes staring down at me. She was waiting in the hall.

  I thought perhaps he meant a nurse but this girl wore high-heeled boots and leather pants with a purple silk blouse. She looked to be my age until she smiled. There was nothing inside her eyes, no life or emotion.

  She walked past me to my father. “Do you want her here for it?” she spoke softly.

  “A promise is a promise.”

  “It is.”

  My father opened his eyes and peered at me. “I have loved you for hundreds of years, long before I ever knew you.” He closed his eyes as the girl took his hands. She sighed and then inhaled sharply.

  He died while holding the hands of the mysterious girl.

  Tears slipped from my eyes as I watched the exhale leave his chest one last time and then it sunk.

  My fingers, as if the heartbreak hit there first, grasped the piece of paper he had given me. It was the last piece of him.

  The girl rose, staring at me with glowing steel-colored eyes. “Now you see what happens. Remember the ancient creed, ‘Do what ye will but harm none,’ and we will never have to meet like this again, Hyde.”

  She was gone from the room before I could comprehend what had happened. I knew better than to try. I was dreaming.

  This wasn’t real.

  There was no way it was real.

  I walked back to his bed and sat in the chair beside my father. Clutching the piece of paper, I waited for something to make sense or for one of us to wake up. Whichever came first.

  Chapter 2

  Dear Diary

  “I’m sorry, miss. Your father was an amazing man.” Roland stood in the hallway, clearly heartbroken. His lower lip trembled as he spoke, “He will be missed.”

  Numb and half awake, I turned to my father. He’d aged in death, but a semblance remained of the face that was once his. I squeezed his hand, not quite realizing I was holding it, one last time before letting go and leaving. “I’m sorry for your loss. Mine was minimal. I barely knew him.” I brushed past the old man.

  It was officially the worst night in the history
of nights.

  “He was your father, miss. That is a great loss.” He spoke as if he were hanging on by a thread, “Shall I call and have your things moved here?”

  “Here? Moved here?” I pointed to the dead man in the room. “He’s gone. Why would I come here?”

  “The manor is yours now.”

  “His bod—” I grimaced. “My father isn’t even gone yet. How can you be so cruel?”

  “The coroner will be here any moment with an ambulance. That was his wish. Everything that happens over the course of the next few months was his dying wish. Would you truly deny him that?”

  “How can you be so cold? He just died.” My tone was flat. Was I in wonderland? Or did I get high? Maybe someone roofied me? Did I go to a party? Was I even here?

  I must have. This couldn’t be happening. That was all there was to it.

  “I am not cold, miss. I am thinking you need rest. And comfort. And you cannot return to those people, now that you’re like this.” He turned and glanced at the room. “His orders were that the bed go out with him, the room go back to being the storage room, and you and I go on from this, learning to lean on one another.” He continued, “I dare say, miss, when you see the things in the study, you will want some time to go over everything. We have much to prepare for.” The doorbell chimed, interrupting Roland. “Please excuse me.”

  I glanced back at my father once more, hating that he had left me all alone. Again.

  Exhausted and more confused than before, I walked down the hall to the large kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. I wanted to think about myself. My instincts told me to focus on what had happened to me. My father had never focused on me, so I’d had to do it. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to bear the burden of anything else.

  I needed sleep—sleep and then answers.

  And maybe the police.

  Because, at the end of the day, someone had attacked me and ripped my clothes.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, some blonde chick murdered my dying dad with her breath.

  I was losing my mind.

  Shit!

  I didn’t know how long I had stood in the kitchen, staring at the cupboards, lost.

  I didn’t know when Roland had come back or that tears streamed my face long enough to soak my shirt.

  I didn’t notice the heaving sound my throat made.

  Not until he murmured, “Miss Hanna, you need some sleep. Your father always slept for a day or two afterward.”

  I didn’t know what “afterward” meant, but he was right. I needed sleep. It was too much to cope with.

  As if steering a zombie, he led me up the huge Gone with the Wind staircase to the giant bed my father had bought for me that I had sworn I’d never sleep in.

  I hadn’t wanted him to know how much I loved the house. Or how much I loved him. Or how much I wished he wanted me. He was all I had and he was gone.

  Roland steered me to the shower, leaving me there with the water running. Instinct took over, stripping me and forcing my feet into the shower.

  I cleaned everywhere, feeling for injury and assault, but there were none. That was almost worse. It meant there was a chance Roland was right, that I’d done this to myself. But how and why?

  Refusing to acknowledge anything, I climbed out, dried off, pulled on a nightgown left on the counter, and climbed into the bed.

  My face landed softly on the feather pillow and sleep took me before I stood a chance at crying more or feeling sorry for myself.

  I slept like the dead.

  I dreamt similarly too.

  My dreams were full of shaky images I couldn’t pinpoint and flashes of faces I knew all too well.

  Rebecca, my best friend in the world, sat with me. There was food, a car, and a forest. But like everything else that had happened, the dream made no sense. It was as if a fog covered it all, only allowing small pieces to be revealed in sudden flashes.

  As I became more rested, my mind cleared and the dream grew less fuzzy.

  The fog lifted, revealing a dark and thick forest I didn’t know. I wandered through, searching for something or someone. My hands were scratched, moving heavy branches. My shirt tore, revealing my stomach. I ignored it, desperate to find something. I saw my hands as they moved the branches. Each finger was coated in something thick and red. I squinted again, trying focus my eyes, but they would not.

  The forest cleared in a small meadow, making me panic. I was not alone; there was someone else in the meadow. I couldn’t make out who the other person was, but the way they were lying on the ground in that awkward position stopped me dead in my tracks. I knew the shoes—bright-green DC runners.

  A scream tore through the forest as I hurried to her, lifting my best friend into my arms. Thick red streams trickled from her pale mouth, eyes, ears, and nose. The crimson was shocking against the powder-white skin. Her dark-brown eyes stared up into the canopy above. She lay limp. Below her was a puddle of blood.

  Desperate, I hugged the bloody body to mine, crying for help. The trees surrounding the meadow grew into a wall, trapping us in. I rocked, holding my friend and softly stroking her dark locks.

  I shot up, screaming.

  In a frenzy, I scanned my surroundings, gasping for air.

  I was alone in my room, the room my father had decorated for me.

  My face and hair were soaked from the tears running down my face. I shivered, gazing around, remembering the events that had taken place in my sleep.

  I was like a child opening a five thousand-piece puzzle, sitting on the ground and staring at all the pieces, not sure where to start.

  My life had fallen apart and even my dreams made no sense.

  My door opened quickly. “Miss Hanna, are you all right?” Roland entered, showing concern.

  “I don’t know.” I gazed at the bed and frowned. “I need to go home.”

  “You are home.”

  “When you found me, did you find my friend? I was with my friend. I think.” The evening before slinked back into my memory with the still clinging remnants of the dream.

  “Your friend?” His eyes dropped to the floor suddenly. “You are not to blame. I’m terribly sorry, but you must try to see that you aren’t responsible. Until the elixir is completed, you will not be able to control yourself when you change.”

  “Wait—what?” My mind reeled. “What happened to her? Was she with me?”

  “You need the other answers first. This story won’t make sense out of order. You can’t start a tale at the end.”

  “What do you mean?” My breath was stuck in my throat, gagging me. “I need to know if she’s okay. I dreamt she died in a forest. It was terrible.”

  “I’m sorry, Hanna.” Roland’s eyes narrowed but with pity, not anger. “She did.”

  My heart dropped into my stomach. “She—Rebecca died?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry,” he repeated himself.

  “No!” Tears flooded my eyes. “No!” Everything hurt. I curled into a ball, hugging myself.

  “When you’re ready to come down, all shall be revealed in your father’s study.”

  “We need to call the police. Immediately,” I sobbed.

  “They know already. Your friend was found days ago.”

  “Days? How? How did this happen?” I had the sensation of holding my breath even though I was gasping for air. The tension hinted that something was about to explode inside me. My surroundings grew hazy.

  “Hanna!” he shouted, startling me. “You must calm yourself. Most of all, you must read everything your father left. If you want to know what happened to you and your friend you must listen to me!”

  I closed my eyes but the images of the dream haunted that dark place in my mind. I forced myself to get up, even though the ill feeling lingered on. I was destroyed. Rebecca was gone. It was a dream.

  The only explanation for this was that it was a dream.

  My father, Rebecca, me in the trunk, the girl with the killer breath. It was a
dream.

  Staggering after Roland, I clung to myself, completely lost.

  Unbeknownst to me, every step on the cold wooden floor, down the stairs to the hard granite main floor, had been planned by my father.

  The study was at the opposite end of the house from the storage room that had been turned into a makeshift bedroom for my ailing father. I couldn’t help but notice his presence lingered in the house.

  He’d died there.

  I’d never seen anyone die before.

  Except in my dream.

  Unless this was the dream.

  I looked for a phone to call Rebecca. My cell was missing. The dream told me not to do anything. It suggested I might be in some trouble.

  If only I could remember.

  The study was a massive room with maps and sketches of people lining the walls. To one side was a huge mahogany desk covered in hundreds of papers with writing on them, strewn at every angle. The enormous leather chair appeared worn but comfortable to sit in.

  Roland appeared stricken as he stood next to the desk with his arm held out toward the oversized brown chair. “Have a seat.”

  “When can I go home?”

  “You must get used to the idea this is your home.” He didn’t sound threatening or forceful. He was sorry for me, I could see it.

  “What do I have to do?” The office was a horrible mess. “Do you want me to clean it?”

  “No, dear.” Roland turned, grabbing a huge pile of journals from the dresser behind him. He slumped them onto the table in front of me. Dust rose from the collection of shabby artifacts.

  “You want me to read all of these?” I didn’t understand anything.

  “You must. They are the story I cannot tell you. They will explain everything, including your dear friend Rebecca. This is your father’s dying wish.” The pity on his old gentle face made me ponder his place in this more than I worried about mine. “They are already in chronological order. At the top of the pile is Book One.”

  “Roland, this is crazy.” I shivered, still weak and exhausted. “I can’t sit here and read. My aunt is probably looking for me, I guarantee that. I need to see Rebecca’s family. The police will want to question me. I think I’m a witness. It’s hazy but I remember things—flashes.”