Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. Then congratulations, you’re the proud owner of a late Victorian writing bureau. What do you want to do?”

  “Whatever I have to, to get out of here as soon as possible.”

  Isla could hear the panic in his voice and felt her irritation at his stubbornness waning. “Come with me, and we can be out of here in a few minutes.”

  *

  Ryder met them at the kerb outside the auction house. His expression was full of concern as he opened the passenger door for Ethan, and the rear door for her.

  “Oh, I have my car.” Isla gestured to the car park at the side of the building.

  Ethan dipped his hand into his pocket, then held it out to her. “These are yours.”

  Isla’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Rosehill’s keys in Ethan’s outstretched palm.

  “Come back with me.”

  Isla swallowed hard. It was the question she’d wanted Ethan to ask for three weeks, but she’d been dreading it too. She knew it made no sense, but Isla couldn’t help her fear that all the progress they’d made, the hope she’d felt for the future, would be undone the minute she passed through the gates of Rosehill.

  There was something desperate about Ethan’s expression, he had the same lost look he’d worn when she’d pulled him back from the balcony inside. Isla glanced over at Ryder, who stood with one hand on the door, waiting for her to make her decision,

  “I can bring you back for your car later,” he said. “Or whenever.”

  Isla looked back at Ethan. “Okay.” She lifted the keys from his palm. “I’ll come back with you.”

  *

  The sky grew thick with cloud as they approached Rosehill. The gates creaked open, and the first droplets of rain fell against the windscreen.

  Ryder frowned out through the glass. “Looks like it’ll be a bad night.”

  Ethan grunted in response. He’d barely spoken a word on the journey, and tension rippled from him in waves. Isla turned her face skyward and wondered how a birthday could make anyone so unhappy.

  By the time they’d reached the castle, the rain was coming down heavy, and they ran from the car to the main doors, Isla carrying her bag over her head for shelter.

  “Do you need anything else?” Ryder asked. He’d closed the door against the rain, but his hand was still on it. Clearly, there was somewhere else he wanted to be.

  Ethan shook his head, and rain dripped onto his shoulders. “No, you can go.”

  Ryder nodded, but to Isla’s surprise, he turned to her. “Call me if you need a ride, or...anything.” His gaze flickered to Ethan, and then back to her.

  Isla frowned, but she nodded. “Of course.”

  Rain splattered the parquet floor as Ryder stepped back out into the falling dusk, and he had to slam the door against the wind. The sound echoed through the empty castle, and Ethan moved to the door, and turned the key in the lock, drawing the bolts across it.

  Isla shivered and shook off her wet jacket.

  “Why don’t you choose some wine, and I’ll light a fire,” Ethan suggested.

  Isla hesitated at the cellar entrance, listening to the tap of Ethan’s cane recede as he moved down the corridor to the study. A prickle of unease crept along her spine before she remembered the lights. At the top of the cellar staircase, she flicked the row of switches on the wall, and a reassuring yellow glow flooded the space. Now that the rewire was complete, even the darkest recesses of the castle couldn’t escape illumination.

  Still, as Isla descended, the cool air rushed to meet her, and the hairs on her arms raised. The light might have chased the shadows away, but the cellar still gave her chills. She hurried along the narrow corridor. Ahead the door to Ethan’s gym stood ajar, and Isla could see the punch bag hanging from the ceiling by its thick chain. She almost imagined it was swaying slightly, but she knew it must be a trick of the light.

  She pushed against the heavy oak panelled door of the wine cellar and ducked inside. As the light flickered to life above her head, Isla groaned. The entire room was filled with wine. Row upon row of bottles, all lying patiently in wait.

  Isla was capable of picking a half-decent bottle out from a supermarket shelf, but this was very different. She told herself not to panic and crossed to the wine rack, which took up the entire opposite wall. The bottles had already been arranged according to colour, with an empty column between each. Of course. How else would Ethan be able to distinguish? He probably had other systems in place too- maybe they were ordered by region or year?

  Focusing on the rows of reds, she began gently slipping bottles from the rack and examining them. Some of the labels were obscured by a light layer of dust. That had to be a good sign, right? Isla tested the weight of the bottle in her hand. Thick glass, deep punt, old enough to be in college. The only thing Isla knew about wine was that she liked it, but she figured this would do. She brushed a hand across the dusty label.

  “Chateau du Lac, Bordeaux Superieur…” she murmured aloud. She had a horrible feeling it might be the most expensive bottle of wine she’d ever held. Then again, it was Ethan’s birthday...not that he seemed to be in any mood to celebrate.

  “Isla?”

  She screamed, and the bottle slid from her hand, crashing to the floor. A river of red trickled over the stone flags towards a pair of worn, black boots.

  Isla looked up into Ethan’s concerned face. His golden eyes connected with hers for a fraction of a second.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You scared me.” Isla pressed the palm of her hand to her chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Ethan took a step forward. “You’d been down here a while, I was worried.”

  “I- I couldn’t decide on a wine.” It wasn’t a lie, but she flushed as she said it.

  Ethan frowned. “It wasnae a test. Any will do.”

  Isla looked down at the puddle of wine, and broken glass at her feet. “Aside from that one.”

  “It’s only wine.” Ethan leant past her and slid one bottle- and then another- from the rack. He’d rolled up his sleeves to light the fire, and his bare arm brushed against Isla’s. Every nerve in her body responded, screaming to attention, and as though he felt it too, Ethan stilled and turned his body towards hers.

  “Isla.” His voice was a low hum in her ear, so quiet she couldn’t even be certain he’d spoken. She waited for more, but the air of the cellar grew thick with silence. And Ethan went on standing beside her, his features wrought with indecision.

  Very slowly, with a deliberate carefulness, he set the wine bottles on the side. His fingers trailed up her bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Isla closed her eyes and leant back against the solid rack behind her. She felt the dig of the wooden frame against her shoulders, but it was a vague, unimportant thing, all her sensation focused on the touch of Ethan’s fingers as they came to a stop at the sleeve of her blouse.

  Isla opened her eyes and watched as Ethan traced his thumb over the lace edging. “You know, I thought you were going to stand me up,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday? I would never have invited you to the auction if I’d known.”

  “Why?” Ethan frowned down at her.

  “Because I imagine it’s the last thing you wanted to do today.”

  “The only thing I wanted to do today was to forget it was happening. But that’s impossible.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you hate your birthday so much?”

  “It isn’t just my birthday, Isla.” Ethan’s eyes flickered beneath the harsh cellar lights. “Today is the anniversary of the accident.”

  Isla’s stomach dropped. Oh my god. She should have known, should have guessed. Why hadn’t Ryder told her? Why hadn’t she asked?

  She swallowed, forcing herself to speak. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t know.”

  He closed his eyes. “It isnae your fault. I should have told you, but I thought if I kept busy, if I was with you, maybe I would be distract
ed, maybe it wouldnae be so bad…”

  “But it isn’t working,” Isla said. She didn’t need to ask. It was obvious that’s why he’d looked so dazed at the auction, why he looked so lost still. Caught somewhere between the past, and the present.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Ethan’s eyelids flew open, his expression full of panic. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Ethan exhaled slowly. “I just want to forget.” He said it like a prayer, offered up to any god who might be listening, or to her.

  Isla’s chest hurt. She cupped his face in her hand, brushing her thumb across his cheek, and Ethan closed his eyes. Isla stepped forward and pressed her lips to his. She couldn’t change the past, but she could help him forget- if only for tonight.

  Forty

  The noise woke her. A low, unearthly moan, like an injured animal.

  Isla’s eyes flashed open, and for a few seconds, she didn’t remember where she was. She blinked repeatedly, the world coming into focus piece by piece: the tall bedposts, the rain-spattered window pane, the blood-red blanket...and Ethan’s body thrashing, and jerking next to her.

  Isla sat up quickly, moving out of range of his arms as they swung wildly out, as though he was looking for something to grab onto.

  “I cannae see.”

  Isla was about to answer when she realised he was dreaming. His eyelids were creased, and his lips moved in silent conversation. From the look of pain etched on his features, it wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare.

  Should she wake him up, or was that dangerous? She’d never seen someone have a nightmare before, not like this anyway. Ethan’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Could he die? Isla looked frantically around the bedroom as though that might hold the answer somehow.

  “Briony?” Ethan croaked, and Isla froze.

  Isla reached across, and placed her palm flat against his chest, giving him a gentle shake. “Ethan? It’s me, Isla.”

  He didn’t respond but started shaking his head. “No. No. No. No.” The broken plea fell from his lips over, and over, and Isla thought her heart would shatter.

  “Ethan.” She raised her voice, shaking him firmly this time. “It’s Isla. You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

  Ethan’s hair was plastered against his forehead with sweat, and she stroked it back from his face. His breathing was fast, and shallow, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his lids. Could he see in his dreams? What horrors was he facing?

  “Ethan, it’s okay, you’re dreaming. Whatever it is, it’s not real,” Isla murmured.

  “It’s my fault.” Ethan gasped for air like a man drowning, and his eyes flew open. “I killed her.”

  *

  Ethan’s chest felt tight as if a heavy weight was pressing down on it, but reaching out, he found nothing. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He struggled into a sitting position, his head swimming, and his hand caught on something - no, someone - at his side.

  “Ethan?”

  Isla? Suddenly everything flooded back. The auction, the cellar, the storm, his past and present colliding...and now this: him drenched in sweat, hyperventilating, and her voice, timid and uncertain.

  “Isla. I-” He struggled for breath to explain.

  “Don’t try to talk, just wait until you’ve caught your breath. It’s okay.” But her voice suggested otherwise, and who could blame her? He’d probably woken her up with his thrashing. Oh god, what if he’d accidentally hit her?

  “Did I hurt you?” Ethan forced the words out in an exhale.

  “No.”

  Thank god for that. Ethan concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing, in-out-in-out, working hard to slow it down when everything in him screamed at him to run, run far away or fight the danger. But the only danger here was himself.

  He swore and dropped his head into his hands. Then he felt Isla’s hand, like a cool cloth across the back of his neck. She stroked up, and down, slowly, wordlessly, and Ethan focused on the movement of her hand against his skin, pushing the lingering memories away.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Better, thank you.” Ethan’s words came out dry, hoarse. Oh god, had he been shouting?

  “You were talking,” Isla confirmed his fear. “In your sleep. At first, I thought you were talking to me, but then…” she trailed off and a ripple of tension passed through Ethan, like a warning.

  “What did I say?”

  “Her name.” Isla’s voice was a whisper, but the meaning behind her words was clear. Ethan braced himself for the impact. “Briony. You were calling for her.”

  Ethan’s heart stopped, and he felt it plummet through his chest to the floor. Outside the storm raged, but the silence in the room was deafening. Isla could scarcely be breathing. If he hadn’t known she was right there beside him, he would have had no clue.

  Ethan ran one hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “Did I say anything else?”

  Isla mumbled something incoherent.

  “What?”

  “You said that you killed her.”

  Ethan was off the bed, and pacing the room before his mind had even registered what he was doing. This was bad, no worse than bad, much worse. All the opportunities he’d had to tell her the truth, and now it was going to come out like this. He pushed the heel of his hand into his forehead.

  “Ethan?” Isla’s voice quaked, and Ethan hadn’t thought it was possible to hate himself even more, but in that moment, he did. He turned to face her, dropping his hands to his side. He had never felt so raw, so exposed. Standing naked, and covered in sweat, coursing with adrenaline, about to confess everything, and throw away his final chance at anything resembling happiness.

  “It’s true.”

  “But it was an accident.” He heard the conviction in her tone. It was the same when Connor said it too. The refusal to entertain any other possibility. If only he had that luxury.

  “Isla, I-”

  She gasped, and Ethan cut off, frowning. He hadn’t even told her anything yet. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Ethan, you’re bleeding.”

  *

  Blood streamed from Ethan’s nostrils, dripping down onto his bare chest, but Isla found herself frozen, kneeling on the bed, the sheets twisted in her hands.

  “Fuck.” Ethan brought his hands up to his face, and his sudden movement spurred Isla into action.

  She jumped up. “I’ll get you some tissue.”

  Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, and when he spoke his voice came out muffled and nasal. “A towel would be better.”

  “A towel, of course.” Isla hurried into the bathroom, then stopped dead in her tracks. A towel...of course. Understanding dawned, as she remembered the balled-up, bloodied towel she’d discovered in Ethan’s sink. He’d had a nosebleed. That explained it. And he was having another right now. Isla grabbed the white towel from the rail and rushed back into the bedroom.

  Ethan had pulled on a pair of black jeans, and he sat on the edge of the bed, his head dipped low. Blood ran over his fingers and dripped onto the floorboards between his bare feet.

  Isla handed him the towel, and he used it to wipe his hands, before pressing it back to his dripping nose. Soon the white cotton looked like something from a crime scene, and Isla was beginning to feel a little woozy. She hadn’t expected there to be so much blood.

  “Can I...can I do anything?” she asked, weakly.

  Ethan held the towel away from his face, and Isla blanched at the sight of his bloodied face. “You could get me some ice.”

  “Right, of course.”

  Isla had never been more grateful for electricity than she was when racing down the wide staircase, and along the narrow, twisting passageway to the kitchen. There was no freezer, but the refrigerator had a well-stocked icebox, and Isla clattered ice-cubes into a clean mug, snatched a towel from the side, and began hurrying back along the corridor. At the foot of the staircase, s
he paused, at the sound of a phone ringing. The shrill noise cut through the silence of the castle, reminding her how late it was.

  Who would be calling Ethan at this hour?

  The ringing cut off abruptly, and Isla placed her foot on the bottom step with a creak. The phone started up again.

  Whoever it was, they must be pretty desperate to speak to him.

  Isla’s eyes flickered up at the portraits, who seemed to be watching in wait. Isla huffed in frustration and darted to the study. The ringing cut off just as she made it through the study door, but she needn’t have worried, as it started back up again almost immediately. Isla flung the mug, and towel down on the desktop, and snatched up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  At first, Isla thought whoever it was must have hung up, but then she heard a gasping breath, and her blood chilled in her veins.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “Ethan?” The voice sounded familiar but strange.

  “No, it’s Isla. Who is this?”

  “It’s Connor.”

  Isla realised at once why she hadn’t recognised him sooner. He was crying.

  “Connor. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been an accident,” he said. “Ryder’s in hospital.”

  Isla’s grip tightened on the telephone receiver as Connor relayed the facts to her, before arranging to collect both her and Ethan, in an hour. When he hung up, Isla sat dazedly, still holding the receiver for a few minutes, until her eye caught on the mug of melting ice, and she remembered- Ethan!

  “Isla?”

  Isla startled and replaced the telephone receiver with a clatter. Ethan stood in the doorway of the study. She hadn’t turned on the light when she’d rushed in, and backlit by the light from the corridor, Ethan looked like some infernal creature, his bare chest streaked with blood, his pale hands coated in it, and his expression wild.

  Isla stood up, her heart hammering.

  “That was Connor on the phone,” she said, dazedly. “Ryder was in a car accident.”

  Forty One

  The smell of disinfectant hit him like a gut punch, and from there it only got worse. The endless corridors, with their slick floors, and reverberations as trolleys, wheelchairs, and stretchers rumbled by. Ryder could be on any one of them, and he wouldn’t know.