The passage darkened as the snow gave way to layers of rock and damp soil. A nauseating scent of blood and opium stuck to the back of Tiberius’ throat. The dim light of the doctor’s lamp couldn’t fight the blackness that cloaked around his body, wreathing around his arms and legs.
Tiberius stopped and placed his palms on his thighs. He bent over, feeling the whole weight of the earth crushing his bones. “I need a minute.” His voice came as a string of faltering wheezes.
Doc Tucker backtracked. He tapped Tiberius’ arm. “Take deep breaths. Like this: one, two, three. Come on, do it with me.”
Tiberius hardly heard him. His frantic heartbeat drummed inside his ears like a thunderstorm.
“You’re safe. I’m right here,” the doctor whispered. “Breathe. One, two, three. Very well. Now hold it. One, two, three. And exhale. Let’s do it again, together.”
“I’ll be fine, Doc. Let’s go.”
Doc Tucker kept his count of three as they advanced, marking the rhythm with loud inhalations and exhalations. Without even thinking, Tiberius’ breath started to follow the doctor’s. The crippling dread latching to his knees didn’t vanish but became more bearable. The tunnel seemed to widen and, after taking a sharp turn to the right, it finally ended.
Tiberius and Doc Tucker crossed a breach between broken wooden planks, trying not to rip their coats against their jagged edges. They found themselves in a big cellar, full of empty crates, barrels, and mismatched pieces of old furniture covered in dust.
Doc Tucker dragged a finger over the swirly edge of a moldy chaise lounge. “Fancy.”
“I’ve seen that chair before,” Tiberius said. “That’s where I kissed Sarah Anne for the very first time.”
“You mean…?”
Tiberius nodded. “We are below Whitlock’s Manor.”
They mounted the squeaky staircase in the corner. The door as its top was ajar. When the doctor pushed it open with his elbow, the screech of the hinges shattered the sepulchral silence around them. They both froze at the top of the stairs, ready to face the consequences of raising an alarm. Nothing happened.
Doc Tucker illuminated the way through a corridor with maroon walls. The rooms on each side all looked humble—a small bed, nightstand, and chest of drawers. The last one had a narrow window, but the snow piled outside its glass blocked any light coming through, like a shutter. The corridor ended in an open doorframe that led to the kitchen. Nothing but cobwebs covered the black stove, dirty counters, and empty cabinets. Two frosted windows welcomed slivers of murky light that heightened the bleakness of the abandoned room. They zigzagged between a group of chairs left in disarray. The doctor opened the exit door with the same care one would an antique bejeweled box.
The adjacent dining room shared the same gloom as the rest of the house. They circled the long table in its center. Tufted chairs crowned its top with their legs pointing up, like a row of upside-down insects. Heavy mustard-colored drapes covered the room’s only window. Mold stained the fabric in what, from the distance, could have passed for a gray floral pattern. The ornate fireplace that occupied most of the back wall was full of old ashes. The dusty bull skull that hung crookedly above it brought together the overall eeriness of the place.
Tiberius blew on his hands and rubbed them together as they left the dining room behind and ventured into the foyer. His breath left a misty trail. “Is it just me or is it colder in here?”
Doc Tucker swayed his lantern from the threshold. Its gleam added a hint of orange to the blue light spilling down the staircase to the second floor. Cracks cobwebbed the round skylight above the landing. The doctor walked to the center of the hall. His boots crackled on a pile of rotten wood, debris, and snow. He looked up. Sunlight bathed him like a spotlight on a stage. Snowflakes landed on his face. “Definitely not you.”
Tiberius followed his gaze to the spot where the roof had caved, right by the opulent chandelier that welcomed visitors into the house, a symbol of the former wealth of the Whitlocks, now withered, forgotten, meaningless without a person to light its many candles at night. The chandelier dangled dangerously close to the breach. Icicles sparkled under its swirly arms, jingling as it swayed in the uninvited draft. Ice crystals also frosted the balustrade, the upholstery of the twin chairs by the stairs, and the face of the mute grandfather clock in the corner.
Doc Tucker walked to the main entrance, a thick oak door framed in a garland of plaster. He followed the jamb with his lamp and stopped to observe the lock. “Ice. So thick this door might as well have been wielded shut.”
“Miss Gray found herself a home.”
“We need to get to Bennett before—”
Tiberius raised his hand to quiet him. He pointed to his ear. A muffled song floated in the air, a string of slow and tender hums, like a lullaby. A soft creak marked the rhythm of the sad tune. “It’s coming from the back of the house.” He followed the sound to a closed door to the right of the staircase and pressed his ear against the wood. “Here.”
Doc Tucker joined him. “Where does that lead?”
“The ballroom.”
“I didn’t know the Whitlocks had a ballroom.”
“That’s because we’ve never been invited to a ball. Sarah Anne told me about it once.” Saying her name out loud made his mouth dry. “She hated how sad all of her parents’ parties seemed, with almost no guests to indulge in their excesses.”
The doctor tapped his shoulder. “You miss her, don’t you?”
“She betrayed me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Tiberius placed both hands on the door. He lowered his head. “I can’t miss her. Just leave it at that, Doc. Please.” He jerked his head toward the oil lamp. “Kill the light. I don’t want Miss Gray or the golem to notice us.” He opened the door, just a sliver. The distant lullaby became clearer, floating through a dark corridor like a ghostly chant.
Or the sorrowful sound of a festering memory.
32
A pair of dusty, red drapes hung heavily from a wooden archway, tied to the sides with a gilded cord. On top of the archway, a pair of marble cherubs played the lute. Tiberius took cover behind the left jamb and signaled Doc Tucker to do likewise on the right. He peeked into the ballroom, doing his best to keep most of his face within the shadows.
Tall mirrors occupied the odd walls of the hexagonal room, large windows the even. Sheer, blue curtains, all of them closed, let some weak light through. It bounced off the mirrors and bathed the open space in a diluted, cerulean halo that did nothing to ease the overall gloom but made it worse. A black piano sat in the corner, half-hidden under a sheet. Miss Gray rocked on a chair in the opposite, humming her familiar, yet daunting lullaby in front of an open window. The piercing winter wind brought swirls of snow into the ballroom that piled on the floor, on her lap, on her silver, braided hair. The curtains waved around her, sometimes shrouding her completely, as if she were floating in the open sea.
Another chandelier, bigger and more extravagant in its ornaments and shape than the one overlooking the foyer, swung in the center of the high ceiling. Its shadow wobbled over Bennett Rowland. The kid looked straight at the entrance, but his gaze showed no life. He stood still as a soldier, head raised, shoulders back, arms down, and legs stiff, slightly open. A crust of ice encased him from the waist down, like sparkling armor. The ice golem moved around Bennett, layering more frost onto the boy’s body.
“Why stick to the heart when you can use the whole thing?” Tiberius muttered to himself.
“What do we do?” Doc Tucker mouthed.
“I’ll distract them. You get the boy.”
The doctor shook his head. “The golem will kill you.”
“Not if I stall Miss Gray long enough. We have to be careful, though. She’ll—”
A man jumped from the corridor’s shadows, darting past them and into the ballroom. He carried a rifle. He pointed to the golem and fired. The top of the creature’s shoulder exploded in hund
reds of ice chips, but it continued its work as if nothing had happened. “Get away from him!” Crusted blood dirtied Silas Rowland’s face. His broken lip started bleeding as he raised his voice. “Step away from my son or I’ll kill you!”
Miss Gray left her chair. “My children only answer to me.”
Silas targeted her. “Then you tell him.”
She turned. “No.” She snapped her fingers. The golem stopped its sculpting. It placed an icy hand over the kid’s neck. “Harm me and Bennett dies. I’d be sad to lose a new child, but if that’s what it takes.”
Silas cocked his gun. He was shivering. “I’m sorry for what happened to Wally. I mean, Wang Lei. Believe me, I am. But Bennett’s all I have left. He’s not to blame for my past. Take me and let him go. Please.”
Miss Gray sighed, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “You fail to understand. The child will live as part of my family or not at all.”
Silas stared at his son with tears flowing down his round cheeks. He lowered his gun. “He’s all I have left,” he repeated in sobs.
Tiberius signaled Doc Tucker to stay out of sight. He entered the room with his arms up in the air and walked to Silas Rowland. Miss Gray watched him in silence, welcoming him with one of her proud and venomous smiles.
“Give me the gun, Silas,” he commanded as he extended his hand forward. “Don’t make this worse.”
“I can’t leave without him, Sheriff. I’d rather die.”
“Do what I say.”
“Listen to your lawman, Mister Rowland,” Miss Gray said, basking in the man’s desperation.
Silas handed Tiberius his shotgun then covered his face with his hands and cried. “Save him, please.”
“I will.” The sheriff leaned in, pretending to pat the man’s shoulder. “Trust me.” He detached the handcuffs hanging from his belt and threw them to his feet, leaned the shotgun on his shoulder, and pointed directly to his chest. “Put these on.”
Silas stared at him, lips quivering, cheeks wet with tears. “W-What?”
Tiberius cocked the gun. “I won’t say it twice.”
The man obeyed, shivering under his sharp gaze.
“May I ask what this new charade is about, Sheriff?” Miss Gray sneered.
“I’m arresting this man for murder.”
“I see. You’re aware that changes nothing.”
“Let me finish. I’m arresting Silas Rowland for the murders of Henry Albers, Owen O’Leary, and Reverend Elmer Conn.”
Silas stiffened and gasped as if he’d thrown a drink to his face. “Have you gone mad? I didn’t touch any of those men!”
Tiberius slapped him. “Shut up.” He turned his face to Miss Gray. “Here’s the deal. I will accuse him of the crimes so you can go free. He’ll go to the gallows, and that’ll be that. No one would ever know. Your vengeance would be complete. And no one would ever come after you.”
She tapped the floor with her cane. “Interesting. I confess I’d rather not live the rest of my days looking behind my shoulder.”
“On one condition.”
“You want me to let Bennett go.”
“I do.”
“Never. That’s enough of your games, Sheriff Tibbetts.” She waved her wrist to the golem. “Kill them both.”
The creature marched toward Tiberius with its staccato strides, arms to the side, and featureless face always up.
“You’re not that different, you know. Silas and you,” Tiberius said, backing away.
She laughed. “If you mean we both have to atone for our sins, I agree.”
“No. You both lost a son.”
“Only I did. His will just thrive in another family. He should thank me for my generosity.”
“No, not Bennett. Julian, his oldest. Kid died in the accident at the silver mine.”
Silas flinched and looked away. Miss Gray’s expression turned somber. The golem shook and stopped.
“You never knew that, did you?” Tiberius continued. “Silas Rowland has already gone through the suffering you wished for him. Your pain is the same.”
Miss Gray shut her eyes and covered her ears. “No. My pain is my own. They took my only son away and left me with nothing. Nothing.” She pointed at them with her cane. “Kill them, I said.”
The ice golem resumed his march. He lost no speed, but his sense of direction seemed impaired, his movements, sudden and uncontrolled. Tiberius shielded Silas Rowland. “You’ll have to make a run for it. Doc Tucker is in the corridor. He’ll take you to safety. Go.”
“No.”
“Don’t be a fool. You’ll die here. You have to trust me.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. I can’t.” Silas headbutted him on his lower back. He dashed past him toward Bennett, circling the golem to get to the child. The golem didn’t give chase. It snapped a sharp finger off its hand, turned its trunk, and threw it to the running man. Silas fell onto the ice cocoon covering his son’s legs, pressing his hand against the side of his bleeding neck. The golem’s finger stuck to his flesh like the blade of a dirk. Silas gurgled and spat blood. His palm left a red trail on the ice as he fell to the ground by the feet of his frozen son.
“Feel any better now that they’re all dead?” Tiberius asked.
Miss Gray raised her palm. The golem twisted back to its original position but didn’t resume its deadly walk toward him.
“How I feel is irrelevant, Sheriff.”
He scoffed. “Of course. Now I see it. After all this time, you’ve become one of your statues. Just as dead and cold.”
She tightened her lips and curved them down. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying. I bleed and hurt just like anybody else.”
Tiberius crossed his arms and locked his eyes on hers. “You don’t own pain, Miss. Gray. We all carry our own ghosts. Believe me, I know.”
She tapped the gilded handle of her cane. “You don’t have any children, do you?”
“I do not.”
“That’s why you don’t understand. How could you? Still, you have an honest heart. I’ll make sure it never rots. Embrace your new brother, my child.”
The ice golem came back to life. Tiberius backtracked into a corner of the ballroom, past the old piano under the dusty white sheet. “You’re right. I cannot understand.” He turned his head to the dark archway. “I need you, Doc.”
Doc Tucker entered the room with confidence. If he were afraid, nothing in his countenance or the way he moved betrayed his internal turmoil. He stared at Miss Gray not with fear or scorn, but with the deepest, rawest sadness. “I had one son, just the one. Jonathan. He also died because of that cursed silver mine, like Julian Rowland and most of our young. Souls Well died with them.” He looked into Tiberius’ eyes. “Even if some fight to keep it alive. You’re right about one thing, Miss Gray. Pain is no one else’s but our own. But mine is similar enough that I can talk freely. For the first time. If you care to listen.”
She nodded. “Go on, Doctor.” She said nothing else, nor made any gesture to her golem, yet the creature froze in place and turned its head to Doc Tucker.
“I always fought Jonathan about being a miner. But the silver mine was a good way to make money, and he was an ambitious young man. He had big plans about leaving Souls Well. Traveling the world and such. The mine belonged to the owner of this very manor, Obadiah Whitlock. A greedy fiend if there ever was one. Was he responsible for my son’s death? It’d be unfair to say he was. But it would also be untrue to say he wasn’t. Everybody knew that old mine had become a tragedy waiting to happen, yet he kept sending his men to dig deeper. Until it collapsed.”
The doctor walked to the closest window and peeked out. “After burying my son under that damned hill, I came to this house almost every night. I watched Whitlock from the shadows, living his days with his family as if nothing had ever happened. And my guts boiled. I never knew hatred until that moment.”
He turned back to the room with a bitter smile. “I always carried a gun in my hand. E
very single night. Sometimes I came as close as pressing the barrel to the window glass. I could have pulled the trigger and watched him die inside his own house. But I never was drunk or desperate enough to do it. Even if some nights, I wanted nothing more.”
“Maybe you should have,” Miss Gray stated. She kept her confident, regal pose, but her voice had weakened.
“Maybe. But with time I understood that wouldn’t erase my guilt.”
“Guilt?”
He nodded. “The guilt that I might’ve said too much to my son. Or maybe not enough. Or maybe the wrong things. The guilt of not making a better effort in knowing the man he had become. Of not being the father he deserved. Of being unable to protect him. The guilt. It’s always the guilt that kills us from the inside out, isn’t it, Miss Gray? No matter what we do. It’ll never go away. It’ll devour who we were. And if we’re lucky, leave the remnants of a person we don’t fully hate.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice faltered.
Doc Tucker shrugged. “Maybe I am. Thank you for listening anyway.” He stood next to Tiberius. “Are you ready, Tiberius?”
Tiberius smiled. “I am.”
Miss Gray traced a wide circle in the air with her cane. “Bring their hearts to me, my child.”
The golem did not respond to her command.
“Bring me their hearts, I say.”
Still, no answer.
“What the heck’s happening?” Doc Tucker whispered.
“I don’t know.” Tiberius pointed to the creature. “But it’s moving again.”
The ice golem jerked. It turned away from them and started walking toward its mistress.
“What are you doing? Obey. Obey!” Miss Gray shrieked.
Soon the golem was upon her. It cocked its head to the side. And waited.
Miss Gray cried, her sobs so harrowing they made her shake. She lost her grip on her cane and followed it down to the floor. She lay there with her silver braid cascading over her shoulder and her frock spread around her like a blooming flower. “Don’t you understand? I need their hearts. I need my children. I just wanted my family back. I just—”
Ice and Blood Page 17