Firethorne

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Maya

I walked through the door of the cabin to find my father sitting in the living room in his work clothes, a proud but tired smile on his face.

He turned his head as I shut the door and headed into the living area.

“How did it go today?” he asked, reaching down to take his boots off and then sitting back into the armchair and letting out a weary breath, wriggling his toes in his well-worn socks as he lazed there.

“It was good,” I told him. “Mrs Richardson... Cora... she was lovely.” Then I decided to address the elephant that wasn’t quite in the room, more like stomping around in my head. “I saw you today.”

“Did you? Was I weeding, or pruning bushes? Or let me guess, knee deep in filth, trying to clean the dirty duck pond?”

“Neither. You were in your suit. I saw you come in through the front door of the main house.”

He swallowed. Maybe it was a nervous swallow, but he kept his smile in place and replied lightly, “I had a meeting with Mr Firethorne to discuss the terms of the contract.” Then, seeing my frown, he added, “It’s nothing to worry about. Just routine stuff. It’s all fine. Don’t look so worried.”

“I’m not worried,” I replied. “Just make sure you keep me in the loop if it’s anything I need to know.”

“It’s my job to take care of everything,” he stated. “You don’t need to worry yourself about anything.”

I was too tired to venture into the minefield that statement evoked, so I gave a weak hum in response and headed for the fridge. I took out a can of Coke, and after taking a long swig, I told him, “I’m heading into the shower. It’s been a long day.”

I walked to my room, closed the door behind me, and then took out the sketch Lysander had drawn and held it in my hands, studying it. Carefully, I reached over and pulled a pin that was already stuck in the wall out, and putting the sketch on the wall, I pinned it above my bed. Then I opened the drawer of my small bedside table and took the necklace out of my pocket, placed it in the drawer, and then shut it. I wanted to admire the sketch. The pendant felt wrong. I preferred to keep it hidden.

I took a breath, struggling to comprehend the events of the day. Then I pushed myself off the bed, grabbed a towel from my drawers, and headed to the bathroom.

As I stood under the steaming hot shower, I took a moment to think about everything that had happened. I thought about Lysander and his sweet, beguiling ways. His bright smile, his air of sunshine, and the dark figure he painted into every single one of his pieces that he hid in his studio. I thought about Miriam and her hand of friendship, that on the surface seemed to be considerate, like she was an ally. And yet, I feared it carried with it a lethal sting in the tail.

And then there was Damien.

Darkly, brooding Damien. With his glacial stares, sharp tongue, and hands that protected me at a time when I least expected it.

What was this place?

And who were these people?

As I stepped out of the shower into the misty bathroom, grabbing my towel from the rack where I’d left it by the door, I caught sight of the mirror above the sink and my heart leapt from my chest as my pulse hammered. Sirens blared in my ears as I tried to hold onto my sanity—sanity that was rapidly draining away.

On the glass, written for me to find when the room was steamy, like it was right now after my shower, were the words, ‘He’s the devil’.

I stood staring at the words, panting out my breaths as condensation trickled down the glass, not quite believing what I was seeing. My stomach was tied in knots, my throat dry, and all I could think was, who the fuck has been in our home?

And who was the devil?

I wanted to dart from the bathroom, get my father, and leave this cabin. Get as far away from this place as I could. Anger surged through me as I wiped my hand over the words to erase them, my body trembling as I tried to block out every message that’d been left for me. Messages that were replaying in my head like a twisted mantra.

Trust no one.

They’re all liars here.

He’s the devil.

He’s the devil.

He’s the devil.

Panic raced through me as I flung the door open, and standing on the other side, looking at me with grave concern, stood my father.

“What on earth has happened? Are you okay, Maya? I thought I heard you scream.”

“We need to get out of here,” I snapped, clinging to the towel wrapped around me as I pushed past him, focused on getting to my room to repack the suitcase I’d unpacked the night before.

“What are you talking about?” my father asked, following me the short distance to my room. “Why do we have to leave?”

I spun around to face him, wet strands of hair whipping in my face as I glared with urgency to let him know I wasn’t kidding this time. “Someone has been in here, while we were working. Someone broke in.” I wanted to say they’d threatened us, but I didn’t. Instead, I barked, “We. Need. To leave. Now.”

My father stood his ground in my doorway, folding his arms over his chest as a deep crease lined his brow. “What do you mean, broke in?” He looked confused, and added, “Cora came here earlier to leave some food for us for supper. I gave Beresford my key earlier so he could drop off some extra work uniforms for me.” Then as his nostrils flared and he met my angry glare with one of his own, he said, “I’m not going anywhere, Maya. These people have been good to me. This might be my only chance to rebuild a life for myself.”

It wasn’t lost on me that he said I and me instead of we .

“These people...” I tried to regulate my breathing as I spoke. “This house...” I gritted my teeth. “All of it.” One last breath, and then I lifted my chin. “It doesn’t feel right. We don’t belong here. I don’t belong here.”

My father’s lip curled up, almost like he was snarling, and he replied in a bitter tone, “You don’t belong... with your father? ” He shook his head in disgust. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I don’t think we’re safe here,” I replied, my shoulders sagging as I tried to get through to him. “These people... they aren’t what we think they are.”

His snarl was more pronounced now, and his brows almost touched as he sneered back at me. “What? Polite, helpful, considerate, kind... I could go on listing more adjectives, but I don’t think I need to. You think that’s something we can turn away from? Us? In our position? I have nothing, Maya. And that means, neither do you. This is my lifeline. Our lifeline.”

He didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He didn’t know what he was dealing with.

“Someone’s been leaving me messages,” I blurted out, expecting his expression to change. For empathy to seep in where revulsion currently radiated from him, but it didn’t.

“What messages?” he replied.

“On the train here, and this morning, on the porch.” I gestured to the bathroom. “And just now, in there.”

I don’t know what I’d expected, but I honestly thought he’d believe me.

What I didn’t expect was for him to widen his eyes, almost like he was mocking me.

“This is crazy talk,” he said. “It’s probably just kids messing about. The messages might not even be for you.”

He didn’t bother to ask me what the messages said, and from the way he was reacting, I didn’t want to tell him.

“If you want to go, I can’t stop you,” he added. “But if you leave, you’ll be leaving me with a broken heart. Don’t you think there’s been enough heart break in our lives recently?”

Guilt, like a ten-tonne weight, fell heavy onto my shoulders.

Duty that had been instilled in me from birth, like an invisible thread, wound its way around my heart.

The thirst to please and the hunger for pride thrummed through me, despite the blaring warning signals firing in my brain.

“I won’t be targeted. I won’t let anyone scare me,” I stated firmly. “But... But I... I don’t want to leave you here.”

“Then stay.” My father stepped closer to me, and with his hand, he cupped my face. “I promise, no one here wants to scare you. I think it’s all just a misunderstanding.”

I nodded, my eyes dropping to the floor, but I didn’t believe him.

There was someone targeting us. The messages were meant for me. Someone had broken into our fucking home and scrawled one on the fucking bathroom mirror, for Christ’s sake. This was serious shit, and when I found out who was sending these messages, they’d live to regret ever crossing my path.