The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

21. Lacerated Thread

Lacerated Thread

Friday, Present

O liver and I lean into the page Tyler is pushing towards us. I feel dizzy from the strain of squinting to read the words in the darkened light of the club. Try as I might, I cannot figure out which poem I’ve landed on. But I don’t need to. There, in bright liquid blue cursive, is Paxton’s writing. It stands out glaringly from the black and white of the rest of the text and further still from Oliver’s elaborate hand. It’s messy, as if jotted, and I’m not sure many could interpret it into actual words. But we can.

You knew your angels loved you but you also knew they would leave someone they could not save.

First, you must bleed before you can be healed. You must drop before you can land. And you must know the right question to ask before you can get an answer. For that, I’m sorry. To all of you. This will be the last time you find answers at the bottom of a bottle, Oliver. Enjoy.

I read it three times before looking over at Oliver’s glowering face. Storm clouds gather around him, and a panic rushes through me that I might lose him to the darkness altogether. Before that can happen, instinct has me reaching out to grab his hand, forcing him to acknowledge me. To take me with him. His eyes shift to mine, never losing the brim of distaste.

“Oliver, did Paxton… Did he really write a Philip Schultz poem in my first edition, Neruda? Isn’t that… illegal to mar a poet’s work with another poet's words? Does he know no mercy?” I gasp.

I’m horrified by the complete lack of propriety, but that isn’t the full truth of why I say it. I want to shift his eyes away from distrust, back to wonder, and I expect my outrage to, at the very least, elicit a smirk. Something that shows the camaraderie and agreement that even in death, Paxton has finally gone too far this time. Yet Oliver’s mood does not change, his face as stagnant in disgust as ever. Apparently, Paxton went too far, just not in the way I’ve assumed.

“What’s wrong? What does it mean?” I ask, desperate to know what I’m missing.

His jaw clenches, nose furling like he’s smelled something rotten. I take a tiny sniff to make sure it’s the mood that’s setting off his senses and not something more tangible in the air. The sweat of dancing bodies and boozy rich alcohol fill my lungs, rooting me back to this place, but it’s nothing unexpected or extraordinarily foul. And yet, Oliver continues to stare and brood. It’s only Rose’s voice that snaps us both out of our frozen bubble.

“Tyler… do you know what this means?” She asks. He swings his arm back around her, kissing her cheek, before turning to us.

“Well, I might’ve been drunk that night, but the one thing I do remember is where we threw them all back. My guess is Paxton planted the next clue there,” he says.

Oliver’s glower deepens. Resigned, he sighs and nods towards an upper floor, turning to lead the way. I look between Tyler’s joyful face at being regarded, Rose’s pride for him, and Oliver’s hunched shoulders drawing a defining line down his back, feeling as if this is another trap. Just like the one Paxton had set with my father. I tug on Oliver’s hand, still encased in mine, begging him to stop and look at me. Surprisingly, he does, with no more incentive than the pull of the string tied between us.

I hurry, worried he’ll break this tentative bond, and sink my face towards his shoulder, whispering to him as I do, “We don’t have to do this. Whatever is waiting for you up there… if it’s anything like what was waiting for me… We don’t have to. Or if you want to go alone, I understand.”

My eyes plead with him to believe me. We may be broken, but this? This isn’t what I want. It’s one thing for us to tear each other apart. It’s something entirely different to watch someone else do it.

A vile spider of darkness crawls up my throat at the thought. My father was a wound I didn’t want healed, and it shreds me that I was forced to face it, but at least he was blood. Family, if only the bare ends of what that can be considered. Still, I could understand that. Forgive that. However, Paxton’s game or not, I won’t play something that allows an outsider the upper hand on Oliver’s heart. Not to mention Rose and Tyler bearing witness to his turmoil.

Oliver’s lip twitches and his angry mask slips just enough to see the hurt beneath. I can only imagine how much he doesn’t want to do this. That he selfishly wants to take me up on my offer to leave him be and let him face whatever’s to come, alone. But to my surprise, he doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he squeezes it tighter, as if it is a lifeline tethering him to the future, as his past tries to swallow him whole.

“No. We do this together and we do this now. For Paxton,” he says, resigned.

He leans down and presses the barest kiss on my palm before gently tugging on my hand, urging me to follow. I turn, remembering Tyler, cheeks dusting pink, knowing he witnessed Oliver's and mine’s intimate moment. I wish I hadn’t. Tyler’s eyes are downcast. He’s still sporting a smirk that creases the dimple in his cheek into view, but it’s smaller, sadder than it was before. Even with Rose on his arm, I know old embers can still burn and it’s the last thing I want either of them to see.

A wave of déjà vu slams into me so hard I can barely breathe. It’s the same look he gave when you smashed his heart into pieces at graduation as Oliver pulled you away from him for the last time. Or what I had assumed would be the last time. Hurting him was supposed to remain a memory. Not for the first time do I hate the webs I’m tangled up in. If only I could be satisfied with not knowing. If only I could accept things and move on.

Rose must see all the things I do, or at least the shadows of them, as she wraps Tyler closer to her body and kisses him deeply. When they pull apart, a small smile forms back on his lips and he nods forward, signaling me to follow Oliver. I want to reach out and grab Tyler, terrified he’ll disappear the moment he leaves my focus, but I know it’s a promise I can do nothing more with than break. He doesn’t need you now. He has Rose. And I’m grateful. So, I tell myself it’s unwelcome, that he’d reject the inclusion anyway, even when I know deep down the way his hope would bloom in my hand. Karma, should she exist, is branding my name into her memory for later.

Just another notch on my tombstone.

We find the stairs tucked back behind a leathery black couch set, visible only to those who already know where to find them. A secret within a secret. Just like Paxton. Just like a Poe. My aching black heels stumble and click, unfamiliar with the curves of each step or the distances between them. I use my free hand to glide up the handrail for support. Unsurprisingly, Oliver doesn’t seem to need the balance. He rises up them, floating, as if haunting the place.

When we reach the landing, small, soft yellow and red glows of lights give hope of finding footing, only for me to realize they’re scattered down at least a dozen hallways. A sign shines above, laying claim to the space, The Labyrinth. Its brightness reflects down below onto a black-light chalk board, bolded with cursive words reading, Rules: Must Read . Unease swims in my stomach while curiosity pumps through my blood. I step forward, ahead of Oliver, to read.

All who follow will be lost. Enter at your own risk.

I don’t get to read farther as Oliver grabs my arm and hauls me down a hallway.

“Hey! Oliver, wait. I was reading that. Shouldn’t we—” I protest.

“No. I just want to get this over with. Besides, those are all nonsense, anyway. Trust me, Darkness, I am more than capable of being our guide. A regular Ariadne. ”

His comparison feels foreboding, the words thick tipped and weighted, but he leaves them at the entrance, forcing us all forward. My feet still stagger, needing more of an explanation from him, until I feel Tyler’s warm palm at the small of my back, pushing me forward.

“It’s ok, Eve. We’ve got you,” Rose says loud enough for Oliver to hear.

Oliver’s shoulders stiffen, though his stride doesn’t falter. I’m overwhelmed by the understanding this woman is showing not only Tyler, but me, too. It makes me wonder what all she knows, what Tyler could have said to make this woman give me so much grace. Grace that I wasn’t capable of even giving myself.

I lose myself in the thoughts and give in to the blindness of being led into the unknown, not feeling satiated, but still safe enough to follow. Ruby red and piss yellow lights float by, plastered above doors and outside of tiny nooks.

We stop and turn to one such door, but the light above is purple and the door itself black beneath it. A crooked letter ‘P’ hangs in the middle. Oliver pulls out a small, ornate key, brass and laced with curves. The one he must have taken from Paxton’s dream journal I had found too late. He shoves it into the door, and it pops open, revealing a den of velvet.

Inside, the lights are turned up to at least a jazz club level, enough to see each piece adorning the space but not enough to pick out the stains from whatever revelry has happened here. The walls, chairs, and couches are all purple and black crushed velvet. There’s a tiny stage that connects to a small round bar alongside a flimsy poker table.

I can just imagine the boys here a decade ago, lounging around as kings. This room purchased indefinitely for the Poes to enjoy at their leisure, and the boys taking full advantage of their status. Ally draped along Oliver’s lap in a drunken haze. Paxton boisterous behind the bar, pouring drinks while Tyler tries to talk some poor soul into playing a round of cards for money they’d undoubtedly lose. Pain punches me in the gut and regret boils up.

These memories could have been mine. If only I hadn’t let Oliver dig into my skin. If I had not let insecurity burrow over and take away my ability to be included. Instead, I’d left and cried until Oliver had called drunk, coaxing me outside to spend the early morning hours underneath the slide, in the cold and dirt, apologizing. If I would’ve stayed, that night might’ve been so much more. And yet, I know, it wouldn’t have mattered in the end. Only another moment to torture myself with .

Tyler releases Rose at the door and spins around the room, a smile lighting his face.

“This brings it all back. Man, they haven’t changed a thing . I can almost feel 16 again,” he says.

Oliver stills, eyes closed, as his chest heaves at the thought. I can’t help but wonder if he feels it, too. If he wants to. If you could go back, Oliver Poe, and change everything, would you? I want to ask the words hot in my mouth, but I know he wouldn’t answer. Not with Tyler and Rose listening in and the hurt of whatever Paxton has left for him here. Still, I try to read his body, try to gleam the answer, anyway. No. I don’t think you would. It tears at me, but I know it’s the truth.

Released from whatever memory was trapping his lids, Oliver finally opens them and steps into the bar, searching. He picks up a dozen bottles, sipping at only a few. He pushes the rest aside after looking into their contents and deciding against them until he hefts up an inky, ornate one. It clanks against the bar top as he sets it down to unscrew its lid. He peers in and huffs, turning it over to spill the contents out.

Liquid streams across the bar and down onto the carpet in dark puddles. The spicy scent of alcohol and barley makes my nose itch with its warmth. Tyler and I look at Oliver as if he’s gone mad, watching as he shakes it uncontrollably.

“I think you’ve got it—” I try to say, but Oliver isn’t listening.

He grows tired of shaking the bottle and instead smashes it onto the counter. Tyler and I sit stunned as glass pieces shatter around him. Rose moves forward, into the room, gasping, ready to help anyone who may have been cut. Tyler darts his eyes to her, putting his hands up to still her momentum.

“Hey, man! What are you doing?” Tyler yells, shocked and tinged with anger.

But then we see it, the tiny waterproof baggie sitting on the counter, glittering in amber bottle shards. Oliver pays little attention to the glass and grabs it, removing its contents in one movement. A small USB dongle is being held up, pinched between his fingers. He sighs, then moves to the large screen TV on the wall behind me.

My brain is entrenched with nonsensical actions. Nothing since coming here has made sense. Has felt normal. And yet, in its complete lack of propriety and uncommon twists has it settled in my heart as right. I never feel more alive than when I’m chasing down mysteries with Oliver, and that alone terrifies me. Has me asking, if after all this, I’ll ever be whole again.

“Figures he’d hide it in the Hennesy,” Oliver mumbles as he passes Tyler.

Tyler just laughs manically. “You are crazy! You know, you just dumped out hundreds of dollars of expensive liquor and did a bunch of damage. Not to mention your hand. Looks like you got cut! Management here is going to be pissed.”

Rose tsks.

“Here, let me help…” she says, trying again to come to the rescue, but Oliver just shrugs.

Why would he care about the cost of breaking things and a few drops of blood? When you have a legacy that’s praised for your oddity. For your destruction. One to hold you above mere mortals. There is nothing you cannot do. Nothing you cannot destroy. That is the real gift Edgar left his family.

Rose folds her arms across her chest, unhappy with being helpless as we all watch as Oliver hesitates to plug in his prize to the port. I worry that he’ll take me up on my earlier offer and ask us to leave. Ask me to leave. I wish I never would’ve offered because I’m not sure I could walk away. Not now, after I’ve seen the way he worries it in his palms.

Thankfully, he doesn’t. He finds the courage to let it click into place and the flatscreen comes to life. The boy’s drunken faces, flushed and glistening with the night, lights the screen. Their arms are wrapped around each other’s shoulders, bodies hunched, while standing in this room. A white play button holds them in place, waiting to let the memory take us back.

“Oh! Look at that! I swore we had photos and videos of homecoming night, but I could never find them. And when I asked Paxton, well, he never gave me a straight answer. I guess now I know why…” Tyler says.

Oliver just stares at the photo, all color draining from his face. He turns to me, holding my eyes in dread.

“Eve… This… It’s your last chance to leave. I don’t know if you’ll want to see what’s on here, but I’ll leave the choice to you,” he stutters.

It’s so unlike him to want to hide from me like this. My curiosity stutters with him, and the better parts of me ask if I want to know. If I can take being pulled any further down these memories. Like the pieces of the bottle Oliver broke, I know I’ll be shattered, too. But just like a rollercoaster, I am here, locked in tight, and along for the ride. Whether I think it’s a good idea or not, I’m in too deep to be saved now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, the determined words hammering my feet into the wood below.

Rose hesitantly steps up to me, then grabs my hand and holds tight. I doubt she knows what’s coming either, but the warmth of this stranger’s hand in mine, with no expectations or wanted outcomes, gives me strength.

It’s ok little heart, you can make it through this too, my courage tells my fear. My mind snaps to memories all my own, to words whispered lovingly in dark corners, then ripped away in shouts. The last-ditch effort my soul can make, begging me not to do this. But my stance has been locked, my proverbial envelope sealed. And my hand locked tight against the need to run.

Tyler must not remember what could be so bad to warrant the energy Oliver and I are putting off. He’s looking between us and the screen, probably chalking it all up to the two of us being dramatic. But he doesn’t pull Rose away, and she doesn’t leave, so we must be giving enough off for them to know it’s serious enough. Oliver, for all his hesitation, sighs and presses play. Laughter fills the speakers, but none of us smiles.

Tyler’s drunken face, swollen and red in the lens, slurs into the camera, we’re here at the famous Crave! And it’s Homecoming night, wooooo! Say hello Paxton. Wait, you have to meet Pax. Pax! He twists the camera to pan over to Paxton behind the bar, pouring drinks. He’s smiling, golden even in the sickly back lighting of this dark room. Tyler’s voice squeaks back in, tell the people who you are and what you’re doing, man.

Paxton, ever the participant in whatever party game is being played, easily does as he’s asked, and I almost cry as his voice comes over the speaker. Well, my friend, I’m Paxton Poe of the illustrious Poe dynasty. And right now, I’m pouring all of your sorry asses a drink because it doesn’t appear that anyone is sober enough to do the job right except me. I am far too sober to be doing this. He continues to pour into three glasses, mixing things I would guess by the murky color of the liquid, shouldn’t be mixed. We watch as Tyler’s hand greedily grabs for one.

My heart is squeezing so hard, I fear all the love is being wrung dry. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and for the first time since arriving here, the grief of Paxton’s death comes over me. Hearing his voice and seeing his face, even younger and drunk as it is, only reminds me I’ll never have it under my fingertips again. I’ll never feel the warmth of his hugs or the crushing tightness of his arms. He’s really, truly gone.

Hey, where’s Oliver? Ollliiiivvveeerrrrr! Sixteen-year-old Tyler’s voice calls through the room. Paxton’s smile dims as his eyes search for his brother. I know the moment he spots him by the flare of his nostrils and the furrow of his brow. Young Tyler doesn’t notice as the camera bounces in his hands, looking. I’ll find him. Hand it over, Sullivan.

We watch as Paxton’s hand covers the lens, then we’re moving with him, into a dark corner where two people sit, limbs tangled together on the couch. I take a quick peek over at Oliver. He’s not watching the video. Instead, all his attention is focused on me. My skin pills and my hair stand on end. Anxiety grips the pit of my stomach, my body knowing what’s coming well before I do. I grip Rose’s hand even tighter.

Paxton zooms the camera in enough for us to see Oliver brushing his thumb across Ally’s cheek. She giggles, leaning ever closer to him. Oliver pushes the lip of a glass between them, taking the liquid into his mouth and swallowing. Ally grabs onto it, her teeth clanking against the rim. Oliver frowns, pulling it away before she can take a drink.

Tssssk. Tsssk. That’s my drink, Al. You’ll have to get one of your own, he slurs still oblivious to Paxton or the camera that is pointed at them. C’mon Oli. I just want a taste. Ally desperately grabs on to him, pressing herself into his space. He dashes empty, drink-soaked kisses onto her face, never quite meeting her eager lips.

How about you give her that one brother and we’ll get you a new one after we have a word, Paxton cuts in, his voice sounding cold stone sober, no longer playful as before. Oliver must hear the warning in his voice as he concedes the drink to Ally, then lightly pushes her legs from his lap. But Ally must be too drunk to understand. Or she is too drunk to care. Because she gets up from her seat to follow, unwilling to let the younger Poe out of her sight now that she’s finally got his attention.

Oliver turns back, irritation bending his features, and stares at her. She shrinks back, the glare of him enough to still her intoxicated movements. Paxton steps gently in, out of character for his usually fierce demeanor, to smooth over her stricken fears of being left behind. I only need to borrow him for a bit. It’s a brother thing. He tilts just the edge of his lips to her, and she settles, head nodding at his first word. Alright. I’ll be here when you’re done, Ol.

The camera shakes and pans as Paxton grabs the collar of Oliver, moving him outside of the room. I can make out the fuzzy corners of the labyrinth just beyond the crescent of Paxton’s finger in the lens. It’s jarring, the similarities I feel standing in the place I’m watching on the screen. An odd sense of déjà vu hits me for a memory that has never been mine before tonight. I look over at Tyler, wondering if he feels the same. He may have been here before, but by his accounts, he doesn’t remember much. Does this bring it all back , I wonder.

Are you going to put that down or is this some sort of home video to show the kids one day? On screen, Oliver asks as he barks out a laugh and shakes Paxton free. The snide defeat in his comment shoots quick slips of pain to my chest that I bat away to focus. Right, Paxton responds. The camera twists and flips through moody lights before landing in complete darkness. The crinkle of a pocket can be heard, but it doesn’t cover the voices, still clear as before.

Alright, Pax. You got me out here, now what is it you want, Oliver asks. The slur is still evident, but I can tell he’s trying to be more sober, more on-guard, for whatever it is his brother is trying to throw his way.

What are you doing, Ol? I know you’re mad at me, but that’ll pass. You smiled, really smiled, for the first time in too long at the dance, and then we got to the house party, and you were swallowed back up into your shell. What you’re doing right now, though, that might haunt you.

The house party I know. I remember. I can feel the fluster of it on my cheeks all these years later. Oliver’s hand on my back as he guided me up the house steps, Tyler in front of me, Ally behind him. We were sandwiched between our real lives and expectations, but we had each other. At least, it had felt that way. That was until Tyler surprised me with a kiss in the kitchen and a shy request to be his girlfriend, as I waited for Oliver, who had asked to talk to me.

After that, Oliver was inconsolable. A volcano of pain ready to erupt. We fought, the worst one ever at that point. And I went home early. Crying and waiting in the hollow of the tree in the backyard because I couldn’t imagine going inside until curfew without the boys and explaining why I was alone.

But none of that had to do with Paxton, and that he thought it did, even so many years ago, breaks my heart a little more. Paxton was always taking the burden of our suffering on his shoulders, even when his load was more than enough to carry .

Mad. How could I be mad ? He gloats sarcastically. We hear a distinct thump and rustle, as if Paxton has been pushed. You were just reminding me who I am. Who we are. You don’t deserve the blame for that, past Oliver sighs theatrically. Another thump. Then a wrestling noise crackles through.

Are they fighting? Confusion pulls my eyes away from my feet and up to Oliver’s eyes, that are still stuck on me from across the room. He’s waiting like a bomb that is about to go off, all nerves and unbridled energy. He knows what’s coming and I latch onto the support his pain is giving me so I can stay grounded in the present instead of drowning in our past.

I’m sorry, Paxton says, voice strangled and winded, I don’t want to be the one to remind you. But we made promises. To ourselves. To each other.

Past Oliver huffs on a laugh that makes the hair on my arms prickle. He’s closer to wherever the camera is pocketed, his pants loud. Paxton ignores him, and I strain to hear him continuing.

And those can’t be broken. Not even for Eve. You can’t openly love her, Oliver. Oliver’s breathing gets further away as Paxton’s voice booms. We won’t settle. Won’t marry. There is no family for us. This burden has broken us… everyone before us. And we agreed. It stops here. She deserves more than that… more than the Poe name, and I know that deep down, you don’t want to curse her with it like it’s cursed us. But what you’re doing with Ally and the drinking … Paxton doesn’t get to finish before past Oliver is cutting in with fire and the Oliver five feet from me flinches, causing my heart to triple its speed in my chest.

There’s no need to worry, brother. Ally knows what this is. What it’ll always be. She doesn’t care. It isn’t really me she wants, anyway. It’s the allure of our reputation . There will be a thousand Ally’s in a thousand cities, so I might as well start now. We hear the shuffle of clothing, as if a shoulder has aggressively brushed by, before young Oliver’s voice comes back in, louder now. And as for Eve, she and I are nothing . Like I told you at the party, kissing her was a mistake. She will never be a Poe. Not in name. She will break before I’d allow it. I can keep that promise at least.

For the first time since the video started, Oliver isn’t looking at me. I bore my eyes into the side of his down-turned face and still he refuses to lift it. The room spins and I feel Rose trying to wrap her arms around mine. Tyler leaning in close to pull us both into his embrace. Because he knows what this will do to me. He knows.

The video must still be playing by the mumble of fuck I hear from a young Paxton, but can’t focus on. All the attention feels sucked into my body, making me the center of the universe. The only living thing in this room. In the world.

His drunken words that early morning, of how sorry he was for everything, of his insistence that I follow my crush on Tyler. How all he would do was ruin it, and he couldn’t do that to me, comes roaring back. It clicks into place, and I feel hollowed out. He’d tried to tell me, warn me, that I didn’t belong with him, and I was stupid. Na?ve.

A drip hits my chest from my chin. I wipe at the silent tears I didn’t even know to hold back, wanting the room to animate again. To live outside the feelings and memories and pain that are consuming me from within. I want the sympathy to stop suffocating me from all the eyes that I know are watching. I beg my heart to harden, to become stone in my chest. To remember, we don’t want this anymore. Still, the traitor just thumps furiously as Oliver steps towards me.

“Eve…” he says, soft as a love song.

I should stay and listen. Figure out the next clue. Finish the video and hear what else might be lying in wait. But I can’t. All the strength I thought I had coming back here is nothing in the face of what I’ve found. I would never be healed of the mark this family has left. That he’s left.

So instead of facing the truth of our past, I run.