Vacant Heart

Chapter Twenty

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Three thumps.

I sit up in bed, pulling the cover up to my chin, dazed from sleep. At first thought, I was sure it was the door. However, when I hear it again, uneven pattering that seems to come from the walls, echoing around me, I realize it's not.

I listen to the mysterious noises the house is making with curiosity instead of fear, wanting to understand it all. I crawl out of the blankets, slipping my feet into slippers, wearing Aidan's plaid shirt. I open the door, glancing around the dark hallway, my heart thumping in my chest.

"Aidan?"

I know it isn't him, but it's a reaction, something to help with the uneasiness of it all. I step out with my nearly extinguished light, and decide to investigate. I'm on the third step when the sound of a laugh, distant, moves through the air around my body. It happens again, and a sigh of realization escapes my lips.

Child's laughter.

I feel it everywhere, in my soul. I feel the depth of Aidan's words, his attachment to this place, to these unnatural, unearthly presences and I understand. It's that easy.

Here, his daughter is partly alive. Here, his daughter reminds him of her.

I continue down the steps, seeking more evidence, more noise. The pattering continues, the sweet child-like laughter echoing through the halls like a television left on in another room. The fireplace in the parlor is still raging, and when I place myself in the doorway, I find Aidan, sitting on the loveseat, elbows on his knees, listening to her too.

He must feel my presence because he looks up to me, his features festered with torment.

"You hear it too?"

I nod, smiling softly. He sits up when I enter, setting down my candle. He's shocked that I sit down next to him, and when I scoot more until I'm on his lap, his mouth trembles. I take hold of his face, realizing the pattering has stopped. The laughter is gone.

We have been left alone.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice emoting pure pain. I shake my head, my mind clear, my heart settled with reality. I touch him gently, allowing him to bask in my caresses. I watch him take it in, thriving on it like a drug.

"We don't need to say anything else."

His eyes pour into mine as I hold nothing back, wanting him to see the depth of my feelings for him. This is the end to our hideaway. This is most likely an end to us.

"Touch me," I whisper to him, shifting until my knees end up on either side of him. I'm showering him with kisses, adorning his face with them—soft, fleeting pecks. He's gasping.

"Oh, Josephine," he breathes painfully, his hands grabbing my sides, giving into this crazy thing between us. His fingers dig into my skin hard enough to hurt, but I welcome the pain. Our mouths meet, with hasty driven kisses as I begin to unbutton the shirt on my body. Before long, his tongue is driving through my lips and I'm sucking him in, tensing with need, pleased that he's responding the same way I am.

The room is dead quiet. Even the crackling fire has dulled. Our uneven breaths are the only sound. I release the last button and he's already pushing down the material, rendering me bare to him. I clasp his face, kissing him as he begins to pull down his pajama pants. We're out of condoms, but that hasn't stopped us. He's careful, aware of the risks. Completely trusting him, I lift myself enough to urge his cock toward me, gasping as he devours my breasts, tugging and sucking on my nipples.