TW: Violence. Reader discretion is advised.
"Belle told you; that's your proof?"
"It sounded so much better in my head."
Since I was feeling almost normal again and the rain had let up for a while, taking the cold with it, David agreed that I no longer had to stay in bed.
He also didn't argue when I declared that I needed ice cream, even though something smelling like savoury heaven is baking in the oven for our dinner. I think he might be an ice cream addict too, because he happily accepted the bowl I filled for him and joined me at the serving island to eat it.
I do not like hearing the disgust and disappointment in his voice and decide just to shut up and focus on my bowl instead of trying to explain what I meant. I drag my spoon over the creamy fun, making the ice cream stand up in chocolate-streaked, toffee-coloured peaks, perfect for miniature skiers to play on. I glance up at David, startled to see just how miserable and defeated he is looking. He is really taking the fact that his great-grandfather was a criminal very hard, and now I've dashed the little hope he had when all I wanted to do was to help.
"Does it really matter? I mean, you told me that the person who built this house was a smuggler with ties to pirates and not altogether a law-abiding citizen..." So much for shutting up!
"Yeah, well, that was hundreds of years ago and involved stuff like tea and brandy to avoid unfair taxes, not murder... My great-grandfather hits a bit closer to home."
That is true; Hugolin is the father of the man who raised David.
"Think about it, David," I try again, determined to wipe that look of despair from his handsome face. "I tried to help Hugolin Chevrolet... uhm... whatever... out of the sea and followed him up that hidden corridor long before I knew of his existence."
I am selfishly relieved that David is using Stirling as his surname because I'll never be able to remember the other one... Lunabelle Chevrolet does have a rather nice ring to it, though... but it's wrong. I take a peek at the pencil scratching David made of the stone's inscription, lying between us on the corner of the serving station. My crib note. I'll need it if he ever decides to take his great-grandfather's name... doesn't seem very likely now... The thought makes me sad.
Lunabelle Chevrette-Bellier. Lovely. I might even develop a nice accent to go with it.
"And I've been in that little room that isn't there now but was there around the time that Maribelle lived here, not only once, but three times! Maribelle was in that room, I know it, because each time I found myself in there, it somehow involved her... and I felt the connection."
The shadows in David's eyes are shifting; I think he is starting to see my point. Good! That makes one of us.
"If those things were true, then surely... She had knowledge, David. When we were... when she was loving Hugolin, she was thinking about how he was framed..."
"Sure, Belle..."
"Luna."
"She might've really believed that or wanted to believe it, but it does not make it true; it isn't proof."
He's right, and, feeling defeated now too, I use my spoon to scoop up a mound of ice cream, destroying one of my pretty ski-slopes, and shove it into my mouth. Savouring the ice cream with my eyes closed, I let my mind run through the memories I've been shying away from. Hugolin, severely wounded, struggling from the sea into the cellar, the excruciating pain in my stomach when we reached the cellar, waking up next to a scratchy bear, and then, more recently, the cold emptiness, the frost and...
"Diary!" I yell, causing David to drop his spoon into his bowl, the ice cream on it splattering against the pottery sides. I grab his hand before he can take his spoon again and earnestly gaze into his eyes. "Maribelle kept a diary."
Silence follows my announcement, and I must say, I'm rather underwhelmed by David's response to that important revelation. He simply gazes back, not saying anything, his fingers motionless in my grasp, and as time drags on without any response from him, I'm beginning to fear that I've lost him now. He has finally closed the door on me and my madness.
The first few raindrops hit the windows like angry spit, and then it is pouring down again, drowning out the silence in the kitchen. Talk about raining on my parade.
"She thought about her diary while she was having sexy-time with her lo... husband... using my body?" David asks in a tight, sceptical voice.
Is he angry? Irritated? Sad? I cannot quite get a handle on what he is feeling. Right now, David is like a witch's cauldron of slowly brewing bubbling emotions.
"No, I saw it."
The darkness blinks from his eyes, a tentative sparkle gleaming on the surface, and with a sinking feeling, I realise that I'm about to extinguish that vague flicker of hope again.
"In... the little room..."
I drop David's hand and hide from his eyes, shovelling scoop after scoop of ice cream into my big, stupid mouth. I wish I hadn't said anything. I've just made it worse, and now the nutty, chocolaty ice cream tastes like sawdust. I saw her diary (if it even was hers) in a room that no longer exists. If the diary existed and it was hers, where would it be? Would it even contain any real proof or just the wishful ramblings of a young woman in love?
"I'm sorry, David," I finally whisper, unable to look at him again, and all my ice cream is gone now; there's nothing to hide behind anymore or to do with my hands to appear busy. I jump a little when he takes my hand in his, gently squeezing my fingers. Oh, good! There is something to do with my hands, after all.
"I love that you're trying to prove that I'm not closely related to a murderer," he says, his voice back to being warm honey dripping and flowing over hot waffles. That draws my eyes to his again, and I'm relieved to see a gentle smile spreading from his lips, flooding his face with warmth.
"Even if that were true - and it's not - it still would not say anything about who you are, David. If it were true - it's NOT - but if he were a cold-blooded criminal - he is NOT - you would be his redemption. The one thing in life he contributed to that is truly good."
No, I'm not usually that deep, and I don't often deliver sermons, but I meant every word I said with all my heart. David's eyes narrow, his long lashes momentarily hiding the radiant irises, and then he grins.
"Is it me you're falling for or my great-grandfather?"
"Both!" Oh... golly, that's actually true. I giggle nervously when his smile widens and his eyebrows shoot up. "I mean, Belle fell for your great-grandfather... not me..."
That is true too. Oh, my soul, I'm so confused! I'm like a chameleon on a pile of Smarties.
"So, are you confirming that you did fall for me?"
"I..." and now I'm choking, not sure on what, probably my own tongue for getting me tangled in this awkward conversation. Why is David taking joy in my discomfort? Is it revenge for giving him hope and then dashing it?
"I fell..." Well, it's obvious that I'm falling for him, isn't it? That I've already fallen for him... hard. "On my head when I was a toddler," I inform him, happy to see his amusement turning to confusion. "Multiple times, according to my mother. She says I was always curious and busy, always getting into impossible situations and falling on my-."
"It's alright, Luna," David mutters, smiling that warm sweet smile he sometimes tortures me with, causing my organs to melt. "I fell for you too."
I gape at him, slack-jawed, with wide-open eyes, while he runs his fingertips over my scalp. Why on Earth would he fall for someone like me? I'm a mess. I cannot even make decent paintings to complete my Fine Arts qualification, and what am I going to do with that qualification once I have it anyway? Painting fairies to illustrate books will only take me so far in life... unless I'm really, really good at it... I have no idea what my future is going to be like.
"No bumps," he declares, and I'm about to ask him if he also meant that he fell on his head... because of me... when he suddenly leans over, cupping my face in the warm palms of his hands and brushes his lips over mine in a featherlight kiss that has my heart singing for joy at being alive.
We jerk apart when the stove's timer goes off in a sharp ring, incinerating the warm and fuzzy cocoon of bliss weaving itself around us, and I'm disappointed when David jumps to his feet. He hurries over to the oven, and my disappointment turns into delight when I see him extract a freshly baked pie from it, placing it on the stone surface of the island.
What the hell? He baked a friggin' pie, and there's even a pretty dough flower and some leaves in the centre. When I brought flour, I thought I'd be using it to make cheese sauce for my noodles, not create this kind of masterpiece! This guy cannot possibly be real. He has to be an amazing figment of my glorious imagination.
"David, will you marry me?!"
"Sure, why not?" he chuckles, transferring two big pieces of the pie to plates. I groan in awe when he puts one of the plates down in front of me, the aroma finding its path to my brain while he takes his seat next to me. The pie has a flaky crust and a thick, creamy filling of chicken, mayonnaise and heaven.
"Seriously, where did you learn to cook like this?" I ask, breathing in the fragrant steam.
"My grandmother loved cooking," he smiles. "And when I was a kid, I used to get in her way all the time, trying to taste everything, so she started teaching me to keep me occupied, and I actually enjoyed it. Some of the best moments of my life were in the kitchen with her."
I love how his eyes soften, and his lips bend in an endearing smile when he talks about the woman who basically raised him. He clearly loved her a lot.
"She sounds wonderful," I whisper, laying my hand over his.
"She was," he sighs, and suddenly he is grinning at me again. "She was nuts, though, a lot like you."
After eating pie that should be arrested for blatant indecency - it was that good - I take a long luxurious bath, rinsing away every sign that I'd been ill. I allow the warm water to embrace me and wash away the last of the tension still clinging to my muscles and my mind.
I've made a decision; I'm going to find that diary for David. I know with a certainty lodged deep in my soul where I'd felt a connection with Maribelle that there will be enough information in there to, at the very least, soothe David's mind and bring him some peace.
When the water reaches the temperature of tears, I get out of the bath, and once I'm dressed in a fluffy tracksuit, I find David in the study, pouring over papers at the desk. It looks very different here now. Most of the dust is gone, and some of the display cases have clean windows, showing off their interesting content.
Ancient books, gold, copper and silver hair decorations, combs, spoons, medals and various other items that might be quite valuable. The place is a museum!
"Wow!" I exclaim, leaning over the glass top of one of the lower cases, my eyes running over an intricately carved jewellery box made of wood and ivory with fine mother-of-pearl in-lays. Arranged around it is a variety of necklaces, bracelets and rings. "The crown jewels."
Looking up from his papers, David chuckles. "Apparently, those belonged to a noblewoman who needed to save her lover from her husband and used it to pay one of my earlier ancestors to smuggle him out of here. There's a letter in there with the details."
"Oh!" I grin, looking at David with my brows raised. "Your family had interesting hobbies through the years."
"Yeah, we're a fun bunch."
"Will selling this help cover some of the costs to get this place up and running again?" I ask, absently strolling to the next cabinet. David explained to me how he is sorting through the contents of the house, separating them into sentimental items and heirlooms he couldn't possibly let go of, items that should be in a museum somewhere and items he could sell to help him restore La Belle Péche to its former glory.
"It will help, but it might hold some interest for her family... if I can find them."
"Maybe they would rather not know what their great-great-to-the-power-of-ten-grandmother got up to in her spare time."
David chuckles again, and pushing the chair back, he crosses the freshly vacuumed floor to join me, and taking my hand, he guides me to the steps leading down into the library. He'd found the light switch to the lower floor, and it is now bathed in warm light, playing over the backs of a myriad of books lining the walls from the floor at the bottom all the way up to the ceiling of the upper area, where we're standing.
"This is amazing!" I gasp. Many of these books would fetch him a good price and help carry his costs, but it would be such a pity to empty these shelves. "The shelves shouldn't be empty," I whisper, and David squeezes my hand.
"No, they shouldn't," he agrees. "Come, I want to show you something."
He guides me down the steel spiral staircase with its wrought-iron bannisters resembling ivy, and when I step onto the floor below, I immediately sneeze and pull the neck of my top over my nose. The vacuum cleaner hasn't been down here yet, and looking around me, I feel as though I've stepped into the creepy dining room in Great Expectations.
There's no rotting food and no crazy Miss Havisham in a moth-eaten wedding gown telling me that love is rubbish, but every surface is covered in thick, powdery dust and cobwebs. I involuntarily hold onto David's hand a bit tighter, following his footsteps, when he crosses the floor and turns right towards the wall that should border the foyer.
We stop in front of the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookcase, this one ending at the bottom of the upper floor. The study is directly above us now. It takes David a few seconds to find the right books to tilt forward. Five of them, one on each shelf, scattered, seemingly at random and then there is a loud click and a groan, and a section of the bookshelf swivels away from the wall, revealing the foyer, where David has created a path through the furniture he is storing there.
"Wow, it's like the one in the cellar! I wonder how many walls do this!" I follow David from the dusty library, finally able to breathe again. I am so going to go around this house trying every wall for secret doors.
"I don't know," he shrugs. "I never knew just how many secrets this house has. I found instructions for this door in an inventory kept in a locked drawer in the desk. It contains details about every book and item in the study and library. Very helpful. Those books were fake; they cover levers."
I stop walking, pulling at David's hand so that he has to turn and look at me when a thought hits me. "Perhaps the closet in the hallway is a secret door too! Maybe it leads into the little room."
David frowns at me, shaking his head. "That room is part of the dining room now; besides, what would be the point of having a secret door leading into - what did you call it - the smallest room in the world?"
He's right, and my shoulders droop with disappointment.
"We can still take a look, see if it is a second entrance," he offers, and I love him for his kindness. "Come on," he says, pulling me along again.
David opens the closet, and we unpack the dusty blankets and sheets and moth-eaten pillows, feeling the edges of the shelves, but there is no opening mechanism of any kind. No levers and no books to tilt.
"Well, it was worth a shot," I shrug, feeling somewhat disappointed though I don't know what the value would've been in finding an extra door into the dining room.
"So," David says, turning to me after we've stuffed everything back into the closet and closed the door. "I don't know about you, but I'm knackered. I'm going to bed. Are you going to be alright?"
"Who knows," I smile a little shakily, not sure I'm ready for the night. "Who knows where I'm going to wake up?"
David runs a hand over my hair down to my shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. "Yeah, I'm worried about that too. Do you think you'll be able to stay awake for a couple of hours, then wake me up?"
"Why?" I ask, surprised by his request.
"I'll stand guard while you sleep," he explains as if that would be the most natural thing to do ever. "I'll make sure nothing weird happens to you."
"That is very sweet," I smile, truly touched by how considerate and caring he is, "but you need your rest as much as I do. Even more now since I slept almost all day and you spent your night playing on the beach. Go to bed, David; I'm going to work on my paintings for a while. I'll be fine."
He wraps his arm around my waist, and we climb the stairs together, walking side by side until, crossing the balcony, we reach the steps leading to the solarium. Coming to a standstill, David turns and pulls me into a tight hug, and I lean into him, enjoying his fragrance and his warmth. I love being in this man's arms. If I could have one wish come true, it would be to be in his arms forever.
"I hate leaving you alone, Belle... uhm... Luna," he mutters into my hair.
"One or the other, David, one or the other. You can't have us both," I mutter, melting into his strength, enjoying the sound of his laughter vibrating through his body.
"I'm just as scared of not leaving you alone... while I'm asleep."
He draws away, creating enough distance to look down into my upturned face. "Maybe it will help if we both took some sleeping meds. Do you have any?"
"No," I smile, shaking my head. "Besides, the deeper our sleep, the more fun your ancestors seem to have. Go rest, David; I'll be fine." I rise onto the tips of my toes and plant a firm kiss on his lips before I step out of his arms and run up the stairs to the solarium.
I don't have the heart to remove the lovely family portrait from the easel; instead, I take my canvas, resting at its foot and place it on one of the other available easels, dragging it to where the electric light is strongest. It's better to paint in natural light, but it is night now, and I need something to do that does not involve sleepwalking, so electric light it is.
I half expected to be stabbed again when I approached the family portrait, but there is no anger or malice in the atmosphere tonight. The solarium, for now, is just a large room filled with easels and art supplies, its windows framing a sky streaming with rain, shadows and infrequent flashes of lightning. I work for a long time, bringing the painting of David at the pond to a point where it is too wet to continue, and removing it from the easel, I set it aside to dry, placing another empty canvas in its place.
I've already decided to paint one of the many drawings I've done... was it only yesterday? It feels like months ago. It is strange how the human brain functions; a little more than two days ago, I didn't even know that David existed, and now he is my whole world. Well, sure, my world has shrunk to La Belle Péche now that we're cut off from civilization by the floods, but still, it seems impossible that he wasn't in my life all the years of my existence.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that I want him in my life for the rest of my existence.
Earlier, just before I took my bath, I managed to get a call through to my mother and put her mind at ease about my safety. She promised to contact the university and explain my situation to them. She'll get an extension for me or make special arrangements if required. I could hear that she missed me, and we chatted for a while. I didn't tell her about David because it might make her anxious to know that I'm trapped here with a stranger. She would feel better if she met him and saw what a kind, wonderful man he is, but that is not going to happen soon.
I also briefly spoke to Craig until the signal died, and I lost connection. I was happy to learn that he is not doing anything dangerous; he is helping with the organisation of shelters, doing the heavy lifting and carrying provisions around, that kind of thing. Everybody that could be evacuated was taken to safety. There are one or two other remote farmers trapped on their properties in similar circumstances as I am... just minus the ghosts and other fun things, obviously... hopefully...
All anybody can do now is wait for the rains to stop and the water levels to drop and do whatever they can to prevent further disasters. The last time Craig went to the river separating the farm from the town, he saw that the river had increased considerably in height and breadth. If this continues, things might deteriorate to a point where we will be in danger, but we're safe for now... probably.
I'm carefully copying the outlines of a sketch I'd made of the once-beautiful fountain in the circular driveway, with the house in the background onto the canvas, when a loud crash somewhere beneath my feet causes my arm to jerk, scratching a line across my drawing.
Something's happened to David!
I drop the graphite stick on the easel's shelf and run for the door, pull it open and step out onto the stairs leading to the balcony. The second I step out of the solarium, the world goes black as the electricity cuts out. For a moment, I stand frozen in the doorway, gasping with fright, and then my feet take flight.
I need to get to David!
When I reach the landing and turn left to run to his bedroom, I'm slammed to the floor with force hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs. What did I run into? I'm trying to see through the choking darkness, but my eyes are swimming with shadows moving within shadows; while the wind is once again howling around the house, and the strobing lightning reveals and hides what appears to be a figure stooping near my feet.
"David!"
I'm about to turn onto my stomach so that I can get up when a hand clamps around my ankle as tightly as a steel vice, and now I know the difference between being held by clothing spilling from a bag and being held by a strong hand. I can feel each finger biting painfully into my skin, and I cry out in shock, my voice breaking, when the owner of the hand starts to drag me away from the corridor that would take me to David's room.
When the lightning flashes again, I recognise the silhouette of a man looming over me, but the light is not bright enough and doesn't last long enough for me to make out any details.
"Belle!" the voice is hoarse and far, far away, floating to me in broken fractions.
The man holding onto my ankle is not David; David has a different build and short hair; this man is lanky with long tangled hair. I twist until I manage to turn on my stomach and try to grab hold of anything, the carpet, the floor boards, cringing as my nails scrape uselessly over the wood, sections splitting and breaking. He gives my leg a savage tug, forcing me back onto my back.
Has he been in this house all along? Was it him I saw in the forest on that first day? I forgot about that! How careless of me! Was it his feet that I heard shuffling when the power went out, and I was searching for my phone on the foyer floor?
Where is David? Did this man do something to him?
I try to cry out, but he is dragging me along over the length of the landing to the stairs, and he doesn't stop there. I finally manage to scream when he starts down the stairs, pulling me along behind him like a ragdoll, my head bouncing on every step.
"David! David!"
I try to grab the slats of the bannister as they pass, but my fingers easily tear lose due to the strength of the man dragging me down the stairs and through the crowd of furniture, slamming my helpless body against whatever gets in the way. I'm drowning in an ocean of pain while I scream for David, knowing that if he is not coming to help me, it means that this man... this monster must've done something to him. The pain of losing David slices through the dark terror, flooding my mind.
The cutting fingers finally fall away when we reach the centre of the foyer, and for a moment, I cannot move, my body frozen in pain and fear. I'm sure I've broken some bones and cracked my skull in many places.
Where did he go? What is he going to do to me now? Where is David?
A painful sob rises from my depths, growing in size as it comes to the surface until it finally tears from me in another terrified scream.
"Belle! Belle!" the voice is growing fainter, more distant. Is it Hugolin calling Maribelle, or did David forget that I am Luna?
Whomever it is, hearing it spurs me to life, and I finally try to rise, my body not cooperating at all, as I shiver uncontrollably due to shock and pain. I see movement in my peripheral vision, and once again, frozen in fear, I turn my head to see many featureless dark figures gathered on the landing where I'd been dragged from. Among them is a man, his head covered by a bag of some kind and his hands tied behind his back. The figures are forcing him onto the bannister, looping one end of a rope around his neck; the rest of it is flung over one of the strong beams supporting the ceiling far above me. I can see the thick rope running past me at an angle to where its other end is tied to the pillar at the end of the railing at the bottom of the stairs.
No! They are going to hang him! Is it David? No!
I watch in horror as the man helplessly tries to fight against the people restraining him, and then he's teetering on the bannister for a moment before they push him over. I can hear the rope snap tight and, with it, the gut-awful sound of his neck breaking. For a few horrified seconds, I watch him dangling above me in the strobing darkness, and then I scream.
I scream, and I scream until my voice turns hoarse and breaks, along with my heart. Sorrow grows and blossoms into a demon in my chest, tearing at me from the inside.
"David! David!"
The sack slips from the hanged man's head, floating down to me, whispering against the skin of my cheek as it passes to the floor, and when lightning arcs again, I can see the man's face clearly. It is not David. It is the man who stabbed me in the solarium, the same man who dragged me down the stairs. His eyes are open in his gaunt face, glaring down at me with burning hatred, his tangled hair limply streaming from his head.
And then he smiles.
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