"I didn't sign up for this!" I yelled in mixed emotions—mainly in between annoyance and exhaustion—as I climbed out of the car and slammed the backseat door shut behind me, leaving my parents wide-eyed about my sudden outburst. I jogged up toward the old porch, ignoring my dad's "Don't you use that tone on your mom and I, young lady" and "Don't expect us to bring your things inside. Get them yourself, you hear me?" comment. I rolled my eyes at his tone.
My dad was anything but intimidating. He couldn't stay mad for too long. Scratch that, he didn't know how to get angry at all. Or at least not in the right way as fathers do. He could tell you off, but it's like being told by a friend to stop a bad habit. I could already picture mom shooting him an amused look.
I heard the trunk open. "Are you mad?" My mom asked, slamming her door shut and probably joining dad to help with our bags. Oh, I mean their bags.
"Yes! Of course, I am. Didn't you see what she did back there?" Dad said in his usual calm voice.
"Oh, could've fooled me."
I couldn't help it. I giggled loudly. Mom always liked picking on dad, and he wouldn't do anything about it.
What a weird couple.
"I know you're laughing, young lady! I hear you!" Dad shot at me.
I looked back and gave mom a thumbs-up. "Nice one, mom."
Jackpot. The look on dad's face was priceless! "Unbelievable," I heard him mutter as he continued unloading.
I shook my head and slowly turned the doorknob that looked like it would fall anytime if I weren't careful with it. I pushed the door open, which made an ugly creaking sound I thought it would detach from its hinges. As soon as I stepped inside, a wave of nausea hit me. The smell of old papers, dusty furniture, and something like wilting flowers I couldn't put my finger on was so strong that it made me slightly dizzy. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. This house was a rotting hole.
Why would my sister want to live here? I didn't understand it. Her idea of a house was ridiculous—it's like she wanted to go back in time and live in the 19th century. Well, I never understood her at all, even though we were twins. You'd expect us to be so close to each other, like two peas in a pod. I guess not in our case.
I took the time to examine the surroundings. The whole place looked dimly lit, considering that the shutters were left closed, allowing only a sliver of light to illuminate the room. The carpeted floorboards were turning gray with dust. I stomped my foot on the floor, sending a handful of dust specks flying just around my ankle. A bit of stain covered the worn and faded wallpapers, which I assumed was once a design of tangled vines and flowers. To the left was the living room, where an old velvet sofa was facing the unattended fireplace. Above the fireplace was a portrait of an aristocratic lady—her features resembled an elegant porcelain doll, still beautiful and delicate despite its age. She wore a furry coat and a crown-like band around her soft and slightly curly hair that fell just below her shoulders. She had quite a round face, small lips, a rawboned nose, and thin eyebrows that framed her big eyes that looked as though tears were about to spill from them. Everything about her gave off a sad aura, despite her regal beauty. For a second, it made me wonder what made her...lonely.
I tore my gaze from the portrait and turned my attention to the right, where a wooden coffee table sat near the window and an old grandfather clock propped up on one corner. A Victorian divan was pushed up against the staircase wall, hiding the outline of a small door frame, which probably led to a secret cupboard.
I proceeded to the kitchen, which looked even more ancient compared to anything else in the house since it was full of wooden and marbled things—a wooden table with wooden chairs, a marbled counter and sink, and a bricked firebox for cooking and heating. Seriously, didn't anyone who lived here ever hear of a stove? The only things that were from the modern world in the room were the refrigerator and the microwave oven, which looked incredibly out of place from everything else.
I heard the front door close, and a loud thud of bags dropped to the floor.
"Riley?" Mom called from the living room.
"In here," I responded, walking over to the kitchen door frame and leaning against it. I caught sight of the bags piled on the floor and instantly noticed that my duffel and backpack were missing. I narrowed my eyes. They seriously left my things in the car. What, I thought they were joking!
"That's odd," dad said, furrowing his brows, "Cassie had been gone only for three weeks, yet...the house looks abandoned for years. And the smell—"
"Is old and rotten and disgusting," I cut in. "What did you expect from an old place like this? I mean, hey, it's from the 19th century. It's supposed to be abandoned or better yet converted into a museum."
He regarded me for a second and said, "What can I say? It's antique. I like it, and your sister liked it, don't you?"
"Oh, sure." I feigned enthusiasm.
"And look where it got her—locked up in rehab for who knows what?" I muttered quietly, but they heard it. There wasn't exactly any noise around the neighborhood. Soon only silence enveloped the room.
"Riley, the house has nothing to do with what happened," mom assured, breaking the silence. "Now, let's just get settled in, and tomorrow we'll visit your sister."
I thought about it for a while. Our visit earlier this morning wasn't exactly what you'd call a "happy reunion" since it only ended up with horrible screaming fits and doctors taking control of the situation. And I don't think I could handle another round of screaming another day. "I think I'll pass." With that, I pushed myself off the door frame and headed upstairs.
There were six rooms: one was the study room, another was the bathroom, and the other four were the bedrooms. I knew on instinct that my sister's room was at the end of the hallway since she had always chosen hers to be at the farthest end. I avoided that part and decided to stay in the room on the opposite side, beside the master's bedroom.
A single bed with a trunk at its foot propped in the center, then a nightstand, and a vanity table and a wooden closet on the other side.
I propped myself on the bed—which groaned under my weight—crossing my ankles. The bedsheets smelled like unused fabric and something else that I didn't want to know. Just then, I caught the same scent from the living room—the smell of something wilting, like dead flowers. I waved it off and stared at the ceiling, remembering what happened with my sister earlier in the rehab center.
Yesterday morning, someone—probably a doctor—from the center called to inform us that Cassie was taken to their center the night before. Of course, my dad didn't believe it at first, told the caller that it must have been a mistake, but after hours spent on the phone, asking and demanding for answers and details, he didn't seem so sure anymore.
Dad called Cassie's phone, and when no one answered after several attempts, he told mom and me to pack our things. He informed us on the way that we will be staying in Raven Manor—an antique house from the early 20th century that he bought out of his interest for ancient things—where Cassie resided before she went insane. Also, it was a one-hour drive distance from the center.
So earlier in the morning, we left home and were supposed to head straight to the manor, but then dad decided to stop by the center so that we'd see Cassie's condition and if it was for real that she had gone off her rocker.
When we arrived at the center, a woman in a white lab gown identified herself as Dr. Collins, who also turned out to be the one who called us yesterday. She led us to Cassie's room, which was on the 5th floor. I was already getting nervous, and the nauseating ride in the elevator didn't help my case. What if it is true? I thought.
Mom and Dad decided to talk to Dr. Collins about certain things about my sister's confinement and medication, so I was left staring at the door to her room, contemplating if I should go in or not. After minutes of debating with myself, I finally got the guts to open the door and step inside. I felt my heart leap to my throat the moment my eyes landed on hers. She was there, sitting on the bed, staring directly at me or maybe at the door before I barged in. It was as if she had been waiting for my arrival all along. I was growing more and more uncomfortable until her face broke into a smile.
"Riley!" She exclaimed, lightly bouncing up and down the bed. "I knew you'd come." She offered her hand out to me.
I kept my hands inside my jacket pockets and gave her a small smile. "Hi Cass," I greeted halfheartedly, walking over to her.
"Are you here to visit? Are mom and dad here, too?" She asked with excitement all over her face. She acted in a non-crazy, sane Cassie way that for a moment, I thought there's nothing wrong with her and that Dr. Collins was the one that's out of her mind until she giggled like a little girl. The sane Cassie didn't do that. Like me, she's eighteen, for crying out loud.
"Uh, yeah, they're here too," I awkwardly replied. "We'll be living here for a while so that we could visit you from time to time."
Her eyebrows came together, creating a quizzical expression. "You don't mean here in the center, do you? It's so lonely here. Where will you stay?"
"In Raven Manor, remember? That old house that dad's so obsessed to have? I can't believe he even bought that place," I finished with a short laugh that soon faded when I saw her eyes grow wide and just pure delirious. Apprehension took over me. "Cass? Is something wrong?"
"Raven? Why would you stay there? You can't stay there, that house is mine!" She raised her voice, like a child having her tantrums.
"Jeez, relax, it's not like it's anything special. That house is a load of crap," I joked, but it only made things worse. Her face turned red, and she shot me a glare that could cut through glass.
"I know what you're after in that house!" She screamed at me. "You've met him, didn't you? You saw Raven?" Her eyes were wild.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I defended, raising my hands in surrender. "And what's with this "Raven"?"
"No! You stay away from him, spoiled stuck-up brat! Leave us alone!" She screamed again so loud I took a step back.
"Hey, you did not just call me a spoiled, stuck-up brat!" I raised my voice at her, and that's all it took. She stood and up and let out a shrill, earsplitting scream as if that would make me disappear. She was about to attack me when the door swung open, and people in white hurried in, holding her back. Mom and Dad came in too, so they were forced to see what a mess their other daughter had become.
Cassie kept struggling, thrashing around, and muttering "Raven" repeatedly until one of the nurses stabbed her in the arm with a tranquilizer. As her body went limp, slumber overtook her then.
After that, I tried everything to convince my parents to stay at a hotel or something, just not in the manor, but they wouldn't have it. I argued with them the whole time on the way until I couldn't take it anymore and walked out on them when we arrived.
I sighed, feeling tired with all that's happened. I still couldn't believe I had no say about this matter. I was practically dragged out here against my will, and they wouldn't even hear me out. I could feel it in my bones that everything in this house spelled danger. Whatever made my sister insane, it's here.
There was a knock on the door, followed by my dad carrying my backpack and duffel bag. A peace offering, I guess.
He walked over and sat on the side of the bed. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" He asked in his calm and reassuring voice that I always loved. I groaned inwardly. How could I stay pissed what with that voice?
"Fine," I muttered under my breath. I hated sounding like a child, which I probably was right now, but I couldn't help it.
"Listen," he began, "I know you hate the house, and I'm sorry if you feel forced to stay here, but it's only for a couple of weeks until your sister gets better."
And how long will that be? I thought, but I didn't say anything.
"Come on, Rye, I promise after all of this is over, I'll sell the manor, and we'll go back to Florida, okay?"
I looked him in the eyes—his hazel brown eyes that resembled mine. I sighed and only nodded, giving him a closed-mouth smile.
He chuckled and kissed my forehead, taking the chance to ruffle my hair. I made a face. He always did that ever since Cassidy and I were kids.
I guess he could do that only to me now.
"Hey, dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for bringing my stuff," I said.
He smiled before leaving me in the company of silence. And the recurring scent of dead flowers.
***
The next day, I woke up from the same scent of wilting flowers, which made me suspect for a second if my bed had turned into a bed of rotting plants. This scent of the still unfamiliar flowers was seriously getting on my nerves. I sat up, my head feeling heavy.
After a while, I tossed off the covers and made my way toward the bathroom, which was just across the room, ignoring the feeling of a hundred weights pushing down on my head. Did I hit my head last night? Because I don't remember if I did. Or maybe it was from my dream, which was me running down a field of red tulips. No, it didn't make sense. How weird.
After putting on some clean clothes—which were a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants—I headed downstairs and straight to the kitchen. I walked over to the fridge and noticed a note stuck on its door. I scanned it over.
Off to the Center. Be back at 6 p.m. Call us if you need anything.
P.S. There's microwave pasta in the fridge.
So, I had over half of the day to myself. Me, the house, and all its creepy secrets. Awesome. (Note sarcasm)
After I finished my microwave breakfast, I went upstairs, cringing at the groaning wooden steps in the process. Instead of heading to my room, I turned the opposite side of the hallway and toward the other unoccupied rooms while mentally reminding myself to avoid that one particular room at the end.
I gingerly opened the door to the room beside my sister's, poking half of my body in. The same smell of unused bed sheets wafted around the room. My eyes scanned the room, noticing that there were two single beds instead of one, and landed on the old bureau—its varnished paint chipped at some edges—where a bunch of dirty rag dolls was sitting on top, stock-still with their usual blank, creepy stares. I shivered and closed the door.
Maybe exploring the house is a bad idea, I thought. But then something about the door across my sister's room made me want to go inside, as though a voice was whispering to me to come inside. My fingers twitched as I lifted my hand to twist the knob. Finally, I entered the room—the study room.
Just then, I felt something weird. No—I felt kind of...disappointed like I expected to feel or see something I shouldn't. I shook my head. It's just the house.
Just the aura of the house making its effects on me, I mentally reminded myself. Looking around, I noticed the whole floor covered with Persian rugs. There were two windows on one side of the wall, displaying a clear view of the leaves fluttering around on their branches outside. The only furniture in the room was a tall wooden bookshelf, a study table, and a black leather high-back chair pushed behind it. I sauntered over to the table, trying not to trip on the books lying scattered in piles on the floor. The bookshelf could no longer contain such several leather-bound books, so the other stacks were just left abandoned on the floor.
To my luck, it was the only room that didn't smell of old and unused bed sheets, because if it did, I didn't know if I would even want to breathe in the air again.
I moved toward the bookshelf and ran my fingers along the dusty spines of worn-out books, but one specific book caught my attention.
Ligeia by Edgar Allan Poe.
As I reached for it, I felt eyes on me, like someone in the room was staring intensely at me. I instantly turned my head, but there was no one. Of course, I was alone, how could there be anyone else with me? I waved it off and withdrew the book from the shelf and propped myself onto the leather chair. As soon as I opened it, I caught the faint scent of the dead flowers again. It didn't surprise me since I was too intrigued by a piece of old paper poking out from its edges. I flipped to the page where it was inserted and took it out. From the looks of it, you could tell that it was very fragile because of the yellow spots and almost torn spaces. I unfolded it and realized that it was a letter dated back in 1901, written in a cursive calligraphy handwriting that was barely even readable. It read:
April 14, 1901
Dearest Emily,
It's been three weeks since you'd gone to the other world where I cannot go—or at least not now. It's been a while, yet I feel as though it was only yesterday that I watched you slip away from my arms, that I watched you in silent agony, and I couldn't do anything to ease the pain you suffered alone. For that, I despise myself—for what I didn't do, cannot do, and should have done. But what hurts me the most, is knowing that it should never have been too late if I had realized what I had with you was something that nothing and no one could ever replace. If only, my love. If only I weren't too late to see that I could have saved you. But now I could never know. I guess I could never bear the thought that I have lost you. It pains me to remember all those times that I wasn't there for you. But now, even our memories together are becoming a deadly dream that haunts me every night. It kills me every day to ask for your forgiveness, yet hearing nothing from you. Sweet Emily, wherever you are, I wish you could forgive me.
Yours forever,
V
I felt a lump in my throat as I stared at the letter, tongue-tied. My heartbeat was racing fast, and I didn't know why. I heard the sound of my even breathing as my thoughts wandered about, confused. Why did I feel so affected? It's like I know this unknown writer's pain as if it was mine to bear. A sinking feeling emerged in my stomach as the whole thing moved, yet saddened me at the same time.
A few moments later, I finally managed to break from my mixed emotions' hold and started flipping rapidly through the rest of the pages, looking for another letter that might be stuck in there somewhere. There must be another one. There has to be, I insisted to myself.
I wanted to know more about his story, and it didn't matter that it was probably over a century ago.
After a while of abusing the book's fragile pages over and over, something fell from its leather-covered spine. But it wasn't another letter; it was a key.
I furrowed my brows. A key to what? I set it aside for the meantime and started rummaging through the drawers. Within them were nothing but old files and some unfinished manuscripts signed by someone with the initials S. V. R. It didn't mean anything to me, so I put it back and pulled another drawer open, but it didn't budge. It was locked. I immediately remembered the key earlier and stuck it to the keyhole in a second. My hand was slightly shaking as I turned the key. I wanted to discover the other letters so desperately as if my life depended on it. I wasn't even sure if there were others, but I just silently wished there were. Fortunately, the lock clicked, and I was already pulling the drawer back before I even realized what I was doing. Inside was a wooden box with the same initials carved on the top—S. V. R.
Again, I shrugged it off, taking the box and putting it on the table. I gingerly lifted off the top and took in a sharp breath at the discovery in front of me. Tucked inside was a bunch of neatly folded letters with the same handwriting of the mysterious writer. I unfolded the first one and began reading:
April 05, 1901
Dearest Emily,
I took the girls to the meadow yesterday, where we used to spend our afternoons, sitting amongst the field of red tulips, watching the sun come down, forgetting that it's already late and that we should be heading back to the manor to check on the girls. Those moments alone with you leaning against my chest as you rest your head on my shoulder are the ones I'll forever hold dear to my heart. Those peaceful moments with you in my arms, when you would look up and give me your warm smile that reached your mesmerizing dark eyes.
The girls played around the meadow all afternoon. I've never seen them so alive and happy ever since.
Watching them laughing and running around made me feel better somehow. Our little girls—they fill the gap, the hole you left in my heart. But I know that it's still there somewhere, just waiting to torment me every time I think of you. You know, Lily asked me if I still miss you. I told her that I do—every day. Of course, I tried to keep it together. I didn't want to break down in front of our little girl, because what I wanted to say was that I miss you more than she could ever imagine. I miss your delicately sweet smile. I miss your musical laugh. I miss your beautiful raven hair. I miss the divine orbs of your eyes. I yearn for how you reach up to touch my cheek whenever I'm upset. I miss that look on your face, seeing me like I'm the most precious thing you own in this world. I miss you, my love, more than anything else. I could never say goodbye.
Yours forever,
V
I felt a tear escape my eye, letting the rest roll down my already tear-stained face. The whole time I felt my heart constricting at his words. They were full of overwhelming sadness and longing that even I felt as if I was the one who lost someone. I never thought I could feel so much sympathy for someone I didn't even know—let alone for someone dead for many and many years ago.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and retrieved another letter from the box after putting back the other one. I couldn't help it, no matter how sad it made me feel. I had to go on. This time, the handwriting looked rushed and a bit shaky. There were also some faded areas and ink splotches on the paper.
March 29, 1901
Dearest Emily,
How could you leave me here? Alone to face the darkness that awaits tomorrow now that you're gone? Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Why? There are so many questions I want to ask, but now they would never be answered no matter how many times I'll write to you. What about Lily? She's only five. She wouldn't understand. And Lucy, how could she take this at such a young age? Cecily would miss you, that one. She was always the closest to you, wasn't she? Dear lord! I cannot bear this sudden grief. Maybe this is a punishment for all the times I neglected your presence. Those times—how could I have been so selfish? I spent days working on my manuscripts that I failed to appreciate every moment, every hour that you were there for me. God, I didn't know. I didn't know. Why didn't I do something? Why was I so blind? What happened, Emily? What happened? Please, please come back. Please.
I'm so sorry,
V
After going over it, I grew even more curious. What could have made him feel so guilty and so miserable? What happened back then? I put the letter back, and just then, I noticed a photograph tucked just under the papers. I fished it out. It was a daguerreotype of the portrait of the lady downstairs. She must have been Emily, I figured. There were two other photos, both in daguerreotype as well. One was of three girls I assumed were Lily, Lucy, and Cecily—their daughters. And the last one was of a young man with tousled black hair that fell to his eyes—it was V.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. I hurriedly put back the photos and the letters inside the box and locked it inside the drawer, but not before I caught sight of a black onyx choker tucked at one corner of it. I grabbed it, slipping the stone in my jeans pocket. I placed the key back inside the spine of the book, returned it to the shelf just as the door to the room opened.
"Riley? Are you here?" It was my dad.
"Yeah." I sat still on the chair, acting casual, as though I was just idling and not snooping around.
"Oh." He looked confused. "Have you been here all day?"
"Uh," I trailed off, taking a glance at the window. It was already dark. "I guess so."
For a moment, he had this look as if he didn't believe me, but he just said, "Okay. Come on. Mom made dinner."
I grinned at him. "Nice." I stood up from the chair and followed him out of the room, feeling a piercing stare on me and just barely catching the scent of dead flowers again.
***
I stared at the paper in front of me. I badly wanted to write to V, so I could tell him how I felt when I read his letters to Emily. Also, to apologize for going through his stuff, but I realized how ridiculous it sounded if I'd apologize for reading a dead guy's letters, so I just stuck to the first plan. Write to him. No apology. Period. So I did.
Dear V,
I know that this may look crazy to anyone—I mean, what person in the right mind would write a letter to someone who existed over a hundred years ago? You'd think I'm becoming crazy like my sister. Huh, I guess we're twins, after all. But I'm doing this because I want to tell you that your sweet words to Emily may have been left unheard at those times when it was already too late, and I'm sorry that she never got to hear them from you, but now it's not, because I heard you, V. I felt the sincerity in your words like they were for me. But of course, they're not, and I just wish that Emily lived long enough to read them so that she could feel the same thing I felt. Those letters you wrote are not for nothing, because you got someone to appreciate them. Your love for her was pure and beautiful. I could feel it. And whatever it was that you regretted back then, I hope that you already found the courage to forgive yourself. You deserve that much.
With great admiration,
Riley
After I wrote the letter, I put it on my nightstand, beside the black onyx choker I got from the study room. I reached a hand to my neck, vividly remembering what happened nights ago when I put the necklace on my neck. It felt cold—as if a cold breeze went inside me when my skin got in contact with the stone. I winced and placed it back on the nightstand. And when sleep finally overtook me, I had a dream about me lying on a field of red tulips, beside someone with tousled black hair and sea-green eyes I could hardly remember.
As I left my room, I finally decided to take a look at my sister's bedroom, which I'd been scared to do so days ago. It couldn't be that bad, right?
When I entered her room, I noticed the usual scent of unused bed sheets. After looking around, I felt relieved.
Nothing weird in the room at all. It looked fine, like mine.
I noticed a notebook on her nightstand—I walked over to it.
It was her diary. Typical Cassie, I thought.
I read the first contents, which were mainly about school and friends and girly crushes she had. I skipped those boring parts, though. I was just idly flipping through the pages, not reading anything, when something caught my eye on one particular page. I went back to it and examined the writings where I saw the word "Raven." I read the entry.
Dear diary,
It's been days now, and I still can't stop thinking about Raven. He's been in my head for a thousand times now. I always get lost in his words whenever I recall reading them. I don't exactly understand, but I feel as though he's speaking to me at a different time. Oh, and I finally saw him today. Can you believe it? After days of whispering to the wind, he finally allowed me to see him. He didn't talk to me though, just looked at me with those sad sea-green eyes. But it was okay.
I'm glad I saw him. I wish he would talk to me if that's even possible. I know this sounds insane, but I like him—a lot.
I frowned. Even in the diary, Cassie did sound nuts. I mean, "Whispering to the wind"? What is that? I read her other entries, and it was all about Raven. Raven this, Raven that. She just couldn't stop mentioning his name.
Out of curiosity, I called some of her friends' numbers to ask if they knew anyone—maybe a schoolmate or anything— named Raven, but no one knew who he was. Did he even exist? Was he even real? I was slowly getting the idea that her obsession with this Raven was what made her insane.
And there's only one way to find out.
***
"Where are you going?" Mom demanded when my loud footfalls caught her attention.
I stopped half-way toward the front door.
I looked back at her. "To the center."
She looked surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah, it's been a while since I last visited Cassie," I started, "and I know it's hard to believe, but I kinda miss her so...," I trailed off, giving her my brightest smile.
"Well, I'm glad to hear that, honey," she said, giving me a look that said, "I'm proud of you."
"Okay, mom. Bye!" I called, already heading out the front door. I jogged over to the car—which, fortunately, dad agreed for me to borrow—and climbed inside, revving the engine to start. Just then, my eyes shot to the window from the study room, where I thought I saw a figure pass by, but there was nothing there. I shrugged it off and backed away from the gravel driveway, heading towards the center.
Safe Haven Center was neat-looking when I even bothered to take a closer look at the whole building. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was an orphanage or a daycare center, but then it was just an institution for the mentally-disabled if you know what I mean.
When I walked in, Dr. Collins greeted me, offering to go with me in case anything happened again, but I told her I could handle it, so when we reached Cassie's door, she just told me to call for help if ever I needed anything, then left.
I took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
"Riley!" Cassie greeted, smiling. "I didn't expect you 'til tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, I wanted to see you soon," I reasoned, hugging her. I pulled away, looking at her. "How have you been?"
She looked surprised at my question, which she didn't expect. "I've been getting better, thank God. Dr. Collins said I could go home a couple of days from now," she said, excitement in her voice.
"Really? That's great."
She sat on the bed and patted the space next to her. I settled beside her then, before facing her. When I did, she was looking at me with curious green eyes. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
For a moment, all I could do was look at her. We always had almost the same features, and that didn't fail to startle me every day—how much we looked alike. The only thing that could tell us apart was our eyes, for she had green ones like Mom's while I had hazel brown ones like Dad's. Also, while I had chestnut locks that fell just above my waist, she had fiery red hair that sprawled across her shoulders. Aside from that, we're pretty much alike.
"I wanted to ask about the other day when you were muttering the name Raven?" The words just came out before I could even stop them. I was kind of expecting her to scream at me again and burst in hysterics, but it didn't happen. "Who is he?" I continued.
"I don't know," she said, looking confused, as though she was trying to remember if she did perhaps know. Well, at least her voice stayed normal. "I barely even recall the name until you mentioned."
"Cassie, what exactly happened when you were in the manor?" I pressed on. "Is this Raven your boyfriend or anything?"
"Oh god, no," she waved me off.
"He was just someone from a long time ago. I never even met him, just dreamed about him, and every time I woke up, those dreams have always felt real, as if they happened. I couldn't believe I'd been so obsessed about him, but I couldn't help it at that time. His letters were just—moving, I guess."
My head snapped back to her in an instant. Something all too familiar triggered at the back of my mind. And I didn't believe it until she answered my question. "What letters?"
"Just some letters I found in the study room one time.
They were for his dead wife. He wrote about their times together, about how he loved her so much. About how sorry he was for whatever he did back then. Riley, it was so beautiful!" She gushed. "For days, I found myself in the study room, reading those letters over and over again. I thought I loved him, you know. Can you believe it? I was falling for a dead guy, or so I thought." She let out a short laugh. "But it's over now. I won't let myself lose sight of reality again. I promise."
She sounded so enthusiastic, but I wasn't feeling it. All I could think about for a moment was the letters—the same ones I found days ago. The ones that made my sister insane.
I shook my head, couldn't bring myself to believe it.
Raven was V.
I had to leave now, so I told Cassie I'd come back tomorrow and went on my way. Reaching the manor, I hurriedly jumped out of the car and went straight to my room. I wanted to sleep it off. I just couldn't believe it. I was falling for V—for Raven—the same man who pushed my sister over the edge of her sanity.
When I entered my room, I saw something on my bed—a piece of paper and a single red tulip. My eyes widened, hurrying over to it. I picked it up and began reading.
April 14, 2012
Dearest Riley,
At first, I was surprised that you wrote to me. I almost thought that you were losing your mind like what happened to your sister—and I'm regretfully sorry about that. I tried everything to make her stop, but I failed. I can't bear thinking I drove an innocent lady to madness. At first, I decided to write this letter to warn you, to keep you away, but when you put that black stone around your neck, I realized that it is you—the one I have been waiting to come. I knew you weren't gone. I knew your soul has always been here, wandering to find mine as well. I knew it in my heart. And now, we have a chance to be together again.
This time, I will not lose you. No more death and sickness can ever keep us apart.
Yours forever,
Sir Vincent Raven
The letter fell from my grasp. I had goosebumps all over me, and I found it hard to breathe evenly. I knew I should be frightened. My mind was telling me the only rational thing to do was run for the door and never come back to this place again. But my heart wouldn't allow it.
The letter sounded strange as if he was still referring to his wife, but it didn't scare me at all. I felt contented and light, shocked that he wrote back. I knew it was crazy. I knew I should be freaking out right now because a dead guy just wrote to me. But I didn't care. I wanted to be with him.
Emily, a voice whispered in my head, but it soon faded. Just then, I suddenly felt cold all over, as though someone was holding me in an icy embrace. I gasped in horror, but it felt good.
Then, my eyes landed on the mirror, where it contained my reflection, and someone else with tousled black hair and sea-green eyes, wrapping his arms around me. I should have fainted right then, but what I did was unexpected. I smiled.
There was no going back now.
I reached up to touch his cheek and whispered in a different voice, "Don't worry, my love, I'm here now. Always and forever."
The smell of a wilting flower began to fill the room until it was no longer possible to breathe. That sweet, decaying scent was coming from the red tulip on the bed, wilting and turning black as ash.
~END~