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But instead, Damien breathed a sigh of relief and said, “If we cut through this field, the road on the other side of the house should take us back to town.”
My heart sank as a bitter laugh tore through my chest.
“Back to town?” I said, shaking my head. “Damien … we’re home.”
CHAPTER 34
DAMIEN
Clo was determined to get inside that house, and I knew if I didn’t help her do it, I was going to have to carry her kicking and screaming all the way back to the train station.
The place was abandoned and looked like it had been for years. Backlit against the flashing thunderclouds, the shape of it was fucked. The walls buckled. The roof sagged and had saplings growing out of it. But Clover couldn’t wait to get inside that death trap, which meant I was going in with her.
The wooden trim was so rotten that I didn’t even have to kick the door in. One firm shove was all it took.
I’d planned on making her wait outside while I checked the place out, but before I could enter, something about the barn next to the house caught my eye. It seemed strangely familiar, but while I stood there, staring, Clo ducked under my arm and disappeared into the pitch-black gaff.
Shite.
“Dammit, Clo.” I bolted in after her, but hadn’t made it more than two steps when the strike of a match stopped me cold.
Illuminated behind it was the awestruck, wide-eyed face of my girl. “I … I remembered where the matches were.”
Silence stretched between us as I struggled to rationalize away this new piece of information. The rope, the bench, the cottage … those could all be details in one of Darby Donovan’s books—at least, that’s what I was telling myself—but the drawer she’d kept her matches in?
There was just enough ambient light from the windows and open door for me to make out the basic lines of a kitchen—cabinets and counters, a sink, a refrigerator.
Of course. Every kitchen has a pack of matches in one of the drawers. Clo just got lucky.
Waving the match out before it burned her fingers, she lit another one, then turned and opened one of the cabinets. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I could hear the match pop and hiss as the light grew brighter around her.
Turning to face me, Clo held two lit candlesticks and handed one to me. “I knew where these were too,” she said quietly.
My blood ran cold.
I accepted the candle without a word and followed Clover through the house. Normally, I would have been in front, shielding her from whatever might be lurking in the shadows, but I couldn’t see more than a meter in any direction. Clo, on the other hand, moved through the space like she’d lived there her entire life. The only thing that surprised her was when she stepped in the occasional puddle or felt a drip from the leaky roof.
The place smelled like mildew and groaned with every step we took, as if our presence was causing it physical pain.
I felt the same fucking way.
Clover headed straight down a hallway and into a bedroom, where she immediately located and lit at least six more candles as if she could see them in the dark.
I just stood in the doorway and watched as she sprinted around the room, touching every object, smelling them, clutching them to her chest. Every glint of familiarity, every gasp of recognition felt like another hole being torn through my paper-thin veil of denial.
But I clung to it anyway. With both fucking hands.
“Damien, I can’t believe this. It’s all still here. Nobody has touched a thing since we”—she glanced up at me—“they died.”
Clover tore through every drawer, every shelf, every shoebox under the bed. There was an urgency behind her actions. An intention. This wasn’t just some walk down memory lane. Clo was on a mission, and I didn’t fucking like the direction it was headed in.
“I wonder who owns this place now.
“Why has it been vacant this whole time?
“Maybe everyone thinks it’s haunted.
“Why on earth would anyone want to kill them?
