Page 48 of Speak No Claim

The scene in front of me looked like it was taken directly from a postcard that you’d send your family while on vacation. Everything was alive, calling me to investigate. It was too perfect, too untouched by modern hands.

From the white picket fences to the weathered Victorian houses and the cathedrals that appeared to be touching the sunset. I heard church bells in the distance, echoing through the evening.

It was Friday night. This place should’ve been packed with people hanging out. No children were playing in the park, and it looked deserted. None of the stores were even open. No cars were driving by.

Despite the town feeling alive, it was dead inside.

Standing in the middle of the street, I couldn’t shake the certainty of being watched. Out of nowhere, a historical museum caught my attention with its pointed archways and spiritual vibes. I was always a firm believer in going with your gut. My feet moved on their own accord, marching straight to the old building that seemed to have been there for centuries.

With one foot in front of the other, I tried to make my way inside. Disappointment quickly set in when I realized the building was closed for renovations.

I turned to leave, but at the last second, I knocked on the mosaic glass, seeing if maybe someone was in there working and I could take a peek. When no one answered, I walked around the back of the building. My curiosity was getting the best of me.

I checked all the doors until I realized that someone had already tried to break in. One of the mosaic glass windows was broken and covered with thick tarp paper. Not allowing the cold or debris in until they fixed it.

I wonder how long it’s been broken?

I gently pulled the cover away, trying to sneak my way inside. It was a tight fit, but I managed to slide in until a shard of glass accidentally slid across my wrist.

I gasped, immediately feeling the sharp pain slicing along my inner forearm, cutting the protective bracelet my grandmother made me. I never took it off. The red beads scattered across the floor, as if in warning.

It was.

It should’ve been enough for me to haul ass and leave. The bracelet was literally trying to save me from myself, but I didn’t see it. Or maybe I did, and I chose to ignore it. I had to find the truth everyone was trying so desperately to hide from me.

The shard of glass cut me deep enough that I was bleeding, but not enough that I’d need stitches. I grabbed the scarf around my neck, wrapping it around my wound, thankful I decided to grab it instead of a jacket. I was wearing a cream-colored dress, with a long-sleeved shirt under the straps, and boots.

As soon as I wrapped my wrist, the scent of old paper and polished wood assaulted every one of my senses. The museum was definitely under construction. It probably wasn’t safe for me to be in there, but I couldn’t help myself.

It merely reminded me of what Onyx said to me the night in the woods.

“That’s your pride talking. Now let’s see if it’s louder than your curiosity since you lack basic common sense.”

I guess I was proving him right. I hated that after all these weeks, he was still on my mind. At school, he pretended I didn’t exist like everyone else. As though everything that happened the night in the woods between us was a figment of my imagination.

I couldn’t say he was pushing me away, since he’d never let me in.

I still felt his honey-colored eyes following me everywhere, even when I was in my bedroom. It was the weirdest thing, the feeling of being watched 24/7. I even started taking my clothes off and putting them on in the shower, thinking it was the only place I had some real privacy, or at least I hoped I did.

The walls of the property had eyes everywhere, and I couldn’t hide from them. It was designed that way, being a Devereaux’s estate. The evil spirits lurked all around.

The museum felt that way too. It was heavy with emotions I didn’t understand. All the glass cases were empty. I roamed from display to display, finding nothing. All the artifacts had already been removed. I guess it made sense since they were remodeling. The only thing left behind was a few shelves stacked with books that served no purpose to me, just some old dictionaries and such.

“I’m not going to find any answers here.” I turned to leave, but my boot caught on the uneven antique rug below me. “Shit.” Stumbling forward, I caught myself against the bookcase before I face-planted on hundreds of years of history someone was trying to remodel into new.

Are they burying the past, or have they already done so?

It was the only thing on my mind as a loud thunk echoed across the room, and I froze. They didn’t feel like real books that were pressed against. They were made of metal. After considering it for a minute, I lost the battle and touched them all around.

“What is—” I pulled out one of the books, but it didn’t move. Instead, it slowly opened a door behind me that was made to look like a bookshelf. “Mierda,” I murmured. “Fuck.” Shivers coursed up my spine.

I had a bad feeling about this, but again, nothing could stop me. Subconsciously, I glanced over my shoulder, thinking someone was there with me. I came up empty, but I still felt someone’s strong stare on my body.

Swallowing hard, I stepped toward where the door led. My heart hammered in my chest as I headed inside, as if I were walking to my own execution.

Ten steps.

Twenty.