“Are you okay? Maybe you should just take the night to think about this, Frankie, like stop and really think about it.” I hated when he talked about me to anyone, but especially when he talked to them like he was my boyfriend. He wasn’t my anything anymore, and I was starting to resent him and all his concern.
I walk away like I always do when he tries to talk to me, and just like he always does, he follows me. Just as I exit through the door and unlock my car doors, he grabs my good arm and makes me face him.
“Okay, you’re mad. I get it, I’m sorry.”
I look at him, really look at him, and try to picture myself married to him. I try to picture being pregnant with his child, and it all feels wrong. He runs his hand through his hair anxiously, the other hand on his waist. I know he’s in love with me, but I just. Don’t. Feel. It. And that feeling, that makes me feel awful. Because I’m causing him pain. I can see it ruining him for any other woman.
I hug him hard, hating the words I’m about to say. “I need you to listen to me, okay?” I make eye contact just so he knows I’m serious. He nods. “I need you to let me go. It’s not your job to talk to the chief for me. It’s not your job to look out for me.” The tears start to fall. “I know you want to get married and start a family, but I’m telling you, I’m not the girl you’re looking for. Find someone else. I promise you I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not doing this for attention. I really don’t want to be with you. I can’t give you what you want.”
His exasperation from earlier turns to anger, and I can see the shift the moment it happens. “Just because I talked to the chief, you’re going to end this? God, Frankie, you know, sometimes you act like a spoiled brat, just throwing a tantrum because you don’t get your way. I’m sorry Ramirez died, okay? I’m sorry you got shot, but I’m trying here. Can’t you just try to be normal for once? Jesus, act like you were born with some sense, okay? We’re good together. Why won’t you just accept that?”
And just like all the other times, he totally ignores everything I just said, so I do the same. I get in my car and drive away.
Far away from this. Away from him. Away from it all.
2
I’m all too glad to leave the bright lights of the city in my rearview.
It would be nice to be somewhere where no one knew anything about me. No more hugs and baked casseroles, no more pity, no more staring at the freak with the bad luck. The minute I enter the Woodlands, where the population hovers around four hundred, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. The knot that was lodged in my stomach slowly began to undo itself the further and further I got away from home. Home. I couldn’t even recognize when it stopped feeling like home and started feeling like a prison. It’s like I didn’t know I was being suffocated until that first breath of unpolluted air.
The sun has completely set by the time the driver pulls into the Randolph Manor gates, and in that moment I’m grateful I didn’t drive here myself, because I definitely would have missed that turn. The entrance is pocketed in a tiny side street that’s shrouded by trees. It’s impossible to find, and I silently wonder if that’s how Randolph wanted it. The driver punches the code into the keypad, and the gates slowly creak open.
I try to check myself for any nerves, but there aren’t any. I’m not scared or nervous. I’ve lost almost everyone I’ve ever loved, and I think the aftermath of repeated trauma like that has deadened the nerves inside me. It takes a lot for me to feel...anything. And fear? Fear is nonexistent. When you’ve lost everything, it simply loses its value. There’s nothing left to lose.
The driver opens the door and immediately sees an older gentleman dressed in jeans and a sweater waiting at the entrance.
“Officer Francis?” he asks skeptically.
I bite my tongue and decide not to correct him. “Yep, that’s me...” He shuffles on his feet like he doesn’t know what to do, and I see him nervously scratching his head. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry...I didn’t think...I...uh...we were under the impression you were a male.” He looks down at my sling, and his eyes widen a little bit. “And you’re injured.”
“I only keep it in the sling at night, and I can assure you, I’m just as good as any man they would have sent. Better, even.” I smile at him to try and make him feel at ease, even though it’s slightly irritating.
He almost looks bashful. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that we’d planned for a male guest.” I didn’t even know what that meant. A room was a room, a toilet a toilet. . .
“Please don’t worry. I’m sure whatever room you have will be just fine.” That seems to pacify him, and he reaches over for my bag and starts ushering me inside. “My name is Lowell. I take care of the house. Would you like any dinner, Miss Francis?” he asks as he closes the thick, wooden, medieval looking door behind me.
“I already ate, thank you. And please just call me Frankie.”
“Why hide such a beautiful name, if I may ask?”
Lowell is an older man, old enough to be someone’s grandparent. He looks relatively healthy, but he’s the kind of man I knew right away had nothing to do with the hikers’ disappearances. And even though I’d just met him, I felt compelled to tell him the truth.
“I’ve been a tomboy my whole life, and my mom gave me the girliest name imaginable. Isabella. People used to call my dad Frankie, so the minute I could talk, I told people to start calling me Frankie, too, and it’s stuck…”
“But it’s such a beautiful name...”
“I’ve always felt more like a Frankie than I ever did an Isabella.”
“I’m sure your parents would disagree. I think I’ll honor their wishes and call you by your given name.”
The silence becomes awkward, like it always does whenever I talk about my parents. Lowell senses it and changes the subject.
“Up the stairs are all the bedrooms. In the West Wing is where the guest quarters are. Downstairs to the right is the kitchen, the Great Hall, and two smaller dining areas. To the left we have the library, a gym, some offices, and the indoor swimming pool.”
“The bedrooms are all upstairs?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Well, I was hoping to get a bedroom with a good view of the tree line.”
The debriefing paperwork the chief had given me said a lot of hiker activity was on the north side of the forest, the side that intersected with the Randolph property, which according to the paperwork wasn’t a coincidence.
“No, I’m sorry, Miss Isabella. The only bedrooms are upstairs.”
“Is there a way I can speak to Mr. Randolph? I’d really like to know what all I’m allowed to do while I stay here. There may be other rooms that are better suited for surveillance.”
“I can see if I can get in touch with him.”
He begins walking up the stairs to the bedrooms. The place is older, but it’s still gorgeous and screams opulence. The windows are so big, I’m sure the curtains have to be tailor made for that size. Even the carpet lining the staircase is expensive.
I absentmindedly ask, “You never mentioned what’s on the East wing.”
He turns to face me fully. “The East wing is strictly off limits,” he says tersely.
“That sounds ominous,” I say, but all I can think about is why it’s off limits. He ignores me and pushes the doors open to a guest bedroom that’s probably bigger than my entire apartment. It’s modern, clean, and sophisticated. I take a peek in the bathroom, and there’s a clawfoot bathtub and the bath has a rain showerhead.
“I hope it’s to your liking and comfort level.”
“Are you kid -”
Before I can even complete my sentence, I’m cut off by a loud roar through the house that seemingly makes the walls vibrate with the sound.
“LOWELLLLLLLLL.”
My heart stutters at the noise, and I break out in goosebumps. There are crashing sounds coming from somewhere in the house, like someone’s trashing the furniture, and I’m immediat
ely scared for Lowell.
“Who—?”
If he’s phased by this outburst, or whatever it was, he doesn’t show it in the least. He acts as if this is normal. “If you need anything, please pick up the bedside phone and call me. I'll answer any time of night. Don’t go wandering the halls, and please, whatever you do, stay in your bedroom.”
I stand at the door and listen for any more sounds of any kind, but there are none; the house has gone completely silent. I quickly change into my pajamas and get ready for bed as quickly as I can so I don’t miss anything. When I’m done, the house is still as silent as before. I contemplate picking up the phone to call Lowell to see if he’s alright, but decide against it. I just met him, and although I’m here to keep an eye on things, inner house turmoil wasn’t in my job description. If he wasn’t worried, then I wasn’t going to worry either. I take in the view of the grounds I can see through my window. Since it’s October, the weather has dropped considerably and there’s fog covering most of the grounds, essentially making it impossible for me to see anything from here. I would definitely need another room.
I lay down as I feel a stomach ache coming on, I curl in on myself, and that’s how I finally fall asleep….
3
The sleep is short-lived.
My stomach ache had gone from a dull pain to something I can’t ignore; definitely not something I could sleep through. I roll over and look at the clock; it’s been only three hours since I laid down. My stomach jerks, and I wrap my arms around myself, but it’s no use. This pain is unlike any I’ve ever felt. It was an ache, but like a pulling sensation, a strong, overwhelming one. With it, an unquenchable thirst. My throat was so dry, all I could think about was water. I peek out my door, and it’s dead silent, so I creep down the hall. It’s dark, and I’m bumping into things; my knees hit something metal, my elbow hits something wooden. I walk and walk, but it’s like my feet have a mind of their own because I don’t end up in the kitchen, not even close. I have no idea where I am, but I find myself down a candlelit hall, walking toward a grand balcony with its doors wide open. I follow my feet and can see the balcony has a clear view of the moon. As I get closer, I can see it also has a good view of the grounds that surround the manor on one side.
I walk all the way out, mesmerized by the view.
“I believe Lowell said the East Wing was off limits.”
I tense as I hear the cool, calm voice behind me, the sound of it zinging up and down my spine. When I turn around, my eyes land on a pair of blue ones looking angrily at me. And... he’s shirtless. He has angry, deep scars running up and down his chest and fresh long, angry, red ones, too.
When he finally breaks the silence, it’s to tell me I’m bleeding.
“Huh?”
“Come.”
I just stare at him.
“I just need to clean you up.”
He grabs my hand, and I try to speak, but my throat is so parched, only a faint sound comes out. His touch sent an odd electric current through my body. It was almost like a static energy, where all the hair on my body was standing up. I follow him into a bathroom, where he pulls out a stool and tells me simply to “sit.”
I utter the first thing that comes to mind. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?” he says angrily as he starts taking supplies out of a cabinet.
“You know what. I know you felt that, too. It was like electricity when you… touched me.”
His eyes meet mine, but I can’t read what he’s thinking. “Let’s just get you cleaned up.”
As he continues digging through the cabinet, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, then at him. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man, even with the scars. His arms are all muscle, with the skin stretching just to keep the muscles in check, the veins straining against his skin. I see the scars on his torso are also on his back. My eyes are crawling up his back when he closes the cabinet and his eyes catch mine in the mirror, and like I have no shame, I just continue to stare. Even his neck is gorgeous. Thick and veiny. My throat continues to remind me it’s dry and I should probably stop wasting my drool on this man. As if reading my mind, he plants a glass of water in front of me, and I take it and chug it down greedily. He kneels before me and starts to pull out bandages, iodine, cotton balls, and some gauze.
“Why are you wandering the house so late?”
“I was thirsty.”
He ignores my reason. “This might hurt a little bit.”
He swabs a cotton ball full of iodine over my knee. I flinch a little bit and see him grimace like it hurt him, too. After he rubs the iodine over the cut, he leans in and blows on it slowly. My whole body shivers. I close my legs tighter, trying to stifle the feeling there. I look down at him and see his eyes are bright and intently focused on me. I grab a cotton ball of my own and dip it with some iodine, then I reach down slowly, giving him enough time to stop me if he wants to, and slowly run it over one of the scratches on his chest that’s still bleeding.
“Who did this to you?”
He wraps his fingers around mine and bolts of something shoot through my body. It’s an intense feeling, like being shocked, but it feels good. Neither of us moves our fingers from where they are.
“Who did this to you?” He asks me the same thing as he warily runs his fingers over the outside of my sling. I can feel the heat of his skin even through the thick fabric of it.
And because being in front of this man has left me with no sanity, I say something I know for sure could get me fired. “They have me here to watch you.”
“Is that right?” he says smoothly, no fluster at my admission.
“Yes. They don’t think it’s a coincidence that all these hikers have disappeared on a piece of land that’s attached to yours. And now you’re here, covered in cuts and scratches. What am I supposed to think?”
His stare is blunt, and it makes me feel like I couldn’t hide from him even if I tried. “Do you believe I’m behind the disappearances?”
I stare into blue eyes, eyes I swear I’ve stared into a thousand times before. “Have we met before?”
His answer is quick and firm. “No. Answer the question.”
I swallow to relieve some of the dryness in my throat. “I know I don’t know you at all, and I can’t deny that seeing you like this has raised my suspicions, but...” I sigh because I feel compelled to keep talking. “No, my gut tells me you don’t have anything to do with this.”
“You should go back to your room now.”
I’m not ready to be away from him yet. “Walk me.”
He looks at his watch. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Lowell will take you.”
The minute the words leave his mouth, Lowell appears behind him like magic and the man who’d knelt before me quietly exits the room. Once he’s gone, I look to Lowell.
“Who -?”
“That is Caleb Randolph. He’s the owner of this house.”
“But they said he’s never here.”
“Something must have called him home.”
I don’t notice as he stares at me with an awed expression, because all I can think about is the fact that I’ve never felt such an insane instant attraction toward someone. Someone who could very well be the reason I’m here to begin with.
4
Weeks would go by before I saw him again (not that I was keeping count).
Weeks of surveillance, trekking through the woods night and day, all to no avail. I found random items, a lighter, one earring, an old boot, but that didn’t mean they belonged to the missing hikers. Regardless, I bagged it all and sent it off to the nearby police station. After my first night here, two more visitors mysteriously arrived: Callum and Risa, Caleb’s brother and his wife. Callum was exactly the opposite of his brother, warm and inviting, while Caleb seemed cold and indifferent. The minute Callum saw me, he hugged me like we were already old friends. Risa, on the other hand...when I saw her, it was like a kick in the gut. She was beautiful and warm, but
I could see she had scars, almost identical to Caleb’s, one of them right along the column of her throat. Callum informed me her voicebox had been shattered years ago in a struggle with some drunken men in a bar, and for the first time in six months, I wanted to cry for someone else. She hugged me, too, and I got that same feeling I had when I met Caleb, like we’d met before. The stomach ache I had on the first night only seemed to get worse, so much so that Lowell had to give me a special herbal tea every night and morning just to combat me throwing up every day.
In Callum, I found an unlikely ally and treasure trove of information. I picked his brain about what it was like being a werewolf (he loved it), his family (three brothers, and his parents were deceased), how it had all started (his mother was bitten by one), and through it all he answered everything, everything except anything to do with Caleb. It’s like the minute I’d bring him up, he locked up like Caleb himself would come down and kill him for even opening his mouth. He kept me company, too. He sat with me as I surveilled the grounds (he said it was a real life stakeout), running with me around the grounds, working out in the gym, helping me stretch and do the exercises and stretches my physical therapist had ordered me to work on. Even on days when I wanted to be left alone, he wouldn’t leave. On the dark days when I wanted to punish myself for things I couldn’t control, he would just stay. No matter if I yelled, no matter if I cried, he never left. Yesterday was a particularly rough day, since I knew it was Ramirez’s daughter’s birthday, and like he could sense I had a rough night, he started trying to make me feel better.
“Sometimes, even though we believe we don’t deserve forgiveness, we do. I see how much you beat yourself up. We all deserve forgiveness whether we believe it or not.”
I blocked out his words and slammed the book on werewolves I was reading shut, because as wise as he sounded, I’m sure his words didn’t apply to me.
Dawn to Dark Page 18
