Devils Don't Fly

by M. H. Soars

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I’m lying?”

  I don’t get why she’s so defensive. “Of course not, sugar. It just that….” I pause, running my hand through my hair. “That watch used to belong to my grandfather, and Nana had promised it to Harry.”

  I expect Saylor to remove the watch and hand it over—not that I told her the story to persuade her to do so—but she doesn’t, which is bloody strange. It’s unlike her to want material things. Plus, she’s made it no secret that she doesn’t like Harry that much. Why would she want to keep an heirloom promised to him? That’s not like her at all.

  “Well, she never told me that. She left the box with the watch under Gilbert’s care. He only gave it to me after her passing. There was a note with the watch. She wanted me to wear it at her funeral.”

  I don’t think Saylor’s lying, but she must see something in my expression that leads her to believe I’m doubting her.

  “I believe you, sugar. But don’t be surprised if Harry makes a comment about the watch. He was kind of obsessed with it.”

  I see a strange glint in her eye as she says, “Oh, if he remembers the watch, I’ll gladly let him have it.”

  Forty-Two

  Saylor

  The turnout for Adeline’s funeral is far greater than for Dr. Best. I’m not surprised. Considering how the man treated Oliver, I highly doubt he was any better with strangers.

  While the guests are being entertained, Oliver and I pay our final respects to her alone. I asked him if we could, mainly because I didn’t want to lose my shit in front of a bunch of strangers. Oliver stands by me as we both stare in silence at his grandma. I thought it would be hard, but it doesn’t seem like she’s truly gone, only asleep.

  “She looks so peaceful,” I whisper.

  “Yes. They did a good job.”

  He pulls me closer and kisses the side of my head. I know he’s offering comfort as much as he’s taking. I don’t want to cry, but it’s getting harder with each passing second.

  “A few weeks back, Adeline asked me when we would give her a great-grandchild. I was mortified.”

  Oliver chuckles. “Why?”

  “Well, because the topic started when she guessed what we had been up to earlier.”

  “Did you talk about sex with Nana?” There’s humor in Oliver’s voice.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing. I’m just wishing I was there.”

  I place a hand over my flat stomach. “Your wish came true, Adeline.”

  Oliver covers my hand with his. I stare at our hands together for a couple of beats before looking up. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears, just like mine are. My mood is all over the place. I don’t know if I want to cry or laugh. Probably both.

  Of course Harry is the one who interrupts our moment.

  “There you are.”

  I step back and Oliver’s hand drops from my stomach. Shit. Harry is the last person I want to know about my pregnancy. Did he see where Oliver’s hand was before? It wouldn’t take a genius to guess the meaning of that gesture. He strides toward us, wearing an impeccable dark suit and an unreadable expression. My skin crawls at his proximity, and when he leans over to kiss me on the cheek, bile rises in my throat.

  “How are you feeling, sis?”

  I’m fucking speechless. Even if I haven’t read Adeline’s letter, I wouldn’t want him calling me that.

  “I’m much better, thank you.”

  I turn to Oliver, raising my left hand to fix his tie. An excuse really—I want the watch to be in Harry’s line of sight. Taking my time, I turn to him to gauge his reaction. “When did you arrive?”

  “Ten minutes ago. I spent time making my rounds, introducing myself to Grandma’s old friends.” His gaze zeroes in on the watch and stays there for a couple of seconds before he continues. “They were surprised to learn I was alive.”

  No reaction whatsoever to the watch, but it’s impossible not to notice his accusatory tone.

  “Did you want me to issue a press release?” Oliver asks, clearly irritated.

  “No, of course not. But I don’t know. Perhaps a dinner party wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  “Are you seriously talking about a coming-out party for yourself while we’re at your Grandma’s funeral?” I level him with a glare.

  In hindsight, his attitude shouldn’t surprise me since I just got the proof I needed that this man isn’t Harry.

  He tries to save face by schooling his expression into one of regret. “Of course not. I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “I’m going to check on Charlotte,” I say to Oliver, completely dismissing the fake Harry.

  “Okay, sugar. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I stride out of the room as my heart beats inside my chest at warp speed. I’m furious and scared at the same time. If that man isn’t Harry, who is he? And how much danger are we in?

  It occurs to me that today is the best day to pay the Jenkinses’ property a visit. Despite Harry’s claim that he’s about to lose the house, he’s still living there. But going there while Harry’s here means I have to miss the ceremony. I hate to leave Oliver to face the ordeal by himself, but I just can’t sit next to that conman and do nothing.

  Instead of finding Charlotte, I stride out of the house, avoiding eye contact with any guest. The courtyard is filled with cars and more are coming. I veer toward the garage, hoping to find Linus there, but he isn’t and the Land Rover is gone. Fuck. What now? I know the Jenkinses’ property isn’t too far from here, but walking would probably take too long. It doesn’t seem I have a choice though.

  I stop by the guesthouse first, changing from my fancy shoes into sensible boots. Felix greets me, as happy as he can be, and I decide it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I brought him along.

  Using the GPS on my phone, I discover I can reach the Jenkinses’ within a ten-minute walk if I take a shortcut through the woods. I’m glad the weather isn’t terrible; it’s still cold, but at least it’s dry.

  My mind is reeling as I walk through the silent forest, the only sounds echoing around me of my boots and Felix’s paws on the dried leaves.

  The narrow path leads to a creek, and on the other side, a break through the vegetation reveals a manor. There isn’t a way around it, so cross the creek I must. Luckily, there are a few mossy rocks protruding from the water, so I’m able to get to the other side of the bank without getting my feet soaked.

  Felix cuts through the icy water as if this is a great adventure for him. I wish I shared his sentiment. The Jenkinses’ house is smaller than Longview Manor, but I can tell it used to belong to people who had money in the past. It’s lost its former glory though. Clingy vines have taken over the brick walls, and what used to be a garden now resembles a wild jungle. The paint on the windows and doors is peeling off, and I bet some of the wood is rotten.

  I open the wrought iron gate, wincing as it creaks loudly. A gust of cold wind comes out of nowhere, making me shiver on the spot. This place is creepy to say the least. I don’t know why anyone would want to buy this property. It’s definitely not worth the amount Oliver had been willing to pay for it.

  Felix takes off on his own exploration mission, stopping to sniff here and there. I veer to the front door, hoping to find it unlocked. I turn the knob, but the door won’t budge. Of course not; I wouldn’t leave my door unlocked either if I was hiding shit.

  I circle the house, searching for another way in. Trying every single window, I find them all closed shut. I’m beginning to lose hope. I don’t want to have to break a window to have access in. A drop of cold water hits my head, and I glance at the sky. Just fucking great. It’s going to start raining now.

  I spot a lonely balcony that doesn’t protrude out of the building, but it’s part of the upper floor with a balustrade only at the front. A high window rests behind the metal barrier, and it’s open. Clingy vines stretch all o
ver the wall surrounding the opening, but I don’t think I can climb them. I search the backyard for anything I can use to gain some height. I think I can pull myself up if I can reach the railing.

  I almost can’t believe my luck when the metal gleam of an old construction ladder catches my eye, almost entirely hidden under a bunch of junk that I can’t even begin to identify. Carefully picking my way through pieces of broken wood and discarded boxes, I have to climb over sacks of dirt to reach the top part of the ladder. It takes me a while to finally yank the rusty ladder from under everything in the way and I end up losing my balance, almost falling completely with the ladder on top of me. I’m able to remain standing by a miracle, but the sound of fabric tearing makes me curse. Sure enough, the tulle underskirt caught on a rusty metal rod and tore.

  I make a grab for the piece of colorful fabric, dangling cheery and bright in this junkyard of solitude, when a breeze catches it, sending it flying away. I shouldn’t leave any evidence of my clandestine visit behind, but I’ve wasted too much time already. Plus, the wind will most likely blow that little scrap of fabric very far away.

  The ladder is high enough that it puts my waist on the same level with the balcony floor. Curling my fingers around the metal rods, I stick my foot between the bars and pull myself over. Felix barks from below. I shush him, not that he understands what I mean by it.

  Heart stuck in my throat, I stick my head inside the room and am immediately assaulted by the smell of ammonia and urine. I have to cover my nose to keep from gagging. A hospital bed sits between two small tables with medicine bottles on them. I guess this part of the story wasn’t a lie. He was taking care of the Mr. Jenkins.

  Asides from the bed, the room is bare. I move on, walking out of the room to peruse the rest of the house. I have no idea what I’m looking for. The few doors I try are locked, so I keep moving down the corridor until one opens. Inside, I find an office. A great dark wood desk is covered with paper and books galore, with more tomes piled on the floor. A film of dust covers most of the surface, and the smell of mold is strong.

  Shit, does the usurper know anything about cleaning? I’m surprised Oliver never mentioned anything about the condition of this place.

  A grandfather clock chimes the hour somewhere in the house, scaring the shit out of me. A sense of urgency takes over and I begin to search with vigor, opening drawers and checking all the documents on the desk. I don’t think anything of importance is on display, so I move on to the bookshelf behind it. The more time I spend here finding nothing, the more discouraged I become. I’m checking the last bookshelf to my right when I spot the corner of a yellow folder sticking out.

  Pulling the folder out, I discover they’re medical records for Simon Jenkins. A shot of adrenaline runs up my spine when I see the date on the label—these records are from last year. With eager fingers, I pull all the papers out, scanning through the documents as fast as I can.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick when I realize they’re medical records for a facial plastic surgery procedure. My arms begin to shake when I see the pictures attached to one of the files: before and after photos, plus the reference.

  “Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. I’m staring at the real Harry. He did survive the accident after all, but is he still alive?

  I set the yellow folder down and start to look for more proof, anything that will give me clues about who the poser is. On the floor, there are a few pictures, frames facedown. One is a family picture, the Jenkinses and two boys who seem to be around the same age.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Is it possible that the guy posing as Harry is actually the real Simon Jenkins? My mind is reeling. I need to get out of here and bring all this evidence to Oliver.

  Felix begins to bark like mad outside just before he lets a whine and then falls quiet. My heart ceases to beat for a second.

  I’m no longer alone.

  Forty-Three

  Oliver

  “I’m really sorry for your loss, young man. Adeline was such an extraordinary woman. To lose her soon after your father passed, what a tragedy,” says an elderly man whose name I can’t bloody remember.

  I only nod and make noncommittal sounds, looking at my phone from time to time. Where the hell is Saylor? She left to find Charlotte, but I haven’t seen her in the last hour. My sister, on the other hand, is across the room chatting with some of Nana’s friends.

  I texted Saylor twenty minutes ago and I still haven’t received a reply. That’s it, I’m going after her. I give some excuse to the man in front of me and make a beeline for the front door, but I don’t make very far. My mother gets in the way, launching herself at me for an awkward hug. She can barely stay upright and I know why. She reeks of alcohol.

  “Oh there you are, my darling son.”

  “Mother, pull your shit together.”

  “Why bother? No one here cares about me anyway. All they can bloody talk about is your grandmother. Never mind that I just lost my husband not too long ago.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  I search for someone to help me with Mum. I don’t care if people know that she’s a crazy drunk, but I don’t want her to ruin Nana’s funeral with her antics.

  “What’s wrong with Mum?” Harry asks, coming to stand next to me.

  “Drunk. I need to check on Saylor. I haven’t seen her in a while, and she’s not answering my texts.”

  I would ask Harry to take care of our mother, but I honestly don’t think he can handle her right now.

  “Do you mind getting Charlotte to check if Saylor is in the guesthouse?”

  “I’ll go check,” Harry offers.

  My gut reaction is to refuse his help, but I have no good reason to do so. Not wanting to come out as an arse and alienate him, I let him go look for Saylor.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  SAYLOR

  Hugging the proof I need tight to my chest, I run back to the hallway, but I don’t go back the way I came in. I don’t know who’s outside, and going down an unstable ladder isn’t the smartest escape route. I rush down the stairs, all too aware that I have no idea if there’s someone waiting for me in the level below. Panic is making me careless.

  I look out the front window, trying to see if there’s anyone outside. The front yard is deserted and eerily quiet. Shit. What happened to Felix? My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it’s going to jump out of my chest.

  Man, I’m so not cut out to be a spy.

  The longer I stay here, the higher the chances that I’ll get caught. I might as well run out the front door. I turn the knob, and barrel down the front steps, searching frantically for Felix. I don’t call his name out loud, because that would be the dumbest move possible. I do, however, do something almost as dumb and circle the house again, going toward the back. I just can’t take off and leave Felix behind. What if he’s hurt?

  What if he’s dead, Saylor? You could be next.

  I stomp on that negative voice until it dies. There’s no sign of Felix anywhere. Fuck. What now? Okay, maybe I’m freaking out over nothing. Maybe he just got spooked by something and ran away. It’s high time I do the same.

  A tingling sensation on the back of my neck has my skin breaking into goose bumps. I begin to turn when I’m grabbed from behind and some sort of cloth is placed over my nose and mouth. I struggle against the hold, but whoever my attacker is, he’s much stronger than me. My vision blurs, darkening around the edges until I can’t see anything but an endless void.

  Forty-Four

  Saylor

  Blinking my eyes open, it takes me a while to focus. Somewhere nearby, water keeps dropping, echoing around me as if I’m in a cave of sorts. The air is cold and moist again my skin. I try to move, only to discover that my wrists and ankles are tied. The floor is damp against my cheek, and also filthy if the smell is any indication.

  Panic starts to set in, making it impossible to breathe. Memori
es from a past I want to forget come rushing back, rendering me utterly and completely useless. No! I won’t be dragged back to that hell. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the sharp pain will save me from going down that rabbit hole. I cannot let my emotions control my fate; I need to remain sharp if I’m to get out of here.

  Easier said than done. My body is shaking as I push myself to a sitting position. The world is pitch black around me, so I focus on my other senses. I count the beating of my heart—one, two, three. My pulse is the loudest noise reverberating in my ears, until the sound of fabric scraping against the dirty floor makes my panic rise to the highest level possible. I curl into a ball and whimper softly.

  “You’re finally awake,” a voice in the darkness says.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Harry.”

  I begin to shuffle as far away as possible from the disembodied voice, knowing how futile it is to try to escape. I’m at his mercy.

  “I know what you’ve done. You’re an impostor. Adeline knew it too.”

  “Nana? Is she still alive?”

  “Don’t fucking play games with me.”

  Suddenly the room is no longer dark. A soft glow emanates from a corner not too far away. Sitting on the floor next to the small lamp, a young man with longish dark hair stares at me.

  “I’m not playing games.”

  Despite the light, his face is still partially hidden in shadows, the gauntness of his cheeks even more pronounced. He looks familiar. I squint as my brain processes what I’m seeing. When the truth finally hits me, I’m shocked that it took me so fucking long to recognize him.

  “You’re the real Harry.” The truth comes out of my lips in a hushed whisper.

  “Yes, and you must be Ollie’s wife.”

  “H-how do you know about me?”