“Okay, but why?”
Curiosity burning within her, Ellie flicked through the pages, eager to see how the story concluded. Her fingers hesitated for a moment before turning to the last page. She would never do such a heinous thing under any normal circumstances, but these weren’t them. Taking a deep breath, she began to read the final words of Edmund Blackwood’s masterpiece:
As I stepped from the shadows, I drank in the carnage before me. My children, my grandchildren—all dead, their unseeing eyes fixed on the prize that had driven them to such depths of depravity. A mirthless chuckle escaped my lips as I bent to retrieve the necklace from my granddaughter’s lifeless grasp.
Oh, how they had fought!
Just as I had anticipated, their greed had consumed them, blinding them to the truth that lay before their very eyes. For you see, dear reader, the necklace—that coveted treasure—was nothing more than a worthless bauble.
The rubies?
Mere glass.
The chain?
A cheap imitation of gold.
In their haste to claim what they believed to be rightfully theirs, they had never paused to question its authenticity. My will had simply instructed them to leave it be, yet their greed could not resist. And so, they met their fate, victims of their own avarice and inability to heed a simple warning.
This, my final lesson to them, would go unlearned. But perhaps, if any still draw breath, they might seek out the three I trust…
Ellie’s hands trembled as she lowered the manuscript, her mind reeling from the dark revelation. She turned to Daniel, her voice barely above a whisper, “My God, what kind of man was Edmund Blackwood? He thought his family would—”
“He saw them for who they are,” Daniel said.
Ellie read over the last two lines again, like Edmund had just looked right at her and delivered yet another riddle, and… a confession? No, he couldn’t be alive. The shadows were just shadows, but that house likely did have hidden compartments.
“Could he have faked his death?”
“Ellie, he was ancient when he died… it’s hardly the age for a comeback.”
“Try telling that to my mother,” she said. “It would be one final shocker, but you’re right. I can’t imagine he’s been lingering around for two years waiting for the carnage.” She looked down at the text again, squinting at the notes glowing on the final page. “Perhaps he just wanted to experience how he thought it would all end on the page.”
There was a pop and a hiss, and Ellie’s heart sank as the sprinklers above suddenly burst to life, drenching her and Daniel in an instant. The precious manuscript in her hands wilted under the onslaught of water, the paper far too delicate for a final copy of anything.
“Ellie, we need to go!” Daniel’s urgent voice cut through her panic. He grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away as all she could do was blink back the water as she tried to find her feet.
“The book!” she cried, grabbing for the soggy pages. She couldn’t lose it again. Her fingers grazed the corner as Daniel yanked her back.
“The socket! It’s not safe!”
As if on cue, a loud crack followed by a pop echoed through the room. The black light flickered and died, plunging them into total darkness while the rain continued to soak them. Desperation seized Ellie. She lunged forward, snatching up the book. But as she lifted it, the pages sagged in her grip like a melting stick of butter.
“Come on!” Daniel urged, tugging at her arm once more.
Ellie hesitated for a split second before making a dash for the side door they’d snuck in through. The book, or what was left of it, slipped from her grasp, hitting the concrete paving slabs with a wet splat. It had disintegrated into nothing more than a pile of mush. With a pang of regret, she left it behind and followed Daniel out of the building.
Once outside, they create puddles on the road while they caught their breath.
“What was that about?” Daniel asked, bewildered. “Those sprinklers don’t just go off for no reason.”
Ellie’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “How do you turn them on?” she asked, a suspicion forming in her mind. “That was the last copy… the last one… I destroyed it.”
“Whoever set those sprinklers off destroyed it.” Daniel ran a hand through his wet hair. “If there isn’t a fire, there’s a panel in the utility cupboard for testing.”
Ellie’s mind reeled as she stood dripping on the pavement, her clothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin. This wasn’t the first time someone had tried to thwart her investigation like this, and she doubted it would be the last.
“Why am I even doing this?” she muttered, more to herself than to Daniel. “I should be... I don’t know... applying for a job! How about that for a start? Emma had a point. I’m just… I’m in over my head, and for the second time today, I’m soaking wet!” She tried to laugh at how pathetic she felt, but it only made her want to cry. “What am I missing? I’ve had clue after clue after clue, and I still… I just don’t know what’s going on in Meadowfield.”
“I don’t think anyone ever does.”
She lifted her brows. “I think Sylvia Fortescue might argue with that.”
“No, you’re right there,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “But here’s how I see it: you must be close if your opponent is trying this hard,” he urged, but Ellie couldn’t seem to focus on the rest as he carried on.
Her eyes had fixed on something a stone’s throw away, something that made her heart constrict painfully in her chest.
The bench.
Without a word, Ellie began walking towards it, her feet moving of their own accord. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d been avoiding it, avoiding coming around this bend like the tourists did on South Street. Each step felt heavier than the last as memories flooded her mind. This was where it happened. Where Luke crashed his motorbike.
As she approached, the brass plaque on the bench came into focus. Ellie’s eyes traced the familiar words etched into the metal, a lump forming in her throat. The same dates from the plaque across the street in the graveyard. She lowered herself onto the damp wood, barely noticing the wetness seeping through her already soaked clothes.
Sitting there, Ellie felt the past seep into her skin with the water. The guilt, the what-ifs, the unresolved feelings—they all came rushing back, threatening to overwhelm her.
Ellie felt Daniel’s presence, a silent comfort in the face of her overwhelming memories, but for once, she decided to take a leaf out of Willow’s book.
“I was supposed to marry this man,” she said plainly, helping a little spider off the plaque and onto a nearby flowerpot. “You might have heard the story. People are talking, apparently.”
