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The Vision She Hid 90
“Of course they know it,” I said. I had no doubts who it was.Elky reached for the whiskey he’d poured and abandoned earlier. He didn’t drink it. He looked at the glass like it had a face he recognized in a crowd.“There’s a reason I brought you back here,” he said.“Let me guess. Because running is for people who can afford new names?” I said.“That’s also a part of it. Because the truthful answers are heavy weight,” he said. “And this is how you build the spine to carry them with pride.”The hearth popped, one ember remembering how to dance and then forgetting again. I thought about the mills—Florence and Manchester, the sound of looms like rain on old tin roofs, women laughing over thread that would turn into dresses made to outlast wars. I thought about ministers with somebody else’s sins in their pockets, and port chiefs who counted the same money twice because they loved it too much. I thought about Andros Jennings, his cold grin, his gun, his certainty that fire is a cure for a
The Vision She Hid 89
The safe room had the personality of a prison warden hired as a mansion decorator. Steel shutters were down. Hearth sulking to embers. Maps on the walls faded away like polite lies. The kind of room that pretends to be civilized while counting bullets that missed your head if you were stupid enough to stay outside.Somewhere in the south garden, a sensor had screamed for help but then decided to be all shy about it. The breach alarm cut off. The silence afterward had a lot of weight, one could have minted coins from it.Elky rolled in the trunk like he’d just come back from digging up an ancestor. Old cedar, stamped in a serif that remembered being touched by human hands:JENNINGS & SONS – FLORENCE–MANCHESTERThe corners were iron-bitten and border-burned, scarred the way passports would be if they traveled places. The trunk smelled like resin and salt and whatever pride becomes when it stops being useful.He set it at the long table and flicked the latches. The lid came up slow, as i
The Vision She Hid 88
The east wing didn’t welcome visitors. It tolerated them the way a snake tolerates sunlight—lazy, and with fangs behind politeness. The door groaned open on hinges that hadn’t sung in a decade, maybe two. Dust billowed like it had been waiting to exhale. The air had the taste of dry velvet and old books.There was something about the east wing that I just couldn’t resist, especially after being away from the house without a hope to return. Its not that my love to the place grew, no way, it was more unhealthy curiosity mixed with my asking for trouble attitude. So I stepped inside it like I was entering someone’s bad dream. Mine, most likely.The hallway was long, too long. And also too quiet, like it had outlived everyone who meant to walk through. The portraits watched me like disappointed ancestors—naval coats, solemn lips, faces carved from duty. None of them had eyes that sparkled with joy. These were people who’d forgotten how to smile around the same time indoor plumbing became
The Vision She Hid 87
The cypress trees leaned in like gossiping old women, their crooked fingers brushing the blacked-out SUV as it slid up the long gravel road. A thin line of smoke hung in the air—wood smoke, probably. The kind that settles in your bones and refuses to leave. The familiar smell of the house I thought I’ll never see again.Elky drove like a man rehearsing his funeral route. One hand on the wheel, one eye on nothing in particular. Silent. Bleeding, still in pain. But it wasn’t the kind of bleeding you could bandage. This was Jennings-level bleeding—slow, dignified, noble inconvenience.“Are we going somewhere else, right?” I asked, because someone had to break the tension before it curdled into something solid.He didn’t answer. Just hit the gas a little harder, like our house might grow legs and run away if he didn’t catch it in time.“Elky?”“No,” he said, voice made of dry glass. “We’re going home, rabbit.”Yeah, why not, home. That’s cute. Like we were just two misfits coming back to
The Vision She Hid 86
Every palazzo has a heart — not where the parties were thrown or the lovers were hidden, but where the skeletons were filed in alphabetical order. Elky’s family palace was no exception. You could smell the secrets in the woodwork, in the dusty folds of antique drapes.It took me full fifteen minutes to find the hidden study behind my bedroom. Fifteen more to pick the lock with a bent hairpin and a prayer. The hinges sighed with disappointment when I pushed the door open, as if the room had been holding its breath for three years and wasn’t happy about me walking in.The smell hit me first — old paper, cold leather, and a hint of whatever gunpowder turns into when it is not used for too long. It felt like the kind of room where men made decisions that got other men killed, and then lit cigars to celebrate their brilliance. The wallpaper was a baroque green, peeling in places like bad sunburn. The curtains were too heavy for this century, and the dust lay on everything like my bad judgm
The Vision She Hid 85
Waking up after blacking out is like answering a phone you know you shouldn’t. You pick it up anyway, because curiosity always gets you murdered first.The chaise lounge was empty and cold. It felt like a kiss that never happened or a promise someone didn’t intend to keep. My shoulder was tighter than before, bandaged by hands that knew the shape of every bone I owned. I could still smell him — the familiar cocktail of cologne, dry blood, and cigarettes. But big Elky was gone.The fire had died in the grate. The chandelier was off. No sunlight — just the pale, breathless kind of grey that creeps in your heart before dawn. The chandelier above me had stopped swaying. The room was still but it didn’t feel safe. Like the air had secrets it didn’t want to share with me. I shifted to the right to look at my phone. It was a mistake.My body answered with a sharp protest — a stabbing pain in the shoulder that reminded me what bullets do when they feel vindictive. I groaned, rolled back. The
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