The Autumn Prince

43. Monsters

"Thomas."

I'd heard that word before, from the same voice, in the same empty place.

It knifed through the darkness to where I lay, hidden in the folds of troubled sleep. Reluctantly, I cracked open my eyes. A blurred mass of pale skin and blond hair hovered between me and a blazing light, and I blinked several times to make sure it was real.

"Katherine?" I croaked.

"Can you stand?" The voice was deeper than Katherine's. More formal.

I tried and failed until strong hands gripped my upper arms. Pain seared through me, but it was more bearable than the weight on my heart. I was still in the basement beneath Stewart Hall. It was different with the overhead lights on, less threatening, less empty. I looked for the thing I dreaded most, but there were no chains draped over the pipes in the ceiling. No corpse hanging by its wrists.

"Where's Gloria?"

"The body has been removed," Miss Gold said, offering me a stable arm as I rose from the futon. I'd fallen asleep after spending hours trying to find a way out of Stewart Hall's cellar. The pain in my chest had worsened until it hurt to move at all, and all I'd wanted was to fall into dreams and forget.

"Where?"

"That is not now important," she said, "We will honor her as we can, but we cannot let the body be found here."

"A cover up," I groaned.

"It is necessary, Thomas."

"I know," I said quickly, "and I'm glad you didn't leave her hanging there. She deserved better."

She pulled me up and guided me through the cellar door.

"He found us, Miss Gold. My dad—" I hissed in pain and stopped on the first stair.

"Caratacos did not find you. He used your friend as he used Rachel, because he was unable to act on his own."

"It's my fault," I said dryly. I was emotionally fatigued, unable to express anything like sorrow or grief.

"Perhaps."

I knew it was unlikely coming from Miss Gold, but I'd expected some kind of consolation. I gave her a sharp look when she offered none, and she correctly interpreted my response.

"You must bear the responsibility, Thomas. It is not improper to feel regret, but do not allow that to become guilt. That burden belongs to your father alone."

"I don't think he feels the same," I ground my teeth, enduring the next few steps. I'd never be able to put enough distance between me and that cellar.

"The weight of our actions lies heavy on us all," she said simply, "whether we are able to acknowledge it or not."

I wanted that to be true. I wanted my dad to suffer, buried under his own convictions, but somehow, I didn't think he had ever experienced a second of remorse. 

It was dark when we emerged onto the sidewalk, without a soul in sight. "What time is it?"

"Five o'clock Monday morning."

She supported me as I limped around the building to a familiar microbus parked at the curb and opened the side door for me. Becca sat cross-legged within, the Fferyn across her lap, and she gasped when she saw me.

"Omigosh, Tom, are you okay? I mean... no, how could you be? I just..." She reached forward to help me inside, and recoiled when I winced at her touch, "I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," I said.

"It's not," she replied, "nothing's fine right now. I heard about your friend. I saw... did you really meet your dad?"