The House

Chapter 47 - Day 5: The Unexpected

TW: Violence. Reader discretion is advised.

"Belle told you; that's your proof?"

"It sounded so much better in my head."

Since I was feeling almost normal again and the rain had let up for a while, taking the cold with it, David agreed that I no longer had to stay in bed. 

He also didn't argue when I declared that I needed ice cream, even though something smelling like savoury heaven is baking in the oven for our dinner. I think he might be an ice cream addict too, because he happily accepted the bowl I filled for him and joined me at the serving island to eat it.

I do not like hearing the disgust and disappointment in his voice and decide just to shut up and focus on my bowl instead of trying to explain what I meant. I drag my spoon over the creamy fun, making the ice cream stand up in chocolate-streaked, toffee-coloured peaks, perfect for miniature skiers to play on. I glance up at David, startled to see just how miserable and defeated he is looking. He is really taking the fact that his great-grandfather was a criminal very hard, and now I've dashed the little hope he had when all I wanted to do was to help.

"Does it really matter? I mean, you told me that the person who built this house was a smuggler with ties to pirates and not altogether a law-abiding citizen..." So much for shutting up!

"Yeah, well, that was hundreds of years ago and involved stuff like tea and brandy to avoid unfair taxes, not murder... My great-grandfather hits a bit closer to home." 

That is true; Hugolin is the father of the man who raised David.

"Think about it, David," I try again, determined to wipe that look of despair from his handsome face. "I tried to help Hugolin Chevrolet... uhm... whatever... out of the sea and followed him up that hidden corridor long before I knew of his existence."

I am selfishly relieved that David is using Stirling as his surname because I'll never be able to remember the other one... Lunabelle Chevrolet does have a rather nice ring to it, though... but it's wrong. I take a peek at the pencil scratching David made of the stone's inscription, lying between us on the corner of the serving station. My crib note. I'll need it if he ever decides to take his great-grandfather's name... doesn't seem very likely now... The thought makes me sad.

Lunabelle Chevrette-Bellier. Lovely. I might even develop a nice accent to go with it.

"And I've been in that little room that isn't there now but was there around the time that Maribelle lived here, not only once, but three times! Maribelle was in that room, I know it, because each time I found myself in there, it somehow involved her... and I felt the connection."

The shadows in David's eyes are shifting; I think he is starting to see my point. Good! That makes one of us.

"If those things were true, then surely... She had knowledge, David. When we were... when she was loving Hugolin, she was thinking about how he was framed..."

"Sure, Belle..."

"Luna."

"She might've really believed that or wanted to believe it, but it does not make it true; it isn't proof."

He's right, and, feeling defeated now too, I use my spoon to scoop up a mound of ice cream, destroying one of my pretty ski-slopes, and shove it into my mouth. Savouring the ice cream with my eyes closed, I let my mind run through the memories I've been shying away from. Hugolin, severely wounded, struggling from the sea into the cellar, the excruciating pain in my stomach when we reached the cellar, waking up next to a scratchy bear, and then, more recently, the cold emptiness, the frost and...