Beautiful Lies

Chapter Five: The Secret

Who me? With two chapters in a day because I was on a writing funk this week and may have a third just for kicks? Its more likely than you think.-😈

See, he doesn't care about you. He would have saved you.

A young man sits in the cells of Hart Manor, his only source of warmth a black cloak, worn over and over, patches of purple where there used to be holes. He shivers, hearing the plonk of water hit the freezing ground, mice and rats alike scrambling over the stone floor, desperate for a bite of food. When he moves, the chains around his wrists jiggle and the vermin hiss and run away.

The young man laughs hollowly. Even the rats and mice don't like it down here.

Where is that lover of yours now? Upstairs, enjoying his life, as you rot in these god forsaken cells.

The young man shifts again, trying to get more comfortable. He ignores the fact that only two weeks ago, he could have been held safe and close. Only two weeks ago, he wouldn't have thought of the cells as anything more than a frightening fairytale, a boogeyman to scare the children that disobeyed.

He left you alone.

The voices in his head are the only ones he hears now, hissing and whispering like vipers, cold and cruel. They used to be hard to believe, they used to be weak, a dying ember. Now, these are the only sounds he can hear, and they shout, a chorus of cruelty.

Traitor!

A shaky sigh escapes the boy's lips. He is so lonely, so hungry, and cold, nothing to comfort him but a swirl of painful thoughts and a cloak of broken dreams. He leans against the stone wall, letting the cold soothe him. A sudden bang of metal on stone startles him. He looks up at a guard, with a cruel sneer, a gaze that looks through him rather than at him.

"Water," The guard says. The boy doesn't question it, even as anxiety courses through him. He drinks it in seconds, the only drink he's had in two days. The guard snatches the cup from him when he finishes, and the boy can't help but slump back down, exhausted, dark circles taking performance under his eyes over the past few days. He doesn't fight back, watching it slip away.

"You're pathetic," the guard comments. "Can't even fight back?" The boy can't utter a witty comment or a sarcastic quip or even a glare, just watches the guard exhaustively. Infuriated that the boy didn't respond, the guard storms off.

Just as the boy leans in the corner, drifting into a restless sleep, a small bouquet of flowers slides down the small water pipe, next to the boy. Out of habit he turns, looking to see them. He picks them up staring at them. He identifies them quickly.

An amaranth, scarlet milkweed, aster, morning glory, bittercress, myrtle, and a black geranium. They are bundled up neatly in a small bouquet, a thin blue ribbon tied around it. The boy takes one look at it and rips it up, not bothering to read the message. All the energy that has gone missing pours out, in anger at the bouquet of flowers.

The pieces of the bouquet are pushed through a crack in the wall and the boy doesn't care, watching them with satisfaction.

Whatever the message was, if it wasn't important enough to deliver in person, it wasn't important enough for the boy to pay attention to. He didn't care if he was in a prison cell, Logan should have come. He should have.

In his mind, the boy considers a response. Sunflowers, bloody red anemones, and nettles. He would make one of course, if he had the flowers. When he was the gardener, he had no trouble finding flowers. But since the day he had been kidnapped and placed in prison, he didn't have access to even the smallest weed.

"Damn it Logan," He hissed. "Damn you."

He let the world fade, dripping into the background, as he drifted off to sleep.

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Logan stood anxiously near a small pipe. He knew he wouldn't get a response, but he had to hope there would be some sound of acknowledgement, rather than the plonking of water and the scrambling of rats. There was not even a hint of recognition. Logan stood, glancing around the empty ballroom to make sure no one was there. Maybe he could stay a bit longer.

"Virgil please," He whispered. "I'm sorry." A sudden clatter in a corner frightened Logan, startling him away from the pipe.

"Who's in here?! This room is off limits!" A voice shouted. Logan dashed away, running at full speed to the nearby portrait, slipping into the secret passage behind it. He breathed heavily, leaning against the inside. Logan was safe. Slowly, he made his way back to his room, avoiding the assorted vermin inside the walls of the home. Logan sighed, stepping into his bedroom.

All he had left to do now, alone in his bedroom, was pray Virgil got his message.