The Clearing: Origins

Prologue

Darkness reigned outside the big window of the cluttered study. A gust of wind blew the skeletal branches of a nearby tree against the casement, causing scratching sounds to echo throughout the room. The young man nestled in the desk chair jumped at the noise, then exhaled as he gazed out into the inky darkness.

There was nothing to see on a cloudy night, especially in a small town like Westerville, Maryland, so Victor's thoughts turned inward.

So many memories existed in Professor Craig's study. When Victor moved into the Grant household ten years ago, the room was the constant meeting place for him and the professor. The study's décor leaned toward the plain, with shelves aligned with various tomes, hand-knotted rugs, and the elderly chairs that Lovedae despised. The antique desk—made from mahogany—sat in the center of the room, facing the picturesque view of trees and sky during the daylight hours.

With the professor gone these last three years, the room sat empty, bereft of life.

Last week, Lovedae had marched into the kitchen while her children breakfasted, declaring she would begin the process of sorting through Professor Craig's old sanctum.

Victor, a striking young man just shy of pretty, and his younger siblings—Rosetta and Jason, infamously known as the Dueling Duo due to their constant bickering—had eyed each other with skepticism before turning to their mother.

"Mom, me, and Rosetta can do it," volunteered Jason before spooning more cornflakes in his mouth. "And Vic after he gets home from butt practice."

Jason never let a chance go by to remark about his brother's tenure in ballroom dance.

Victor laughed as he munched on a cinnamon roll. His voice, with its whisper of British charm and musicality, poured from full lips. "I use more than my rear, you little wanker."

"Takes one to know one," a grinning Jason replied.

But Lovedae shook her head. "I'll do it. I might clean too. Heaven knows Craig wasn't very tidy. Don't worry about it."

On the first day of the supposed cleaning and sorting, Victor entered the study to find his mother weeping in the desk chair, the surrounding area untouched.

He ran a hand through his dark mop of curling hair and knelt next to the sobbing woman. "Mum, you're not ready. Tomorrow I'll take over sorting Papa's things. Why don't you have a bit of a lie-down, love?"

"Craig wasn't supposed to die so soon." Lovedae grabbed a tissue from the desk and wiped her eyes. "I miss him, Vic."

"Mum, when you love that deeply, you don't get over it." The broad-shouldered dancer had no problem helping his adoptive mother stand. Victor supported her tenuous steps toward the door. "You learn to live with it."

Victor knew the trials of learning to live with the loss as the honest truth. He'd spent the last three years unable to grieve until his emotional barrier had broken. The next day he'd taken over and understood firsthand why the task felt so daunting—so many memories, from occasional pictures to notes written in the professor's spidery handwriting.

Three days in, and he still hadn't made much progress.

I wish Papa were here, he mused. How he missed the man who had once guided his steps! If only I'd known how to save him.

Victor sighed, turning his attention back to the pile of unopened mail on his lap. Twelve-year-old Jason poked his head through the open doorway and scowled.

"Dude, you're making my freckles cold. It's fall." Jason shivered as he leaned against the door frame, glaring at the shirtless teen slumped in the desk chair. "Put some clothes on."