A librarian gets sucked into a web of horror as she investigates a century-old disappearance in the new town she has moved into.
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Yvaine Agan had always led a quiet life and had expected to do the same when she moved to the small town of Andrasvi...
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No matter how soothing the sunlight was, Johansson knew that he would never smile again.
He laid face down on the pillow, his tears wetting its unblemished silken surface. In contrast to his gloomy temperament, the sunlight was the sweetest shade of yellow, which streamed through the wide-open windows filling the orange bedchamber with a fiery aura. The matching silken curtains swayed in the cool morning breeze, which tried in vain to dry Johansson's tears.
He was broken. His illusion of them being a happy family, a content family, was threatening to crumble down, which was an effect triggered by Paisley herself. Her continuous pointing out that Jonathan, his dear older brother was why Wilhelmina had disappeared had made a mark in his heart. He could not completely ignore this possibility, especially not after what he had seen in the graveyard.
A part of his mind desired to believe that what he had seen was false. Yet another part contended with this part, making him believe that what he had seen could not be false, that it was the very truth he had seen that night. And in this war of minds, the latter part was winning, giving birth to a tsunami of questions within him.
"Oh Mina, where are you? Why don't you come back and prove them all wrong?" He moaned, his sobs intensifying with it. How he wished she was here! Despite being so many years younger than both him and Jonathan, Mina had always been wiser than them. They sought her counsel continuously in moments of troubles of both the heart and mind.
Johansson knew not what had changed. Perhaps the only thing he had noticed was the aloofness of Jonathan after the death of his wife, seven years ago. He had grown quite distant and silent and kept to himself most of the time. But it was natural, was it not? He was yet to recover from the grief of losing his wife.
His mind was boggled. He could not think. He could not believe his brother was probably a cold-blooded murderer. Yet seeing him dealing with those men, the men who had murdered Felicity Rose, made him feel suspicious. What were they talking about? And why did he look at Felicity with such venomous eyes when he found that she had overheard their conversation?
"Uncle Johansson?" A soft childish voice broke his chain of thoughts. Wiping his tears hurriedly, he turned towards the open door of his room.
Winona, dressed in a light blue pinafore, stood at the threshold. Judging by the deep frown on her forehead and the gloomy expression upon her face, Johansson was certain that she was deeply upset about something. He got up from his bed and straightening the folds in his shirt went to the little girl.
"Yes, my child?" He asked gently, bending down to Winona's height. "Is something troubling you?"
"Have you seen Daddy, uncle?" She asked, fiddling with the folds in her dress. "I can't find him anywhere."
"No, Winona. I have not seen your daddy," a frown graced his features too. Since last night he had not seen his brother and if he had left anytime in the morning he would not be able to know. He was in his bedroom up on the second floor much far away from the entrance. "Didn't he greet you before leaving?" It was highly uncharacteristic of Jonathan to go somewhere without greeting his daughter.
