Before His Fall | Book one to the "Ackerman" Triology

Chapter 5: The Truth

20 years ago

I approach the servant's quarters with a purposeful stride tonight. If I planned on making it to the underground, I needed some form of defense, and Auggie had plenty. He experimented with wood work often. When I was younger and sleeping alone at night on the farm frightened me, I had asked if I could keep one of his knives in my room. He refused and insisted on guarding the entryway for me until we could install a lock on my door instead.

"A kid your age shouldn't be worried about such things," he stated matter of factly. I couldn't understand why. If I could handle a pitchfork twice my size I could handle a whittling knife if an intruder entered my room. But I had settled.

It felt so foreign entering the servant's quarters. Auggie never let us meet up here despite how close we'd gotten over the years. He always insisted that we meet up in my room or outside. When I ever I asked why, he made a point to answer vaguely.

I knew this.

I had never been in here before.

Had I?

A jarring feeling of familiarity overcomes me as I step over the threshold into the stout building. I double over as pain crackles through my head and strange visions flash beneath my eyelids. Five robed figures, a man in a starched button up and dress pants, gut wrenching screaming, and an uncontainable rage in Auggie's eyes. They're gone before I can even begin to decipher them, and I'm left panting with my hands braced on my knees.

"What on earth?" I manage, straightening myself up.

The front door lead directly into the living room. It was small, a shoe box, but it was quaint. My eyes are drawn to the glass and wood shelf in the corner. On the second tier where my head reaches, there was a large gaping hole struck through the glass, as if someone had shot their fist right through it. An oil lamp had been knocked off it's ridge, I could see the dark stain it had left on the floor where some had tried to scrub it out to no avail. This perplexed me to an extent. Despite how modest the servant's quarters were, Auggie always made an effort to keep it tidy. And I couldn't imagine Elizabeth ever doing this.

I ignore the discomfort I feel at it all, and cross the living room to the stairs. They lead to a set of rooms on the second floor where the servants were suppose to sleep. But it wasn't uncommon for most of our previous workers to simply return home at the days end, no one besides Auggie had ever needed to use the servants quarters. I never stopped to question why that was.

The stairs weren't nearly as frail or brittle as I thought they'd be and I made it to Auggie's room without any splinters or broken planks. The second floor only housed three rooms: two emptied out with the windows locked shut and the doors agape, and Auggie's, sealed shut from the inside as if he never left. To my surprise Elizabeth's room was unoccupied, and I realize she must still be working on finances in mother's office. An endeared smile subconsciously warms my face; she was addicted to work like me, thankfully not to the same extent. But it was comforting to know we were kindred spirits, in one aspect.

I wrench the knob of Auggie's door with all my might, grunting with the effort. It hardly mattered if I broke the lock; if I never got him back no one would ever use it again. The bolts in the knob gave out with a dull crack and the hinges swing open with ease.

Auggie's room resembled mine in numerous ways. It was small, neatly kept, and mostly vacant save for a bed and table. But there were meager details scattered about that made it his own. The shelf of books he collected, the carved and sanded figurines he whittled displayed on the sill, the billowy curtains he bargained for at the market; the window was still cracked open as if he'd just been here.