Hidden and Silent (SpyxFamily)

Ch. 13: Part Two

 Becky's hand. Anya's eyes were pulled to it. Wrapped around her own and pulling her along. She wasn't supposed to have it. She wasn't supposed to want it. But here Becky was and Anya let it happen. They held hands and her knots squirmed, confused if they should be tightening or loosening.

Becky was inside that castle up the hill.

Anya was afraid to believe it was real. An illusion that would vanish as soon as she put faith in it. It sparkled in the sun and gleamed deceptively welcoming. It was the most beautiful thing Anya had ever seen. Too beautiful to be real. She was afraid to feel anything when she looked at it, to let herself think she could live there, and yet the thought of the relief that it would afford her, fought to rush over her and wash out her eyes in a tsunami of tears and broken emotions. It pressed at her chest and she choked on her throat.

No. She couldn't live there. If it was the wrong decision, she couldn't go through the grief all over again.

But Becky was there. Her parents were there.

Her parents were there.

Since she had met them, losing them had always been the worst, possible outcome. Wether they died or were taken away from her, Anya couldn't bear the thought. Though she'd stayed with them even knowing it could hurt them, her selfish desires had kept them beside her at arm's length.

Her parents were in that castle.

If Anya joined them, how much easier would it be to be with them?

Maybe the grief would be worth it, she reconsidered. Another moment. One more try. Anya could always turn back.

For the first time since the castle appeared, Anya stepped away from the crack and looked to the door. The heavy slab of thick wood was rough and full of knots. The scratchy surface offered splinters and hiding spots for spiders, as if warning Anya not to come near.

She did and put a hand on the knob.

Anya hadn't thought to leave before. She hadn't thought she could. Her father had built this house around her, plank by plank, and he had been the only one with the key. Until Demetrius stole it from him.

Now Anya had the key.

She flung it open.

Standing in the door of this dark, familiar place she had come to accept as her home, she stamped down a shudder as fresh, clean air blew in. Light spilled into every nook, invading warmth into the cold, soulless space and sent flickering shadows up the walls where they previously could not be seen. Musty air stirred in the corners and Anya gladly forsook it for the blessed, open breezes greeting her face.

It smelled good. Anya had longed for it. The room to breathe and to let it ease her anxiety, to sate her need for oxygen, and the fragrance pulled her to the edge of the threshold, wanting for more.

Just one more step and she'd be outside.

Anya stared at the ground at her feet. Just one step. Why couldn't she drag her foot forward and take that one step?

"Aren't you hungry?" Becky asked and Anya jolted, dropping her fork. A plate of untouched omelette rice sat in front of her. "You haven't taken a bite since we sat down." Becky commented and Anya noticed the others were more than halfway done. When had lunch started?

Anya managed an "Mm." And stuck her fork in her egg which had lost most of it's warmth. She took a few absentminded bites, hardly noticing when the food entered her mouth.

Just one step.

She glanced at Becky. Her friend who was still here despite everything.

Just one step.

Anya stared her food down. At the grains of rice spilling from it's cocoon and the elegantly laid ketchup perfectly drizzled overtop. It was easier to study it then to confront how much Demetrius had flipped everything upside-down. As beautiful as that castle was, as alluring as it was, she had become so used to living here. In this dark building with no light or windows. As much as she hated it, it was difficult to turn away from what had felt so concretely absolute. A building constructed of thick, thick wood and embedded deep in the ground. She should close and lock the door.

But the fresh air. Her parents.

Just one step.

'Telepath.'

Anya full-body flinched and gasped, her fork hand ramming down on the edge of her plate and flipping it over.

In an instant, the last day and a half were wiped from her thoughts. Her concerns fled in the wake of something worse and her body seized with fear, cramped her stomach, and they held as tight as her breath caught in the back of her throat.

Telepathy was a rare thing to hear in someone's thoughts. It did not exist in the real world. The notion was widely considered fiction, an absurd result of someone's imagination that even the word, a conversation about it, hardly ever made an appearance in society. The few times Anya had heard it, other thoughts accompanied it. Comic book. Superhero. Revenge. Wistful thoughts in passing to know what someone was thinking.

This wasn't like that and her veins shuddered with adrenaline-fuelled blood as if she'd jumped from an airplane. Icy terror glazed every piece of bone and cartilage in her ridged spine with chills and drove pins of icicles in her back and shoulders. The small shiver of a breath she managed through her nose did nothing to calm her as her panicked eyes flicked up to search the room.

And found Damian.