Crimson Peak [COMPLETE]

Chapter Eight

Thomas's words kept ringing in my ears. He did love his sister. He did kill his sister. He hadn't had time to give me any more details about what had happened and he hadn't been able to tell me what happened to Edith, his last wife. Almost immediately after he had confessed his crime, Christian was calling for me, wondering where I'd gone.

We were eating breakfast now and I was finding it hard to be normal. We were living in a house where a brother and sister had fallen in love and then began murdering innocent women. We were living in a house where a man had killed the woman he loved. But he had done it because she was a raging lunatic and he was in love with someone else. Did that make it okay? No. Did I try to tell myself that maybe he did it in self defense and that did make it okay? Yes.

I didn't know the whole story. I didn't know what had happened between the time he'd met Edith Cushing and the time he'd killed his sister. But I was determined to find out.

"Rose?" Christian's voice pulled me from my thoughts and I looked up at him. "You were muttering to yourself. Are you alright?" He reached across the table and pressed a hand against my forehead, his brow knit together in concern.

I shook him off. "I'm fine. Just thinking about what needs to get done today," I lied. "I think I'm going to wash the curtains and the bed sheets."

"Do you want me to stay home today and help?"

I shook my head. "No I should be alright. You go off to work and I'll see you around dinner." I needed time alone with Thomas. I needed the whole story. And I wasn't going to get that if Christian was here.

"Are you sure? I want to make sure you're okay being here by yourself."

I forced a smile. "Oh, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

He smiled back at me. "Good. The people working on the house should be here either today or tomorrow and I told them that the first thing that needs to get done is patching up that hole in the ceiling. Winter's coming and we don't want to freeze up here." He got to his feet and pecked my cheek. "I will be back around dinner."

I watched him go, waiting until I heard the front door close before clearing the bowls and taking the left over food out of the kitchen. I carried it with me through the entry way and up the stairs, down the hall way and was just passing through the old work shop when something wrapped around my ankle, tripping me.

The pot clattered to the floor and my arms shot out to catch myself. My eyes were stinging and the palms of my hands burned from the floor. The dream from last night flashed through my mind, all the hands reaching out for me, drowning me. I rolled over to look at what could have tripped me. Nothing was there.

I lifted my hands up and saw specks of blood dotting my skin where the wood had ripped it away. Cursing I somehow managed to get to my feet and that was when Thomas came running into the work shop from upstairs. I quickly blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall.

He hurried over to me. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"It's nothing," I told him. "I was just being clumsy is all; tripped over my own feet."

"Let me see." He took my hands in his and stared at them, frowning. "I have some bandages upstairs. Come with me."

We abandoned the pot of spilled breakfast and headed up to his bedroom.

I sat on the bed while he dug through drawers looked for the bandages. I looked around the room at the dust covered furniture. There was a small window on the right wall with very old curtains the same color as the curtains around the bed. The nightstand on the table had a lamp and a few other odds and ends that I couldn't name. There were no pictures. Thomas finally came over to me and sat down on the bed. He was holding a small brown bottle and white wraps.

"This will prevent infection," he told me, holding out the bottle. He unscrewed the cap. "May I?"

I gave him my left hand first and he held the bottle over it.

"This may sting a little."

I nodded. It always did.

He poured the clear liquid over the injury and, as promised, it did sting a little. He set that aside and quickly wrapped one of the bandages around my palm. He repeated the same process with my right hand.

"You weren't being clumsy," he finally said after a few too many moments of silence.

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Earlier, when I asked what happened. You said you had been clumsy, tripped over your own feet. But that's not what happened."

"There was nothing else there that could have tripped me," I almost whispered. But as I said it, I knew it wasn't true. This house was full of things I couldn't see.

"You know that's a lie as much as I do. I told you to leave as soon as you got here. Why didn't you listen?" Thomas seemed genuinely concerned with big eyes and a frown.

"What happened to Edith?"

"She went back to Buffalo, I'm assuming."

"You're assuming? You mean to say, you don't actually know what happened to her?" That was a little concerning.

"Last I saw her, she was fine. Hurt and betrayed, but fine. And alive. I'm guessing she married Alan."

"Alan?"

"Her doctor friend." He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but I could see that talking about it was hurting him.

I glanced around the room one more time. I hadn't really been lying when I'd told Christian what I'd needed to get done today. The curtains and bed sheets really needed a good wash. "Do you want to help me with something?"