Back to Thorn Hill ✓

Part III

Alexandra had been distracted and distant for the rest of the afternoon. Not even the attempts of persuasion from her father or the glares of her mother had succeeded in keeping her mind from the thought nagging at her. The curious feeling that she had got from the stranger hadn't left her entirely—not during the argument with her parents, nor throughout the wordless and excruciating dinner that had followed. Even now, laying in her old bedroom after hours of tossing and turning sleepless in the sheets, she kept feeling it at the pit of the stomach.

What tickled her more was the fact that no one else seemed to know who that man was or where he came from, even less the reason he was at the reading of the will. No one, that was, but the master of the house. Alexandra had sensed something was off, but she had found absolute confirmation of it in the dismissive leave-taking of her father right after dinner.

A heavy and sonorous thunder rumbled in the distance, deepening the feel of uneasiness gripping her already. The worst had yet to come despite the storm infuriating outside. As Alexandra waded through the darkness of unformed thoughts, an idea struggled to come afloat and it took shape unexpectedly with a sudden flash of lightning, the glow outlining for an instant the objects in the room.

Alexandra threw aside the Egyptian cotton linen and walked with purposeful strides toward the lower floor, without caring to wear something over the flimsy nightgown. The marble of the wide staircase leading to the ground floor was cold under her bare feet despite it was late August. The pouring rain washed over her as soon as she stepped outside, beating relentlessly on her warm skin at the savage rhythm of her pulse. Finding the right spot wasn't easy in the mayhem of wind and shadows. Alexandra fell on her knees at the base of the tree, now grown up, and started digging in the mud between its roots with the help of a flat stone. The ground finally gave in, returning the object that she had buried several years earlier: the rusted metal felt rough under her fingers, the lock, now useless, opened without struggle. Alexandra scurried back inside the house, eager to analyze the contents of the box in the light of a lamp. She spilled everything inside it on the tripod near the entrance and began to rummage through the wreckage of her childhood. She finally found what she was looking for. It was a picture taken a long time ago, when she was just a child, a picture showing her father into his study in company of another person. The mysterious stranger she had seen that afternoon.

It was unbelievable, but there was no doubt—it was the same man. And he looked like he hadn't aged a day since that picture had been taken.

Alexandra pressed a hand to the fabric of her soaking nightgown, feeling the mad pounding of her heart under the palm, while she picked up an object sticking out from the stack with the other hand.

A tarot card.

On the day of her sixteenth birthday Alexandra had made her first attempt at fleeing Thorn Hill. She had wandered with no destination, founding herself before an esoteric shop in which she had resolved to have a reading made. She had come out after a few minutes, dazed and scared, with the hysterical fortune teller shooing her away and the card she had pulled out of the deck still clutched between her fingers.

The card of the Devil.