The Twilight Garden

12

The dining room was silent as Josephine and Leland appeared in the doorway—her mother had chosen to entertain their guests in the parlour, but Josephine had declined joining them, stating she wished to have a breath before they dined. Leland offered to accompany her, as any proper doctor would, and he followed beside her as she opened the glass doors that would lead them to the rear gardens. They exited the house and entered the rows of hedges and flowers, at first in silence until they were far enough from the doors that they could speak freely.

'I found a passage in one of my father's journals—I believe it explains his research and practices up until his death.' She pulled a leather-bound book from behind her and handed it to Leland. 'I was able to translate most of the passage, using lexicons from his other journals, my own legends, and research papers.'

'When did you have time for this?' Leland questioned, opening the book to the first marked page. He pulled out a piece of paper with Josephine's flowery script scrawled across it and he began reading.

'Only a few hours; once I remember my own work on the translations, I searched through a few other journals and found a few pages that contained the meanings of the symbols. I hadn't started it with the intent of finding the information I did, it was more of a personal project, for my peace of mind. However, the more I translated, the more I realised there was something wrong with his journals. The thoughts and words and rituals he writes about are terrible, they are evil. I cannot stand the thought that my father was this horrible person who sacrificed children and called demons, but it is all there, in his journals—he was such a religious man! He refused to miss a single service at church, and often dined with the pastor.' She stopped and looked away from him, hiding her tears. 'Leland, I believe my mother has been well aware of his doings since the beginning. I believe that she had a hand in much of his earlier works. There are passages where he writes of a perfect child, a perfect daughter—whether I am she, I do not doubt that they worked tirelessly to create what he wrote of.'

She silenced herself and allowed Leland to read through her notes on her father's writing. She busied herself with the flowers, watching the small insects that crawled over the petals to keep her mind from drifting too much. After he read through a few of the papers, Leland replaced them and closed the book in shock, handing it back to her.

Whether what her father had written was truth or not, Leland had no proper opinion—but there was a clear illness that had plagued her father, be it entirely concocted by his imagination or not. The words he had read were, indeed, evil—sacrifice, blood, perfection, and the worst, Anti-Christ. Leland was not a religious man of any sort (he chose scientific explanations over spiritual), but he understood the implications of what was written, and it terrified him. He felt for Josephine, and in turn he felt something (perhaps not pain or concern) for Lorrena. Had she been a willing participant in the work, or had Mr Bray coerced his wife into assisting him? So many questions, and the answers were no more forthcoming than they had ever been.

'Here,' she opened the book to a page near the back, pointing to a passage lower on the page, 'it states that a ceremony must be performed to betroth the two children before either have reached the point of puberty; the date of their marriage should not exceed twenty years from the date of their betrothal. He doesn't explain why that is, what the significance of twenty years is, but it coincides with my betrothal to Porter.'

'Josephine, this is ridiculous. Your father was a sick man, obviously, and you are feeding your own illness with his words. Do not think too deeply into what was written in these journals, or into memories that may be unreliable due to time or stress. Let us get through dinner, and we may continue our sessions tomorrow. We will find the answers you seek, in time. I will do whatever I can to ensure that you are safe from harm, but I cannot do more than I am currently doing unless you choose to put this behind you.' She was shocked at his dismissal of her thoughts. Had he not, just earlier that day, seen the ghost of Octavia Brisbin? Had he not been sure that something strange was happening?