The Twilight Garden

15

The soft light of the foggy morning streamed through her curtains, barely warming her. She yawned, not wanting to open her eyes, not wanting to face the day—the previous night's discussion with Leland was still fresh in her mind as she removed her comforter and rose from her bed. She glanced at the desk clock near the window and sighed; nine o'clock in the morning, and no one had woken her?

'How odd....' Josephine mused, pushing her arms through her robe. She opened the bedroom door onto a silent hall, even the sounds of the kitchen muted. This all seemed very strange indeed, as her mother had never let her sleep passed seven o'clock before, and Leland had requested a meeting in the study as soon as she woke. Where was everyone?

Josephine descended the stairs and checked the parlour for her mother—she was not there, and the fire had not been lit; the kitchen was empty of all servants, and no breakfast had been prepared. She peeked out the glass doors to the garden, but saw no one. Thinking that, perhaps, her mother had dismissed the staff for the day, Josephine picked up the phone to dial the cooks home, but found that the line was disconnected. A sense of dread washed over her as she made her way back up the stairs and to her father's study. As she opened the door, she thought Leland was sitting in the chair behind the desk, back to the door, staring out the window.

'Leland?' She called from the doorway. No answer came. She entered the room and closed the door behind her. Still no movement from the chair, Josephine walked around the desk and gasped at the occupant of the chair.

Porter Keane sat, his chin resting on his thumbs, his index fingers pointed to the ceiling, a thoughtful look on his face. With a sigh, he turned the chair to face her, his eyes focused with intent on her face.

'Do you always call men by their first name, Josie? Or, perhaps there is more of connection between Dr Scott and yourself than your mother has let on.' He questioned as he stood and walked around the desk. She backed away, horrified for whatever reason at his presence in the study. 'Answer me, Josie.'

'He is the first.' She choked out, stumbling not only over her words but over her own feet as she tried to keep a good distance between them. For every step she took, he took two more—it was a delicate dance of balance, though it seemed that his side of the scale was rising as hers was sinking, and she couldn't maintain the space that separated them. She drew in a breath and composed herself, continuing: 'And there is no more a connection between Leland and I than there is between you and I. I have no love of you, no affection towards you, Porter.

'I see.'

She found herself backed against the bookshelves that lined the wall behind her. There was nowhere for her to run to, he would be able to stop her before she reached the door. She felt trapped in that room, against all the dusty books her father had collected and the journals he had written those strange words in.

'Where is everyone?' She was able to whisper. Porter glanced out the window before responding. 'Your mother sent the staff away for the day, as I am sure you already guessed. Dr Scott was called into town for an urgent meeting with his employer—no doubt regarding his continued stay here at Whitmour Manor—and your mother decided to spend the day with my own, hoping to cheer her into a better mood with her stories. She also wished to give us the chance to catch up without the prying eyes of inquisitive psychiatrists.'

They were alone, she was alone with him, there was no one there to keep him from harming her. She knew her mother had not left the house to let them catch up—not after everything that had been revealed.

She found herself rooted in her terror, unable to run, unable to attempt escape. Porter's face was within inches of her own, and she could see his eyes clearly—they were rigid and cold and hard, his pupils constricted to near pinpricks of darkness surrounded by their usual brown colour. His rage radiated from his body, suffocating her.

'What did you wish to talk about, Porter?'

He leaned forward and handed her a familiar journal—she opened the cover and gasped. Inside the cover were her translations of her father's notes, and the journal itself was the one with the lists of the missing and dead children. She glanced up at him, seeing that he had stood, and the look on his face was menacing. He had found her out, discovered her goal, and he was livid. She wanted to scream, but no sound left her mouth.

'Josephine! Josephine, Dr Scott and I have returned from town!' Lorrena called from the front hall. She went to the parlour and put a few logs in the fireplace, lighting a piece of paper on fire. Leland removed his coat and scarf and hung them on the rack near the door. There was no answer from Josephine.

'I wonder if she is still in bed.' Lorrena mused. She stood on the bottom stair and called up: 'Josephine!' Still no answer, Lorrena shrugged and went back to the fire, stoking the logs and the kindling, waiting for everything to catch a full blaze.

'I'm happy that Dr Blair invited us to dinner tonight—I honestly think that getting Josephine out of the house will greatly improve her mood.'

'Perhaps it will.' Leland responded. 'I'll be in the study until everything is ready. It may be possible that Josephine took a walk in the garden.'

'Indeed, there is a chance. I shall check.' Lorrena walked to the back of the house, and as she left for the gardens, Leland made his way up the stairs to the study.

Leland found the door to the study wide open, and within the room there was a disarray of papers and books strewn around the floor. It was as if one of the windows had been blown open by a large gust of wind, but as he checked the locks he found them in place. Something was wrong, he felt it in the air of the study. Something had happened in the room, and everything that littered the floor was evidence of a struggle. One the desk were papers scattered, out of order, a few shredded—one page caught his attention and he lifted it from the pile. His eyes widened with understanding; he folded the paper and placed it in his jacket pocket. His curiosity piqued, Leland left the room for Josephine's—after a few knocks, with no answer, he turned the knob and peeked his head through the crack in the door.

'Josephine, are you awake?' Still no answer. He looked at the bed and saw it neatly made, no evidence that there was anyone in the room at all. He left the door open and turned to the stairs to see Lorrena at the landing.

'She is gone.' Came her voice, a mere whisper that seemed to echo on the walls. The words tore into Leland, ripping his soul. Something had happened, indeed, and he knew—he just knew—who had taken her, and where they had gone to. Without a word, he rushed passed Lorrena and to the gardens. For only a moment, he stood at the head of the stone stairs that led to the path into the forest, trying in vain to hear some clue on the wind, but nothing came.

'Dr Scott, where are you going!' Lorrena's voice came from the glass doors, pleading. 'Please, let's call the sheriff and report this! Don't go into those woods, Dr Scott.'

'Pardon me, Mrs Bray, but I must.' He called back, and with a final glance at the distraught woman surrounded by fluttering drapes, he ran down the path and disappeared beyond the garden hedges.