The House in the Cerulean Sea(95)

And that was it.

That was everything in the cellar.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”

Something in the corner caught his eyes. The single bulb in the room wasn’t strong, and there were more shadows than not. He approached the far wall, and as he got closer, he felt his knees turn to jelly.

Tick marks.

Tick marks scratched into the wall.

Four lines in a row. Crossed with a fifth.

“Five,” he said. “Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five.”

He stopped counting when he reached sixty. It was too much for him to handle. He thought they were meant to keep track of days, and the idea caused his heart to ache.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. The unfairness of it all threatened to overwhelm him.

DICOMY hadn’t been lying.

The file had been true.

“I haven’t been down here in years,” a voice said from behind him.

Linus closed his eyes. “No. I don’t expect you have.”

“I thought you seemed a little … off,” Arthur said quietly. “After you returned to us from the post office, something had changed. I didn’t know what, but it had. I chose to believe you when you said you were tired, but then at dinner, you looked as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“I tried to hide it,” Linus admitted. “It doesn’t appear I did a very good job of it.”

Arthur chuckled, though it sounded sad. “You’re much more expressive than you think. It’s one of the things I— No matter. That’s neither here nor there. For the moment, at least.”

Linus curled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “So it’s true, then?”

“What is?”

“What I read. In the file DICOMY sent to me.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never read my file. For all I know, it’s full of half-truths and outright lies. Or, perhaps, everything is correct. One can never tell with DICOMY.”

Linus turned around slowly as he opened his eyes.

Arthur stood at the foot of the stairs. He was dressed for bed, meaning he wore his shorts and a thin T-shirt. Irrationally, Linus wanted to offer his coat. It was much too cold for Arthur to be out in what he was wearing. He didn’t even have socks on. Or shoes. His feet looked strangely vulnerable.

He was watching Linus, though there didn’t appear to be any anger in his gaze. If anything, he looked slightly stricken, though Linus couldn’t be sure.

“He gave you a key,” Arthur said. It wasn’t a question.

Linus nodded. “There was a key, yes. I— Wait. What do you mean he?”

“Charles Werner.”

“How do you—” He stopped and took a deep breath.

But I made this house a home for those I had, and in preparation in case more came. Your predecessor, he … changed. He was lovely, and I thought he was going to stay. But then he changed.

What happened to him?

He was promoted. First to Supervision. And then, last I heard, to Extremely Upper Management. Just like he always wanted. I learned a very harsh lesson then: Sometimes wishes should never be spoken aloud as they won’t come true.

“I’m sorry,” Linus said rather helplessly.

“For what?”

Linus wasn’t sure exactly. “I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what he intended.”

“Oh, I think I do.” Arthur stepped away from the bottom of the stairs. He traced a finger over the burnt surface of the desk. “I suspect he read something in your reports that caused him concern. This was his way of intervening.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s who he is. People can present themselves as being one way, and once you’re sure you know them, once you’re sure you’ve found what you’re looking for, they reveal themselves for who they really are. He used me, I think. To get him what he wanted. Where he wanted.” Arthur rubbed his hands together. “I was younger, then. Enamored. Foolish, though you wouldn’t have been able to convince me. I thought it was love. I can see now it wasn’t.”

“He said this was an experiment,” Linus blurted. “To see if—if someone like you could—”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then why can’t you say it?”

Linus’s chest hitched. “A magical creature.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps the rarest of them all.”

“So it would seem.”

“You’re.…”

“Say it. Please. Let me hear you say it. I want to hear it from you.”

You knew a phoenix, then?

I did. He was … inquisitive. Many things happened to him, but he still kept his head held high. I often think about the man he became.

Linus Baker said, “You’re a phoenix.”

“I am,” Arthur said simply. “And I believe I’m the last of my kind. I never knew my parents. I’ve never met anyone else like me.”

Linus could barely breathe.

“I couldn’t control it,” Arthur said, looking down at his hands. “Not when I was a child. The master then wasn’t someone I like to think about if I can help it. He was cruel and harsh, more likely to beat you than look at you. He hated us for what we were. I never knew why. Perhaps something had happened to him or his family before he came to this place. Or maybe he had just listened to the words of the people of the world, and let it fill him like poison. Things were different, then, if you can believe it. Worse for people like us. There are certain laws in place now that didn’t exist back then that are meant to prevent … well. The village wasn’t so bad, but … it was only a tiny place in the big, wide world. It was cherry ice cream from a pretty girl. It made me think that perhaps this island wasn’t the be-all and end-all. And so I made a grave mistake.”