Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(45)

But I know what I know.

I want to know what I don’t.

“Eleanor Savage hid it,” he nods. “She doesn’t wish for it to be known or talked about. Perhaps that’s why you encounter so many walls at Whitley.”

“Father,” I say slowly, watching his face as I speak. “Would you believe me if I said I have dreams… dreams about things that have happened?”

“What do you mean, my child?”

So then, because he’s a priest and he has vowed to hold things confidential, to his parish and to God, I tell him.

I tell him all of it, as though I’m confessing to some great sin.

“I don’t ask for the dreams,” I tell him desperately. “And sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m crazy. Maybe I’m imagining what I see.”

Just like I imagine my dead brother.

The priest sighs and he holds my hand, his grip so warm and sincere.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he says finally. “But your dream, in this case, is true. There was a terrible thing that happened… with Dare and Richard and Olivia. Richard was cruel and he damaged Adair in a thousand different ways. And one day, Dare couldn’t take it anymore. But he paid for that, my dear. A thousand times over.”

“How?” I ask, fear in my tone and stilting my words.

“If Dare wants you know, he’ll tell you,” Father Thomas answers carefully. “Until then, you should know, he’s a good boy.”

I know he’s good. I know his eyes, I know his heart.

He’s too good for me, even though he thinks otherwise.

Even if he thinks he’s a monster.

“Few know what happened,” the priest continues. “But those that do whisper that Adair could be dangerous. Don’t believe them.”

I’ve done terrible things, Dare said once.

You’re not safe.

I wrap my mind around these things, or try to. But it’s too much, too much, too much to focus on.

“There’s something else, Father,” I continue, speaking softly because Jesus is watching me from his bloody perch on the wall.

The priest waits.

“I see someone,” I say hesitantly, because I know how insane it sounds. “When I’m out walking, the last time I was here, on the grounds of Whitley. A man in a gray hooded sweatshirt. He watches me, and he wants something from me.”

The father is interested by this. “Does he speak to you?” he asks, my hand still cradled in his.

“No. He seems to want me to find something, but I don’t know what it is.”

The father peruses me, his expression gentle.

“You’ve been through a great deal, Calla,” he says, his words so understanding. “Perhaps you’re still trying to figure it all out.”

I want to slip into the floor because he’s basically saying I’m crazy.

“I’m not crazy, am I?” I ask and he shakes his head.

“Of course not,” he says firmly.

“Does it have to do with Dare’s secret?” I ponder and the priest shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy or like the things I’m saying are so preposterous. He just listens and smiles and holds my hand.

He’s a true comfort and I tell him so.

Today, when I leave, the boy in the sweatshirt is nowhere in sight.

Thank God.

At dinner, Eleanor turns to me.

“Don’t forget, the event is tomorrow night. Your dress has been delivered, along with your jewels and shoes. You are up for it, I presume?”

Like always, her question isn’t a question.

I nod. “Of course.”

She nods back and we continue eating, and Dare is late again.

This time, Eleanor looks up. “Don’t bother sitting down,” she snaps. “I’ve warned you before. If you’re late, don’t bother coming.”

Without a word, he turns and walks out.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, and I follow.

I hear Eleanor calling me, but I don’t turn around.

Dare’s strides are long, but I run to catch him.

“Wait,” I say breathlessly, and I pull at his arm.

He’s patient as he stares down at me.

“Let’s go eat in town,” I suggest. “Together.”

He smiles at this and glances at the dining room.

“You know she’ll be upset if we do.”

“I don’t care,” I answer honestly.

We ride to town in Dare’s car.

“Will you be all right tomorrow night?” he asks. “You won’t know anyone.”

“I’ll know you,” I tell him. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“If you want me to be.”

“I do.”

“Consider it done, then,” he says quietly, and he motions for a waiter. “She’ll have dessert,” he tells the skinny man.

I’ve done a terrible thing, he said.

“What did you do?” I ask bluntly, as I take a bite of cake. “What is your secret?’

Dare startles, then almost laughs.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he answers. “Because you’re here and the past is gone.”