Echo (Black Lotus #2)(15)

“I just can’t do it anymore,” she whispers to herself and then closes her eyes as she lets go of the fight.

Sometimes, for some people, the fairytale only exists in death.





WHEN I OPENED my eyes and found myself in the same room I fell asleep in, I had to laugh at how pathetic I was. I couldn’t even kill myself; instead I just gave myself one hell of a nap. And there I was, greeted by another day after a lousy botched suicide attempt.

Everything inside of me was paralyzed, yet my body still moved.

Did you know it was possible to have feelings with no emotions?

You can, and I’m proof of it.

I performed the same actions of the previous day with detachment, and it wasn’t long until I found myself back at Brunswickhill. I spent hours there, sitting outside of the gates and crying for my lost love.

And the next day, I returned.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And even the day after that.

It’s a pathetic routine I refuse to break, because for some reason, as upsetting as it is to be at the estate, it allows me to feel connected to Declan. And I need that connection because I don’t have anything else to hold on to. So I cling to the forlorn fairytale that never will be.

It’s a little over a week that I’ve been coming here, spending my days crying, pleading, bargaining with a God I don’t even believe in to bring him back. Isla now looks at me with pity every evening when I return to shower and sleep. We don’t speak much, but it’s mostly on my part. I’ve allowed the wall I spent my whole life building around my heart to crumble to dust, and I’ve never felt weaker than I do now. Not even when I was being molested by my brother when I was just a child. Or when I was bound up in the closet and locked away for days on end.

No.

This is much worse.

I drive in silence over to Abbotsford Road, and when I round the bend, I slow the car down as I see the new owners pulling up to the gate. They haven’t been around since I’ve been coming here. Chills run through me as I drive past the gate and follow the winding road until my car is out of their sight. I’m hardly thinking as I follow my body’s movements, quickly parking the car and hopping out. Walking back to the gate, I catch the taillights of the SUV as it enters the private drive and I rush to the gates to slip through before they close completely.

Curiosity gets to me, but it’s more than that. It’s a feeling of ownership, as if this place is mine, because once upon a time ago, it was going to be mine, but time wasn’t on my side back then. It still isn’t.

I step off the drive and into the snow that covers the ground beneath. I duck behind the trees to remain unseen and start exploring the grounds. Steep hills are covered in bushes and trees that the cold weather has consumed to a barren state. If I close my eyes, I can picture the lush greens and colorful flowers that would come to life under the warm sun. The beauty is still visible though. Everything looks pure and virgin, coated in the fluffy, white powder.

Looking up, I can see the house perched at the top of the hill. My heart grows heavy, sinking down into my gut as I peer up through the trees to see the stonework of what was supposed to be my palace. I continue to weave deeper into the trees, wandering about when I come across a small, manmade, pebbled creek that winds down one of the small hills. It’s covered in frozen water and there’s a small wooden bench at the bottom where it rounds out into a tiny pond.

And now it hits me . . .

Taking a slow spin to take in my surroundings, nestled within this beautiful place, I realize this resembles what I’ve spent my life dreaming about. A small forest. Carnegie’s magical forest. The thought brings me a warmth of comfort along with a cleaver to my chest because now I feel I’ve lost even more.

Time passes as I explore, getting lost in my head with fantasies of what could have been and memories of what was. When I get closer to the top of the hill, I can see the front of the house between the branches. It doesn’t look like any home I’ve seen. It’s grand and dignified, adorned in large pieces of stone that embody this three-story structure. A massive, tiered fountain stands proud at the center of the circle drive. It’s covered in snow, but it doesn’t take away from the beauty.

Shrubs line the perimeter of the house, but there are several gaping holes in the hedge, missing bushes that have probably died in the frost and been removed. Everything is so pristine except for the mess of randomly missing shrubs. I take a few steps to try and get a closer look at a small building sitting off to the side of the house when I hear a door close, startling me. Quickly turning, I stagger on my feet, moving deeper into the trees to hide.

A car starts.

“Shit,” I murmur under my breath, and I know I have to quickly get back down to the base of the property without being seen.

I see the black SUV making its way down the drive, and I rush towards the gate, trying to keep my balance. There’s no way I’ll be able to scale the wall to get out if that gate closes, but there are hidden patches of ice I’m trying to watch out for, slowing me down.

Grabbing on to tree trunks for balance as I make my way down, I notice the SUV stop from the corner of my eye, and in a panic to get to my car, I make a run for it. I’m close to the gate, and I take a look behind me to see the SUV moving again. When I turn my head back around, I stumble, crouching over to duck under a massive branch hanging too low. My shoe catches on a patch of ice, knocking me off balance. Taking a huge step to get my slipping feet back under me, I plow down several feet, falling hard onto my stomach on the drive. My palms sting as I try to catch my fall on the icy gravel.