In the Shadows

Charles flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes, and for a

moment Cora was more troubled by being in a room alone with

the two boys than she was by betraying Arthur.

“We can leave the door open, if you’d like,” Thomas said. His

acknowledgment of her discomfort was enough to alleviate it, and

she knelt next to him, smiling grimly.

The case popped open and they both looked up, locking

gazes. Before she realized what she was doing, her fingers rested

against his cheek. His eyes widened in surprise and she blushed,

dropping her hand into the case and hastily pulling out the

first item.

It was a portrait. The paint was oil, thick and textured, the

weight of the portrait hinting at age. It had been torn and frayed

along the edges, as though pulled roughly from a frame. Even

though the paint was cracked and slightly warped, the image

was instantly recognizable. Cora narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

“Is that . . . ?”

Thomas leaned forward and let out a whispered epithet.

“Alden,” she said, her stomach clenching as Thomas con-

firmed it with a nod.

“I’m really tired of that man,” Charles said from the bed, his

voice sleepy and unconcerned.

“Keep going,” Cora said, setting the portrait carefully to the

side and then wiping her fingers, which felt oily and stained with

Alden’s image.

Thomas pulled out a leather-bound notebook filled with loose

papers. He cracked it open and Cora crawled to sit next to him.

The writing was odd, sometimes gouged into the paper, some-

times running together to near illegibility as though the author

feared he’d run out of time.