No one would ever know what lies beneath that water.
You can’t see it.
But I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
But Calla doesn’t.
34
TRIGENTA QUATUOR
Calla
When we get home, Finn is in bed. I stand at his doorway and watch him sleep for a minute, watching the restless way he tosses and turns and moans, and the way he’s got mud smeared on his cheek.
What’s he been up to?
With utt
er trepidation, I know how to find out.
I curl up in my room and stare at the pages of his journal. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to read much at a time. The words press down on me, suffocating me, because it’s such a glaring piece of evidence of what Finn’s mind has come to be.
The writing has become erratic, as his thought processes spiral to and fro. Scrawled, scratched words line the pages and they no longer make any kind of sense.
Protect her Protect me st. Michael. Protect us her me me me.
Serva me, serva bo te. Save me, save her and me.
Calla calla calla.
It’s killing me. Killing me killing killing killing mememememememe.
Put me out of my misery.
Do it do it do it.
I swallow hard, biting back helpless tears as I flip through several pages of the nonsense. But then I see one phrase. One phrase that dries my tears and freezes the breath on my lips.
Secrets. Everybody’s got em.
I can practically hear those words coming out Dare’s mouth. But why did he say such a thing to Finn?
If it weren’t so late, I’d barge into his home right now and ask. But as it is, I wait.
I wait until I’ve slept through the night, showered and have thought about it some more. I still haven’t calmed down though. Because something isn’t right here.
As soon as it’s a decent hour, I head for Dare’s cottage. He answers his door shirtless, and it takes great effort to ignore that.
“Have you talked to Finn lately?” I ask him without greeting, my eyes frozen on his, never traveling south of his chin.
He looks at me oddly. “No, why?”