The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

“I know life at Usher hasn’t been easy,” she offered, uncharacteristic tenderness lacing her words. “It felt like a dark winter for a while, but don’t you think life has gotten so much better these last few months?”

I pressed my lips together, unable to answer.

She sighed, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. “Please, sit down.”

“I know it’s been especially hard on you—when we moved to Shelter Island I didn’t expect your father to abandon all of us. The sea air has been so refreshing I thought it was worth it for a while, but then Yarrow told me that letter you tried to send to him was returned and it just broke my heart to read the things you said—neglected, Yara? How could you say that?”

I winced as she recited my sentiments from the desperate letter I’d written to father. One she’d managed to intercept.

She stood, startling me when she walked to the bookshelves I’d been rummaging through just a while ago. She opened one of the bottom drawers, pushing through a few stacks of paperbacks before settling on an old worn copy of something. She returned to her desk, and pushed it between us.

“I figured that’s why you fell for that boy, some pathetic replacement for a father figure, but I see now you still hold a flame. The pain of first love is everlasting once it’s extinguished.” She clutched a book to her chest. “This was Nate’s, I found it at the fountain the night he disappeared. I think he meant it for you.”

“What?” I took the book from her. The Cipher Code: A Book of Ancient Cryptography

“Strange reading preferences, I’ll give him that.”

My anger flared. “Why did you take it?”

“When he ran away—”

“Stop, please. I know he didn’t run away, he wouldn’t, not without telling me first.”

“This book was meant to tell you.”

A stubborn tear hovered at my eyelashes.

“I don’t believe you.” My voice was ragged. “I found his jacket buried in the garden.” My voice lowered. “I know you killed him.”

“Yara—”

“Don’t call me that, I’m sick of the lie. Your lies are suffocating me.”

Something like fear wavered in her eyes. “I knew you were falling for him, but I never dreamed you felt so strongly about this boy.”

“He’s the only thing I’ve ever felt strongly about.”

“I know, and that’s why it seemed most prudent to tell you the runaway story.”

Her words fell into place in my head like dominoes. “You did do it.”

Her eyes lit with fire, lips thinning to lines. “You’re not ready for the truth, little girl, but since you insist you are: that boy put a windowpane through his own beating heart, I only helped to bury him. If you want more details, you’ll need to interrogate Walton. Satisfied?”

Deadly claws tore at my throat as a scream threatened to rebel against my sealed lips.

“It’s not like nothing good came of it—when he tried to run and failed, well, that’s the moment I told Walton that we’d need some watch dogs to make sure we didn’t have any more runners.” She cracked a smile. “I ordered Carnegie and Astor from the breeder the very next day. You love those dogs so much, and trust me, it’s a purer love than any with a boy could ever be. Take my word for it, good books and loyal dogs and strong coffee are all the happiness a person can handle in life.”

Realization dawned as a slow smile curled my lips.

I stood, determined to leave before she could see me break down into tears, when the governess came around the corner of her desk and patted me softly on the shoulder. “Thanks for maintaining this juggling act, it must have been hard to bury Zara forever.”

I forced a reassuring smile, thinking how it was much harder to bury my sister. But burying the governess? That wouldn’t be hard at all.

I left with the heavy feeling that some evil is born, and some is made.

I wondered which category the governess fell into.

She smiled easily, lifting the teacup to her lips again, sipping. “I’m glad we had this talk. Happy 16th birthday, sweetheart. I’ll let you know if your father calls again.”

I ground my jaw together as I smiled back at her and turned, opening the door to make my hasty escape.

Today wasn’t even my real birthday. I was still fifteen.

I wiped at tears as I walked down the hallway, angling for the front doors and my garden fountain, before a soft thud followed by furniture crashing echoed from the governess’s office. A low moan echoed down the wallpapered walls, something dark and painful that left no doubt that someone was suffering gravely. Maybe even fatally.

I thought of the tea refills Walton had delivered. The strange powder that’d laced the fragrant leaves and the way it’d swirled to a darker color than normal after steeping.

I froze, clarity coursing through me.

What if…

Walton wouldn’t…

Had there been more in the governess’s tea than met the eye? A deadly ingredient nestled among the soothing petals of primrose?

I continued walking wondering what had happened. Wondering if I should check. Wondering if I even cared.

I clamped my top teeth down on my bottom lip and pushed out of the front doors, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing.

FOURTEEN

Ryn

The smell of damp earth invaded my nostrils.

Would the terra of earthworms fill my last wasted breath on this planet?

I dragged my fingernails through the darkness, screaming with horror when I realized I’d been buried alive. Not under wood and nails, dirt or mud, but concrete and stone. The rough, granulated ridges where stone and plaster merged hardened to form the barrier of my exit.

Solidified my death.

Terror crackled through my veins like fireworks.

“No! Please! Somebody,” I sobbed, “help me.”

Wet blood coursed down my fingers and pooled between each digit, my fingernails tearing as I scraped around the edges of the concrete in search of earth to dig through. A tiny gap filled the bottom of the space, the earth alive underneath me as