Chapter 4

Bed of Roses

"You mustn't meddle with it"

The town grew ever smaller in the rear view mirror, and Nicholas saw his red nose in the reflection of the icy window. He sighed as his hand dropped onto his lap, having been denied from tampering with his bandages. They were fitted to tightly, he just wanted to rip them away. His hand clenched as the perennial pain ran its course, teeth wired and eyes clenched

It subsided after only a moment, though it felt like an eternity as it rushed through his mind like a bullet train. He reclined in his seat, cushioning his head with his hands and closing his eyes. His black hair fell across his face, a mop of obsidian feathers.

"Let me know when we're there"

"We're here"

Her reply was prompt, and his brow furrowed as his seat shot back up. Nicholas's head slammed into his cold windshield with a hard thunk, and fell back, seized by agony. Delilah quickly turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he battled his pain and stupidity.

After recovering, he got out of the car, holding a hand to his bandages in hopes of alleviating his distress. Delilah marched with concern, meeting him at the front of the car. She raised a hand clutching a crumpled pack of cigarettes towards him

He looked down at them for a moment, out of both mental absence and contemplation, before denying. She shrugged and lit one herself, leaning back on the hood of her car.

It wasn't unlike Nicholas's own car. It was old, yet waxed and polished to reflect the frigid grey sky in its deep black paint. The car held sharp angular proportions, each angle a steep ridgeline of the automobile mountain range. The front was warm, and he pressed his red-tipped hands against the cozy grill.

"So this was your granny's old place?"

Smoke blew out her nose like a raging bull, her eyes absent as she was deep in thought. Her lips pursed together as she prepared to speak, having engineered her words thoughtfully

"Uh…yeah…no…"

He looked to her only to be met with Delilah raising an eyebrow, her coal-black lips contorting as she blew smoke away from them. Nicholas's posture slumped sighed.

"I dunno…She never talked about this place"

She dug the tip of her black combat boot into the dirt and snow of the ruddy rural road, drilling into the Earth's crust with the faint crunches of ice.

"It's not exactly a place anyone would want to talk about...not that anyone would believe you"

His eyes shot back at her again, and hers the same. They looked at each with other with silent knowing. Though she wouldn't say it aloud. That would be ridiculous. Then again…last night…

Her eyes shined even below the dull monochrome sky, a grey dome covering Reemhill. Little green dots like beautiful burning balls of green gas, ones you'd see on the cover of a magazine on the thrifted coffee table in a therapist's waiting room, put there to take your mind off the buzzing fluorescent lights and stinging mental anguish…

"Ah! Miss Vaughn! So lovely to see you out that decrepit inn…"

The pair spun around. An older man was walking up the road, his cane taping on the dirt and crunching on the snow. He seemed fit and energetic, despite his grey hair and faint wrinkles. Delilah visibly slumped in his presence, turning her attention back to her half-finished cigarette, the ashes melting away the snow while her rings occasionally dinged as she tapped it.

"Ah, a new face? Allow me to introduce myself…"

He had walked around them, facing the duo and smiling at Nicholas. His head fell down alongside his shoulders, bowing in front of him with his arm stretched to the side. This guy was surprisingly limber for his age.

"I am Charles Dunwick, mayor of Reemhill"

"Nice to meet you. I'm Nicholas Robertson"

"Oh! The inheritor? Allow me to formally welcome you to Reemhill. We hope you enjoy your time here"

He nodded to them both before walking away, back towards the town. Delilah remained statuesque until the sound of his crunching footsteps evaporated in the chilling air. Though her lips slowly pressed together again, readying herself to talk.

"Fuckin asshole. Stay away from him"

He was befuddled by her command. Sure he was weird, and made him a bit uneasy, but did that warrant her fierce response?

"Of all the people in this town, do not trust Charles Dunwick"

She raised a finger at him and slammed her cigarette into the ground, stomping it with her channeled aggression and frustration. He nodded, subservient to this unseen anger she seemed to have kept well hidden. She sighed and rested her hands on her hips, looking down at her boots wet with melted snow; Calming down out of exhaustion or embarrassment, though it'd be impossible to know which.

Nicholas stepped through the empty doorframe, overgrown with dull-green vines and moss. The floorboards groaned with each step, drumming up dust as he wandered. Long-abandoned cobwebs waved in the calm breeze that swept through the ruins. Light flooded in, a pillar of grey luminance, from a huge hole in the ceiling. Rubble sat directly below it, though shrouded by snow that sprinkled down from the exaggerated skylight like a snow globe.

Pieces of the building were littered everywhere, the decaying structure slowly but surely returning to the icy earth. Shattered glass and ceramic were found throughout amidst the shrubbery and vines, the infancy nature's reclamation. Cutlery, unintelligent photographs, ruined furniture; all strewn about the cottage. Or what remained of it.

Moths fluttered away as Delilah's boots sunk into the musty wood with dull booms. They had been feasting on the carpet, a large velvety one now riddled with grime and damp with mold. He looked down at it and noticed something that made him frown. His eyes became focused and his posture shifted into one of concentration.

He squatted down, much to the dismay of the floorboards, and pinched at the carpet. It both disintegrated and squelched under his pressure as he dragged it aside, summoning a cloud of wrathful dust. He had noticed a slight, near insignificant discoloration in the floorboards near the carpet. Merely a shifted edge uncovering some wood no bigger than a quarter.

Yet dragging it away, he unveiled a large mark carved into the floor. Or was it singed? Charred? The mark was black yet looked deep in color. Almost viscus. Delilah kneeled down, now sharing his concern, running a finger along the table-sized brand. It left a dark stain on her fingertip as if it were an ink, yet didn't seep into the pinewood planks.

"It's a brand"

"A brand? Like a mark?"

"Potato potato, Robertson, but yes. I've never seen one like this, but they're used to ward off evil spirits. The town's got a lot of sailors…fisherman…Superstition isn't hard to find"

"But why would my grandma have one?"

Her shoulders pinched up in a shrug, looking back down at the brand before staring up at the grey sky. It had begun to darken, and she pushed her boot into the groaning planks.

A look of annoyance grew on her face, not unlike the one she had with Mayor Dunwick. She gazed into oblivion with those dashing green eyes with a sigh, and trudged out the door, or lack thereof. Nicholas trailed behind her like a lost lamb, eyes wide with utter confusion.

The car roared to life, grumbling and puffing to itself as they began to drive once more. Her yellow headlights beamed into the darkening world that encompassed them

"I can't read it, but I think I know someone who can"