Page 12 of The Haunting of William Thorn

William was greeted with heavy warmed air as he reached the bottom step of the stairs.

Firelight glowed beyond the living room’s open door, coaxing him towards it.

A moth to a flame. It’s casting of shadows encouraged him like beckoning fingers.

As he rounded the corner, William was greeted with the back of Edward’s head.

The stranger was entranced by the flames, stabbing the iron poker into the spitting kindling.

“I’ve brought you something to change into,” William said, leaning on the doorframe with a fresh pile of jogging bottoms and an oversized jumper clutched to his chest. “They might be a little too small, but it’s something…”

Edward dusted his hands down his damp trousers, refusing to take his eyes off William. William sensed the man’s unspoken words as though he was a psychic and knew that Edward was preparing to ask how he felt.

“How are you–”

“Can we just not talk about it?” William said quickly, throwing the clothes at Edward. “It’s embarrassing enough; I don’t think a conversation will make it any better.”

Edward rocked backwards on his toes, catching the clothes with ease.

It was a moment before the lines on his face melted to something softer.

Then he took his fingers and drew them across his lips.

“If that’s what you want. Consider tonight’s exciting events completely forgotten. Puff. Gone just like that.”

“Thanks,” William said, catching a pleasant whiff of something behind him. Stomach rumbling in response, he eyed the kitchen to where the tickling of smells oozed from. It was hard to discern what it was exactly, but he was sure he caught the aromatic scent of vegetables in stock.

“Soup,” Edward announced. “I thought you could do with something to warm you up, and my grandma always said soup was just seasoned lava and could heat the coldest of souls. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of invading your, may I point out, limited supplies.”

Out of everything Edward had said, William focused on one detail.

“Are you suggesting I have a cold soul?” William asked, sarcasm rising like a shield.

Regardless of what happened tonight, William still couldn’t shake the knowledge that Edward was a stranger in his house. However, he had saved him… if that was what William could call it.

“Well, not exactly,” Edward said, running large, calloused hands over the clothes in his hands. “Although a little warming up won’t go amiss. Let’s not forget that you did barricade me in a room.”

“For my own safety,” William reminded.

“Of course.” Edward narrowed his eyes, lips quirking into a sideways grin. “In that case, you’ve just reminded me that I should’ve added poison to your soup. Gosh, I almost forgot I was playing the part of ‘threatening murderer’.”

“Are we forgetting that you practically broke into my house only hours ago?” William said.

“This again,” Edward replied with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Are you forgetting I just saved you from sleepwalking all the way to Stonewell? Oh, wait. I promised not to bring it up, didn’t I?”

It was William’s turn to roll his eyes. He had two choices. Continue to put up walls and make tonight awkward, or attempt to show some kindness to the man who’d just saved him from getting into whatever danger he was sleep walking out into.

William opted for the latter. “What type is it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“The soup. What type of soup is it?”

It was a stupid question because William already knew he’d only bought three variations at the local shop. But he asked the question anyway, diverting the conversation to something more mundane.

Edward pulled a face, a mixture of confusion and interest. “It’s carrot and coriander. Or what I like to call, vegetable and dish soap soup.”

“I can cope with that.” William pressed a hand to his empty belly. The touch alone conjured a feral growl of hunger from its pits. Even if he wanted to continue his petition and say he wasn’t hungry, the noise alone had ruined that excuse to escape.

Edward closed the space between them, the scent of the fire lingering over his skin. To Edward’s apparent amusement, William found his breath catching in the back of his throat.

“Have we come to a truce, William?” Edward said, offering a hand between them.

William looked down at it as though it was a serpent and not a hand. He took it before he could change his mind.

Edward was warm to the touch, his hands rough and yet oddly pleasant. Long fingers, certainly larger than his own, held firm. If Edward noticed the pleasant shiver sent every hair on William’s arm to raise, at least he could blame it on the cold.

“Temporary truce.” William replied with nodded. “Don’t get too comfortable. Our previous arrangement of you leaving as soon as the storm lets up is still on.”

“I’m not one to outstay a welcome,” Edward added, still not letting go of William’s hand. “Anyway, if you’re a fan of coriander, I really think we are fated to dislike one another.”

It was hard to find Edward’s sarcasm annoying when it was followed by the cheekiest of smiles.

“All the more soup for me then,” William replied. “Good job too, since my soul is apparently in need of warming.”

“Good job indeed.”

Neither one of them withdrew their hand, like this was some battle of wills they’d entered into.

William couldn’t help himself but trace his eyes across Edward, who was haloed by the firelight behind him. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself a moment to study another man. He almost felt guilty for even entertaining the conversation. Guilt or no, he couldn’t stop.

“Thanks again,” William said, dropping his gaze from Edward’s intense stare.

“For the soup? The warm fire? Or…”

“All of it,” William added, eyes dropping to the floor between them. Finally, he claimed his hand back. Not without noticing Edward lower his to his side and flex his fingers.

“It’s my pleasure.”

William scoffed, uncomfortable with the sudden warmth budding in his chest. He wanted to batter it down, force it into the depths of his soul and forget about it.

But one glance back into Edward’s rich eyes, and he knew that was a hopeless wish.

“Why don’t you go and get out of your wet clothes.

I’ll dish us up the vegetable and dish-soap soup and have it ready for your return. ”

“Gosh, with an offer like that, I might just never leave.”

With his head muffled by the red wine and his body relaxed by the warmth of the fire, William allowed every one of his guards to drop.

It seemed, around Edward, that his disarming aura made it easier to do.

Something about his company put William at ease, from the comfort of Edward’s smooth voice to the attention of his gaze that seemed to always be on William, following every lift of the glass to his lips and shift of his body on the sofa.

If Edward was The Killer, he certainly took his task seriously. All of this kindness could be one grand show. Then again, William secretly liked a challenge.

By the time William was finished with his second bowl of soup, he gave into the tidal pull of alcohol and fell into the conversation Edward tried so very hard to start. His worries about the stranger had faded to a far-off simmer.

“I had no idea I’d just entered myself into a round of Twenty Questions,” William slurred, frowning into the bottom of his glass, so desperate for more wine that he almost licked the sediment up. “I don’t think I signed up for this.”

“No better icebreaker than a good old game, am I right?” Edward leaned forward, swiped the bottle from the table between them and tilted the neck towards him. “And, just maybe, if we got to know one another a little better, you wouldn’t feel so endangered by my presence.”

“I think we’re past that,” William added, pinching the stem of his glass hard as

Edward poured him more wine without looking at what he was doing. William smiled, and Edward offered a far more beautiful one back, almost overfilling the glass in his distraction.

“Steady, boy,” William chirped. “Don’t waste the goods.”

“My bad. It’s late, my mind’s all over the place,” Edward said. “I wouldn’t be offended if you went to bed or something. It’s… late? Early. I don’t know. Time is funny here.”

Here being Hanbury Manor.

The last time William checked his phone, it was gone eleven p.m. If he hoped to go to sleep after earlier, he’d need more wine to help with that. Thinking about how he’d sleepwalked outside the house still freaked him out. Putting off the inevitable a little longer wasn’t a bad thing.

He kept thinking about the ‘what ifs’. What if Edward wasn’t here to stop him? What if he’d continued walking all the way to that overflowed ford Edward had mentioned, drowning before he woke up.

“I’m not tired,” William lied. “Are you?”

Edward shook his head, crossing his legs on the sofa beneath him. “Not at all. Unequivocally wired, one could say.”

Somehow William knew Edward was lying too.

“So, about this game…”

Edward’s eyes lit up. “I see you’ve warmed up to the idea.”

Whether he was a stranger or not, the concept of being so vulnerable made him uncomfortable.

“You could can thank the soup for that,” William said, fighting a wine-induced hiccup. “It’s worked wonders on my soul, just as you expected. Now, you can go first.”

Edward no doubt understood why William hesitated to go to bed but didn’t question it.

Instead, he leaned back, tugged the woollen blanket over his lap and extended both arms to either side of him, resting them on the back of the sofa.

William marvelled at just how long his arms were.

Edward caught him looking and smiled, an expression that completely changed his face.

“All right then,” Edward said, fire crackling across the room. “Let me think.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Edward laughed, his question following soon after. “What drives someone like you purchase a place like Hanbury Manor?”