Page 25 of Whispers of Wisteria (The Garden of Eternal Flowers #5)

Bryce barely left my side from the time I stepped out of the car in front of the remains of Mr. Richards house. In fact, he was practically hovering as Uncle Gregory, Gloria, and Detective Kohler gathered with Titus and Damen some distance away.

I didn’t mind his obnoxiousness though. I’d been slowly spiraling since the first familiar bend in the road. And by the time we pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t feel anything at all.

It was a shell of the house it once was, and didn’t look nearly as intimidating as I remembered.

I could barely breathe.

I wrapped my arms tighter around my stomach, but it didn’t help.

Bryce’s fingers brushed against my arm. “Bianca.”

I shook my head. I had to be strong.

“I’m fine,” I said, voice wavering. “Why is D-Detective Kohler here? I thought Julian couldn’t know.”

Bryce barely looked at him. “He’s the lead detective.”

“But, J-Julian…”

“That’s for your quintet to deal with.” Bryce sighed. “But Joe isn’t afraid of his grandson.”

Why would anyone be afraid? “What would Julian do?”

Bryce didn’t answer. He was still trying to get me to change my mind. He stepped closer. “Let’s leave. I’ll take you out for ice cream right now—”

“Can we not?” I interrupted.

I couldn’t look away from the ruins. My stomach was already turning, and my hands shook. I might actually be sick.

“Well, can I take you later anyway?” Bryce asked.

I looked at him. “What?”

“I want to do something together,” he said, as if that were perfectly normal for us.

I opened my mouth, then shut it, and shoved my gloved hands into my coat pockets.

“Okay,” I muttered, returning my attention to the scene.

This was just a building. I could keep this factual. If I could keep the worst of it locked away, I could get through this.

Damen, Titus, and Uncle Gregory approached with the others close behind.

Damen stepped between me and Bryce and cupped my cheek. “Baby,” he said, his voice firm. “You don’t have to do this. No one’s forcing you.”

“It’s fine,” I said. There was nobody else who could do this.

“Are you sure?” His sharp gaze roamed my face. “You look worse than normal.”

I scowled, and Damen’s brows shot up. “I meant—”

I batted his hands away and stepped forward. “Let’s—let’s just get this over with.”

“This is the only entrance we were allowed to use.” My voice was steady, my nerves dulled into something distant. “Mr. Richards wouldn’t let us near the front door.”

The mood shifted.

I hesitated before stepping up the crumbling stairs. The railing was gone, but my fingers instinctively reached where it should have been.

“The front door was for clients,” I said.

Detective Kohler’s tone is direct but even. “Do you remember any names?”

“It’s not…” I tightened my arms around myself, turned from him, and looked at the stairway. My fingers twitched against my sleeves. The railing should have been here. It wasn’t anymore.

“We weren’t told anybody’s full name.”

The silence stretched.

Uncle Gregory spoke next. “When you say ‘we’… who else do you mean?”

My stomach clenched.

Damen shifted beside me. I could feel his stare.

I swallowed. “The boys,” I murmured. “At least, the ones treated like me.”

The silence that followed somehow made it easier.

“Most of the girls were different,” I continued.

Gloria had been listening quietly. Now, she pulled out a notebook. “How were you different?”

As the others followed, I stepped into the kitchen, my boots scuffing against the warped, stained tiles. “Most of the girls were meant to be adopted. They lived in another part of the house. They had nice things and good food. They were never…”

The words caught in my throat.

The ceiling light was missing a sconce. Had that been from the fire? Or before?

“He didn’t want them dying,” I finished, my voice flat.

Silence.

Uncle Gregory cleared his throat. “How often did a hunt end in someone dying?”

“Not often,” I said. “Only if things got out of control.”

“And how often did the hunts themselves take place?”

I could feel the weight of the others’ stares. Damen was too close, and his warmth pressed against my back.

“Once or twice a month,” I answered.

Gregory’s voice softened. “Did it ever end at the hunt?”

My breath hitched. The empty comfort I’d found in detachment wavered.

Damen stepped in. “You don’t have to answer that.”

I did, though.

I hadn’t planned on even saying this much. But now that I was here… I had to make it count.

“It wasn’t the same for everyone,” I murmured. “The boys were left alone if they lived. But there were two other girls. They weren’t hunted, but they saw… people.”

Gregory’s next question came too fast. “What happened to them?”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

It felt like no time had passed at all. I felt their presence and their kindness. I could still taste the stolen bits of food and hear their reassurances.

“O-only one is alive,” I whispered. “I—I don’t know what happened to her.”

“Do you remember their names?” Gloria asked.

“C-Chaya,” I said. “And Nisha.”

There was a silence before Gloria asked again, “Who made it out?”

“Chaya—” Shame spread through my chest as I stared at a burnt section of the floor. “Nisha died because of me. But Chaya is alive.”

“Are you certain it was Chaya who escaped?” Gloria asked.

I tilted my head. “Chaya used to sing with me before we got into t-trouble, and I could tell them apart. So yes.”

Gloria’s hand paused over her notebook. At the same time, Uncle Gregory looked up sharply, and Bryce shot me an unreadable look.

“Bianca,” Gloria started. “Do you know who they were before they came here?”

I looked at her and frowned. “They—they said they were princesses,” I said. “And I was special too. That—that was why they wanted us.”

“When you say you got into ‘trouble,’ what do you mean?” Uncle Gregory asked.

My mouth opened, but I couldn’t find the words.

“We weren’t supposed to sing,” I said finally. I touched my throat. “But—but she’d do it when I was… hurt. We got caught. I—I was already not—not well. They—they wanted to punish Chaya instead.”

I looked to the ground. My vision blurred as my chest grew tighter. “Nisha pretended to be her. She—she didn’t come back.”

“How long after that did Chaya escape?” Gloria asked.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said, squeezing my fists at my sides.

“What—” Gloria began, but stopped when her attention moved beside me.

“Bianca—” Uncle Gregory stepped in front of me, and I remembered, distantly, that he hadn’t wanted me to come. “You’re doing well. But you don’t need to keep going. We can stop here.”

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I couldn’t feel much of anything at all.

“I’m fine.” I kept my gaze low and stepped around him. “What else do you want to know?”

Damen frowned. “Anything you want to tell us. It’s up to you.”

I looked around the vaguely familiar room. “This was the kitchen.”

Obviously, and it felt stupid to say, but it was easier to focus on facts.

No one spoke as I crossed the room. The wooden door had broken into two—the top half was missing. I stepped through it to the hallway,

Striped wallpaper still covered parts of the walls, and the beige chair railing was dirty and chipped in places.

I trailed my fingers along the trim the way I used to.

I moved through the familiar path until I reached a wide opening in the wall.

“There were doors here. We couldn’t go there. Mr. Richards would talk to people there.”

I bit my lip and looked away from the adjoining hallway to my left.

Detective Kohler stopped writing and looked at me. “But?”

I exhaled slowly and glanced to the right. “The other girl’s rooms are that way.” My fingers clenched my sleeves.

“The ones that were meant to be adopted?” Gloria asked.

“Yeah…” I said, looking left again, and my throat went dry.

“You keep looking down the hallway.” Uncle Gregory’s voice broke through the numbness. “What about it bothers you?”

My attention lingered on a certain door, and my breath hitched.

It was still in one piece.

“Where does that door go?” Detective Kohler’s question rang through my ears.

“Downstairs.”

“The basement,” Titus answered with me.

His jaw tightened. “The door is reinforced with steel. It took some time to open, but it only led to a cellar. The room was preserved from the fire, but there was nothing except rotten food.”

I couldn’t suppress my shudder. “There are other rooms,” I whispered. “It leads downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?” Detective Kohler asked.

I couldn’t answer.

Uncle Gregory’s voice softened. “You don’t have to say everything at once. Just tell us what you remember.”

I pointed to a staircase. I couldn’t stop my finger from shaking. “My room is that way, but I don’t like going over there.”

“You don’t need to go,” Titus reminded me.

“And you have a room,” Damen chimed in. “At our house.”

Their reassurances helped, but only slightly. Technically, I was living at his house. Still, their words were enough to pull me back from the edge.

I moved through the rest of the first floor, pointing out various things that stood out, until I suddenly stopped.

“Oh,” I said. My vision blurred.

Damen squeezed my hand. “What’s wrong?”

“This is where I met Jonathon and Abigail.” I blinked and wiped my eyes with my covered wrists.

“They were meeting Mr. Richards there.” I pointed to a door near the front of the lobby.

“I was sneaking in when J-J-Jason caught me. W-we were fighting again, and they c-came out to see what was going on.”

“Who’s Jason?” Detective Kohler asked.

I jumped as Titus moved closer. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at some invisible spot in front of him.

“You started shaking when you said his name,” he told me.

I… did?

I pressed my hands to my cheeks. My skin was wet… but from what? Even now, it didn’t feel like I was crying. And why was it so cold?

“Who is he?” Damen asked. “You’re not even this scared of Eric Richards. Was he one of the boys?”

“J-Jason?” My voice squeaked. “No!”