first, I attempt going to the upper floor where I think Jonathan’s office is, but then as I walk down the hall, I notice the small blinking cameras.
Shit.
How come I never noticed them before? And who the hell keeps cameras inside his house?
Defeated, I head to the library. The space is so vast, it nearly swallows the entire ground floor. It’s even bigger than the theatre room — and that says something.
Rows and rows of books extend as far as the vision can go.
Old books. Big books. Hardcovers. Paperbacks.
Hell, there are even a few first editions here.
I wonder if they have some Sun Tzu in this place.
Three dark wooden tables with cushioned seats are arranged neatly in the middle of the room. It smells of old paper, and I can’t help but inhale the scent.
I place my backpack and drink on a table and walk to the wooden rows. run my fingers along some books written in Russian and in French.
Someone is a polyglot.
Keeping my head down, I check the corner in case there are cameras lurking in here.
I don’t notice any blinking, but that doesn’t put me at ease.
The King’s mansion has this eerie quality to it. I’m on high alert the entire time.
I only let go when Aiden is around, but maybe that’s a mistake, too.
A few psychology books grab my attention. Margo mentioned that Alicia read those to Aiden.
The other day, Cole also mentioned that Nausea, a philosophy book, belongs to Aiden.
I pull a paperback about the light in the mind or something. It’s the first time I hear about it. It’s written by J.E. Hampton. Never heard of him — or her.
There’s dust on the book, so it hasn’t been touched in years.
I open the book.
The dedication says,
To unknown. You should’ve killed me.
The ‘You should’ve killed me’ part is underlined with a red pencil.
I open the first pages and read. It talks about someone who’s trying to find his way after chronic depression. I read a few pages and I notice some words underlined in red like in the dedication page.
Lost.
Help.
Live.
Alive.
Dead.
It goes on until the end of the book.
I retrieve another one. Nothing is underlined in the dedication, but inside the book, similar words are underlined.
Save.
Kill.
Love.
I pull another book then another and another. It’s almost the same in all books. Then I find something different.
The dedication in another book says,
To J, Thank you for saving my life.
It’s crossed in red and under it is written in elegant writing.
‘You shouldn’t have saved my life.’
My breathing catches. Is this Alicia?
I retrieve about ten books and sit on the table, going through them.
I find a dedication that says,
To the fighters. Stay alive.
Under it, there’s that same elegant handwriting.
‘The worst thing you can tell a person who wants to die is to stay alive.’
I gulp.
So she was suicidal.
Did Aiden know that?
My heart squeezes at the thought of a little boy witnessing his mother’s suicidal tendencies. Did she do something traumatising in front of him?
A wave of nausea hits me at the thought.
I go through the pages some more.
I find another dedication.
To my son, you gave purpose to my life.
There’s a line under it and then a smiling face. My heart warms until I read the writing beneath it.
‘But I wish you were never born.’
I blink, reading it again.
Did she say that about her own son? What the hell?
The book is old and dusty and doesn’t seem like it’s been touched since Alicia’s death. With one last look to my surroundings, I stuff the book in my backpack.
Aiden might be a bastard and I hate him sometimes, but I would never want to scar him this way. He shouldn’t see what Alicia wrote about him.
I know she must’ve had deep-rooted mental issues, but that doesn’t give her the right to wish that her son was never born. She read all these psychological books, how come she didn’t know words like that from his own mother could scar him for life?
I check my watch. Shit. It’s almost time for the horsemen to return. I easily wasted an entire hour digging through the pieces Alicia left behind, but I need to go.
I don’t want Aiden to catch me in his library.
I put the books where they belong, take my backpack, and go back to Margo.
The moment I sit on the stool, sipping the cold hot chocolate, Ronan comes breezing through the door.
“I’m here, bitches!” He yells in his signature enthusiastic tone. When he meets my eyes, his grin widens. “Oh. Hey there, Ellie.”
I