Page 80 of A Silence So Divine

Her fingers begin to fidget with the edge of the blanket, her breaths coming in shallow huffs. Without looking at me, she signs,“I was having a dream.”

One of my eyebrows hitch up, and I think back to that night in the kitchen. The vacant stare, the confused expression when she came to.

She reallydoessleepwalk.

“Dreaming of what?”

Casting me a sidelong glance, she shakes her head.“My turn.”

Well, that bit me in the ass. I incline my head in her direction, giving her the go ahead. Now, her eyes bore into me, like she needs to see my reaction as much as she needs to hear it.

“How many people have you killed?”

Shit. My eyelids flutter to a close, my nostrils flare.

I mull over my options. I could lie, but that kind of defeats the whole trust journey we’re on. But if I tell the truth… that might eliminate any chance of her trusting me, anyway.

When I open my eyes, Eden watches me, expectantly. Innocently.

“Fuck,” I sigh, dropping my head back onto the couch cushion. I stare at the ceiling, though my vision is flooded with… faces.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. The admission tastes bitter, like char and vinegar. I’m not only admitting it to her, but myself, too. I’ve never thought about a number, because I’ve never wanted to.

Now that so much time has passed… there’s no telling.

It’s a dark stain on my soul, and I will die knowing that I deserve whatever Hell might wait for me. But it would have been worth it to save my brother's life. If I’m sure of anything, it’s that I was put on this Earth to watch over my Creed. To keep him safe.

Sensing my anguish, Eden tentatively reaches over. Her palm closes over mine, and she laces our fingers together. Her skin is cool against mine. It eases the burn of shame.

How is it that Creed and Eden are the ones hunted for merely existing, meanwhile I’m regarded as a hero for taking lives? The world is a terribly corrupt place, though the powers in place would never admit to that. As long as they are benefiting, which they always are, the horrifying realities will persist.

With a featherlight touch, Eden creeps her thumb over the backs of my knuckles. The touch is tentative, and the fact that she would seek to comfort me at all makes my insides twist with something uncomfortable. Still, I leave my hand in hers.

We sit like that for a moment, sharing body heat and contemplating our personal woes. From an outside perspective, this scene would seem sweet. That’s most things, though, isn’t it? Easy to look at—digestible. But when you dig down, past that first layer, you unravel the hideous truth.

Her hand slips from mine, garnering my attention.

“I dream of mama.”

Bewildered, my brows draw down on my forehead. “Your… mom?”

Didn’t Creed tell me that her mother died during birth? How can you dream of someone you’ve never seen?

Eden gives a sheepish nod.

“So…” I begin, struggling to find my words. “Why would that make you go to the pond?”

Just like that, Eden withdraws. I can see it in her eyes, the way they glaze over. Her trembling escalates, so I lean in closer until our shoulders are pressed firmly together. A subtle reminder that I’m here.

Her next words steal my breath.

“That’s where Papa buried her. In the water.”

Thirty Three

Creed

For the first time in a number of months, I’m home alone. I put up as much of a fight as I could, but eventually, Cecil’s promise of a new dutch oven won me over. I like to bake too much for my own good.