Still, Emily did leave. And she took the joy from Moira’s world when she went.
When will happiness return, then? Moira asks herself as she moves to lie on her back.
In this windowless room, there is no light.
Which is fine for the young woman who doesn’t fear the dark.
15
“You ought to wake up,” Moira hears, her eyes opening as soon as the words are spoken.
Her gaze meets Ella’s and she sits up, the sun from the hallway offering light in the otherwise dark room.
“What is it?” Moira asks the young woman standing in the doorway with her eyes on the floor.
“He’s waitin’ for ye in the dinin’ room,” Ella answers before turning away.
Moira is confused by the lack of explanation as her naked feet meet the cool, stone floor. Each step brings a fresh wave of discomfort but still she walks out of the room and down the hall.
One left turn and a right, and she is at the threshold of the dining room.
Ella’s back faces hers as she addresses Sol. “Aye, she’s awake,” she tells him.
“I am here,” Moira announces, her eyes catching the way Ella jumps at the sound of her voice. “Any reason I’m being summoned?”
Sol dismisses Ella with a flick of his wrist. She shoots Moira a look, one that the latter cannot decipher. Is it fear? Concern? Or annoyance at having to rouse her?
Once Ella leaves the room, Sol clears his voice. “We’ve found your brother.”
Moira stops herself from asking which one.
The feeling of being tested weighs on her, causing her to take care with her response, her expressions.
It seems like today Sol will be on the darker side of himself. He’s wearing a black sweater that looks as soft as cashmere. His hair is wet again, the sunlight catching in its strands.
The chisel of his jaw is more pronounced as he clenches once, twice, before speaking again. His eyes dart to the side. “When we catch him, you will kill him.”
Those cold feet of hers lift at the heels for a moment. “What am I offered in return?” If Moira does his bidding, she will not do it for free. She will never oblige without a price again.
“You get to live.”
She shakes her head, nearly smiling. “I already have my life,” she tells him. And while that could very well change, his erratic behavior proves to have a pattern. The longer she’s alive, the more she recognizes it.
“You will live comfortably, then.”
She shakes her head again at the offer. “You’ve already given me that, though I know not why,” she offers with a shrug.
“Tell me, Moira, what it is you’d like, then.” His tone is full of impatience and his hands have found purchase on the tabletop.
Moira has never felt more powerful.
Not even when she held the gun and blew a hole through her dear mother’s chest.
In this world, Moira hasn’t been given many chances to tame a beast. And here she is, in control of an exchange with a man who’d massacred an entire home full of unsuspecting people.
Without a reason she has knowledge of. In her own personal quest, the thought to understand why hadn’t bothered to make itself known.
Perhaps she is far worse than even Sol, for participating in his antics without knowledge of cause; only knowledge of her own sordid experiences with the victims.
“Why?” she asks Sol.
His brows furrow as he stares at her.
“Why do you desire the death of us all?” she questions.
It’s his turn to shake his head. “State your desire so we can get on with it,” he snaps.
He stares at her with watchful dark eyes that speak of hauntings unbeknownst to her. And if her eyes could speak, they would tell him of the same.
Of being held down by her three brothers while her mother whipped her.
The last thing they’d thrown at her had been that partially eaten apple. And it was by far the softest thing they’d ever hurled at her.
When she was fifteen, they threw stones at her until blood ran through her orange curls like dye.
And if it’s Thomas they’re after, he’s always been the leader of the three of them. The one who loves to see her bleed.
She will kill her brother in exchange for…
“A bow and arrow,” she states.
Sol’s laughter fills the room as he throws his head back. It is a sight to behold and she revels in the way it warms her.
“And I thought you’d ask for your freedom,” he tells her, sitting back in his chair.
She smiles as she thinks to herself, I already have it.
Sol admires the way she stands before him, her hair wild from sleep and her cheeks pink. Something is shining in her eyes, something he doesn’t recognize.
Is it hope?
Hope in a situation such as hers is useless. This place houses the damned.
Is it excitement?
The idea of killing her brother exciting her has Sol thawing, his hands itching to run through her hair. To pull her to him and taste her murderous desire for himself.
It could very well be that she simply wishes to have her bow and arrow.
Sol stands, ignoring the dull ache of his knee, and makes his way toward her. She stands still as he does, but her eyes are a gray storm.
Only when he’s close enough to feel her warmth permeate his, does he speak. “Is that what you would kill him with?” His hands lift, coming toward her cheek as his eyes settle on hers before darting to her lips.
“Aye, it is.”
He wishes to taste her whisper now.
To seal their deal with the sealing of their lips.
When his hands meet her face, he holds his breath, waiting for her to jerk away. Waiting to be reminded that she is not his and will never be.
Waiting for some god to come down and smite him for tainting her.
When nothing happens, he leans in.
“I have never known a gentle touch such as this,” she whispers.
Her confession makes him close his eyes. It feels large and important, like the introduction of a request.
Would she like more?
When he opens his eyes, he catches movement behind her and drops his hands.
Moira’s own eyes flutter open as Sol glares at Julio, who’s standing just outside the threshold.
“¿Qué estás haciendo?” Sol asks the man, stepping away from Moira.
“I could ask the same,” Julio answers, staring between the two of them, as if they’re two adolescents caught in an embrace.
“Leave us,” Sol says. When Julio turns to leave, Sol speaks again. “Not you,” he starts before turning to Moira. “You.”
She doesn’t hesitate to walk away, each step seeming as calculated as perhaps the entirety of their interactions.
Still, Sol’s quarrel is not with her.
He waits until he’s certain she’s out of earshot before he addresses Julio, the man coming farther into the room.
“I’ve given you too much power,” Sol says as he rounds the table to sit at the head once more. “You think you can question me.”
“You need reminding—”
“I need no such thing,” Sol spits out, so loud, it echoes through the dining room. “I’ve dedicated my life to this. I killed my first man while you were learning how to fuck for the first time.” His breath rises and falls with some volume as he glares at the man before him.