Page 23 of Bloodstained
“You want your family,” he whispered, not a question.
“Stay out of my head,” I snapped, though the words trembled.
“I don’t need to read your mind.” He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, his presence filling it without effort. “It’s written all over your face like a book.”
He clasped his hands behind his back as he advanced closer, measured and patient. I held my ground even as my pulse betrayed me.
“The way it beats at the base of your throat,” he went on. “The look in your eyes. The way your body carries grief… it’s too heavy to hide.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, keeping the blanket snug around my body like a shield. “I just want them to know I’m alive. That I haven’t disappeared.” My voice cracked. “Do you have any idea what that would do to them? To my mother?”
Something flickered across his expression. Pity maybe, but it looked wrong on him. In fact, his expression was almost one of anger. Not directed at me butfor me. Like the idea of me being upset unsettled him more than he’d ever admit.
“I know,” he said finally, and the simplicity of it startled me. “I know what it’s like to lose everything and be left with only silence. I won’t have you suffer the same wound. Not when I can spare you.”
My breath caught. “What are you saying?”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a phone. Not sleek or modern like the one that had vanished from my bag but old and sturdy. A flip phone with no internet, no GPS.
I took it before I realized what I was doing. It felt substantial, solid in a way that made my stomach twist. My fingers curled around it, trembling.
“I will allow you to speak with them,” he said at last, his voice low enough to vibrate against the stone. “A brief call. Tell them you’re safe. That you’re away. Nothing more.”
I stared at the phone as if it were an artifact dredged from the earth. “You’d trust me with that?”
A faint, humorless smile curved his mouth. “You could beg into that machine until your throat bled, Clara, but no one would reach you here. I give you this not because you can betray me butbecause I don’t want you to fear me. I want you to know you’re not a prisoner.”
His words should have chilled me. Instead, heat spread through me. Anger and relief tangled into something else entirely. The phone was warm in my palm, and felt impossibly heavy for its size. My thumb hovered over the buttons, useless. What would I say? That I was safe? That I was alive? That I was a prisoner in a story no one would believe?
My hands shook. Finally, I dialed my mother’s number. When the line clicked alive, her voice cracked through the static, frantic and breathless. “Mom.”
“Clara?” My mother’s voice hit like a knife. Raw, hoarse, broken. “Oh my God, Clara, where are you? Are you hurt? We thought—” Her breath hitched. “We thought something terrible had happened.”
Tears blurred my vision instantly. “Mom, no. I’m okay.”
“You’reokay?” Her voice cracked on the word. “You vanished without a word, your phone is off, and the police found your car abandoned near the trailhead. Clara, where are you? Please, just tell me something.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” My throat tightened until it hurt to breathe. “Please—just listen to me, okay? I’m safe. I promise. I’m… with someone I trust.”
Across the room, Ivan stood near the fire, the flames painting his face in gold and shadow. His expression didn’t change, but the weight of his stare anchored me in place.
“Someone?” she echoed, soft and confused. “Who? Clara, what are you talking about? Are you with Laszlo? He called us and said he gone out to see you, and the two of you spent a little time together, but he hasn’t been able to get a hold of you for days.”
My pulse stumbled. “No, I’m not with Laszlo,” I blurted. “I… met someone new. Things just got complicated. I guess time gotaway from me. I’ve been overwhelmed with everything. I just needed to step back for a bit.”
There was silence, the kind that felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way. Then my mother whispered, her voice trembling, “Sweetheart… if someone’s there and you can’t talk freely, just tell me your grandmother’s name. I’ll know. I’ll get help.”
My throat closed, words scraping out raw. “I’m fine. I promise. I love you, Mom,” I said, the truth of it splintering something inside me. “I swear I’m okay. Please, just tell everyone not to worry.”
“I cannot help but worry,” she breathed, and I could hear the quiet hitch of her breath. “You sound… different, honey. Scared. Just come home, Clara. Whatever’s happening, we’ll fix it together.”
“I will,” I lied, my voice barely a whisper. “Soon. But, Mom, listen to me.”
A beat of hesitation, then, “What is it, sweetheart?”
“Laszlo isn’t who you think he is. I broke things off and I don’t want to talk to him again. If he tries to reach out, don’t believe a word he says. Please. Promise me.”
There was a pause so long I thought the line had gone dead. Then, quietly, “Okay. I promise. But, Clara… whatever’s going on, whatever you’re caught in, you can still come home. Nothing is too far gone.”
