Page 39 of Silent Oaths
“Thisterritory has ties to something old and dark.Therewas a cult that used to perform sacrificial rituals on women.Theywould take them from the villages, slit their throats, and collect their blood.Theydrank it, fed on it.”Ilean forward, lowering my voice. “Itwas said that the blood of these randomly chosen women would bless the men, give them power.”
Maxwellexhales. “Holyshit.Youfound all this in these books?”
Inod. “Yes, and through articles.”
Theirattention sharpens.
Iglance toward the far shelves. “Iwas searching through the tomes, looking for more connections, andIpulled a book from the shelf, only for it tomove.Behindit was a secret door and a passage leading into a hidden hallway.”
Maxwell’sbrows lift in intrigue andJulian’seyes widen.
Irise from my chair. “Youneed to see this for yourselves.”
Ipull the lever, feeling it shift against my hand as the hidden opening reveals itself.Theair in the secret passageway is thick and musty.
Ipull a heavy box from one of the shelves.Duststirs in the air asIlift the lid, revealing a collection of yellowed newspaper articles fromTheBlackQuillstacked neatly inside.
MaxwellandJulianmove in closer, eyes narrowed in confusion asIflip open the top layer.
MissingWomanFoundDead,InvestigationintoDisappearanceStalled,FamiliesBegAuthoritiesforHelp.
Ikeep pulling articles, one after another, and they all seem to blur together with the same tragic stories: missing women and families screaming for help.
Maxwell’shand hovers over the papers as he reads. “Thisis insane,” he whispers, flipping through them faster.
Idon’t respond, my own mind racing asImove to the next box, smaller than the first, and set it down in front of them.Thearticles inside are more recent.Itake one out, showing it to the guys.
FatalCarAccidentClaimsLivesofYoungCoupleandInfantSon.
CelesteandJosephAddington, along with their infant son,Andrew, were killed in a tragic car accident on the evening ofJuly16, 1991.
Ilook atMaxwellandJulian.Theireyes flick to each other, then back to me.
“Doyou think they could be your parents?”Maxwellasks.
Myeyes lock on the headline.
I’venever known much about whereIcame from, but the timeline lines up far too neatly to ignore.
CouldIbe related to theAddingtons?
Iswallow, my throat dry. “Maybe.”
Frommy findings, theAddingtonswere longtime allies of theWhitmores.Theysettled here together, building their legacies on this very land.Theywere the ones who called this placeEbonridge.
Ilook at the photo that accompanies the article.It’sfaded, so the faces aren’t clear.
MaxwellandJulianexchange uneasy glances, their brows furrowing as they take in everything.ButthenJulianspeaks up, confused. “Waita minute.Thisdoesn’t add up.Ifthe infant was dead, how the hell are you alive?”
It’sa good question.
“Asper the article, it says an infant’s body was never recovered from the debris after the accident.Theyassumed the baby was dead because of it.Theyclaimed it was burnt to ashes by the fire from the crash.”
Ican feel the blood rushing in my ears as the implications start to hit me.Ifthat was really me, andIwasn’t in the car, then where the hell wasI?Andwhy would they cover up my survival?
“So, what happened to you?Ifthey didn’t find your body, then who took you?”Julianquestions.
Thereare too many questions, too many answersIdon’t have yet.Butone thing’s for sure: this wasn’t just some freak accident.
