The Fabric of our Souls

Mornings start slow. I’m an early bird, so I’m usually up by seven a.m. and looking for things to do. Liam is the opposite. He sleeps in each morning and only rises from his grave fifteen minutes before breakfast, saying he gets too hungry otherwise. Men.

We’ve silently agreed to not speak about what we did in the spa, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it often.

Researching the missing people from the game has kept me entertained in the mornings, while Liam’s soft snores create a calm atmosphere in our room. The warm light from my lamp doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

The newspaper articles are far more disturbing than Liam and Lanston’s horror show. Liam doesn’t mind me snooping through his journal, so now I keep it on my desk and study it each morning. The six of them all went missing without a trace. No one ever found evidence that they’d died, but they also couldn’t prove they ever left the walls of Harlow Sanctum. Police searched, but without families reaching out and pressing their disappearances, the case went cold.

I tap my finger on the bundle of papers I brought with me to breakfast.

Liam leans in closer to my tablet and points at three of the people huddled together in a group photo. The patients stand on the steps of the rehab. I recognize them from the game photos: Charlie, Monica, and Beverly. Their faces are mischievous and a few of the orderlies are looking over at them with furrowed brows.

Lanston shuffles through the stack of paper and starts reading an article titled “Six Missing from Local Mental Hospital”.

I’ve asked myself why and how the three of us have become some hodgepodge, mentally ill trio of detectives, but you know what? What the fuck else are we going to do in a sanctum where a mystery lies unsolved? Toss pills into each other’s mouths?

Yep. Exactly.

“That’s them. Their names are on the bottom of the page,” Liam murmurs. The cafeteria is loud, so we’re not worried about anyone overhearing us at our isolated table.

“And you’ve never thought to search the grounds yourself?” I sigh as I grab one of the cherries from my plate.

Liam pops one in his mouth too and mumbles between bites, “No—of course not. This was like a decade ago, Wynn. I’m not a cold-case detective or anything, but I think it’s cute that you pretend to be.” He smiles at me. My cheeks heat, but I manage to keep a straight face. Lanston laughs and nods his agreement.

Okay, I guess I was the only one who thought the three of us were of the same mind on the detective hodgepodge thing.

“I’m not pretending to be anything.” I glare at them both before clicking the button on my tablet and the screen shuts off.

Liam raises a brow but quickly smooths his features again and sets his hand on my thigh. “Have you looked into us yet, Miss Detective?” His eyes are dark and serious, searching mine to see if I’ll lie.

“Of course not. Should I?” I click my tablet back on and pull up the search engine. He leans in close, his chest brushing against my shoulder and his lips warm on my neck. Chills course through my veins as he weaves my hair through his fingers and whispers:

“You won’t like what you find.”

I pause, instinctively tilting my head to the side as he presses a kiss to my neck.

“Why’s that?” I murmur, half desperately wishing to know and half not daring to imagine his past. My past isn’t anything I want him to look into. He’d only find a broken family and a washed-up woman who’s been through the wringer.

Broken. Like he is.

He taps on the search bar and types in his name.

Liam Waters

Lanston shifts his hat in discomfort and looks from me to Liam. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Liam.”

Liam ignores Lanston and hits Go. “Because my story is a sad one.”

The search pulls up many articles with Liam’s picture in them. He’s young, possibly seventeen or younger at the time. In the photos, his eyes are empty. Distant and hollow. The headline of one article reads:

Car Accident Kills Teen Driver, Passengers in Hospital

My breath catches in my lungs. I want to say something, anything, but I remain silent. Lanston looks away, his lips pressed in a thin line. He already knows.

“My brother Neil was taking a turn when I tried to show him something stupid on my phone. I don’t even remember what it was—it was so stupid.” Liam’s voice cracks. He sits back in his chair and looks at me with dull eyes. “You remind me of him. He had the same cancerous sadness that you carry in your eyes.”

I put my hand on his lap and squeeze, hoping that this small motion can communicate the words I cannot find. Even though we’ve been callous to one another, I hope he feels my sentiment at this moment.

“You blame yourself.”

He nods.

“Is that when you started to hurt yourself?” I murmur.

His dark blue eyes find mine, hesitation and grief flickering through them. He nods once more. A somber, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. This was the beginning of Liam’s curse.

Lanston pulls him in for a tight hug and pats him on the shoulder before getting up to leave. Lanston has a harder time with tragic topics—even in group sessions, he excuses himself frequently.

We sit silently for a moment before I tap on the search bar and type in my name. Before I can hit search, Liam grabs my wrist and stops me.

“I don’t want to know,” he says plainly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to know what made you want to die, Wynn.”

He stands. The same distant look that was on his face in the photos consumes his expression now. Liam pushes his chair in and walks out of the cafeteria, leaving me confused, with hurt spreading through my chest.

Liam didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.

Sometimes he dissociates and seems like a different person altogether. It’s easy to deal with because I do it too.

We sit in silence with his bedside lamp on the dimmest setting, the pattern of rain crashing against the bricks of Harlow being the only sound.

I move toward the open window and breathe in the crisp scent of rain. My sweater isn’t enough to prevent the chill that falls over my bones. I can feel his eyes on me; my skin is uncomfortable beneath his gaze. He hasn’t touched me since yesterday. The memory of his lips on my neck still stirs something carnal deep inside me.

The fabric of our souls is thin—we’ve been wandering this world just to unite in this small corner of the universe. Our connection is frightening and enchanting all at once. A shudder crawls down my spine as I recall the look I saw in his eyes through the window in the spa. Fire and ice—we are impossible together.

I want to know what it means. I want to know why we’ve crossed paths.

His breaths become heavy and slow, telling me he’s already found rest. Who knows if he has another alarm set or not. He’s quirky like that. Sometimes he gets up and leaves Harlow late at night. Other times he sleeps soundly for hours.

My bed creaks as I nestle in. I leave his lamp alone. A voice in the back of my mind tells me he occasionally leaves it on for a reason. We’re all afraid of the dark at some point in our lives, but with Liam, it’s when his mom texts him. When he spends the evenings staring off at the walls, deep in thought.

I stare at the ceiling for a few hours. Once my eyes start to shut, he groans as if he’s in pain. My gaze shifts over to him. His brows are pulled in tight with torture, teeth bared in agony.

The thought of waking him crosses my mind, but I’ve had many bad experiences waking people from their nightmares. So I sit on the edge of his bed, gently brushing hair from his forehead, and listen as his whimpers slowly fade. Peace replaces his anguished expression and I fall a little deeper into the pit in my heart.

I memorize the raven-black locks of hair that fall over his pillow, the long lashes that kiss his cheeks, and his sculpted jawline. His tattoos are harder to look at now that I know how much they hide beneath their ink, but even those I find beautiful.

After a few minutes tick by, I move to head back to my own bed, but his hand finds my thigh. Liam’s brows pinch ever so slightly and he squeezes me gently.

“Don’t go.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmur, surprising myself with the softness in my voice. We don’t do soft with each other.

I debate getting up anyway.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed. “Please, stay.”

I hesitate before sliding to lie down next to him. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in tightly. His warmth and heavy oak scent instantly surround me and everything else in the world fades away.

It’s just me and him.

Nothing else matters tonight.

“What were you dreaming about?” I ask, my lips brushing against his collarbone.

He pulls me closer, holding me like I’ve always wished someone would.

“Nothing.”