To Be Obscure

| Ch. 32

My name was John Sutton. I was the son of a prostitute with no knowledge of my real father.

When I became Lamont Oliver, I was no different. I was the son of a Brothel Madam, within a house with no Monsieur.

When given the chance to become someone different, I hadn't changed. Even with meeting Charlotte, I was a man with no possibilities. And now, I was a man with only half a mind.

My memories returned at a rate that stunned me, because as quickly as it came, when it left, it took parts of me with it. What remained were the final words I'd said to Abigail before John vanished and Lamont was born.

I'll kill you.

The water from my mind's eyes drifted away with fading waves as the closet door opened for me. No one pulled at the handle; I had opened it myself. I stood in the doorway, unsure of when I awoke or stood, but it made me no difference. The sunlight was gone, meaning I'd lost so much time. Which also meant Abigail was well into her plans to continue this blessing, and well into the truths of my reappearance.

I was down the hall and up the stairs in seconds. My eyes lit the shadows of the hallway, my senses alive. I heard every voice and step within the manor, but I only wished to hear the ones of those I cared about:

I needed to know Charlotte and Rosie were safe, and that Victor and Nathan were alive.

There were mutters and laughs of those excited for Abigail's sermon; they lingered far below, within the basement halls. Inside the left manor, I heard the talk of dinner. Within the right, there was talk of the garden's reconstruction. Above me, I heard Charlotte's voice; she sang a quiet song, one that her mother would sing at night.

I followed the tune that lulled me to sleep on countless nights. It led me up another flight of stairs, down another hall and right to a door painted white. I pushed it open without invitation and expected to find Charlotte ready for battle; to have a gun, a knife—anything—in her hands, but that wasn't the case.

Instead, within the room with its floral walls, I saw her seated on the ottoman at the foot of a large bed. There were photos around her. Photos of Rosie, of Victor, and a few of myself. I took in deep breaths as her dark eyes looked up at me, her hands massaging oils into the bottoms of feet. She smelled lovely, and wore barely anything at all; a tank, so big, it fell loosely around her shoulders.

"Lamont." The way she said my name erased all the pain I felt. She looked at me with those large, brown eyes that devoured my soul, and for a second, I'd forgotten what I ran through the walls to tell her.

"Charlotte, we need to find Victor. And Abigail. Where's Rosie?"

She glanced out at the stars that shined brightly through the window's glass. Her room bore no curtains, allowing the moonlight to kiss her skin. "Tonight's the Blessing," she said, placing her foot back down on the wooden floor. She didn't look away from the window. "Rosie and Nathan are with Victor. I last saw Abigail, maybe, an hour ago. She came to remind me of my dressings, and to be ready for what's to come."

My hand had never let go of her doorknob and it creaked under my grip. "What does that mean? What does she know?"

Finally, she looked back at me. "She doesn't know anything. She still fully expects you to participate and bless the newcomers tonight with our curse."

"She doesn't." As I moved forward, the door shut behind me. "Charlotte, I blacked out downstairs. With her. I've been in a closet for hours, dreaming. She knows that I'm lying. She's got to."

Charlotte grabbed my hand as I kneeled in front of her. "Lamont, she's known for a long time that Victor and I were out to get her. Rosie coming back here with you only makes it truer. If she believes you'll still participate—"