━━━ ꧁ད ✶ ཌ꧂ ━━━

CHAPTER 18

━━━ ꧁ད ✶ ཌ꧂ ━━━

I approached the kitchen, captivated by the sweet fragrance that filled the air. Thomas gave me a sideways glance but remained focused on what he was cooking on the stove: pancakes, my favorites.

"Take a seat," he invited, and I occupied a place at the table.

"It smells delicious," I commented as I noticed movement in the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figure with the hat stop at the foot of the stairs and give me a fleeting glance. While Thomas approached the fridge, Ashton slipped towards the forbidden door, and when he passed through it, I couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity and chills. Sometimes I forgot he was a ghost.

"Blackberry?" Thomas called.

"Huh?" I turned to Thomas, who handed me a jar of jam. "Thanks."

He placed a stack of pancakes with diced strawberries in front of me and took the seat across from me, resting his elbows on the table to look at me.

I wondered what had prompted Ashton to go down to the basement. I didn't tell Thomas about it.

"You still look pale. I would prepare something else for you if everything else didn't end up tasting fishy."

"I like how you prepare these." I took a bite and briefly visited heaven. I needed something sweet.

"Don't forget the jam." He handed me the container, and I spread a little on the pancake while I dared to glance at the forbidden door again. There were no signs of Ashton yet, and for some reason, I was starting to get nervous.

"Seeing you eat like that makes me want to become a chef."

"Pancakes are your thing; the rest isn't. So don't waste your time."

He chuckled, and I focused on finishing my food. Afterward, I took possession of the plate and carried it to the sink. I ended up washing all the dishes he had dirtied, and when I finished, I wanted to let him know how grateful I felt, but he was gone.

I left the kitchen and walked down the hallway, then checked every room on the second floor, but I found no trace of Thomas. He seemed to have vanished into thin air.

I went downstairs, and at the foot of the stairs, I stopped to look at the forbidden door. Like a vivid memory, the warning from his father was reflected in my mind. Unlike Thomas, I had always associated that place with something negative. But suddenly, the door opened just a little, as if inviting me in.

Thomas could have entered while I was washing the dishes because when Ashton passed, the door was properly closed. And to answer my question, there came a clatter from inside, followed by a rumble that shook the ground.

Driven by concern, I quickly dared to cross the threshold.

The lights illuminated automatically, revealing the stone steps arranged in a semicircle. I pushed my loose hair behind my shoulders and began to descend, but suddenly, it felt like my feet turned to lead.

When I reached the last step, my eyes were assaulted by the bright walls of the room. The room was spacious, similar to the first floor, and was illuminated by an intense white light that extended everywhere. Despite what I might have imagined, the place was well-preserved.

But where was Ashton?

I approached the first glass shelves, forming two extended columns like a labyrinth along the room.

I advanced between the aisles, observing the various objects arranged. There were antique weapons, typewriters, porcelain dolls, drawers, books, and even his grandmother's ballet slipper. A relic.

With caution, I approached the toppled shelves, observing the dust still floating in the air. Although everything was in order in the rest of the room, the mess in this specific corner stood out.

I began to examine the scattered objects on the floor, trying to find clues about what might have happened.

Among the debris, I found disorganized books, broken glass jars, and various antique items.

As I investigated, my mind filled with questions. What could have caused this mess? Was it an accident, or was there something more behind it?

"Thomas?" I called, worried. However, it was Ashton's voice that took me by surprise as he pronounced my name. It sounded distant as if it came from somewhere beneath the ground.

I searched with my eyes, but the light was present throughout the room.

"Where are you?"

"Quick, get out of here!"

The distinct sound of a large wooden log falling to the ground made me turn toward the old chest that I seemed to see leaning against the wall as I passed by. It was a sarcophagus, and Ashton was in there. I couldn't think of a more perfect hiding place for him.

As I advanced toward his hiding spot, an object interrupted my steps. My foot had collided with a broken portrait, scattering small fragments of glass on the floor. However, my attention was immediately drawn to the photograph inside, beckoning me with an irresistible curiosity.

I picked up the broken portrait, feeling my fingers brush against the jagged edges. My eyes settled on the image revealed before me, and I could hardly believe what I saw. The photograph captured a moment from the past, a frozen instant in time that left me perplexed.

"Zara?" Thomas emerged from behind one of the shelves, his figure outlined by the faint light bathing the room.

My lips trembled as I examined the old snapshot that I held in my hands once again. The contrast between the past and the present became palpable, generating a wave of emotions and questions inside me.

"Your grandfather..." I said.

He took a step forward, gesturing for me to hand him the photograph. I refused, and as I stepped back, I stumbled into the sarcophagus.

"Your grandfather and Ashton's father knew each other." And judging by how close they were in the photograph, they seemed to be good friends.

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