❝For all that its worth now you were worth it in the end,
for all off your worth I would lapse and fall again. ❞

───────

SEVEN | GHOST IN LOVE

I stood at the door to bedroom where I found the ring, the silly piece of jewellery that opened the door to the abyss everyone had warned me about, "This is Lucille's bedroom . . ." Sir Thomas said as we walked into the room, I had followed him upstairs. Although I was scared -not of him, but his sister- I was eager to know more about the place and the events once occurred in there and since Sir Thomas didn't hesitate to answer my questions, I kept asking.

"This, this is where you died?" He nodded. I walked towards the vanity and my fingers brushed the dusty surface and quickly remembered to stay away from Lucille's belongings.

"You asked who had killed me before," I looked up at him. Sir Thomas was standing by the chimney, his eyes nervously hovering around the room before meeting mine, "it -it was her . . ." he whispered, "it was my sister." His behaviour changed completely and I stared at him as I tilted my head, comprehending.

"Are you afraid of her?" He shook his head.

"I'm afraid of seeing more deaths," In a blink, he was standing by the bed, his eyes fixed on the covers. I made my way towards the other side and stood across from him, "I was trying to end it all," he said and knitted his eyebrows together, "I was determined to leave and start again, to leave it all behind, Lucille was not. She only wanted us, she did not wanted me to stay with Edith . . . she was angry because I broke a promise. Before we were sundered, she made me promise to never fall in love with another woman, I was hers. I told her I would wait for her and I did . . ." he said and squeezed his eyes shut, "I only wanted to finally live a life, but she made sure that I did not live it if it was not by her side . . . she took everything from me," he spoke between gritted teeth. He also told me that when the darkness had not surrounded him completely, Lucille managed to carry him to bed, the place where the heart once loved her finally stopped. That explained what the guy from the café had told me before.

Murders -including their mother's- lies, promises, passion and lust were part of the forbidden love that both of them kept alive and as a secret that would remain trapped into the walls of the rotting house, or that's what they expected, until everything began to slip through their fingers.

Little by little everything was making sense, like a puzzle. He continued to tell me more, how he found himself growing fond of Enola, how she made him feel loved in a different way and she didn't stop loving him even when she learned Lucille was pregnant with his child. It was the first time he had felt different towards one of the women he had married to, he was almost in love with her.

The fact of watching his child suffer and die in his own arms one night and watching how Enola herself died calling his name a couple of nights later made him change. He told me that he always made sure to have an excuse to go to the town or just leave the house when his wives were in their deathbed, but this time he accompanied Enola, he held her hand until the last breath left her lips. After that, he feared the day when money ran out, that only meant they had to kill again.

"Something as dark and evil as what I have done cannot be forgiven . . ." he said, bitter his words. He wandered around the room and then stopped to place his hand on the back of a chair, looking over his shoulder to speak, ". . . do you believe in heaven and hell, Adeline?" He asked, I shook my head.

"I don't," I said, taking a step forward, "Honestly, I am not a very religious person but, I know that God forgives those who repent, he knows when they truly do," He nodded, not quite convinced of my words, he shared one of those brief smiles of him and then slowly walked away, looking downcast, leaving me alone, standing next to the bed. I led my hand to my forehead, all he had told me was overwhelming. I sighed and then placed my hands on my hips.

The image of Lucille and Thomas while arguing played in my head as my eyes stared at the old bloodstained covers. I imagined the moment when the knife was buried in his skin, when blood trickled down, his sister cradling him against her chest after carrying him to bed, watching how the light of his eyes faded. The very thought of it made my stomach drop, it was too sad to think about.

I made my way out of the bedroom to the staircase, where Sir Thomas waited for me, "You are not coming back, are you?" He asked, fidgeting with the ring on his finger again.

"I will come back, I said I'd help you," I said, walking closer to him, "I'll try my best to find out what happened to Edith and then when I have something I'll come back. It won't be too difficult," his facial expression softened and smiled a little.

I went downstairs while Sir Thomas waited for me, standing by my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. I found my phone thrown on a side of the landing and I picked it up, it only had scratches and a couple of missed calls from Josh so I thought of calling him back later.

I reached the foyer and Sir Thomas smiled, he was about to say something when another voice interrupted him.

"You are the very spit and image of her," I startled and gasped when the eloquent and serene yet pejorative voice tone echoed in the foyer because I knew who it was about. She looked different as well, she wasn't the dark spectral being that welcomed me in a very particular way.

"You are not to touch her, Lucille," Sir Thomas' voice stopped her to continue yet didn't stop her from glaring at him. He stood before me, "you will not touch her again, do you understand?"

"Very protective of her, are we little brother?" He let out a soft chuckle.

"'Brother'," he muttered, "don't even think about hurting her, Lucille. I warn you."

"You warn me . . ." she said mockingly, "you can't protect her forever, Thomas," she said with a death stare at me and then at her brother, Lucille turned around and walked into the kitchen, dragging her dress behind her. Sir Thomas looked at me -who was panicking as hell.

"You will be fine," he said softly and I had to stop myself from scoffing, "I will not let her lay a finger on you, Adeline, I promise," he said, getting closer.

"Is that what you said to the others?" I asked, "Is that what you said to the people who came here in the past? She doesn't like me at all!" I looked at the door to the kitchen and his cold hand cupped my face.

"I promise," he whispered, "I'll be waiting for you, no matter how long it takes, I will." I nodded, staring at my reflection in his eyes.

I prepared myself to leave, got my stuff in the car and drove back to the town. I found a place with internet and began my research, but it was more difficult than I had thought, there wasn't too much on the internet about Thomas and Lucille Sharpe, at least nothing that I didn't know (all about the murder of their mother and how they were in the house when it happened), I got to the conclusion that people either didn't know anything more or they were trying to hide it at all costs. I think the last one was a better theory.

"Alright, apparently no one knows about the romance or the murders the Sharpe siblings committed . . . people are good at keeping secrets in Cumbria," I said to myself. I had been talking and muttering to myself since I had sat down and I wasn't surprised by the funny looks I got from some people at the restaurant. I scrolled down as I took a sip of tea and then put the mug on the table, "Sharpe siblings, nope . . . let's try with Lady Sharpe then," I typed Edith Sharpe in the search bar, "Well, crap . . ." I muttered under my breath when ten bloody results showed up on the screen, the link to some of them didn't work but the link to her biography did. I clicked on it and I almost fell of the chair, my hand flew to my mouth, choking a scream when a picture of her appeared on the website. I looked at the people sitting at the other tables to make sure nobody saw me, "Oh my God . . ." I whispered, still staring at the woman in a lavender dress, her blonde hair in a beautiful updo and a hat matching her dress. In the picture she's sitting at a desk with books and a pair of spectacles and of course, a typewriter, "Why do you look like me? Why do I look like you?!" I said softly. I read the whole thing.

She was born in Buffalo, New York and was the only daughter of a wealthy man. She was a writer and wrote only three books in her entire career. One of them, the book I needed. There was a picture of it on a side and the words Crimson Peak adorned the cover.

I frowned, totally confused by the paragraph I had read, I had to read it a little louder to understand, "She married to Sir Thomas Sharpe, an English engineer and moved to England after the violent death of her father. Only months later her husband and sister-in-law were found dead at the house they shared, the murders occurred while she was asleep. The Sharpes had an outstanding debt and it's presumed that the murders were linked with money- this is bullshit . . . this, this is not what really happened," I shook my head yet continued reading, "Edith Cushing talked about it in an interview? What the heck? She made up all this, why?"

I pulled out my earphones and plugged them to the laptop as I listened to the interview. She sounded very convincing while answering the questions and I was battling to know who was telling me the truth, I was so confused.

I also listened to another interview with Alan McMichael, Edith's friend, who had arrived at Allerdale Hall to visit them that day. He said the same as Edith. Apparently they returned to Buffalo and tried to continue with their lives. I rubbed my temples and took a deep breath, not knowing what to think.

"I don't believe this," I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. I scrolled down and read the next paragraph, "Thomas Carter Sharpe, named after his father- his what?!" My eyes widened, I had to read that again, "Thomas Carter Sharpe, named after his father and grandfather respectively, became a doctor, following his step-father's (Doctor Alan McMichael) steps . . . that's it, that's why she made up a story . . ." I smiled, shaking my head, ". . . to keep their son away from their dark past and keep the Sharpe name," I ran my fingers through my hair, "she was clever, really clever . . ."

Something broke inside me when I read that Edith and Alan got married, she deserved to be happy, but it made me feel sad. I closed my eyes, how was I going to tell Thomas that the love of his life got married again? I didn't have an idea of how to do it. I kept reading and apparently they got married in the summer of 1906. They had two children, a girl and a boy. I smiled when I saw the family portrait on a side with Edith holding a baby in her arms, a little blonde girl standing beside her, a probably ten-year-old boy with dark hair and Alan standing behind the boy and with a hand placed on the boy's shoulder, everyone smiled in the portrait.

"Edith Cushing died at age 74 in New Castle, England . . . 1949." I said in a whisper. With a sigh, I closed the laptop and tried to organise my thoughts. What I found out wasn't too much neither pleasant to me but it helped a little. They lied, but I knew the truth was written in the book and written in the history of Cumbria.

To the world it was just a legend but in Cumbria it wasn't at all and they knew very well it was true as well. I gathered my stuff and threw money on the table before leaving. I had to find Crimson Peak, by Edith M. Cushing.

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