Scarecrow of 1889
Chapter 15: Holding the secret tight

Chapter 15: Holding the secret tight

Sylvester lay in bed, wide-eyed and restless, staring at the ceiling. It was midnight, and he toyed with the idea of fleeing to another town—a sudden escape to throw off his stalker. But with his mother’s high profile, it wouldn’t take long for his new location to leak.

His thoughts were shattered by the piercing sound of his phone. Who could be calling at this ungodly hour? He rose and walked to the living room, cautiously answering the phone, "Hello?"

"Sorry for calling you so late, Vester," his mother’s voice came through, tinged with guilt. "I had a nightmare and needed to hear your voice. I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep."

"I was still up, Mom, no worries," Sylvester reassured her, hearing her exhale in relief. "What was the nightmare about?"

"It was just some silly thing about our future," she chuckled nervously. "Today’s my first day back home after the tour, and I guess the quiet is getting to me. I miss you and Beth terribly, you know? Remembering those days when you both were just kids... Things have changed so much."

Sylvester’s brow furrowed. "Mom, why don’t you move closer to either me or Beth? It might help."

He tried to conjure up memories of his father, but they felt as distant as a forgotten dream, only their photos providing a glimpse of the past. Shifting the conversation, he asked, "How’s your New Year’s party planning going?"

"Oh, that," his mother’s voice faltered slightly. "I decided not to host it this year. I thought it’d be nicer to just spend it with my kids instead. But Beth says she’s tied up with the kids’ school and can’t travel. So, it looks like it’ll just be you and me with a quiet dinner and a bottle of something strong."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unsaid words. "Vester, are you alright?"

Sylvester, feeling the weight of his mother’s expectations, sighed deeply before speaking. "Actually, Mother, I am unsure if I will be able to make it this year. I’m really sorry, but I’ll come visit right after."

"That’s alright, Vester. I’ll just put on some of those old records your father and I loved. It’ll be a different kind of celebration," his mother replied with a light chuckle, trying to mask her disappointment. She quickly shifted the topic. "Who was that girl I saw you with at the opera house on play night? She looked familiar."

"Oh, Maeve? She was in college with Samantha and me," Sylvester answered, maintaining a neutral tone.

"That girl..." his mother’s voice trailed off, then sharpened. "Listen, Vester, keep your distance from her. Something about her doesn’t sit right with me."

There it was—his mother’s protective instinct kicking in again. Sylvester knew the routine well. To reassure her, he replied gently, "I understand, Mom. Try to get some rest now. Love you."

"I love you too, Vester. Goodnight," she responded warmly, and then the line went dead, leaving Sylvester alone with his thoughts in the quietness of his apartment.

He waited for another hour, as if somewhere hoping for the ghost to appear, but before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy, and he slept at the table with the lights left turned on.

The following day, when he returned to work, his back ached from the previous night’s sleeping posture. The owner of the opera house came to meet him.

"Sylvester! How are you doing today?" asked the older man, with a thick moustache resting on his upper lip.

With a fucking backache, Sylvester’s mind answered. He replied, "Very well, thank you, Mr. Williams. Are you here to check on the rehearsals?"

"Actually, I’m here specifically to see you!" Mr. Williams chuckled, patting Sylvester on the shoulder. "We’ve received a proposal from Samson Atkinson, one of the elite patrons. He’s organising a grand play in Corby, a two-day event starting on New Year’s Day. He wants yours assistance. It’s a splendid opportunity for us—Atkinson’s backing could mean big things for us!"

Sylvester nodded, processing the unexpected assignment. He replied, "I will make sure it will be a success."

"Of course! If all things go well, maybe Poppy and you can go out for dinner," Mr. Williams laughed, and Sylvester smiled before replying,

"Unfortunately, I already have plans after it. I will get back to work then," Sylvester offered a polite bow and walked away from Mr. Williams.

That evening, on another side of the town, Agnes informed the manager of the club she worked for, "I will be unavailable on the first three days of the new year. I will have to travel to Corby."

"Oh, Corby?" Amelia looked excited and said, "They have these beautiful houses that you will like, Agnes. What about your little brother, Marcello? Do you want me to look after him until your return?"

"He will be travelling with me, thank you Amelia," Agnes offered a grateful smile.

"I hope you have a good trip then, Agnes," Mr. Fletcher gave her permission, even though she wouldn’t be able to perform those nights, which was also a peak time to get new customers.

"I will," Agnes replied, wondering if she would enjoy Corby.

When the manager left, Amelia asked, "May I ask something personal if you don’t mind?" Seeing Agnes nod, the woman asked, "Since when have you and Marcello been living all by yourselves? I always wonder how hard it is, with you working two jobs."

Agnes stared at Amelia, her lips pursing, before she answered, "Since seven or eight years, I think. Marcello is an orphan. He’s Marcello Hatter... and I took him in."

"I never knew that. You are a kind woman, Agnes, and also brave," Amelia praised, but Agnes couldn’t help but feel she was a coward. The woman then wished her, "I hope you take good care of yourselves during the little vacation."

The death of their former dancer had left all of them in shock, especially her. Now, every time she left for home, her eyes darted cautiously around, ever mindful of her surroundings. Though she didn’t know who the murderer was, she was scared of the officers approaching her. She was terrified that the investigation might inadvertently reveal her own deeply buried secrets.

But truth had a way of surfacing, often when least expected.

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