Chapter 285 Her Room
In an instant, Alexander’s eyes became bloodshot, the veins mapping a sudden, violent grief.
Irene suddenly stared at him, speaking very slowly, emphasizing every word, "Alexander, when you married her, did you ever believe her even a little? Did you ever believe that she didn't harm Edith at all?"
Alexander’s frame did not merely flinch; a visible tremor seized him, escalating until his entire body began to shudder under the weight of her words.
It was a question he had been forced to face countless times, posed by many voices over the years. Yet, despite the repetition, the answer remained a void he could not bridge.
Irene's voice also began to waver, "Did you ever think about whether she was afraid of the dark when you locked her in the basement?"
Irene paused, as if swallowing her words, then forced herself to continue, "She was afraid of the dark as a child, and she was still afraid when she grew up. But you locked her in there alone. She couldn't call anyone, and no one would hear her. Did you ever think about what she must have been like in there?"
Alexander’s tears spilled over.
"I'm sorry." he choked out, his voice sounding ravaged and terribly hoarse.
He could do nothing but repeat the hollow plea, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry."
Irene’s own tears began to trace silent paths down her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, returning her focus to the shirt in her lap. Though she resumed her sewing, the silver needle shook violently in her trembling hands.
Irene didn't look up, "I'm not the one you should apologize to."
She finished the final stitch on the button, snipped the thread with a sharp snap, and meticulously smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric. Standing up, she folded the two mended garments with practiced precision and tucked them away into the depths of the closet.
Irene turned around and glanced at Alexander, "You're sleeping here tonight."
"It's already dark outside, you can't drive in your condition. Wait until morning to leave."
She walked to the door, pulled it open, then stopped. "There's another room next door. It's where Ms. Neville used to stay when she came."
She paused, her tone becoming harder, "If you want to look, go tomorrow morning. Don't go tonight. I'm afraid you'll get emotional seeing her things, pass out again, and then I'll have to drag you back."
The door clicked shut behind her.
A heavy, unsettling silence rushed in to fill the vacuum, pressing against the walls until the room felt suffocated.
Alexander sat motionless on the edge of the mattress, dazed and unmoored. It took a long time for the fog in his mind to thin enough for him to regain his senses.
The room next door was where Caroline had stayed.
Irene had forbidden him from entering until dawn, but a primal, magnetic pull seemed to be dragging his body toward the wall.A restless energy surged from the center of his chest, impossible to stifle or ignore. He knew he was violating a boundary, but the compulsion was absolute. He had to see it; he had to be near her right now.
Alexander made almost no sound as he walked to the door of the next room. He put his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and finally pushed the door open.
A flood of pale moonlight poured out to meet him.
This room was slightly larger than the one Irene had given him. Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the curtains, spreading a layer of cold light over the entire room.
Alexander stood in the doorway, suddenly afraid to go further. He could only stop there, looking around bit by bit.
The bed wasn't large, placed against the wall, covered with light pink sheets printed with tiny white flowers.
Next to the bed was a small vanity. Several items placed in front of the mirror immediately caught Alexander's attention.
An old-fashioned wooden comb with what looked like carved patterns on the back. From a distance, the design looked like flowers Caroline would like, but the lines were somewhat rough, not like the work of a real craftsman.
Next to it were several bottles of skincare products that didn't seem to be used up yet. The person who lived here had left suddenly, leaving these things behind. They still had at least half remaining.
There was also a very small glass bottle with a few fresh flowers in it, looking like Irene changed them every day.
The vanity drawer wasn't completely pushed in, revealing a corner of yellowed paper.
Alexander finally walked over. He reached out and gently pulled the drawer open.
Inside was a stack of handwritten sheet music.
Among the densely packed notes on the staff were traces of repeated revisions, as if she had written the piece herself.
Alexander didn't understand music and couldn't tell what kind of melody these notes would create. But he recognized the handwriting—it was Caroline's. He could recognize it at a glance.
He could see how seriously she had worked on this piece. She wrote it, then revised it, revised it again and again, but for some reason never took it with her.
Alexander put the sheet music back in the drawer. His fingertips lingered on the paper for a while, as if reluctant to leave. After a long time, he finally closed the drawer.
The windowsill was wider than in other rooms. Three flower pots sat side by side on it.
The soil had long dried into hard clumps, with only dead stems remaining, looking like they had rotted away for many years. Strangely, Irene hadn't replaced them with new flowers.
Did the flowers die first, or did Caroline leave them behind when she walked out?
Alexander turned around, his gaze falling on the wall.
Several photos were stuck on the wall.
The one in the middle was a photo of Caroline with another girl—the same girl from the photo in her room at her family's old house. In the photo, both of them were smiling relaxedly, as if they didn't have to worry about anything in that moment.
There were a few more photos nearby.
One showed Caroline holding a cat, sitting under a large tree. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, leaving scattered bright spots on her dress.
She was looking down at the cat, a slight smile on her lips, her expression as soft as some long-missed good weather.
Another showed her standing by a piano, wearing a champagne-colored dress, holding a bouquet of flowers. She looked like she had just finished playing a piece, and someone from below the stage had handed her the flowers.
Alexander's gaze moved back and forth between the photos. He looked almost greedily, as if trying to etch every detail into his mind, afraid they might be taken away again.
Suddenly, his gaze stopped on the right side of the last photo.
There was still a ring of transparent tape marks there, very deep. This meant a photo had been posted there for a long time, but now it was gone.
That photo had been torn away by someone, taken somewhere unknown.
Alexander's heartbeat suddenly became erratic.
He desperately wanted to know who was in that photo, what the scene would have looked like. As soon as this thought emerged, his heartbeat quickened even more.
Afraid he might lose control on the spot, he immediately looked away.
Just then, he saw an old wicker chair standing in the corner. On the chair was a small basket stuffed with several balls of dark gray yarn.
The color was exactly the same as the sweater Irene had been mending.
Alexander's legs went weak. He used his hand to support himself against the wall and slowly crouched down.
That feeling came again.
It wasn't pain. Something deep inside surged upward, like a memory on the ocean floor stirring, rolling over, and sinking again.
Alexander suddenly looked up, staring hard at the wicker chair.
He had seen this chair before. He was certain he had seen it.
His temples started to throb. A dull pressure built inside his skull, like something pounding from the inside, trying to break through a thin membrane—but never quite making it.
Alexander closed his eyes, his fingers gripping his hair tightly.
The next second, an image flashed through his mind.
In the image, Caroline was sitting in this wicker chair. She was holding knitting needles, knitting something stitch by stitch.
Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, falling smoothly. She had her head down, and a strand of hair fell forward.
She raised her hand to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear, then looked up and smiled at him.