The Leighton Manor (special preview)

“The doctor went through your belongings when you got here. Something you had set him off,” he growls. “For some reason, he thinks you’re here to hear the supernova.”

I yank my head back despite the immense sharp pain is causes. “Novalie?” I scoff. “I thought this place was haunted! I didn’t know Dr. Leighton was even still here. I don’t know anything! Especially with what’s going on with me.” I had an inkling. Possibly something to do with that picture I had found with Dr. Maren. I wasn’t sure and I didn’t know how to broach the topic.

“The doctor has been protecting her all this time. Why do you think he has all of us here?” VIII replies.

“What?” I scoff. “What do you mean protecting her? The way she talked, it sounded as if she is being kept here as some sort of experiment!”

VIII’s grip on me loosens a bit. “You really have no clue, do you?”

“You know so much,” I scoff at him, “then do you actually know what the guest room is?” I ask him.

“This place has like a hundred rooms in it, every room is a damn guest room,” VIII’s lip curls at me.”And why do you keep asking about it?”

I roll my eyes. “You know anything about a diary, then?”

His brows raise slightly.

“Ah ha!” I point in his face. “You do know something.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you?” He grunts.

I blow a raspberry at him. “I’m not telling you, you work for the enemy!”

The very corner of VIII’s mouth twitches. “For all I know, you are working for the enemy,” he huffs. “At least, that’s what the doctor thinks.”

“I’m not working for anybody. The only one working here is you, for him,” I grimace a bit. “I’m stressed out, don’t expect me to formulate a witty retort so easily.”

VIII scowls. “Look here, the doctor is a good man. Sure, he’s a bit odd-”

I laugh out loud, cutting him off. “I expect him to start singing Rocky Horror at any given moment, but go on.”

“But he’s trying to do something very important, and he’s keeping all of us here safe,” VIII replies sternly. “You aren’t seeing any of it because he’s trying to keep as much information out of your reach as possible.”

“Safe?” I ask and point at him. “Even you?”

“All of us,” VIII says with a gentle voice.

I shake my head. “Then what are you? Aliens? Body snatchers? Innocent mutants with specially evolved powers? What?”

VIII’s brows pinch from behind the sunglasses. “Do you ever look up from a TV? Aren’t you trying to get a doctorate?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I am. If you really have nothing to do with any of this, then none of it should matter.”

“I’m being held hostage!” I snap. “I deserve to know why!”

VIII cups his hand back over my mouth. “It’ll be easier for you to keep your mouth shut. Understand? I don’t know how you found out about the diary, but it is none of your business, especially if you’re as suspicious as the doctor says.”

I shove his hand away. “Stop making me shut up!”

He hisses at me then yanks me to his side as Octavian comes around the corner. VIII goes silent again, making his back and shoulders go stiff as Octavian walks towards us, his head buried in a folder. He doesn’t say a word, he barely even notices us. He just keeps on walking, muttering things under his breath until he rounds the next corner where he vanishes.

“As long as he keeps me here, I’m going to keep at it,” I hiss at VIII.

VIII chuckles. “Then I’m going to keep shutting you up.”

Oh god, why was I finding VIII sexy now of all times? Must be stockholm syndrome or my ‘dumbass light’ has turned on. Either way, I don’t like it.

VIII has kept to his word, he has become nothing more than my babysitter. None of the other Numbers have been with me since, and in a way, I don’t mind it. VIII isn’t so bad, I suppose, he’s at least given me something I can go off of.

I’m still trying to figure out how Octavian opened up the bookshelf that one time, but I have yet to find the switch. None of the books work, I shoved my fingers all around the thing trying to find a button. I accidentally broke a candlestick on the wall trying to yank it down. Nothing. 

One evening, when VIII put me to bed, I went back to work. I was able to walk ok, although my ankle was still a pain. I tripped a bit walking over towards it, hitting the side and pushing it. It slid over and I fell onto the ground.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” I groan. “I just had to push it hard enough?” I slap my hands over my face. “Of course that’s all it was. Why not?” I glance down the stairwell, images from scary story books pop into my head.

“Well,” I whisper to myself. “Guess this is it.” I stand up and make my way down the stairs. I hang onto the wall since there is no banister. The stairs curl into a corkscrew, eventually, coming out from the ceiling. I peer down inside, seeing there is a sprawled out laboratory in a stone and mortar basment. It is as if the Frankenstien lab had gotten all new equipment but never remodeled.

“Is someone there?” I hear Novalie call out. “Hello, I can hear breathing.”

I sigh and step down the stairs into view. I see Novalie across the room where she is strapped to a table. Cords come out from under the table that all go into the back of her head. Her long blonde hair drapes over the sterile white and over her face so only her eyes peer through.

“Oh, it’s you again,” she says. “You’re still here?”

“He won’t let me go.” I see she’s strapped to the table but she has a soft, fluffy blanket laid over her.

Novalie scoffs. “Figures. He’s probably paranoid or something.” She glances away from me, looking up at a massive screen that is running all sorts of programming and coding on it. 

“He thinks I’m working for someone.” I follow her gaze to the screen then frown. I recognize some of the script on the computer. In fact, I’ve worked with the same programs before with Dr. Maren. “What is that?” I ask slowly.

“It’s my reset, or so he says,” she grumbles.

“Octavian?” I ask. 

“He scares me sometimes,” Novalie murmurs. “And then other times, I get scared thinking I would have to live without him.” She turns and looks at me. “I feel like I’m being torn apart,” she whispers. “I don’t know who is me and who isn’t.”

I wonder if I should bring up the diary or the location of the guest room at all. The last time we spoke, I had a feeling something else took over and she may not have been aware of it at all. If I brought them up, it may scare her more. Not to mention the photo in my pocket.