Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Bridal SuiteBy early summer, the historic east wing of the mansion was scheduled for total demolition.
Raffaele had hired a team of specialized industrial contractors to tear down the bridal suite, fill the subterranean chamber with reinforced concrete, and rebuild a sunlit glass conservatory in its place—a symbol of light completely erasing the darkness that had festered there for half a decade.
On the morning demolition was set to begin, Raffaele stood in the abandoned bridal suite one last time.
The room was bare, stripped of its draped furniture and rotted rugs. Sunlight poured unhindered through the wide windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
He walked over to the warped floor seam near the hearth where the vacuum cleaner had caught weeks ago. Kneeling down, he ran his hand over the splintered oak. It was hard to believe that beneath this exact piece of wood, a human life had been hidden away, fighting for survival against insurmountable odds.
Footsteps sounded softly behind him.
Raffaele turned to see Evelyn standing in the doorway. She wore a simple white linen sundress, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She looked healthy, radiant, and entirely free of the shadows that had haunted her eyes when they first pulled her from the dark.
She walked across the bare floorboards, stopping beside him. She looked down at the open trapdoor, which had been unlatched for the investigators.
“Are you sure you want to tear it down?” Evelyn asked softly, her voice carrying a quiet, reflective tone. “Part of me feels like... if we destroy it, it’s like erasing what happened. Like pretending it was just a bad dream.”
Raffaele stood up, wrapping his arm gently around her waist and pulling her close against his side.
“We aren't erasing it, Evelyn,” Raffaele said, looking down into her eyes. “We’re burying it. We’re taking the worst place on earth and turning it into something beautiful. A place where flowers grow instead of shadows.”
May you like
Evelyn smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “A conservatory. I’d like that. Full of white roses.”
“White roses,” Raffaele promised, kissing the top of her head. “As many as you want.”
