His Favorite Sin

8.1: A MURDER OF FEATHERS

Nine years ago



The soft rays of the afternoon sun reflected off the roof of the silver SUV as it parked in front of the mansion. Its tinted windows blocked those outside from looking in until Tim pushed open the driver’s door and came down in his dark suit.

Dahlia stood waiting by the fountain as Tim opened the rear passenger door for the boys. Jonah was the first to alight in his school uniform, gripping the shoulder straps of his backpack before waving and grinning at Dahlia, who waved back.

Behind him, Lance’s shadow followed, but his face didn’t hold the same countenance as his younger brother. He, too, was in his uniform, crisp, new, and tailored to fit him perfectly.

‘Hi, Dahlia!’ Jonah stopped in front of her while she ruffled his hair.

‘Hey, little man. How was your first day back at school?’

He shrugged, indicating his indifference. ‘At least I got to see everyone back.’

‘Good. Anna is about to start making dinner, so go change and get your homework done.’

He nodded before dashing past her into the house. She straightened just as Lance stood before her with an inscrutable mask on.

‘Hey, Lance. So, how was it? Did you enjoy your first day at school?’ She inquired, curious how his day went. It was his first time attending a school instead of homeschooling, and even though she had tried to prepare him by taking him into town, she still had her concerns. She just wasn’t sure if her concerns were for Lance or the other kids who would be around him.

He didn’t respond but instead c****d his head to the side, his ear perked as if listening for something. A furrow creased his eyebrows as he frowned, and he snarled, ‘He’s back?’

Dahlia already knew who he was asking about, and she slowly replied, ‘Yes. Mr. Dvorak returned this afternoon.’

He grumbled something underneath his breath, most likely a curse word he didn’t want her to hear, before he walked past her into the house with his white cane as his guide.

Her boss travelled a lot, out of town, out of the country, and sometimes, out of town first, then out of the country.

The few times he was around, he was either in town overseeing his businesses and purchasing more land or cooped up in his study.

Lance, however, openly detested it when his father was around. Dahlia had quickly noticed the tension between the two, and it was even worse when Mr. Dvorak would summon Lance into his study.

There was never any screaming heard. It was always quiet from the outside, but Lance always came out of that office with clenched fists, flaring nostrils, and a ticking jaw, which was usually a rare sight to see because he was usually so even-tempered. She couldn’t understand the dynamics in their father-son relationship that made it that way.

Dahlia had never witnessed Mr. Dvorak say anything that would provoke the boy, and the few times they all had dinner together, he acted no differently than an affectionate and concerned father, asking his kids about their day and checking whether there was anything they wanted but lacked. While Jonah adored his father and always answered enthusiastically, Lance kept his answers curt and icy-cold; sometimes, his response was only silence.

It was the only time that Dahlia would see him act that way. He was usually so polite, even to strangers when they went into town, although he mostly faked it, but still.

When she noticed him making his way upstairs, Dahlia followed after him and rushed to assist him. But he refused her help, which was another rare thing for him to do because even when he could handle some things on his own, he always preferred Dahlia’s assistance. It was something he did only with her and no one else. Like when Anna would ask if he needed assistance moving around, and he would decline and say he wasn’t completely incapacitated, but only blind and could find his way around the house he grew up in. Yet, if Dahlia showed up the next second and offered to help, he suddenly was unfamiliar with his surroundings.

Dahlia figured he was even more irritated today.

‘Did you like the environment? Was it conducive enough? Hope you encountered no trouble adapting and learning. Did you manage to make any friends?’ Dahlia tried to strike up a conversation, hoping to lighten his mood, but his silence was just as persistent as he made his way to his room.

‘Lance-’

He suddenly froze at his door and, without turning, asked, ‘Where’s my cat?’

Dahlia stilled behind him, a bit caught off guard that he had already noticed the absence of the feline. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice until later on.

‘Your um... your dad had him sent back to your grandmother.’

Mr. Dvorak had unexpectedly returned home, as he usually did, but this time the car that had brought him waited while he went inside. He headed straight for Lance’s room and emerged with his son’s pet, only to then hand it to the driver, who left with it. Dahlia had been too puzzled to remain quiet and had to ask where the cat was being taken to, to which her boss told her it was being returned to his mother, Lance’s grandmother, who had been the one to originally gift Lance the cat.

Dahlia hadn’t been able to ask more as Mr. Dvorak had retired to his study and asked kindly not to be disturbed.

‘He did what?’ Lance’s voice came out too controlled, and Dahlia shuddered because she could feel the barely contained temper underneath.

In the two months she had worked there, Dahlia liked her job. It was easy because Lance made it so. He never caused trouble; he was kind, well-mannered, and respectful. He even made sure there were always flowers in her room, her favorite white roses, which he always pruned by himself. He was a sweet boy.

The only time she hated her job was when Mr. Dvorak was around. That wasn’t because her boss was demanding to work with, but it was because that was usually the only time Lance became... unpredictable.

He would become this different person that she didn’t know how to talk to, and she felt like she had to tiptoe around him. He became more withdrawn and somewhat mean.

‘He said your grandma is feeling a little lonely and sent back the cat so she could have some company.’ She reiterated what her boss had told her as his reasons for returning the pet, but she could tell that, just like her, Lance also wasn’t fooled by the pretext.

Dahlia didn’t like the cat – it always stared at her for extended, creepy amounts of time and crept into her room at night. One time, she woke up and was one breath from screaming at the top of her lungs when she saw it by her windowsill, staring at her, unmoving. It had nearly startled her out of her skin.

However, Lance had an unhealthy attachment to the pet and hated being away from it. He was always irritated when it was away from him, and the pet seemed to have a calming effect on him.

Now, not only was he in a foul mood because he just had his first day at school, but his dad, whom he detested, was around, and his beloved pet, which he had an unhealthy attachment to, had been taken away.

‘Do you need help changing?’ She asked when the silence persisted. A heartbeat passed before he finally ventured into his bedroom. Dahlia attempted to say something and follow him in, but instead, she met only the wooden door’s surface as it shut behind him.

She stood there disquieted, unsure what to do. She had seen Lance be visibly angry, furious even, especially with his father, but she had never seen him like this... exhausted? Defeated? It was like he had had a long day and didn’t possess the strength to fight any longer, and so, he had accepted his faith.

Attending a school, even though it was a private school, hadn’t been his choice. He still wanted to be homeschooled. And now, his father had taken his pet away. Dahlia was beginning to wonder if her boss’s plan was to break his son’s spirit.

He remained in his room that night and only came out for dinner before silently retreating into his room. Dahlia had asked before he left whether he would like her to read to him or if he needed her help in any other way, but he replied that he was tired and just wanted to sleep. She helped him back up to his room, and then he dismissed her.

Later, when night had fully claimed the halls and Dahlia had retired to her assigned room, she was awakened from her light slumber by a loud caw. She jerked awake, blinking, but remained in her bed for a minute, disoriented.

She thought she had imagined the sound, but then it came again, and instantly, she sat up.

The sound had been a little too loud, like it came from inside her room. Her eyes trailed around, pierced through the dark in front of her, until she looked at her window, and her pulse jumped.

Right there, on the sill, was a midnight black crow staring right back at her.

Dread washed over her, and her senses cleared. The bird remained unmoving, its eyes locked with hers while it tilted its head to the side, as if curious. The action seemed almost human, and that creeped her out.

She gingerly stepped out of the covers, her heart thudding in her chest as she reached for a pillow and quietly padded her way over to the window. Just when she was close, about a foot away, she forcefully swiped at the bird.

It cawed, fiercely flapping its wings that some of its feathers came loose and drifted with the wind. However, it was adamant and didn’t leave, only flapping in the air behind the window while she violently tried to shoo it away with her pillow.

To her surprise, it fought back, poking the plush fabric with its sharp beak till it gave way and tore open, sending feathers flying.

Dahlia gasped, clutching the pillow and stumbling away from the window, mouth agape as she took in air. Her wide eyes stared back at the violent bird in panic as it maintained its ground, and a shiver ran down her spine when she met its hollow, dark orbs.

Something seemed to snap in those hollow pools, and suddenly, it dove for her.

A scream tore from her mouth, and she ducked for cover. There was a loud crash behind her, followed by something between a c***k and a splat sound that sickened her to her stomach. Then everything went silent.

She lay there for a whole minute, her breath heavy and her limbs frozen, not daring to move or make a sound as sweat beads overtook her forehead. Her bedroom door remained closed, which was a miracle, because no one had heard the commotion and come to check on her. It was a big house, though.

Gathering the courage, she finally pushed herself up to find her bedroom empty of any flying creature. That was until she turned to find a small dark wet patch on her bedroom wall, and right on the floor in front of the patch was a stiff, dead black bird.

Goosebumps began to form on her arms. The scene before her was uncanny. The bird had intentionally run itself into the wall, ending its life instantly, and Dahlia couldn’t fathom why anything would intentionally do that to itself.

She was drawn back to the window and stared into the night, the mansion's outdoor lighting her only aid.

Her gaze squinted and wandered until she discovered it – a lone figure concealed in a dark space shielded from the lights. She almost missed him with the shadows successfully blending him into the background.

Her eyes flew wide open, and a gasp escaped her when she recognized who it was, and before another second could tick by, she was already reaching for her room's door.

To be sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, she first bolted to the bedroom adjacent to hers, and sure enough, it was empty with the sheets rumpled and discarded to one side of the vacant bed.

Alarm bells went off in her head, and a curse word slipped from her lips. Next thing she knew, she was racing through the house in her pajamas with her nightrobe sweeping the air behind her.

The night was chilly, but she barely registered it as she stepped outside. Her feet never paused as she pattered down the curved stairs, her heart racing and her breath uneven.

In the shadows, close to the trees below the moon’s crescent, stood Lance with his body frighteningly still as a statue. He was facing the woods, transfixed by an unseen influence, and Dahlia was worried he would venture in.

He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only his pajama pants, his walking cane nowhere in sight.

How did he even get out here? Was he sleepwalking? It baffled Dahlia

‘Lance!’ She called from the stairs, her tone pitched with panic, especially when she saw him sway on his feet. ‘Lance.’ She screamed again when she was only a few feet away, and his body crumbled to the ground.

She fell to her knees beside him, pulling his shivering torso onto her lap. The instant she touched him, she almost flinched at his freezing temperature. That was when she saw his face, and her breath hitched in her throat.

He didn’t have on his glasses, so she could see his eyes rolling back into his skull, revealing only the whites. His disheveled hair was wet and plastered to his head with sweat, even though the air was freezing, and his skin was as pale as the moon.

‘Help! Tim! Anna! Somebody help!’ She yelled at the mansion. Lance was shaking uncontrollably at this point, and she was desperately trying to calm him down, but she couldn’t carry him alone with how erratic his movements were.

His head kept twisting towards the woods even as she tried to sit him upright, his body convulsing in her lap. She whispered soothing words to him, her eyes blurring with tears now as fear gripped her.

This had never happened before. She had been told he was a healthy boy and barely ever got sick, so what happened? She knew he had had a stressful day, but it shouldn’t have caused something terrible like this to happen.

When Dahlia noticed his movements were still directed towards the woods, she looked up to stare into the darkness.

As far as her human eyes could see, there was nothing there, only the quiet greeted her.

Cool air suddenly whooshed out from between the thicket, picking the leaves beside them. Then there was a sudden, eerie stillness in the air, as if everything had stopped, including the wind that stirred the leaves of the trees. Even Lance had stopped moving in her arms as a noticeable shift settled around her.

She heard the unmistakable sound of wings fluttering from within the woods, and her grip on Lance tightened, her gaze never wavering. She saw something move in the shadows; her breath got caught in her throat, and she froze.

A loud bang resonating from behind startled her, and she felt her heart lose a heartbeat until she heard Mr. Dvorak’s booming voice.

‘Dahlia?! What’s going on there? Is that Lance? Is he alright?’ He strode towards them like a looming force with Tim right behind him.

Dahlia let out a breath, looking down at Lance’s still form before looking back at her boss.

‘I found him outside, alone, and when I came, he was shaking profusely, his eyes rolling back into his head. I couldn’t get him inside on my own, but then-’ She couldn’t say more because Mr. Dvorak had stopped looking at her and was now glaring into the woods behind her. Suddenly, his gaze hardened, and he dove to the ground beside her, pulling her and Lance with him.

‘Get down!’

She could only scream when she heard the loud fluttering of wings, followed by cawing sounds above them as they got assaulted by a murder of crows. She tried to cover Lance’s body as much as she could with hers while Mr Dvorak was right above them, shielding them with his body.

Dahlia believed in God, and she usually said a prayer once in a while to the Big man at the top, but she had never prayed with so much passion as she did that day, asking for protection and hoping she didn’t get pecked out alive by the birds!

It lasted for ten minutes, maybe twenty, she didn’t count, just prayed. But slowly, the sounds died until the last caw. Mr Dvorak was the first to rise, but she remained with her lids tightly closed for a few more seconds before she finally opened them and rose from the feathers. What she witnessed that night as she looked up would forever remain ingrained in her memory and invade her sleep with nightmares.

The brick mansions now held broken windows, as if something had been thrown through them or, in this instance, flown through them. Its walls were stained with dark liquid blotches and clinging remnants of feathers, and just below, on the floor, was the real horror.

Dead crows outlined the grasses, tangled in bushes and littering the round marble fountain, their stiff bodies broken and wrong, and their feathers strewn everywhere.

It was a ghastly sight, one that brought bile up Dahlia’s throat. She stared down at Lance, who now looked peacefully asleep, his breathing even, detached from the horror she was seeing.