Moonlit Promises

 The misty woods were spilling pale gold light out the window at the morning sun. Scarlett slept fitfully, her thoughts all tangled up in memories, and the late-night dream still was cold with an ache. That feeling of drifting stayed inside her, but she resolved to dig deeper.

The question was an intractable one, an oak splinter lodged under the skin. She could not just carry on wandering through memories and half-lies. Today was for answers, no matter how painful the journey turned out.

After breakfast, Scarlett returned to the attic, clutching her coat and wearing a pair of gloves. She hadn't explored that attic on her first visit and she knew now that there was more to discover. The letter from her father was more like an invitation-half revealing half hiding-and she'd go by every clue no matter how faint.

This time climbing had become heavier for the attic. She could hear the ancient stairs cracking under her heels when climbing up and felt every shallow breathing with each step forward. As soon as she turned on that dim light overhead, again and again, there were dust and chills in front of her.

She swept the beam of the flashlight over old boxes and trunks, each a closed chapter of her childhood. This time, Scarlett had brought a flashlight. Her hands quivered as she knelt beside a battered cedar chest with its latch rusted but still intact. Something inside her tugged at that feeling it was something important, that had been left for far too long.

She stretched out and grasped the latch, pulling at it; the rasp of it against the wood was loud in the stillness. The chest creaked open with a reluctant groan and spilled its contents forth, all tumbled together, papers and photographs and old, strange things. Scarlett caught her breath.

The box was a treasure trove of souvenirs: faded photographs, old birthday cards, and something that resembled official documents. Her hand caught itself before a worn folder with the edges torn. She pulled it free and allowed the beam of her flashlight to fall on it.

It read in neat handwriting across its face.

Her heart jumped.

She opened the folder, her hands shaking as she turned the pages of what was contained inside. Old letters, papers that seemed official, and pages upon endless pages of printing. Scarlett snatched a paper blindly from the pile with her fingertips and pulled it toward the beam of light.

It was a letter-typed, official, and obviously to be connected with her father.

Dear Mr. Whitmore,

Sorry, we need you to confirm your departure from Hawthorne. The situation is getting unbearable. We are confident that you made sacrifices for us, but at this point, further compromise would only bring untold damage.

Please let us hear from you earliest so that all conditions and terms of the agreed settlement would be met. If not then we would have nothing else but to present the case further.

Thanking you,

The Hawthorne Collective

 Scarlett's hand has frozen. She is shaken so hard that she just can't keep the paper from shaking.

The Hawthorne Collective.

The name was ominous, cold, detached. It seemed as though her father had been wrapped in obligations and circumstances that had nothing to do with heruntil now.

She quickly scanned through the rest of the papers. My mind was racing. There were signatures, dates, financial reports, and other letters she had no idea about. Mysterious references to agreements, obligations, and terms lay in those papers. A pattern emerged. There was some order to all these decisions taken decades before her time existed but were inextricably tied to her father's disappearance.

It wasn't that he left; it was under pressure, forced under coercion with secrets.

Scarlett's fingers clutched the papers. The words were swimming around her head.

The questions were pounding into her:

What had her father done?

What was the Hawthorne Collective?

What sacrifices had he made that led to his departure?

And, most importantly—what did this mean for her?

Her breath came faster. Scarlett knew she would have to learn more. These papers felt like only the beginning-the first cracks in a story much bigger than that in her hands. Her father's absence hadn't come from mere wandering. There was something deeper behind all those agreements, pressures, and decisions that felt impossibly distant but clawed their way back to the surface.

They weren't so unrelated after all those shadows she had sensed in the mist, those unclear warnings from Rebecca and her mother.

Her fingers riffled through more of the papers in the folder, extracting what seemed to be additional record-keeping of financial dealings and contracts. Every step felt one step closer to some truth she didn't know if she was ready for.

Her stomach churned at the thought.

She closed the folder and pushed the papers back into her chest, feeling exposed and uncertain. What if the secrets she uncovered took her to answers she couldn't face? What if the truth were worse than the shadows?

But now there was no choice.

Scarlett knew that she could not stop herself now. She would follow the threads, no matter how agonizing the journey would soon become.

The journey was far from over.

But at least the first piece of the puzzle had come into view.