Chapter239 – Go back
His gaze swept over her, cold and cutting. “For Clarissa’s sake, I was willing to let you crawl away. Why couldn’t you just behave? Now, you’ll get to face your old friends with this new face of yours.”
June’s eyes bulged, panic clawing at her chest. “W-What are you saying? I don’t—”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
At his signal, the police closed in. “June Carter, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder. Come with us.”
“No! Let me go! Do you have any idea who I am? You can’t do this—let me go!”
Her screams pierced the night, but the officers dragged her into the back of the squad car regardless.
Atticus stood there, watching her vanish, the corner of his mouth curving upward. His smile was ice-cold, merciless. “Heh… the fun is only just beginning.”
When Atticus finally returned home, Clarissa was still sound asleep. He deliberately slowed his movements, sliding into bed beside her.
Even so, Clarissa stirred, her lashes fluttering open. “Atticus?”
He gathered her carefully into his arms, his voice low against her ear. “Did I wake you?”
“No…” She shook her head faintly. “I just slept too much during the day. I can’t seem to fall asleep now. There was some noise outside earlier—did something happen?”
Atticus didn’t bother to conceal it. He told her everything that had just unfolded.
Clarissa only nodded. “Then let the police handle it. By the way… how’s Phoenix?”
“She’s fine. You don’t have to worry,” he said, though a curl of smug amusement tugged at his lips.
Clarissa caught it immediately. “But what?”
“Nothing.” His smile was unreadable. “If you’re that worried, I’ll take you to see her tomorrow.”
Reassured, she relaxed against him.
Atticus stroked her back lightly. “Go back to sleep.”
Clarissa tilted her head, half-amused. “Why do you always tell me to sleep?”
His reply was calm, clinical—yet warm. “Because you’re injured. Rest is the best medicine. Be good, doctor’s orders.”
She gave a small, helpless sigh. “Yes, yes. I’ll sleep. Satisfied?”
Closing her eyes, she drifted off once more. Deep down, she knew Atticus was far too ruthless to simply ‘call the police,’ but she chose to trust him. Perhaps it was the medicine—or perhaps simply his presence—but she soon sank into heavy sleep.
.....
The next day, she didn’t wake until noon, and even then she felt drained.
Atticus helped her sit up, brushing a hand against her cheek. “What do you want to eat? I’ll make it for you.”
Clarissa shook her head weakly. “I don’t have an appetite.” Her voice dropped, almost fragile. “Atticus… am I really sick?”
He pressed his palm against her forehead, studying her. “You are—but it’s nothing serious. I’ll make you porridge. Eat it, take your medicine, and you’ll be fine.”
She gave a faint nod, too weak to argue, slumping into his arms. A glimmer sparked in his eyes—her weakness tugged at him, stirred things inside him—but he only pulled the blankets higher around her.
After settling her, he went out. Half an hour later, he returned with porridge and bitter-smelling herbs he’d prepared himself.
Clarissa forced herself upright and tried to eat, but even with Atticus feeding her, she barely managed half a bowl. “Atticus… am I really that sick?”
He laid her back down, tucking her in with patient care. “It’s fine. I’m here. You’ll get better soon.”
“Atticus…” Her voice was faint, helpless.
......
By the next day, after nearly two days of sleep, Clarissa’s strength returned a little. Visitors trickled in, offering their concern.
Mark lingered at the very back, silent until the others began to leave. Clarissa sat reclined on a chaise, pale and wan, Atticus looming beside her like a sentinel.
Only when the last of the group had gone did Mark step forward. His voice was soft, almost teasing. “Miss Clarissa, I heard you’d fallen ill. I didn’t expect it to be this serious.”
She looked fragile, her complexion drained of its usual glow. She gave him a weary smile. “I’m too weak, it seems. I never thought I’d be the first to collapse.”
Her gaze flicked over his bandaged wounds. His injuries were far worse than her own. “Don’t worry—I’ll cover all your medical expenses and compensation. And, Mr. Upton, I’m giving you a week off. Rest properly.”
Mark inclined his head with a polite smile. “Thank you for your concern, boss.”
He didn’t linger. With a brief nod, he turned and left.
But even if he hadn’t, Atticus’s eyes—sharp, possessive, burning holes into him—would have sent him fleeing just the same.
After Mark left, the room fell silent. Clarissa opened her mouth to speak, but Atticus pulled her into his arms before she could get a word out.
She blinked, startled. “Atticus?”
His embrace tightened. His voice was low, almost possessive. “Clarissa, let’s go back.”
She froze. “Go back?” she echoed, hesitant. “But… it hasn’t even been two weeks yet.”
The plan was to stay here for two weeks. The scenery was breathtaking; she’d wanted to linger longer.
Atticus smoothed her hair, his voice softening. “It isn’t convenient for you to recover here. At home, we have everything you need. And…” He paused, his lashes lowering. “I want to visit my adoptive mother.”
The first half of his words made Clarissa pause. The second half made her wince with guilt. “Right… I completely forgot. It’s almost the anniversary of your mother’s death.”
Atticus visited Belle’s memorial every single year, no matter the weather. Clarissa pressed her lips together sheepishly. “I’m glad you reminded me.”
“You don’t need to come if you’re not well,” he said gently. “But I’d rather bring you home now, get you healthy, and then we can come back anytime you want. All right?”
Clarissa nodded quickly. She couldn’t bear to refuse him.
Satisfied, Atticus’s lips curved into a faint smile as he went to book the flight.
As always, he reserved the entire first-class cabin. Clarissa swallowed his medicine and slept almost the entire journey, curled against him like a fragile bird.
But even wrapped in the luxury of first class, she stirred fitfully, her body restless in uneasy dreams. Atticus smoothed her hair, his dark gaze watchful, until she drifted back into slumber.
Once they were home and Clarissa was sound asleep again, Atticus slipped quietly to his private room.
From his bag, he drew out two jars—one holding what looked like nothing more than a twisted tree root, the other crawling with tiny, translucent insect eggs.
He crossed to the tall bookcase lined with albums. Pulling the newest one aside, his fingers pressed a hidden button. With a muted click, the cabinet swung open, revealing a second compartment within.
Inside gleamed shelves of bottles and jars, each holding something more grotesque than the last.
Atticus slid the jar of eggs into the freezer at the very back. Then he opened another section. Behind its transparent glass lay two strange, stone-like shells, dull gray but pulsing faintly with a metallic sheen.
These were what he had brought back from Butterfly Valley—the very reason he had approached the Loxley family.
But the shells remained sealed, lifeless. No sign of peeling, no sign of growth.
Atticus’s brow furrowed. Dissatisfaction flickered in his eyes.
He placed them on his desk, clicking on a flashlight to inspect every ridge and crack. “The temperature should be fine,” he muttered. “Is my incubation method wrong?”
The light glinted off his gaze, turning it dark and dangerous.
Memory stirred—his meeting with Gabriel.
“Mr. Atticus,” Gabriel had said, his voice solemn, “I want to make another deal with you.”
Atticus had looked at him steadily. “You know there’s no way to resurrect the dead in this world. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Gabriel, but miracles don’t exist.”
“Then you know this is for my mother.”
Atticus’s lips had curved, confident and mocking. “Was I wrong?”
Gabriel’s smile had been equally sharp. “You’re clever, Mr. Atticus. I won’t force you. I only want her body to remain whole—for years, untouched by decay. Can you do that?”
“What do you offer in exchange?” Atticus asked without hesitation.
Gabriel leaned forward. “And what do you want?”
Atticus’s answer had been calm, absolute. “The Loxley family’s pharmaceutical distribution and development rights. Across the entire continent.”
Both Gabriel and David had frozen. After a long, tense silence, Gabriel let out a soft laugh. “You’re greedy, Atticus.”
“Fair trade,” Atticus had replied smoothly. “Nothing more.”
Their eyes had locked, a silent test of will.
Finally, Gabriel had said, “Fine. I accept.”
The memory cut off there.
.......
Atticus hesitated for only a moment before reaching into the cabinet again. His fingers brushed over a row of books until they stopped on one particularly old volume. Dust lifted into the air as he flipped through it, page by page, until he reached the end—where two sheets had been glued together.
Carefully, he pried them apart.
The faintest smile tugged at his lips, and a dangerous gleam sparked in his eyes. Then came the low murmur, a mix of thrill and hunger.
“Well… interesting.”
Without hesitation, he reached for the strange herb stored in the cabinet. The lowest leaf shimmered a dark crimson. He plucked it, and immediately, blood-red sap dripped down like liquid rubies.
For an instant, he wavered. Then, with ruthless resolve, he tipped it into his mouth and swallowed.
His body shuddered violently.
One hand gripped the desk to steady himself, his skin breaking out in a sheen of sweat. The next second, he doubled over, spitting a mouthful of thick, tarry blood that splattered across the gray stone.
And before his eyes, the crust began to peel away.
Atticus wiped the blood from his lips, a feverish light burning in his expression. He unsheathed the knife at his belt, drew it across his fingertip, and watched as fresh scarlet welled up.
One drop. Two drops.
He fed the stone with his blood until its shell split completely, revealing the shadow of what lay within.
His face was pale, but his eyes gleamed with manic excitement.
“So that’s the key,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips curling. “Fascinating.”
......
It took Clarissa another week to recover fully.
The sun blazed high that day, the heat pressing down from every direction. Atticus looked her over with quiet concern. “Are you sure you’re well enough? It’s scorching outside. I don’t want you overexerting yourself.”
Clarissa only smiled, slipping her hand into his. “I’m fine now. And even if something happens…” Her eyes softened with unguarded affection. “I still have you, don’t I?”
The words struck straight through him. A faint smile tugged at Atticus’s lips, his chest warming at her complete trust. She was becoming more and more dependent on him, and he savored it.
“Then let’s go,” he said, threading his fingers through hers. “But promise me—if you feel unwell, you’ll tell me immediately.”
Clarissa nodded obediently. “I will.”