Whispers of the Silver Coasts

Helen Bell couldn't believe what she held in her hands. It was the most exquisite piece of mail, and without comparison the most enigmatic, she had ever received.

Ms. Bell,

We have been monitoring your work and believe you may be an ideal candidate for an extremely unique opportunity we are offering. Attached is a job offer for the restoration of an historically significant mural located at Wolfe Manor, on the Silver Coast of Portugal, a privately owned estate.

If you accept, please call the number below. You must come now. No name, no nothing. Just an address she had to Google-an isolated manor atop a wind-carved bluff on the Atlantic coast. The mystery and anonymity might have been thrilling if they hadn't also seemed so eerie and menacing.

Her life in Red Creek, Pennsylvania, had been what people here called predictable. She thought she had escaped after her parents died without warning five years ago and she disappeared into her work with such ferocity that some believed she was trying to outrun the eerie quiet of an empty house. But here is where she'd ended up; stuck somehow still, just not as comfortably.

This offer, bizarre as it seemed at face value, felt like the life preserver she'd prayed would come floating by.

Two weeks later Helen stood on a cobblestone path that wound up to Wolfe Manor, her heart pounding as she stared at the formidable estate. The mansion seemed to blot out the sky with its sheer mammoth size. It looked new and sleek in comparison to the jagged cliffs it was build upon, made entirely of glass that glittered like ice. It was so high up that you could see Cape Malachim at the top.

She frowned as she realized she was mentally ahead of everyone else.

'You must be Ms. Bell.' Helen turned to see a woman walking up to meet them - tall, in her mid-forties, with dark hair pinned neatly behind her ears. She was wearing a fitted black dress and heels that seemed to walk untroubled on the cobbled street.

" I 'm Sofia Mendes," the woman said and extended a hand "I manage the estate. Mr. Wolfe is expecting you."

Helen nodded and shook Sofia's hand, her cool firm grip matched the coldness of her voice.

"Thank you. It's... beautiful here," Helen said, though the word wasn't quite right. The estate was breathtaking, but something dark lurked in its corners.

Sofia smiled briefly at that. "It will be. Come."

Inside, Wolfe Manor was somehow even more intimidating. The ceilings were miles high, and the whole place was decorated in stark white. It felt more like a museum than a home with it's floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean but Helen couldn't see anything besides empty wall space.

"Mr.Wolfe likes simplicity," Sofia said from behind her as if reading her mind. "He likes function. Nothing else."

"Do I look like an art lover to you?," said Sofia, smiling. Helen was somewhat taken aback - why would anyone hire her to work with something they had no interest in?. "I suppose Mr Wolfe wanted someone who actually gets this stuff."

They stopped before a door at the far end of the hallway. Sofia rapped on it once then let herself inside without an invite.

"Your guest has turned up, sir."

The room was a library, yet it seemed unlike any library Helen had ever seen. Tall bookshelves made from a dark wood she did not recognize reached all the way up to the high ceilings. Every shelf was crowded with what seemed to be hundreds of leather-bound books. A fire blazed in a large hearth on one wall and near one of the tall frosted windows stood john Wolfe.

He pivoted gracefully as they stepped inside, causing Helen to suck in her breath sharply. john Wolfe was younger than she'd thought he would be-mid-thirties maybe-and he practically oozed that sort of easy-going good looks that most women couldn't help but feel attracted to. His thick black hair was trimmed back off his forehead, but she could tell it would curl if allowed to grow too long.

"Ms. Bell," he said, his voice was smooth but distant. "Welcome to Wolfe Manor."

Helen smiled politely. "Thank you for inviting me Mr. Wolfe. I'm honored to be working on your mural."

His stare was so intense it felt like he was looking right into her soul, it was unnerving and impossible to break free from staring back.

"Sofia explained what you have to do I take it?' He said

She did. A mural, I believe, near the chapel?" Helen said, feeling the weight of his gaze.

"That's right. It hasn't been touched in years, and I think it's well past time it was restored to its former glory. The mural is an important part of this family's history and mine too."

Helen felt that there was a seriousness in his voice that made her feel like the assignment was more important than he was making it .

"Sure, I can do that. No problem."

"You'll have free rein of the chapel, and all the resources you could possibly need. Sofia, would you be so kind as to escort our guest to his quarters? We shall continue this in the morning."

Helen paused, but he'd already returned his attention to the window; his posture rigid. She glanced at Sofia who nodded and mirrored her once more.

The room they took her to was comfortable, a bedroom for one person with a view of the sea, a little lounge area too. But as Sofia left her alone Helen felt she'd walked into something much more complicated than an old building being done up.

Later that night, lying in bed, Helen couldn't sleep. Unable to take the silence that lay heavy over Wolfe Manor, she finally got up and roamed the hallways in bare feet. The old place had harbored ghosts and guilt for sure but there was also peace here.

She had wandered to the chapel and looking through one of many tiny glass windows as high up in the wall as it was possible to put glass, saw moonlight on stone. Inside, everything was silent except for the sound of waves breaking upon a shore.

Helen didn't know what drew her to this particular room – maybe because for once Dr.Winslow hadn't cluttered it with the bits and pieces of some idiotic cult. Maybe because without them mucking up the works she could fully appreciate how beautiful–how simple-her new abode really was.

The walls were pale blue marble from floor to beam ceiling. A mural took up most of one whole wall at what would have been street level if anyone other than Lord Byron would give a damn about calling Beronsdale a city. It was a painting of a man and woman standing on a cliff, their faces anguished. Between them, the ocean churned, swallowing a ship in the distance. It was tragic and beautiful.

"What are you doing here?" The voice made her jump and she spun around to find john standing in the doorway, the hall light behind him casting his face in shadow.

"I couldn't sleep," she said quickly. "I came to see the mural."

He moved nearer, not looking at her or away from the painting. "You shouldn't be here so late."

Helen frowned. "In the chapel?"

"In the manor," he said, his voice low.

The wind howled once more. It made its way through some weak point in the chapel's stone walls. Then john looked up at her, and for a moment there passed between them something that was not spoken-she did not know whether it was understanding or warning.

"Get what sleep you can now, Ms. Bell," he said then. "You'll need it."

But as he turned and went into the dark hall, Helen couldn't help feeling that john Wolfe was still hiding something a lot more sinister than he had disclosed so far.