by Jeff Schanz
The door creaked open like a sick goat bleating. Loudly bleating. If there was anyone in the house, they would know for sure that Brandt was coming out of his room. He waited, listening for any sounds of someone racing toward him. Nothing. No voices, no footsteps. No rustling of objects, clanking of plates, slamming of doors. Zilch. Brandt allowed the door to creak further open and he leaned out of the doorway, gripping the door frame.
He looked down a hallway. It was wide enough for two slender tables to be lined up across from each other. The floor had ornate carpet runners covering the length of the hall, which was about fifty feet long. The walls appeared to be the same bland white of his room and had the same absence of light fixtures. However, there were several iron sconces that would hold candles. No candles were currently inside them. At the end of the hallway was an open area that looked like it began a stairway down.
Brandt looked left and right, wincing from the spike of pain in his neck. He saw no one in the hall. No doors were open, despite several doorways identical to the one he was standing in. Light came from the stairway area, though not bright. It was hard to tell if it was natural light or candlelight. Brandt made the assumptive leap that there was no electric light in this house. To his right was another door and an adjoining perpendicular hall that he couldn’t see into.
He decided to head toward the stairwell. The hallway may be empty and quiet by itself, but the wooden floor would probably be loud and squeaky once Brandt tried to sneak down. The floor in the room wasn’t squeaky, so maybe the hall won’t be either. Brandt took a step into the hall, put his full weight on his foot, and waited. No sound. Perhaps the smallest of creaks and the shoosh of a pant leg against an ankle, nothing loud enough that anyone other than a dog could hear. Brandt exhaled softly and proceeded forward. His hand slid along the wall for support as he took several steps. The shiver and tingle in his muscles were still present but subdued since his body was in motion. Slowly, laboriously, he made his way to the end of the hall.
He stood at a railing which overlooked a large room, with a set of stairs leading down. The room below was vast and somewhat dark. The walls were a mix of grey, black, and brown stone, stacked with a random mish-mosh of sizes and shapes, like a farm wall. There was one large woven covering that would probably be called a tapestry, otherwise, there were no pictures or wall décor anywhere. There were also no windows. Despite that, there was enough natural light to see everything. That light came mostly from slender rectangles of brown beer-bottle colored glass along the edge of the ceiling. They surrounded the house on three sides, save for the upper hallway where Brandt was. The glass was warped and bubbly, not fit for looking through, just sheer enough to allow light in. It appeared that an easement outside shaded them, so wherever the sun was, it probably wouldn't be able to send a direct beam unto the floor at any time of the day.
The floor below was made from the same wooden planks as the hallway and was covered in many places by ornate rugs. The rugs were a complex weave of fancy patterns, predominantly red, tan, and black. The centerpiece of the room was a banquet-style table, a huge mahogany piece that likely weighed about as much as a truck. A dozen matching chairs surrounded it, except for one chair at the end that was larger and fancier, designed to impress. It looked almost royal. There were carved designs on the backrest, leather-wrapped arms, and padded seat that matched the rug below the table. The table was devoid of plates and utensils, and showed no signs of being in use recently. In fact, even though the light was dim, Brandt thought he noticed a light sheen of dust that covered the table and looked undisturbed. On the far wall was a broad fireplace that was open except for a brick chimney above it. The fire would be accessible from three sides if it was lit, which it wasn't currently. Along the walls, and to the left of the dining table, were an assortment of Victorian-style couches and chairs. In the furthermost corner was a group of twin leather chairs that looked like something you would find in an old-fashioned gentlemen's club, where men in silk smoking jackets would sit, puff pipes, and discuss world politics with stuffy English accents. Behind the chairs, the walls changed from stone to wooden shelving which boasted a small library of unknown, ancient-looking books. Huge, leather-bound books, like the kind that city libraries usually allowed people a limited time to view, and only in a special room with white gloves.
The front doors were heavy, carved wood, mahogany perhaps like the table, and stood next to a solid colored rug with an elaborate symbol on it that might be a family crest. Next to the doors were a coat stand and a hat rack. A hat rack? Who the heck keeps a hat rack next to the door anymore? Not surprisingly, Brandt saw the subtle gleam of a spider web that ran from the hat rack to the wall. And once he noticed that, he spied a couple more strands of spider-silk extending from a few of the couches and chairs.
No plates out, dust on the table, spider webs on the chairs, no fire lit, and no light. Whoever did live here probably hadn’t been around in a while. So who the hell brought me here? And why would they drop me off and bolt?
It was a beautiful house, despite the darkness. Kind of the old-world, turn of the century feel. Brandt liked that style. If it had windows, the place would feel like some prince's rural retreat.
Brandt leaned against the railing, which thankfully was solid and didn’t waver under his weight. He didn’t feel like he would faint anytime soon, but he had yet to feel stable. He had the fleeting urge to make his way downstairs and start a fire to warm his chilled bones, but he would reserve his trust in whoever brought him here until he got to talk to them and found out what their motives were. Whoever owned this place must have a lot of money to have built it way out here, and Brandt knew some very bad people who had that kind of money. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d make it down the stairs without falling. It wouldn’t do to be saved from freezing to death, or drowning, just to break his neck tumbling down some stairs.
He needed to stop guessing about his rescuers and find out once and for all if he was safe. He wanted to believe he was. Everything indicated that he probably was. It just wasn’t guaranteed. For now, he would just keep his doubts quiet and go under the cautious assumption that whoever put him here meant well.
Brandt turned and shuffled slowly back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He had previously noticed the old-fashioned lock under the doorknob, and now it hit him that he could be locked in his room like a prison if someone had the intention. If so, leaping out of a second-story window to a rocky ground below would be his only escape. The key was still sitting inside the keyhole, which could mean that someone had no intention of locking him in. It could also mean that no one expected him to be awake yet, and that when they did, they could lock him in and remove the key.
Stop it, man. Jeez. Brandt needed to get the proverbial grip. If someone wanted to imprison him, there were far less elaborate and inane ways of doing it than placing him in some old-timey house and giving him a bed with a down comforter. You’re safe until you find out otherwise. Be vigilant, but don’t be stupid. Or rude. Eventually, someone would drop by to check on him, and he’d find out what their intentions were then. Nothing he could do for now, nor anything that he should do. He was on an island, and he didn’t have a boat or a weapon. Like it or not, he was at the mercy of whoever did live here. At least until he regained all his strength.
He relaxed and hobbled back to his bed. Much slower than he would like, and with a lot more pain than he would like, he wrenched his body back under the covers and got himself comfortable again. He breathed deeply and slowly until he could feel sleep coming on. A waning thought came to him that he should've closed the window before he got back in bed, but he was too warm, comfy, and sleepy to bother. Maybe after his nap, he'd take care of that.
He drifted off into a deep sleep.
He had odd nightmares about a bat-like creature that descended on him in his bed. The creature did nothing to harm him except sit above him and stare down with those glowing yellow eyes. It leaned it
s face closer. Its breath smelled like mold and dirt. It stretched its wings, and the slight breeze from the wing movement whisked over Brandt's body and rustled his clothes. His comforter was off. Why is my comforter off? Did the creature throw it off? Brandt knew he was dreaming, but it felt real. There was a strange prickling, like claws scraping across his abdomen. Brandt relaxed, choosing to trust that dreams couldn’t hurt him. The bat man was just a manifestation of the Coast Guardsman from his memory. His confused brain was keeping him on edge. Stupid nightmares wouldn’t help him get the rest he needed, so he dismissed the idea of even looking at the creature, and chose to just stare at black oblivion underneath his eyelids. He breathed easier and slept soundly.
In the transition between sleep and wakefulness, Brandt already felt refreshed. His eyelids had crusted shut, so they were the last things to pry open. Before he opened his eyes, he did a quick mental check. He was still lying on the bed, the soft pillow under his head was warm from an extended snooze. The comforter was pulled up to his neck, exactly where he had left it before he fell asleep. In his dream, he had felt claws pinching his stomach, and that feeling was gone now. Not like he really expected otherwise. The rushing sounds of the ocean were also absent. At first, he wondered if he had gotten up in his sleep and closed the window, but it was more likely that his benefactors had returned and done it for him.
Maybe they’re here now. Probably not in his room, though. It was almost uncomfortably quiet now that the window was shut, and definitely no sounds of anyone shuffling around, or breathing. Even at rest, people were noticeably noisy in a quiet room.
He felt something odd on his right side. A mild pressure, like something was resting against him. Not heavy enough to be a human, more like something maybe about the weight of a fat cat. Well, that’s not crazy. Cats seek out warmth, and certainly one might live here. That would also explain the sensation of claws on his abdomen if that hadn’t entirely been a dream. Brandt moved his hand in that direction expecting to encounter a snuggling, furry pet.
His hand touched a human leg.
Jesus!
He ripped his eyelids open and stared into two pale blue eyes.
CHAPTER 2
A face was inches away from Brandt. The ice-blue eyes blinked, flew open and the face suddenly drew back.
Brandt shrieked. It was not a manly or intimidating sound, rather like the high-pitched squeak of a teenage girl who just found a spider in her hair. He pushed backward, trying to both sit up and get further away from the unexpectedly close visitor. The person in front of him launched upward like a frightened cat, then scrambled backward as fast as a lizard into the far corner. She stood frozen, hands flat against the wall, breast heaving.
The woman was medium height, slender build, and looked terrified. I’m scaring her? Brandt’s heart was pumping like it expected to run out of blood soon. The sudden jerking of his body had created a delayed pain, drawing a wince from Brandt. He calmed himself and examined the woman. Or maybe, girl.
She was young and striking. Her blond hair was coiled up into a style that had been popular at the turn of the 20th century, as was her dress. The old-fashioned dress covered every part of her body except for her hands and head. The top was off-white, with lace cuffs and neckline, and pearl beads in the front, and though Brandt was no fashion expert, he had the impression it was handmade. The skirt was greyish blue, pleated, and spread out to hide every curve except for her waistline, which was slim. He couldn’t imagine anyone in this day and age would wear something like that, but this woman didn’t seem average or modern. Her visible skin was unblemished and was the color of raw cream, with a pinkish hue near her cheeks, probably from her flushing fright. Her wide eyes were framed in thick eyelashes that appeared to be soft and natural, not thickened by mascara. In fact, there appeared to be no make-up on her face.
She was nearly hyperventilating. Though she had scared the crap out of him, she was acting like Brandt had just stood up in his grave.
“Hey.” His voice was soft and soothing. “Hey, it’s all right. Don’t be frightened. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
And why the hell am I apologizing to her? Her face was inches from mine as I slept. Although this might be her house, that still didn't give her the right to sit nearly on top of him while he was asleep. If he could just get both of them calm, he was sure this would be easily smoothed over.
“It’s ok,” said Brandt, again. He held his palms out and tried to look non-threatening. He had wondered about the intentions of his saviors, but if this girl had malevolent intentions toward him, she was about as far from that expectation as could be imagined.
Her eyes darted to the door and she made a short little scooting step toward it.
“Wait. It’s ok,” said Brandt. Maybe she doesn’t understand English. “Uh, speak English? Sprechen sie English? Ingles?”
The girl didn’t respond except to renew her attention on the door. Despite the sheer terror on her pale face, she was one of the most beautiful women Brandt had ever seen. And possibly the oddest. Although she wore an ancient style of dress, she looked like she could be in her early twenties. With unusually perfect skin, it would be hard to determine age. If she had pointed ears, which she did not, and hair a shade lighter, she could pass for one of Tolkien's immortal and majestic elves. Whoever she was, she was not getting closer to calming down. She mustered enough courage to reach for the door and was out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her before Brandt could even register that she had moved. He had never seen anybody move that fast. Am I stoned? The sleep cobwebs in his head must’ve affected his perception of speed and movement. Or maybe she was an elf.
“Wait!” he called, but the words fell into an empty room as the door latched shut. Just great. Some strange girl – albeit a gorgeous, strange girl – was watching him while he slept, she freaks when he wakes up, disappears, and he still had no idea who she was and why she was here. Or even why he was here.
Brandt thought about yelling through the closed door for the girl to come back, then snuffed the idea, guessing that if she was that terrified of him just talking to her, yelling at her would only make things worse. He sat still in his bed, realizing that he had been ignoring the pain in his neck and ribs, and his neck and ribs decided to remind him of that neglect.
“Ow,” he said softly and tried to relax his posture to lean back against the headboard. He sighed and tried to think.
Ok bud, now what? Someone is here, and she’s not very threatening, and she’s scared to death of you. And she’s probably the one who’s been taking care of you. She definitely was not Coast Guard personnel, didn’t look like a nurse or a gangster, and not police. Brandt wasn’t prepared to make a full guess based off of the brief observation, but a few things came to mind. Maybe she wasn’t used to people. Or has some kind of social anxiety? Perhaps, someone like that would want to live way out here, far from any other people. And how would someone realistically live out here? There’s no way.
Brandt’s body was in no mood to get back out of bed after that sudden trauma he had just put it through trying to sit up. Maybe if he sat still for a few moments he would feel good enough to try and get to the door again. Or, maybe if he just stayed quiet and patient, the girl would come back on her own accord.
Girl? He knew he probably shouldn’t think of her as a girl. She looked like she could be in her early twenties. Twenty-one, twenty-two-ish? He wasn’t too much older himself at twenty-eight. Well, whoever she was, and however old she was, she deserved courtesy and trust until proven otherwise.
Brandt stayed seated, the pillow stuffed into the small of his back, waiting for the woman to return. He didn’t have a watch, but it felt like a half an hour had passed, and he hadn’t heard a peep. Maybe she was on the phone to somebody reporting that her charge was awake. Like there's a phone in this place. He tried to imagine what would make a person live way out here, or if she didn’t actually live here, then why was she h
ere? She wasn’t dressed like any park employee, or anyone else he could think of besides an actress in some historical film. Maybe she was a nun. Nuns dressed ultra conservatively, didn’t they? He had never seen a nun’s outfit like that one, but he wasn’t up on the latest nun fashions. Maybe nuns had stepped up to Edwardian fashion. Dude, you’re just being silly. And why do you care what she’s wearing?
Being stuck in bed had made his mind a little too active, and he was still hyper-aware of why he had come out this far in the first place. Information he wasn’t going to discuss voluntarily until it was necessary. Plus, he was thirsty. There was no telling how long it had been since he drank water.
He examined his room again. The candle on the desk was burning now, and there was no light coming from the window anymore. Most of the day seemed to have been slept away. He patiently remained in his bed wishing he had something to read or watch. He had no cell phone, which he assumed had been lost in the explosion, and no possessions except the clothes on his back, which were at least still on his back. Nobody had tried (or succeeded) in removing his clothes, so he didn’t have that awkwardness to overcome. He didn’t wear a watch because smartphones had clocks. His wallet was taken from him before he got on the boat. Except for his dental records, he may not be identifiable if he died. Which was what he had expected to happen when he had motored out to sea.
There was movement at the door. The doorknob twisted slightly and made a single rattle before it stopped and went quiet. Brandt stiffened in anticipation, then tried to relax. Don’t freak her out. It was several seconds before anything happened. A soft knock sounded at the door. It took a moment of hesitation for Brandt to realize she actually wanted him to answer.
