by Blake Croft
“Neighborly,” Ashley commented. “Come on, Lin, let’s get inside.”
Suddenly Linda didn’t want to go inside. The front doors were large and imposing. The windows were dark eyes staring down at her. Ashley had already climbed the steep stone steps to the front door. Linda wanted to scream at her to turn away.
Stop this, she scolded herself. You’re not going to jeopardize such an amazing opportunity because of some stupid trigger you don’t even recognize at the moment. Calm down, breathe in and out. Take it one step at a time.
Using the calming techniques she’d picked up at group meetings, Linda took shaky breaths and climbed the steps, her hand tracing the railing, feeling the rough sun-warmed stone beneath her fingers.
Ashley rang the bell. It gonged through the manor, deep and ominous. All calm abandoned Linda.
“Are you okay?” Ashley asked. “You look pale.”
Something shuffled behind the door. Linda heard footsteps, and a cough. The sound was too familiar. Jackson had coughed like that after a smoke.
“Lin?” Ashley held her arm.
She glanced nervously behind her, the spot between her shoulder blades tingling as if someone was watching her.
It couldn’t be possible. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. He was in jail.
Her eyes grew hot and wet. She blinked away the sudden tears. The sun was bleeding out in the sky.
“Linda, is everything alright?”
A lock turned and the door opened.
A blade flashed, catching the last of the dying sun.
Linda screamed.
Chapter 2
Linda stepped back so fast in her terror, she trod on Ashley’s foot.
Ashley yowled in pain.
A man stood in the doorframe. He was tall, easily a head taller than Linda.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I startle you?” He stepped back, staring at Linda as if he’d seen a ghost.
He was well built and classically handsome, his face strong jawed and clean shaven, his eyes blue. There was a small cleft in his chin.
“Who are you?” Ashley hopped on one foot.
Linda’s heart was beating a tattoo in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off the knife.
“I’m Stewart,” he said, looking slightly puzzled. Then something dawned on him. “Oh, you must be Linda Green.” He looked down at the knife in his hand. He quickly hid it behind his back. “I’m sorry, I was just starting dinner.”
“We must have the wrong house.” Ashley touched Linda’s arm. “It must be the one across the street.”
“Oh, no,” Stewart said. “This is the house.”
“Really?” Ashley spat. “And is this how guests are greeted?”
Stewart flushed. Linda just wanted to get back in the car and get away.
“I’ve apologized for startling you. I don’t think I’ve ever apologized for making dinner before,” Stewart said. “Why don’t you come inside? You can meet Mom and we can have a bite to eat.”
Linda didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the knife wielding man. Her basic instincts had taken over and she was like a deer in headlights, caught between fight and flight. Only Linda’s instinct for the longest time had been paralyzing fright.
Ashley must have read her mind. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hardly think it’s smart to walk into a stranger’s house like that.”
Stewart smiled. It was charming and boyish. He rubbed the back of his neck, a flop of his dark hair falling on his forehead.
“I hardly think we’re strangers. I knew your name,” he pointed out. “I also know that you’re from Brooklyn. I even have your CV on my computer. Do you want me to get the account number it got sent from?”
As he spoke, Linda’s anxiety receded to the back of her throat. She was no longer biting it between her teeth. The tenure of his voice was soothing, and the facts he mentioned put him squarely as someone who knew her situation.
“Where’s Dr. Blackburn?” Linda asked.
Stewart turned his face from Ashley to look at her. The fading light hit his face so his eyes shone a deep blue. If she wasn’t careful she could get lost in those depths.
“Dr. Blackburn is my mother,” Stewart said. “Would like to meet her?”
“That’s why we came.” Ashley had her hands folded across her chest. She was not taken in by the man’s charm.
“Come on in. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Linda and Ashley exchanged glances.
Linda nodded. Ashley rolled her eyes.
Stepping into the front hall was like walking into a cavernous womb. The walls were covered in green wallpaper and imposing paintings in gilded frames. A teakwood staircase spiraled up to the second floor, its surface dark with age. The furniture was an antiquarian’s dream come true; the ceilings were high with intricate plaster moldings.
It was a little disconcerting. Linda had expected white walls and minimalist interiors to hone a sense of peace and calm. This was more cluttered, and more gothic than she had expected.
Doors lined the long hall. Stewart went to the only one on the left which was slightly ajar. The interior here was starkly different. It was cozy and looked like it had been furnished by a grandmother. There were crocheted doilies on the tables, hand embroidered cushions on the chairs, and a patchwork quilt on the back of the sofa.
Linda watched Ashley wrinkle her nose. She swatted at her sister’s arm.
“This wing is off limits to employees and clients. This is where Mom and I live. It’s another step to ensure clients are relaxed when they stay here.” Stewart walked through a narrow hall with built in stairs that led to the upper floor. Through a narrow arch at the end of the hall they reached a kitchen.
Unlike the front hall, this space was relatively new with modern furnishings. Linda could see a modest table in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by mismatched chairs. Something was bubbling in a saucepan on the stove, and vegetables lay on the draining board ready to be chopped. It smelled lovely.
Stewart didn’t stop. He placed his knife next to vegetables and opened the screen door to the back of the manor.
The back porch was another relic out of some fairy tale. Wide and surrounded by stone colonnades, it reminded her of old castles.
The back lawn was sprawling but it looked like the woods had encroached on it over the years. The woods climbed steadily, cresting the hill beyond. There was a vegetable garden in one corner of the yard and rioting flowers in the other. In the middle was a large swathe of grass, and at the very back was a tool shed.
In that circle of green was a wheelchair. On that wheelchair sat a woman in a long cotton nightdress. Her hair was iron grey, her chin wrinkling into her neck. She sat with her arms loosely crossed in front of her. The right index finger scratched at her left arm just below the shoulder. A woman in a nurse’s smock stood beside her. She was holding a book from which she had been reading to the old lady.
“That’s my Mom,” Stewart said. “That’s Dr. Evelyn Blackburn.”
Linda's knees wobbled.
“We were given the impression that she ran this retreat.” Ashley turned on Stewart as if he had been responsible for their long drive up here for nothing. “That’s why we chose this establishment, because of her expertise in rehabilitation.”
“She did.” Stewart’s face was suddenly stony. “She ran the retreat, but I have always been her assistant. She would deal with the therapy side of the operation, while I managed administration and accounts ensuring minimum interaction with clients.”
“You’re S. Blackburn?” Ashley pointed a finger at him. “You’re the recruiter who hired us. We’ve been emailing you thinking you were Evelyn’s daughter. I really don’t know why we’d assumed you were a woman.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not the first time, I’m sorry for the confusion. Evelyn… Mom had a heart attack almost a year ago. It wasn’t severe. She w
as making a quick recovery, but then the second one followed less than twenty-four hours later. She’s lucky to still be alive.”
Linda looked at the old, thin woman. Her body was slack and weak, but her blue eyes were sharp. They looked right back—direct, questioning, very much alive. They held all the power and knowledge she must have once exuded through every limb. Now it was only one finger that had any mobility.
Scratch
Scratch
Scratch
Evelyn’s finger kept moving over her arm.
Stewart walked down the steps toward his mother. She made a gurgling noise. Stewart bent down and smiled. “Look who’s here, Mom. These are Linda and Ashley Green.” He waved towards Linda. Linda waved back. “This is Cindy May. She’s Mom’s caregiver.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cindy said. Her skin was the color of milky coffee. She looked a little distracted. “They’ve come to work with us, Evelyn,” she said to the wheelchair bound psychiatrist. “And Linda here is going to make use of your excellent initiative and get counseling from Marissa while she works here. Remember I told you about them?”
Evelyn made a noise in her throat.
“Linda’s going to be our landscaper,” Stewart said. “She’ll get your rose bushes thriving again. And Ashley is going to be handling the books. I’m afraid they’re in dire states since Mom stopped handling them. I’ve never been good with numbers. Right Mom?”
Evelyn’s hand shook with great intensity.
“She’s been really animated today,” Cindy smiled. “I’ll keep her out here till my shift ends in ten minutes?”
“Okay, you can stay out here for a little while. I’ll take her in when dinner’s ready.” Stewart smiled apologetically. “The doctors suggested I put her in care but I couldn’t do that to her. I prefer continuing her work and caring for her.”
Ashley’s frown dwindled a little. Linda managed to smile a little.
“I know how wary abuse survivors are of any male contact which is why my tasks were kept administrative, limiting any contact with female renters, but I must clarify that we have male clients too who are housed in a separate wing. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll completely understand if you don’t want to continue on. However, we won’t be returning your registration fees. It’s company policy.”
Of course it was.
Blackburn was a private retreat; a fact advertised on their website. They had no affiliations with large medical shelters or state sponsored half way houses. It was a hands-on experience for victims of abuse to build themselves up with regular counseling as they got back on their feet. Linda had read the reviews of previous guests and all things considered it was worth the fee.
“I don’t think that would be necessary,” Linda said. Her voice was naturally low and most people slouched low to better hear her, but Stewart didn’t.
He smiled and clapped his hands. “Great. Let me show you to your apartments.”
Linda started following him back inside the house when Ashley touched her arm and held her back.
“Are you sure about this?” she whispered. “It isn’t exactly how you thought it would be.”
“I know,” Linda nodded. “But I can’t live depending on you forever. I’m ready to try and go into the world again, and the world isn’t always what you expect.”
On the inside, she wasn’t as confident. The past few months had been a harrowing whirlwind. She still felt like she was riding on the tail winds of that storm. Jackson had controlled her life to such a degree she often caught herself suspended between two choices, waiting for him to decide things for her.
All that was going to change now; this was the first step to taking control of her own life. This place might just be the answer to all her problems after all.
Chapter 3
They were back in the main hall. Stewart shut the door to his personal wing with a soft click.
“I’ll just introduce you to your councilor and housemate,” Stewart grinned, and guided them through one of the doors.
The living room wasn’t dingy, but it lacked the colorful lived-in comfort of Stewart’s apartment. More of the green wallpaper was present here; a green sofa was flanked by purple chairs on a scuffed wooden floor. The TV was flat screen, the only modern accessory in the old-fashioned room. The carpet was red with cream flowers, and the paintings on the walls were generic landscapes and hunting scenes.
It looked like a place people didn’t stay long enough to make their own, but it had a strong personality, enhanced by the gothic interior. Linda had often felt that places, like people, take on the effects of the lives lived inside them. The walls absorb the laughter, the trauma, and the mundane everyday lives of their occupants, until the house is an entity of its own, full of sentient emotion. Efforts had been made to modernize the place a couple of decades ago, but it was like adding a coat of paint to an old car. It didn’t really stick.
Stewart walked ahead into the connecting room. From the sound of pots and pans, Linda assumed it was the kitchen. Stewart stepped out of it, followed by a woman with striking red curls. Her skin was pale and there were dark shadows around her eyes. She looked like an adult version of Little Annie, or a very raggedy, Raggedy Ann doll.
“This is Linda,” Stewart gestured towards her. “She’ll be your new client, and our new gardener.”
“Oh, I forgot that was today.” Marisa’s smile was tight. Linda caught her eye and smiled kindly. Marisa looked away.
“Come,” Stewart beckoned Linda and Ashley. “Your rooms are on the upper floor.”
“I’ll get some of the bags,” Ashley took out the keys to the truck and went out the front door.
Linda was left to soak in the aura of the main hall. The true essence of the original structure was encased within the hall. The ceiling wasn’t very high but it somehow gave the impression of being vaulted with plaster moldings decorating the dark corners. A set of steep stairs dominated the space and the line of portraits that stood sentry above them caught the focus as if you were standing before a bench of judges hoping for mercy.
The stairs were steep and gloomy, the portraits adding to the ominous atmosphere. Linda felt like the eyes were following her as she went deeper inside the house. The landing, however, was refreshing. It had a large window that flooded the floor with twilight. Several doors lined the hall. The walls were covered in feminist posters from the 60s.
The first door on the right lead to the bathroom. The old white tiles had turned cream. There was an old claw-footed bathtub and a rust ringed mirror. The second room was clearly occupied. A messy stack of clothes were on the bed under a poster of Queen. The third and forth rooms were locked.
“Those are for our counselors. They’ll be back by next week, a few days before the client load is expected to increase,” Stewart explained.
“Why do they work seasonally?” Linda asked. “How can you be sure they’ll come back?”
“They’ve signed contracts, much like you and your sister,” Stewart explained. “Think of it as hiring out your specialty machines when you’re not using them. They give lectures and help out in other retreats when they aren’t working here. Which room would you like to set up in?”
Linda chose the one at the very end, the eighth room.
“Good choice.” Stewart grinned. “You get a great view of the street and the hill.”
The room wasn’t large, nor was it small. It had a single bed, a bare mattress, and pillow. A chair sat in the corner and a floor length mirror hung beside it. The closet was full of empty hangers.
Linda was observing the depth of the closet when something crashed outside the door. She jumped behind Stewart who held out a protective arm. Her breathing was ragged. She peered out from under his arm.
Ashley stood in the hall holding her side and gasping. “I did it,” she panted. “I got all the boxes.”
“You scared me half to death,” Linda said.
“Oh?” Ashley wheezed. “I’m sorry.” Sh
e stumbled into the room and sprawled on her back on the bed. “I’m just going to catch my breath.”
Stewart’s face was screwed up in concentration. It was obvious he was trying not to laugh. “Come on.” He motioned to Linda. “I’ll show you the laundry room.”
As they climbed down the stairs, Linda ran her hand along the wall to steady herself. It was cold to the touch. Her heart constricted, and then beat really fast. She pulled her finger away. She felt clammy.
“Everything okay?” Stewart asked. He was looking up at her from the bottom step.
“Oh, yes,” Linda smiled and joined him down in the main hall. “I was just wondering,” Linda asked, “why did the clients have the option of working to pay their fees? Wouldn’t it distract from their counseling?”
“Not really.” Stewart flashed her a smile. “It was Mom’s idea. As I mentioned before, we wanted to give the victims who came hear a sense of independence. That meant their own living space, their own kitchen and laundry, so they would learn to be dependent on themselves. We even have an understanding with the town post office and grocery store to hire our tenants if there are no openings available in house so they can start believing in their own ability to earn for themselves. As far as distracting from counseling, that isn’t the case. Lots of people go to therapy while continuing with their regular lives.”
He walked her to the living room. Marisa was in the kitchen at the stove stirring something in a saucepan. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. “Dinner will be ready in another ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder.
“Thanks, Marissa,” Stewart waved Linda to follow him to a door in the far wall of the living room. Linda had assumed it was a bathroom but it opened to a square of pitch black. Stewart extended a hand and flipped a switch. Faint yellow light illuminated a gloomy staircase.
The wooden staircase groaned as they climbed down. The room wasn't large but the lack of proper light made it look larger. A series of lights ranged along the ceiling but most of them weren’t working, or flickered. The intermittent light didn't reach the shadowy corners.
