“Well here we are,” she says stops in front of a closed door. She reaches out to touch my shoulder, and I can’t help but flinch away. Her expression falls and she looks away. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll have someone bring a tray up for you later. Your Father and I have an event to attend this evening, so we’ll be out. There is a tablet mounted to the wall inside to contact the staff and Martha will be here in if you need anything.”
“Thanks Mom,” I reply with a small smile. “That sounds great. I’m really tired still.” She hesitates a minute, before turning to leave. I wait till she’s disappeared down the stairs before finally reaching out to open the door. It’s probably stupid, but I want to be alone for my first real look into my old life. Taking a fortifying breath, I open the door.
I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe something like the teenager’s rooms in the TV shows. Small but cozy with a flare of personality, and probably a little bit messy. That couldn’t be farther from the room in front of me than the moon. It’s designer room straight from the pages of a magazine. It is spotlessly clean, not a loose piece of clothing or a bit of clutter to be seen. Three of the walls are painted lavender, with the fourth wall in sage green. Generic floral prints hang in groups on the wall. The bedroom set is white wood, complete with a desk, bookcase and dressing table. The large bed, complete with its lavender canopy and bedspread is centered on the accent wall. It’s very elegant and soothing, but nothing like I imagined.
I head to the book case first, looking for any hints to my old life. What the hell. I frown looking over the collection of books and decorations. The books are all classic novels bound in leather. They are just like the sets I saw advertised on late night television. My eyes drift over the other items on the shelf, but all of it seems just as impersonal as items the decorators use on HGTV. There’s a vase, an empty wooden box, and an abstract ivory figurine of an angel. All very pretty, but generic. The items are completely bare of personality. With a disappointed sigh, I move over to the desk. The desktop is clear and the drawers are practically empty. I find a few pens and some blank notebooks, but nothing personal. No notes or old school assignments. No pictures of friends or ticket stubs. Nothing that shows I sat and worked at this desk. The dressing table is equally empty. A hairbrush and comb set, some makeup, that’s it.
Oddly enough, there are no electronics in the room other than the mounted touch screen Mom mentioned. I was apparently wrong about having a computer. Or a TV. Or a phone. This is so weird. Even in the hospital I had a TV.
Hmm… Ok where else to look. I turn towards the two open doors opposite the bed. I pick the one closest to the hall to start with. Opening the door, I find a huge, but mostly empty walk in closet. The walls are again lavender, but all the shelving and furniture is done in the sage green. Even the chaise lounge at the back of the room is sage with lavender throw pillows. There is a crazy big free standing double wide dresser in the center of the room. It’s got a clear glass top and beneath the glass are empty velvet lined jewelry trays. It reminds me of Lisa Vanderpump’s closest on the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Except that her closet is filled with jewelry and clothing, and my closet is practically empty. There’s a small section of what appear to be dresses and 4 or 5 pairs of shoes on one wall. I glance over at them briefly, but dismiss them for now. I’ll have plenty of time to check them out later. The rest of the shelves and hangers are empty. Checking the drawers, I find some lingerie and pajamas. But compared to the size of the dresser, it’s a very small amount. Even the majority of the drawers are empty.
That leaves one more door; I’m guessing it is going to be the bathroom. I peak inside, yup bathroom. It’s huge, far nicer than the one in the hospital. It must have been designed by someone who thought you should hold parties in the bathroom. They continued with the lavender and sage look, adding in some black and white swirled stone for the counters, floor and shower. The ridiculously large shower, at least I’m pretty sure it’s a shower. I guess it could be some kind of sauna or something, but why put that in a bathroom. It has built in stone benches on two sides. There are two shower heads, and holes all through the ceiling above it. I think maybe I’ll just use the claw foot bathtub. At least I know how that works. A quick check under the sink and in the drawers reveals nothing but extra towels and toiletries. Apparently when your bathroom is this nice you’re supposed to hide your toothbrush and deodorant.
Moving back out to the bedroom, I look around again. Maybe I hid my personal things. I spend an hour scouring the room. I crawl around looking under all the furniture, even checking under the mattress. I use the desk chair to check for anything hidden on top of the bookcase or the shelving in the closet. I even check inside all the books. Nothing… Not a single clue or personal belonging. Throwing myself on the bed, I stare up at the canopy. I had to have some personal belongs before the “incident” what happened to them?
Friday, July 17th
∞
At breakfast, I ask Mom about the lack of a computer for my desk. Apparently, my laptop was with me at the time of the “incident” and whatever is left of it, is now in the police evidence locker. Lovely. She did have someone drop off a new iPhone in my room, to replace the one that was also confiscated. So that’s a small blessing.
Of course, I wasn’t able to learn anything about my life from it. Apparently my phone hadn’t been backed up, so the new one has all the default settings. When I asked about online and email accounts, Mom said we weren’t allowed to use social media, then or now, due to the important and confidential nature of Father’s work. That doesn’t make any sense to me, but there is no point in arguing about it. Just another dead end with no online presence or social media accounts to research. My school email account was deactivated when I graduated, so any emails I might have had were also gone.
After getting all that terrific news, I was dragged to my first appointment with the psychiatrist outside the hospital. She was just as delightful outside the hospital as she’d been in it. I thought she was kidding when she gave me a homework assignment… homework to “discover myself”, as ridiculous as that seems. Like I haven’t been trying, and failing already.
Step one of her assignment is to go on the internet and find my personal fashion style. I thought she was joking at first, but apparently not. Although it’s probably a good thing, seeing that my clothing options this morning consisted of more shapeless dresses. The majority of them in the most hideous prints imaginable, it’s probably not a bad place to start. Whatever my style was before, it was clearly awful and desperately needed to be burned.
Sunday, July 19th
∞
“Emilienne!”
Groaning, I pull the covers over my head, and try to ignore the insistent knocking at the door.
“Emilienne, get up and answer this door! I’ve invited your school friends over for brunch; they’ll be here in 30 minutes. You need to get up and make yourself presentable right now.”
“I’m up,” I grumble, checking the time on my phone. Ugh, it’s only 10am. If I’d known she was going to be inviting people over, I would have gone to bed earlier.
I’d been shocked yesterday when one of the maids dropped off a new laptop, already configured and ready to surf the web. I probably shouldn’t have been since the psychiatrist called Mom into a private meeting after my appointment. She must have taken her homework assignment more seriously than I anticipated. I thought finding my personal style would be easy, but after spending a couple of hours looking through the fashion websites and searching Google for fashion inspiration, I still had only a vague idea of what I liked. I hadn’t found a single clothing style that felt right to me, but I hadn’t given up either. When I switched from looking at articles about fashion to shopping for it, I was sucked into the wonders of Amazon.com, purveyor of all things. I started out looking at clothes, but got distracted by all the books available. I’d filled a wish list of books I wanted to read, starting with the rest of Gail Carrig
er’s Parasol Protectorate series. And the recommendation feature, amazing! I’d stayed up till 4am jumping from author to author, reading book blurbs and saving them to my wish list. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a way to actually buy anything, but that’s a challenge for later.
Setting the timer on my phone, I drag myself out of bed, careful to avoid looking in the mirrors. I don’t need to see it to know that my hair looks like a rats nest. After a quick shower, I blow dry and brush out my long pale blonde hair, till it falls in a straight sheet down my back. Now that its tangle free, I pull it up into a high ponytail and call it good. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cringe. I look like a ghost with my pale skin and light colored hair. Heading to the dressing table, I grab out some of the makeup I saw there. I quickly put on some mascara and sparkly lip gloss to bring a little color to my face, and survey the results. The mascara made my eyes look bigger, and bring out the lavender-blue color. The lip gloss makes my full lips stand out. My nose is straight and slightly upturned at the tip. I don’t think I look like either of my parents. Mom says I take after my grandmother, but since I’ve never seen her, I don’t know what that even means. At least I’ve got a little natural blush to the apples of my cheek to keep me from looking completely dead. With a sigh, I shrug. It’ll have to do.
I throw on the least offending of the sack dresses in the closet. With long sleeves, a high neckline and no waist, it’s definitely not flattering. But at least it’s a solid medium blue, and not covered with a hideous print. I’d looked up some of the labels last night, and couldn’t believe it when they turned out to be from famous designers. Who’d have thought people would pay so much money for ugly clothes, it seriously makes me question peoples taste. They are either blind or the designers must have some kind of magic. It’s like it doesn’t matter how ugly something is, as long as it comes with the right label on it. So weird.
The timer goes off, making me jump. Crap, I need to get moving. I slip on the only pair of flats I’d found, thankfully they are black. Grabbing up my phone and turning off the alarm, I wonder why Mom invited these people over. This is the first time she’s even mentioned school friends. But seeing as they either hadn’t wanted to visit me in the hospital or didn’t make “the list”, I can’t imagine we were that close.
Heading downstairs, I follow the voices to find Mom and the guests already seated in the dining room having an animated discussion about one of the ladies groups Mom is always talking about. Knowing I’m never going to remember their names, I dub them the Fashion Squad after a quick glance at their designer clothes and heels. Why they are so dressed up for Sunday brunch with a school friend is beyond me. Since no one’s noticed me yet, I take my time looking them over while their attention is on the conversation.
The closest of the three girls, has a sleek brown bob and a golden tan. She’s wearing white pants with a yellow floral short sleeve top, a white jacket hanging over the back of her chair. I can’t get a good look at her face from this angle, but something about her posture seems off. There’s an underlying tension there, but maybe it’s from the realization that she’s a pretty shitty friend.
Next to the brunette is the obvious leader of this little trio. With perfectly curled and styled shoulder length golden blonde hair, she’s doing all the talking, her hands waving around as she tries to make some point. She looks like she should be going to a Young Republican’s meeting in her bright pink skirt and blazer combo. I didn’t really think people my age dressed like that. Sure I saw those outfits online, but the models looked much older.
The third girl just looks out of place with the other two, in her form fitting cheongsam style pale floral print dress. Model thin, she looks like she belongs on a runway rather than the dining room. I can’t tell if she’s shy or just uncomfortable, with the way her hair falls forward to hide her face behind the glossy black sheet.
Martha, the housekeeper, whose name I amazingly manage to remember, enters the room through the kitchen entrance and flashes me a smile. Knowing I’m caught, I figure I better get this over with before my Mom realizes I’ve been lurking here for a while now.
“Good morning,” I announce. Pasting on a bright smile, and stepping inside the room. The girls all turn to stare at me. The mixture of surprise and horror on their faces is almost comical and I’m not sure it’s my outfit or my casual appearance. The outfit I can understand, it is pretty horrific. The mixture of emotions in the room is too tangled and confusing to sort through, so I push it aside to consider later. “I’m afraid I’m terrible at names…” I say, slipping into my usual chair. “So I’m sure you won’t mind reminding me who you are.” Martha delivers a glass of orange juice for me, and I turn to give her a genuine smile. “Thank you, Martha.”
Turning back to the Fashion Squad, I fight the urge to laugh at their expressions. The girls are staring at me open mouthed. I’m not sure what they were expecting today, but it’s clearly not me. Mom clears her throat, breaking them out of their trance. I keep my face carefully neutral as they scramble to compose themselves.
“It’s so good to see you home, Emilienne,” The blonde finally manages, with a brittle smile. “I’m Laura. This is Marielle,” she indicates the brunette, who gives a little wave and a half smile. “And that’s Jia.” Jia nods, her hair swinging back and forth, and I wonder why she is hanging out with these girls. Other than being beautiful, she really doesn’t appear to fit in. “The four of us have been best friends since we were in diapers. We do everything together.”
“Oh yes, we’re the very best of friends,” Marielle chimes. “We totally missed you at graduation. It just wasn’t the same without you. But at least you’ll be able to join us at Stanford for fall semester. That totally will make up for missing all the graduation festivities.” Her face is devoid of expression as she speaks. I narrow my eyes, fighting to keep the fake smile on my face. Damn, insensitive much? I had a hard time believing they didn’t know why I missed graduation, so what was their game here. Whoever these girls are, it’s pretty clear they weren’t actually my friends before the incident. Of the three, only Jia seems truly unhappy to be here, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her.
“I wish I could have made graduation and all the parties too,” I respond in a deceptively light tone. “But you know how it is, things come up.” Thankfully Martha breaks the mood by returning with one of the maids; damn I need to work harder on remembering the staff’s names. They deliver plates of fruit slices and cottage cheese. Yuck soooo gross! What the hell? Is this seriously Mom’s idea of brunch? I got dragged out of bed for this? Between the company and the food, this has to be the worst meal ever.
I murmur a quiet thanks to the maid as she steps away, trying to keep my opinion to myself. I pretend to focus on my fruit, carefully avoiding the offending cottage cheese. Now that I can get a better look at their faces, I take the time to inspect them up close. If I hadn’t been told these girls were supposed to be my friends and near my age, I never would have guessed. Marielle and Laura might have got lost on the way to a luncheon at the country club, with their perfectly styled hair and full make up. Whereas Jia, with her clearly Asia heritage, looks like she is on her way to a high fashion modelling shoot.
The longer they sit there picking at their food, the harder it gets to ignore the emotional cocktail hanging in the air. Since I’m stuck here for the moment, I try to focus on the feelings and figure out where they are coming from. The envy seems to be primarily coming from Laura, which seems really odd. While she rubs me the wrong way, she’s clearly beautiful. What on earth could she be envious of about me or my life? Once I untangle the envy, it’s clear that Marielle is the source of the disgust. No big surprise there really, after her callous graduation comment. Jia seems to be a mixture of pity and embarrassment, which makes even less sense that the others, but so far nothing about today does.
Why is the Fashion Squad here? Despite what they said, they clearly weren’t close friends of mine before the a
ccident. They obviously don’t want to be here… So what’s the deal with them? Well whatever... at least being recently released from the hospital makes for a great excuse for a hasty exit. I finish off the last of my fruit, and clear my throat to get their attention.
“Well, as much as I appreciate you coming by today, I’m still not feeling a hundred percent. If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure you remember your way out.” I tell them with an insincere smile, pushing my chair back from the table. The girls exchange glances and Laura frowns at me.
“But Emilienne…” she says, clearly uncomfortable. “We really wanted to catch up with you. If you need to lie down, we could come up with you. We can hang out and talk up in your room.” The other two girls nod in agreement, all three staring at me. I’m hit with a wave of malice that has me taking a deep breath and gripping the arms of the chair. WTF is that? I need to get away from these girls ASAP.
I force myself to keep smiling, “That’s really sweet of you, but I really need a nap. All of this excitement has just worn me out. I’m sure you understand.” I stand up, trying to hold back the emotions pressing down on me. I glance over at Mom, but she’s staring at her plate like it holds the secrets of the universe. So bizarre. Laura keeps staring at me, and I catch her elbowing Marielle. Marielle grunts softly, and I cover my laugh with a cough.
“We could have a sleep over!” Marielle blurts out, and I look at her incredulously.
“That’s a terrific idea!” Laura jumps in with a big grin. “It will be like old times, I’m sure you have extra pajamas we can borrow.” I resist the urge to laugh. Ironically enough, I don’t have enough pajamas for four people, but that’s not the point. They all stared at me expectantly. Damn these girls were not going to take the hint. Well, so much for the nice approach.
Something Stolen, Something Found (The Magic Catalyst Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
