by Noelle Marie
Regardless of the doubts swirling in my head, however, I nodded at Marianne’s words. “Do you live here, too, then?” I asked.
“Oh, heavens no!” Marianne immediately answered. “I have a family at home that I need to tend to. A son who started college last year and a daughter only a little younger than you.”
The revelation that she had a family – a son and daughter who relied on her – made Marianne seem suddenly more… real. Human. Not just some housekeeper I needed to pry answers out of, but an actual person – a person who would probably prefer I was just straight up with her versus undergoing a half-hearted attempt at manipulation.
I sighed, setting down my fork and dropping the pretense of small talk. “Look, Marianne, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Like she had been prepared for me to ask just that the whole time, Marianne was already shaking her head. “I think your father would be a better candidate to-”
“Nothing that could get you into trouble,” I rushed to assure her before she could finish refusing me. “It’s just… my dad,” – the word felt foreign on my tongue – “he’s so busy. I was curious about some things. And I thought that by talking to you, maybe something would jog my memory, and I wouldn’t feel so… I wouldn’t be so…”
Alone. Helpless. Scared.
I swallowed, leaving the sentence unfinished. “Please,” I added softly.
The tense line of Marianne’s shoulders wilted at the word, her entire countenance softening. “I suppose a few questions wouldn’t hurt,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll do my best to answer what I can, but I’m warning you right now, Sloane, some things just aren’t appropriate for me to discuss with you.”
Good enough.
I nodded eagerly. “That’s all I want,” I assured. I figured I might as well start by pursuing the idea that had occurred to me this morning and finding out where my cell phone was. “I guess the first thing I was wondering was where my cell phone is. I mean, I assume I have one, and I thought it might be a good idea for me to go through…” I trailed off.
Marianne was shaking her head, her mouth set in a grim line.
I frowned. “What?”
The woman sighed. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Sloane. Like I said, your father… he’s quite protective. You’ve never been allowed a cell phone.”
Disbelief filled me. What eighteen-year-old girl wasn’t allowed a cell phone? Regardless of how protective Cornelius was over me – and I had my doubts – it seemed… bizarre.
“Oh,” I muttered, struggling to convey my feelings. It didn’t help that I didn’t know what to feel.
My dismay must have been obvious enough on my face, however, because Marianne was quick to offer a solution. “If you think it’ll help, you do have a laptop that you used for school work. I’ll ask your father about it; I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”
I felt a thrill of excitement at the possibility, already thinking of how I would go through the computer’s history and check out any documents I may have stored on it. “That would be great,” I was quick to agree, my mind processing what else she’d said.
“So… I used my computer to do school work. Does that mean I’ve graduated high school, then?”
Marianne raised her eyebrows. “Of course. You’re a bright girl, Sloane.”
I didn’t feel very bright. Mostly just lost. But I was doing my best to remedy that. “Where did I go?” I asked, thinking of the different friends or teachers I may have had, of the questions I could ask them.
“What do you mean?”
“To school,” I clarified. “Where did I go to school?”
“Well…”
I was fairly certain a frown was going to be permanently glued to my face by the end of this conversation. “Well, what?”
Marianne sighed. “You were homeschooled, Sloane. Your mother was your teacher before she passed.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
This was beginning to get repetitive.
“I’m sure it seems strange how… sheltered they ensured you were.” It didn’t sound like Marianne entirely approved of it either. “It’s just, you have to understand, they loved you so much.” Marianne shook her head. “Your father still does, of course.”
I swallowed. “Of course,” I agreed, but the words sounded hollow, even to me.
For a moment, there was only silence as I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that I had probably spent nearly every day of my entire life cooped up in this house with only my parents and the staff for company.
“Was there anything else you wanted to know?” Marianne asked gently, and I forced myself to shake off the strange sort of melancholy threatening to befall me.
“Yes, actually. Do you mind giving me a tour of the house?” I recalled how nerve-racking it had been searching for the bathroom that morning, how I could have ended up knocking on Felix’s door by accident. “I managed to find a bathroom and the kitchen this morning, but…” I trailed off.
Marianne looked mortified. “I’m so sorry, Sloane! That’s my fault. The fact that you would need to be shown around the house completely slipped my mind yesterday.” She shot out of her seat, grabbing her mostly empty plate and taking it to the sink. “We’ll do it now. Just let me take care of these dishes and I’ll give you a tour.”
“That sounds great.”
I brought her my plate and tried to help with the pans, but Marianne shooed me away. “It’s my job,” she assured me.
She was good at it, too, because a few minutes later the kitchen was so tidy that if the smell of greasy ham wasn’t still lingering in the air, I would have never known anyone had cooked breakfast that morning.
“Come on, then,” she said, gesturing with her hand for me to follow her as she headed towards what I would guess was a walk-in pantry. “We might as well start here.”
I was right, and Marianne listed an array of snack foods – crackers, cookies, canned fruit – that she kept stocked in case anyone got hungry between meals. She also showed me the contents of the fridge and where the dishes were located before leading me to the dining room. “You take most of your meals here,” she explained. “Your father’s a busy man so he mostly eats on the run or in his study, but you do have supper together most nights.”
We walked through the entryway next, and Marianne showed me around the huge living room located on the opposite side of the house. There was an abundance of patterned furniture and a massive television stationed above the fireplace that I probably couldn’t have figured out how to work if my life depended on it. She also showed me where the main floor bathroom was located before she led me up the stairs.
“This is the upstairs sitting room,” she said, gesturing towards the room with the white couch I had briefly looked over the night before. “You know where your bedroom is, of course, and you mentioned that you’ve already found the bathroom.” She grimaced. “The other room down your hallway is usually reserved as a guest bedroom, but Felix has resided there the past few months.”
Unfortunately, I’d already figured that out for myself.
Marianne indicated for me to follow her down the other hallway that the upstairs sitting room branched out into. “The master bedroom, where your father sleeps, is down here,” she said, leading me towards the door furthest down the hall. “His study, where he does most of his work, is over here.” She touched the door across the hall from the master bedroom before approaching the third (and final) door – the one closest to the sitting room. “And this… this was your mother’s old bedroom.”
I frowned. “My parents didn’t share a room?”
“Oh no, they did,” Marianne immediately backtracked, shaking her head. “It’s just that when Vanessa deteriorated enough to need 24/7 care…” she trialed off, gesturing helplessly at the door.
The explanation made sense. What didn’t make sense was the intense urge I had to open the door. My fingers twitched at my side, and before I knew it, my hand was re
aching for the knob of its own accord.
Marianne’s sharp gasp, however, had me freezing, fingers wrapped around cold brass. “What is it?” I asked, bewildered.
A flush rising on her cheeks, it looked as if Marianne was physically restraining herself from snatching my hand from the door. “It’s just… I wouldn’t go in there.”
That explained absolutely nothing.
“Why not?” I demanded.
Instead of answering, she pointedly glanced around the hallway. “I take it you’ve noticed the pictures?”
It was impossible not to. Much like the hallway my bedroom was located in, this one contained a series of framed photographs, all showcasing the same woman: Vanessa. (Your mother, a voice added pointedly.)
“Yes.”
Marianne sighed. “Your father… he didn’t take your mother’s passing very well. His way of dealing with it was to glorify the woman. While the sheets in your mother’s bedroom have been washed since she last resided there, and the floor vacuumed, he insists the rest remains untouched – almost as a sort of shrine to her, I suppose.”
I reluctantly released the knob and allowed my hand to drop back down to my side. “Oh.”
“Grief does funny things to people.”
It was true enough, and hardly something I could argue with, so I nodded.
Marianne cleared her throat. “Anyway,” she said, obviously eager to change the subject, “I have something to show you that I think you’ll enjoy more than a stuffy, old bedroom.”
Whether it was true, or she was just desperate to get me away from the door was hard to say. Regardless, I followed her. She led me down the staircase to a door in the living room that we hadn’t yet explored. She opened it to reveal a set of steep steps. They led to the basement, which I was surprised to find was largely unfinished.
There was a pile of storage boxes in one corner of the space, and a toilet in another – an indication that perhaps my parents had intended to finish it at some point. There was also a dingy mattress lying on the floor.
A chill swept through me when I caught sight of it, but I shook the feeling off, attributing the odd sensation to the freezing concrete against my bare feet. I followed Marianne to a pair of glass double doors that led to the back yard.
“Yard”, though, wasn’t the right word for it. Unlike the front and sides of the house, the back wasn’t covered in sprawling grass, but a vast garden of flowering trees and blooming bushes. The smell of fresh lilacs saturated the air, and the colorful landscape stretched at least a quarter mile out, stone walkways branching out into different sections of the garden.
“It’s… beautiful,” I said, the word escaping my mouth without thought. It was true.
Marianne smiled. “I thought you might like it. You did before, anyway.” She led me down one of the garden’s pathways, past a rippling water fountain until we reached a wooden bench – it was rustic, the sort that had been restored.
She took a seat, patting the spot next to her and inviting me to join her.
I sat. “I think this is my favorite part of the house,” I admitted, still in awe of the garden’s natural beauty.
Marianne nodded. “You’ve always enjoyed the outdoors.” A smile pulled at her mouth. “It drove your mother crazy when you were small.”
It was the second time she had referenced a time when I was a young girl, and I wondered how long Marianne had been a part of my life. “Have you worked here a long time?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. Since before your parents got you, even.”
An involuntary frown pulled at my mouth. The statement was innocent enough on its face, but the wording she had used… it seemed off. “Since they got me?” I repeated.
I felt more than saw the way Marianne stiffened beside me. “Since you were born, I mean, of course.”
She played it off well enough, but something heavy (wrong) settled in my gut. Regardless, I knew better than to push her on it, so storing away the strange phrase of words in the back of my mind, I nodded. “Of course,” I echoed.
We sat there for a few minutes longer, just enjoying the sound of twittering birds and the feel of the cool breeze blowing against our cheeks, before Marianne reluctantly rose. “Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I better get back to work. There’s some laundry I need to tackle before the morning’s over.” She turned to face me. “You’ll let me know if you need anything else?”
Figuring I’d taken up enough of her time, I nodded, and a few moments later she disappeared down the cobblestone pathway.
As for me, I remained outside, taking my time to explore the vast garden. I discovered a small man-made pond with half a dozen goldfish swimming around in it on one side of the garden and a hidden patch of colorful hydrangeas on the other.
It was there I stayed until hours after the sun had reached its highest point in the sky.
I hadn’t been lying when I had told Marianne that I enjoyed the garden, but it would have been dishonest to say the primitive charm of nature was the only reason I stayed. I was also avoiding Felix.
As far as I could tell, the man hadn’t attempted to track me down when I hadn’t shown up in his bedroom after my shower, but either way, I wasn’t eager to run into him.
Unfortunately, I knew I couldn’t stay outside forever.
I’d already skipped lunch, and judging by the way my stomach had begun rumbling a half-hour ago, supper time was quickly approaching. I sighed, running my fingers over the soft petals of a nearby gerbera daisy before begrudgingly standing and heading back in the direction of the house.
I snuck in the back door before quietly creeping up the basement stairs. I was relieved to find the living room empty, and deciding to stop by my room before supper, I climbed the stairs.
A few moments later, I was opening the door to my bedroom, flicking on the light before shutting it closed behind me.
When I turned around, my heart all but launched itself into my ribs, slamming against them so hard that I was half-shocked none of them had cracked upon impact.
Swallowing down a startled scream, I took in the figure sitting idly on the edge of my bed. “What are you doing in here?” I demanded when I finally felt in control enough to speak.
Felix only grinned.
CHAPTER FOUR
My brain throbbed against my skull, the bright morning sun filtering in through the blinds burning my retinas and only making the pounding in my temples worse.
I scowled.
I’d probably gotten less than an hour of shuteye total the night before. It had been impossible to sleep in my bed – the sheets smelled so strongly of sugarhoneyWisp that it made my chest hurt – but I’d tried, anyway.
After wasting a handful of hours alternately attempting to ignore the scent and burying my face into the pillows until I was dizzy with it, I’d eventually given up and dragged myself to the couch. Unfortunately, it hadn’t made much of a difference. Her scent lingered there, too, ingrained in the cushions – in my nose.
I half-feared I would never be rid of it. (The other half of me was terrified that I would wake up one day and it would be gone forever, just like her. Like Wisp.)
The bacon I’d fried up for breakfast tasted like ash in my mouth, but I forced myself to eat it, anyway. Alcohol was all I’d filled my stomach with the day before, and despite the fact I hadn’t even caught a buzz for my efforts, my gut still ached from all the liquor I’d consumed.
All of it combined – the headache, lack of sleep, the way it felt like my breakfast might make an unwelcome second appearance any minute… it put me in a sour mood.
Right, a sardonic voice mocked, it has nothing at all to do with the fact that Wisp is half-way across the state instead of here with you.
A muscle in my jaw twitched. Of course it did. It was the reason for all my goddamn ailments in the first place.
I dragged a hand roughly down my face before peering over at Thane, who lay morosely by the front door. Guilt joined the bi
le churning in my stomach as I eyed his slumped form. He’d hardly moved from the spot since Wisp had left. (Since you sent her away, you mean.)
I didn’t think he had even abandoned his perch to eat. I glanced over at the bowl of overflowing kibble in the kitchen and frowned. It didn’t look like he had touched it since I’d mindlessly filled it before disappearing to The Tavern the day before.
“Hey, boy,” I called brusquely from my spot at the table, jerking my head in the direction of his food dish. “Time for breakfast.”
Thane stared at me with sad eyes, but he didn’t move.
“Come on,” I urged. “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat.”
He still didn’t budge.
I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch. “Moping’s not going to change anything,” I muttered, aware I was grousing at a dog, but hardly caring.
Thane let out a low noise in return – this pathetic, little whimper – and I sighed.
Recalling the way Wisp spoiled him, how she snuck him food under the table whenever she thought I wasn’t looking, I took a strip of bacon off my plate and whistled. “Here, boy. You want some of this?”
I couldn’t taste it, anyway.
Thane, though, didn’t even acknowledge the offering, he just laid his head back down, resting it on his paws and turning his attention back to the door – the door that Wisp was never going to walk through again.
It was too much.
Thane’s rejection, on top of everything else… it gave life to the anger that had been slowly simmering in my lower belly since Wisp had left. (For much longer than that, if I was honest with myself.) It sparked a fury inside of me that was as hot as it was illogical.
I burned with it, and before I’d even made the conscious decision to do it, I stood and slammed my fist so hard against the table that my plate rattled. “What the hell do you want then, huh?” I hollered at the pathetic lump by the door. “What the hell do you want?”
It was a stupid question. We both already knew the answer.
