Chapter 3
We are driving up- that’s all I can tell. I’ve given up looking out the window because I it’s too dark and rainy and curvy. I’m starting to get carsick so I lie my head back and try to breathe through my nose. It seems to help but I wonder what Doc thinks over there driving while I’m snorting like a bull. He says we’re almost home and pats my knee comfortingly. Yay, I think to myself and I crack my eyes open a little. The lights are brighter here. I can’t make out much about the neighborhood besides the landscaping is perfect and the houses are expensive. Where else would I think a doctor would live- a trailer park? I ask myself. Really.
The car turns onto a circular drive way. The house is made of stone with a many gabled roof and a multitude of windows staring blankly out of odd corners like cold, dead eyes. There is a tower in the corner covered by ivy and the other corner is almost hidden by huge oaks.
I stare at it; waiting for the words to come but they don’t. It looks like something out of a movie. I gulp and think of one of those dark, scary movies where someone almost always winds up being chased by a madman with an axe by the end of the film. I’m both drawn to it and repelled by it all at the same time. A chill creeps up my back and cold fingers wrap around the back of my neck.
I’ve seen this house. I know this house- but it’s not my house.
“It over looks the river.” He says. “What do you think?” Doyle asks me and I’m flabbergasted. I had imagined lots of homes but this one… not even in the stretch of my imaginings could I have imagined this one.
“It’s…” There is no way I can verbalize what I feel, but I try clumsily. “Something.”
“Something, yes.” He laughs. “Something would describe it. Rock City Gardens are nearby.” He says as he waits for the garage door. “I suppose someone thought building a house like this would be cute. I don’t know.” He muttered. “All the streets are named after fairy tales. The old coot who built this…I think surely he liked the idea of living in a fairy tale castle. I guess you did too though. I wanted something old- I was ready to lay down big bucks for an antebellum home near the battlefield but you swore it was haunted so ... “ He smiled over at me. “You and your ghosts. You won. This time.”
A garage door opens and we drive inside. It seems surreal. The garage is sparse. A couple boxes populate one corner and that’s it. I can’t help but thinking that there should be some clutter. A lawn mower, a couple of chainsaws or something other than boxes. Don’t we do yard work on the weekends? I wonder to myself as I look around.
This is some kind of joke. I turn to Doyle as he removes the keys from the ignition. “Well, are you going to get out?”
I nod and unclip the seatbelt. I had hoped my arrival at my home would bring back some memories, or at the very least some warm fuzzy feelings.
No such luck. He helps me out and reaches back inside for my hospital bag.
“We had a hard time reconciling our tastes. I like modern, utilitarian, straight lines, sharp colors… You like....”
“Cozy.” I finish for him and he smiles at me.
“Cozy is one way to put it. You like comfort, clutter, frilly, girly, country…” He says with a hint of mock disgust in his tone as he flips through the mass of keys in his right hand. “We had many heated arguments over the furnishings so we compromised.
“How’s that?” I ask and he grins stupidly.
“I hired a decorator.” He turns the key and then pushes the door open. “This is the kitchen.”
The indoors are much more impressive than the outside. I find myself inside a massive kitchen. The appliances are all stainless steel and there isn’t an item out of place. It doesn’t seem a bit comfortable or cozy. It looks much more like a hotel than a home but perhaps it is just because I don’t remember anything.
Doyle smiles mischievously. “So beautiful, do you want the grand tour?”
“Yes!” I bark and he takes my hand in his. His fingers are strong and long next to mine. His hands are cold and I wonder if he’s just a bit nervous. I hope so. I feel like a schoolgirl on her first date, and I look over at him and he smiles sweetly.
I feel rushed as he shows me through the house. The dining room dominated by a large modern table set as though we were expecting guests at any minute. Doyle leads me by the door quickly and across the hall into another large room.
“The sitting room.” He announces and tells me this is where we have guests over from time to time for cocktails. The furniture is utilitarian and modern looking. There isn’t a chair or a sofa that looks comfortable enough to curl up in. Abstract art adorns the walls. There is no television. Only chairs, sofas and tables of various sizes, several metal sculptures that don’t look like anything recognizable and tasteful groupings of flowers.
“Downstairs.” He leads me to a wooden stair case. “This is the informal area.”
Well thank goodness. I think to myself, but I don’t say it. I don’t think I could ever find myself feeling comfortable enough to stay long in the sitting room or elegant enough for the formal dining room.
Downstairs I find myself in a large room filled with books. “This is our living area.” He tells me. “This is your favorite room.” He sweeps his hand out. “I let you decorate it. Go. See if anything feels familiar.”
I step into the room and my heels click off the hardwood floors. I run my fingers over the back of an overstuffed cream colored sofa. Several brightly patterned pillows sit at both ends and match the patterns on the two arm chairs close by. There is a rock fireplace along the opposite wall holding a large flat screen television. I turn and peer out the windows to my left side that overlooks the city below. I feel my eyes widen as I see the sparkling city lights below me. I can’t believe that this is my house. It just doesn’t feel like my home. I can’t explain it. It just doesn’t feel… right.
“Well?” He asks and regretfully I pull my gaze away from the golden twinkling lights below me. I shake my head. Nothing seems familiar.
“Come along then.” He says nonchalantly. “Perhaps there is something else that will inspire you.” He steps through the double doors and points. “You always loved the pool. But the bedroom is my favorite room of the house.” He gives me a mischievous wink. “For obvious reasons.”
Pool? I feel like I’ve won the lottery! We have a pool? Yes, I do think I remember him talking about a pool earlier. He said we have a dog too.
I ask him what about the dog. He laughs and tells me he’s being kept in a kennel and he had made arrangements for the dog sitter to bring him home tomorrow.
I shrug. I suppose he’s had other things on his mind besides feeding the dog.
He flicks on lights in a huge room. The outer wall is nothing but glass. In the center there is a gurgling pool and a hot tub, surrounded by white tile.
I stare at it, sort of surprised that we have an indoor pool.
I suppose he sees the look on my face and his eyebrows tilt up in a question.
“Wow. Indoor pool.” I say because I can’t think of anything else to say. Nothing so far has rung any of my bells, but I try to sound upbeat. “Not going to get much of a tan in here am I?”
That same blank look. “It had to be inside, dear.” He says. “I can’t be in the sun. My condition you know.”
I look at him with probably the same blank as he had given me just a few minutes earlier. He had mentioned a ‘condition’ several days ago during our lunch together but I never asked. I supposed it seemed a little too personal. Now I was going to be living with the man, I might as well know. Just in case it was life threatening.
Or contagious.
“If you don’t mind my asking—what is your condition?”
He laughs. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now. My light skin and hair. My violet eyes… can’t go out in the sun, stay up all night...”
> He waits for me to finish like I’m playing some sort of game with him. I blurt the first thing and somehow I know I’ve never been good at guessing games.
“You’re… a vampire!” I tease, but to my surprise he turns to me and smiles eerily. His almost violet eyes take on a darker hue, almost red.
“Congratulations on your astute observation Mrs. Connelly. You are far more clever than I considered earlier.” He says much in the same way as I’d imagine a crazed serial killer would say “I’m going to kill you now.”
I think my eyes must have gotten as big as hubcaps before he could get out the part that it was only a joke. I wait for a laugh or a slap across the back but I get neither. The room starts to sway a little. I feel like a goldfish whose bowl had just been upset.
“Andrea?” His voice rising in panic a little as the lights in my head flicker and dim. The walls move away from me as I reach out for them but only feel blackness. I’m fairly sure I’m about to end up in the freezer or buried in the back yard and I’d rather not be awake for that. I plunge into darkness and I am thankful for it.
The Life I Left Behind Page 4