The Wilted Flower District

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The Wilted Flower District Page 8

by Martin Niewood


  Weylin’s shoulders sank in defeat. Then accepting how important it was to her, he reluctantly agreed and slipped into the brown blazer. “Fine, if it’s that important to you that I wear the stupid jacket, then I will.”

  “Thank you. That’s better,” said mom with a small smile.

  “I look like a tool,” Weylin responded.

  “I don’t care,” mom sighed. “We don’t have time to fight about it. We need to go now. The car’s waiting outside.” Herding us out the door like a mother hen, I was taken aback by the silent darkness of my neighborhood. The night had faded into the soft greyness of the predawn hours and the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle.

  Generally, the Wilt never slept but this morning there were neither lights nor sounds coming from the homes of its residents. Music and laughter from a party or anger and yelling from a disagreement often filled the streets but never silence. By contrast, in the distance, I could see the flashing lights of the Downtown Districts where I assumed that police attempted to hold rioters at bay. Sliding into the back seat, I listened as the car doors slammed closed and the vehicle turned and headed deeper into the swarming nest that was now Fairhaven.

  The driver beeped his horn repeatedly at those in our path as the car painfully nuzzling its way through swarms of incensed rioters that pummeled our vehicle with angry fists and hurtful slurs. As this was one of Fairprize Electronics official sedans, it was armor plated so we were relatively safe but nevertheless enduring the demonstration of so much hate was frightening. The crowds seemed to grow more enraged as we threaded our way through the city streets to Fairhaven’s most affluent neighborhood, the Estates.

  Eventually arriving at our intended destination, a police detail escorted us through a pair of ornate steel gates that groaned opened onto the well-manicured lawns of an art deco mansion overlooking the city. Although it had restricted access and the highest possible security, I had seen this place online. It was one of Fairhaven’s most exclusive homes and Counselor Griffen’s personal residence.

  The driveway leading to the house curved along the hillside, gracefully ascending toward the top. A gentle rain continued to fall as I watched a colorful assortment of gardens bordering the lighted driveway slide quietly by the car’s window. As the gates closed behind us in the rear-view mirror, I realized that our safe haven would be our prison until some unlikely resolution of the situation emerged.

  Pulling up to the entrance there was no elaborate walkway only white stones and a red mahogany door with a polished brass handle. Sliding out of the back seat, my mom, Weylin and I walked briskly between the raindrops toward the door. Two security guards posted outside opened the door and we walked through. The inside of the house was old but not what I had expected. The foyer was empty, filled with a few things from a time long forgotten and lacey cobwebs that fluttered from ornate crown molding.

  A distinguished man wearing an expensive business suit descended the staircase and as he approached, he said, “You must be Ivy Rose?”

  My mom nodded at the man, “Yes, where is the control room?”

  “Follow me,” he said and then turning his attention to us, “If you continue down that corridor to the East Wing you’ll find the other families. There is food in the kitchen if you’re hungry and some entertainment to take your mind off what is happening outside.” Then in a more official voice, he added, “If you could make your way there now, that would be great.”

  Leading my mom back up the stairs, I glanced at Weylin who had a dazed look on his face. Putting his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the corridor and looked back at me, “Coming?”

  Walking through multiple passageways each room was more intriguing than the last. With each step, the rooms became more vibrant and relevant blossoming into elegance and royalty. It appeared that we had entered from a little used tradesmen entrance, hastily readied for this emergency. A short way down the corridor, we were directed to the grand hall where Griffen’s invited guests were making the best of a bad situation.

  The room itself was enormous with dozens of leather couches, armchairs and teak tables. As we entered the grand hall, floor to ceiling windows covered most of the left wall ending in a grand archway that led down a wide corridor to the mansion’s main entrance. Directly ahead were various smaller rooms in which food and entertainment were being provided. An ornate staircase curved around the right side of the room and led to additional rooms on the upper floor. Lamps scattered throughout the room complemented the crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling above.

  Spotting the other families, Weylin went ahead ignoring the rich culture that lined the walls of the mansion. He gravitated to a few of his teammates from the academy; I didn’t mind, as I didn’t want to be around him right now anyway.

  Not wanting to socialize with anyone, I left the grand hall and decided to continue exploring. Turning my attention to the surrounding artifacts, I picked up a rusted sword on display, examining the hilt and the faded leather grip.

  Returning it to its display, I almost dropped it when a voice from behind startled me, “Be careful, that’s quite valuable.” Turning around I was unhappily surprised to see Penny standing there looking relatively normal in khaki pants and a light blue sweater. “You’re face says it all right now. You are undoubtedly happy to see me,” Penny remarked.

  Realizing that I appeared shell-shocked, I attempted to return to my normal demeanor but failed miserably and fidgeted awkwardly like a fool. “Why are you here, Penny?”

  “Same reason as you, I was invited by one of the counselors. Don’t worry you can relax. I’m off the clock. You look like a scared cat. Seriously, calm down; it’s making me anxious.” Penny walked around the room studying the display cases.

  Who was this woman that she would be invited to Griffen’s home? There is no way that an ordinary detective would get an invitation to a place like this. Perhaps she was in the intelligence service but what was she up to? In any event, I did not intend to relax around her. She had an aura that couldn’t be trusted. I wondered if this was some new trick, thinking she might catch me off balance. Moving as far away from her as possible, I slid into the next room where an oil painting of a beautiful seascape caught my attention.

  There was something so familiar about it with its jagged rocks and tall grey grass. It was the cave at the Northern Shore! I was already freaked out by the events of this morning and seeing this picture didn’t help. What was the painting doing here? Was it simply an awful coincidence or was something strange going on? In my confusion, I failed to notice that Penny had crept up next to me and was studying the picture herself. I suspected that she recognized the cave as well.

  “Did you know that I was fortunate enough to meet Counselor Griffen a few years ago? He told me that this picture represented the key to understanding Fairhaven and embodied the spirit of the Domain.”

  “What did he mean by that?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. I hadn’t a clue then and haven’t a clue now. All I see in this picture is death. That’s the problem with my job. It seems I only see the worst in things.” She started to leave but then turning back she added, “By the way, we know that you’re not responsible for deleting the missing sixteen seconds.”

  “You do?” I exclaimed. Did you find the murderer?

  “Not yet,” Penny acknowledged.

  “Who altered the tape?”

  Penny hesitated for a moment before replying, “Patrick. He was receiving threats against his family.”

  “Patrick? Threats? From whom?”

  “We’re not sure yet but we will find out,” Penny sighed and walked away towards the others.

  I wondered who could have been pressuring Patrick. He wasn’t anyone important. I felt terrible for him and his family. Who would do such a thing and why would Ophelia’s return have to be kept a secret?

  Staring at the picture, I didn’t understand what Griffen had meant either. How was this the key to Fairhaven? It wasn’t l
ost on me that the High Council had voted to seal the murdered man’s identity and that the murder may have triggered the explosions at Griff Glass and the brutal massacre of the three preter women last evening. Something nefarious was going on and I didn’t understand any of it. I didn’t care about unraveling any grand conspiracies or if the police ever caught the real murderer. I just wanted everything to be the way it was before and to find Ophelia now that I knew she was alive. She was out there somewhere and I had a gut feeling that she was in trouble.

  Hearing footsteps behind me, I braced myself, suspecting that Penny had returned in her never-ending mission to unnerve me. I was surprised therefore to hear Noah’s voice. “I’m glad that you could make it.”

  Checking to make sure that Penny wasn’t lurking in any dark corners, I replied absently, “Hey Noah, it’s nice to see you but we didn’t really have a choice. Mom received some official summons and she insisted that we come as well.”

  Standing there dressed in a white polo shirt and navy blue shorts that showed off muscular, well-tanned legs, “Well, anyway, it’s good to see you. Can I get you a coffee or something to eat? There’s a boatload of food in the kitchen. The food containing synthetic Elsyn is clearly labeled.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry right now,” I responded standing there unconsciously twisting my gold locket.

  “Okay. Anyway, I’m glad that you’re here. I’d love to show you something if you’re not busy.”

  “Sure, I’m not doing anything.” I followed him out of the room and into the butler’s pantry, where we climbed a servant’s staircase leading to the second floor. The house was as impressive as it was huge.

  As we made our way up the stairs, the soft strains of a string quartet seemed to emanate magically from the walls. I had never heard the piece before but I found it quite soothing. “Are we allowed to be up here?” I whispered.

  “Sure, it’s my house. We can go wherever we want.”

  “What about the High Council meeting?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry; they’re meeting in one of the other wings.”

  How many wings were there? We didn’t even have a second floor and Noah had multiple wings. Walking down the corridor, the house felt more like a museum than a home. After passing numerous doorways, Noah finally made a left into one of the bedrooms. The room was spacious, almost as large as our entire apartment. In one corner there was a large bulletin board covered with children’s crayon drawings.

  “What’s this?” I asked, noting how out of place the drawings were in this elegant room. “Are you a budding artist?”

  “No, I’m not that talented. They’re from the kids at the hospital.”

  “Oh, do you work there?”

  “No, no, originally it was my dad’s idea for me to visit the hospital. You know good public relations and all that to connect with the community but after getting to know the kids, I guess I just kept in touch. They’re such great kids.”

  The sleek and expensive furniture, as well as the pale peach walls, were overshadowed by a massive balcony that lined the length of one wall. Sheer ivory curtains had been drawn aside but still caught enough of the ocean breeze to make them billow seductively drawing me out onto a ballroom-sized balcony. The railings and its supports were clear glass so that the view below remained unimpeded. The rain was over. The orange sun had recently risen and the early morning sky retained swirls of pink and purple. Below the angry surf transformed itself into a foamy spray on a sandy beach before retreating into an aqua sea. The scene was perfect as a single white sailboat cut across the horizon making its way back to the boat slips.

  “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, glancing over at Noah who was staring at me.

  “I agree,” he said as he moved closer.

  Stepping back, “How many times have you used that line? I’m sure I’m not the first girl that you’ve ever taken on this tour.”

  “You’re right, you’re not the first girl that stood on this balcony, but you’re the first to appreciate its beauty. The others were just after what my father could give them.”

  “What could you possibly see in me?” I asked.

  “You?” he paused for a second before continuing, “You’re different. I guess it’s because you care about others and yet you live life fearlessly. You know, on your own terms. Besides, your laugh is infectious. I love your laugh.”

  “Who talks like that? Besides none of that is true. You just made that up.”

  “No, honest,” Noah protesting, dramatically places his hand over his heart.

  A gust of wind blew several strands of hair across my face and Noah reaching up, brushed it away, allowing his fingers to linger across my cheek.

  In that moment, I forgot about the fighting in the streets and about my personal problems. Looking into his eyes, I allowed myself to get lost. Suddenly, I didn’t feel alone.

  Pressing his hand against the small of my back, he pulled me closer as he looked into my eyes he kissed me.

  The moment was perfect until I heard someone close by, clearing her throat. Looking over I saw an attractive, statuesque, well-dressed blonde woman, whom I immediately recognized as Noah’s mom standing two feet away. Stepping backward, I felt my face turn bright red.

  “Oh, Noah, I didn’t realize that anyone was up here,” Mrs. Griffen said lightly.

  “I just wanted to show her the view,” Noah explained.

  “I understand but I think it’s best that we all return downstairs before our security force realizes that anyone is up here,” Mrs. Griffen smiled patiently.

  “Sure, mom.”

  “Hi, I’m Violet. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Griffen.”

  “Violet? Oh, Noah has been talking about you for weeks.” Mrs. Griffen stole a quick glance at Noah as she reached over to shake my hand. “We will have to have you over for dinner after all of this trouble has been resolved. I’m sure that it will be settled quickly.”

  As we followed Mrs. Griffen from the room, I hoped that she was right, but I had a gut feeling that she wasn’t.

  CHAPTER TEN

  As the hours passed, the High Council’s continued silence increasingly worried those huddled below, desperately hoping for a peaceful resolution. People were petrified of what was happening in the streets outside and concerned about the meetings going on above their heads, afraid that their leaders would not find a solution. Babies cried, parents paced and old men and women moaned quiet prayers to their gods. All day, their whispered huddles and hushed exchanges echoed off the walls filling the air with anxiety and dread. Only the young blessed with the delusion of invincibility had pursued the games and treats that Griffen and his staff had made available. However, the hour was now late and most of Counselor Griffin’s guests, exhausted by worry had collapsed onto sofas, chairs or makeshift beds and fallen into an uncomfortable and troubled sleep.

  This notion that the government couldn’t use a bit of force to handle a few misguided citizens seemed ridiculous to me. The Council would quash the rebellion and end the violence but ridding Fairhaven of preter and mortal bias that had quietly percolated beneath the surface for decades was a different story. Living with a woman who never had a prejudicial thought in her life and going to the Preter Academy where the instructors emphasized how special we were, I never realized that there were mortals who hated preters enough to destroy us. Our neighborhood, the Wilt, also provided protection, as its residents were more accepting of differences than people in other parts of the city were. Apparently, my life had been well insulated against hatred but thinking back, I should have recognized that some animosity still existed.

  In school, preter kids told jokes about mortals insinuating that they were stupid and one step above the robots they created. I had heard more than one anecdote suggesting that preters were subhuman freaks who used their abilities to abuse others. Was it just human nature to distrust those who were different or did people have some innate desire to feel su
perior to others? I remember reading an article once that considered preter DNA and questioned if preters were even human.

  I couldn’t believe that I had even had that thought. Of course, we were human! No, preters and mortals were not that different. Both had lived another life before they were born into the Domain although mortals generally could not recall the details of that prior life. Both had unique skill sets for although preters had ‘abilities’ that enabled them to tap into specific talents, mortals had ‘aptitudes’ for technology that no preter could ever approach. Okay, it was true that thanks to Elsyn, preters generally lived longer than mortals did but preters were not immortal. Their lives in the Domain could come to a sudden end if they were killed and if they stopped using Elsyn, they would begin to age and their bodies would eventually succumb to the maladies of old age and die, just as mortals did. Overall, there were some genuine differences but preters and mortals were more alike than different.

  The silence from upstairs was audible; downstairs, panic and frustration were winning. The High Council was back in session but it appeared that the three preter and two mortal counselors were far from reaching any kind of agreement. Straining for any sound from above, I felt like a child hidden away while her parents argued in the next room. A single shadow emerged from the wide passage that led from the front of the mansion to the great hall. Overwhelmed by curiosity, I crept towards it, intending to investigate. Placing my hand on the wall of cool the darkened archway, I stared at the figure who had spotted me and begun to approach.

  The passage was poorly lit but I could see that he was thin with a dull complexion and despite his youthful movements, had grey stubble across his chin. Although his demeanor was secretive, the scars on his face told stories of battles fought long ago. His eyes were watchful but his smile —that was a politician’s smile. As he drew closer, I realized how tall he was, towering over me like a giant.

  Extending his hand, he began in a hushed tone, “Good evening, Miss, I wanted to check and make sure that everyone is comfortable.” Looking back over his shoulder, he continued, “It’s a madhouse out there and the gate is starting to overflow with people. No doubt someone tipped off the press that blabbed to the city about what was happening here.” Turning back to face me, “Is everything to your liking? If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask my staff, who are stationed around the house.”

 

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