Blood & Butlers

by S. J. Frey

  There is a slight pause, and I instantly feel guilty thinking she might have been pulled over for texting and driving. Or maybe she is in shock like I was. Before I can type, my phone chimed.

  A: Oh, wow! What did it say? Sorry, GPS took me to a U-turn. I’m about four hours out.

  Me: No worries. I can hardly read it. It’s falling apart. I’m on my way to see the lawyer about it. The sooner I get it done, the better. I’ll tell you more when you get into town. Text me when you arrive.

  A: Okay! Make sure you get all the details!

  Me: Okay. Drive safe.

  When Amy didn’t text me back, I shove the phone back into my bag and start up my car. The wagon roars to life, and I slowly back out from my parking spot.

  The rain shifted into nothing more than a light mist as I drive through town. Main Street is always busy with all the different shops and restaurants. Most of the places Mom and I went to are still around while others closed due to the economy. This area doesn’t get many tourists, so jobs are scarce, and the income isn’t there.

  With so little to offer, it was one of the driving reasons why I wanted to make something of myself and give mom a better life. New York City is extensive, with many jobs, shopping, and homes. If I land even a semi-good job with my photography skills, we would be all set. Johnstown looked like a dreary ghost town when I left. I turn onto the main strip, and I can see nothing changed.

  The row homes of small businesses still line the right side of the street, while restaurants and retail shops lined the left side. If I drove a few hundred feet more, I would hit the highway and see the mall. Behind all the shops sat old colonel homes and the old town hall. It is a quiet place and peaceful during the day, but at night everyone came out of the dark holes they were hiding in.

  Mom used to tell me stories of people in the ER with broken faces because of bar fights in town. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a new building that wasn’t there the last time I came to town. It is a night club painted black with lime green trim. A large neon sign flashed “Viper,” and a giant green cartoon snake grinned on the one side of the building. It looks cheesy, but maybe it would be something fun that Amy would like to do later.

  Double-checking the address, I slow down when I got closer. I find the first parking spot I could on the street and carefully parallel parked. For a split second, I am worried my old wagon won’t fit between the Volkswagen bug and Mustang, but I manage to make it work.

  The air feels colder, and I quickly rush down the street. The royal blue sign with gold letters sticks out like a sore thumb, reading “Galloway & Co.”

  In a way, I am nervous to see what was in store. I can’t make out the words on the paper and hope the law office would be able to help. These moldy papers are the first thing I ever received from the man who left everything behind.

  Am I still angry? Yes. Do I want to rip this will up to shreds? Hell yes! Was there a part of me that had a glimmer of hope? Maybe. As much as I hate that man, I have questions. I knew most of them wouldn’t have answers, but anything was better than nothing.

  Walking up to the steps, I look through the large front window to see the waiting area is empty. When I open the door, the warm scent of vanilla hit my face as I opened the door. It is soothing and makes me relax a little as the chime above my head silences when the door shut behind me.

  A woman is sitting behind a window in the wall and look to be typing away. On closer inspection, she is playing solitaire to pass the time. I clear my throat as gently as I could, so I don't startle her.

  “Excuse me?” I timidly ask.

  The woman turns around in her chair. She pushes up her glasses, with chains dangling from the arms of her glasses. She reminds me of a little old librarian. The name tag shines brightly, with Delores engraved into the gold plate. Her gray hair is pulled back into a braid, and her old paisley sweater blinds me with colors of burnt orange and brown. She certainly looks like a Delores.

  “Yes, dear, what can I help you with?” She smiles.

  “I found this envelope addressed to me from my father, and it’s damaged. I was hoping someone could help me?”

  Gently she takes the moldy papers from my hand and looks them over — her face twists in disgust at the quality and maybe from the musty smell.

  “Yes, I see. I will let Mr. Galloway know you are here, and he will be right with you. He is currently on a call,” she says as she writes something down on a yellow sticky note and gets up from her seat.

  I watch her walk away and wonder just what my father left behind. A small part of me hopes it wasn’t going to give me more of a headache. After waiting for a little at the window, I felt silly standing and decided to sit down. The cushions on the white leather couch squeak slightly under my weight. I wonder how many people came to this building. A lot of things changed since I left for school. I only came home for Christmas but never went into the town. If everything keeps changing, I soon won’t recognize this town in ten years.

  “Elizabeth, thank you for stopping by,” a male voice says, catching me off guard. The man grins and extends a hand for me to shake.

  I immediately stand up and extend my hand to reach his. He has a firm grip to which I tried to match, but my fingers ache under pressure. He must have sensed my pain and instantly let go.

  “Sorry, I tend to get carried away,” he grins some more.

  “It’s alright. Really.”

  “Why don’t you follow me to my office? We have a lot to discuss.”

  The man gently places his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the door. The door leads down a hallway with four other entries. The first door on the left is for Delores. I can tell because I can see her peeking through the crack in the doorway as we walk by her. The other two doors are labeled for bathrooms while the last door at the end of the hallway has a shiny black plaque with gold lettering reading “William Galloway.” The closer we walk towards his office, the more nervous I became.

  He opens the door for me, and I am greeted with the soft scent of more vanilla and lavender thanks to the air freshener on the wall. Instantly I start to relax as my eyes wandered around the room. There are books along the windowsill with various awards and degrees on the wall. A long brown couch sits against one wall, and a large oak desk with two wooden chairs are across the room.

  William closes the door behind us and points to one of the wooden chairs.

  “Please have a seat.”

  I nod and gently lower myself into a seat while he sits in the black leather chair on the opposite side of me. I watch as he reaches down to grab something and hear keys jingling before a drawer opening. He grabs a manila folder and places it on the desk between us.

  My eyes wander over the folder and to the moldy stack of papers I brought in. I wonder if Mr. Galloway might have a copy or something. Maybe I can finally get this stressful day over with, so I can get some rest.

  “Elizabeth Evans,” he says softly, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” His eyes meet mine, and I instantly squirm in my seat.

  Talking about my mother’s death is something I try to avoid.

  “It’s fine, thank you. And please call me Lizzy. Elizabeth is too old fashion,” I smile.

  William smiles too and seems to relax now that the awkward moment is over. “Yes, very well, Izzy. Let’s see here.”

  Carefully he pulls a stack of neat, white paper from the folder and starts to go through them.

  “Okay. It says here ‘upon my death, all of my possessions will go to my one and only child, Elizabeth Marie Evans.’ It looks like your father left you his manor on Willowbrook Drive. It seems he did not specify any other possessions.” He states and looks up from the papers to my stunned face.

  Did he say manor? Like, as in a mansion?! What kind of man has an estate in Johnstown, Virginia? I am heavily questioning my father and wonder what my mother was thinking. This man had to be a mob boss or something
because I know for a fact that mansions aren’t something people can afford around here.

  William took a moment to let me recover before I can speak.

  “A manor? Well, that’s very generous from a man who walked out.”

  Now my anger is starting to return, remembering how much I despise him for leaving my mother and me. Then to top everything, he left me a manor, which I could have sold years ago to pay for the treatment my mother needed to get better. Then again, Mom was the one who hid the will, and her sickness wasn’t something either of us predicted. I am pretty sure I’m just trying to find reasons to be angry now, instead of reasoning.

  I take a big breath and count to ten before speaking once more. “Can you sell the thing? I do not want to live in a manor, or in Johnstown for that matter.”

  William looks a little disappointed when he should be kissing my feet. Lawyers love liquidations and making commissions. Instead, he places the stack of paperwork into the folder, along with my moldy paper, and hands it to me.

  “Unfortunately, it’s much more than just a manor. It gave exclusive instructions that you now own the manor and everything inside. It means there are valuables within the premises that you would need to go through,” William says with a smile.

  Why do I feeling like he is enjoying this?

  “Look, I just went through all of this with my mother’s passing, and I honestly don’t have the energy to go through this again. Let alone trying to pack up, sort out, and sell a manor.”

  I'm not lying. I am emotionally and physically exhausted. There is nothing more I want to do than to find a motel, take a hot bath, wait for Amy, and go to bed.

  William nods and sits back in his chair. “I would offer my help, but this is a two-person office. I’m needed 24/7.”

  This whole situation is starting to irritate me more. Maybe I will sleep in the overly sized manor instead of a crappy motel room depending on how dirty and dusty the mansion is, of course. However, no matter what choice I make, there’s a good chance I might get bedbugs. Great.

  “You remind me so much of your father. The way you stare intently at the floor when lost in thought or daydreaming.”

  I feel my cheeks burn a little as I push some of my long hair out of my face. “You knew my father?” I ask.

  William nods, “I grew up with him. It was only natural that he made me draft his will when I became a lawyer.

  Now my curiosity has the best of me. What else did William know about my father? Like, was my old man a drug dealer or something that he could afford a manor in this town?

  “What else can you tell me about him?” I question.

  “Well, let’s see. Your father was a smart man; he graduated top of our class, and he was very successful in D.C. Edmund had a way with words and was one hell of a congressman.” William smiles with pride as he looks out the window.

  I am trying to picture why my mother would be into a man involved in politics. She was a free spirit like me, expressive and caring. Most people in politics looked like they all had wooden sticks up their butts.

  William hands me a picture frame with two smiling men in front of a large building that looked like an old church or school.

  “That was your father and me at Cambridge. He was a dreamer that one. He wanted to make the world a better place.”

  My eyes scan the picture before looking up at William. He looks almost the same except for a little grey in his hair and the 70s suit that was missing. My eyes then wander to my father. He was handsome, with dark hair and soft brown eyes. I could see why Mom fell in love with him. It almost makes me feel sad for not meeting him at least once. Almost.

  “Thank you for showing me,” I nod and hand back the photo. William takes back the picture and places it with the other images.

  This situation is starting to get more awkward as I stood up, wanting to flee. I am trying to hold onto the feeling of not liking my father desperately. Still, I could feel my walls slowly start to dissolve.

  William smiles and hands me the folder with a sticky note attached to it. “Look at the manor and see what you want to do with it. Call me with any questions.”

  I stare at the pale-yellow sticky note with an address and phone number neatly written in cursive. “Thanks, I appreciate all of your help,” I nod as I hold the folder to my chest. Slowly William places a silver key on the desk and slides it towards me. Silently I pick it up and shove it in my pocket.

  “That key should open the front door. If you have any problems, please call me.” William says as if he had no care in the world. I, on the other hand, couldn’t match his smile.

  Without another word, I turn and walk down the hallway and out onto the wet streets. The moment I slam my car door shut, I try to process what just happened. I take a few deep breaths before closing my eyes and lean my head back on the headrest.

  What the hell just happened? The only thing I was expecting out of all of this was maybe a clock or something random that could be left behind. Not a manor! It is taking everything in me not to pinch myself to see if I am dreaming. Now it is up to me to figure out what I wanted to do with it.

  The little sticky note is calling me as I stare at it from the driver’s seat. I pick it up and play with it between my fingers for a moment. I am tired and want to shower. I smell like musty clothes and sweat.

  “2396 Willow Brook Drive,” I sigh.

  With my luck, the manor could be in bad shape and would have to be torn down. I tap the sticky note against the steering wheel in thought. I could always ignore the manor and let it rot, but that would lead to more problems.

  Why not? I do have three hours to kill after all. I turn on the car and start my way down the street. Getting onto the highway, I make a right turn and drive towards 2396 Willow Brook Drive, trying hard not to regret my decision.

  Three

  I'm not sure what I will be expecting. This place could be a complete crap-hole, and I would have to demolish it.

  As I round the bend, it leads to another road. I stare down the row of trees as my path reaches a hidden dirt road up a slight slope. The trees line up the road heading up the side of a mountain, guiding my way to the manor. At least I hope this is taking me to the estate. I am so far away from the town that I start to lose my cell service.

  “Great.” I groan.

  My service completely drops, and I lose internet connection. My anxiety began to spike as I drive further into the unknown, wondering if this is the correct way or not. I knew it is, but I want the safety blanket of my phone by my side to guide my way. Anything can happen. After sitting and stalling, I drive down the single dirt road, letting my mind go numb with uncertainty.

  “This is a bad idea,” I keep whispering to myself the further I drive.

  It was too late now. It isn’t like I could turn around. This road was a one-car road! As I came around another curve, the trees start to part to reveal an opening. The moment I clear the trees, I was in shock. The dirt path leads to a circular driveway with a stone fountain in the middle. The big building that sat behind the fountain made me grow pale. It was at least two floors since the building was two windows high and eight windows long. The stairs leading up to the dark, double oak doors were slate grey that contrasted with the white columns that held the porch balcony above them.

  At the top of the stone stairs were two white angel statues on opposite sides. I swear I’m looking at some Greek museum or even the White House from how tidy it looked. No dirt or vines are growing on the statues or the stone porch. It was almost too clean. Why do I get the sense that someone was still living here?

  Slowly, I stop my car in front of the stairs and kill the engine. This place makes me look like a peasant in comparison. I might need to put a formal gown on before walking in. I begrudgingly get out of my car and stare at the massive building before me. My feet begin to drag towards the stone stairs, and I nearly trip myself. My palms start to sweat as my fight or flight instinct begins to take over.

 
What was I so scared? Oh, maybe I’m intruding on some squatters that live here, and they will murder me and put me in their chili!

  No. I highly doubt that that would happen.

  I grab the brass door knocker and slam it three times. Taking a step back and I wait nervously. There is a clicking noise from the other end, making me jump slightly. So, people are living here! But who?

  The door opens a crack. It's dark inside, and I can’t see who opened it. I decide to be brave and take a step closer.

  “H-Hello?” I call out.

  Nothing.

  “My name is Elizabeth Evans? My father owned this manor and entrusted it to me when he died.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out the crumpled stack of papers from the old will, totally forgetting I left the right copy in the car.