by Peter Fang
Back in Ansen and Maria’s apartment, the pictures on Maria’s coffee table moved ever so slightly. The eyes in the top picture tracked around the room until it fixed on Maria. Then the picture’s lips whispered into the air and entered into Maria’s ears. It was barely a word, but it was enough to trigger a wave of dizziness. She turned to search for the source of the odd sensation and settled on the pile of oddly arranged pictures. Maria felt a curious attraction to the pictures that she didn’t feel before; something in the picture was beaconing her to come closer. She wanted to move but realized she couldn’t move her body, her vision brightened, and she could remember every little detail of her life. The experience shocked her and excited her at the same time. She saw the doll room she saw so often in her dreams. The dreams always stopped when Daddy came in, but this time, she could see him walk into the room, carrying the stench of the burning cigar. Daddy was screaming at someone else. Maria looked across the room and saw another girl yelling back at him. Daddy walked towards Maria, reached in with his large hand, and grabbed her. She heard herself screaming and then felt the cigar burn.
“Maria!” Ansen was shaking her when she woke up. She blinked her eyes and stared back at him, drowsy and disoriented. She felt the ceiling spinning and saw Ansen's contorted face looking back at her with genuine concern. Her arms felt the cold floor and only then she realized that she was lying on her back. No matter how hard she tried, she could not recall what she had been doing for the past hour.
Ansen didn’t stop calling her, “Maria, are you okay? Stay down. You collapsed and hit your head. Better not move. I’m going to call 9-1-1.”
“No, I’m fine. Don’t call anyone.” Maria tried to sit up, but she still felt lightheaded. She pushed herself up halfway, but her arm gave way under her weight.
“Don’t move! You’ll only make it worse. We need to get you checked out; you hit your head pretty hard.” Ansen grabbed her arm and didn’t realize that he had placed his hand over her burn scar.
“Don’t touch me!” Maria screamed and pulled her arm away and slapped Ansen hard across the face. Instantly, she felt guilt wash over her. “I’m so sorry, Ansen. I didn’t mean to––-”
Ansen stumbled back in shock. He slowly stood up, then waved it off dismissively. “My fault, I touched the Heart.”
The Heart: that was what she called it ever since she was a child. The scar somehow still caused pain when a man touched it. She went to doctors many times, and they all said that there was nothing wrong with the scar. Knowing the history of where the scar came from, her doctor and her psychiatrist told her it was all psychosomatic. Now she felt a wave of anger towards Ansen that could not be explained.
Ansen waited for her to say something, but nothing came. He finally walked away quietly and left the apartment.
Joey came stumbling by and licked her face with a strange eagerness. He whimpered as she pushed him away, then licked her face again with unexplainable fervor.
Maria giggled and brushed Joey aside with her arms and then rubbed his cheeks. “Stop it! Enough!” She was annoyed by Joey’s insistence.
Joey stopped at her command and then lowered his head in a submissive posture.
Maria saw Joey’s sad eyes and felt bad about her reaction. She leaned forward and kissed Joey on the head. “Sorry, Joey, I didn’t mean to push you away. You always know how to cheer me up.” She looked back and wanted to apologize to Ansen again, but he was already out the door.
“Great job, Maria, just great!” For a few moments, she felt something inside of her awakening, and then she recalled how the cigar’s burn made contact with her skin and saw the skin on her arm blister in front of her eyes. In her vision, Daddy turned his view and stared at the girl in the other cage. For some reason, she could only remember that girl’s eyes––-those concerned eyes filled with anger and angst. Though she didn’t remember a single word that girl said to her, her eyes said it all––-they told her that one day they would get out of that hell hole. Who was that girl? She couldn’t know if it was a false memory or not. She then realized that she was frozen again. Joey was barking at her, but she could not move her arms. Joey was next to her, barking at the front door. She looked up, thinking that Ansen was coming back, but instead, it was her dad. He walked closer to her with that same menacing look that revealed his lack of feelings. He was getting closer…
Maria woke and found herself lying on the sofa. “What happened?” Her head felt strangely muddled. She couldn’t remember how she got to the sofa. She then remembered she had slapped Ansen, but had it been real? She thought she saw Ansen take off after their argument. That was a dream?
“Did I hit your face?” asked Maria tentatively.
“What? Why would you hit me?” Ansen smirked. “I know sometimes you get mad at me, but you never got physical.”
“How did I get to the sofa? Did I faint?” Maria still couldn’t remember the last five minutes of her life, but the memory of her locked in a cage felt so real. And the girl in the other cage. Who was the girl?
Ansen smiled. “You must be still tired after all our excitement. You just relax. I’m taking Joey out for a jog. The poor boy’s been cooped up for too long. His bladder must be ready to explode.”
Joey was waiting for Ansen at the door, half excited, half anxious. He didn’t go out for the usual night walk last night, so this morning he was worried that they would skip the morning walk as well. Before he stepped out the door, Joey looked back at Maria and saw her sitting at the dinner table, eating a bowl of cereal.
“Come on, boy, who’s afraid of the big bad wolves? Nobody is going to bother you again.” Ansen tugged on Joey's collar and off they went. “Maria, you should take a look at the pictures and the letter again. Perhaps you should write a story about Manfred.”
“Wait, how did the talk with Riker go?” Maria looked concerned. “I was worried that I had to call the police if you and him got into a fist fight. I’m surprised.”
“I know, you are surprised that I didn’t come back with gunshot wounds?” Ansen smiled at Maria wryly.
“What did you guys talk about?” Maria thought whatever it was that Ansen said to Riker would be in vain. Nothing would get through that drug-induced thick skull of Riker’s.
Ansen lay his hand on Joey and gently stroked him. Joey pushed his nose against his hand, egging him on. “I just told him to leave Joey and you alone. He and I have an understanding. He will not be bothering you again.” Ansen winked at Maria and shut the door behind him. His footsteps followed Joey’s stuttering steps down the stairs.
After Joey and Ansen left, the apartment dropped into silence. Maria sat at the dining table, staring out the patio window and watched the spring birds coming and going from their bird feeder. There was a goldfinch dominating the feeder, preventing other birds from getting near the feeder. Maria was annoyed by the bullying behavior, so she turned her head away and saw the pile of photos and letters on the table. She picked up the pictures, going through about ten images, one by one. She had never really looked at the images in detail, so she was very thorough this time. Most of the pictures were Manfred and his family at social gathering events and on holidays. On the back of each photograph was a very lovely handwritten description of who the family members were. The handwriting appeared new, and the calligraphy was almost perfect: The lines were smooth; there were no smudges, skips, or pauses. She felt an immediate connection and sadness of Manfred’s past. One of the pictures caught her eye; it was a young Manfred and his wife. Manfred was wearing a suit and fashioning a short crew cut, while his wife Meredith wore a feathery, decorative hat and a redingote. Behind them was a beautiful black stallion. On the back of the picture, the description said, Meredith and I outside the ballroom, 1923, a year before the sickness. We had a splendid time, beautiful music and all.
1923? How old was Manfred? Maria sifted through the rest of the pictures hoping to find clues. She recalled Manfred’s attachment to the sewing machine and wondere
d how it was related to his wife. Perhaps the machine had belonged to his wife, and staying close to the sewing machine allowed Manfred to feel connected to her, even after her death.
Maria heard a thump on the patio window. She looked up and saw the goldfinch limping, fluttering its wings, trying to take off, but its right wing showed signs of injury. She was wondering why the bird was hell-bent on getting into the house; then she saw the large Maine Coon about ten feet away, staring at Maria with her amber eyes. Its yellow, mottled stripes blended with the garden’s surroundings. It stayed there beneath the rose bush and sat at the ready, but it didn’t make a move on the bird. It seemed to be waiting, waiting for Maria to make the first move. Maria felt the urge to save the finch, but she was terrified of the large cat. Finally, perhaps tired of waiting, the cat walked a few steps towards the finch, then stopped. It sat down and stared at Maria. They locked eyes. The cat’s dark-slit irises drew fear in Maria; she realized nothing good could be behind those eyes.
Maria mustered enough courage to pick up a broom from the kitchen. She slowly walked toward the sliding door and cracked the door open––just a little. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but she was not going to sit around and be passive. The goldfinch fluttered its wings; it attempted to fly as Maria reached for the door handle. As soon as the door opened, the Maine Coon leaped forward, grabbed the goldfinch in her mouth, then darted away.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Maria cried, but it was too late. The large Maine Coon jumped up onto the fence. She turned around and stared at Maria again. The goldfinch’s body was half buried inside its mouth; its legs were still kicking, trying to fight free. The Maine Coon tightened her jaws and the kicking stopped.
“One of these days…” Maria swore.
A week after what happened in the antique shop, someone sent her an email stating it was Manfred’s estate manager, a man named Gregory Johnson. He contacted her because Manfred left something behind for her. Initially, Maria thought it was either a joke or scammer trying to plant a virus on her computer, so she ignored the email, but the man left a voicemail the day after. He left a phone number and a website for her to look him up. The site belonged to a company named Staffer Wealth Management. She did some background checks, and everything checked out fine, so she called Gregory back on the phone.
Someone picked up almost immediately. “Hi, Greg speaking.”
“This is Maria…hi.”
There was a slight pause, “Oh, Maria! I have been looking for you. Can you stop by sometime this week, or your earliest convenience?”
“What is this about? Manfred?”
“Yeah, basically Manfred left one of his estates to you in his final will.”
Maria was dumbfounded. “Will?”
“You met Manfred a week ago, at the antique shop, yes?”
“Ah.” Maria still couldn’t believe it, but she was curious what Greg had to say.
“Oh, yes. It was a terrible turn of events. Manfred suffered from a heart attack recently. The poor gentleman passed way before his prime. It appears that he had left behind a very important sentimental estate and he wished to leave it with you.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right Maria? I was just a shopper, not his relative. And how is this possible? I met him only once, so why would he leave behind an estate for me?”
“Yes, yes, I understand that,” Gregory raised his voice. “But my client was very clear that the shopper was at his place and was looking at the sewing machine. He left me with your phone number, and that’s why I contacted you.”
“Yes, but I don’t remember leaving my phone number––-” Maria then realized Manfred must have sifted through her purse and somehow managed to look her up on the internet.
“Okay, this is good progress, so I do have the right Maria. Manfred actually didn’t have any relatives, and he had instructions for me to donate the items in his shop to different organizations, except one item.”
“Which is?” Maria knew what was coming; there was only one item that she could think of.
“It’s a sewing machine. It had been with his wife’s family some time, and he wanted to leave that with you.”
Maria wasn’t sure if she actually wanted the sewing machine, but she recalled the strange connection to it she felt when she was at the shop. Even if she was curious enough to accept the offer, it would remind her of Manfred, and she wasn’t sure if that would creep Ansen out. “Can I talk to my friend about this first?”
“Okay, no problem, but Manfred gave clear instructions to destroy the asset if you refuse to take it.”
Maria paused and let the silence fill in.
Gregory waited patiently but finally said, “Ma’am, it really is quite a lovely piece, and it would be a shame to destroy it.”
“Why not donate it to a museum? Did he say why he wanted me to take it?”
“He didn’t, but the instructions were very clear. Most of our clients are very uh…eccentric. Wealthy people are typically very particular about things, and it’s my job to serve their needs.”
“Wait, did you say Manfred was wealthy?” Maria could think of many things about Manfred, but wealth was not the word that came to mind.
“Yes, indeed. Where was I? Ah, yes, I saw the item; it is a gorgeous piece of furniture; a rare gem indeed. I have been in the business over forty years, and I have never seen anything like it. It is a custom-made sewing machine of the finest craftsmanship.”
Maria realized something didn’t make sense. “But why, I mean, when did he add me to his will? We only met once at the store that day.”
“Ah, yes, please let me explain.” Greg cleared his throat. “He left me an email last week to instruct me to add your name to the will. I have checked the information we received against the computer record in his shop and verified that he sent it. Normally, for something like this I would insist upon an in-person signing arrangement, but this was already set up last month, so it’s just filling in the blanks on the document, and your name happened to be the one he sent.”
Maria tried to comprehend everything that had happened. She hardly knew Manfred, but she felt a slight tug in her own voice. “Sorry, Greg, this is happening so suddenly…wait, you said he set this up in his will before he died? And he died recently, like last week?” Maria paused to make sure she didn’t reveal she knew Manfred had died—“So he knew who I was before I showed up?”
Greg sensed Maria’s hesitation, but he wanted to close this conversation and move on. “Look, Maria, I don’t know how Manfred knew you, but I’d rather see this piece go to someone he wanted than be auctioned off. He wouldn’t make a move unless there was a good reason to. I think he wanted you to have it because he thought you really appreciated the furniture, and he must have felt a deep connection with you on that fateful day. Sometimes you meet someone, somewhere, like in the coffee shop or at the train station, and you start talking and realized that you have a special connection with that person, like a long-lost friend. Gifting the piece to you was his last wish in life. It would be a shame if you don’t accept.”
Maria felt a little creepy but touched nonetheless. “Let me chat with my boyfriend and get back to you.”
“Okay, not to rush you, but we would like to close the book on this very quickly. Please let me know by tomorrow, if possible. If I’m not around, just leave a message or book an appointment with the front desk. My assistant can help you with the papers you need to sign. Good day.”
Before Maria could reply, the line went dead. All of this happened so quickly; it reminded her of that day when they found Manfred’s body. The image of Manfred’s body re-emerged in her mind, and a spiny, tingly feeling crawled up her back.
After Ansen and Joey came back from the walk, Maria told him about Greg’s phone call and the strange thing regarding Manfred’s ability to know who she was before their visit.
Ansen contemplated for a while and nodded. “Don’t you think it’s odd that Manfred put you down as the benefic
iary of the odd-looking antique? Are you sure you’ve never met Manfred before?”
Maria nodded her head once.
Ansen continued, “Look—I’m sure there is a good explanation for this, but it doesn’t matter at this point. I think Manfred probably knew his health was deteriorating and decided to practically give away all of his belongings. But the sewing machine had special sentimental meaning to him, so he was looking for the right shopper. He learned that we love antiques shopping and somehow you and him hit it off, so he decided to put your name in the will.”
“Why did he later ask everyone to leave? It didn’t make any sense.” Maria rested her hands under her chin, trying to come up with a good explanation.
“Who knows? Perhaps the sewing machine was the only thing left he cared about, and once he found you, he felt a connection with you. If you like it, we should honor his wish. Let’s not overthink this.”
“Yes, I do like it. Perhaps I did feel a connection with Manfred.” Maria finally exhaled and stood up. “Fine, I’m not going to overthink this, and I will submit myself to fate.” She finally smiled.
Maria touched her neck quietly and froze. She asked, “Have you seen my necklace?”
“Which necklace?” Ansen stared back at her blankly.
“Are you serious? You don’t remember the necklace I always wear? My company only gives that out to the top one-percent performers. I got it in front of everyone during the all-staff meeting. I told you, remember?”
“Oh that. You lost it? Why were you wearing it? I didn’t know you like it that much.”
“It’s not I like it that much. I just wore it the last few days because we had customer visits and the VPs were around. I forgot I was even wearing it.”