Chromeheart

by Alia Hess

  “Of course! Go back into the front hall and take a right. You’ll see it.”

  She pushed up from the table and left the room.

  “I do hope she feels better. I would hate to think that one of my guests was having a bad time.” Corvin pulled a cover from a tray on the table, revealing an assortment of meats, grapes, and cheeses. “You guys didn’t need to wait for me. There’s plenty. Let’s eat.”

  After a bit, Dusty returned, but didn’t look any better than when she left. She ate very little, poking at her leg of lamb as Corvin talked with his mouth full about the garment business, his new line of clothing, and growing up on a farm in Hawthorne with Owl.

  Anya came back into the room, her face red and eyes bloodshot. Some of her brown hair had come loose from her ponytail. She gathered the dirty plates.

  “Anya, we need some coffee refills,” Corvin said.

  “Yes, sir.” She stared at the plates, then left the room.

  Dusty frowned and reached for Sasha’s tablet. Corvin spotted it and pointed. “Yes! Get that baby set up. I can’t wait to talk to Owl and see Trav and their little bundle of joy. Did they have a boy or a girl?”

  “Boy,” Sasha replied. “Looks just like Trav.”

  Corvin’s father grunted and his frown deepened.

  Anya returned with a coffee pot, refilling Sasha’s cup and pouring one for Dusty. Dusty tugged on her apron. “Anya, do you need help with the dishes? I can go with you.”

  Corvin laughed. “How cute! That’s sweet, but completely unnecessary.” He stood and wormed his way between Sasha and Dusty, putting his arms across their shoulders. “Besides, kids, you have got to see my sitting room.”

  Anya disappeared into the kitchen and Sasha and the group followed Corvin down a long hallway. He walked backward, gesturing animatedly, wine glass in hand, as he talked about choosing carpet for the floor of the sitting room. He paused mid-sentence, looking at Dusty.

  “Dear, you really don’t look any better. I hate to say this, but maybe you should lie down. You want to go up to one of the guest rooms?”

  Dusty took Sasha’s hand, squeezing it. “No, I’m fine. There are places to sit in the next room, right?”

  “Oh, are there ever!”

  Lush navy carpet covered the modestly-sized sitting room and a variety of seats occupied the area: a leather recliner, a small sofa, large, overstuffed floor cushions, and several oddly-shaped fuzzy things that may have been bean bags. Many wooden bookcases lined the back wall, peppered between with burnished sconces. A transparent glass panel encompassed one wall, tiny gold wires threading through the curved edges.

  Corvin opened his arms wide and turned in a circle. “What do you think? Huh? Nice, right? I love to come here to read. Sometimes I design clothes in here too, but I usually do that in my studio.” He pointed to the glass panel. “Okay, Sasha. Do your magic. Maybe you can figure out how to show your tablet picture on here.”

  Dusty slunk to one of the fuzzy bean bags and sank in, the seat nearly swallowing her. She folded her arms, brows drawn together. Sasha frowned, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his lap and hold her. She’d been a crying mess after downing all that moonshine in the theater of Fortland, but tonight she’d only had one glass of wine. She looked cranky. Something else was bothering her. Was it Corvin?

  He looked back at the panel. A clear wire hung from the side. Coppery filaments threaded through the creaky, braided casing, and a tiny metal plug protruded from the end. Sasha plugged it in a port on his tablet and fiddled with switches on the panel. Corvin was practically breathing down his neck with excitement.

  Sasha stopped. “Uh, Corvin?”

  “Yes?”

  “You want to help?”

  “Help?” He put up his hands. “Oh, I’d love to but I don’t know the first thing about how to work that.”

  “It’s okay. Just need you to tell me if there is switch on other side of this screen.”

  Corvin leaned over. “Yes, there is.”

  “Can you flip it for me?”

  He hit the switch and Sasha’s tablet home screen washed across the panel.

  Corvin blinked. “You did it! And I helped! Right?”

  Sasha chuckled. “Yeah, you helped. Everything is ready to call Owl now. Only thing is, your screen will show picture, but I don’t think it can see or hear you. You will have to talk into tablet. Maybe take turns and everyone else can look at big screen.”

  “Great. Let’s do it.” Corvin plopped in the leather recliner, looking up at the screen.

  Sasha punched in commands to access the drone, and after a moment, the walls of Owl and Trav’s house appeared both on the glass panel and the tablet.

  “Hello? Are you there?” Sasha pulled the tablet and clear cord into the middle of the room, between Corvin and his parents.

  Owl walked into view, Son of Owl in her arms. She sat, then turned away from the table. “Trav! Sasha’s back!” She peered into the screen, smiling. “Sasha, are you with Corvin?”

  “Yes, he is right here.” Sasha handed the tablet to Corvin. “Look into tablet screen so she can see you.” Corvin stared into the screen, then put a hand over his mouth.

  Owl beamed. “Hi, brother. Are you okay?”

  He dropped his hand, opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Owl’s face pinched and her lip trembled. “It’s so good to hear your voice. You look great. I wish I was with you in person. Where are Mom and Dad?”

  Sasha walked to the bean bags and sat next to Dusty. He beckoned to her, and she climbed into his lap, pressing her face to his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Sasha rubbed her back. “You drink too much wine?”

  “No. But I don’t like it here. We need to talk, but probably not right now. Not with other people in the room.”

  “That don’t sound good. Am I in trouble? Do something wrong?”

  “It’s not about you. It’s about Corvin.”

  “Oh, I wondered. Guy is weirdo, huh? Gets excited about lot of stuff. But he seems real nice.”

  She whispered in his ear. “I don’t think he’s that nice. I mean, there’s blood on his shirt—”

  “Blood? I thought was wine.”

  “Doesn’t look like wine to me. And I’m worried about Anya. But we can talk about this when we’re alone.”

  Sasha frowned. “I think that girl is just upset because she messed up. I think I would be embarass too if I spill wine on somebody.”

  “Man, you are a big fella!” Corvin said to Trav, who sat with his arm around Owl. “Sasha says your punches hurt. Remind me never to make you mad!”

  Trav laughed. “I’m really not that scary. And I shouldn’t have punched Sasha. Besides, that was a long time ago, before we got to know each other better, right, Sasha?”

  Sasha slid out of the bean bag and walked to Corvin, peering over his shoulder at the tablet. “Yes, that’s right, Trav. Long time ago. I am different person now.” He leaned toward Corvin. “Going to use your toilet. I’ll be back in moment.”

  He stepped back over to Dusty. “You going to be okay by yourself for minute while I pee?”

  “Yes. Just don’t take too long.”

  “I won’t, baby. And when we can be alone, you talk to me, okay? Don’t like to see you like this.” He kissed her.

  Corvin said to go back to the entryway and take a… right? Sasha walked through the hall, but couldn’t remember where the dining room was or how to get back to the front of the house. He turned in a circle. There were many halls and even more doors. He wandered through halls, eventually turning down one he thought was right. He faltered, frowning. The floral wallpaper wasn’t familiar, and a taxidermied trashdog head hung on the wall. He would have remembered that.

  Sasha walked closer, grimacing at the long, fleshless muzzle and vacant yellow eyes, its reddish fur matted and mangy.

  I wonder if Corvin killed this thing himself.

  Beyond the trash
dog head sat a very large painting and two criss-crossed, homemade maces—the sort of thing highwaymen brandished on the drone feed. He frowned and stepped closer to the painting. A lone figure stood against the brightly-colored background, but the person was… melting? Decaying? Coming apart at the seams? Strands and tendrils of blood and God-only-knew what else hung like spider silk from severed portions of the body. The person had no eyes, only black, scorched voids, and the face was twisted into a laughing scream. The initials at the bottom of the painting read, “CM.”

  A sour sickness dropped into Sasha’s gut and he stepped back from the wall. It was just a painting. Right? And people sometimes had creepy—really creepy—taste in art. Like those clown dolls his grandma had owned and insisted were “cute.” Nevertheless, Sasha was deeply disturbed.

  Dusty was in the room with that guy.

  He turned, hurrying back down the hallway.

  13 ~ Cheesecake ~

  Sasha got turned around in the halls again, and ran through several before finally entering the sitting room.

  Corvin looked up. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

  “Uh, I got lost. Could not remember how to get to front of house again.”

  Corvin’s mother held the tablet, cooing at Son of Owl. Dusty still sat in the bean bag, arms folded.

  Corvin shrugged. “Yeah, all my guests get lost eventually.”

  Permanently?

  “So you didn’t find the bathroom, right? I’ll show you.” Corvin stood up.

  “That’s okay. I can wait. You need time to talk to your sister.”

  “Nonsense. Mom is hogging the tablet right now anyway. C’mon.” Corvin walked past Sasha and beckoned.

  Sasha looked to Dusty, brows drawn with worry, then followed him out of the room. As they walked through the network of halls, he glanced at Corvin. “I went wrong way down hall with big painting. You paint that, right?”

  “Which one?”

  God, there are more? “Uh… The one by trashdog head.”

  “Ah, yes. There’s something not a lot of people know about me, see? Kind of a secret.” He leaned toward Sasha, face grave.

  Sasha’s eyes widened, heart thudding. Not sure I want to know.

  “I love painting even more than designing clothes! Really helps get out emotions you have inside, you know what I mean? Like if something is bothering you, and you’re not sure what to do about it, paint! You should try it some time.”

  “Uh, so what was bothering you when you paint that picture?”

  Corvin gave him a sidelong glance that sent a shiver down Sasha’s spine. “What do you think it means?”

  “I—I don’t know. You thinking about death maybe? Sometimes that thought bother me too.”

  Corvin smirked. Sasha followed him awkwardly down the hall until they reached the front of the house. He put a hand on Sasha’s shoulder, searching his face. “You’re a cool guy, Sasha. Thanks for being cool.” He grinned. “Anyway, here we are. Just down that hall.”

  He turned, hands in his pockets, and walked away, whistling. “By the way, it’s almost cheesecake time!”

  Sasha stood for a moment, lip curled in disgust at Corvin. He entered the bathroom. The walls were the same color as the stain on Corvin’s shirt. A still life painting hung above the toilet—fruits and flowers tastefully arranged around a rotting pig’s head.

  “Ugh.” Corvin was a surprisingly skilled painter, but his subject matter… What repressed feelings were decaying pork and pussy eyeballs supposed to represent?

  After leaving the bathroom, Sasha jogged down the hall, heading for the kitchen because he wasn’t sure he could remember how to make it back the other way.

  Someone should make a drone map of Corvin’s house.

  He pushed through the door. Anya stood at the kitchen island, wiping down counters. She looked a bit better than earlier, her hair fixed back into her ponytail. She glanced at Sasha, then looked back at the counter.

  He frowned. “You okay?”

  She nodded, mouth wavering.

  “Hey, Corvin bad to you? Maybe you need to work different place?”

  Anya breathed out a short laugh. “Funny. …Dusty is nice. I like her.” She peeked at Sasha. “You seem nice too.”

  “Thanks. But listen, you have problem with that guy, you should get different job. Maybe he pay you good or something, but doesn’t seem worth it.”

  She smiled and chuckled again.

  What’s so funny?

  There was something going on here—something that everyone else seemed to be aware of, but he wasn’t. Sometimes he didn’t catch on to things the way other people did—not because he was slow, but simply because he wasn’t paying attention. Getting distracted by unimportant things was frustrating. Whatever creepy nonsense was going on with Corvin demanded his full attention.

  “Um, I should go back to sitting room now. Be careful, okay?” He left the kitchen, passing through the dining room and reaching the sitting room.

  “There he is!” Corvin exclaimed, holding the tablet. “Owl and Trav wanted to say goodbye to you before they go.”

  “Oh.” He walked to Corvin, taking the tablet. “Dusty, you want to say goodbye too?”

  She nodded, mouth pulled down, and pushed out of the bean bag, then hooked an arm through Sasha’s. Owl and Trav still sat in front of the drone, but Trav looked bored and tired, as did Son of Owl, his chubby face scrunched into a pout. Owl was smiling. She said, “Oh, Dusty! You look so pretty tonight. Sorry we didn’t really get to talk.”

  “That’s okay. But we definitely should. Another time.”

  “You guys look like it’s time for bed,” Sasha remarked. “But I hope you had good chat.”

  Corvin threw his arm over Sasha’s shoulder, startling him. “We sure did! It was great. I’m going to feel so spoiled now when I have to go back to writing letters.”

  After everyone said goodbye, Sasha turned off the tablet and unhooked it from the clear cord.

  “Speaking of bed”—Martha yawned—“I think I’m going to skip the cheesecake tonight and turn in. Jerry too. But don’t eat it all, Corvin. Save me a slice.”

  “A valid concern, Mom. Good night.” Corvin turned to Sasha and Dusty. “Guess it’s just us three. But before dessert, I thought you might like to see your guest room. Get settled in.”

  Staying the night in this house was the last thing Sasha wanted to do, and the look on Dusty’s face told him she felt the same. Despite that, he wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, and he was certain Dusty had the answer. They followed Corvin up a spiral staircase with a brass railing to the second floor. Some kind of stuffed bird hung from the salmon-colored wall, and small track lights ran along the floor. The decor was certainly more pleasant than some of the hallways downstairs. Hopefully their room would look similar, and they wouldn’t be stuck with another of Corvin’s paintings.

  Corvin swung open a door. “Here we are.”

  A large bed with a thick duvet occupied the center of the room, many pillows stacked against the headboard. Glass roses in a clear vase sat atop a slick, black dresser. The ceiling was mirrored. Sasha would have found that sexy had they been anywhere other than Corvin’s house.

  “So, I’m sure you brought your own pajamas, but I just designed some new ones for my line, and if you’d like some, the dresser has a few different sizes. Feel free to take a pair! Why don’t you get settled in, and then come downstairs in about fifteen minutes or so. I’ve got to go take care of something.”

  After Corvin left, Sasha shut the door. Dusty sat on the bed and he sat beside her, putting an arm around her waist. “Okay. We are alone. Please tell me what’s going on. I am already creeped out because I saw couple of Corvin’s paintings. Those things is horrible.” He shuddered. “Did you see one in bathroom?”

  “I never went to the bathroom.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Sasha, Corvin is a Boss.” She scowled.

  Sasha close
d his mouth, stunned. “That’s why… But I don’t see any little kid around here.”

  “Anya. You can own an orphan after fifteen, remember? You just have to pay them a wage.”

  Anya laughing at his suggestion of getting a different job made much more sense now.

  Dusty continued. “Corvin creeped me out from the beginning. He stared at me too long, was overly friendly, and there’s that freaky smile of his.”

  Sasha nodded. “Yeah, I agree with that.”

  “But when we got here, and I saw how Anya flinched when he hugged her, and then when she spilled the wine… I said I needed to use the bathroom, but I talked to Anya instead. Tried to get her to leave with us when we go. Rescue her, you know? But she won’t. She doesn’t want to leave.” She sighed.

  “Well, if she don’t want to leave, Corvin can’t be that bad, right?” He didn’t really believe that, and wasn’t sure why he said it.

  Dusty ran her hand over Sasha’s. “I know you don’t want Corvin to be a Boss—he’s Owl’s brother, after all—but he is. I know he is. And I felt weird coming here anyway. My Boss had a big house up on a hill too. Not as weirdly decorated as this one, but still fancy. He owned restaurants.”

  Sasha squeezed Dusty tighter. “I wish you told me this before. I never would have asked you to come.”

  “It’s okay. I thought it would be okay. I didn’t think Corvin was a Boss at that point… I had a big bedroom like this one, and my Boss always had me wear nice clothes, and do my hair in pigtails. Made me wear this”—she swallowed—“shiny pink lipstick. He didn’t do anything to me. That’s what you’re thinking, right? He never touched me. But I knew he would. Once I got a little older. Like this other girl who lived with us—Marilee. She was eleven. I was seven. I was her replacement.”

  Dusty stared into the duvet, stone-faced. Sasha rubbed her hand like it would take the memory away.

  “I escaped before anything happened to me, but I know that look, y’know? That look that Anya’s always got. Living in fear all the time. I wanted to talk to her again and try to convince her to leave, but couldn’t slip away. I just feel so bad.” She pressed her face into Sasha’s chest. “He’s probably got others too. Maybe not here, but he makes clothes. He probably has factories full of children.”