When she finally made it to her feet, she clenched her jaw and shot me a look of pure anger. It was silent, but it was anger nonetheless.
And there was another one of Lea's emotions I could tick off my list. The raging face was new, and it definitely beat the hatred one, or as I like to call it: the 'I'm-a-delicate-princess-and-Lyle-is-a-monster-and-I-hate-him-because-he's-evil' look. Her panicked face is priceless, but the angry one definitely made it into the Top Ten. The Number One spot was obviously reserved for her sorrow-filled look, one I had not seen since the day of her father's funeral.
"Get me out of these ropes," she said firmly.
I liked her anger, but somehow I resented her harsh tone.
"If you say 'Please, Lord Lyle' I might consider," I replied in return.
She remained silent for a while before realising that she couldn't actually do anything, with her hands and ankles bound.
"Please, Lord Lyle," she murmured obediently.
I managed to free a few of her knots, but I had to give myself credit; I'm not half bad at rope tying. It's an essential skill for making traps while hunting game, and what kind of hunter undoes their traps? By the end Lea was able to move her arms and legs freely, but her chest-area looked tightly constrained. Well, she'd have to live with it. I knew Icould.
"There is no feeling on earth that beats being released from tense ropes," she said, massaging her joints. Then she suddenly looked away, blushing, as though she had just realised the meaning of what she said.
"Getting used to it, then?" I asked, unable to resist a smile. A multitude of new games involving rope and Lea sprung to my mind.
"Don't want to...but yeah...I guess...err...anyway...what about the rest?" she said, pointing at the ropes on her stomach.
"We don't have time, let's go in," I lied. I started towards the entrance.
"But...but...people are going to stare..." she followed me.
"Not my problem."
After certain adventures and distractions, we finally made it into the store. It was a place I frequented once a year, because it was only open once a year when every citizen of Sparrowick would crowd it to get their supplies of fake blood and pumpkins. Yes, the 'Castle of the Haunted Night of the Zombie Terrorising Vampires' was truly a one-of-a-kind department store, housing the latest and most realistic gadgets and decorations in the country. And no town celebrates Halloween like Sparrowick. It truly transforms into Transylvania on that magical night. Everyone in town knows about this great warehouse of scary stuff.
"Woah, what is this place?"
Everyone except her.
"Didn't you read the sign? It's the one and only 'Castle of the Haunted Night of the Zombie Terrorising Vampires'" I replied, rolling my eyes.
"Name's a bit much, don't you think?" Lea said, stifling a giggle. I didn't want to admit it, but she was right. There's ridiculousness and then there's...that.
I grabbed a trolley, shoving a £2 coin into its slit. In true Halloween spirit, even the trolleys were decorated with cobwebs, and spiders I tried to convince Lea were fake. She wouldn't believe me, so the chore of lugging things around fell to me. On turns the trolley would emit a wrenching scream, so high-pitched it was almost ultrasonic. I wasn't sure if that was intentional or if they just badly needed oiling.
"The store's emptier than I thought it would be," remarked Lea, looking at the ropes that acted as a shirt.
"That's why we are here so early. We'll be done before the crowd gets here. Here, take this," I said, handing Lea a list.
"Just like grocery shopping!" she said, sounding a little too cheerful for my taste. You have to remember, it was only seven in the morning, "Let's see now...two litres of blood, three pounds of shrivelled ears, sixteen pumpkins, one hundred metres of cobwebs, cool holograms, blah blah...a dress?" Lea asked, startled.
"Yep. A dress. It's for a costume," I replied pithily, adding more and more stuff to the cart.
"Oh..." Lea said, widening her eyes, "OH! I get it! You're going as a drag queen aren't you? Like in the Rocky Horror Picture Show?" she said with an annoyingly 'knowing' glance.
"...Do you even hear what you say?"
"So then...Steven is going as a drag queen! He'd totally win the costume competition!"
"...No."
"Then...your mum is going as a drag queen...?" Lea asked uncertainly. I did not deign her with a response.
"This is actually a pretty cool store. I really wasn't expecting this. I thought it would be more...creepy and run down. I mean, this is you we are talking about after all," Lea continued, while adding a couple of man-eating plants to the cart.
"Boo."
Lea screamed like it was the first time she had ever seen an old man in a waistcoat. For that was what she was looking at, and what had greeted us with a 'Boo'.
"Good morning, Mr Motphan. It's good to see you again," I said politely. Mr Motphan was the respected owner of the store, and many times he helped in choosing items.
"Ah, my most prized customer, Lyle Parker. Or should I be addressing you as 'Lord Sparrowick'?"
"Just because he's missing doesn't mean my father is dead," I smiled to take away some of the harshness of my words.
"Of course, of course...and who might this young lady be?"
"I'm Lea Dupont, Lyle's neighbour. I'm helping him set his house up for the Halloween Fete," she replied, shaking his hand.
"Ah! The poor Dupont family...I've heard so much. Boo. So you've finally decided to celebrate this year?"
"Yes, I think it's high time I tried to enjoy the festivities."
"A brave decision, boo. I heard suffered trauma from the Fete five years ago?"
"I'm feeling better now!" she said cheerfully. I didn't want to show it, but I was immensely curious about this conversation. It probably had something to do with my amnesia as well, and my father running out on the family. According to Lea's mother both Lea and I have memory loss pertaining to the Sparrowick Halloween Fete from 2005, five years ago. And nobody in the town knows why.
"Good girl, boo. Nobody knows what happened at the time, except for you, my dear..." the old man said, and I could tell that Lea was feeling uncomfortable. It occurred to me that I didn't like others making Lea feel awkward. I irrationally felt that I was the only one with that right.
"We-well...I can't really recall what happened, so I guess it shall always be one of Sparrowick's mysteries,"
"Indeed", I replied trying to change the topic of conversation.
"So, when does Miss Dupont become Lady Sparrowick?"
I choked on my own spit from the shock of the question. From the looks of things, Lea did too.
"Never!" we both said at the same time with the same vehemence. I didn't want to look that far down the line just yet. Lea's face turned as red as the fake blood she was holding.
"Ah...boo. I suppose not. After all, many are saying Lillian Desai should be the Lady of Sparrowick," Mr Motphan continued.
"Ew! Are you suggesting Lyle marry his cousin?" Lea burst out.
"I'm not suggesting anything. Certain people seem to think she is the rightful heir to the Sparrowick property, boo."
"Do they now." I replied shortly. Things were making more sense – Lillian's hatred for me, for instance. And suddenly I became more suspicious of why she was heading the organization for the Fete. I had to be on my guard on Monday. This must have been what Mrs Dupont had been intimating that night when she said 'Beware of the Desais!'
"Why is that?" Lea asked stupidly, and I found myself wishing I had brought some duct tape.
"You are my best customers, so I suppose I owe you a story. Let's sit down, boo," he said, leading to an inside room with a sofa and a couple of armchairs. The room gave off what Lea would call a 'distinctively creepy Halloween feel', what with the lack of artificial lighting and candles flickering all over the place.
"You see," the old man begun when we were seated, "It all began with Lillian's great-grandmother, Morgan, who supposedly should have
inherited the property being the eldest child of the family. Alas, she fell prey to an illness we all are susceptible to...love."
"Is love really so bad?" Lea asked naively. Morgan lost her birthright inheritance due to love. I'd say love was a weakness. I didn't even want to think about how it was changing me.
"In itself, no. But the poor maiden Morgan laid her eyes on someone who was not of her station, and in those days status was everything. Today, status is nothing but a post on Facebook."
"Wow, for an old man, you sure are internet-savvy!" Lea responded, and the Mr MotPhan nodded, mentioning something about grandchildren.
"Her parents disowned her, and she gave up her entire life to be with this man. Simply because he could make her smile. Simply because he would do anything to be by her side, no matter the obstacle. Simply because he too loved her with a similar ardour."
"And thus, some claim that Morgan was robbed of what was rightfully hers, for a reason as pure as love itself. Or so the story goes anyway...boo," the old man ended, handing us some pumpkin juice.
We were both silent for a while, me contemplating the situation with Lillian. With my father out of the picture, her family probably had more courage than before to steal what was mine.The Desais would use the 'great-grandmother' story to get their way. The day I died and went to heaven would be the Lillian got her hands on myproperty. And I was going to hell.
I glanced over at Lea, who seemed to have moist eyes after the story, but it was hard to tell by candlelight. Even then, my heart beat faster at the anticipation of beholding her tears. To my disappointment, she managed to compose herself and ask, "Mr Motphan, are you by any chance the man Morgan fell in love with?"
"Boo, of course not!" he replied, irritated, "I'm far too young for that, can't you see, I still have hair," and he pointed at the one weak grey strand that covered his bald head, "It was my father though," he whispered.
"Thank you for the great story and the hospitality, Mr Motphan. We should be leaving though." I got up and Lea followed suit.
"So soon, Mr Parker? But I have yet to show you my new stock of dead bodies, boo! They are fake of course," he hastened to add, looking over at Lea, "But they have an expiration date, past which they tend to stink like a dead pig. It's the ummm...ah...well... the chemicals they use in the manufacture," he added rather unconvincingly.
My duty is to make sure the Halloween Fete is crazily frightening. It is not to question the origins of certain decorative pieces such as dead bodies.
"Urgh, go on then. Two dead bodies. Have your men load them in my car," I said, giving in to temptation. We proceeded to exit the store, hands full of bags.
"So...what did you think of Mr Motphan?" I inquired.
Lea merely shrugged, "Dunno. He didn't even notice the ropes on me. He said 'boo' a lot too. Is he coming as a ghost for the Fete?" she said, clearly avoiding the subject. Perhaps the story had affected her more than she realised.
"No, he's just a bit crazy, in a perpetual state of Halloween. It is his livelihood after all. And he's related to Lillian, can't really trust him anymore," I said, mostly to myself.
As Lea and I made our way back to where we lived, I began thinking of all the disturbing things Mr Motphan had discussed. The way Morgan's lover had wanted to make her smile all those years ago. That was certainly never the case with me. In fact, it was more the opposite – I would do anything to draw Lea's tears out. I began to question my real feelings towards my childhood friend and neighbour. It was definitely not the conventional sort of love. It was possible that I didn't love her at all, and twisted feelings in my heart were something else all together.
I certainly hoped that was the case. Love is a weakness, after all.
Chapter XV: Resolute
* * *
I honestly felt like my brain was about to implode and explode simultaneously. Perhaps it was the pain of the ropes digging into my lungs, but I attributed the cause to Mr Motphan's story about Lillian. Lyle with all his cunningness had asked my opinion on it. I somehow managed to evade giving an answer with my sleek psychological ninja skills.
The truth was the story of Morgan and her True Love had struck a deep chord within me. Mr Motphan's narration got me so emotional my eyes moistened, and I had to remind myself that to cry was to die. The last thing I wanted was to witness jubilation from my enemy Lyle. I could sincerely sympathise with Lillian's plight, with her being the underdog in this whole inheritance battle shenanigan. God knows how long I'vebeen the underdog in my life.
I casually remembered Lillian's forceful burst from a few days ago, when she demanded "Whose side are you on, mine or the twat's?" And that was when I made up my mind. I was going to aid Lillian and annihilate Lyle. I was going to be on the side of justice, and if justice meant dethroning the boy who made me eat slugs as a grade schooler, so be it! Never again would I feel the shackles bind me to Lyle Parker (sometimes literally; I mean, I was tied up at this very moment).
Still, to be on the safe side, I'd keep my plans a secret from him.
On the journey back I found myself wondering if I would ever fall head-over-heels for someone, like the Romeo and Juliet love that Morgan and Mr Motphan's father had had. True, I was only seventeen and perhaps too young to be thinking of such mundane things when there was still so much apple pie to eat and so much gardening to accomplish. Plus I didn't think my mother would be too pleased to know I had a man in my life. I could just see her greeting my future husband with a chainsaw.
And yet, on our silent journey back from the store to our houses, I found myself daydreaming about me, love, marriage, children, school, bouncy castles, retirement homes, coffin designs, and even heaven. It was harder to picture the male counterpart, however, so I thought about it logically:
The chavs in my class – Yeeeh they were all imbeciles. When I was in primary school they'd come to my house and trample all over my painstakingly grown pumpkins. Apparently it was because they thought they were squishing my head.
The nerds in my class – Stereotypically nerds are meant to have good monetary prospects, but I'm sure my class is the exception to the rule. How is anyone going to make cash playing Final Call of Halo Origins or whatever it is they button-mash to.
I started to take things a little closer to home...
Steven? He actually seemed like a rather tempting prospect. Sure, he wasn't inheriting the title of 'Lord Sparrowick' (for reasons unfathomable to me), but he couldplay a sweet tune on the violin, him being a genius that performed with some big-ass orchestra at some big-ass venue. And sometimes my heart would melt just a little when he smiled.
I really wanted to stop at that delightful image, but reveries with you-know-who (no, not Lord Voldemort, his apprentice maybe) began invading my brain without invitation.
We'd get up in the morning after a wonderful night's sleep on Lyle's featherbed, with my head buried somewhere in his right shoulder...
We'd have three children (two of them non-identical twins, the younger a girl) who would learn to appreciate their father to make up for our own losses...
And we'd both grow old in an architectural wonder of a castle, with 'Herein lie Lord and Lady of Sparrowick' engraved on our shared tombstone.
The picture was almost tantalizingly perfect...except for the fact that somewhere along the way I'd probably die in a bout of domestic violence. I mean, this was Lyle we were discussing after all.
I must have been blushing, because as we parked the car in the driveway Lyle said, "Lea, your face is red."
"Eh? Really? Umm...must be because it's so hot outside!" I answered suavely.
"It's nearly November, and global warming hasn't changed the climate that much just yet."
"Oh...oh yeah...must be cos it's really cold outside, you know? My cheeks get red below a temperature of 15 degrees Celsius. They could replace thermometers."
"I'm sure they could. Now, could you place the bags inside the hallway?"
"Do we need to put all this stuff up
?"
"No, leave it. The servants will take care of that."
And just like that I had fulfilled my task of helping out with the Halloween Fete preparations. All I wanted now was pillow and a quilt, and possibly a lullaby. But not 'Rock-a-bye-baby'. That one always gave me nightmares.
Now all I owed Lyle was a shovel, a foot massage, and plenty of mental pain.
"Meanwhile, we should try on our own costumes," said Lyle.
My stomach sunk faster than a rock on planet Jupiter. Why exactly would we want to do that? Not like we were on Broadway. I didn't even have a costume...at which point I remembered the dress that Lyle had bought at the Halloween store. If wasn't for him or Steven or his mother, it was most likely for me. And I did not want to try and fit into a corseted costume that was all the rage under King Edward the 4th. Not this early in the morning anyway. "Please let's take a break," I asked.
"Are you begging me?"
"Ye-yes. It's only eight, nobody is up yet..."
"I think you ought to beg properly seeing as you aremy slave ever since you lost the driving game."
He was never going to let go of that, was he?
"You realise there's a time limit on the whole 'slave' thing, right?" I asked worriedly.
"You didn't mention anything while the contract was being drafted up. So no, there is no time limit," Lyle replied in a tone that was impossible to argue against.
"But you did well today. I suppose you deserve a couple of hours rest."
The words he had just said were like a magical incantation – in my eyes he had suddenly transformed from Hades to Archimedes, or whoever that hot Greek god was. And after some deliberation he said something that was so selfless that I had to become suspicious.
"You may even use my feather bed."
I think I have described before the exact feeling one gets when one lies on that bed of fluffy white clouds. It was soft enough to let your body melt into its warmth, and yet firm enough to ensure good posture. I started thinking If life were always like this being a slave to Lord Lyle wouldn't be so bad after all. Then I recalled the exact force with which he threw my into the trunk of his stupid car, and how I nearly suffocated in the cold back there, covered with ropes that cut straight into my pain receptors. None of this would matter, nor would these confused feelings, when my plan to bring justice to Sparrowick came to fruition.
Nightmare with the Neighbour Page 9