[Bellamy and the Brute 01.0] Bellamy and the Brute

by Alicia Michaels

  Pointing toward the little basket holding our mail—mostly bills—I raised my eyebrows. “No can do, old man.”

  Nodding, he took a sip of his iced tea. “I won’t argue with you. When your mind is made up about something, you prove just how much like your mother you are.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I quipped.

  Reaching out to cover my hand with his, he became serious. “I meant it as one. She would be so proud of you, stepping up to take care of me even though you shouldn’t have to. It’s not your job, but you help me keep the bookstore running and the house in shape without complaint. You’re a beautiful young woman, inside and out… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  Smiling and choking back tears, I placed my free hand on top of his. “I love you, Dad.”

  He kissed my hand, and then stood and collected our dirty dishes. “You cooked, so I’ll clean up. Go relax and rest up for your interview tomorrow. You’ll need the car, so make sure you get some gas money from my wallet.”

  “Check,” I replied, taking up my book and retreating to my room.

  Once alone inside, I sank onto the bed and kicked off my sneakers before falling back onto the pillows. Curling up beneath one of my favorite blankets, I dove back into the story. Once I had finished the final chapters, the sounds of Dad washing and drying the dishes had ceased. The house was quiet, and I knew he had either gone back to his room to continue his sketching or went to sleep.

  Kneeling beside the bed, I pulled out the large trunk where I stashed my books and put the finished one inside. There were a few I hadn’t started yet, so I grabbed two and climbed back into bed. After selecting one and opening it to the first page, I found my thoughts wandering, making it hard to focus. Once I realized I had read the first paragraph eight times, I gave up and left the bed.

  Creeping back out into the hall, I listened at my dad’s door for a moment.

  Silence.

  No light spilled out from beneath the crack, so it seemed safe to assume he had fallen asleep. Tiptoeing back to my room, I closed the door, and then made quick work of putting my shoes back on. I opened the only window, threw one leg over the sill, and stepped out into the night, careful to close it behind me. My room faced the backyard, but there were no other houses beyond ours… just an open field leading to a walking trail that wound around and through town. After retrieving my bike from the shed, I wheeled it through the gate, and then began the short ride to the cemetery.

  My dad would have a fit if he knew I was out on my bike this late, but I did it often. Night was the only time I could be alone with Mom, and, for some reason, I needed that today.

  Luckily, the path was well lit, iron fixtures illuminating the route past the park and local swimming pool, toward the cemetery where my mother had been buried for almost two years. The wrought-iron gate hung open at the entrance, so I slowed and entered, riding my bike along the paved walkway. I located her headstone with very little effort, near the northwest corner of the yard. The flowers Dad had brought her last week were wilted and slumped in their vase. Making a mental note to bring her fresh ones next week, I lowered myself to the grass, sitting cross-legged in front of the stone.

  I sat there for a long while, simply staring at the words carved into the cement.

  Moriah McGuire. Wife. Daughter. Sister. Mother. 1969-2014.

  After a while, the letters began to blur, and I couldn’t hold the tears in any longer. Lowering my head, I cried in silence, shoulders shaking with the effort it took not to sob out loud. I didn’t want to alert anyone who might be walking nearby to my presence here.

  Swiping at my eyes, I glanced back at the stone.

  “I miss you,” I whispered. “And I don’t know how to do things without you. Dad is… he makes me worry, and I wish you were here. You would know what to do. I’m graduating next year, and I always wanted to go to Spellman like you, but… I’m so afraid to leave him alone.”

  As always, there was no answer. No advice. No comfort. Yet, I still felt better having come here to lay my burdens on her grave. Now that she wasn’t suffering anymore, it didn’t seem so selfish for me to come to her with my problems. Even when she’d been sick, Mom had wanted me to come to her with everything. It was the kind of person she had been—the sort who put others before herself, no matter what. The world seemed a darker place without her.

  After my tears had dried, I lay there in the grass for a long while, feeling closer to her despite knowing her soul had long left the remains buried beneath me. Finally, I peeled myself off the ground and went back to my bike. Just as I threw one leg over the seat, a shiver slid down my spine, despite the fact that it was still hot and humid outside. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I began to feel as if I were being watched.

  A lump rose up in my throat, choking me with terror as I turned around, scanning my surroundings. Spotting nothing but trees and rows upon rows of grave markers, I breathed a sigh of relief. The sigh broke off on a gasp when movement from behind one of the trees caught my eye. The form of a person stood several yards away. It was no more than a shadow, yet for some reason, I knew it was looking at me from beneath a black hood pulled up over its head.

  I stood, one leg on the bike, frozen in that stare for what felt like forever. Finally, the apparition turned away. In the blink of an eye, it disappeared from sight. Realizing I had begun to tremble, I gripped my handlebars and held tight, forcing myself to breathe. I searched for movement to see where the person might have gone, but there was nothing.

  Forcing my limbs into motion, I jumped on my bike and pedaled back home as fast as I could. Maybe this whole seeing ghosts thing was genetic. Would they start following me around like they did my dad? And if that were the case, did that make me insane, or incredibly special?

  The next morning, I spent an entire hour trying to decide what to wear for my interview. How would the Baldwins expect their babysitter to dress? I kept picturing an old, chubby British nanny in a frilly white cap and hoped that wasn’t what they were expecting.

  After trying a couple of dresses, then a pair of khaki pants with a blouse, I told myself I was being ridiculous. If someone posted an ad for a babysitter, they would know to expect a high school or college kid. I opted for a pair of jeans and one of my nicer shirts—avoiding denim with holes or frayed edges and crop tops. I’d wasted too much time choosing an outfit to do anything to my hair, so I simply moisturized my curls and scraped the front back with a headband, letting it hang to my shoulders. Makeup consisted of only light foundation, mascara, and tinted lip gloss. Glancing at the mirror, I decided it would do. Catching sight of the photo of my mother taped to the mirror, I smiled.

  I’d been told I looked like her, which I always took as a compliment because she’d been beautiful in my eyes. Dark skin, large, brown eyes with long lashes, a button nose, and full lips. The shape of her face and the tilt of her smirk always reminded me of the depictions I’d seen of fairies and sprites—joyous and warm, and maybe just a little bit mischievous. Slipping on my glasses—a pair of square, hipster-like frames I wore out of necessity as much as for style—I left my room to find my dad already gone to work.

  I made a quick egg and bacon sandwich to eat in the car, scarfing it down as I took the ten-minute drive to Baldwin House. Once the busy downtown area was behind me, the road became clear all the way up the hill, which didn’t surprise me. Not too many people drove up here unless necessary or leaving town by the highway just beyond the peaks.

  I noticed the mansion was even more imposing up close as I coasted to a stop in front of the black iron gate that shut out the world. A large, ornate letter ‘B’ decorated the entrance, surrounded by vines and leaves painted green. The letter itself stood out in shimmering gold.

  As I rolled down my window, I noticed a little speaker system with keypad. A security camera attached to the fence swiveled in my direction.

  “May I help you?” a man’s voice called through the speake
r.

  “Hi, I’m Bellamy McGuire. I’m here for an interview.”

  A brief silence, and then a buzz sounded before the gate swung inward.

  “Welcome, Ms. McGuire,” the voice said.

  The speaker went silent, and the gate hung open, so I drove in, watching through the rearview mirror as it swayed closed behind me. The drive up to the house seemed long, stretching on and allowing me to take in the imposing sights all around me. The house loomed four stories high, intimidating even in the daytime. The lawn looked as if it had been painstakingly cut with a pair of scissors, not a single blade stretching higher than the others. Hedges and flowering plants edged the perimeter of the house. Adjacent to the oversized mansion, a pool was fenced off, with a covered deck and outdoor kitchen nearby. Tennis and basketball courts sprawled beyond that, and what looked like a guesthouse sat in the distance.

  Finally, I pulled into a circular drive with a fountain at its center, surrounded by more hedges. Coming to a stop in front of a large, stone staircase, which led up to a pair of looming double doors, I killed the engine. I left the car and stood at the foot of the stairs for a moment, gazing up at the house. After a moment of gawking like an idiot, I schooled my face into a passive expression so I wouldn’t look so overwhelmed by the opulence of it all. Then, I proceeded up the stairs.

  Waiting for me at the open double doors was an Asian man seated in a wheelchair. His black hair had been neatly gelled and brushed away from his face, accentuating the tilt of his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones. He had a square chin and full lips, his skin browned as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. He was slender and wiry, dressed in an immaculate suit with matching tie.

  “Bellamy,” he said, giving me a warm smile and extending one hand. “We spoke on the phone yesterday. I’m Ezra.”

  Shaking his hand, I let his smile put me at ease. It wasn’t one of those fake grins people give while sizing you up. He seemed genuinely kind, and his handshake was firm yet gentle.

  “Nice to meet you,” I replied.

  “Follow me, please,” he instructed, using a knob to guide his motorized chair back into the house.

  I followed, taking in the high ceiling of the foyer, the black and white tiles gleaming beneath me, and a massive chandelier. A large window over the front doors cast light onto the glass fixture, sending rainbow prisms across the floor. A big, round table sat in the center of the entrance, holding the largest vase I’d ever seen and a tall arrangement of blown-glass flowers. Pieces of modern art lined the walls. To my left, an open door led the way to what appeared to be an office. It was there that Ezra led me, gesturing toward one of the chairs facing the massive desk.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, rolling behind the desk. “Would you like me to send for something to eat or drink?”

  Having eaten my breakfast with a bottle of water in the car, I declined. Besides, I was too nervous to eat in front of someone.

  “No, thank you,” I said with a shake of my head.

  Folding his hands in front of himself, he stared at me with eyes that seemed far too astute. I felt as if he were figuring out all my secrets just by looking at me.

  “I’ll be interviewing you for the position,” he said. “As Mr. Baldwin’s assistant, I spend most of my time here, seeing to his affairs. I will be the one to decide whether or not to hire you, to pay you weekly if you do get the job, and to apprise you of the rules of the house. Most of the time, you’ll deal with me first and foremost, as the Baldwins are both very busy people.”

  I nodded, not sure if I were disappointed or relieved. I’d never met the Baldwins, but if they were as intimidating as the home they lived in, maybe it was for the best. Ezra was, at least, approachable.

  “Okay,” I replied, for lack of anything else to say.

  Smiling, he showcased two rows of perfect teeth. “Relax, Bellamy. Tell me about yourself. Your name is McGuire, so I assume your family owns the local bookstore?”

  I nodded. “Yes, my parents bought the store years ago, and my dad still runs it. I’m a junior at Wellhollow Springs High, and… well, that’s about it, really. I need a summer job, and this seemed like a good fit.”

  “Good,” he replied. “Have you had any babysitting experience?”

  I shrugged. “Some. Before my aunt moved to Atlanta, she lived across the street from us. I watched her kids pretty often. I’ve never babysat for more than a few hours, but I think I’m more than able to handle an entire workday.”

  “Thank you for your honesty,” Ezra said. “If you are confident in your abilities to handle the job, then so am I. The children are not difficult to manage, so I think you’ll get along well with them.”

  A silence passed between us for a moment, and then he spoke again.

  “So… a junior in high school. You’ll be graduating next year, then. Do you have any plans for after graduation? College, perhaps?”

  “I hope so,” I hedged, not wanting to let on my fears that going off to school might be out of the question.

  “What will you study?” he prodded.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I told him. “English, maybe. Or library science.”

  “A book lover,” he said with another smile. “You’ll like it here, I think. The Baldwins have an impressive library and would have no problem with you making use of it while you’re here.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “While I’m… you mean I’m hired? Just like that?”

  Ezra laughed. “The job is yours if you can be here Monday through Friday from eight in the morning until about five or six pm. There might be a few nights we’d need you to stay later, as the Baldwins often attend business dinners and events that require them to be out late. Of course, you’ll be well compensated for such circumstances.”

  Dad wasn’t going to be happy about those late nights, but I’d convince him to go along with it. This was only for the summer, and we needed the money.

  “I can definitely do that,” I responded. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “If you’d like, I can take you on a tour of the house and introduce you to the children. You can start Monday morning.”

  Coming to my feet, I watched him round the desk once more, his chair gliding out into the foyer again. I trailed him further into the house, following him on a tour to a sprawling great room housing plush, oversized furniture and a massive, flat-screen television. The room opened up into a gourmet kitchen with pristine white cabinets and grey granite countertops. Stainless-steel appliances added to the starkness of the room, which was broken up only by touches of pale blue here and there.

  “This is Hilda,” he said, indicating the tall, slender blonde woman chopping vegetables at the large island. “She’s the cook, who will prepare all the meals for the children. It’ll be her duty to ensure they receive breakfast, lunch, and snacks while you are here, and, of course, you are welcome to help yourself when you’re hungry.”

  Hilda gave me a polite smile, but then went back to her work. We continued our tour to the backyard, where a swing set and trampoline sat, along with a variety of kids’ toys.

  “The kids spend a lot of time outdoors,” Ezra said. “They are both good swimmers, so if they ask to go to the pool, you can allow them… but only if you determine they should. The children are privileged, but they aren’t spoiled. Don’t be afraid to punish them when they misbehave.”

  That came as a relief. I had been concerned for a moment about the prospect of being forced to spend my days with two spoiled brats.

  “The keys to the pool area are in my office, and all you need to do is ask when you want to take them out there,” he continued, guiding me back into the house. He showed me the library, which was almost as large as my entire house. Wall to wall books climbed up so high that ladders would be needed to reach the top, causing my jaw to drop. A fireplace and more overstuffed furniture made the room inviting.

  “I told you it was impressive,” Ezra said, obviously amused by my
reaction.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I whispered, gazing upward at a skylight, which let in plenty of sun.

  I didn’t want to leave the library, but had no choice once Ezra seemed ready to move on. We soon reached a wide staircase leading up to the second floor.

  “If you will continue up the stairs, I’ll meet you on the second floor,” he said.

  I paused for a moment, wondering how he would get to the second floor. But he seemed to be waiting for me to follow his instructions, so I did as he asked without looking back. Just as I reached the landing, a wooden panel slid away from the wall to my left, revealing Ezra inside what appeared to be a service elevator. He joined me on the landing, then continued the tour, showing me a family room with another television, several electronic game systems, and a closet full of board games.

  “The kids will want to spend most of their time here, and inside their playroom, which is here,” he said, indicating the open door just off the family room.

  The sound of laughter and voices drew us inside, where we found the kids. Two canvases resting on child-sized easels had been splattered with paint, and two kids wearing stained smocks turned to face us when we entered. Both set down their paintbrushes and approached with naked curiosity in their eyes.

  “This is Max,” Ezra said, indicating the boy. “He’s eight years old.”

  Max Baldwin was tall for his age and a bit lanky, as if he were stretching up faster than he could fill out. He had dirty-blond hair framing his face down to his chin and big green eyes.

  “And this is Emma,” he continued, referring to the little girl standing beside him. “She’s five.”

  Emma was a little cutie, still holding a bit of chubbiness in her cheeks, with the same green eyes as her brother, and thick, dark brown hair arranged in two neat French braids.

  “Guys, this is Bellamy,” Ezra told them. “She’s just been hired to babysit you over the summer.”