by Talea Botha
“So, want to jump right to it?” he asked, sounding brighter than either of us felt. “Do you want to eat first?”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“That’s okay, there’s really no food anyway.” Will felt stupid about the joke the moment it left his mouth, I could tell.
I sat down on the couch, and Will followed.
“What are your options?”
“Move away to another country,” he said dully.
“You can’t really run away from this one, Will.”
“I know, but I don’t see how else it’s going to work. These guys are serious, and if I don’t figure something out soon, it’s not going to be pretty.”
“What will they do?”
“Shane got jumped last week. He’s in the hospital with a pipe down his throat. His face is a mess. Don’t know if he’ll walk again.”
“You went to see one of your friends in the hospital?” How little did I know about Will’s life?
“Yeah. Was a bit of a scare, I mean, we see guys getting beat up and stuff, that’s fine, but Shane was one of us, you know? I guess I kind of thought we were off limits when it came to taking people out.”
“Who hurt him?”
“Butch and one of the other guys.”
I felt my blood freeze in my veins. That dangerous-looking kid with the black clothes and chains that ate all our food when I wasn’t looking had put one of his own friends in the hospital. I suddenly feared for Will. Will saw my expression, and terror racked him in waves. I tried to compose myself, Will didn’t need more fear.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “we’re a bit stuck on money so we can’t really go anywhere. That means facing this head on.”
Will nodded, but didn’t look up.
“I don’t suppose you can tell those guys you want out?” It wasn’t really a question; we both knew the answer to that. So I did the only thing I could think of. It had been playing on my mind the whole walk home, and no matter how many times I’d told myself it was a mistake, I couldn’t see any other option.
“Okay, look. If we can find a way to sort this out, you need to fix your life back up. Once this is behind us you better get rid of those friends of yours, and get a job. I’m tired of worrying about you, and carrying the responsibility of pulling us through alone. You hear me?”
Will nodded. I was sure that at this point, he would have done absolutely anything.
“This woman in the old house is leaving tomorrow.”
Will looked up, questions in his eyes.
“I don’t know how long she’s going to be away for, she’s looking for someone and it might take a while. How long do you need the space for?”
“I don’t know, it depends on how quick we can get the stuff sold off.”
I thought for a second.
“I’ll go with her, if I can. She’s been on my case about finding this woman for a while now. You have to keep me updated, okay? And if you get caught, you’re on your own. I’ll keep her away as long as I can, and you better get a move on with getting rid of that stuff.”
Will nodded, “I will, I promise. Thank you, Ian.” Will looked like he was going to cry again.
“You’re not out of trouble yet. Just make sure it gets sorted, okay? And if I find out you touched anything in that house, anything at all, I’ll hand you over to the police myself.”
CHAPTER 5
Serena
I was up at the crack of dawn, and it was weird. The early hours weren’t really my thing, and the chill in the air usually made me want to turn around in bed and sleep a couple of hours longer. But today I couldn’t sleep in. I was on a mission, and the excitement sat in my core. I was nervous too. I’d never been to Phoenix, and I wasn’t great with change. I’d lived in San Diego my whole life, and even though I was used to city living, the prospect of a big city I didn’t know scared me.
I packed a bag, wondering how many days’ clothes I’d need to take. I had no idea how long it would take me to find Elsa. There were two or three that only had numbers, but I would dial those when I arrived. The rest I would look up; I had home addresses. I settled on a four-day average, and packed accordingly. I’d just done with my suitcase, and was filling up my vanity case with make-up and an odd selection of bangles when I heard a taxi pull up. I peeked through the window, and a stiff-looking man in a business suit and coat got out with a duffle bag. It took me a moment of studying his stance to recognize the set of his shoulders, and his apparently naturally stiff neck. Mr. Wright was standing on my pavement.
I opened the front door and walked out onto the porch, shivering in the fresh morning air. He was looking into the distance, his face turned away from me.
“Morning,” I chirped cheerily, “it’s a very strange hour to see you in front of my house.”
He looked a little sheepish when he turned to me, and his glance slid sideways, “I know… It’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you still wanted some company on your quest to find this legendary Miss Ryan.” He looked at me, almost uncertain; if ever that was an emotion he was capable of. He was an odd man, very empty.
I laughed. “You’re a character aren’t you! I’d love the company. I am in fact a little nervous at having to brave the big city all alone. You’re comfortable with these things aren’t you? Looking up strange people?”
“Well, I don’t really look them up, they find me, but yes, I’m comfortable dealing with strangers.”
“Oh good, I hope you don’t mind a long drive. Have you had breakfast?”
He shook his head hesitantly, and took a moment or two to step forward when I beckoned him inside, but he followed me to the kitchen. I set scrambled eggs and toast in front of him, and a cup of strong coffee.
“In case I want you to take half of the driving shift,” I winked at him, trying to get any kind of reaction out of him, or to lift the somber mood he seemed to have brought with him. “You do drive, don’t you? I don’t remember ever seeing you in a car.”
He nodded, and ate. It looked like he hadn’t eaten for days; he wolfed down his breakfast with such dedication. He hardly took the time to speak to me at all. Strange man, this Mr. Wright.
He helped me load the bags shortly after breakfast. It was nice to have some muscle around again. Since Mike had left I’d done everything by myself, and even though I’d managed, I’d forgotten how special it made me feel when someone took the heavy suitcase from me and lifted it into the trunk with much more ease. And I knew that suitcase was heavy, I’d lugged it down the stairs while he was in the bathroom.
We weaved our way out of the city, and finally we hit the open road that would take us over the border to Arizona, and off to Phoenix, which to me, suddenly, was the city of dreams. It was a little strained in the car. Ian stared out of the window, his face turned away from me, seemingly contemplating something very deep, although I was sure it was just nerves. He was so stiff, it looked like he never relaxed. He’d changed into jeans in the bathroom, he’d probably dressed for work in case I’d turned him down for the trip, and still he looked uncomfortable. He texted someone twice. I switched on the radio to break tension with a little bit of someone else’s banter, and we drove a while in silence. Then it looked like he started to relax.
“So,” he spoke now, properly for the first time, “tell me about these letters you found.”
“Oh, I found them in the attic. They were in a box hidden away from the other boxes.”
“I didn’t even know the house had an attic, it wasn’t in the description.”
“I found it by accident. Another one of those concealed panel doors, like the kitchen. I assume it was only used by servants, initially, I think that’s why those doors are so hidden away.”
“I love stuff like that.”
I didn’t know that Ian had the ability to love something like that. It seemed to me that he was such a stickler for rules and organizing that something like the thrill of a hidden door wouldn’t e
xcite him. I imagined he would rather be upset that it wasn’t part of the advertisement, instead of being excited about it. Misrepresentation and all that.
“Me too, it’s so romantic.”
“Romantic? What’s romantic about a hidden door?”
Oh, there it was. No problem with hidden things, just the dreams behind them.
“How can it not be? I found a whole attic full of belongings of people from days long gone. Bits and pieces of history, drenched with their very essence. It’s amazing how people can be preserved in their things long after they’re gone. You can just imagine someone like that old lady Cathy Mr. Howard told us about, for instance, paging through one of the books on literature in the front room while a servant serves her tea on a silver platter.”
“You have a wild imagination.”
“It’s what gets me through every day. I’m an artist. My work would be soulless without it. Anyway, the letters were in this box, along with a shoe box filled with things like pressed flowers, sepia photos, a silver hair brush and hand mirror, things like that.”
“Love letters, no doubt.”
“Oh, the truest love letters you’ve ever heard of. It was this man, Nicolo, deeply in love with a woman named Elsa. The letters start off where they’re separated, and he’s so depressed without her, the way he writes it makes you scared he’s going to die without her.”
“Men will never die without women.”
“That’s ridiculous. If it’s pure, true love, they just might. Have you never found love?”
“I don’t have the time.”
Well, that explained a lot. I should have known, he really was just about work. He looked more uncomfortable now, because he wasn’t wearing his suit, that’s what it was. Men like Ian were married to their job, and it was an unhealthy relationship. It was really very one-sided, he was the only one doing the work, putting in the effort, and the only reward, of course, would be more of the same.
“Well, if you did have the time, and found someone you could desperately love, love so hard that it felt like your air was sucked out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for breath whenever they were away, you would know. You would understand, and you would know what it feels like to die on the inside, because you would have realized that before that you’d never really lived.”
“Can’t die before I live. Painful logic, but emotions are a little more fragile than that.”
“Fragile! You can’t talk with so much authority about something you haven’t experienced.”
“Have you experienced love like that?”
“Well, no. I thought I did, but then it didn’t feel the way it was supposed to feel.”
“Right. So we’re equally uninformed then.”
Insufferable man. Who did he think he was? I was huffing on the inside, my blood suddenly boiling under my skin. Here he was, in my car, shooting my theories down. The impudence! I decided right there to take back every good thought I’d thought about him since the day he helped me find out about Cathy Blake. Turned out he was more the man I met in the house that first day.
“Carry on with the letters. What was the next?” he asked as if he’d said nothing that would ever offend. I wouldn’t tell him more. He would just ruin those moments for me too. I bit my lip, trying to resist. But how could I not share? It was just so beautiful, I couldn’t keep it to myself.
“There were two more about how he felt for her. He compared her to the moon, to the blossoms in spring time, to the melody of a babbling brook. He conjured memories of the way she walked, the way she talked, the lilt in her voice when she laughed at his sarcasm, the sparkle in her eye when she saw something she was passionate about. He described her with such devotion, his words practically brought her to life.”
“Penmanship is a dangerous thing. You can make anything sound perfect, you can make anyone sound perfect. Maybe he was a complete different person in reality.”
“Why do you insist on bursting my bubble every time I get into this? You ask me to tell you about the letters, which I am doing, and you have to go and smear your cynicism over everything!”
He looked taken aback at my small explosion for a second. Then he rubbed his hands on his thighs. As he did, his phoned beeped and he pulled it out and read the message eagerly. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and put it back in his pocket. He was probably still working, a man like him wouldn’t take even one day off.
“You know we’re going to be away for at least four days, right?” I looked pointedly at the pocket his phone had disappeared into.
“That’s fine by me, anyone could use a break now and then.”
The stiff way in which he said it proved the opposite to be true.
“Look,” he said after a moment, “I’m sorry. You’re right, I did ask, and I’m being rude. Please, don’t stop on my account. I really do want to know the rest of it.”
I looked at him, trying to come across hostile, but then decided to continue. I liked talking about it. Honestly, I liked talking.
“Well, the fourth must have been a reply to her telling him she was coming back. It was light, cheerful, joyous. He celebrated the occasion with the perfect combination of words. His heart burst with love for her, and the anticipation of seeing her again, and knowing when, magnified his emotions all the more.”
I paused skeptically, waiting for Ian to remark. It would be so like him to kill it now, and then I wouldn’t say another word on the subject. But he said nothing, just nodded for me to continue.
“There must have been quite some time that had passed, because the next letter is painful. He talks about how they’ve drifted, and he wants to get her back, get their relationship back to where it was because he still feels the same depth of emotion for her, and it sounds like he’s scared she’s lost her feelings for him. I wanted to cry when I read it. The last letter is just heartbreak. She cheated on him, left him for another man, and he let her go, still wishing her well even though she was the person he wanted to grow old with. There was no one else for him. It was so… touching.”
“She cheated on him, he said that?”
“Not in so many words, no, but he kept saying how he wished her happiness with another man, and how he would always love her, even if he wasn’t good enough for her. It sounds really silly when I say it, I’m no writer. He said it with so much more poetry to it. It really was heartfelt. I cried like a baby.”
“It sounds very dramatic. You’re going to look for the woman now? The one who cheated him. Why do you want to meet her?”
“I don’t want to meet her. I despise her. But the letters were addressed to her, in that house. She was the only person I could find. I’ll have to go through her to find him.”
“Ah, we’re after the prince charming. And what will you do if you find him?”
“I… I don’t know, actually. I haven’t really thought that far. But it will be proof, you know, that something like that is real, and that people can have it all to themselves… It’s not just for the princesses that things like that are reserved.”
It was a five hour trip from San Diego to Phoenix and we covered it largely in silence. I was still rather off about how he’d shot everything I loved down, and I didn’t want to talk about anything else with him. The letters were alright, they weren’t my life, but what of the rest of it? He would just char that too. He didn’t really seem one to talk much if he wasn’t provoked or asked direct questions. We stopped about half way for a bathroom break and to grab some snacks. I hated driving when I wasn’t nibbling on something, I needed something to keep my stomach busy. I noticed the worried look when he’d stood a while, making a phone call, and I wondered briefly if he really had been allowed to take a break off work. But it was Friday, really just one day before the weekend. Unless he worked weekends; didn’t real estate agents do that to accommodate clients? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t think who else he could be calling, now that I was pretty sure he didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend. Or did he? But he did say
he didn’t have time for love, which couldn’t mean he was in a relationship. I suddenly got irritated with myself for trying to speculate his relationship status, and forced myself to think about something else instead.
Finally, when my seat bones felt numb and my concentration was shot, the Phoenix skyline started decorating the horizon. It wouldn’t be long now. And it was still early afternoon, we would have time to find a nice hotel at leisure, and drive around a bit, see the city. The idea of travelling to a neighboring city was exciting. I’d only ever been to Europe with my family, and that wasn’t the same thing. It was too foreign to be compared.