House of Thirteen

by Andy Lockwood

  Ren cradled her cup close, as if the warmth radiating from the tea might warm the cold spot growing in her heart as she listened.

  “She was a mixed up young girl who grew into a mixed up and angry young woman. Her pain turned inward and she began to lash out at herself.” Mariel found a spot on the wall to focus on, the soft glow in the room betraying her composure as the light glinting off waiting tears. “When Josephine hurts, she hurts herself. At the beginning, it was hard to watch. We kept her close and worked with her and slowly, she began to adjust. She accepted us and started to trust us as a family. But her first life…”

  Ren held the tissue box out to Mariel who could barely thank her, the words coming out weak and broken, wet with tears. Ren held it in as best she could. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel every ounce of anguish that Mariel did, but she didn’t want to miss a word. She didn’t want these words to ever have to be repeated again.

  Mariel took another minute to compose herself, breathing deeply, each breath growing steadier upon exhale. Finally, she looked up again.

  “She spiraled for a long time, distracting herself from the misery around her by cutting herself. She was convinced that it made her strong; that the pain was the only thing in her life she could count on. But she could not take it any longer." Mariel paused, her mouth quivering as she tried to finish. "She gave in. She -”

  Ren held out an open palm, she couldn’t trust her words to do their part just now. She felt a small relief when Mariel stopped, the story ended. Ren could only stare, her surroundings a watery blur behind the tears. She couldn’t even imagine the misery and loneliness that Joe must have felt to take such drastic actions. Ren had lost her mother, ostracized herself, and somehow still managed to rise up and return to life in general. She couldn’t fathom the agony required for her to surrender her life. Her heart swelled again and she felt her face flush. Words could not be trusted for the moment; they’d only lead to more tears.

  “It was only twenty years ago. I know that is literally a lifetime ago for you, but for her, it is still very fresh.”

  The weight of the moment hung thick in the air. She wasn’t sure if she should inquire further or just agree. Instead, Ren let the moment linger; they finished their tea in silence. Ren returned her cup to the serving tray and broke the still of the room. She leaned across, putting a hand over Mariel’s.

  “I’ll look after her. She’ll be my top priority.” Mariel put another hand over Ren’s, pressing as she smiled. “But make sure you and Colette come back to us quick. Two girls, alone in a house like this. We’ll probably spend all your spintria on booze and have wild parties every night.”

  Mariel stood, laughing softly and hugged Ren. “Good luck. Spintria are tokens for Roman brothels.” She laughed louder as she felt Ren shudder. “Good night, my dear.”

  **

  By the time Ren and Joe had dragged themselves out of bed, Mariel and Colette were already gone. Ren noticed their absence almost immediately. There was a warmth gone from the rooms. Not physical warmth, but a psychological one.

  A sensation she hadn’t actually been aware of until it was taken away. It didn’t feel like home anymore. But more than the change in the house, there was a change in Joe. She moved and responded with a malaise Ren could not have anticipated. She dragged through the morning as if hung over, but Ren was almost positive that wasn’t the case.

  Separation anxiety, she frowned. Mom and big sis are off on a trip and you got stuck with the babysitter.

  She sat across from Joe, watching her nibble at the edges of a pop tart. She hadn’t lifted her eyes from their due-south orientation since she’d gotten on her feet. She made eye contact with Ren once, when she first opened her eyes. That was an hour ago.

  Ren poured a cup of coffee and smiled.

  “So what should we do with our first day of freedom?”

  Joe shrugged, not looking up.

  “We could go shopping. Get matching tattoos. Adopt a puppy!”

  Again, Joe only shrugged. Ren was disappointed; she was only half kidding about the matching tattoo idea. She dragged her cup with her, half turning from the table where her little black raincloud continued to scratch away at her breakfast with record shattering apathy.

  “If you change your mind, come find me. We’ll have an adventure.” She tried not to sound desperate as she said it, but felt herself suppress a scream as Joe shrugged again. She left the room and moved out to a chair in the common room, throwing a leg up over one arm and finding an awkward looking position that was perfectly comfortable for reading.

  Ren found that while contortionist positions seemed to help her focus on the relaxing art of reading, the sudden apathy in her friend and roommate did the exact opposite. She abandoned the book to the coffee table and moved to the upstairs rooms where she could lose herself in the history contained there and, perhaps, accidentally get some work done in the process.

  She had barely opened the door when she staggered. A memory had been waiting for her to return to this room and now that she had, it jumped at her like an untrained puppy, yipping the same rhythmic sound in her brain over and over.

  The journal! The journal! The journal!

  She moved immediately to the box, opening it to see if anything had been moved or replaced since her last visit. William Delaney’s journal was still missing. This meant that the game was still afoot, or it really had been moved with purpose. She pondered this as she moved to the next container, carrying it to the table and setting it down for examination.

  **

  Downstairs, a little black raincloud continued to mope at the kitchen table. She wasn’t at all interested in eating, but was so lost in thought that her motor skills continued without her insistence. She was tired, but it was a mental exhaustion. The fact that she was up most of the night was not nearly as taxing as the notion that she had spent that conscious time fuming.

  She had woken when Ren attacked her, but not completely. Part of her returned to sleep quickly, but part of her remained awake and alert; poking at her brain and asking the kind of questions that were certain to get it up and moving.

  What time is it? Where is Ren going in the dark? What if monsters eat her?

  Joe sat up. It wasn’t a rational collection of thoughts, but what set of questions from a sleeping brain were? Regardless, she was up and at least conscious, if not yet alert. She waited. Perhaps Ren had just gone to the bathroom – or for a drink. It seemed a logical conclusion, so she lay back down. She did not sleep. Instead, her brain conjured a multitude of other things that Ren could be doing – or suffering – somewhere outside the bedroom. She took a deep breath, trying to regain calm, and waited. The minutes stretched into hours – or did they? Time was such a funny thing. Unless you were actually aware of its passage, you had no idea how long it had been. Even if you were aware, sometimes it could still trick you. Joe got up. She could laugh off her childish paranoia later – in the daylight.

  She crept quietly out of the room, wanting not to wake anyone else. Over the railing to the stairs, she saw the light creeping out of Mariel’s office and the questions started again, full force.

  What is she doing? What is so pressing it can’t wait till morning? What if she’s stealing? Why wouldn’t she wait till Mariel left?

  Joe moved down the stairs and across the common room evenly and quietly. She crept to the door, ready to have at least her more reasonable curiosities answered, but stopped before she got to the door.

  There were two voices and they were discussing her.

  Joe felt her throat tighten and her face flush. Were they worried what she might do without anyone watching her? After all these years, she was still the child? After all she had done to prove herself to her sisters – that she was safe and sane – they still treated her like the baby – even with a fledgling sister right under the same roof! Her jaw set and she glared at – through – the door for a long while, then, turned toward the stairs.

  She would h
ave it out with Ren in the morning, after Mariel and Colette had gone.

  She would voice her frustrations and pull rank if she had to. It was her right as the older sister.

  She moved back up the stairs, disappearing into the dark of Ren’s room just as the door opened downstairs, scattering light everywhere. Quietly, she closed the door and tried to recall her sleeping position as she lay back down. Realizing too late, she should have just gone to her room. But the door was already opening in the dark and Joe instinctively froze. Ren was obviously ready to go back to sleep as she trudged into the room, her hands padding around, seeking out Joe’s position before collapsing. The hands found her, gently tracing until they located her face. Ren leaned forward, kissing her sister on the forehead before collapsing on the other side of the bed.

  To anyone else, this would have been a loving gesture. But in the dark, Joe only glared, the kiss feeling more like a slap in the face.

  She carried this burning resentment with her into the morning, where it festered. She could hear what sounded like confusion in Ren’s voice – as if she didn’t know what she’d done – and pushed it aside. There would be plenty of time to explain it to her, when Joe finally pushed down enough of the anger to form words.

  **

  When Ren finally closed the box, fatigue settled immediately behind her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been pouring over the objects in this treasure trove, but her stomach informed her that too many hours had come and gone since she last sought sustenance. She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose, willing the raw exhaustion from her brain. She had stared too intently at the objects for far too long. A moment passed while Ren worried about causing herself nearsightedness. Could that even happen? She didn’t know, but she certainly didn’t want to spend an eternity with failing eyesight.

  She grabbed the empty coffee cup off the desk and took it with her, stumbling dreamily into the hall. The rays of sunlight that had stretched across the floor were no longer present. Currently, they rested upon the windowsill, which told Ren she had definitely missed lunchtime.

  Strolling into the empty kitchen, she noticed that Joe’s plate was still on the table. Not only that, but her pop tart was still sitting, mostly uneaten, on the plate. She raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it away. Maybe Joe was hung-over after all.

  Ren rummaged through the fridge, grabbing at jars of this and bottles of that. Stuffing them into the crook of one arm, she piled odds and ends on top, intent on making one trip from fridge to counter. Laziness sometimes required an intense amount of will and intent, making her wonder why lazy people considered themselves lazy at all.

  Because if you didn’t have to, you definitely wouldn’t. She nodded in agreement.

  It’s true that, sometimes, Ren could be lazy. Pretending she didn’t hear the phone so she didn’t have to answer it. Being slower to react so she didn’t get stuck on certain chores. Barely making an effort to get out of bed on days off. Ren could be lazy like a champ. But most of the time, she was efficient to a fault.

  She smiled satisfactorily at her haul. Not an ingredient missed. It was going to be a good day for sandwiches. She piled on the meats and cheeses, adding some lettuce and tomato, watching it teeter like a jenga tower while she considered the best tactic for delivering this mammoth of a sandwich to its final resting place.

  She twisted the bread bag closed and turned, spying the orphaned pop tart on the table.

  It was only a momentary pause, but to the casual observer, Ren continued her twirl, turning right back to the counter where she set to work building a second towering delight. For a moment, she considered that Joe might not be as hungry as she was, but decided too much was always better than not enough.

  With a plate in each hand and a soda can stuffed precariously into each pocket, she made her way up the stairs and to Joe’s door, where she announced her presence to the obviously-unimpressed wooden surface.

  “Knock knock.”

  There was no answer. Not even the telltale rustle of sheets or the squeak of bedsprings that usually accompanies someone rising up in reaction. Ren tossed her hair back and forth as she debated. Joe could be sleeping off whatever had been dragging her down earlier, or she could be ignoring the door. This left Ren with the choice of interrupting a potentially necessary nap or coming back later when it was more convenient.

  Ren smiled and banged the side of the plate against the door, listening to it thunk deep and hollow on the other side.

  “Room service! Would ze young miss like her pillows fluffed?” She clamped her lips shut between her teeth, but the words had already come out. She felt a tinge of red spreading across her cheeks. “Um, that sounded a lot worse than I meant it.”

  And still, there was no reaction. Not a laugh or a squeak or anything. If she’d actually left, she’d left no message, which was actually worse than ignoring Ren across the expanse of a bedroom door. This might be moody, but that would be plain rude.

  Her ears perked and her eyes widened, as if letting more light in would improve her ability to see through wood. There had been a squeak, a definite cringe of protest from bedsprings. She pressed her face against the wood, lips tight to the panel before her.

  “I know you’re in there.” Her accusing tone, combined with the complication of speaking against the door turned her words into a low drone the likes of which would have impressed any second rate mummy in history.

  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” She banged the plates against the door for emphasis, making a racket that almost hindered her words. At this point, she didn’t care; she just wanted to be acknowledged. “Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff –“

  The door flew open, clattering against the wall. Startled, Ren’s words caught in her throat and she stumbled back a little. Joe stood glaring on the other side of the threshold. It took a moment, but Ren collected herself and smiled, holding out a plate.

  “I made you a sandwich. I thought you might be hungry.“

  After I saw your breakfast still on the table. She meant to finish, but Joe turned without a twitch of reaction and walked back to the bed where she slumped back onto it.

  Ren stepped into the room, setting the plates on top of the dresser. She looked at Joe, then around the room. It wasn’t her first time in Joe’s room, she’d been here countless times but something was different. The shades were drawn, making the burgundy walls seem much more oppressive. The whole room felt claustrophobic and slightly threatening.

  It was likely she was reading too much into the moment. She could tell something was bothering Joe, and that something was being directed at her.

  “Looks like I’m not the huffy one.” Ren smiled as she turned to the dark shape on the bed, arms crossed and face impassive. “Something you want to talk about?”

  “Don’t even.”

  Anywhere else in the house and she might have missed it. But here, the dark swallowed her need to see. The silence of the room made every sound important, her ears picked up those two small words and every bit of anger that was carried on the quiet breath that spoke them.

  “Did I,” Ren didn’t want to finish the question, she felt very small and selfish all of the sudden. “... do something?”

  “Did you?” She sat bolt upright, her face still a mask but fire burning in her eyes as she glared at Ren. “Why bother asking? You don’t actually care.”

  “What are you –“ Ren took a step back, her hand raising and pressing to her chest. It was an instinctive motion. The words made her heart hurt. Not the physical, beating one, but the one where love resided. She’d always thought of it as symbolic, the heart, until her mother died. She felt it then, as she felt it now, like a stake driven deep into a muscle tied to her life force. It seemed the only time she was aware of her heart was when it hurt like this.

  “How can you say that, Joe? I thought we –“

  “I thought we did too.” Her dark voice choked for a second. “I heard you talking with Mariel last night.
” One swift motion and she was on her feet. She was scorn and fury, and somewhere within, sadness. Even in the minimal light of the room, Ren could see the tears that rimmed the girl’s eyes.

  “Joe, shh,” She took a step closer, trying to recall exactly what they’d discussed over tea, what might have been misrepresented. “Whatever you heard –“

  “She said I was weak! And you said you’d take charge.” She stomped in place, her lip quivering. “I am not weak! I am just as strong as the rest of you!” Trembling fingers dipped into her pocket, withdrawing a pocketknife. The blade glinted like the tears in Joe’s eyes and Ren felt another shot of pain through her symbolic heart.

  “Joe, don’t. You don’t have to prove anything. ”

  “You’re going to keep talking behind my back until I do.” She winced as the blade bit into the flesh. “I am stronger than the pain.”

  The tears were streaming now, from both sets of eyes in the room, both sets focused on the knife and the blood. Ren stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Joe’s, enveloping and pulling the knife away from her wounded flesh. Their eyes met and for a moment, both saw shame reflected in the other’s gaze.

  “I am so sorry.” Ren said through her own quivering lips. “I just wanted to keep you safe. I...”

  The rest of the words she meant to say were lost in a cascade of tears as she looked down at the wounded arm. Ren took the hand and pulled it close, tugging at her shirt to wrap loose fabric around the bloody wound. The gesture was desperate and clearly not thought out, but she didn’t know what else to do. Her brain screamed for her body to act, and so she did. She tried to put pressure on, but only served to smear the blood around, making a bigger mess of Joe’s arm and her shirt. Somewhere in the chaos, the knife thudded to the carpet and Joe’s free hand tried to calm the commotion.