“It’s alright. It stops after a while.” She spoke through tears and shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry.” They both said it at the same time, responding with half-smiles and happy tears as Ren pulled Joe into a crushing hug. Her only response was to hug back.
“Let’s never fight again. Please.” Joe spoke, shame still riding on her words.
“Never. I promise.” Ren held her tighter.
“Don’t –“ Joe tried to protest. “I’m bleeding all over you.”
“Shut your stupid face and hug me.”
EIGHT
True to Joe’s statement, the bleeding stopped before long. What did get out seemed to be everywhere. In her panic to stop the bleeding, Ren had transferred the mess to both sides of her t-shirt, her skin, all over her arms, and under her fingernails. When she thought she had wiped away the whole mess, she would find a spot overlooked. Her moment of terror was all but evaporated in the frustration with getting clean. Joe didn’t seem to have any trouble cleaning up, which only furthered her annoyance.
“It’s like glitter! It’s worse! Glitter doesn’t spread nearly as much – or as far!”
Ren wandered back into Joe’s room, dressed in a new outfit and almost certain that a shower wouldn’t have been such an extreme response as she originally thought.
“So, the defining aspect of my blood being worse than glitter is its viscosity?” Joe made a skeptical frown back at Ren as she finished dressing the wound. She had also changed, but didn’t point out that it was as much to shed the feelings from earlier as it was to rid herself of the soiled fabric. “Perhaps I should have all this pesky blood replaced with glitter, so as not to annoy you so much next time.”
Ren clucked her tongue. “You wouldn’t survive. You’d be hunted by strippers and ravers, like hungry vampires after your precious life-giving glitter.”
The corners of Joe’s frown deepened, her eyes glaring slightly.
“Let’s never talk about that again. It sounds like an awful way to go.”
They had decided that the first order of business was to get out of the house. There was going to be plenty of time to be cooped up later. She wanted Joe away from any reminders for the time being. Not that she was worried about a repeat of the earlier turmoil, but she could see the self-consciousness in Joe’s eyes now. She needed to get Joe out of her head, and she needed the same for herself as well. In the back of her mind, Ren was still thinking about the missing journal. She was certain that the old book would be scratching at the back of her brain until she solved the mystery; she could only hope it would happen quickly – but later. Today, they had decided on a different sort of adventure – and perhaps some consumer therapy.
Ren’s feet bounded down the steps and she stopped in a patch of sun. Her eyes closed as she arched her back, spreading her arms out instinctively. Whether she was blossoming in the light, or planning to float off the earth, she didn’t care. The air smelled of life and the sun poured warmth and happiness into her heart and soul. She breathed deep and held onto it, finally exhaling in a euphoric rush.
Joe tried to prod her along, but Ren grabbed her hand and held it.
“Stop. Smell the roses, Joe.”
“There are no roses.”
“Humor me. It’s something my mother used to say.”
“Your mother used to call you Joe?”
“I’m not speaking to you again until you do this. Right now; with me.” She closed her eyes again and let her senses drift outward. She heard the distant traffic, the birds and the light breeze in the trees around them, faint voices. She could feel life going on around them and she wanted to savor this moment.
This moment that almost wasn’t, she reminded herself.
“You realize that there will be other days like this, right?” She heard Joe speak from the other side of her bliss.
“Mom also used to say, ‘every day is a gift, Florence. Don’t waste it’.”
Somewhere in those words, Joe realized just how right Ren was. How many days had she let slip by unappreciated since her new life started? How often did she take it all for granted so easily? When she woke this morning, the hope and happiness were gone from the world. Now, they had returned and she responded to it with sarcasm. She tried to shake off the negativity and smile as she looked over at this purple-haired sunflower; a small but insistent smile on her face as she stared, eyes closed into the sunshine. She didn’t know if this was the reason that Mariel left her in charge, but this was definitely the reason Joe was going to accept. Ren had things she could teach Joe, if she was willing to listen, to learn. Things Ren might not even be aware she was teaching.
Joe closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the sunshine. She wondered how she couldn’t feel it like this the whole time. She could almost see herself awash in the golden sunlight, warm and content. More instinct than imitation, her arms spread from her sides, and Joe allowed herself to blossom in the sun.
In three and a half blocks the quiet serenity of their peaceful, anonymous neighborhood had erupted into bustling chaos. Everywhere, people hurried; they were meandering in and out of storefronts, examining produce sold from open car trunks and truck beds, finding places to congregate. The air smelled of flowers and cookouts; Ren’s mouth began to water, even though she had only finished lunch a short time ago. They strolled the sidewalk, matching pace with wandering shoppers ahead of them. There were galleries and specialty shops and corner markets, each one embracing a niche of their own.
Joe took Ren by the elbow and led her out of the bright sun, into a small doorway. Her eyes adjusted, spying a long wooden counter topped in glass, jewelry and ornamentals displayed under the protective surface. The wall behind the counter was a display of its own. The ends were faced in large glass door, displaying expensive looking silver and crystal within. Between the large glass cases was a wall of drawers, smaller ones at eye level, and methodically growing in size as they neared the floor. Every bit of wood was meticulously carved and well maintained. The cabinetry reminded her of the old general stores, where you could buy all your supplies in one place.
Or an apothecary. She smiled using the word, and wished she’d said it out loud. She loved to flex her vocabulary; words needed to be remembered too, lest they be forgotten entirely.
The store had since been replaced by a boutique. Joe was gravitating to a series of bright colors and flowy fabrics in the back corner. Ren giggled softly as she heard Joe exclaimed out loud, almost trancelike as she pulled one off the wall.
“Ren, look at it!” She held it up to herself, smoothing it down her body as Ren navigated the obstacles, nodding.
“I said: Look at it.”
“I am.”
“Yes, but not appreciatively.”
“It’s very... unique.”
“That’s not appreciative either.”
Joe was not mistaken in her interpretation. She spun toward the mirror, smoothing it down her again. It was a tunic dress, with a low V-cut on the front and back. There was almost nothing to the dress; it was a series of panels sewn together, yet it had a certain charm to its simplicity. What Ren couldn’t bring herself to appreciate was the pattern stamped upon the fabric: teal, patterned in pink, green and purple. She wanted to believe it was a repeating flower pattern, but looking too closely gave her a slight sensation of vertigo.
“Tunic dresses just aren’t my thing.”
There was a pause while Joe considered her, then rolled her eyes and regarded her reflection again.
“I guess I don’t have to worry about you trying to borrow it then.”
Ren smirked. “You definitely don’t have to worry about that.”
The day rolled along, and each hour gave way to the next, the only real sense of time passing was a growing pang of hunger. Solidly burdened with successful purchases, Ren led them to one of the food trucks at the end of the street, following the scent of barbeque like a bloodhound. She navigated the waning crowd and found herself a place
in queue, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she inhaled deeply. Joe watched her with a mixture of scientific curiosity and amusement.
“You’re a strange person, you know that?”
Ren smiled, continuing to bounce as the line ticked down to her turn.
“There’s nothing wrong with a healthy appreciation for food.”
“Children are less excited about ice cream.”
Her eyes lit up. “We should get ice cream after this!”
“There’s no hope for you.”
“We all have our burdens. Yours is a tunic dress.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my dress.”
Ren smiled, stepping up to the window and doing her best to rid them of as much slow-cooked meat as she could reasonably handle. They found an unoccupied park bench and built a makeshift fortification of their purchases, defending themselves as they shared the meal. The art of conversation had given way to primitive communication in a series of grunts and appreciative moans.
It had become apparent that closing time was carrying on all around them. The sun was still up, but had begun to disappear behind the taller buildings in the old district.
Theirs was the only occupied bench in sight, most cars had disappeared from the street and only a handful of people were still travelling the sidewalks.
The street was so quiet and peaceful as they ate, Ren almost never noticed their audience. After a few appreciative bites, she finally opened her eyes, seeing the woman from across the street. She was hunched over, her fingers a bony claw around the handle of her cane. Her face seemed slack and unresponsive; she could have been sleeping on her feet, for all Ren knew. It was more that she felt the gaze than actually saw it. It was not a pleasant sensation, either. It made her lose her appetite.
“What’s wrong?” Joe looked up, working the words around a bite of pork.
She nodded her head in the direction of the old woman, taking another bite of her sandwich. She would not let Eunice Abernathy ruin her barbeque.
“I don’t like her. She just keeps staring.”
“Maybe she’s having a senior moment and forgot where she parked.”
“Maybe she’s having a Hannibal Lecter moment.”
“Oh come on, she’s like eighty.”
“Aren’t you the one that accused her of witchcraft?”
Joe balked, not certain if she had actually said such a thing, even though it did sound like her. Ren made grabbing claw motions with her greasy fingers, reaching out slowly toward Joe.
“My, aren’t you a little morsel,” Joe tried to bat the hands away, as Ren rasped out a witchy cackle. “Oh, give Jenny Greenteeth a taste.” She smacked her lips loudly, and Joe slapped her hand away.
“Never use that voice again, that’s creepy.”
“Oh and that isn’t?” She gestured with her eyes at the old woman on the opposing sidewalk.
“It’s not like she’s hurting anyone,” Joe turned and gestured to the place where Eunice Abernathy had been standing. “She’s not even there anymore, so you can quit your crying.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“You were a little.”
Ren bent her fingers at ugly angles and hunched as she stood. “Jenny Greenteeth wants a hug.”
Joe stepped around the park bench, trying to keep it between them.
“Get away!”
“Delicious little morsel.”
“Stop it!”
Joe swung around the bench and grabbed her bags, stumbling backward for a moment before turning and trotting to the end of the block. Ren laughed, picking up her bags and tossed the remains of their meal away. She tried to contain her laughter as she walked to the corner Joe waited at. Joe pointed threateningly at her, backing up even more.
“No more Jenny Greenteeth! It’s creepy.”
Ren tried to reply in her witch voice, but she was laughing too hard to continue.
The pair wandered back to the house, their laughter coming without prompting or reason; the telltale sign of an enjoyable if not exhausting day. By the end of the jaunt, both were dragging their heels, heads bobbing as they passed through deepening shadows.
The house was a welcome sight. It meant refuge after their long adventure. Ren had never wanted a long relaxing bath so much in her life. Joe grabbed her wrist and Ren put her other hand on it. They were both going to sleep very well tonight.
Joe squeezed and tugged Ren’s arm, waking Ren from her daze. Joe had stopped altogether. She was eyeing the house suspiciously. Ren looked between the house and her sister once, twice, and on the third time, it clicked. A window in the main room was open. It was slight. No one else would have noticed, but Delaneys agonize over the details.
They stared at the window in the failing light. Was it a burglar? Were they still in the house? Minutes passed in the dark without a sound or movement. Finally, Ren moved.
Joe gasped, almost cried out. She covered Joe's mouth quickly, hoping she caught the sound in time. Ren whispered as she carefully released Joe.
“I’m going to slip in the back. Watch the front.”
Joe nodded. “Wait. What if they come out?”
“Take them out.”
“Kill them?”
“Try to tackle them first.”
She felt Joe nod slowly again and started across the lawn, instinctively travelling on the balls of her feet.
She slipped into the servant entrance without a sound. It was easy when you had keys and oiled hinges. She moved into the common room, moving slowly, each step deliberate and silent. She heard a quiet sound and froze. She waited, trying not to breathe – she heard it again, on the other side of the main door. Whoever it was, they were still keeping themselves busy in the front rooms. She imagined cat burglars putting their grimy hands all over her finely polished silver and felt a flush of anger in her cheeks. The likelihood that they were wearing gloves was not a consolation.
Though she wanted to rush, she continued to stealth her way across the room toward the door. She had no idea what to expect. No one had warned her what to do in the event of a break in. She wondered if they’d ever had to worry about break-ins before.
The house itself was well built and structurally secure. A locked window should have meant a secure window. Not only was the house usually quite secure, but also its contents were a treasure anyone could visit. The collection was highly valued, but not monetarily.
No thief was going to get very far with any of William Delaney’s personal effects, especially once the word got out.
She focused on silent movement as she reached the door. The dead bolt was still turned to the locked position. No one had come this far. That was at least good news. She closed her eyes and tried to will the dead bolt to move quietly, silently. She knew it wouldn’t, so she tried to hope that whoever was on the other side of the door was not actually listening for trouble. She prayed for a burglar with an iPod.
Gently, one hand pushing while the other levered counter resistance, she turned the small lock slowly. It was agonizing. She didn’t even know if the stupid thing was moving at all, then -
THUNK
The dead bolt slipped back into the door, safe and secure in the open position. It was as ominous a sound as the bump in the night she’d heard earlier.
She knew the person on the other side had heard it; there was no doubt. Slowly she turned the handle, ready to be rushed by a mysterious stranger. Little by little the door opened, Ren staying out of harm’s way, not wanting to get hit with the door in the event of a powerful swing. The door opened wider, and no one came at her.
No one kicked in the door. She inhaled deeply and breathed a sigh of relief before bracing herself for the worst as she stepped into the dark of the gallery.
She knew every step of the way, even in the dark, and tried to squint, looking for anything out of place. She moved evenly, face always forward. Her eyes, however, moved like crazy, looking at everything, trying to find that one element that didn’t sit right. She
tried to remain composed as she neared the window that had tipped them off.
She wanted a better look at the window from the inside, but she knew now wasn’t the time. She kept walking, trying to reach the front door. The entire time, she expected to be assaulted, but none came. For her, this was a clue that their culprit was either a novice to crime, or to life itself. Again, she hoped her instincts were right.
A quick turn of her fingers confirmed that the front door was still locked tight. It was definitely the window. Someone had come in, which meant they could still be in here somewhere. With her. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. She was about to try something very dangerous. Every nerve in her body begged her not to, but deeper than that her sense of honor decided she needed to. She looked out into the room, scanning the darkness, studying the silhouettes. She traced along the wall and held her breath as she flicked on the first set of lights, watching the shadows jump and disappear in the lighted areas. In the others, they shifted, becoming brand new shapes.
One by one the switches came on, narrowing her search down to one lonely corner of the room. With each new light in the room, she grew anxious for something to happen, her certainty assuring her that it was about to, and certain where it was coming from as well.
Her fingers closed around the last switch and she paused. If someone was about to come at her, she knew she was not ready. She looked left, and right, her eyes falling on a turn of the century gentleman’s cane. She remembered the card, “Hickory with silver handle, 1882.” She grabbed it in one hand and flicked the switch to the on position.
Nothing happened.
She waited, expecting all hell to break loose, but nothing did. She tried to relax, but that wasn’t going to happen. Ren believed someone was still in here, and she knew now that she had underestimated them. They were at least smart enough to keep their head down. It also meant they were waiting for an opportunity. One Ren wanted to assure would not happen.
She turned cautiously, looking into the meeting room. The room was sparsely decorated, mostly objects hung from the walls, and in the corners. There was nowhere for anyone to hide easily, unless they had crawled up into the fireplace. If they were willing to go that far to avoid discovery, she was curious enough to wait it out and see how they were going to get back out again.
House of Thirteen Page 10