Chapter Text
Macy Vaughn gazed up at the house. It was taller than she had expected. Wider too. With a long, vine-enriched porch, and mahogany windowsills. The paint on its surface – a deep pinkish red – was chipping away, revealing the dull grey and brown timber beneath. Certainly, this house was too expansive for just one occupant. Macy was sure of that.
She was also aware of a small tightness in her chest. A feeling that often beckoned her to flee when her anxiety was too high. Her car was parked by a sunburnt oak tree to the side of the property, and the engine was still warm. One simple turn of the key and she could be off. Back to the city, and civilization, and that one coffee shop she sat in every morning, a fresh latte and scone in hand…
She swallowed that feeling down deep. It was too late to dwell on that now. The five slightly crooked steps that led up to the patio beckoned for her boots. How could she decline such a tantalizing offer?
The inside of the house was a lot warmer than Macy was anticipating. And a lot cleaner. In the letter Macy had received upon her mother’s death, she had been advised of the house and its four-acre property, and how her mother had paid for it all in cash, emptied out from her retirement fund. This had severely surprised Macy. She hadn’t been aware that her mother had sold their home, the only true home Macy had ever known, let alone moved to the opposite end of the country.
But that was the kind of woman her mother was. Marisol Vera was an enigma, wrapped in mysteries and riddles Macy had spent too long trying to solve, and this place, as magnificent as it was, only added to those mysteries.
Like, how had one mature and delicate woman kept this house in such pristine condition?
It must be magic, Macy heard a voice in her head say, one that sounded suspiciously like her younger sister, Maggie. Taunting. Teasing. She ignored it.
Despite the daunting exterior of the manor, Macy found the interior easy to navigate. Every item had its space, and every room flowed from one to another, like they were arteries surrounding an invisible, beating heart.
In her head, she was already assessing the best plan of action for getting the house all sorted and packed away. Since the first floor was structured in a perfect circle, starting and ending at the foyer, she deemed it the best place to start. Then her trajectory would take her up the stairs and onto the second landing.
With every door on the floor shut, there was no warmth to greet Macy to the dark mezzanines. Just small slivers of light that rose from the ground floor. She shuddered as a cool, corporeal breeze brushed against her cheek. Macy was not one to believe in things she couldn’t see, or touch, or knew with absolute certainty were real and not just figments of a wild imagination or anxiety-induced psychosis. Therefore, ghosts were not real. It was a purely scientific fact, and Macy reminded herself of that as she planted her boots firmly on a rough, burgundy rug. Don’t let her get to you, Macy. You have a job to do.
Leaving her bag by the banister, she assessed every room as she passed them, opening their doors and letting in the bright, autumnal daylight. It instantly evaporated the shadows still lingering in the hall. Each room reflected the one before – items were sealed away in boxes that lined the walls, and everything seemed oddly clean. Macy was sure that if she ran a finger over one of the many cardboard containers, it would appear without the slightest blemish.
The only room on that landing that showed any semblance of a life still led was the library. It occupied the entire east end of the manor, and was sweltered in unusual warmth and amenity. Macy found herself standing at the very centre of the room, basking in the ceiling-high, ebony bookshelves, and the wide mantelpiece. As the main feature of the spacious study, it stood out proudly, adorned with identical lion heads at each end of the mantel. Ash and frail timber lay where the hearth of the fire would be. Macy imagined herself spending an evening in its coral glow, curled up on the soft, shag rug at her feet with a book, or a project.
Suddenly, the task at hand, the one Macy had deemed to be inexhaustible, no longer seemed so harrowing. Perhaps, she could even make it a pleasant experience.
But the comfort of a warm fire would have to wait. The sun had sunk behind the tall wall of trees that hid the manor from view of the nearest highway. With the absence of natural light came the brew of a near-winter chill. If she was fast enough, Macy could collect the rest of her luggage from the car without the assistance of a parka.
Leaving the cosiness of the library, she made her way back to the stairs, a plan slowly forming in her head.
#
“Wow,” Maggie murmured softly, “this was not what I had imagined at all.”
“What had you imagined?” Macy asked, cradling the laptop to her chest. Her sister’s face took up the majority of the screen as she gave her a quick tour of the house.
“I guess I was picturing more of a haunted house vibe, like cobwebs everywhere, potion stains on the ceiling, skeletons in all the closets…”
Macy chuckled gingerly, picturing just what Maggie was describing. She had pictured a similar vision herself when she was first made aware of the manor. It seemed to match her mother’s cadence perfectly, down to the mason jars full of odd concoctions she always left lying around, and the purple drapes she’d bought from an antique store and fashioned into a dress, which she then wore like clockwork every Sunday.
But this place felt empty, deprived of all the things that made Marisol unique, or magical. It left a hollow feeling in Macy’s stomach. She couldn’t picture her mother thriving in this space, waltzing from room to room and leaving a beautiful chaos in her wake.
“At least most of her things are still in boxes,” Macy concluded with the end of the tour. She had chosen to sleep in the furthest bedroom from the staircase, two rooms shy of the library. The queen-sized bed had been fitted with fresh sheets and blankets, and was now, additionally scattered with the remains of Macy’s suitcase. She placed the laptop on the vanity, situated across from the large bedstead as she searched for a change of clothes. “Saves me the trouble of having to reorganize everything.”
“True,” Maggie acknowledged cheerfully. “Must be strange though,” she added, her voice sobering to a low tone, “being in that big house all by yourself.”
“Maggie, I’m fine. I promise.” Macy felt like a broken record stuck on the same two chords, doomed to repeat them over and over – ‘I’m fine.’ Truly, she had only said those words to appease her sisters when they had both elected to join her. As much as she would’ve loved to have seen them, to have spent the month reminiscing and living off margaritas, she knew their lives were simply too hectic to be put on pause.
Maggie was currently at a conference in Milan, staying in a hotel much too classy for her sister’s flighty lifestyle. And as for Mel… well, Macy could point out the correct continent before she could find her actual destination. But whatever their middle sister was up to, she knew she was following her dreams, and Macy would never deprive her of adventure and excitement for a month of misery and mess.
Besides, there were certain things Macy wasn’t ready to confront, even as Maggie gazed at her from the small screen, hardly disguising her reluctance. “You sure about that, Doc?”
Macy sighed, finding her composure before she returned her sister’s stare. “I will be,” she recognized, sounding as honest as she could muster. “I think this will be good for me. Going through mom’s things. I haven’t been this close to her in a really long time.”
“None of us have. We all just up and left her after graduation.” Maggie’s admittance felt like a stab to the heart, but there was no argument to go against her proclamation. “This isn’t a competition on whose guilt is the heaviest, you know.”
“I know, I know.” But if that had been the case, Macy knew she would come out victorious. “Let’s just… forget about that. Tell me about Milan. I know you’ve always wanted to visit.”
With a crook of Maggie’s eyebrow, Macy figured her deflection was being criticized, but if she had noticed anything to comment on, Maggie kept it to herself. Instead, her sister went through her daily itinerary with a contagious interest, drawing Macy into her world of high glamour and long nights.
Macy’s relationship with her sisters had not been as rocky as what had become of her relationship with their mother, and while Melanie wasn’t as easy to reach out to (made by design, since her sister kept up with technology as well as Macy kept up with common gossip) she was glad she still had Maggie to talk to, even with a vast ocean between them. It made her feel better to know at least one of them had found success in the life they’d built for themselves.
Speaking of success, Macy thought. Another aspect of Maggie’s life that she’d been extremely lucky with, was love. Mid-conversation, something had caught Maggie’s eye off-camera, producing the brightest smile Macy had ever seen light up her sister’s face. Then, another face had appeared, sharing in the small screen.
Handsome and sun-kissed, Jordan Chase had arisen straight off the cover of an erotic novel – with deep eyes, and a pearly smile, and a voice so deep and coarse, it could crumble mountains. He greeted Macy with a warm wave as Maggie pulled him closer. There was so much affection in the way he looked at her, a softness grazed in the bristled dimples on his cheeks, in the way he cupped her face with both slender hands and kissed the tip of her nose.
Macy felt like she was intruding on a private moment, and for a split second after, envy rose in the way of embarrassment and adoration. She had never been the jealous type, but a part of her wondered how desire came so easily to some, but not to her.
Shaking her head out of those deepening thoughts, she excused herself, breaking Maggie out of her brief but infectious love spell. “No, wait. Macy, I’m sorry I got distracted.”
“And I’m sorry for distracting her,” Jordan chuckled, that deep baritone settling over Macy’s skin like static electricity.
“It’s fine. I should probably get to bed anyway. You seem to have a big day ahead of you.”
Macy hadn’t been paying attention to the time. Midnight had gradually crept up on her, and the cramps in her calves from the five-hour drive were becoming more prominent from her seated position on the bed.
She bid the two paramours goodnight, or morning as Macy discerned from the streams of sunshine that highlighted the light auburn in Maggie’s curls. But before she left, her sister had leant towards the screen, her voice softened and shy; “Please reach out if you need to Macy. You don’t have to go through all of this alone.”
As the screen went blank, free of Margarita Vera’s signature solicitousness, Macy exhaled. She had no recollection of when she had begun to hold her breath. She just knew it felt good to finally let it all out. Hopefully, all her stress and dismay went along with it, fading away like sparks of dust into the cool night air.
#
Macy awoke with a start, only briefly eclipsed by the room she had emerged to. The crackling, cream ceiling was unfamiliar, as was the light fluttering of the forest muffled by the thick window drapes. Her recollection of the previous day was slowly but surely returning, until at full completion, she could finally remember where she was and why she was there.
The impulse to let sleep drag her back into a dreamless state was compelling as she sunk deeper into the nest of pillows under her head, but she fought it reluctantly, mustering the strength instead to sit up and stretch. Her legs still ached from their previously cramped position beneath the steering wheel, and her stare was marred with faint spots of light that lingered at the edge of her vision.
First things first, a splash of cold water to her face would dissipate some of the exhaustion, long enough for Macy to brew a strong cup of coffee. Luckily, she’d had the sensibility to bring a jar of her favourite brand with her. She had disregarded a forage in the fridge and cupboards upon her first viewing of the kitchen, but she imagined those facilities would be empty of anything nutritious, or salvageable. She mentally added ‘shopping’ to her growing to-do list as she less-than-graciously stood from the bed.
The small bathroom, which was just a neighbour down from Macy’s room, provided combination bath and shower, despite having hardly enough standing space for a family of four. The theme of the room, starting from the tiles on the floor that shifted and climbed halfway up all four adjacent walls, were of a pale, ocean blue. It contrasted well to the rest of the manor, which relied heavily on a set theme of dark mahogany and deep shades of red. The porcelain sink that shone with a warm glow from the golden wall lanterns was polished to a pristine clarity.
Macy cupped both hands beneath the water, letting droplets escape through the creases in her fingers. As the cold water hit her cheeks, it soothed the heat that brewed there. Like the force of a forgotten dream that had managed to remain, though Macy could not recall anything about it.
She sighed, turning off the tap and giving herself a firm appraisal in the mirror. Her hair was in tatters. Her eyes heavy with lingering weariness. And her lips were quivering, as if her reflection had something it wanted to say, but it was too afraid to.
Any words Macy had for herself did not seem worthy enough to speak aloud. If she prided herself on anything, on any ability she excelled at most, it was avoidance. And often, avoiding her own needs and desires came easier when she kept herself busy. With a plan having been set for the day, she knew she was already well ahead of the doubt that crept so slowly behind her. Good, she thought, throwing her reflection a smug sneer. She exited the bathroom, wistful thoughts forgotten and replaced with the image of the luxurious swirls of steam that would waft off her first coffee of the day. She sighed, appeased by the imagery. It was as if she could detect the delicate essence of roasted coffee, tickling her senses…
She froze. The smell of something burning became more palpable as she slowly descended the steps. There was a delicious after brush beneath the notes of ash and charcoal, but it was underwhelmed by the notion that perhaps, something was actually on fire. What the hell?
Macy raced down the stairs and towards the kitchen, stopping dead at the archway that joined the dining area to the gallery. Peering around, small spouts of grey smoke caught her eye. They were coming from the stove. Shit! Skidding across the timber and around the island, her motion was swift and steady. She switched off the burner as a sudden crackle forced her to hop a step back. Above the once ignited stove was a pan of bacon – three strips of burnt-pink flesh, cooked to absolute perfection.
What. The. Fuck!
Macy’s mind raced with a million thoughts, only a few of which were actually discernible. First, she was sure she had double-checked every lock and entryway the previous evening. Second, given the house had been empty for months, well since Marisol’s abrupt departure, there was no way any raw meat still sitting in the fridge would be harmless enough to consume, cooked or otherwise. And third, finally, SOMEONE HAD BROKEN INTO THE HOUSE AND COOKED BREAKFAST!
That last thought, while certainly the most absurd, seemed to be the most viable option Macy could surmise. She didn’t sleepwalk, as far as she knew. Nor would she choose such a fatty option as a midnight or early morning appetizer, even while unconscious. Baffled beyond belief, Macy shook the theories out of her head, opting for a plan of action she could feasibly work through. She needed to check the house, to make sure it was still secure, still safe. The intrigue of an impossible mystery would have to wait.
Downstairs was shut tight, every window and entrance sealed as tightly as it was yesterday. Same was said for the second landing, as Macy’s thighs burned with the sudden and unexpected movement. Running about in a panic wasn’t her preferred fitness regime, but if it burned calories all the same, she wouldn’t be upset to see them go.
Coming up blank with any other ideas, Macy had to admit defeat. For now. She would never say she had ‘given up’. No, her pride would never allow for such disappointing labels. Instead, she would call it a brief recess. She needed more data, more evidence, of which there was none she could visibly observe. Just the remnants of a meal uneaten, and a chill settling over her skin. Add shower to the itinerary, Macy advised herself, turning from the scene of the crime to search the cupboards for a mug.
#
The morning ahead was uneventful. Macy held stern for anymore strange happenings, but all was quiet. Even the sun shone for longer than Macy had anticipated, breaking cover from the large, aluminum clouds that lined the horizon.
She had spent the majority of the forenoon in the first room on her assigned tour – the lounge area. The cloth-covered sofa and paired armchairs were freed from their confinements, as were the recently-emptied ornamental cupboards and a wide chess table, its side drawers still filled with the ivory-carved pieces. Macy ran her fingers along the smooth grooves in the tables surface. Slowly, images of her mother playing a match with herself filled her mind.
It was still an odd feeling, imagining a woman of Marisol’s stature having this place to herself. With its high ceilings, and incredible arches, and with so many rooms for one person to occupy. Macy let those visions bury her fears as she coordinated her time between labelling the previously packaged boxes, and marvelling at the contents within them.
Only then, after her guard was lowered, did something strange occur. Head buried in a box of old magazines, a set of low and dull thuds began to rain down from the ceiling, groaning from within the walls. Macy dropped the issue she’d been holding and looked up. Immediately, she knew what that sound was.
After her first coffee of the day, but before her second, Macy had taken her weary body, and weary head back to the bathroom. The shower, which was situated against the back wall and atop a deep, ceramic bathtub, felt pleasant against her skin, with the perfect amount of pressure spouting from its old showerhead. In turn, the ancient pipes stirred, awoken from their slumber in a cacophony of deep drums and brass. That was the sound Macy was hearing in that moment.
To surmise what had caused the ruckus to reappear was Macy’s next line of inquiry, and unfortunately, that meant a visual inspection was required. Sure, it was more likely there could be a leak upstairs but given the other oddity that had occurred that morning, she couldn’t be sure both events were not related. Eyeing a stand by the entrance to the room, Macy grabbed the first item her hand brushed up against. The long umbrella felt sturdy in her tight grasp.
Steam blew out from the crack beneath the bathroom door. The soft patter of water pelting against the marble tiles drowned out any other sound Macy tried to make out. But just as she leaned in, testing if the lock was in place with a slight nudge of her thumb, something low and almost indistinguishable from the shower and low hum of the vents met her ears. It appeared to be… someone humming?
Yes, the supple and speechless singing was now unmistakable, which meant Macy’s theory about the mysterious Breakfast Bandit could likewise be true. Resolving herself for a confrontation, whilst steadying her grasp on the makeshift weapon in her hands, she took one hand off the wooden stem of the umbrella and placed it firmly on the door’s handle.
Just twist and push, she instructed herself sternly. Twist, and push.
With little effort, the door swung open. Macy had not counted for the strength she would acquire in her preparation, as the door met the adjacent wall with a loud thwack! Macy gasped, arms risen as steam clouded her vision. For a brief moment, she was blind. But so was the intruder. She could use this effect to her advantage. She took a step forward.
Through the soft smog, she could make out a silhouette, engulfed in the steam and still-streaming water and shielded by the enclosed curtain. They must have been startled by her entrance. She watched as an arm extended forward, sliding the faded, floral shroud aside as a voice called out. It was muffled by Macy’s accelerated heartrate, and the voice in her mind telling her to run. She should listen. The intruder was too close now.
“Hello?”
As they mirrored Macy’s actions, she panicked and swung her arms forward, her momentum sharp and swift. The umbrella collided immediately with the body before her, the impact reverberating up her arms and into her shoulders. ‘Ooof!’ they said as they fell back, violently.
Macy didn’t stick around for the inevitable crash. She fled back down the hall as her body screamed for retreat in case whoever, or whatever she had just disturbed tried to claw her back into its clammy cave.
The retreat brought her back to her room. She slammed the door loudly, snapping the lock in place and barricading her back against the chilly timber. Her breathing was harsh, exaggerated by the spark of adrenaline that kept her heartrate climbing and climbing. She needed to calm down. Fast. The hard thuds of her heartbeat were now seated in the base of her throat.
She turned her head so an ear lay against the door. Listening, there were no footsteps or loud yells to indicate the intruder had pursued her. In fact, things were too quiet. The shower had been shut off, and all Macy could make out were the last of the groans from the ancient plumbing. Or…. As those groans faded, more seemed to appear. But these were like a wounded creature pleading for death, almost human-like. She swallowed her guilt, reminding herself that her safety was more important than the wellbeing of whoever was using her mother’s late home as a free vacancy.
After a few minutes of simply listening, Macy resolved to open the door. She couldn’t wait forever for something that might never happen. And besides, her curiosity was slowly growing in the wake of trepidation as the groans of her fallen trespasser continued. Psyching herself up for the next confrontation, she gripped her bedroom door gently and urged herself into a small emergence. There was no need for the element of surprise this time around.
The door creaked loudly in the silence as it fell open, making Macy wince. The sound of it carried down the hall and toward the susceptible and steamy bathroom, as the stranger in turn, went silent. She swallowed her nerves, praying she could make her voice loud enough, precise enough, menacing enough to quelch the fear she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide. “Hey!” she yelled sharply, startling herself. “Whoever you are, you have to the count of five to step out of there and into the hallway.”
It was quiet in the aftermath of Macy’s echoes. She held her breath, preparing to deepen her voice, or to make her instructions more threatening if necessary. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, then-
“Um, that might not be possible.”
She froze, stopping at the edge of the long, crimson rug that led all the way to the hilt of the stairs. “Wh-What do you mean it’s not possible?” Macy asked in disbelief to the man’s odd reply.
“I mean, I am unable to meet your demands.”
She sighed, tapping her socked foot against the edge of the carpet. “Well, what can you manage?”
The man’s short sputter of laughter appeared more dejected than cheery. “Maybe if you hadn’t hit me with your brolly, I wouldn’t be in such a mess.”
Macy scoffed. “Excuse me? Perhaps you wouldn’t be in this mess if you had not broken into my house.”
“What? I- Oh, hang on,” the stranger stammered out, groaning stiffly. Macy presumed they were trying to stand as more grunts came to light, followed by the loud clatter of something metallic hitting the floor. She winced. “Please try not to break anything on your way out.”
The stranger swore, their profanity resounding off the walls. “Okay, okay. I’m up.”
Macy straightened her spine, lifting the umbrella back to shoulder-height. “Good. Now, walk out slowly… and keep your hands where I can see them,” she added as an afterthought.
“Uh,” the stranger hesitated, “I don’t think I can comply with that either.”
As the question lay heavily on the tip of Macy’s tongue, he stepped out of the room, putting the ‘why’ of the matter to rest immediately. He was hailed by a glow of stark whiteness, as the light from the bathroom reflected off his pale skin. In fact, there was a lot of skin for the light to cast off. Too much skin. Macy swallowed down any threats she had prepared as her eyes cantered from the man’s face, down his waist and all the way to his feet. Water cascading down from his plump thighs pooled on the rug beneath him. “I apologise,” the man shrugged shyly, “but as you can see, I am unable to show you my hands.”
Macy caught the slightest nudge of the man’s fists, both of which were clenched tightly to what once was the shower curtain, which was now wrapped around his hips. She cleared her throat, but that didn’t help the dryness of her reply as she said in true disbelief; “Why the fuck are you naked?”
The man’s resounding smile was a perfect curvature. Mathematicians would marvel at that, Macy thought absently. “I think that answer’s pretty obvious, love.”
“No, it isn’t,” Macy shook her head. “No, it doesn’t even begin to explain why you’re here, or how you’re here, or why… you’re naked.”
“Well, I could ask you the same thing,” he added pointedly as Macy went silent, her eyes still flickering between the man’s less-than-cadent attitude and his barely covered crotch. “What are you doing here?”
“I- I live here now,” she explained. “Well, for now. It’s temporary. It’s more like I’m vacating it until I get it cleared out and ready for sale,” she then explained poorly.
“For sale?” The man asked hesitantly, his brow creasing in concern.
“Yes. So, if you wouldn’t mind.” Her hand fanned out, pointing towards the stairs as the man’s eyes darted towards them, then back again, sheer panic marring his strong jaw.
“Oh, no. No. Sorry, that is not possible.”
“It is not a matter of possibility, love,” Macy mocked dryly, “it is a matter of simply doing.”
“No, no, it’s….. it is… dammit,” he cried gently, hands still secured to the vinyl material as a part of it slipped below his hips, revealing more skin.
“Whoa!” In a manner of seconds, Macy had thrust the umbrella out, opening the canopy and shielding her eyes from the man’s very naked crotch. She caught the soft smack as his makeshift skirt hit the floor. “You good?” she asked, eyes fixed to the ceiling.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he replied. She could hear the annoyance in his voice, which then had her imagining his closed eyes, his blushing cheeks… She shook her head before it could envision anything below his shoulders. “Okay. Well, I’ll let you change. You can meet me in the kitchen when you’re less… well-“
“Naked?”
Macy snickered through her lips. “Yeah, that.”
“Sounds good.”
The soft slamming of the bathroom door extinguished the bright light from the hallway. Macy dropped the umbrella and sighed, resting a hand over her clammy forehead. The only evidence that she had not just hallucinated that entire scenario was the floral shower curtain, bundled in a heap on the soggy rug.
This is gonna be a long day, she remarked miserably.
#
Macy poured the freshly brewed water into two mugs, both filled with three, hefty spoonfuls of instant coffee. She didn’t know how the stranger liked his concoction – was he the kind of man with an overbearing sweet tooth? Or would he prefer a bitter aftertaste?
As Macy contemplated that very curiosity, she failed to notice the shadow that slid slowly across the kitchen floor. “I take mine black,” he said, intruding on Macy’s internal debate and startling her in the process. “With two sugars, if you will.”
Macy complied with his request, despite her mind still questioning the efficacies of making a total stranger a warm beverage - the very stranger who had (supposedly) broken into the manor to fry up some bacon, and who had (definitely) used her bathroom facilities for hygienic practices. The entire situation as it stood was still completely bewildering to her. Of all the weird things she had imagined, all of which had her mother’s mark all over them, none had come as close to… whatever this was.
Ahem!
The man’s soft cough brought Macy back to the present. His expression was apprehensive as he took a seat on one of the high stools lining the island, eyes wide and focused on Macy’s slow stirring. She figured by his caution that her expression was more hostile than hospitable. “I think you and I might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he ventured carefully, turning up the charm.
Macy wasn’t buying it. Even if, in a far part of her brain, she had begun to admire his marbled jawline. Instead, she kept up her stoic expression, pushing one of the mugs in his direction with a stiff, and sharp finger. “Enlighten me, then.”
As the stranger bid his time, searching his mind for a presumably useless explanation, Macy got her first proper glimpse of the man, garb included. He was tidy, but that much was made obvious by the state she had found him in. His hair was slicked back, both due to the remnants of the disrupted shower, and the hand he kept brushing through it. Must be a nervous tic, Macy observed. Water from some loose strands was pooling along the collar of his olive-green shirt, which was tucked comfortably into a pair of black jeans. Not exactly the attire a burglar might wear, and Macy was sure, from glance alone, that his clothes had been recently ironed. Now, what kind of a villainous thief would do something as tripe as iron their shirt?
“Well,” he began, scratching at a patch of stubble on the bridge of his chin, his coffee untouched and blowing thick wafts of steam into his face. “I… I live here.”
Macy, who had been taking a sip of her own bitter beverage as he spoke, slammed the mug back down onto the table. Small droplets of black nectar escaped their porcelain prison as the man jumped in surprise. “Bullshit!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know you’re lying,” Macy accused, an air of arrogance in her voice. “My mother purchased this place with her own money and lived here by herself. There were no other names listed on the agreement, so nice try. But you aren’t fooling me.”
The high Macy had found herself on, having bested the flimsy excuse, was cut abruptly short, and all by the man’s countenance. Where his eyes were once sunken with fear and insecurity, they were now alight with something like recognition. He gazed deeply into her eyes, and for the first time since their encounter, Macy blinked. She was unsure of where this was going, of what trick he was attempting to try. She waited, holding her breath.
“You must be Macy,” he said slowly, cautiously.
A croak softly erupted from Macy’s throat. “I… um-“
“I knew it!” The man jeered, his smile growing and warming his cheeks. “She only had one photo of you with her, and it’s a few years old now, but there’s no denying it. Not with those curls.”
Macy patted her head, bashfully. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“Oh. So, your mother isn’t Marisol Vera?”
Macy dropped her hand as her steadfast composure began to unravel. How could she hold it together any longer? Not as long as that man’s gaze, both unusually wise and cordial, beckoned her to speak. To confirm his obvious suspicions. “Fine,” she finally relented, “I am Marisol’s daughter. Macy, as you said.”
His cheer of private victory was somewhat endearing, and very much annoying. “Well, it is lovely to meet you. And…” The elation in his voice fell to a low hum, as if burdened by the realization of Macy’s appearance. “I am sorry for your loss. Truly. Marisol was a… special woman.”
Macy was still in a state of shock from their previous exchange. But hearing those words, with her mother’s name etched on the man’s lips, and all the niceties that came with it. It was all starting to build up to something much bigger than she was willing to face. So, doing what she did best in times of high stress, she altered the course of the conversation. “So, when you said you lived here…”
“Right, right,” the man muttered, pulling himself back into focus, “What I meant was, I am currently situated up in the attic. Your mother personally invited me to stay.”
“Why did she do that?” Macy asked, before wincing at the harshness in her tone.
If the man had noticed her directness, he said nothing for it, nor did he change the cadence in his tone to match. He simply dipped his chin to his chest and answered candidly. “I’m still not sure why she allowed me to stay. I think… perhaps, she saw something in me that I could not. Did you ever notice that?” he prompted, lifting his gaze to meet Macy’s. “That when she looked at you, it was like she could see right into your soul?”
Macy swallowed, nervously. She knew that stare all too well. It had been the last glimpse of her mother she ever caught, rushing down the stairs towards the awaiting taxi as her mother watched. Bathed in the glow of the veranda, small trickles of snow on the first day of winter, it was an image pierced onto Macy’s brain. One she wished she could erase or could replace with one better. With a smile. Some warmth. Anything but the coldness and the cruelty. Her cruelty.
“Yeah, she was like that,” was all she could offer in response, looking away as the man’s observant stare followed her. She poured the rest of her coffee down the sink. “I’m here to organize her things,” she explained. “I plan to have everything packed and ready by the end of the month.” She turned and leaned back against the edge of the basin, watching the man’s eyes fall to his own cup of coffee, still undisturbed. “You should look for another place to stay.”
The man scoffed gently. “I wish it was that simple.”
“You don’t have friends around here?” Macy asked. “Any family you could call?”
“Unfortunately, no.” The man sighed briskly, replacing his drooped cheeks with a new smile. Unlike his previous grins, this one couldn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know we only just met, and your first assessment of me might not be as satisfactory as I would have liked it to be, but I must ask.” He stood from the stool, mug forgotten as he placed his hands on the flat surface of the island. “Would you allow me to stay?”
Macy’s lips hovered open, her first and expected answer of refusal dying before it could ever be said. In that small reprieve of hesitation, the man had kept talking, his prose coming out in fast and unorganized outbursts. “I know you don’t know me, but I can be a gracious guest. Or anything you need me to be. I can cook. I can clean. I can help you organize the manor. Or if you’d rather, I can give you the space you need. If you need me to be a ghost, I can be a ghost.”
As he continued to plead, his feet brought him around the island, closer and closer to Macy. But the feeling of retreat, the same feeling that propelled Macy away during their first interaction, was as fleeting as the winter chills Macy had felt that previous day, now seemingly gone altogether. It was as though time and a little patience had changed Macy’s perspective. She was still cautious of the man who stood before her, having halted his course at a respectable distance, but that part in her mind she trusted to warn her of risk and danger wasn’t alert. She was no longer afraid. Now, she was intrigued.
She held up a hand, ceasing his speech. “I will allow you,” she said, reciting his own words back to him, “to stay for one month. Just until I get everything organized. That should give you plenty of time to find a new place.”
“Really?” The man’s response was expelled in a sigh of great relief, but in his stiff stance and minute expression, he hid how he was truly feeling. He was good at masking his true intentions, that much was crystal clear.
Then again, so was she. This time, it was her turn to smile. It felt unnatural, but at the same time, appropriate. “Of course. But first… I’m gonna need to know your name.”
Laughter erupted from the man’s throat, as if he had expected another acquisition. “Oh, that can be managed,” he satiated, taking one last step forward and presenting his hand. “It’s Harry.”
“Hello, Harry,” Macy echoed, letting the name rest on her tongue. His hand felt warm and sturdy as she took it.
“Hello, Macy,” Harry said, his smile once again creasing the corner of his eyes, bright teeth shimmering in the low light of the kitchen. “I guess… welcome home.”