Three Bricks Shy-Alias, PG-13 (A touch of the occult and some humor)
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions
Vaughn visits his crazy aunt Trish.
*****
Chapter Five
Age touched her lightly, if at all. She was the same sprite with her whorls of strawberry blonde hair and green cat's eyes, but there were differences. Behind the mischief, I saw a sadness that seemed strangely out of place on her impish face. She stopped a few paces from me and stared at us both with unabashed curiosity. "Allo, Michel," she said quietly, her words still colored by that exotic French accent I remembered so well. "And hello to your friend."
She extended her grimy hand and Weiss took it gingerly. "Eric Weiss."
Trish suddenly noticed the oil and grease covering every inch of her and looked over at me. "Merde. So sorry….I would hug you, but then I would ruin your perfect suit and we would not want that."
"Your neighbors must love your truck," I commented idly, feeling like someone had dropped me on my head. Trish always had that effect on me….hanging with her was like a ride on a non-stop calliope or trips through a funhouse with no exit.
She laughed and the family dimples came out in full force. Eric stared between the two of us, seemingly startled by the resemblance between us. It was weird, because the dimples had skipped over my mom and her other siblings. Green eyes and dimples stared out from the dusty pictures of ancestors that polluted the walls in my grandmother's farmhouse. It was uncanny and kind of scary to see DNA replicating itself in my family tree. Kind of like…..Sydney's DNA sequence. It hurt me to think about it, but I had to deal with it. Trish picked up on my vibes and a flash of sympathy passed across her face, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. With a chuckle, she admitted, "Love is not a word they would use for poor Tilda."
"Your truck has a name?" Weiss asked.
She scolded, "But of course. You men have names for all sorts of things….so why not your cars?" Trish's eyes dropped quickly to Eric's groin and as she turned away to gather up her tools, I saw a hint of red creeping across his neck.
"Is she always like this?" he muttered when she was out of earshot.
"Always." I pasted a smile on my face when she turned back to us.
Trish motioned for us to follow her back to the tiny garage and I swear, my jaw must have dropped to my knees at seeing the shiny black Porsche Targa parked inside.
"You renting out space?" Weiss cracked, finding it impossible to believe that someone with the rusty wreck out front could also have this marvelous machine.
Trish shook her head with a tight smile. "One of my clients….gave this to me."
Since when had she gone into business? Ghost-hunting was usually pro bono work.
"Wow," Eric whistled. "You hiring?"
"Sorry. The Happy Haunting Ground died with the wave of dot.bombs." Trish waved her hands and smiled wryly. How well I remembered her dark and sarcastic side, one that she usually used to shoot verbal darts at her beloved family.
Eric glanced over at me and I shrugged. What did I know about her clients?
"Nice ride." Eric patted the hood, his dark eyes bubbling with curiosity. He really wanted to know how she had managed to pull this off.
Trish procured a set of keys from her pocket and dropped it into his hands. "Tell you what. If you manage to move Tilda, you can drive the Porsche."
Eric threw me one of those 'is she for real' glances and I nodded.
"Cool," he said, throwing off his jacket and opening his hand for the truck keys. Trish smiled coolly and watched as he sauntered down the steep driveway.
"Why are you here?" Now that the introductions were over, the gloves were off. "You have not called or written in over a year and suddenly….voila, you are on my doorstep."
I could bullshit my way out of most situations, but not this one. This was one of those times when I might as well be as transparent as one of her ghostly friends, because Trish could see right through me. "We need your help."
"Ah," she replied like that was some divine revelation, but I sensed the sharp edge of her Gallic temper unfurling like a flag in a stiff gale-force wind. The flash of her eyes, the way her fingers curled into her palms…..it was like looking in a mirror.
"One of my friends is in trouble. The government has her and….."
Trish held up her hand, slightly mollified by my penitent tone. "You are wasting your time here. I am out of the business."
I raised an eyebrow, looking at the Porsche and throwing her a questioning glance. She had the good grace to flush before saying, "I don't have to explain myself to you."
"So you do occasional favors for your friends but won't help your own family," I shot back acerbically. Why am I not surprised? She never had use for any of us and I don't see why she would change now.
Trish rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "It is not that simple."
No, it never is. Now that I had come so far, I wasn't about to give up on this. "Would you at least listen to what I have to say?"
She weighed and measured my request and I saw her shoulders sag with some invisible burden. "Very well. I will listen, but I make no promises. Why don't you make yourselves at home while I shower?"
Befuddled and bemused. I know that's redundant, but this is Trish we're talking about. Obfuscation. Now there's a word. Maybe I would share it with Weiss, or maybe I would join him at the end of the driveway as he sweated and swore at my aunt's unresponsive truck. With a toss of my own jacket, I scuffed my feet and went to rescue my friend before he got in too deep.
******
Trish's original challenge was to move the truck, and that should have been easy. I mean, technically, we could push the truck out onto the street without starting it up. Trouble was, there were no parking spaces in sight. Trish knew this, and that was the only reason she'd made such a frivolous suggestion.
"Can you believe this?" Weiss tossed the keys on the ground in frustration and kicked one of Tilda's tires. "This fricking truck….oh sorry, Tilda, is a piece of shit."
"I know." He had the door cranked open and I noticed a strange looking object in the front seat. "What the hell is that?"
"Hideous, isn't it?" Eric commented as I reached in and grabbed it off the seat. The 'objet d'art' was a black vase with filigreed tragedy and comedy masks decorating its edges. The two of us stared at it in disbelief, because its design went way beyond the boundaries of good taste. As I cradled it like a baby, I felt this weird tingling sensation in my fingers and it seemed to move under my hands. When I looked down, I swore that one of the masks leered at me.
"This thing is possessed," I yelped, passing it off to him like a hot potato.
Eric placed it carefully back on the seat and looked at me oddly. "You're losing it, buddy."
"I swear to God, Eric, I felt something…."
"But of course you would," said a quiet voice at my elbow. Trish stood there, freshly scrubbed and combed, looking nothing like a gypsy queen or someone who dabbled in the occult. In fact, she looked completely normal in her tailored blue jeans and periwinkle sweater. With a small and rather shy smile, she explained, "The vase is haunted, just as you said."
"You heard that?" I managed to stifle a groan, but couldn't suppress a shudder.
Trish nodded. "But this thing you felt, it does not surprise me. I have known for a long time that you are gifted."
Gifted. Is that what she called this curse? As I stared back at her in revulsion, memories that I had buried in the bowels of my mind rose to the surface. Sydney's picture frame and that antique shop….being drawn there against my will and walking straight to the back of the store….holding the frame in my hands where it nestled comfortably, a healing and peaceful warmth filling my body. Mesmerized by its patina, I moved like a sleepwalker and bought the damned thing. Back at my house, I barely remembered the incident and put it out of my mind. But there had been other times…..'I have an instinct about you' had been more than acting on a feeling. Something had chimed, moved into synchrony, like the gears of a clock clicking into position and for the first time, my life had meaning. The disgust faded and I swear I heard Trish whisper in my mind, "You know I am right."
It must have been only a moment later that Weiss asked, "Gifted in what way?"
Trish shrugged. "That is not for me to say. Shall we go inside?"
Eric hooked his thumb toward the vase. "Don't you want to lock up?"
"No one will touch it." Trish sounded dead certain.
"But surely it's worth something," Weiss stated.
Her eyebrow raised with thinly veiled amusement. "It is quite valuable. 18th century Sevres if I am not mistaken, but that is no matter."
Eric lost it. "I don't get it. This is an open invitation to a thief and….
Trish interrupted sharply. "Have you not heard a thing that I've said? The vase has a malevolent spirit attached to it. Anyone who is foolish enough to steal it will rue the day they picked it up. It curses its owners and I have been ordered to dispose of it."
Turning on her heel, she swept past us and slammed the screen door on her front porch. Weiss's mouth opened and closed before he said, "Don't say 'I told you so'. You warned me about her and I…."
I clapped him on the back. "Let's get this over with."
"If you say so," he muttered in a subdued tone that was completely at odds with his normal behavior. With our tails between our legs, the two of us mounted her front steps and prepared to fox-trot with Aunt Trish.
******
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions
Vaughn visits his crazy aunt Trish.
*****
Chapter Five
Age touched her lightly, if at all. She was the same sprite with her whorls of strawberry blonde hair and green cat's eyes, but there were differences. Behind the mischief, I saw a sadness that seemed strangely out of place on her impish face. She stopped a few paces from me and stared at us both with unabashed curiosity. "Allo, Michel," she said quietly, her words still colored by that exotic French accent I remembered so well. "And hello to your friend."
She extended her grimy hand and Weiss took it gingerly. "Eric Weiss."
Trish suddenly noticed the oil and grease covering every inch of her and looked over at me. "Merde. So sorry….I would hug you, but then I would ruin your perfect suit and we would not want that."
"Your neighbors must love your truck," I commented idly, feeling like someone had dropped me on my head. Trish always had that effect on me….hanging with her was like a ride on a non-stop calliope or trips through a funhouse with no exit.
She laughed and the family dimples came out in full force. Eric stared between the two of us, seemingly startled by the resemblance between us. It was weird, because the dimples had skipped over my mom and her other siblings. Green eyes and dimples stared out from the dusty pictures of ancestors that polluted the walls in my grandmother's farmhouse. It was uncanny and kind of scary to see DNA replicating itself in my family tree. Kind of like…..Sydney's DNA sequence. It hurt me to think about it, but I had to deal with it. Trish picked up on my vibes and a flash of sympathy passed across her face, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. With a chuckle, she admitted, "Love is not a word they would use for poor Tilda."
"Your truck has a name?" Weiss asked.
She scolded, "But of course. You men have names for all sorts of things….so why not your cars?" Trish's eyes dropped quickly to Eric's groin and as she turned away to gather up her tools, I saw a hint of red creeping across his neck.
"Is she always like this?" he muttered when she was out of earshot.
"Always." I pasted a smile on my face when she turned back to us.
Trish motioned for us to follow her back to the tiny garage and I swear, my jaw must have dropped to my knees at seeing the shiny black Porsche Targa parked inside.
"You renting out space?" Weiss cracked, finding it impossible to believe that someone with the rusty wreck out front could also have this marvelous machine.
Trish shook her head with a tight smile. "One of my clients….gave this to me."
Since when had she gone into business? Ghost-hunting was usually pro bono work.
"Wow," Eric whistled. "You hiring?"
"Sorry. The Happy Haunting Ground died with the wave of dot.bombs." Trish waved her hands and smiled wryly. How well I remembered her dark and sarcastic side, one that she usually used to shoot verbal darts at her beloved family.
Eric glanced over at me and I shrugged. What did I know about her clients?
"Nice ride." Eric patted the hood, his dark eyes bubbling with curiosity. He really wanted to know how she had managed to pull this off.
Trish procured a set of keys from her pocket and dropped it into his hands. "Tell you what. If you manage to move Tilda, you can drive the Porsche."
Eric threw me one of those 'is she for real' glances and I nodded.
"Cool," he said, throwing off his jacket and opening his hand for the truck keys. Trish smiled coolly and watched as he sauntered down the steep driveway.
"Why are you here?" Now that the introductions were over, the gloves were off. "You have not called or written in over a year and suddenly….voila, you are on my doorstep."
I could bullshit my way out of most situations, but not this one. This was one of those times when I might as well be as transparent as one of her ghostly friends, because Trish could see right through me. "We need your help."
"Ah," she replied like that was some divine revelation, but I sensed the sharp edge of her Gallic temper unfurling like a flag in a stiff gale-force wind. The flash of her eyes, the way her fingers curled into her palms…..it was like looking in a mirror.
"One of my friends is in trouble. The government has her and….."
Trish held up her hand, slightly mollified by my penitent tone. "You are wasting your time here. I am out of the business."
I raised an eyebrow, looking at the Porsche and throwing her a questioning glance. She had the good grace to flush before saying, "I don't have to explain myself to you."
"So you do occasional favors for your friends but won't help your own family," I shot back acerbically. Why am I not surprised? She never had use for any of us and I don't see why she would change now.
Trish rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "It is not that simple."
No, it never is. Now that I had come so far, I wasn't about to give up on this. "Would you at least listen to what I have to say?"
She weighed and measured my request and I saw her shoulders sag with some invisible burden. "Very well. I will listen, but I make no promises. Why don't you make yourselves at home while I shower?"
Befuddled and bemused. I know that's redundant, but this is Trish we're talking about. Obfuscation. Now there's a word. Maybe I would share it with Weiss, or maybe I would join him at the end of the driveway as he sweated and swore at my aunt's unresponsive truck. With a toss of my own jacket, I scuffed my feet and went to rescue my friend before he got in too deep.
******
Trish's original challenge was to move the truck, and that should have been easy. I mean, technically, we could push the truck out onto the street without starting it up. Trouble was, there were no parking spaces in sight. Trish knew this, and that was the only reason she'd made such a frivolous suggestion.
"Can you believe this?" Weiss tossed the keys on the ground in frustration and kicked one of Tilda's tires. "This fricking truck….oh sorry, Tilda, is a piece of shit."
"I know." He had the door cranked open and I noticed a strange looking object in the front seat. "What the hell is that?"
"Hideous, isn't it?" Eric commented as I reached in and grabbed it off the seat. The 'objet d'art' was a black vase with filigreed tragedy and comedy masks decorating its edges. The two of us stared at it in disbelief, because its design went way beyond the boundaries of good taste. As I cradled it like a baby, I felt this weird tingling sensation in my fingers and it seemed to move under my hands. When I looked down, I swore that one of the masks leered at me.
"This thing is possessed," I yelped, passing it off to him like a hot potato.
Eric placed it carefully back on the seat and looked at me oddly. "You're losing it, buddy."
"I swear to God, Eric, I felt something…."
"But of course you would," said a quiet voice at my elbow. Trish stood there, freshly scrubbed and combed, looking nothing like a gypsy queen or someone who dabbled in the occult. In fact, she looked completely normal in her tailored blue jeans and periwinkle sweater. With a small and rather shy smile, she explained, "The vase is haunted, just as you said."
"You heard that?" I managed to stifle a groan, but couldn't suppress a shudder.
Trish nodded. "But this thing you felt, it does not surprise me. I have known for a long time that you are gifted."
Gifted. Is that what she called this curse? As I stared back at her in revulsion, memories that I had buried in the bowels of my mind rose to the surface. Sydney's picture frame and that antique shop….being drawn there against my will and walking straight to the back of the store….holding the frame in my hands where it nestled comfortably, a healing and peaceful warmth filling my body. Mesmerized by its patina, I moved like a sleepwalker and bought the damned thing. Back at my house, I barely remembered the incident and put it out of my mind. But there had been other times…..'I have an instinct about you' had been more than acting on a feeling. Something had chimed, moved into synchrony, like the gears of a clock clicking into position and for the first time, my life had meaning. The disgust faded and I swear I heard Trish whisper in my mind, "You know I am right."
It must have been only a moment later that Weiss asked, "Gifted in what way?"
Trish shrugged. "That is not for me to say. Shall we go inside?"
Eric hooked his thumb toward the vase. "Don't you want to lock up?"
"No one will touch it." Trish sounded dead certain.
"But surely it's worth something," Weiss stated.
Her eyebrow raised with thinly veiled amusement. "It is quite valuable. 18th century Sevres if I am not mistaken, but that is no matter."
Eric lost it. "I don't get it. This is an open invitation to a thief and….
Trish interrupted sharply. "Have you not heard a thing that I've said? The vase has a malevolent spirit attached to it. Anyone who is foolish enough to steal it will rue the day they picked it up. It curses its owners and I have been ordered to dispose of it."
Turning on her heel, she swept past us and slammed the screen door on her front porch. Weiss's mouth opened and closed before he said, "Don't say 'I told you so'. You warned me about her and I…."
I clapped him on the back. "Let's get this over with."
"If you say so," he muttered in a subdued tone that was completely at odds with his normal behavior. With our tails between our legs, the two of us mounted her front steps and prepared to fox-trot with Aunt Trish.
******