Through the Panes
Part 4 of 5 in the Rain Series. First three parts can be found under Keo Siph's author stats.
Lucius refused to wrench his eyes from the window. Last time it had rained, he hadn't stayed in his house long.
Honey was at another of her parties. It was one of those strange organizations that only meets when it rains, it seems. Yes, there were meetings on clear nights, but one never remembers those. Lucius just sighed. He'd been hoping to speak with Helen again, as she had given him one of her darkest "I'm a mother and I've done worse than kill" looks when she and Honey went shopping last.
He stood suddenly as th sound of rain was interspersed with the complete and utter sound of knuckles rapping on their glass door. The large stack of papers, however, simply shifted and slipped away from his sudden, grasping efforts at keeping it in order, and flew onto the floor and into all corners of his small office, any order completely lost. He rubbed his temples tenderly, with increasing fierceness until he was driving small screwdrivers into his head, rather than fingers.
The rapping continued.
Lucius made his careful way around the papers and to the front door. Dark outside, the last of twilight faded, he could hardly see where Mr. Glenn's files had gone. But he knew, that just as Dash had told him, Mrs. Violet Glenn would be anywhere else. Lucius stooped on his way out and brushed the case files of the deceased back into the room, before heading again towards the door.
Rain fell like waves down the panes, almost genteely masking the face of his visitor. He reached for the gold-spun handle just as he realized the outline of the one outside called for a woman, almost of Helen's height.
'Oh, God.'
Lucius spun away from the door and out of sight, back into the hallway. He had no way of dealling with her, not now. He snarled as his fingers fumbled and re-did all his comfortably undone buttons, found a tie amongst the mess of his den, and scrambled to right his relaxed appearance. He smoothed his hair, cleaned his glasses, and took gasping breaths. Regardless of what Honey would always tell him, he never could find the frame of mind to breathe deeply. His hand was once again on the handle of his antique door.
Mirage stared up at him through rain-drenched cascades of her usually bright hair. Lucius stumbled back in surprise and she walked in, rubbing her arms for warmth.
"I'm sorry to come so late."
"I-it's fine, I just didn't expect you, that's all…" Once again gasping for breath, Best did manage a deep-founded sigh of relief, which made Mirage turn in curiosity.
"Doesn't sound like you were looking forward to it. Did you expect Violet?" There was a pause, and Lucius's trailing, maddenly enlightened thoughts took a tumble off the cliff of reality and back into the valley of the present.
"Oh, yes. No. Heh, I meant no. I don't expect her to come by. Dash made it sound—"
"As if she'd never return." Mirage voiced to the carpet as her eyes kept their downcast level.
"You look tired. Let's get something warm in you. Tea? Coffee?"
"… Hot Cocoa?"
"That… actually sounds really good. We've got Godiva from this last Christmas."
"… He hated Godiva." Lucius jumped at the flash of anger in her simple words, but he knew who she spoke of. Because she always spoke of him.
Syndrome's death records had come into Lucius' care, through careful manipulation of the legal process. He had insured that Syndrome's entire corporation, complete accounts, and all possesions were entitled to Mirage.
She hadn't touched a penny of it. She wouldn't visit the island. She wouldn't oversee his factory, but had only paid to have it converted into a toy factory, and had hired Honey Best to manage it for her. Friends though she was now with Honey and Helen, Mirage refused to go a whole conversation without an offhand mention of her late boss. Helen had told Honey how Mirage stood in her room for at least an hour each night, nothing but a candle lit, and seemed to be praying. Fiercely.
Lucius' hand was pulling the cocoa mugs from the microwave when he was next concious of his actions. Mirage sipped on it for a time, and Lucius let his hands manipulate the steam into chunks of ice and back again.
Lucius had grown tired of the same routine. Tired of seeing his sweet wife come home from her business meetings with the brightest, happiest eyes he had ever seen on her. Tired of the good wine she smelled of, tired of the small cans of caviar, escargo, any imaginable delicacy that came home in her purse and were eaten with care throughout the weeks.
His mind was broken and bleeding, until Mrs. Parr.
He had undone all their simple lives. He had undone what stability they had in their small neighborhood of normal people. Simple, in that it was so well thought-out, nothing could touch them, not like it used to. Not like it could. He hadn't shattered it, but made it brittle and fragile. She had thrived on that. She had a world to save, even if it was only hers. She had always smiled at him, ever after. Until the second time. Then, for a time, she still smiled. Until she was pregnant. From the joy of Bob, it could very well be his. But if it was not?
She had fixed his world. She had made his world as fragile as cunning as Honey's and their marriage had gone better after they both realized the other was hiding something, and that was just how it was. They were both living, breathing the lie. That was fine. That was their world, and they could prosper. Honey was pregnant, for the first time, after being married a good seven years, and was romping around her parties and work associations like an Nobel winner, rather than a mother. He loved the sight of her. His fragile world was just as he wanted it, living on a thinly frozen lake where he and his wife could skate their terribly precious, intricate, tender dance that could not shatter the ground beneath their feet. That would not.
Mirage did not look up as she spoke, some time later.
"Helen's going to tell him."