I could not believe my eyes.
There he was. Tall, dressed in shadows just like that night. Just like when I spotted him through the window, with a stark white mask that covered his whole face rather than leaving the mouth exposed.
As I neared him, his eyes gained a wild look. It reminded me of a dog I had encountered as a child, one that lost its head whenever I approached its yard. Part of me resisted as I stretched out my hand to his. Once we touched, his eyes closed and ice filled my veins despite the heat rising in my face.
Was it because there was a stranger in my room? Were we really strangers at all? My mind froze at the question. He knew quite a bit about me, I was sure. Between the times I felt eyes on me and the surety that Dad had told him things, he must have known so much about me. The complete disadvantage, since I knew nothing of him.
My mouth moved before I could even stop and think the question over. "What's your name?" I felt stupid asking, but it was one of the many things that had been hidden from me.
His eyes snapped open. My hand was torn from his in a fast tug. He stepped away and straightened up more, puffing out his chest and glowering at me. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone and I was left standing in the middle of my room like an idiot. My hand hovered for a few seconds more before falling limp at my side.
I fished my laptop out from my desk drawers and cursed it as it took forever to load. Fingers flying from key to key, I typed in the password and pulled up Skype. Not a minute later, the speakers began to sing the ringtone that I needed the most. I answered the call and stared into the black pixelated screen as the cameras woke up.
On my screen formed the nose that turned up at the tip, the wide mouthed smile, and the bright green eyes that I had been so used to seeing every day. "Does my screen deceive me, or is that Aminta-Rose?"
A small smile formed as she beamed at me. "Hey Kelly. How are things in Cardend?"
"Dull, as usual. The only interesting person moved to France, so I've been fighting Mom and Dad about going to Manhattan for a weekend." She sighed and laid her head against the table she was sitting at, showing the blonde roots of her currently dull red hair. "Honestly, what's the point of living so close to the biggest city in America if you're never able to go?" Now she propped her head up against her fists and she pursed her lips. Looking into the camera, she sat up a little straighter and leaned close. "Minta, are you okay?"
A tear slid down my face as she asked, making me aware of my watery eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine." I ran the palm of my hand under each eye, pushing the tears out to the edges of my eyes. "Honestly, I think that I'm slowly evolving into a crybaby."
"Wouldn't that be devolution," a new voice joined in, "since we start off as crybabies?" In leaned a face that had the same nose that sloped down and turned up just at the tip, only this head entertained a smaller mouth and a more squared off chin. Isaac pulled up a chair right behind his sister and flashed a peace sign to the camera, one I reciprocated.
Kelly shoved her brother away from her shoulder. "Shoo, demon spawn! She doesn't want to look at your face."
"Of course she does. I'm the most handsome face she's seen all day." He said with a lopsided grin.
I quirked an eyebrow and donned a smirk. "Are you now? And how would you know that? Maybe all French boys are super hot and I just can't get enough."
"And how many of them have you seen?"
Heat rose in my cheeks as I thought of the only three French males I had encountered. "Enough." I muttered, crossing my arms and looking away.
Kelly and Isaac both laughed at me, making me smile. "So how long until you're a citizen, anyway?" Kelly propped herself up on her hands again, making Isaac fight to be noticed around his sister. "Is it easier with your dad being a native and all?"
All I could do was shrug. Dad was handling most of that, hardly telling me anything when it came to the progress of my citizenship. "He'll tell me when it's finalized." I finally said. "How's the school year going?"
Kelly groaned while Isaac moaned out something that sounded vaguely like "can it be over yet?" Both snapped up with rabid enthusiasm as they asked about Monsieur Bernard and the lessons from Hades.
I told them about the unfortunate luck that had followed him around at the beginning, leaving Monsieur out as I did not want them asking too much about him. Everything just sounded like one terrible accident after another.
"I wish Mom would homeschool me." Kelly said quietly, glancing out of the corner of her eye. "At least then Amber and Regina wouldn't be able to bother me as much."
"What are those two doing now?" I asked, moving the laptop from my bed up onto my legs as I leaned back on my pillows. Kelly went into full on story mode about how the girls made sure to always talk about New York City and all the great things to do and see, then looking out the corner of their eyes and, upon seeing her, made sure to note how many times they had stood in the Statue of Liberty or gone up into the Empire State Building.
After her, it was Isaac's turn to talk about the coaches finally letting him join the football team and how he threw the touchdown that scored the school their first win of the season. "Max says if I keep doing that, they'll make me team captain next year." He was brimming with joy as he thought about it.
"And it's doing wonders for me, too." Kelly interrupted, getting the stink eye from her younger brother. "Some of the other girls are crowding around me. I know they're just trying to get at Isaac, but it feels kind of cool to be the middle man."
"So do you have many friends now?"
The question made me freeze and my brain race to find an answer. I had not met many people outside of the staff of the house. Even during the few walks Dad and I had been on, I did not really meet anyone new and exciting. Some of the walks were hardly memorable. When I thought of friends, Archer immediately came to mind. Monsieur followed after.
"Yeah, a couple."
Kelly began to ask questions when I heard the front door. It creaked open and closed with a loud thud. I turned back to Kelly and asked her to repeat the question. It was all in vain, however, as a knock at the door alerted me that Dad was coming in.
He cracked the door open slightly before yelling very loudly "Are you decent?" Upon hearing the confirmation that I was in fact wearing clothes, he entered the room and dropped his briefcase at the door. "Afternoon, pumpkin." After planting a kiss on my head, he looked at the screen and grinned. "Hello Kelly, Isaac. How are you two doing?"
"Pretty good, Mister Dubois." Kelly said while Isaac yelled "Why did you make her put clothes on?" Kelly punched him in the arm, looked at me, and punched him again.
Dad laughed as I turned beet red. "Do you mind if I borrow Min-Min for a second?" Just when I thought my face could not turn any redder. It was Kelly and Isaac's turn to once again laugh at me while nodding.
We all said good bye and hung up. Dad sat on the bed as I closed the laptop. "What's up?"
He wrung his hands together before clasping them together. The crow's feet at the edges of his eyes seemed deeper, darker than they usually were. The twinkle that usually resided in his eyes had faded, leaving them cold. "We'll be hosting some guests for a few days. Coworkers of mine, and some of their children perhaps." He announced. The air in the room became scarce. Every breath was like breathing through a straw. I could feel Monsieur, though he was invisible to me. "It's unavoidable, so I will try to make their time actually on the property as minimal as I can. They'll be here over the weekend." He turned to face me, staring at me with those weathered grey eyes. It seemed he was taking time to look me over as much as I was doing to him. I noted his slumped shoulders, his drooping head.
"Have you informed Monsieur?" I asked, scooting closer to him.
Dad nodded, the movement slow. "He's not happy, but he's promised not to cause trouble." He covered my hand with his own. "They'll want to meet you." A shiver ran up my spine and I pulled my hand away. I moved back until I was pressed up against my head rest. The air was harder to breathe now, with that strain of getting into my body more restrictive. "You'd only need to come down for lunch and dinner. I managed to convince them all that hotels would be a better plan that staying here. I don't have enough rooms for them all." He forced a smile on his face, but it did nothing to put one on mine. "Minta, please. I'm only asking you to come down for an hour at most. Thirty minutes for lunch, thirty for dinner. I won't make you come to breakfast, or do whatever they choose to do."
My heart had begun to throb faster and faster, to the point that it hurt. Already I could feel eyes on me, hear the whispers of judgement and disdain, and it made my eyes fill with tears again. I really am becoming a crybaby. I thought glumly as I let the tears drip off my eyelashes and onto the sheets. "Daddy, please." I whispered. He moved closer and gathered me in his arms as though I was no more than a babe again. Fingers worked their way through my hair and rubbed circles into my scalp as I pressed my face into his shoulder. "Can't you tell them I'm sick and they need to stay away? Can't you do anything?" Instead of talking, he simply kept rubbing my head until my heart had returned to its normal beating pattern.
"I can't cancel this." He sighed and whispered something that I could not catch. "It's necessary for me to schmooze my bosses and coworkers. They need to know that I'm serious about continuing to work for them." His voice was taunt, yet still had the sigh of resignation on it. We sat like that for who knows how long, Dad just calming me down as I listened to the steady slow sound of his heart beating.
The air was easier to breathe. All around me, color was slowly growing again. When did the color leave the room? When had the light joined it?
Dinner past quickly in total silence, and Dad escorted me up to my room just to ask the question: "Are you going to be okay?"
I nodded before sliding behind the door and closing it. Pressing my head against the heavy wood, I felt the worry begin to build again. A performance of a lifetime, and I knew how badly I would botch it. Her voice entered my mind again. They'll see you for what you are, you disgusting little parasite. My chest tightened.
"You're wrong." My whisper broke the silence, but only for a second. Soon the room returned to the obliterating quiet that made my heart too loud and the blood rushing through my veins a source of maddening noise. It sloshed about as I walked, leaving me feeling sick. The sun was just setting as I changed out into my pajamas and crawled under the blankets. The quiet allowed my thoughts to hum with boisterous energy. The most prominent was, of course, the countdown to Friday. Two days. Two days until I played the role of the happy, well-adjusted seventeen year old. Forty-eight hours before the broken little girl had to be hidden in the closet and her cries ignored.
For the first time that day, I could not find the tears to cry. She had plenty of tears poured over her.
After waking up for the eighth or ninth time that night, I finally just relented to my need for a distraction and grabbed my phone. Flicking through the playlists that lived in my music file, I found the shortest series of songs and absently pressed play. A quiet violin began to play, performing a simple lullaby that Dad had played for me a few times as a child.
It surprised me when a second violin joined in. That was not in the recording. Slowly turning, I opened my eyes and held back a gasp. Monsieur was at the end of my bed, a violin nestled between his chin and shoulder. His eyes were hooded as he drew the bow across the strings and his fingers skipped about the strings, changing the pitch to harmonize with the recorded melody.
As the song ended, he turned his attention to me. "I didn't mean to wake you." He whispered, his voice sounding in my right ear and sending goosebumps up my arm.
"You didn't."
"It's important to sleep, Ma'mseille."
"I know."
He stood still, watching me with those cat-like eyes. I remained just as still, craning my neck a touch as to watch him. "Would you like to sit down?" It surprised me when I broke the silence.
He shook his head, his velvet black hair barely moving as he did so. "I ought not get comfortable. You will surely fall asleep soon."
Yielding, I sat up. The blankets pooled in my lap and covered my exposed thighs, though it did nothing for my bare shoulders. My tank top bunched at the front, and I tugged it higher. "Don't count on it." I leaned my head back and blinked the little fuzzy bits of light out of my eyes. "My brain's too active to sleep right now."
There was a soft clatter, and the hum that comes from a string instrument as it strikes something. "Why is that?" I looked to the end of the bed only to see that he had moved closer. He was now aligned with my toes, if I were to stretch them out a bit. A sigh and a shrug told more than words could have.
My glance shifted to his gloves. "Do you always wear those?" I asked.
He looked at the black leather and seemed to contemplate them for a moment. Wordless, he pulled at the fingers and revealed pale hands that seemed to almost gleam in the moonlight. The gloves were laid on my dresser and he stretched out his fingers. "They're just terribly comfortable. In my day, a gentleman would not be caught dead without a good pair of gloves." He snatched up his gloves once more and put them back on.
"When was that, anyway?" My tongue found its way between my teeth after the question left my mouth. I might as well have asked him when he died. Could he even remember that? I wondered, watching his eyes as he searched mine.
Creeping closer, he now stood adjacent with my hips. "1891," came the answer.
"Why are ghosts always from the eighteen hundreds?" I mused. "Why are there not more ghosts who do disco moves and say 'groovy'?"
He chuckled, a sound I had not heard before. It was low and rumbling, like distant thunder. "Who could take such an apparition seriously?"
I looked at him and smiled. "Good point." A chair scraped the ground as he drew up a chair, sitting where my fingers could barely reach him. We sat quietly for a minute, both staring at things on the opposite side of the room.
"Do you like the room?" He asked, our eyes meeting briefly.
"Yeah, it's much better than what I had back in Cardend." I thought back to that closet and shuddered. "Did you do all this by yourself?"
He shook his head, keeping his back straight as he stared at the wood just behind me. "Your father did most of the work. I only helped after he explained you were coming." I hummed and we returned to silence.
"Where did you learn to sing?"
He bristled at the question, and his eyes snapped open once again. My heart dropped at the idea of him leaving again, I rushed to cover up the flub. "Sorry, I don't know where that come from. Don't worry about it, it doesn't matter."
It was a minute before he spoke again. "My mother." There was a bitter cold in the title. I grimaced, and expected the silence to return. To my surprise, he elaborated. "She was a brilliant opera singer, and I would listen in on her lessons. I taught myself what I could. It was never enough."
My shoulders slumped. "I understand that perfectly." The sentence was meant to be quiet, but with no competition for volume in the room, I knew that he had heard me well enough. We sat comfortably in the quiet of the mansion, or at least I did. I had a thousand questions, but I did not want to scare him away by asking them. He did not say anything, thus I assumed he had nothing to ask. In that quiet, the sounds of the city were just barely visible.
My body began to weigh heavily, dragging me down in to the sheets. Monsieur placed the hair back and pulled the topmost blankets over my shoulders and nestled the flyaway sheets under the mattress, resulting in a little cocoon for me. "Thank you." I whispered, giving what smile I could.
He nodded, and I could barely make out the crinkling of his eyes in what could have been a smile as well if it was not for the featureless mask. "You're welcome. Sleep well, mademoiselle."
"Good night, Monsieur."
I noticed him stop, and I adjusted my position a bit so I could see him better. "What's wrong?"
He stood very still, like a statue, or a cat perched on a fence post. "Erik. My name is Erik, mademoiselle."
"Erik." I repeated, yawning afterwards. "Good night" Yawn "Erik."
"Good night, Minta."
He had fled long before sleep finally claimed me. The name kept rolling around in my head as I lulled off. Erik. Such a normal name. I thought for sure his name would be Archibald or something. Not long after, I fell into the dreamless sleep that I preferred, and the Second Day had begun all too soon.
You all must be losing your minds. Yes, I posted twice in one week. That's what happens when the muse strikes.
The thought plickens. Strangers in the house, plus the bonding on Minta and Erik. And she finally learned his name! :D
Anyway, I want to thank all of you who follow, favorite, and review Phantom of the Manor. It honestly makes writing a lot easier when I know people are looking forward to it.
I remain, ladies and gentlemen, your obedient servant,
Eliyah
