She stared carefully at the locked chest- a giant mechanism made out of deep cherry wood and plastered gold buttons. It was locked, locked from the outside in. Its rosy exterior was chipping away to weathering and rust- making the thing look more like it belonged in the cargo hold of the RMS Titanic than in Chloe's attic. What used to be her attic.
Her knee was aching against aged wood, hand draped lazily on the leg that was raised. The young redhead was kneeling so close to the thing that she hadn't even realized when her toes started to lose feeling at the mercy of gravity. That damned silver flashlight was still clenched in her chaotic grip. She refused to let it go.
Chloe's hair was still damp from her morning shower, breath short and labored as she clenched her deathly blue eyes shut. The water was still running, pipes groaning past a rusty edge as she struggled to regulate her thoughts. It was no secret that the Beale family was harboring their own secrets- even when Chloe's mother came down with stage four cancer. It was too late to operate, too far gone to catch any type of relief. It was a secret the young woman had harbored, even from Beca, through most of college.
A thick spark of guilt still plagued her for that, knowing that the young brunette would just try her best to make Chloe feel like she wasn't alone in this cruel world, but Chloe had no problem with being alone. She actually craved it when she heard the news from her mom over the phone. She needed space- needed a second to separate her crowded thoughts like strands of sweet and sickly licorice. Those red ropes edging towards disgusting after shoving too many into your mouth.
It still didn't explain why she felt the need to sneak away from the steam filled bathroom and into the attic. It left such a sour taste in her mouth- thinking of the two women who were the most important to her sitting in a half-filled kitchen with nothing more to dwell on than the expertly carved sidings and stained kitchen floor. They would kill each other in a few minutes of their buffer didn't finish up her quick shower- except it wasn't so quick. Chloe was very much rooted in her spot.
She knew she had seen Roman numerals before- Latin being something her family edged into her mind. Even if it was a dead language. It was insightful and in ways mysterious to have a certain understanding of why words were the way they were- why the English language ticked like a slowly counting bomb that could be rearranged and cut in different ways.
It was this chest.
She could never get into it- not when she was forced to clean the attic when she was younger or now as a fully-grown adult with a pension for pouting and using those same blue eyes to get her way. The fact was, Chloe Beale couldn't have her way with this little family relic. Not until now. Not until she held that little piece of parchment between aching fingers.
There was a lock, one with four slots. Each one could be turned and fiddled with until they displayed some type of number. The numbers that were most likely in the girls grasp now- her breath caught in her throat as she flicked her gaze haphazardly towards the trap door to the attic once more. It was no or never- soon Aubrey would press her knuckle against the door to the bathroom and bust it down soon after if she didn't receive some form of life.
Chloe steadied herself, whimpering slightly as she pressed the pad of her index finger easily against the first number. Three. A slight click moving through the air as the lock loosened. That was a good sign, a one in nine chance that maybe the next couple of numbers would fit and morph to her touch.
Four.
Seven.
Thirty-Five.
The last number was an outlier, something that made Chloe crease her brow as she placed both palms along the edge of the chest, situating her touch until she had a good grip on the varnished wood. She pulled back slightly, breath held in her throat as she listened for that familiar pop of stale air rushing out of a composed compartment. This time it brought a rough and rancid scent to the woman's lungs- making her bite her tongue.
Chloe leaned back on her ankles, lifting the large top with a creak- two large leather ropes held the two pieces together, strained and taut from the extra weight that was now added to its pull. The inside of the chest was lined with deep wallpaper- buds of red petals spreading across an off-white background. It was peeling where the cherry wood met the parchment, waterlogged and stained.
Chloe leaned forward, peering into the dark case. Such a large container felt excessive for the bound leather book that rested in the right corner, a dark square compared to the overwhelming color. A smaller black box rested right next to the bound literature- Chloe's mouth edging into the far side of dry as she ran her fingers over the cover- it was rough and unforgivable against her skin- sending a chill through the base of her spine.
"This doesn't make sense." She mumbled to herself because no, it didn't. Her mother was a very private person during her final years, but the girl had attributed that to her lack of good health. She in no way figured some random old flashlight would lead to something like this- a stack of family secrets that she had no business digging through.
She pulled the book from the bin, moving back to her original position on her ankles. They stung as the girl worked at the leather knot that tied the pages together- an odd sound filled the air, mold thick in her lungs as she pulled the cover apart. The parchment creaked, it was the same paper that the code for the lock was scrawled on- the coloring dark and changed.
"Librum vitae et mortis" The Red Head mumbled, running the pads of her fingers over the slightly raised text on the first page, the letters in fine and drawn out cursive. Speaking the words made a burning edge press against the inside of Chloe's throat, but she swallowed it down.
The girl shook her head as she set the book aside, making a mental note of reading through it later. Instead, she grasped the other item in the box; a velvet box that was fastened with yet another clasp, this time without an impenetrable lock- just a magnet that gave some resistance against her pull.
There was a silk lining, a single yellowed lightbulb nestled within its deep blue clutches. A single light bulb that looked like it belonged nestled in the very light that Chloe had set aside to her right- her gaze flashing towards the silver casing as she drew in a breath. Why so much protection for a three-dollar bulb?
Chloe shifted with uneasiness next to her girlfriend, the usually outgoing and cheery girl was drawn in on herself. It was understandable, really, it was. Chloe was standing in the middle of her childhood living room while random people combed through the furniture that she had struggled to part with in the first place.
Aubrey had dutifully taken over the role as the main speaker in this situation, greeting people with a dazzling, yet forced, grin. It came from her years working in retail; the push and pull of the job based off how well you could convince people that you were actually enjoying yourself. She wasn't. No one really was. Not of the three girls who have tucked away into themselves.
Beca kept a keen eye on the woman next to her, glancing up into ultramarine eyes whenever she allowed her gaze to wonder. Chloe was checked out- her expression glazed over and distant as she shifted her weight from one foot to another- on occasion giving the smaller brunette a struggled smile.
"Chlo?" She finally tried, feeling out each syllable as she caught the Red Head's attention. She pursed her lips, waiting for Beca to speak. "Do you maybe want to get some air?"
A strange look crossed Chloe's features. Did she want some air? There was plenty of it in the house- though stale and dusty, it was still there. Aubrey's own stare flashed away from showing a younger couple a pair of edged candlesticks, waiting for a response that would allow her to release half the breath she stored in her throat. Her company clearly didn't trust her stability in this situation.
"Yeah, Beca. Let's go get some air." She mumbled, surrendering not to herself, but to her girl. It would make the smaller woman feel some degree of comfort that Chloe knew she had been craving since she stepped foot into the old Victorian. She had done so without asking too many questions or pushing too hard on subjects she knew Chloe was willing to bury. So of course, Chloe would get some air with her girlfriend. Aubrey had things handled in here.
She leads the way to the back door, abandoning the thoughts of pushing past a few questioning people who stared longingly at the stained glass doors. The sun streamed against them in such a poetic way- casting a deep crimson onto the hardwood floor- catching the particles of dust that had stirred from every aspect of the house.
The Georgia air was hot and unbearable, instantly pushing her back into the mindset of the attic. She had left the light up there- doing so much as placing it into the locked chest itself before realigning the books that had been placed on top of it, so it didn't' look too disturbed. She didn't know why, but she wanted it to look exactly the way she found the scene.
Chloe lowered herself into the white painted bench that hung from two weathered chains- they were once silver and glowing but had surrendered themselves to the mercy of the weather. They held up nicely, though, creaking and growing as she flopped down against the heated wood, Beca following suit with a little more grace as she placed her palm on Chloe's knee, squeezing it with nothing more but comfort.
They sat in silence.
Beca was worried, worried that Chloe had stepped foot back into this house and clung to memories that were etched into old scrapbooks. The younger woman knew this house like the back of her hands based off of old polaroid's and stories that the Red Head had pulled back enough to share with her. She could pinpoint exactly where her mother had marked up her children's height- even if it had been painted over since then for continuity, as Aubrey put it.
"You okay?" Beca finally asked, not taking her stare off of the fence that was directly in front of them- she had her main focus on a little hole in the wood, knowing that it was better than continuing to glance around the yard in distraction. She already knew the answer.
"I went back into the attic," Chloe spoke, ignoring the question. Beca didn't pry.
"I thought we finished clearing that out last night."
"We did," Chloe said she was staring down at her feet- they touched the marble patio while Beca's hovered a bit over the grout that so desperately needed to be scrubbed. It wasn't her problem though, it was the next owners- if anyone could ever take this place off the market. "Except for that chest."
"The thing you couldn't open?" Beca's voice raised at the prospect of a little mystery. This was the south, she was admittedly bored out of her mind when it came to everything that happened around here. The most heat she had gotten was when they went out to lunch at a small café the other day and the waitress almost pitched a fit over what was considered sweet tea.
Beca didn't know there was a difference, but from the pleading look, she got from Chloe she knew to drop the subject and suffered through a drink that made her teeth buzz and stomach churn. There was in fact, a difference.
"Mm," Chloe hummed, wanting to delve into the mystery more than into her own mommy issues at this point. "That paper that fell out of the flashlight opened it up- I knew those numbers looked familiar."
"Oh?" Beca knit her eyebrows together as she faced Chloe. The smaller girl looked a bit uncomfortable with the subject, but if this is what Chloe wanted to focus on for the next couple of days of their stay then she would very clearly submit. "Anything interesting?"
"A book," Chloe chuckled at the odd look on Beca's face "So clearly not interesting to you."
"You know Beale, I can read." Beca shot off at her girlfriend with a playful shove of the shoulder, making the bench creak and groan under them. It didn't seem to bother either of them, though.
"Not Latin," Chloe defended with a smile. "And neither can I. Not quickly anyway… I think we should sit down and actually look through it tonight."
"Okay." Beca sounded out the words slowly and carefully. She had been doing that a lot lately. Making sure that she kept her sentences well thought out. Chloe didn't mind, she could wait. She knew Beca always needed to craft what she wanted to say. It was nice, really, that the younger girl cared enough about what she said to mull over it. Besides, her face looked endearing when it was all scrunched up and concerned. "I'll consent to that. But no freaky candles or Ouija boards, alright?"
Chloe let out a throaty scoff. Her family wouldn't allow one of those in the house anyway. They weren't toys, and she knew that. But something told her- this flashlight was a little more than just a simple appliance.