Endangered Hearts, page 11
Silly girl, to do that to him! What an impossibly foolish girl to kiss him as though he were any normal man, to get his hopes up like that, the perversion of it all! If she only knew how she affected him she wouldn’t willingly be so affectionate. It was good that she would be away from him now, far and away and out of the temptation of his mind.
Chapter 10
Break-ins and Breakaways
She added the sugar to the mix, taking extra time to stir in the chocolate chips and bits of peanut butter. Though Emilia had already made dozens of cookies, she was opting to make at least a few dozen more, amped by both the holiday season and a lack of anything better to do. The few job interviews she had attended had been mildly successful, but her mind was restless from filling out so many applications and answering so many questions with false smiles. Also, considering it was the holidays, she doubted she would hear back from any prospective employers, anyway, and contented herself to a break from the job hunt.
Somewhere between icing ornaments and pouring sprinkles on pine trees, Emilia controlled her thoughts of Kasper, but then she had considered bringing him some cookies and her control vanished into thin air. Not only that, but the idea had burdened her with sadness because it reminded her that he wasn’t in Iram Manor. Emilia sighed and wiped the flour from her brow. If nothing else, it was good that she had something to do.
Emilia slipped the baking tray into the oven and shut it with her hip. It had been less than a week since she saw him last, but it was impossible to remove him from her thoughts. Not only was he in her dreams, but he was in her waking moments as well, making her question everything from her choice of breakfast to the music she listened to. She wanted to think that perhaps he thought of her, too, liked to daydream that he daydreamed of her even, yet knew deep down it was only wishful thinking.
When Emilia heard the door open, she filled up the sink with hot water and poured in some soap. The smell of smoke took over the fragrance of warm brown sugar and she recoiled.
“Hey, Mom,” she said over her shoulder.
“Oh, baby, smells great in here.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I’m gonna blame you for all the weight I gain this winter!” Susan whispered this last part in her ear, as if George couldn’t hear or see the obviousness.
“Uh, thanks, Mom. The peanut butter chip should be done soon.”
“Fantastic,” George said, coming up from behind them both. “I’m hungry after all that shopping.”
“Shopping?” Emilia tried not to cringe at the word, knowing full well that neither of them could afford recreational shopping.
George leaned up against the counter, resting his boot against the cupboard. “Yeah.” He pulled out a half-smoked cigarette and lit it up. “I bought your Mom a few things.”
“Some more risqué than others!” Susan giggled into her ear.
“Could you not smoke that right where I’m cooking?”
They both ignored her, George trading the cigarette for the carton of milk on the refrigerator door, and Susan singing “eeny, meeny, miney, moe” over the cooling cookies. Emilia braced herself, only scrubbing the mixing bowl harder.
“I can’t wait to show you some of these dresses,” her mother said, swiping up a cookie. Susan walked across the room and began going through the bags. “There’s this one lacy thing…”
George put the milk down and walked back over to Emilia. Despite her attempts not to, she could feel his eyes all over her, and it made her nauseous. “You’d look real good in something like that yourself,” he said, looking her up and down. “Between you and me, a hell of a lot better than your mom.”
Emilia cringed, squirming away. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Um hmm.” Her mother hardly noticed, but waved at her anyway, as she tried on a new jacket.
“Hey! Get back here and clean up this mess.”
Emilia clenched the handle of her bedroom door, wondering how difficult it would be to install another lock on her door.
“Not right now.” She sighed. “I’ve got homework.”
“Listen to George.” Susan giggled. “He is the man of the house.”
“Damn straight.” Emilia registered something along the lines of a bottom being smacked and Susan’s giggling, but recoiled, clutching the door harder than usual. Though her reason screamed at her not to, Emilia’s temper flared up, encouraging her to do terrible things. For a moment, however, she resisted, using words instead to hit George the hardest.
“And is the ‘man of the house’ going to contribute to paying some of the bills this month?”
“What did you say?”
The moment the words came out of her mouth, the rage left Emilia, which was both a surprise and a relief. Normally, Emilia was not one for picking fights where there could not be a winner, where ignorance could not be cured. So why now? Why bother? But instead of repeating herself, she retreated; she would have to analyze her remarks later. “Nothing.”
“You think that just because you flaunt yourself around here, you can talk to me like that? Your ass is pretty great, but not that great.”
“What?”
He scoffed and reached for a cookie. “Are you going to pretend you don’t hear me now?”
Taken aback, Emilia had to relive the conversation just to make sure it had really happened. What right did he have, talking to her like that? The occasional inappropriate comment when he had too much to drink was one thing, but it was something completely different to speak with such a lack of restraint like that to her now. Worse yet, her mom said nothing about it, even as Emilia looked at her with eyes wide, silently begging for a defense.
“Mom?”
The only response she gave was holding up a short dress against herself as she stared in an imaginary mirror.
“Mom!”
“Huh? Yeah, honey?”
Emilia sighed, feeling her shoulders sag a few degrees lower than before. She thought she could hold her own in a verbal argument, stand up for herself all she wanted, but then there would be a fight, and eventually her mother would get involved. Eventually, there would come the one-sided boxing match where her mother would always lose.
“Never mind, Mom…” Taking one look back at George, Emilia saw him scratch his bare foot on the corner of a kitchen cabinet and wink when he saw her looking. Emilia shuddered it away and didn’t look back again.
Though it hadn’t snowed in days, the combination of cold air had turned the snowy mounds outside into shiny mountains. It took a few minutes for Emilia’s car to start, though once it did, she didn’t have any difficulty kicking the shards of ice from the tires and getting the heat to clear the windshield. There was a vague hope in her, even then, that her mother would come after her, realize her mistake, and usher her back in. The first few times something like this had happened, she had made George apologize, but this had regressed to Susan apologizing on his behalf and eventually accusing Emilia of not having a sense of humor, of not knowing that his comments were only jokes. Now, it seemed, though, that she wouldn’t even do that as Susan was ignoring them, as if she thought they were bickering children.
Emilia drove only far enough to get the heat in the car working, hoping by then her mother would have at least noticed her absence and texted her. Yet by the time Emilia found a sunny part of the next block to park on, there was nothing. More anger boiled up in her for even looking. Why did she need her mother’s apologies, anyway? Susan had never meant them, never intended to change or quit drinking. Had Emilia been looking after her for so long that she had forgotten the person her mother was? How long had she been making excuses for her? How much more time would she waste trying to win love from a mother who just wasn’t there?
She sighed and considered her options. Since it was in between the holidays, the school was closed, and it was already past 3:00 in the afternoon, so the library would be closed as well. If she were a normal twenty-one-year-old, she could have gone to a friend’s house to wait out the drama, but a short adulthood of work and long hours left her without any friends to speak of, and her mother’s eccentric behavior with even fewer relatives.
***
Sober for the first time in days, he made himself shower and dress properly. While he would not leave the manor, his thoughts of Emilia Ward constantly tempted him to do otherwise. Still, he didn’t want to risk being seen, and as far as anyone in the world knew, he was in Europe, perhaps Argentina, and for the next month, he had to remain there. Kasper was unsure if he thought he could tolerate the lectures and never-ending questions from Aasif should he discover he had been lying all these years, that he never actually left the estate in the winter, but merely stayed aboard like a spirit in the boneyard.
There were many reasons he pulled off the charade every year. He did it partially because of the depression the holidays brought him, for despite her gloomy demeanor, even Mrs. Levkin could not deny the slight influx of happiness that came with Christmas. And though he knew better than to believe in God, the majority of his clients were American and, thus, of one faith or another. For whatever reason, some proper etiquette then insisted they send him small trifles of their gratitude, cards, and things called fruitcakes. It was exhausting just to deal with—and every time he caught the water delivery boy whistling Christmas carols, or Mr. Dias forgetting himself and wishing someone a happy holiday, it was all he could do not to thrash someone right then and there.
There was also, of course, the need for distance. Being around others, regardless of how isolated he tried to make himself, was never enough. A month-long vacation from him might have been all that kept his employees with him, including Emilia Ward.
But now he sat in his office, the one room that did not remain closed for the month, and pondered over some old blueprints. He had considered playing, perhaps composing something or another, but it was a notion quickly lost to him and he stared longingly at the empty bottles beside him. For the rest of his miserable life, would he never be able to play, listen to any music of quality, without thinking of her? He dared to say that her effect on him should have concluded by now, yet it hadn’t, and he was beginning to fear that she might always haunt him.
Kasper leaned over and switched off the lamp beside his desk. It was better for him to remain in the darkness, the fresh but dull nothing of black that could wash over his ugliness and ban him to isolation. He had learned long ago the difference between loneliness and solitude, the line that crossed the concept of “alone.” If asked, he would say he preferred the company of his own thoughts and those of the occasional author, yet something else drugged up in him, something that ached, becoming even more prevalent when Ms. Ward was near.
He heard a noise then, a small but disrupting one nevertheless. For a moment, he considered that it was the furnace changing temperature on him but recalled that of course it had been set down considerably, and would not turn on unless prompted. The water in the pipes had been all but shut off, and even if they hadn’t it wasn’t too cold for them to make such a clatter. A smoke detector, perhaps? No, that was much too simple. Was someone breaking in? Had an ambitious thief finally got around to exploring the private territory? Kasper wanted to laugh, but the rest of him couldn’t see any humor in it, and he sighed instead. Was someone trying to steal his paintings? The expensive ceramic vases?
Ah, there it was again. Though he hardly cared, a different sort of noise interrupted him. He thought, though only for an instant, that it was the sound of a woman’s voice.
He took another glance at the empty bottles. Perhaps he was simply going mad. If they were available, he might have looked at the security cameras. He had shut them down, happily, ironic when they might have prevented his house from being burglarized. But to him, the services of the cameras were useless to him now that Ms. Ward wasn’t there to observe in all her splendor. Kasper had deemed it a mere unnecessary expense that he could avoid.
Deciding nothing better of it, he escaped his confines and slowly worked his way down the steps, taking only some pains to be quiet. If this robbery happened to be an armed one, maybe he wouldn’t have to defend his house in the least. How wonderful it would be when Aasif or poor Mrs. Levkin found his bloated corpse, and the house long since cleared out! He flinched slightly at the idea, though long picturing his own demise, he was repelled to think of Ms. Ward discovering him, the little peach screaming in horror at the scene.
Halfway down the staircase he could smell the fresh waft of smoke; hear the cracking of burning kindling. Strange, he decided that a thief would try to set the house ablaze before robbing it. Except that over the pop of a fire, he could hear it again.
The soft humming of a little peach.
Chapter 11
Entering
Was this technically a crime? Mrs. Levkin had given her the key to the basement door, though at the time she had specified that it was only for emergencies—or at the best of times, when she could not be there to answer the door. So was this breaking and entering? Emilia wrapped her arms around herself even tighter, she had known that the heat in the house would be shut off, but the knowledge had not prepared her for such darkness, such cold.
She shouldn’t be there, that much she knew. Yet when the shops closed and it became too late to even wander around the parks safely, Emilia knew her options were limited. The idea of returning to that house where perverted eyes would wander over her still made her nauseous, and when she called her house’s landline, she could hear her mother’s drunken slurs and George’s drunken laughter in the background. Maybe, she thought, they were celebrating her having left, except that Emilia didn’t want to think about that. Instead she let herself into Iram Manor, feeling both better and worse all at once.
For a moment, she had considered calling Mrs. Levkin and explaining the situation, meagerly explaining that she only needed somewhere for the night, but the idea of explaining her situation in general shamed her, and the last thing she wanted was to see Mrs. Levkin’s warm eyes stare at her pitifully. She could have rented a cheap motel room for the night, or stayed in her car, but those options were about as safe as returning home when her mother and George were still conscious.
Emilia swore as she stubbed her toe in the dark. She was confident that the house had limited security but Emilia was still wary about turning on any lights. For all she knew, she had already tripped a silent alarm and the police were on already on their way. Stupid, Emilia. Very stupid.
She sighed and made her way to the living area. She thought the manor felt like less without its owner, like something essential was missing: the center piece of the puzzle. Emilia understood now that Iram Manor was a shadow of itself when the master wasn’t around, and she clutched herself tighter. Emilia had chosen to go there not just because of a lack of options, but also for the safety of the house. Yet without him there, it didn’t feel the same—he wasn’t in the walls and the windows, between the doors and under the floorboards like she had hoped.
While using her phone for light, Emilia started the kindling in the fireplace. It had been minutes, and no sign of flashing red and blue lights yet. There wouldn’t be any harm in seeking asylum there for a few hours, would there? Not long, and her mother and George would be passed out…and with any genuine luck, she would get a call back about the room for rent just outside of Boston before she had to go back to school.
Emilia pulled her knees up to her chest and listened to the sparks that broke against the wood. Once the fire was roaring, she closed her eyes and hummed softly to herself. Only there, she let herself watch the colors dance from under her eyelids. The flames set the scene for the daydreams she indulged in, daydreams about independence, a place of her own, about vet school, a dream more far off, but maybe…someday.
Yet under the sparking flames—or perhaps somewhere between them—she heard a noise that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge. A thud that, while soft, resonated in the empty house and put her instincts on high alert. But that was just the wind though, right? Emilia startled, wanting to squirm away from the fire, but the cold implored her otherwise. Just her luck that a robber would vandalize the manor the same night she had!
It only took a moment to consider her options. Clearly Kasper thought his castle impenetrable, or else he would have had an alarm system. She could just call the police, say she had been there to pick up something she forgot (her plan if she was caught in the first place). Yet, what if it wasn’t a burglar and just the pipes, or the wind like she hoped? She would end up calling the police on herself. And while never a particularly prideful person, Emilia wasn’t ready to willingly embarrass herself for no good reason. She curled up as close to the fireplace as she could without hurting herself and tried to focus. The sound didn’t come again so she decided to risk it, if, for nothing else, to assure herself of her own silliness.
“Hello?”
Silence.
She stood up and took a few steps towards the staircase, there were no other sounds, but she could not rid herself of the feeling of being seen. What in the hell was wrong with her? Where was this paranoia coming from? George was obvious when he checked her out, and Emilia thought from that alone she was usually aware when other males were, too. This sense, however, was different, like her mind was being read, or her body examined through an x-ray. Just realizing the difference made her more anxious.
“Who’s there?”
More silence.
“Speak up right now or I’ll call the police…”
There were no words to quite describe how startled she was to see the silhouette of a man staring down at her from the second floor. She recoiled, her heart pounding so hard it was easily the only sound she heard. How far away was it from the foyer to the basement? The outside to her car?
Yet after the initial instant of fear passed, one of familiarity followed. Emilia knew that shadow, long limbed and still unless he was furious about something.
