muchtooarrogant | Et tu, Brute?

LJ Idol, Week Nineteen

When she turned on to the driveway, its sound, gravel crunching underneath her car's tires, brought back the memory of the old man's voice on the phone.

"Honestly Kate, I don't know how much longer I can hold them off."

It had been one of her father's cronies of course, a familiar voice from her childhood years, full of expectations and obligations she would somehow have to safely navigate around.

"I don't understand," she had admitted, "you said you had a buyer. Unless they've backed out, I don't see the problem."

"Oh, they haven't backed out, child," Patrick Aimes had reassured her, somehow managing to sound both amused and dismayed at her inability to understand. "They'd like to close on the property as soon as possible. That's a minor miracle of course, given the state the house is in after all these years, but they love the location, so close to the river you know, and kept talking about what lovely character the place had."

The old heap of wood and stone had been in her family for more than a hundred years, two stories of decaying history which she had no desire to ever go near again. If some over-achieving urban couple wanted to snatch it up as their rustic home away from home, that would be fine with her.

"So," she broke in, aware that, if she let him, he'd ramble on all day about the house's admirable qualities, proximity to the water, and a hundred other details she cared nothing about, "why can't you set a closing date?"

He sighed. "I can't set a closing date because the house is still full of your father's possessions, Kate. Furniture, books, clothing, it's all still there, just the way he left it two years ago. For that matter, your bedroom looks as though you just left with your date for the senior prom."

She had cringed, desperately searching for some way to escape from the inevitable demand she had known was coming, unable to answer his unspoken accusation. Two years ago, her father had suffered a fatal heart attack during his morning jog, and she, the wayward daughter, had only returned home long enough to see him decently buried before running back to her life in New York. While arranging his funeral, she had stayed at a roadside motel, never once going anywhere near the house in which she had grown up.

After a few long seconds had passed, the crackling voice of her father's old friend and lawyer, her lawyer now she supposed, continued, "I can arrange to have the furniture removed and sold if you don't want any of it, but there are personal papers, and books, and God only knows what else still lying around in there. I know you don't want to, Kate, but you're going to have to come back and sort through all that stuff before I can get it sold for you."

And that, of course, had been her dilemma. To finally be rid of the place, once and for all, she would have to come back; clear out bookcases, closets, and dresser drawers; sift through her and her father's past one room at a time; pack everything up and store it neatly away, to either be saved or discarded at some later date. Unfortunately, there were things which could not be disposed of so easily.

She had finally reached the end of the driveway, slowing her car to a stop as the old house loomed up in front of her. Its sandstone facade was the same, most stones appearing brown, but with a few cream colored ones mixed in, and even an occasional deeper red. Shutting off the engine and getting out of the car she had rented at the airport that morning, Kate stared up at the structure for a few moments. Had the old lawyer told his enthusiastic buyers that the house they were so interested in purchasing was haunted? Would that revelation have dissuaded them from buying, or only added an extra sheen to the places character?

Reaching back inside the rental, she rummaged around in her purse for a second, at last finding the chain with the single key she wanted. She wouldn't bring anything else inside. This was to be a reconnoiter, a scouting mission which would determine if she could stand up to what the house had in store for her.

When she inserted the key into the front door's lock, it jammed about halfway in, and refused to budge. She gave it a push, wiggled it back and forth a few times, and then, smiling, was on the verge of turning away. Apparently, the house wanted as little to do with her as she did with it. The trapped key was unimportant, an inconvenience she'd be happy to discard, but the gold chain she'd used to bind it wasn't. Kevin had given it to her in tenth grade, wiggling his eyebrows while holding it out, and saying, "If you take it, we're really boyfriend and girlfriend."

Kate reached for the chain's latch, fumbled with it for a second, and had just managed to pull it free when the key shifted, and sank the remainder of the way into the lock as though sucked in by some invisible force.

It figured. She wasn't even inside yet, and already the place was playing games with her. Running the chain's yellow links through her fingers, she wondered why she had come. Despite what Mr. Aimes had said, she could've insisted, forced him to hire a moving company to pack everything, sell the unwanted furniture, and deliver the papers and other personal belongings to her in New York. It would've been expensive, certainly, but infinitely preferable to what she was facing right now.

Squaring her shoulders, she fastened the chain around her neck, enjoying its cool touch against her skin. Perhaps it would protect her, serve as a talisman against what lay inside. She turned the key, noticing that the lock's action was now smooth and unprotesting, pushed the door open, and stepped forward.

She was surprised, although the lawyer had promised to have the electricity and water turned on before she got there, she had still expected to find nothing working, the house's interior filled with stale air and threatening shadows. The foyer's light responded immediately when she flipped the switch upward however, and the air felt completely normal. There was still dust everywhere of course, coating almost every flat surface she could see, but knowing her father's lack of housekeeping skills, some of it may have actually been there before his accident. The idea made her smile.

She saw a note on the entry way table, a rectangle of white against the wood's dark surface. Assuming that it must be a note from her attentive lawyer, she stepped forward and picked it up.

"I LOVE YOU!" was written in large block letters.

Kate gasped, dropping the paper, and backing up until she slammed against the foyer's opposite wall. Not a note from Mr. Aimes after all, but a message from the thing she had feared, the presence that had haunted her for months before she ran away.

"It'll be fun," Kevin had told her, pulling her towards the car with two of his laughing friends in the back seat. "Come on, it's Senior Ditch Day! You'll be like the only one in class. Even the teachers'll laugh at you."

"I won't be in class," she said primly, pulling free, "but I also won't be joy riding with you three loser-teers."

"Sure I can't tempt you?" he'd wheedled, giving the gold chain around her neck a playful tug.

If he'd been alone, he might have convinced her, but the unwanted company in his back seat was a turn off, and she had plans of her own anyway. A drive to the city with her best friend, a day spent shopping and boy watching, freedom from school, him, and everything else.

The day had been perfect. She had started off feeling a little melancholy because she couldn't be with Kevin, but her friend Carolyn wasn't having any of that. Driving full speed down the road with all four windows open, she had regaled Kate with wicked fantasies about their classmates and teachers until they were both screaming with laughter. Shopping had been a blast, trying on and modeling dozens of dresses they couldn't even begin to afford, making so much noise in one fancy boutique that the sales lady had threatened to throw them out. Lunch had been followed by ice cream cones in the park, both girls whispering secrets and inventing stories about the people walking passed. By the time Kate finally got home, she was exhausted and ready for bed.

What happened next had felt like a dream, a slow melting into warm and comforting arms, the whispering of silken words against bare skin. His presence here, in a bed she had never shared with anyone, was thrilling, an adventure she had dreamt of, but never thought to experience. He had started with slow caresses, feathery touches that masterfully excited her in ways no teenage lover ever had, teasing fingerplay that left her panting and hoping for more. Slowly, as his touches became more insistant, she realized with drowsy amazement that this was no fantasy lover, no creation of her subconscious, but someone she knew all to well.

"Kevin?"

As their passion mounted, she wrapped herself around him, intertwining his limbs with hers, pulling him as close as possible.

In the morning, her father had told her Kevin was dead.

Author's Note:
While desperately racking my brain for inspiration on this week's topic, I happened to be listening to Pandora, and heard the following song. Afterwards, I still wasn't sure what sort of betrayal I'd write about, only that it would have to be a ghost story.

Dan

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I really enjoyed this. A lot.

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Et tu, Brute?

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