Hidden

This is my entry for @thewritersblock's Art Prompt Writing Contest, which calls for a story inspired by the picture below by @nubellorona.

When the lights of the house come clearly into view I slow my pace. The fast approaching twilight had lent an unexpected urgency to my movements but now I take in a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair.

My knock is answered by a balding man of indeterminate middle age.

“Good evening.”

His business-like demeanor tells me that he’s an employee, not a resident. I’m not surprised. For all its grandeur and age the house is in impeccable repair, owned by someone with real money.

“I’ve had some car trouble and my phone can’t seem to get a signal. I was wondering if I could call for a tow from here?”

The butler nods sedately and steps back. I take a minute to wipe the mud from my shoes. By the time we’re in the main hallway we’re joined by an elderly woman. Her hair is grey and her skin papery and wrinkled but she stands straight and tall, with a direct, penetrating gaze. A young woman comes up behind her and they both look at me with interest.

“So it was the front door I heard,” the older woman says.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” It’s summer and even though there’s still light out it’s late. “I’m Michael Smythe.”

“He’s had car trouble, ma’am,” finishes the butler for me. “I thought I’d take him back to the phone in the kitchen.”

“Oh dear, but it’s Sunday. Pederson’s garage will be closed. Unless you wanted to call someone else?”

“I wouldn’t know who to call,” I admit. “This is my first time out here, a spur-of-the-moment getaway alone.”

As I speak she sizes me up discreetly. I silently thank my mother for drumming it into to me to always dress well. Though they’re spotted with mud and engine oil I know my expensive shoes and collared shirt have put me in good stead.

“You’re staying on the island?”

“On the other side, in a little cottage,” I say, giving a self-deprecating smile. It’s the touristy area.

She nods, recognizing where I mean by my use of the word cottage. The newer, flashier places call their rentals villas. Another tick mark in my favor. She nods decisively.

“That’s rather far to have Jan drive you at this hour, Mr. Smythe, and I’m afraid your car won’t get looked at until tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay the night.”

“Call me Michael, please. I’m grateful for the invitation, if it’s no inconvenience,” I say earnestly.

“Of course not.”

She points me towards the powder room, inviting me to join her in the sitting room when I’ve washed up. When I return she introduces herself as Elin Holmgren and then her great-niece, Lucretia.

“She's here for her summer holidays from school.”

“University,” clarifies Lucretia. “I’m 19.”

The conversation quickly turns to travel. I turn on the charm but take care not to flirt with Lucretia. This has turned out better than I had any right to hope and I don’t want Elin to have second thoughts about her invitation. We continue talking and I realize I’m actually having a nice time, something I didn’t expect. Before I know it Elin is glancing at the mantel clock.

“You must be tired. Lucretia will show you to the green sofa room.”

We both look over but she’s staring into space, twisting a strand of hair around her finger.

“Lucretia,” repeats Elin.

Her niece looks up this time, her eyes unfocused for a moment before she snaps back to the present.

“Everyone calls me Lucy, Aunt Elin.”

“Nobody did when you were little. Lucretia is a lovely name.” She turns to me and adds, “It was my mother’s.”

Her voice is a little stiff. This appears to be an old argument and I’m relieved when Lucretia stands up and leads the way out.

Once we’re in the hallway she asks, “You’ll call me Lucy, right?”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll risk your aunt’s ire. You don’t like your name?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s so old fashioned.”

I nod. I thought her objection might be to any association with the infamous Lucretia, but that’s expecting a bit much from a teenager.

“This must have been a great place to play as a child,” I say.

“I guess. I never spent much time here. Anyway, Aunt Elin’s not the type to like people poking around.”

“So you never found any ghosts or secret passages? Maybe she doesn’t want them dug up?”

Lucretia glances at me and her mouth forms a sly smile. I lean towards her, closing the space between us.

“What, there is something?” I ask eagerly.

We’re walking down a thickly carpeted hallway on the second floor now. She slows and glances back the way we’ve just come.

“I sometimes wonder about my room. It’s in the old wing, in the tower.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Sounds promising. Maybe we should check it out tomorrow?”

If she’s disappointed by my answer she hides it well. I can’t say I’m not intrigued by the invitation but it’s a terrible idea. Or maybe I’m totally misreading the situation.

True to its name, my room has a green velvet sofa where I place my neatly folded clothing as I shower and climb into bed. I lay back and close my eyes but don’t sleep. I make myself wait at least two hours before I get up and slip back into my clothing.

* * *

After an hour of prowling I’ve finally oriented myself and it turns out Lucretia might have been telling the truth earlier. A blow to my ego and ruinous for my search.

I’m in the hallway outside of the tower room, weighing my options. There’s no knowing I’ll ever have this chance again and 19-year-olds can sleep as deeply as children. Then again they can be up all hours chatting with friends.

Unexpectedly her door swings open. I freeze, panicking inside, but Lucretia’s got a knowing smile and she tips her head in the direction of her room, as if she’s been expecting me. I follow her inside.

“You really were serious about looking for ghosts, huh?” she says teasingly.

“Of course,” I answer in the same light tone. I let my eyes travel over her appreciatively. “If you want to show me yours, that is.”

She steps closer. My hand is in my pocket, flicking the cap off the syringe. I don’t know if the sound warns her, but when I pull it out her arm is already raised to ward me off. We’re eye to eye, both straining with all of our weight. I’m surprised by her strength and when I look into her eyes I don’t see fear, I see raw determination.

I’m unprepared for her kick. It lands me on my ass a few feet from her, staring up at a gun. It’s small but at such close range it’ll do.

My eyes shift back to her face. The mask has completely slipped. She’s no spoiled 19-year-old.

Her lips are pulled back in a snarl. She can’t risk letting me walk away from this, but it’s going to be disastrous for her as well. Shooting me will clearly have been in self-defense but it’ll raise a lot of questions.

I drop the syringe and raise both hands. “I have a map,” I say quickly.

Her eyes slide over my torso and down to my pockets.

“It’s not with me. If you kill me you’ll never get a chance to see it.”

“What are you proposing?” she asks.

“We team up. An even split.”

“I’ve been working this for months.” Her voice is harsh.

“Okay, but how long have you been in the house? And you still haven’t found it?”

She scowls but she’s more agreeable after that. She retrieves the syringe and locks it away in a drawer while we talk about how this is going to go. I talk her down to a 60/40 split in her favor. The gun is lowered although she doesn’t put it away.

She asks me where and I explain it’s not exactly a straightforward map.

“If we’re gonna work together I need to see it,” she demands.

“We’re working together already. I’ll bring it with me the next time I visit.” We’ve decided I’m going to show a respectful interest in Lucretia, despite the age difference.

“So you’re not her niece at all?”

“Do I look like my name is Lucretia?”

The question is delivered in a pitch perfect imitation of a bratty teenager, but I can see a wicked gleam in her eye daring me to say yes. I wonder if she’s ever killed someone. There must be something wrong with me because I feel a real flare of interest.

We can’t properly search her room in the middle of the night. It’s time for me to go but I’m reluctant. This is new for both of us. I hope it holds.