The Apocalypse | The Umbrella Academy

xxvi.

Vanya stood in her living room, playing her violin. Evelyn had gone somewhere while she was in the bathroom, presumably because she wouldn't have let her go otherwise. Vanya liked playing the violin; it was her release from the world. When she played the familiar notes, felt the comforting wood under her chin, everything else seemed to melt away. She liked that.

A knock came on her door. Vanya pulled the violin away from her chin and shouted so the person the other side of the door could hear her. "He's not here, Mrs Kawolski." Another knock came so she set her violin down and walked to the door. "Mr Puddles isn't here." Vanya opened the door and was met with the face of a middle aged man.

"Can I help you?" she asked, embarrassed.

"I'm your four o'clock."

"I am so sorry. I totally forgot."

"Well, I'm not quite Mr Puddles but I think I can do." He smiled.

"My neighbour, she has a cat who always goes missing. She thinks I know where he is. I don't. She's older." The man looked at Vanya, confused. "And I should stop talking. I'm sorry. Come in."

The man walked into her apartment and removed his thin green raincoat. "I'm Leonard. I'm guessing I look a bit different than your normal students.

"Twenty years or so different. It's just easier to learn music when you're little, like a second language."

"Ich verstehe!" he exclaimed. Vanya looked at him in confusion. "It's German for 'I understand'. It's weird, I took four years of German in high school and that's all I can remember."

Vanya looked at him in slight embarrassment, a light pink pigment on her cheeks. "Well, it's over here," she said, changing the subject to the violin. It was obvious she was uncomfortable.

*

Her high heels made a loud noise on the concrete pavement. She liked that. It had always comforted her for some reason. A small smile creeped across her face as she started to skip and her copper hair flew around her. She couldn't help falling back to her childhood ways. She got some stares but she didn't care. She didn't care at all. And then, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into an alley, ruining her mood.

"Tell me everything and I won't hurt you," the person who grabbed her hissed. She was tall, six foot maybe, with light blue hair and piercing eyes. She was pretty. Prettier than the average person on the high street.

Play dumb, was all the woman thought. "Tell you what, exactly?"

Evelyn tightened her hold on her arm. She struggled to break free but she had an iron grip. And those eyes... those eyes were cold. She would do anything to get her answer. The ginger woman swallowed nervously.

"You know what. Does this ring a bell?" The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled photograph of a small ginger woman with green eyes and a small cluster of freckles.

"Yeah, that's me."

"What?" Evelyn asked in confusion. She turned the photograph around so she could see it and groaned in frustration. "Wrong photo," she grumbled. Evelyn stuffed the photo back into her coat pocket and pulled out another one: a middle aged man with brown hair and brown eyes.

"That's my employer," the woman reluctantly said. The woman wasn't professional but she was very intimidating. She didn't want to spend one minute longer with this woman than she had to.

"Name."

"Billy Eastwood."

"What do you do for him?"

"I give him information."

"On what?" The woman didn't answer. "You better answer me, Nutmeg, or you'll say goodbye to your pearly whites."

"Okay, okay," the woman rushed, convinced that the woman in front of her was unhinged and would actually do what she threatened. "I'm a receptionist at the police station. He pays me to find out what crimes have been committed by the Hargreeves family." She paused, squinting slightly at Evelyn. "I thought you looked familiar."

Evelyn ignored the last part. "How much does he pay you?"

"A grand for each crime. If I can get him the folder, it's two."

"That sounds about right," Evelyn said under her breath. "You work for me now," she told the ginger woman as she let go of her arm.

"How much are we talking here?"

"I'm not giving you money," she said indignantly.

The woman's face soured. "If you're not going to pay me, then why should I work for you?"

Evelyn sighed. "Because, if you don't, I'll kill you. I know where you live, I know your husband's name." Evelyn paused, thinking that she deserved to know the truth. "And I know that he's been cheating on you."

Nutmeg tensed. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm the other woman." Evelyn observed Nutmeg's face; it was full of shock, disappointment and sadness. She softened. "Just so you know, I didn't enjoy it. It was strictly professional." Nutmeg nodded in sadness, not replying. "You know, if I'm going to work with you, I've got to know your name." Even though Evelyn already knew it, she felt as if she deserved to have at least a little bit of control.

"Ophelia."

"I'm just going to call you Nutmeg."

Ophelia sighed. The least this strange woman could do was to call her by her actual name after she'd just learned she had been consorting with her husband. "What's your name, then?" Ophelia knew her name, too, she just wanted to make her feel small and unimportant.

"Evelyn Hargreeves. I probably was the cause of most of your money source." Ophelia smiled. "It's funny, isn't it? Spending five years inside and two years in rehab did nothing to get me off drugs. Man, prison was boring."

"Don't forget the amount of fighting."

"Yeah, that too."

*

Leonard had the violin positioned under his chin, his fingers slowly adjusting to play somewhat off-key notes. The bow screeched along the strings and Vanya tried her hardest not to wince.

"That's coming along," she said.

"Looks like I chose the right teacher," he responded.

"I don't know about that. My next student could probably lecture on what I'm doing wrong. She's a bit of a prodigy." Vanya felt embarrassed that she was telling him that but she found him so easy to talk to.

"Well, you can relax. I've never been a prodigy at anything."

"That makes two of us." Vanya gave a light laugh. She stood up and walked behind her sofa. "Next lesson, practise your bow hold and maybe get a violin."

Leonard put the violin down and walked over to his coat, starting to put it on. "Do you think it's weird to learn violin this late in life?"

"No, no. Monet didn't really start painting until his forties. He did alright for himself." She paused before continuing. "But if you love music, you're in the right place."

"I'd say you're describing my dad more than me. He was the music lover, loved the violin. It was just not my thing. I guess I'm here to get to know him better, you know? It's stupid." He had now pulled on his coat and was standing by the door.

"No, stupid is not knowing. I get where you're coming from, believe me."

"Hey, I own a shop in Bricktown. Maybe you could check it out."

Vanya looked at Leonard and searched her brain for an excuse. "This week I'm busy-"

He cut her off before she could say anything further. "It's fine. See you next week." Leonard gave a small smile and left the apartment, leaving Vanya on her own, regretting what she'd said.