When Secrets Persevere

Part 2

On the surface level, the villa was a complete vision of luxury and class. But what lay hidden beneath the ground floor was an incomplete dream of an effervescent world. There, among the piles of scattered documents and ragingly scribbled hand notes, rested a great mystery that was soon to be discovered by no other than the descendent of its creator.

Roya's mission to uncover every truth within the house was taking longer than she thought. Within every destination, she discovered a path that led down to yet another room. As she stood in the middle of the living room, eyes wandering over the plain white walls, she discovered that there remained one unopened door in the house - the one below the staircase.

Although she was convinced that there could be nothing interesting in a basement, her insatiable curiosity still led her down the creaky wooden stairs. Halfway through, she felt a funny tinkle in her nose that triggered a loud sneeze. Between the darkness of the basement and the little light the open door shone down on the steps, she could see the flying particles of the dust that occupied every bit of the room. When she made it down the last step, she had never before been more grateful to have on a good pair of shoes.

The concrete flooring of the basement was practically invisible to the eye, covered entirely by deserted heaps of chipped furniture, filled carton boxes, and torn art pieces. Roya's inquisitive stare travelled across the wide expanse, wondering where she could start, and if she even should. She couldn't imagine she'd find anything valuable among the abandoned garbage; but then, there was always that thing they said about one man's trash being another's treasure.

With calculated steps she explored among the abandoned boxes, a thin layer of dust blanketing their contents. They harbored a wide range of miscellaneous ornaments, broken wooden frames and chipped vases. Things that should have been thrown out without a second thought rather than kept tucked away in a hidden basement. But despite the annoying tickling in her nose triggered by the flying dust, Roya found a small smile forming on her lips, because the scene in front of her was providing the answers she needed. The basement, along with her childhood bedroom up on the first floor, were speaking volumes about what her father was like. He was a hoarder, a collector, someone who didn't like to let things go.

Feeling a new surge of excitement dancing through her veins, Roya continued investigating among the piles of rubbish, her fingertips now tainted with a light layer of grey dirt.

Further down the basement on the wall behind the staircase, Roya spotted a large canvas with crumbling wooden frames. Hung high on the brick wall, it was nearly twice her height and four times as wide. It was covered by a thicker layer of dust which concealed the beauty of the forest landscape in the painting.

Fascinated by the size and the subtle beauty peeking through the darkened spots, Roya found herself magnetically drawn to the canvas. Sidestepping overturned boxes with their miscellaneous contents spilled out, she accidentally stepped on a piece of paper, the dust beneath its surface reducing the friction of its movement and the action sending her sliding forward. Her startled gasp was silenced when her palms slapped loudly on the frames of the painting.

Roya's body froze in fright, her hands glued to the frames of the swaying painting, legs wide apart. She feared the impact might have caused an irreparable damage to the art piece. Even if no one was left to claim it or reprimand her for the possible damage caused, she would still feel bad for ruining something that was meant to be treasured.

Inhaling sharply, she removed her foot from the piece of paper, arms braced against the weakened frames of the painting. Then, in a gentle motion and with a heavy heart, she removed her palms, watching as a thin piece of wood chipped off the frame and fell to the floor, leaving behind a permanent lighter shade, too contrasted to ignore.