The Resurrection of Blake House

Chapter Three: The Library

Elizabeth stared at the peeling white paint behind the ripped screen that covered the front door. In one hand, she held a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee, so hot it almost burned. In the other swung a small white paper bag that held a single, still-warm pumpkin muffin. On her back was a canvas pack that contained her camera and tablet. There was also a thick, cream-colored file protecting the contract and deed to the property. She'd met Mildred first thing this morning to sign, and now the property was officially hers.

It had all happened so fast. Only three days ago, she'd been standing on this very porch for the first time. She knew it was crazy, on a level, to make such a radical life change so fast. But she needed to put Gran's death, and her failures at Pacifica, behind her. Far behind her. And so today, immediately after signing, she'd come to do an initial assessment of the house's condition, to begin to get an idea of what restoration would look like. She had the money her grandmother had left her. She knew she'd have to be sharp about the cost of materials and labor, and would have to do a few things at a time, but she felt confident she could remake the old place into something really beautiful. As it once had been.

She headed to the library as soon as she shut the heavy, glass-paned front door behind her. She already knew it was her favorite room in the house. She had been thinking about ways to restore the window's full glory since she'd first laid eyes on it. The stairs creaked and groaned as she climbed them in her heavy black combat boots. Elizabeth took a moment to wipe the dusty bare wood of the uncushioned window seat with the end of her scarf before plopping down. She sipped gingerly at the almost scalding coffee, but stashed the muffin in her bag. She wasn't really hungry, and there was a lot to do.

For the first time since the funeral, Elizabeth realized she suddenly felt calm. The edgy, jittery feeling that had been her constant companion these last few weeks was gone completely. Out of long habit, she reached for her backpack, to get the pills she kept stashed in a zippered interior pocket. But then she realized she felt as if she'd already taken them, as if they'd already had time to work their way through her system. In reality, she hadn't even taken the first dose.

Calm, she thought, astonished. I feel calm, and safe. She wanted to laugh at the strangeness of it all. I have to come halfway across the country, to a creepy old house that's probably going to fall in on me. Elizabeth reached out to trace the leaded lines of a particularly vibrant shade of red as she wondered why this place called to her so much. Her fingers skimmed a clear red pane the color of blood, of beating hearts, and she felt a sharp tingle in her hand. Her vision began to dim. She felt sick and dizzy, like there was a migraine coming on, and the world as she knew it melted away. Oh no, she had time to think before the vision took her. Not here. Please, not here and not now.

***

Gideon watched the girl from across the library, his back to what had been the servant's entrance. She was the first human being he'd seen in a very long time. Gideon tried, for a moment, to recall exactly how long it had been since Blake House had last been occupied, but couldn't. He no longer sensed time as he once had.

She looked a bit like a child wearing oversized clothes, clutching a thick, voluminous sweater all the way up to her neck, as if she was perpetually freezing. He wondered if she was. Temperature was something he also had no sense of.

Her clothing was his first indication that a very long time had passed since the Harvey family moved away. Her legs were completely uncovered from mid-thigh to the tops of a pair of boots. Her dress was scandalously short, although the hideous sweater covered most of it. Its blue-green color complemented her wide gray eyes and light brown hair. He found himself wishing he could see more of the dress and less of the hideous sweater. Her hair was completely unbound, as well. It was just curly enough to be unruly. Pieces of it fell in her face as she shifted uneasily in her boots. She brushed at it absently with a sweater-covered hand.