Dear Tressi [✓]

30

"W-why... doesn't this p-place have a lift?" Tressi panted after the third flight of stairs.

After the fiasco, the guests couldn't have cleared out faster. Igna had tried doing some damage control with Mrs. Methro to no avail. The night had ended in low spirits.

As much as Tressi and Des wanted to get away from the place, they couldn't leave just yet. Dala still hadn't shown up. So they decided to wait in her room. After what'd happened last time, Tressi felt that her mother's reaction upon seeing her would be less than cordial to say the least. And she preferred the uncomfortable interaction to take place in as much privacy as possible.

But she hadn't taken into account walking up four flights of badly planned stairs. The architect seemed to have designed their height based on mere whim. It varied constantly, leading her to lose her footing often. Des walked behind her, to steady her when she stumbled. Taking into account how often she tripped, this was a good idea.

"Because this place was probably built in the sixties. It's just one more floor. Go on," he said, placing his hand on the small of her back.

Finally, they made it past four flights of stairs and entered Dala's room. Being in here, Tressi couldn't help but remember what'd happened the last time. But she didn't allow herself to get sucked back into the hatred. This was about Edda and only Edda.

Thunder rumbled outside the window. Tropical storms were common in Lapec owing to the proximity to the sea. Tressi looked out through the huge windows. Flashes of lightning illuminated the room in short bursts as Des groped around for the lights. He finally found it, but Tressi wished he hadn't; the old flickering tube lights were a surefire way to get a migraine.

Tressi sat on the battered sofa as Des sat on the leather chair opposite and put his feet up on the coffee table. He tilted his head back so it hit the headrest and let out a sigh.

"That was crazy, huh?" he asked his wife.

"Very." Her tone intrigued him and he immediately straightened up. He leaned forward and saw her brows puckered together. She was staring off into space.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Patty... said a lot of things down there," she said in a low voice. Her fingers absentmindedly pulled at the threads that were coming out of the upholstery.

"Yeah... but it's Patty. She seems to be the kind of person who likes to stir up trouble." He shrugged.

"Yeah," Tressi mumbled.

"I think she says that stuff to get a reaction out of people, Tress. She's a gossip, and just plain nasty. It'll be foolish to take anything she says seriously," Des said, reasonably.

Tressi didn't answer. What he said was right. But she couldn't shake the feeling that Lila's death was somehow connected to her sister's. Des could see that Tressi didn't accept his view. But she didn't look like she wanted to talk about it, so he dropped it. They sat in silence, looking out into the rain.

They were shaken out of their thoughts when the door opened and Patty walked in. She was carrying a tray with glasses full of milk. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face was blotched. Her swollen lids made her already round eyes that much more prominent.

"Oh." She looked startled to see Tressi and Des in the room. "I didn't know you guys were in here," she said thickly, through clogged sinuses.

"We're waiting for my mother," Tressi stated. "What are you doing in here?" She sounded rather rude, causing Des to look at her, surprised. Tressi was always polite to a fault.

Patty, however, didn't seem to take offense. "I take milk up to all the rooms at night."

Seeing her approach the coffee table, Des hastily removed his feet off of them, but Patty didn't set the whole thing down. Rather she placed one of the glasses on the table and left the tray up, precariously balanced on the dresser. Both Des and Tressi could see how that'd be a recipe for disaster, but didn't say anything, assuming she'd pick it right back up and leave. But Patty didn't seem to have that idea.

Instead, she instead sat down heavily on Dala's bed. Taking out a tissue, she blew her nose loudly. The sound of wet phlegm exiting her nostrils made Tressi's bile rise up; she clamped down on her teeth to stop herself from throwing up. Even Des didn't look too comfortable at her proximity.

But Patty was oblivious to the couple's discomfort. She let out a heavy breath and massaged her neck, making herself more comfortable on the mattress. Tressi and Des looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: How to ask her to leave while sounding polite. But before they could say anything, Patty spoke.

"The world's cruel, huh? You do so much, you spend so much of your time and energy for something, you'd think people would be more grateful. You'd think people would appreciate those who took care of them, who listened to their godawful stories and reminiscences, year after year. But no. All you get in return is whining, and ungratefulness and thanklessness. When did everybody become so selfish?" she spat.

Tressi didn't think she had ever really hid her distaste for Patty, but clearly, something had gotten lost in the translation. For, Patty seemed to think Tressi and Des would be a sympathetic audience.

She continued, "Ten years. Yeah. Ten years of my life, I gave to this place. I know everything about everyone in this town. And Mrs. Peren still treats me like an idiot, defending that lying bitch in front of everybody. The things I could tell you about her. God. We'd be here all day!" she scoffed.

Now, Tressi didn't know what Patty was alluding to. But she was sure that whatever gossip it was, she didn't want to know—if it was about some random lady. However, if she could get her to talk about Mrs. Waldam, that might lead to something.

"Really?" Tressi asked, hoping she seemed the right kind of interested.

Patty didn't really need much persuasion. She looked at Tressi with glee evident on her face. "Yeah. She's a gambler. Too bad she's so terrible at it though. Her husband has no clue. She's pawned off so many of her jewelry including his mother's. She's a regular at Grazen Avenue. And everybody knows what kind of place that is. No respectable lady would ever step foot in there," she said, sounding self-righteous.

"Wow. That's bad. It's always the last people you think of, isn't it? The people you think wouldn't really have secrets or stuff in their past. Even those who are a part of an institution as respectable as Rothan's," Tressi said, hoping Patty would take the bait.

Her attempts to get Patty to talk about Mrs. Waldam were so transparent that Des stared at her incredulously. Tressi ignored him. Perhaps he thought this was the wrong thing to do. Perhaps he thought it wasn't so nice to dredge up old, painful history of a mentally affected old woman. But Tressi was past caring. She needed answers.

Patty smiled knowingly. "Yes. Even people who are a part of this place. That's the worst thing, you know? After all that's she's done, Mrs. Peren still treats me as if she's better than me somehow. As if I don't know what she's up to."

"Oh," said Tressi, disappointed. She hadn't meant Igna. She couldn't care less about what Igna was involved in.

Patty, however, clearly thought that that's what Tressi had meant and she was more than happy to oblige. "Yeah. The sponsors of this place, the official ones at least, have no clue about the under-the-table dealings she does. There are residents here who don't have a 'sponsor' but we still take them in. She writes it off as charity, but the money comes in. It goes into her pocket and not to the trust," she said, looking pleased at the shock on their faces. "That's not all she does-"

What else Igna did, they never found out. Because the door opened again and the warden entered the room.