Page 13 of Property of Chaos

I jerk upright to a seated position, startling Murphy. “What?” I like it with no neighbors. Quiet. Undisturbed. Solitary. “To who?” It’s what fucking sold me on the place when she brought me here.

“Can’t say yet. Not until it’s finalized.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t want people getting in a tizzy and interfering in the purchase.”

I narrow my eyes on her as she pops the cork. “Why wouldpeopleget in a tizzy?” A.K.A. Me.

She gives a non-committal shrug, pouring us each a glass. “Can’t say.”

I flop to my back again, shuffling left to capture the last of the sun’s rays through the windows.

“Where do you want it?” She kicks her heels off as she approaches, drinks in each hand.

“Set it on the side table, thanks.”

I admire her curves as she bends to place the wine down, her fitted dress hugging her hourglass figure. She hasn’t said much about why she finds it hard to make friends around here, but I’d wager it has a lot to do with jealousy and not much to do with her actual character.

“So what’s going on, chicken?” She settles on the front edge of the closest armchair; head tilted a little as she stares down at me.

I reach for the ends of her long blonde hair. “I got a letter on Monday.” My fingertips manage to brush the silky tips.

“From who?” Marianna frowns. “I thought nobody knew you lived here.”

“I thought so, too.” I swat the curtain of hair to make it swing then drop my hand on the floor. “A lawyer sent it. Fromhim.” I haven’t told her much about where I came from or why I need to stay incognito, but she knowsheexists.

“Shit.” She takes a healthy swig of her drink. “Why?”

“Here.” I push up on one elbow and retrieve the letter from where I left it atop the coffee table.

She takes it from my hand and sets the information on her knees, fingers tracing the page as she skimreads the text. The scratch of the paper as she flips the page to the next one damn near echoes in the silent room.

I lace my hands over my stomach and close my eyes.Focus on your breaths. In. Out.

“Holy shit, Ness.” Marianna’s exclamation snaps me from my trance. “He actually wants to blame you for your mother’s illness?” Her face falls. “Wait. Did you know she’d died?”

“I don’t think she has.” I’d feel it in my heart if she was gone. “I think he’s using it as a shock tactic to force me home. He’s tried messed up shit like that in the past.”

A beat passes before she whispers, “Will you go?”

“Fuck no.” I roll to my stomach, propping myself on my elbows. “If I go back there, I’m not coming out again.” And not by my own choice.

“He can’t make you stay.” She smiles softly.

I envy her innocence. “He can if I’m dead.”

It’s not called being dramatic if it’s true. He tried once. He almost succeeded another. Willingly re-entering my childhood home carries as much risk as walking out in front of a full-speed semi on the highway. Neither one lauds much chance of survival.

“What will you do, then?”

I flop down, burying my face in my hands. The darkness brings with it an awareness of my steady, thumping heart. “I don’t know. My gut says to find out if it’s true, first and foremost.But that’s hard to do when everyone close to her is underhisspell.”

“Public records,” she says, rising from the seat. “You’d be able to find her death notice in public records, wouldn’t you?”

I stay frozen as she steps over me to head for the kitchen. “Only if he reported it.”

“He must have if he has a lawyer involved.”

---