Page 35 of Freaks
SERA
I woke alone. Bars of warm, honeyed light slanted through the open windows to the bedroom, and a gentle breeze tugged at the cream, floor-length curtains. When I turned over, I noticed the small beads stuck to my skin. The rosary beads from last night. A warm flush of horror washed over me, but then quickly dissipated. How was I supposed to feel bad for last night? It seemed as though Fix needed the release of the defiant act to dispel all the other memories that echoed at him from his bedroom walls.
I listened, straining to hear some sort of sound that might indicate where the man himself was, but I heard nothing. I was a stranger here. Fix had told me he’d give me the nickel tour today, but in the meantime I would have to locate him by myself. I got out of bed, dressing quickly, and I walked out onto the landing, once again listening for any sort of voice or indication as to where Fix might be.
I came across Richard first. The old man was standing at the foot of the wide sweeping stairs, as if he was waiting for me to appear. He was wearing the same crisp white shirt and black trousers as last night, except now the red tattered robe that had been slung over his shoulders had vanished. At his throat, a smart black bow tie had been tied, and a white linen cloth was draped over his left arm, as if he were waiting to accept an empty champagne flute from me.
“Well, good morning Ms. Sera,” he said. “Been waiting on you. Not surprised you slept in late, I heard the pair of you caterwauling until the dawn.”
Oh, perfect. Juuuuust fucking great. I probably wouldn't have given a shit if Fix's parents had heard us, but somehow, knowing the poor old man had been kept awake by us, especially in a house this big, embarrassed the crap out of me. “Yeah. Well, I'm sorry about that.” I said, smiling awkwardly. The old man returned my smile, an impish light glimmering in his eyes.
“He be waiting for you in the dining room with Ms. Monica,” he told me. “They already had breakfast, but I saved some for you. I'll go and warm it up now."
My stomach tightened and twisted at the mention of food. I hadn't even realized I was hungry, but the thought of eating now made me realize just how ravenous I was. Richard threw the white linen cloth over his shoulder and beckoned for me to follow after him. I would never have found the formal dining room if he hadn't found me at the bottom of the stairs. Guiding me through a series of wide, well-lit hallways, we passed a number of beautiful oil paintings and many more side tables bearing vases full of beautiful flowers. Knick-knacks, keepsakes and all kinds of treasures rested on shelves and bookcases, along with tome after tome. Fictional works, autobiographies, books on philosophy and theology. Countless works that covered the natural world. The sciences. Economics and politics.
Underfoot, plush rugs covered the parquet, and then the marble flooring, which was the color of freshly poured milk, flecked with hints of gray and gold that shone in the early morning light.
Eventually Richard led me through a right-hand turn, and I found myself within the formal dining room he had mentioned. A long, heavy, worn oak table dominated the room, with chairs enough for twelve people. At the far end of the table, Monica sat in front of an empty plate, and Fix sat beside her, rotating a coffee cup around and around on top of a coaster by its handle.
Monica's nurse’s scrubs were gone. She was wearing a dressing gown, a lot like the one Richard had been wearing last night, and a pair of oversized navy-blue pajamas, shot through with a white pinstripe. She looked up when she noticed we’d arrived, and her entire demeanor changed. She’d been at ease and very still, and now she was like a startled deer, fidgeting in her seat.
Fix, on the other hand, seemed just fine. Better than fine. A secret, devious smile played over his lips when he glanced up from the coffee cup. Patting the seat next to him, he motioned for me to join him. Richard grumbled as he turned about-face and left the room, grousing about fetching my food.
There was something very Victorian about the whole affair, as if, when we'd driven upstate and entered this house, we’d stepped back in time to a more genteel era, where servants were still a thing, and luxury was expected. Where the lord and lady of the manor were waited on hand and foot.
My body ached as I sat down. My wrists were banded by a chain of small red marks, too—more evidence of last night’s encounter; I’d be remembering and replaying the way Fix had masterfully manipulated my body long after the physical signs had faded away, though. I was probably never going to forget.
There was a light, unburdened air to Fix as he poured me a cup of coffee and placed it in front of me. The razor-sharp tension that normally hung over him was gone this morning, leaving behind a side of Fix I was unacquainted with. Happy-go-lucky Fix. Wonders would never cease.
The coffee was acerbic and slightly bitter, but as soon as the caffeine hit my lips I suddenly felt very, very awake.
"Monica has good news," Fix said.
The woman squirmed, tugging at the bottom of her navy-blue pajamas. She didn't say anything until Fix gave her an encouraging sidelong glance. “Carver emailed,” she said. “He wanted to thank me for helping him locate you. He thinks…” She paused. “He believes that you're dead.”
So, it had worked then. Staging my own death, lying in that stairwell, my body twisted like a pretzel, had paid off. Despite my misgivings, Zeth had done as he’d promised. He’d convinced his boss, who, in turn, had convinced Carver. I didn’t even know how to react.
Monica rose from the table, quickly getting to her feet. "I just wanted to say that I was sorry, Sera," she said. "I didn't mean…I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. If I'd known how strongly Fix felt about you, I would never have…" She trailed off, her eyes cast down at her feet.
"It's okay.” I tried to scrub the hard edge from my voice. "I understand why you did it. You don’t need to say another word about it.”
Fix gave my knee a thankful squeeze under the table. I raised the coffee mug to my mouth, hiding behind it as I took a deep swig. Apologies were difficult things. It was my experience that they were hard for the person who owed them, but just as hard for the person who had to accept them. A few words, even if they were heartfelt, didn’t necessarily banish the consequences of someone’s actions.
“Monica’s going to stay here with Richard for a while,” Fix said. “The old bastard’s so intent on keeping the place tidy, but he’s breaking more shit than he’s cleaning. She’ll be able to help him. Make sure he doesn’t end up having a heart attack while he’s polishing the silverware.” His words were more for Monica’s benefit than mine. He wanted her to feel useful, like she had a purpose.
But did that mean…?
I put my coffee cup down, just as Richard reappeared with a plate piled with eggs and bacon. I thanked him with a smile as he set it down in front of me. I waited until he left before I asked the question burning in my mind. “What about thebusiness?” There was nothing else I could call it. Essentially, the operation Fix and Monica had been running for the past five yearswasa business. They provided a service, and they got paid for it. Or Monica did. And just because the service they were providing was highly illegal and would almost certainly earn Fix a one-way trip to death row, didn’t mean there was no industry involved with it.
“Shut down,” Fix answered. “At least for now. I think we need a break from all the…”
Murder.
“…stress,” Fix finished carefully. Richard probably didn’t know how Fix had been occupying his days these last five years; he clearly didn’t want the old butler finding out now, because of a few errant words.
“I’m going to need a uniform,” Monica said quietly. “A black and white one. Like in the movies.” Black and white, like the very first uniform she put on back in Canada. The nun’s habit.
“I’ll order one for you,” Fix said. His shoulders tensed as he glanced down at the ring of faint bruising around my wrist; he mustn’t have noticed it until now. Tracing his finger along the mark, he hummed softly under his breath. “And I am finally going to takeyouback to Seattle,” he informed me. His focus had drifted, his eyes a little glazed over. I knew exactly where he’d traveled to: last night, to his bedroom, to that Roman collar gripped between my teeth, and my hands bound over my head. To the outrageous, deviant things he’d whispered in my ear. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth, trying not to turn red.
