Page 4 of The Devil

From the technology on show, I can see it’s all top-of-the-line and arranged to subtly blend in with the surroundings. If the house wasn’t enough to scream money, then the appliances sure do. However, I’m a simple girl who rarely watches TV and always chooses a paperback over a screen version. I quickly move past the electrical stuff and instead, marvel at the photography on display. I can’t paint, draw, sing, or dance, but I do have a passion for photography. I used to own an old manual camera, but after Cam showed me what I could do with a digital print, I reluctantly conceded to buying a more up-to-date version.

There are a few black and white prints dotted around the otherwise blank, white walls, but no personal pictures, only shots of landscapes and inanimate objects. It’s a little disappointing because I love taking pictures of people who don’t realize you’re there; the personal moments and candid shots are my favorites. I had taken some at Jen’s wedding but didn’t have the confidence to share them with anyone other than my mother. I can picture them now, hidden under my bed like a shameful secret. The photographs hanging here are all artistically shot but give off a cold and detached vibe. They remind me of Lucius, impressive to look at but completely cold in every other way.

Being in danger of losing track of my host, I run up the wooden staircase to catch up with Merial, pausing every few moments to take stock of the modern, dark, square steps with a clean, glass banister. They’re the type you wouldn’t dare dream of having if you had children or anyone else who needs sturdy support. When we reach the top landing, I fall into line behind Merial, pacing along the corridor with plain, wooden doors running along both sides of the walls. It’s like a freaking hotel and I half expect Merial to give me a key card to get into my room. At the end of the corridor, it turns again to go down another, shorter corridor.

This corridor is missing a wall to the left, revealing a small lounge on the floor below, complete with couches, a state-of-the-art music system, a bookcase, a flat screen TV, and a coffee table. Behind the larger sofa, there is a set of expensive bi-fold doors overlooking a swimming pool and decking area. Merial catches me looking around in awe and dons a smug smile across her face.

“There’s also a small kitchen and bar beneath us. Mom thought it would be a good idea to put you here so you can feel a bit more self-contained.”

It’s only then that I notice she has dyed her naturally chestnut-colored hair platinum blonde and has set it poker straight. She’s also perfected her make-up artistry skills; the last time I had seen her, she wore one color of eyeshadow, usually bright blue, and sugar pink lipstick. Today, it looks immaculate, along with her professionally manicured nails that have a layer of thick gloss and tiny gems stuck on them. And to top it all off, I notice her phone fixed firmly inside her tight back pocket, looking ready to be drawn like a cowboy from an old Western movie. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I glance down at my skinny but ill-fitting jeans, and loose black t-shirt, complete with a pair of flip-flops that have lasted me at least two summers already. My hair is swept back into a French braid, and I already know the small amount of foundation I had put on has now worn off. I could never pull off the flawless look that Merial seems to manage so easily, so I don’t even try.

“Make-up tells boys you’re up for anything they want,” Grandma, on my father’s side, whispered when she caught me looking at some lipsticks in the drug store. “It screams ‘cheap’.”

“So, here is your room,” she says, leading me into a spacious bedroom that overlooks a garage, no doubt filled with expensive cars, which I hear Paul is passionate about. There’s a double bed with clean, crisp white sheets and a small bathroom to the side. It lacks any personality and looks remarkably like a generic hotel suite. It’s clean, neat, and probably bigger than my room back home, but it surprises me when I get a sudden pang of homesickness.

“Thank you, it’s great,” I utter, smiling awkwardly her way. “Where’s your room?”

“Oh, I’m on the other side of the house,” she informs me, then takes a step closer, as though getting ready to reveal some juicy intel. “You may want to move in with me on the weekends, it can get pretty loud over this way. Lucius likes to use this place when he throws parties, aka, a body, drinking, and dodgy weed fest!”

“He’s allowed to throw parties? Frequently?”

“Yeah, Paul and Mom are often away at the weekends. Lucius and I are not invited, if you know what I mean,” she says, grinning with a wink, just in case I didn’t get the subtle memo.

“If it is what I think you mean, then eww!” I laugh at her as she sits back on the bed with a wicked smile on her face. “So, if he’s throwing parties, what do you do?”

“I sometimes go to them,” she replies, lowering her voice; I’m not sure who she thinks is listening in, but her secretive behavior is making me want to search the room for hidden bugs. “He may be an ass, but his friends are hot!”

“I see you’re still very deep, Meri,” I tease. “Can I lock the door during these parties?”

“Sure, here’s your key.” She walks over to the mechanism on the door and shows me how it works. “It’s sometimes a bit stiff but if you lift it up a bit, it usually works.”

“Right, I’ll keep my phone charged in case I get stuck.” I then walk over to practice locking and unlocking the ‘sticky’ door. “I’ll be fine if I can lock it all out. I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything going on inside your room, especially if you have eyes on all his ‘hot’ friends.”

Safe in the knowledge that the lock works without too much trouble, I begin to text Mom to let her know I got here ok.

“Good point, Hels,” she says, “you always have been the brains. Let’s unpack your essentials and I’ll take you out. We can do one of the cheesy sightseeing tours of San Fran. If nothing else, it will keep us out of Lucius’ way.”

Chapter 4

Helena

I rather enjoyed sightseeing, even with Meri being glued to her phone; embarrassingly, it seemed to know the most inappropriate times in which to beep on the loudest setting possible. And being Meri, it didn’t faze her at all when it frequently interrupted the tour guide’s talks. Me, on the other hand, I sank so low in my seat, I was almost sitting on the floor with the dried-out chewing gum and stale crumbs. The tuts from the other tourists, together with the tour guide’s evil glaring caused my cheeks to burn and my self-esteem to hit rock bottom.

Meri’s driving on the way home isn’t at all reassuring either, particularly when she prioritizes catching up with people from her social clique over safety. She frequently violates traffic laws while simultaneously making my heart stop every time she veers too close to an oncoming vehicle. The only thing to make up for it, is listening to her put on a fake voice for all her friends; it’s fascinating and a little bit reassuring to know I’m not the only one hiding away my true self around others. In between calls, I get a running commentary of gossip; she dishes the dirt on each of her friends with delicious glee written all over her face. Listening to all of them, however, I don’t doubt they all do it to each other. I remind myself that this is exactly why I lead a solitary existence at school.

“Meri!” a voice cries out over the speakers with a sense of urgency. “Crisis call! David has just broken up with Scarlet and she is talking about throwing herself off the Golden Gate Bridge. She’s such a fucking drama queen. Can you come?”

“Wait a minute, babes, I have my cousin with me, just hold the line.” She presses a button to hold the call while glancing my way, choosing to ignore the fact that my hands are now clutching hold of the seatbelt with white knuckle force. “You wanna come, Hels? Or do you wanna take my key and I can drop you off? Scarlet will probably bitch on and on about David, who is way better off without her,” she begins, but then pauses and looks at me with a mild look of guilt, or perhaps sympathy, probably both. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

“Oh, hey, you go, I’ll be fine.” I flap my hand in front of me to signal it’s no big deal, only to bring it straight back to grab hold of my seatbelt again. “I need to unpack anyway.”

She smiles and air kisses me, a gesture I cannot bring myself to reciprocate.

“Be there in ten, babes,” she beams as soon as she presses the button to take the call off hold.

Helena

Back at Hasting’s Villa, a nickname for my home away from home, for I’ve decided this is my very own version of the Von Trapp villa, I quietly open the door and hope no one is home to hear the squeaky hinges that are trying their best to give me away. Silence greets me and I let out a sigh of relief, feeling beyond glad that the place appears to be empty while I don’t have Meri to hide behind. It also gives me the perfect opportunity to wander about and have a good nose around the natural habitat of the uber-rich. This time I avoid the staircase and walk through into a large, airy kitchen. It’s incredibly white, almost clinical in appearance, but the wall of glass doors allows the warm sunshine to seep through. It’s late afternoon, so there’s a hint of orange touching every surface, which only has me feeling homesick again. The glow gives off a feeling of nostalgia, of Sunday afternoons in my father’s study, stealing time to be alone with a library of old books.

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