Erica slammed the truck door shut, stepped off onto the firm, chilled earth and planted her sneakers firmly down. She was ready to make her stand.
She gazed upward towards the Estate, and the Estate gazed back at her. Still somewhat distant behind the blanket of willows now hiding her truck from the view of the road – visibly breaking the ’No Autos’ statute of the neighborhood’s ritzier and less-developed side – the glassy frost of the lighted windows studied her, wanting and haunting, and the retreating greenery of the season that usually defined the boundaries of the building’s friendly face, right now it only cast specters over it and the surrounding grounds. The hedge maze which normally lent them childhood whimsy now looked like some labyrinth straight out of one of the horror flicks she could remember watching, scaring herself purposefully as a transgression against authority and personal squeamishness with her cousins in a long-bygone era.
The rocky cliff-faces of Spearing Islands that randomly divided off the geography of the island hung not much higher than the Estate Main House’s fourth floor square spire, both now covered in a slight dusting of wispy pre-snow. This ghostly impression of weather was all that the island usually took in terms of the harshness of the season, even on the occasion of the Solstice holiday. It was enough to transform the invitingly gaian exterior into a standoffish grey that swallowed the few sources of light and heat around the exterior, even the one’s that could penetrate the growing fog.
Erica shivered slightly, her garb for the occasion proving unsurprisingly inadequate for the growing chill. A heavy, hooded green service jacket hung over her childhood Winterfest knit sweater, dated to the year she graduated primary school when it was overlarge and dress-like, was now the only one she could still squeeze her muscles and curves into, snug and improperly short though it was. Only her torn workhorse jeans were between her long legs and the brisk crosswind. She knew trying to brave cold like this was foolhardy without at least some thicker socks, real boots, or pants without holes in them.
But she was not so far away from some nice, warm hand-me-downs plucked from the depths of the winter storage crates tucked under the grand staircase of her ancestral home. Waffle-textured long-johns under a relatives discarded flannel jammies would defeat the nippy weather.
It was the freeze-out from those same relatives that she was really worried about.
She smiled through the feeling, however. Surely she could make them understand. Maybe only for a little while, but it was all the time she needed. A little time distant from the Estate had done her a world of good – would continue to do so if she had something to say about it. All she really needed was some space to herself.
More space than the back of a truck, anyway.
She unlatched her low lift-gate and sat upon her bed. Her brightly adorned but shoddily wrapped collection of family gifts sat in a row along her pillows and the engine box. She gathered them up as best she could in her arms, and quickly decided a bag was necessary. She unfolded an old, thin mesh gym bag from work and stacked them inside, their already obtuse wrapping not fairing as well as she had hoped within the tight confines of the cheap zipper. But they did fit, after a fashion. She looked around her erstwhile cabin briefly once more for something more suited to the frigid weather and – finding nothing – she rubbed her bare ankles together briefly to take in the warmth, and hopped out onto the ground, still frigid but close to her and comfortable enough. Pushing herself up and the doors shut, she removed the gizmo responsible for sealing her truck and did so, fore and aft doors both, all with a happy chirp.
She brushed her red locks off from her shoulders, took a deep breath of the frigid air, and made her face into its most agreeable shape. She could do this. She shouldered her sack and strode forward confidently along the country road that led to the Estate proper ….
And promptly upon arrival, rounded the corner to the manor’s less window-adorned side and began sneaking as best she could in a high half-crouch. It was now time to re-approach this situation, preferably from behind.
Creeping beneath the banisters of the first-floor windows, uncomfortably low for her personal preference but just barely low enough to hide her considerable height, she passed along the theoretically less-populated side of the stately abode and took small snapshot peeks within. Though the frost distorted the interior she knew so well in all its intimate details, the lack of people-shaped anomalies told her she was in the clear.
The expansive kitchen’s black and white tiling was absent of life of any kind, the expensive windows and accompanying engravings rendered particularly dark and uninviting as she scrolled by. In her minds eye, the counter stood much higher above her head, and the cow-print squares stretched along almost infinity – with hopscotch markings across them, of course, numbers growing higher as she rounded the central island.
It was in this kitchen where she had heard the word ’Island’ for the first time and spent several months if not long, youthful years imagining her home as a large Formica square in the middle of the blue-tiled ocean, much to her embarrassment when Violet later corrected her. In here, where she had witnessed and tasted morsels and delicacies from all over both the Islands and the Continent from a selection of master chefs from almost as many different regions of the world – Ms. Anne Tolle and her fabulous feasts of Faulestian cuisine, Riley Rorhker and his sumptuous deserts, the Ienzoli family and each members mastery of different varieties of baked goods. Here, where most of her first dates had ended, and none of them overwhelmingly well.
She was dwelling. She had to move before someone did approach the other side of the window.
Approaching the short set of stairs onto the side patio platform between the gazebo and the house proper opening into the expansive courtyard, further on she could see the corner of Dana’s currently-poolless pool-house and the accompanying big hole. Further on along the path were the cabins of some on-site workers; the governess, the groundskeeper, and the butler were all to important to the day-to-day to leave elsewhere, all receiving one of the cabins. The country lane broke off into the few other exclusive properties near to the bay side, all of which also had semi-permanent residents. The broad streak of gray-green tempered and trimmed foliage that squared-off the central courtyard and encircled the gathering grove of the whole extended estate, making it easy enough to spot the lack of anyone strolling the cold grounds.
The door to the side veranda was closed, but obviously unguarded, and when Erica shuffled forward to check, unlocked. She was in the clear now. She could just drop her Winterfest gifts here, claim her own things for herself, and if no one was here – she could blame the whole thing on Father Winter and no one would be the wiser until they saw them on Winterfest morning –
She unlatched the door, and Brandy Twowinters pushed it open from the opposite site.
Brand!
Erica cried out in childlike surprise and, without stopping to think, scooped up the shorter, older woman into a hug.
Fancy meeting you here, kid.
, said Brandy, her voice tight from the sudden bodybuilders grip on her chest. Happy Winterfest.
A short time later, she was stirring a cup of tea of a firm couch with a ratty blanket over it tucked in the intimate corners of Brandy’s cabin-apartment beside a roaring wood stove. The firelight was dim, and the overheads not much brighter. The soft amber beams that were keeping the grey at bay also apparently shielded Brandy’s eyes from damage compared to the outside world currently barred behind the thick curtains. The space did not have many adornments, nor much actual space for them, but what few there were came in the form of the trademark jungle-print poly-blend that Brandy adored, but was quietly embarrassed by, and memorabilia and merchandise from her favorite broadcast sitcom All My Lovin’
, which she was not. It was playing on an old recording disk on her small yet bulky tube-monitor tucked into her shelving hutch.
So what brings you to this side of the island?
Brandy asked, turned away and facing the kitchen nook. In this frightful weather, no less?
as she poured her own mug of tea – hers in a well-used and stained but otherwise immaculately kept blue-gray china cup on its own tiny platter. Erica’s own was kept especially for her visits, a stoneware mug with no frills, save for the print of a cartoon cat with a speech bubble declaring TEA TIME? MORE LIKE ME TIME!
. Steaming orange elixir with stray leaf bits rolling around in the cups less-faded interior.
Well, my truck obviously.
Erica said with a chuckle from behind her mug. Heh. Please don’t tell anyone I drove out here.
Ah, perfect.
Brandy was grinning, but it had a sardonic and sad twinge. She sat down heavily in her own, beaten and broken-in recliner, itself covered in orange-brown and black spots over cushions trying to disguise the defeated furnishing, I was so looking forward to a new Barkley Girl problem to lie about.
Oof, that’s harsh Brand.
Being compared to her cousins as a source of drama was an elemental comparison, much in the way of water being wet. I only came to discuss friendly things, maybe watch and old episode of ’Lovin’. I’m not here to-
Good start.
Brandy tread on her words, What exactly were you doing, a question she has tried to avoid at least twice now.
Brandy set down her platter and folded her arms, still holding her tea.
Erica pulled her lips inward, but forced them back into a friendly-seeming shape, I’m only here to wish some warm Winterfest wishes, grab some old things, and then get the hells out of here.
She splayed her hands. She had nothing to hide from Brandy. I wasn’t even planning to be around this long, so it’s not as if I’m going to swindle you into some grand caper here.
Right, as if I’m not already tied up in one of your ’capers’.
She sipped softly. Remember? The one where you stole a whole house from your father?
Ah, right. That was the reason she had nothing to hide from Brandy. She knew all the juicy stuff already. C’mon, Brand.
She reclined and folded one long leg over the other, which she barely had room to do. I’m not stealing anything, I’m crashing in an old house. It wasn’t as if B.J. didn’t have a house to lose. And not that I don’t appreciate what you did for me, but Hal did all the hard work.
Yeah. And the heavy lifting.
she smiled and tipped her cup as if toasting to Hal invisibly.
Hal is good that way.
, she smiled and shrugged. The truth of Hal’s friendship forged in the fires of secondary school was the only reason she trusted him enough to even try this hare-brained scheme. I knew he could handle it.
Because you knew who couldn’t.
Brandy looked pointedly. Ayla can’t keep a secret to save her life, Dana would hold it over your head as a bargaining chip, and Vi would-
Could we maybe, y’know, not talk about Violet?
Erica pleaded gently. For the sake of my blood pressure?
...Vi would tell your aunts and father the second you had settled in, because she thought it was funny.
Well, that’s accurate.
Erica sighed heavily, The last thing I wanted to do coming here was see here for more than no-time-at-all. Or cause you any problems, for that matter.
she added abruptly when she saw Brandy roll her eyes.
I’m sure you didn’t mean it, kiddo.
she sighed and fell back in her seat. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t gonna happen either way.
Erica’s brow lowered into a defensive and conspiratorial glower, What have they been doing to you, Brand?
Hoh!
The laugh was bitter and instant like spoiled oats. She almost slammed her teacup as she stood up and glowered down at Erica, They same thing you all have been doing since I was your age. Running me ragged.
she turned her back, raising her shoulders, to fortress herself off..
Brand, I…
she trailed off. This wasn’t how she wanted this to go. As she stood, she set her half-filled mug down beside Brandy’s on the table between them. I’m sorry. Genuinely. You put up with too much. We were shitty teens and we’re makin’ for shitty adults, but… I’m not here to make another mess. I’ll come and go. No one will know the difference.
Kid…
her shoulders unfolded and she rolled her neck, before whirling around and sighing, Do you think anything you Barkley’s do is on purpose?
It was always going to sting. But Erica was no longer so high on herself that she had to insist it wasn’t true, and no one had more right to call her on it than Brandy. She was dead to the world for a whole minute gripped by the thought, not moving or speaking.
She must have looked pretty bad, because Brandy then had the decency to soften and come towards her extended outward in a hug, moving around the table as she did, I’m sorry, kid. I brought you in to keep you warm, not make you squirm.
Erica accepted the hug, letting Brandy’s plush arms wrap around her, much lower on her than they had as a teen before the growth spurt left her towering over all, particularly the older generation. Let’s just sit down with a hot cuppa, watch some seasonal specials, and wait for this problem to blow over.
That does sound nice, Brand.
Erica did think about it for a long, pleasant moment before letting go of Brandy and the idea. Staying would be comfortable, but it wouldn’t be safe. She reached back and gave her nanny, the person who had taught her how to be cool, a firm squeeze on her shoulder before she separated, backing softly into the low table by accident and suppressing a cry out. It’s just … not what I came here to do.
Brandy sighed heavily into her and suddenly pulled away, Kid, would you please listen?
her mood having pulled a complete 180, she had folded her arms and was now searching Erica carefully with her eyes, I’m trying to offer you a way out with your dignity intact.
The last year of anger suddenly welled up in her throat before she could think, frankly she could hardly believe what she was hearing, Oh, good news, Brand!
She drank the dregs of her tea, leaves and all and slammed the cup down as gently as she could manage and still making quite a clatter, That ship has long since sailed!
So, what?
she spoke gently as cocked her head to the side, You aren’t even going to try?
Try? Try what exactly?
she was feeling dramatic now, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t rehearsed parts of this speech to herself while shaking under a blanket in her truck-bed, Sleeping with a roof over my head? For not really feeling it around here in a drafty attic? Above Vi’s room? Where my ex sleeps? Frequently?
She didn’t know how she could any finer of a point on it for her, but tried anyway, Because as someone who does have a roof over their head, I really feel that’s a whole lot of none of your business.
The mention of Violet now made Brandy put one hand to her head in pre-conditioned pain, Honestly, Er. You need to let this go. Your cousins cause enough grief as it is is.
Well excuse me.
she put some zing on it, on top of not actually hearing her points now Brandy was just being ridiculous. Erica tried to stop herself, she couldn’t let herself get pissed off on purpose, it was too easy. She shuffled as she looked around the room, weighing her options between the door and the window, I’m not in charge of how they act, Brand, she said for like the millionth time.
she grabbed her coat from the back of the couch and slung it over her shoulder, And, might I add, how they act is a big part of why I needed to-
To what, kid? Run away from your problems like a little girl again?
she gestured at both Erica and the door she was trying to get to in the least amount of embarrassing steps. She stopped and straightened her back, turned to face Brandy but continued to put her jacket on. She smiled at her, which obviously did not put her at ease. She recoiled in such a way that at first Erica was sure she was doing it on purpose – mocking her, even. It hurt to realize she really was afraid, and since she didn’t know what it was her old friend saw in her, Erica was afraid too. What do you want?
, tears welling up, Me to keep covering for you? Lying for you?
I don’t need anything, Brandy.
she straightened the flaps of the service greens and took up her mesh bag before she replanted her feet on the floor, trying to speak stoically to say what she meant before her feelings stepped in the way, After today, you won’t ever have to cover for me again.
she went calmly but sharply for the door, but stopped at the very last moment before flooded the apartment with the outside’s cold, Thanks for the tea.
Where are you going? What the hells do you think you’re doing, anyway?
Her voice was trembling. Brandy was scared to be with her, but apparently equally afraid she would leave. It hurt to do to her. But she also wasn’t going to just roll over anymore when people got scared of her. It made it too easy to get played.
She turned back with the same smile, mocking her this time, Oh? Suddenly interested in a little Winterfest caper, Brand? Wanna be one of Father Winter’s happy little helpers?
she bobbed back and forth erratically, as if she were really having a fine time, not angry at all before stopping flat and glaring at her, No thanks. I’m doing what I said I would. Alone.
she emphasized before unlatching the door, Have a cozy evening. Give my regards to my cousins for me.
Kid, wait-
She hustled out the door and slammed it on her. It was rude to keep the door open in a snowstorm, after all, Erica observed as she plodded back down the country lane in a direct reversal of her course. Duty called. She slung her bag of presents over her shoulder and continued on.
It wasn’t long at all before she was back on the back-veranda, with the same choice, only colder. Still, she hesitated. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t freezing, but being detected on the premises once meant it was a ticking clock before it happened again. The windows still stood free of shadows or other disapproving specters, but ultimately what she couldn’t see didn’t bring her any comfort. But hesitation was death, or at least hypothermia. So she forced her hand-sans-mitten onto the cold doorknob and gave it a quick turn. Instantly, she was inside and the door shut behind her. Lights off, not a soul in sight, her infiltration had worked.
She still chastised herself. She couldn’t help thinking of herself as anything but an interloper here.
No time to waste on hard feelings, a contrarian but still chiding feeling overrode her, she had goals to focus on: Gift her gifts, steal her stuff, and then leave.
Her sneaker made an unfortunately loud clack with her first steps on the tile as she had entered, and she had quietly closed the door to compensate, but to no avail. The base level of the Estate had a floor-plan separated via high, artful arches and relatively open, which rendered any voice anywhere very easily picked up, intentionally or not.
Therefore it was obvious that there wasn’t a soul but her here, on this floor at least. Sauntering carefully and causally as she could muster along the ruinously noisy floor, she peered under the arch to confirm her suspicion that she was alone for the time being. Only the silence inside and the growing howl of the wind answered her stare.
If there were any way to pass through without the need to enter the dining room however, Erica would have taken it. Not because it contained any actual, obvious danger, nor was its seasonal decor by Aunt Angelica so hideous that she couldn’t stand the sight (in this matter, she felt compelled to her terrifying great aunt’s defense: she liked some of the gaudy, more traditionalist Winterfest tapestries and table-settings from an older era before modern color coordination). The room itself had been mildly renovated and redecorated several times since her childhood, including once at least since she had last been here. It still carried something of the same aura it had before, and she presumed that it had for decades before. It was the memories here that were a trap that could keep her stuck here for hours.
All of those memories were framed from the perspective of sitting before the tickling ivories of the grand piano, silently singing out to her from its corner.
It sat off to the dining room’s side, beside a few casual comfortable chairs and a largely cosmetic bookshelf. All of the children on the Estate had a rudimentary grasp of the instrument, she a greater love than talent perhaps. But her father was who truly shined behind the keys, transforming his pedestrian, somewhat bawdy delivery of song into a jovial, community march. She was probably out of practice anyway and would sound dreadful even warming up, but even trying would draw a huge amount of deeply unwanted attention.
It didn’t stop her from lovingly running her fingers over the cover for just a moment.
That moment might have cost her, looking back, as something close to the sound of voices was now echoing from down into the foyer. She cursed, not for the first time, a lack of spare door to the adjacent, inaccessible bathroom from the dining room. She could at least buy herself some time it did, though her childhood fantasy of knocking down the wall with sheer force of will held a certain practical outlook at the moment.
Retreat, however, would not only be worse than moving forward – carrying the same risk anyway, but without being able to complete her objectives. No point in worrying, then. She adjusted her bag and pushed forward into the center of the Winterfest holiday spirit in her own mind’s eye. Straightening her back, she decided to stride confidently, like her dead uncle owned the joint.
Which he had. Technically. Practically. Depending on how you really define ’ownership’.
The foyer’s size seemed to stretch at the very confines of the house through a number of space-maximizing tricks and the vaunting of the ceiling above the balcony and grand set of stairs. Winterfest maximized this feeling, with a plethora of decorations tucked into every crevice imaginable – some of the cuter additions definitely her cousin Ayla’s responsibility, such as the lovingly arranged set of antique baby-dolls in various dress arranged with care and pride – all strung with preserved red blossoms on long vines of greenery. The nexus of all the decoration was in the far side’s impeccably decorated, Island grove-grown Deghlain Fir pine tree – grand, imperious and tall, though again not seeming so much so to Erica these days with her own titanic height.
The shape and ownership of the voices, or rather, a single voice with long pauses in between, became clearer as she pressed into the wider space. She slackened her tight shoulders when she did recognize its owner, ...gathering in summer…
. Of all the voices in the Barkley Estate that might straighten, or tingle, her spine; from the now departed manic delivery of her Uncle Dick, her Aunt Angelica’s firm but shrill alto that could somehow penetrate every solid-surface in the whole of the building, to Violet’s bombastic cacophony of screams or Ayla’s frequently moody and overwrought sobbing – often enough to the same effect if not over the same matter, this was none of them. ...all my dearest-
While they didn’t exactly put her at ease, it was harder to get worked up, ...of course I need you there, pal! … No no no, my friend, put it out of your mind…
.
Distinguishing hallmarks of the schmoozing of her eldest cousin, Dana Barkley.
Dana was the hardest to take seriously as an immediate threat. Her not-exactly-sultry tenor was low and often scratchy in an amusingly friendly way. She had very rarely heard her cousin taken anything even approaching a chiding, or even authoritative tone. She was also, for her part, very chummy under the right circumstances.
Erica did consider backpedaling once more to the kitchen to save face, but didn’t see the point. She considered the scale, harm-wise, that could take place from only Dana being here. If she were to just walk right past Dana, what would she do? Not call her names. Not scream in her face. This wasn’t trespassing in any meaningful sense, unless you were Aunt Angelica who was rather permissive with her use of the term, and even if she were – it would be awful hard to place someone under home confinement if they didn’t live in a home.
Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?
Passing into the foyer’s archway with renewed confidence, her resolve only quickening as she heard Dana trying fruitlessly to wrap up her call, Jan, please, I’m telling ya, these odds are too good to pass-
. Dana was the least likely to carry a household handset, as she vastly preferred being unreachable by any terms but on her own. Judging from this fact alone, she could envision the rest of the extended household being out on seasonal business: Aunt Angelica would be fraternizing with her inner circle of manufacturing cliques – the seamstresses, the bakers, the scent and candle makers among others. B.J. and Gilman could likely be doing their shopping (or rather, just her father’s shopping, Gilman possessed greater foresight) and performing their own personal rituals of B.J. suggesting novelty gag gifts with an oddly personalized sentiment while Gilman suggested more practical alternatives. Violet detested the season anyway and would only make an appearance if plied by superior firepower, and Ayla – well, it had been too long since she had seen Ayla to make any difference.
So if Dana was the only one here, why was she still stalling?
Against her better judgment, she lingered still among the central hall’s holiday adornments, her eyes climbing the impressive and immodest Winterfest tree and accompanying displays, which reminded her of her ancillary goal still tugging downward on one shoulder. She removed the duffel bag she had roughly borne all the way here and unzipped it, placing each semi-professionally wrapped gift deliberately into the growing mound of gifts in such a way that they entered the existing flow without standing out.
A fine brandy for Sebastian, a thick collection of essays and musing from many authors on Plutothenes, Gilman’s favorite ancient philosopher, a hideously-humorous tie for her father that Gilman would no doubt take extreme pleasure in disposing of, a plush Cappymon doll for Ayla, some pint-glasses sporting the image of cartoon mascot Catsmeat, and … a bundle of cache for Violet. All scraped and saved from her job in the locker room and what they sent her electronically, all her own and nothing paid for by anyone, particularly anyone who had a last name ’Barkley’.
-Jan, baby, I’m going to have to get back to you…
the voice came suddenly, but drifted down from the top of the stairs slowly. Erica’s shoulder’s tensed for a long moment before she turned. She heard the click of a handset switching off and knew her stealth mission had failed.
Dana was impossibly grand at the staircase despite how improperly she was dressed for both the weather and the extravagant space she was slouching through – but not for the holiday itself. She had the peppermint red-and-white holiday pajamas of a different era cut off near to the hip and flared out into an even more casual fit hanging loosely under an untucked tan polo shirt. Uncle Dick would have thrown a fit, she though. Maybe he had, we would have to perform an exorcism of his spirit on Gilman to be totally sure….
Er! Cos!
if she was surprised to show Erica beyond a mere formality, she didn’t show it. She had her arms spread wide from higher ground as she took wide, confident Happy Winterfest! What the hells are you doing here?
Doesn’t the first part answer the second, Dane?
she took Dana’s gift from the meticulous swirl of the pile and pressed it into her hands, Happy Winterfest.
Um, thanks?
she took it but looked as if she held something volatile, and Erica gradually realized the perplexing look she kept giving her was actually the disbelief one would give to a ghost, Happy Winterfest to you too!
She wasn’t able to keep the confused, questioning tone from her voice, so Erica turned the tables around on her, I’m guessing Jan whatshisname won’t be joining us at the Estate this season?
she raised an eyebrow. Jan was a hanger-on from Dana’s secondary school days currently tied up in administration for Mrs. _, or maybe Mr. _ the candle guy.
Which probably meant more to Dana today than him being a school chum. Heh.
she forged a goofy grin that was a Dana Barkley classic with cheese, deployed whenever she was called on something she was actually guilty for, Mr. Fallowfoul and I have a respectable wager on a little matter that will resolve itself in the spring. But, ah, you are probably right, all the same.
Funny, that.
Erica shrugged.
But, uhh…
Rarely did Dana trail off without some sort of implication, benign or otherwise. Erica decided to let her cook, I sorta assumed you would be making yourself scarce around here. Being that Violet would be around. Probably with Asher.
And immediately her cousin made her regret hanging within earshot of her open mouth, Tactful as ever, Dane!
she strained out, biting one corner of her lip, hard.
C’mon, are we still hung up on that?
She asked, seemingly totally honest all the more to Erica’s disbelief, You guys were together, what, three months? Four?
For a long moment she could say nothing, screaming at her cousin with her eyes. Sorry, Er.
she tried to look genuinely bashful, at least. She brushed a lock out of one eye and looked underwhelming and weary – not something anyone usually saw, I’ve told so many lies today to so many people I can’t even keep them all straight. But with you, what’s the point in lying, Cos?
her smarm came back, but it was a pretty moment while it lasted,It’s not like you’ll do anything about it.
she snorted derisively and raised her eyebrow to her.
Obviously not, Cos.
To Erica’s bitter amusement, she was still holding the gift-wrapped box like something that would come alive and bite her, You going to open it now?
she asked, Or wait till tomorrow morning for the rest of Father Winter’s haul?
She snorted again and set the gift down back in the pile, approximately where Erica had put it originally, ’Ol Man Winter already left me everything I need upstairs.
she grinned, and Erica knew her well enough to see the predatory intent, I cleaned up at the toy section this year. C’mon and play a board game with me, Cos. A little Transport? Or some CounterTop-Attack? Or you wanna lose some money in Five Card Riven?
No thanks.
she sighed, though it shouldn’t cause her any distress to turn her infamous Transport champion cousin down, her face sinking did give her a pang of regret, You’re kind of a sore winner, Dane.
You would only know if I were used to winning, Er.
she shrugged, her moment of wounded sincerity quickly smothered in her glibness, C’mon, the mess outside isn’t letting up anytime soon anyway.
she glanced out the window up the stairs behind her cousin, she was right, And I promise I won’t beat you too hard.
She sighed and closed her eyes. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already completely off the rails at this point, Alright, Cos.
she nodded with resignation, Transport. Just for you. Till the storm clears, I’ve got nothing better to do.
Her cousin draped her arm over her much higher shoulder and began walking with her up the stairs as if the reach were the most casual act in the world, Now you’ve got the Winterfest spirit, Er! Let’s go lay down some Transport tracks….
Dana of course did not keep her promise, totally whupping her in four Transport games out of five. Erica did savor her single successful game however, and after her initial outburst surely to take Erica’s temperature on the matter, Dana did not bring up Asher or Violet again.
Under those circumstances, and in the glow of Winterfest decor and warmth, Dana was far from the worst company she could imagine. Transport, even with only two players and losing, was fun for its own sake. They kept the conversation light: current events on the island, friends in common and what they were up to and – by necessity, the weather.
The storms don’t get this bad every year, do they?
Erica asked idly as she laid out a three-piece connection alone on the boards left side, corresponding to the western seaside cities of Gaunta and Fourrivers on the board’s continental railroad map of Cyr.
This is as bad as I can remember it being.
Dana rolled her eyes and pursed her lips as she readied pieces for her own move, Usually we get a happy little Winterfest morning flurry and that’s the end of it. Remember six years ago?
Right. I had just started junior tennis and B-Dad had to ruin my rackets just to walk to town.
Erica chuckled.
It wasn’t as if he was the first to think of it.
Dana observed. Everyone wanted you to cut it out with the morning practices.
Like father like daughter.
Erica counter-observed. We all know how the community can put aside their differences and come together as one – to stop B.J. from chasing an annoying hobby.
she tried her best to file down the edge of irritation, to little effect.
Or a radical fashion choice.
Dana sniped back with a smile, Or really doing anything Aunt Angelica didn’t tell him directly to do.
Or did tell him to do.
Erica added. Both of them laughed. Where are they today, anyway?
she asked as she drew a connection card. Business? Last minute gift-grabbing?
Something like that.
Dana shuffled awkwardly as she also drew a card. To be totally honest, I didn’t really ask for specifics.
She folded herself in the chair to un-straighten her back, letting her hand of cards dangle casually off to one side. I was really just glad to have the place to myself.
She grinned. No offense.
Erica cautiously bit her lip once more, and placed down five cards and five of her corresponding pieces on the board, forging a connection all across the western seaboard and dipping into the southern reach. None taken.
she added after a long moment of taking down her score. So… you came up from your private pool-house to lounge in the main house with no one around because you needed… space?
Still aren’t over that either, huh?
Dana asked. Erica didn’t bother to answer her, just letting Dana draw a card with her eyes rolled, Look, Er. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you crash at my place, but nagging me about it doesn’t make you look cool either.
She piured over her cards, but Erica knew she wasn’t really looking, I do live here, ya know.
I know. So do-
Erica stopped herself before snarling. So did I.
she plopped down six cards this time, with accompanying pieces.
Raising an important question.
Dana added as she began laying down her own long set of cards, Where exactly have you been living lately? Because it isn’t here.
Her smile was friendly, but her eyes were anything but. When she arranged a line of five, she drew another card to her empty hand.
Lots of different places.
Erica lied defiantly. Couch-surfing.
she clacked down a quick three piece junction in the south connecting her two longest stretches of transport line on the board. Longest stretch. 80 points. Mark it down.
Right on, nice move.
Dana added, then placed an addition onto her own longest line. So have you talked to Hal at all? I’m sure you could work out a deal with Mr. Bowling somehow….
Erica forced herself to unclench her jaw, No. Haven’t spoken with him.
she forced herself to say when both of them knew very well that Henry Bowling. and his inflexibility wasn’t the major reason she was in-between beds in the first place. As far as Henry Bowling Senior was concerned, there wasn’t a single room, available to a single, anywhere on Spearing Island.
Really? That’s funny. Three pieces, thirty points, if we’re announcing things now.
Dana reached over and marked them accordingly.
Funny how?
Erica asked.
Funny because he’s talked to you.
Dana said simply. And then talked to me. See how this works?
Erica was dead quiet, gazing unbroken directly at the curve of Dana’s smirk, What did you do.
What ever could you mean, Cos?
she said with feigned angelic innocence before abandoning subtext and lurching forward Make a move.
Erica sighed. The moment had come and hit her with all the certainty and precision of an oncoming train. So much for the myth of the ’Less Dangerous Cousin Theory’. She played her penultimate move primarily out of spite, a five-piece line – not connected to her territory, but high scoring nevertheless.
Nice moves, Er.
Dana added it diligently before giving her a final downturned, sinister grin, But too slow.
Dana cornered off the newly-made five-point line with a three-point connection branching off from her own longest line And, with all my pieces, that makes mine the longest, too. Taking off your eighty and adding another twenty, making the final tally-
Shut up.
Ooh, and I’m the sore winner, or so I hear.
she held up her hands defensively, but didn’t even look at her. She didn’t need to, Erica was cornered. When she did finally meet her eyes, when she finally stopped chuckling to herself through her grin, she asked the only question left, Now come on, Er. What have you been doing in B.J’s old lovenest, exactly?
Erica cleared her throat and steadied herself, but it still came out wrong, Th-that’s none of your-
Th-th-th-that’s not going to fly with Gilman, Cos.
she stuck her tongue out past her jaw and jeeringly bit it at her, You should know better,
when she stopped mocking her stutter she further demeaned her with her disassembling stare, Wanna hammer out a better story together?
she asked with shocking sincerity and – she was sure, magnanimity – after the previous display.
Fuck you.
Erica said simply.
Oooooh.
she tut-tutted and shook her head, I don’t know if that was the right answer, Er. But it isn’t as if we would have had time to workshop it.
she reached into the hem of her shorts and produced a gilded but durable hefty pocket-watch, something she knew Dana had claimed from her fathers belongings post-mortem, and flipped it open to observe, By my count, Gilman and B.J. will have gotten off the ferry about a half-an-hour ago, and will be waltzing in the door in approximately-
Home again, home again!
she could just catch the echo of a familiar, mockingly cheerful tone fly up the staircase.
Wow, off by just 13 minutes.
she clasped the watch closed, Am I good or what?
Erica at first back up and stood urgently, but then her shoulders collapsed and she slumped, almost landing back in the chair. What was the point? There was no way out now.
True to Erica’s macabre expectations, Gilman had ascended the staircase silently and with his usual supernatural speed. He was already at the top of the stairs holding the rail silently in his customary black formals, his overcoat already removed and impeccably folded in the other arm. His smile was so rarely familiar she ached when she saw it – a scarce pleasure and even scarcer pride over the years and years she had known him. Her father’s valet – his personal man for more years than she had – was physically closer to her than her mother, emotionally closer than her father. But that smile, this time, was crushing.
Good Evening, Miss Madsen.
She recited in a childlike sing-song, like she always did when he got her in trouble, Hiya, G.
Wow, isn’t this awkward!
Dana cheerfully observed as she haphazardly scooped her game pieces back into the box and set them back on the table, without carrying them off, This seems as good a time as any to go find something formal to wear.
Indeed, Miss Barkley.
Gilman opened the hall closet and placed his jacket within, his face now turned away, While I do appreciate your delay of the young lady that we might have a chat, your presence would be greatly appreciated in-
Just about any other place on the globe but here, I’m sure, G.
Dana looked back into Erica’s thousand-yard stare before she curtsied with her lopsided trimmed shorts.
We will see you later in the evening, Miss Barkley.
, he tried to say impassively.
No, G. You won’t.
She gave him an affectionate pat on the arm, and accompanying clap-like footstep upon the marble floor with her bare foot, and she was off. Descending the stairs as swiftly and stealthily as Gilman had in order to remain unobserved in the chaos the follow.
The room did have windows, and the hall lights, but to Erica all was now closed in and dark as he descended upon her with that same absorbing smoothness that devoured all else in the space. He was before her in a heartbeat, black clothes obscuring her vision. Then he bent at the knee and waist to meet her at her own slumped eye level. Gilman was not someone who smiles with his teeth, when he did smile at all, but the twitch at the corner of his lips was unmistakable in betraying his amusement with, or worse, sympathy and pity for her. Pathetic as she felt, she could not rule out the former.
Hello there, my young friend.
Already it stung in her chest, as it sank she felt he couldn’t meet his gaze, but in spite of this he continued, I’m sure you feel terribly lost and low right now. I understand completely.
He placed a friendly hand on her naked shoulder, and as she turned to her jacked next to her on the seat she imagined she felt much the same as he had when Dana touched him distant and unamused. But as is my custom, I’ve taken everything into account already. You needn’t worry your pretty little head a moment longer. All we need to do is take you upstairs to your bed, and when you wake up, we’ll all celebrate Winterfest together as a family.
For just a moment, Erica’s pretty little head allowed her to believe it. And after that moment, she cursed herself for being exactly the naive idiot everyone thought she was. She couldn’t decide what was more insulting, the obvious diminutives or the idea of spending time with her family
.
Upstairs, G?
she tilted with sudden speed, light and life returning to her eyes for indignity’s sake, My bed? My room? My attic, you mean. Have you been up there lately? Have you seen how much of my space is now devoted to everyone else’s storage?
And who did you think arranged for it to be brought up there?
he asked without modifying his tone at all.
Sebastian, you putz.
Erica snarled. Don’t you badmouth him to me, I’m sick of it.
The valet and Estate butler naturally had a sniping rivalry that Erica obviously had no time for today, Can you even get to my room right now with everything they keep backed up? It’s not my space, G! It’s just somewhere there once was space!
Come now, my child, I didn’t mean-
he had to take on a slight mollifying edge now, but his demeanor was the same too. Erica’s was not. She shot up and slammed her hands down on the hall table sending a flurry of a few dozen Transport pieces in a small storm between them.
Do you of all people not get it, G? Do any of you get it?
Erica tried to sound as sad and wounded as she felt – but felt it emerge in an angry and yes, she thought, crazy bellow, I need space! Actual space! Space of my own, not space that no one is using! Not a corner of Uncle Dick’s attic and a bed no one needs!
And so you see fit to help yourself to any bed to see available?
Gilman asked.
G, he isn’t using it!
she protested.
And therefore it is your right to rifle through your father’s belongings? Through his buried feelings, Erica? Very purposefully buried, I might add?
he actually tutted, which sent Erica’s teeth on edge, That’s a child’s entitlement, Erica. I thought you had grown up more.
Grown up?
she scoffed at the idea. She wondered if Violet or Asher felt like adults, doing nothing together loudly in the room below hers
. It was the last thing she felt like, even towering over Gilman now, Grown up enough to maybe, I don’t know, leave the Island? Have a trip abroad? On my own?
Don’t be ridiculous.
, now he was almost snide, the idea deserved his derision, Your father would be worried sick for you.
That’s just it, isn’t it!
Erica shook with fury, this was willful ignorance, No one cares if I want to stay! No one will just let me leave!
On the contrary.
Calm as always, ever more infuriating, If you don’t like my offer, you may simply leave.
What offer?
she demanded. What are you giving me besides nothing?
He tut-tutted once more and reached into his pocket, and Erica could not even believe what he removed from it, convinced it was a trick of memory being played on her. But the shape was too perfect. It was yellow and black, with he odd, unprofessional streak of orange that came from a pigment error too specific to be repeated, as were its odd bumpy patterns. They were specific to her because it was her hands that had shaped them, blown them, and roasted the contents within it many times before it vanished.
It was her secondary school, blown glass smoking pipe. And it had been missing for three years.
Where did you get that?
she demanded again, How did you even have it on you?
Does it matter?
he asked. I have taken it from you, just as you took it from resources the school entrusted to you. I took it because I did not want to see you using it any further. By that metric, I believe that I succeeded.
Erica scoffed. Seeing was believing, she supposed, but she was to angry to say it, and he couldn’t be stopped now anyway. When this disappeared, I never told your father, nor any of your family, in order to preserve your reputation. That’s just what I offer you right now. Go upstairs, celebrate the holiday, and forget this ever happened.
Oh, I plan to G.
she sharply pulled her jacket and threw it over one shoulder before she got up close for this part. She might not have the poise that Gilman naturally evoked in every action he took, but she could close a distance quickly enough.But there are a few things that you didn’t consider, this time.
Oh?
he chuckled with a faux good nature and smile,
Do tell.
First: I don’t give a fuck about my reputation on this gods-forsaken island anymore…
as she paused, she fixed the other sleeve of her jacket and brought her sneaker down sharply on Gilman’s spiffed and polished black university dress shoes in one motion, grabbed his wrist as he gasped, and took the pipe with deliberation and carefulness for its fragile nature even as it made a humorous whistling *pop* as it slid from his grasp. And second was showing me this, and expecting me not to just take it when you can’t just dangle it out of my reach.
she didn’t waste further time gloating, she placed her prize in her pocket and brushed roughly past the shorter man.
Erica, please.
, Gilman was welcome in moving past the diminutive cutesy nicknames layer of his patience, apparently pretending the stolen pipe did not mean much to him. You are being unreasonable.
Erica guffawed with such righteous fury building in her broken breast she had to turn back to him, gripping the banister so tightly it may have peeled the paint. Oh?! Haven’t you heard, Gilman? It’s the hottest rumor in the mill among the young and happening crowd! I’m not just unreasonable, I’m over-the-moon crazy as a loon!
his composure finally shuttered, she decided to rattle his outside while he closed off his attention to her, I’m so crazy my ’boyfriend’ abandoned me in a cheap hostel in Orro without a way to get back home! So crazy I think it’s a little weird that he got right back together with his ex the week after! So crazy I don’t want to live under the same roof as the villain-formerly-known-as-cousin who- who… fucking!
she was very proud of herself to have gotten this far without cracking and tearing up. – again. And far too crazy for a housing contract, I guess!
Well.
said Gilman, with his quintessential blitheness after only the most delicate of conversational pauses, Had you considered in all of your raving and drawing up of conspiracies against yourself, your friends may have had something of a point?
Erica wanted to bore into the man with her eyes, if nothing else, but all she was able to manage was to stare agape at him for a much longer moment, Thanks, G!
loud and saccharine, You’re one in a million!
She turned to depart in a true huff this time, but Gilman reached out and stopped her, pressing with just the tips of his fingers, ’You know your father can hear you, don’t you? A classic Gilman maneuver, she thought, using the cudgel of someone else’s authority like a scalpel. But he obviously wasn’t listening to her, she had already made it clear to herself that she didn’t care.
Thanks again, G!
a little bit louder even this time nut just as syrup-coated, I had forgotten ol’ B.J. had ears. Now sit down, before you fall down.
Gilman’s brow was classically trained not to raise under duress, but she did see it twitch, Excuse me?
Precisely. Move.
A year ago, she might have been mad enough to simply bowl him over, and she admired her new self-control. More than anything really was that – furious as she was, she couldn’t stand the thought of an old friend – any old friend, let alone someone she had know so long as she had Gilman – tumbling down the stairs.
Her steps didn’t decrease in volume as she hit the much louder hard staircase, she obviously knew she could be heard. Either she was having a comparably hard time being seen or her fathers eyes were going. Instead of noting her aggressive posture and stomping, pumping arms, and general demeanor of someone searching for an emergency exit and acting accordingly, B.J. spread his arms wide eagerly for a fatherly embrace.
Hallo, Sweetpea! Happy Winterfest, how are you?
His arms remained out when her eyes looked straight through him, so she added the gesture of brushing past him as she looked to the still-ajar door open to the cold, Oh hallo old thing.
she said, feigning casual conviviality just as poorly as she felt he was, Don’t have time to sit and chat, I’m afraid, it seems my home is being rumbled.
she gave him a hard stare, but he was sheepishly looking away, Presents under the tree, of course, must be off now, tootily-pip!
If he couldn’t stand to face her over this, why should she bother doing the same?
His features had sank, which Erica did have to admit hurt to see, That’s most unkind, love.
he said in an uncharacteristically down tone. May I at least have the hug?
Well lookie here.
came a previously unseen presence from the dining room. Erica had thought it was the storm at first, but she should have known from the familiarity of the chill going down her spine. You plan to just going to deny the man his earned fatherly affection like that?
Erica would very much love if Violet had received any fatherly affection. Perhaps then neither of them would be in this situation.
When it came down to it, there was not a whole lot to Violet – not simply because she was slight, though that quality had always stood out when she was presented or paired with Erica and her developing musculature during school (which was often). Nor that she had the countenance in both face and voice of a banshee or some other form of revenant, though that was almost certainly pride speaking for her. It was that under close inspection, dusting off the layer of disaffected anger and resentment settled on top, one quickly discovered that one note to be a whole, repetitive song. One fist clenched already, the one that didn’t have her fingerless glove, and her gaze having ground itself into a scowl as she folded her arms to properly glower at her same-age cousin still perched unevenly on the stair.
Indeed.
Not that Erica hasn’t felt the presence, or at least the perfume of Aunt Angelica when she entered, but as soon as she had seen Violet all had turned to sirens like those Usnean shows about homicide and life on the streets. Not sporting her usual finery of course, the snow was very bad outside, and instead she sported an uncomfortably long coat of beige with gold-pressed buttons. In boots, she still barely scraped Erica’s height, but her imposing presence transcended height and cast a shadow that somehow devoured the glow of the chandelier into a frightening tower of shadow peaking in her slightly-graying updo.
Aunt Angelica was the sort of woman who could remove a glove with a level of disdain unknown outside the alkaline family of elements , which she did thusly as she smirked at her nephew’s daughter, Really. Am I to believe we will be denied a genuine Madsen Family traveling sideshow on a holiday?
she pursed her lips contemptuously in what might pass for amusement in some sinful subterranean tormentor, which Erica was too enraged to take any of the usual psychic damage it would mean for her.
Go on, Cos.
Even while prodding her actively, she wasn’t able to muster any real wry amusement for taunting her, which struck Erica as so particularly wretched it was ridiculous itself. Give your old man the love he deserves.
That really tore it, didn’t it? Loathe as she was to give her cousin anything she asked for at any time, this gave her an ugly little tickle of pleasure. And if Violet was so eager to reject fun, she might as well make her own.
She barred her teeth – not in a smile, but like a predator – and took one step forward before posing confidently before her fearsome aunt. Too right, my esteemed elder relative.
she ignored Violet actively, to do anything less would ruin her performance, Who am I to deny a gift to family on Winterfest Even of all nights?
she hinged herself backwards to glare at B.J., wrapped her arms, easily twice the size of his own even stuffed into a puffy winter coat, tightly around him and scooped him from the foyer ground like he weighed no more than a bag of groceries.
Don’t you worry, old thing. She smiled up at her father semi-genuinely despite his obvious terror,
We did this all the time at cheerleader camp!
she could see Violet behind him chuckling with something approaching amusement, at least bemusement on the letter scale, while hearing her great-aunt softly swear to the saints behind her.
But I’m not a cheerleader!
B.J. protested, squirming until his back suddenly experienced the satisfying *pop* and he slumped forward with sudden relief into his daughters sturdy and motionless arms, Eeeeeh… Ye gods, girl! You were right! That’s quite refreshing for these cold bones!
She slapped his feet firmly down on the floor, his eyes rattling like a gambling hall’s slots. She spun about-face to face her aunt and made a rude gesture with eye and finger, extending her other finger out to Violet in a traditional seasonal gesture easy to grasp the meaning of, Merry Friggin’ Winterfest!
Too dazed to even respond, Barney Jasper Madsen stood limp as a coatrack as his daughter threw open the front door of his erstwhile Estate and proceeded to slam it shut so hard that it nearly blew the venerable door off of its esteemed hinges.
Erica’s sneakers punched deep holed within the fresh pockets of snow that grew deeper the further into the Estate’s parkway she tread. At first she didn’t even remember the idea of warm clothes that had been waiting for her on the fourth floor, or even so much as look up to see where she was going. When she caught the glowing taillights of the travel-cart that must have escorted her family here through the storm, the cold became more than enough, and she broke out into a sprint. Rocketing into a jump, she leapt with her limbs out forward when the vehicle drifted close enough to catch it by the tail and landed evenly enough to keep from knocking it over.
The driver looked out behind themselves at the sudden weight distribution issue, but merely shrugged when Erica gave a friendly wave with three of her otherwise occupied and ungloved fingers. They pressed onward in the wake of an already-trundling snowplow in progress into the deepening grey shroud and blowing frost.
Erica loosely and carelessly dismounted when she and her caravan passed where her truck’s hiding spot would be. Her impromptu traveling companion seemed very alarmed by her dropping off into the ice-coated brush, but was unable or unwilling to exit the flow to check in with her. Not that she particularly wanted to be looked at in this moment, especially as she had just landed ass-first in said icy brush.
Rising up and brushing off after a depressing moment with no inertia, she pulled her sleeves back down over her frozen wrists, forelimbs coated in fresh gooseflesh in response to the rushing air. She fished her key out of the thin pockets with her increasingly useless hands and used the other freezer-burned limb to crack open the partially frozen door. Still somehow partially lukewarm from the heater long after she had parked. She slammed the cold away and shivered in silence for a long moment, alone.
At that moment it sunk in that in addition to a fine Winterfest haul, she had once again left behind every scrap of clothing that she owned within the Estate within her attic room, which she had never even gotten close to let alone undetected, and that it would be a good long time before she could show her face safely on the premises on even the most destitute of days on the social calendar let alone the numerous gatherings that took place in the aftermath of Winterfest morning. All assuming any member of her family would even speak with her after today.
She removed the pipe she had taken from Gilman and stared at it. It wasn’t as if she had nailed down a counselor or psychiatrist to speak to, but if she had and could, she was sure that they would have been quite proud of how she got so far away from anyone who might have been disturbed before she broke out into a bloodcurdling, primal scream.
Written during the cold snap through November to before Christmas in 2022 when it was below 0 outside and The Folks were out traveling; just Aly and I, Rae, Dipper, and Dusty. Technically a successfully NaNoWriMo project, and the prologue of things to come for Erica. -Wirebruise, 11-14-2024