Mimi's Demons

Chapter 65: The Kid in the Basement

Serena could say work was going well. She wasn't the type to gush or complain. Work was work, and working for a syndicate meant she couldn't talk about it anyway. Not without getting her brains lead scrambled.

But she could admit to herself, in those quiet moments when she could relax because Mimi was preoccupied with a book or a drawing that life had gotten...deeper. More satisfying. She hadn't hated her job before. Cleaning was something one could do while listening to music and podcasts with minimal interactions with people, which Serena had gotten her fill of. Her steamy romances were all good and entertaining. Nothing had been wrong with her life. No health issues (outside her stupid uterus which had been evicted), no drama, no lingering regret about the cousins she left behind (they didn't miss her either).

But there was just something, something she couldn't put into words, that settled her in deep in her chair as she watched over Mimi. The colors seemed richer. The sunlight softer. The quiet more gentle and her skin that much more comfortable to be in.

Peace, she thought. Perhaps that was it. But she couldn't recall when peace had felt so warm or so all encompassing. All she knew as that she could sit in that peace forever and wouldn't feel the need to work or move again. Because, here, Mimi was clean, safe, surrounded by toys she liked and hugging Sir Bloods-o-Lot as she doodled or read her funny books. Or, if she was up to it, she'd pull out her cases of Barbie doo-dads and they'd have some titillating doll drama that usually ended up in Serena laughing to tears or in a playful argument with the eleven-year-old.

Yes, Serena's life before Mimi hadn't been bad. But compared to her life now, it had been bland flat soda that quenched one's thirst and little else.

One chilly November day, when the snows had been overdue, Serena had just exchanged places with Kavya for watching over Mimi in her morning classes when she caught sight of Omen striding through the eastern hallway. That in itself wouldn't have been odd if it weren't for the boxes he was hefting underneath each arm and...on top of his turban. Thank god the ceilings in this place were stupidly high.

"What are you doing?"

Omen stopped long enough to give her a look that said 'carrying boxes, what else?'

But Serena wasn't stupid. She could see the stiffer than usual straight line of his mouth and how he looked at her too steadily. Everyone looked from eye to eye when they were talking to you. He was up to something.

While not particularly worried (this was Omen, straight-laced, loyal to a fault Omen who would chop off his own hand and give it to the boss if he so asked), Serena wasn't exactly looking forward to the deep clean of Mimi's bathroom on her agenda. She'd gotten a glitter bath bomb from her father and the tub was a glitter nightmare.

"Would you like some help?"

Even as Omen hesitated, the box on his turban teetered dangerously.

"I mean, I could always ask the boss why you're learning to balance boxes on your head."

Omen's nose twitched as it did when he didn't want to make his displeasure known. This made Serena have to fight down a smirk. The die-hard-loyal Omen had something he wanted to hide from the boss? Oh oh oh, she couldn't miss this.

"Or I could just follow you—"

Omen grunted and held out one of the boxes. "It's heavy."

"Then give me the one on your head."

"That one is heavier."

"And you're balancing it on your head?"

He just held out the huge box as though it weighed nothing.

Which was a big fat old lie because the moment Serena had her eager paws on it she nearly dropped it.

"Holy hell, what is in this?"

"Electronics," said Omen stiffly. "Don't drop it. Fragile."

"This is literally the lightest one you have?"

But Omen already had the box on his head tipped off and under his waiting arm. "The others have books and the like." He took a step, then paused. "This is confidential."

Serena snorted. "Everything in this house is confidential."

Omen nodded solemnly as thought Serena hadn't said a dry joke instead of the truth and continued on, trusting Serena to hobble along with the box full of all her regrets.

Serena wasn't paying much attention to where they were going, too busy struggling to keep up while not having her arms pop off along with the box. But when they did stop and she was allowed to drop the box ungracefully to the floor, arms numb and back furious, her body hot from exertion quickly cooled.

The innocuous white door to the east basement hung open before them. Cool, humid air with a hint of something swamp-like wafted up into her face.

Omen was frowning at her, or rather, the box she'd just dropped to the floor. But Serena was too busy having every horror story and flashbacks of having to clean up trails of blood and fingernails.

She opened her mouth to excuse herself when a flash of color at her feet caught her eye.

The cardboard box had jostled open when she'd dropped it, and the bright red of a Mario cap poked through. Before she could stop herself, she leaned down to prop open the lid to a brightly colored Nintendo game system box.

And fur. Soft, faux yellow fur of a stuffed Pikachu.

"Omen," he mouth had gone very, very dry. "Is there a child down there?"

He took much too long to say, "In a way."

"Yes or no, you demented Indian."

"...Yes."

Serena let out a stream of curses.

God damn it, it was in her contract! No kids, no kids!

"It isn't what you think," said Omen. "The boss..." But Omen's uncertainty didn't help in the least.

It didn't matter that Serena's arms probably wouldn't be working for the rest of the day. With a rush of rage fueled adrenaline, she hefted the box back up.

"March," she growled.

Omen flinched, as he should.

And down into the fetid depths they went.

Serena held her rage up like a torch through the dark tunnels of Hades, even though the hallway was plenty lit and clean as a medical theater. The doors on either side were closed, but it didn't make the feeling that monsters hid behind each one go away and they didn't stop till they reached the very end.

Her unease only eased a nanometer when Omen passed over the iron clad door for a much normal wooden one, painted in clinical white. He knocked first.

"Come in," said a male voice, too high to be fully grown.

Serena cursed again.

Omen opened the door slowly, as though whoever was inside scared easily.

Serena clenched her whole body, ready for chains and a cot on the floor and a bony, dirty wraith from the streets of her hometown.

Instead, the room had a proper bed, dresser, desk, and even a soft round rug on the floor to help cover the bare cement. There weren't any decorations to speak of, but the bedding was clean, high quality, and the desk even had a rather high end looking computer.

What threw her off, however, was the boy who swiveled around in his desk chair.

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Ever heard the saying that freckles are angel kisses? Then grew up enough to really hope they weren't? Because some of the places, man...inappropriate, angels. You don't kiss kids there.