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┏━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┓ chapter two: pater familias ┗━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┛
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Marlene drove for hours, eyes bleary and tired, heart still pounding in her chest — adrenalin was the only force keeping her awake. Three hours with no music or a fellow traveller to keep her company, that was by far the most depressing ride Marley'd ever had. So for the lack of anything better to do, she busied herself with overthinking every single thing that had happened. Over and over again, until her head started to hurt, and the whispering resumed. It came and went like ocean waves, but felt more like a freaking tsunami.
Marlene wasn't sure where she was driving, exactly. All she knew was that it had to be away from campus, away from the entire state of Connecticut, away from Tessa, and Maddock, and everything she'd known. It wasn't until she saw the "Entering Cambridge" sign that she realised where she'd come. Why had she come here, though?
Because she was selfish. Because she was spoiled. Because she called her father with any minor inconvenience waiting to be coddled and pampered. But this was not your usual millennial meltdown. How the hell could her father help with that? Marley couldn't involve him in this. What if that thing had been following her from New-Haven?
Just ask your daddy what happened on September 23, 1986.
And thus Marlene found herself in the parkway of the old colonial house, glancing up at the lit up window of her father's study. He was probably doing research for his new book on comparative theology or writing a speech for the conference he was going to attend in Prague next month. Just doing what he did best, completely oblivious to the shitshow that had been Marlene's day. And to the fact that she was going to drag him into it in a matter of minutes.
Marlene got out of her inconspicuous little Tayota, cheeks hot and heart racing. She shut the door and looked up at the two-storey construction of brick and stone. Then, Marley felt her breath hitch. The entire facade of the house was covered in glowing sigils in a language she couldn't recognise. Marlene was definitely going mad. That or her father had decided to decorate for Halloween a little earlier.
"Freaking lunatic," she muttered, walking up to the porch, the spare key she had for emergencies in hand.
Marlene felt an instant prickle of tears as soon as she opened the door.
After everything that happened, her childhood house felt so warm and welcoming, she could cry from the simple sense of security. The faint smell of coffee her father always made in an old Armenian jezve he had got from his grandmother, Armenian memorabilia and antiquities displayed on the cream-coloured walls and behind the glass doors of impressive cabinets. Everything in that house spoke history and art, laced with culture from all around the world and together made the two-storey construction a true home.
