Between Two Minds

Part 11

GABRIEL

The vintage clock in the corner taunts me—it's already 2:50 am. Seraphina's unexpected visit has left my mind in disarray, making sleep an elusive luxury. So, after walking Viola to her bedroom, I chose to wrestle with the pending workload. It seemed to be a more attainable goal.

Now, after five relentless hours of scrutinising potential buyers on the screen, my eyes plead for a break. I decide to get some coffee for myself and head to the kitchen, taking a moment to look around the manor.

I will never call this place home. The walls in here haunt me, they make me want to peel off my own skin. Every minute here feels like a decade in hell. Every step reminds me of the horrors that took place here. The flashbacks of all those people, of lifeless faces and soulless eyes replay like a nightmare. I want to go back home, back to my apartment in Chicago.

I think about what Seraphina said, that I'm distracted, and she's not entirely wrong. My initial motive in Vermont was clear, disposing of things I no longer needed. Yet, three years later I still have them, sitting on my chest, suffocating me. Viola is part of the reason, but not the only one as to why it took me so long to get the work done.

When I decided to sell the statues and the manor, I anticipated challenges. The sculptures and real estate market is heavy on superstitions and the things I want to sell are not just 'cursed' but also very controversial. Every buyer expected a dirt-cheap deal.

However, what I did not expect is that it would take this long. I had a plan for about a month initially, but the more I got to know about real estate and the more I interacted with the buyers, the more I realised that this would be tiresome.

Six months was what I had anticipated. Took up the job thinking this wouldn't go beyond it but now, I am left to wonder if I should just give up.

Seraphina repeatedly suggested reducing the price, but I refused. It isn't her fault; she has no idea why I need the money. I simply tell her I have my reasons and won't compromise on the cost.

Exhaling a weary sigh, I return to my study, sending Seraphina the curated list of buyers and then drop her another text asking her to contact them. She still hasn't replied to the apology I sent her. But I know her, and I know that the quarrels have become a part of the bond we share, so I don't dwell on it.

The urge to abandon everything and return to Chicago intensifies. But I cannot do that, I have to finish this so I can move on and finally live life without any guilt or regrets. I open the small drawer in my desk and pull out the key to the file room.

This has become a habit now. Each visit to the room, serves as a reminder of why I must continue, why I must find a buyer at the highest price. At this point, I feel like my life depends on it. Failure would mean crumbling under the weight of my past—this is my only path to redemption.

As I am about to enter the room, I look around to make sure no one is around, despite knowing that Viola is fast asleep and there is no one else here. The caution is a result of guilt and fear together, I suppose. The secrets harboured within this room possess the potential to obliterate my career and me; each page hidden here is an account of lives ruined and the atonement I must undertake.

Upon stepping inside, I instinctively lock the door, immersing myself in the confined space and start going through the pile of papers on the tiny desk in the center. It doesn't help that the room is as small as a cubicle. My suffocation only intensifies making it difficult to see clearly. I shake my head to clear the fog and focus on the newspaper clutched in my hand.

'Elaine Langdon found dead in her Vermont Manor', reads the headline of the article. The article goes on about how the world lost a great artist. Skipping past the eulogy, my disdain centers on the second phrase.

'Mr. Langdon is completely disoriented and refuses to answer any questions about his wife's sudden demise. However, there are speculations that he might leave the country once the investigation is complete. His manager says that it is the best way for him to heal but is that the only reason or is there something that is being hidden from the media.'

I scoff and throw the paper aside and I am about to pick up one of the other folders on the table when I hear a loud bang just outside the room.

All my senses heighten, and my mind races to decipher the origin of the noise. Putting down the folder, I approach the door cautiously. But when I try to unlock it, its jammed. This is not new, the manor is old and sometimes the doors get stuck, but right now isn't a good time for this to be happening.

My restlessness grows as I attempt to open it quietly, mindful of the potential intruder. After trying for a few more minutes the door finally swings open revealing an empty hallway. I look around and find a flower vase on the floor. It couldn't have fallen on its own, I walk around the hallway but there is no one.

My immediate suspicion falls on Viola; she's the sole occupant of the house besides me. However, there's no reason for her to wander the manor at this hour. She should be fast asleep. I decide to investigate and head toward her room, ready to climb the stairs when my phone disrupts the quiet.

"Fuck!", I mutter and make my way back to the study where I had left it. Its Seraphina.

"Hello", I spit out frustrated at her timing.

"That's some way to greet someone!" she comments before getting to the point. "I got your list, and I'll reach out to them. But are you sure you won't reconsider the price?"

This time, I answer more patiently realising that I haven't really been treating her well. She is my only hope and also my only friend right now. "I get why you keep asking me that Sera, but you know what my answer is."

"Alright, let me know if you change your mind. And if there's any development, I'll text you," she assures me before adding, "And Gab, I am sorry. Your apology is also accepted."

A subtle smile plays on my lips at her use of my nickname—a silent indication that tensions have eased.

It's a short conversation and as soon as it is over, I head back to Viola's room to find her sleeping peacefully. Moving with care to avoid disturbing her but my mind goes back to the noise and the fallen vase. If the disturbance wasn't her, who else could it be?

My thoughts are interrupted as she shifts in her sleep, hair falling across her face. I sit on the edge of the bed, gently tucking her it behind her ear. There's something about her, a mysterious allure that stirs my curiosity.

Her amnesia only fuels my curiosity even more. Her breathing is shallow and out of rhythm. I wonder what is causing her to be restless even in her sleep. I allow myself to touch her cheeks, slightly brushing it with my knuckles. I can't determine whether the rapid thud in my chest stems from the fear of waking her or the effect of her proximity.