The Face in the House

39

Malcolm had never seen the lab in such a state. Strange substances stained the floors, beakers and vials and loose pages of notes littered every surface. He strode toward the main workstation, dodging broken glass on the floor from some seemingly inconsequential accident, or maybe Poole just hadn't noticed yet. He was concentrating intensely on his work, with a somewhat crazed glint in his eye, which made Malcolm hesitate to interrupt.

Poole gave him a brief glance to acknowledge his presence, and Malcolm was relieved to see the butler smile. He hadn't seen Poole smile while he worked in a long time.

"How's it going?" Malcolm asked. He tried to keep hope at bay, but it was difficult. Poole was radiating positive energy.

"Very well," Poole said, not looking up from the bubbling beaker in front of him. "Very, very well."

Poole didn't elaborate, and although Malcolm's curiosity was piqued, he didn't press the subject -- the butler was clearly consumed in his task. Feeling awkward standing around doing nothing, Malcolm looked around the dark lab for something to clean. A vial of amber-colored liquid caught Malcolm's eye. It sparkled in the ever-shifting candlelight. He didn't dare touch it—it stood upright on a stand and was clearly set aside for later use—but he bent down to inspect it at eye-level.

He was close enough to touch the vial with the tip of his nose, though he was careful not to do so. He was also inadvertently close enough to smell the pungent fumes that came off the open top, which smelled frighteningly familiar. It was a thick smell, overly-sweet and heavily concentrated, like burnt honey mixed with spoiled milk. His stomach dropped, and he quickly returned to his feet to find fresher air. He found a broom to sweep up the broken glass on the floor.

As he cleaned, Malcolm's mind wandered. It had been a shock when Teddy's mom showed up at the house. He didn't think he'd ever seen fear in Teddy's eyes, and he felt for her. He hoped, for her sake, that her mother stayed away from Thornewood. But it wasn't just for Teddy's sake . . . something about her surprise appearance made Malcolm uneasy. It felt like an intrusion—on Teddy, on the business, on all of them.

What would have happened if she had demanded to see her daughter? What would they have done if she had forced through the curtain, searching for her? His anxiety spiraled. What would have happened if she made her way, somehow, to the basement? There, she would've seen Owen's body . . . she would call the police. His heart thudded in his throat and he swallowed to try and calm himself, but the thoughts kept coming.

It would look like I killed him, Malcolm thought, and his stomach churned with nausea.

His only solace was the memory on Teddy's mom's face when he had scared the living daylight out of that woman. She wouldn't be back. He had to believe that, had to believe it for his sanity . . .

As beads of sweat broke out on his brow, it suddenly occurred to Malcolm that they may be under a tighter deadline than originally thought.

"It's ready," Poole said, his quiet, level voice breaking through Malcolm's panic.

"What's ready?" Malcolm said, too quickly, as if he had been caught sleeping in class.

"The body," Poole said, voice thick with pride.

They locked eyes, and in them Malcolm saw sincerity and confidence. It immediately calmed him, until he saw the vial of amber liquid in Poole's hand.

He didn't want to think about why a substance created in Poole's lab smelled exactly like Thornewood's relentless force of darkness. Not now. Not when they were so close to saving Owen. Not when they were so . . . close.