Don’t Look

“Do you understand, Mr. Stevens?” Percy, three-piece suit and all, stared at me and lifted his nose as he spoke. It was as if he were attempting to sniff through the thick veil of deodorant I applied just moments before arriving at the hilltop mansion. His eyes wandered down my shabbily dressed frame, past my overnight bag held together with duct tape, and back up before he turned around and made his way down the opulent, wood-paneled hallway before us.

“Uh, yessir. I think—” I started to follow him, but stopped dead in my tracks when he cut me off.

“You think so?” He turned his head backward a touch as he continued walking, his nose still wiggling in search of a stench that would confirm the worst of his suspicions.

“No, no. Sorry, I understand. I am never to look at Mrs. Wadsworth, not even out of the corner of my eye. You never told me why, though. Should I know why?” I tugged at the overlong sleeves of my patterned button-down — borrowed from my ex-roommate… well, stolen… I planned on returning it, but then he changed the locks… plus, I dropped my key down a sewer grate — before moving on to fidget with my too-tight tie. I was nervous, sweaty, and could not for the life of me remember whose tie I’d borrowed.

The Wadsworth’s personal assistant finally paused at the open door to his office at the hallway’s end before whipping back around. “You don’t need to know the reason, just the rule. Clear?”

I nodded as I closed the gap between us, still fidgeting with the tie. Percy pretended not to notice.

“Excellent. You came highly recommended, Mr. Stevens. It is not our custom to conduct in-person interviews on such short notice, but your credentials piqued our interest considerably. How long have you been house-sitting again? Ten, fifteen years? You must be older than you look.”

I finally relinquished the tie from my clutches, all the while stifling the urge to laugh right in his face. I had almost forgotten that my ex-roommate wrote a fake resume for me and even pretended to be someone named “Higgins Willoughby,” a fake past employer. If only he let me see the resume before sending it, I would be more prepared for these questions. At age 32, how likely was it that I was a highly successful house-sitter starting at age 17? If we were still on speaking terms, I’d call him right now and cuss him out. Nothing was stopping me, except maybe him not picking up. “Yes, fifteen years. Sure, my early clients were nothing like the Wadsworths, but you have to start somewhere, right?”

Percy smiled and motioned for me to step past him into his office. I obliged with a curt bow, not knowing exactly why I bothered. This wasn’t Victorian England; people didn’t bow to each other in central New York in 2015. One more wrong move and this whole thing could come crashing down on me in an instant.

Focus, Rick. Focus.

— — —

“Take a seat and make yourself at home. You’ll have the run of the place for ten days, after all. Just don’t rummage around in here after I leave.” Percy laughed nervously, attempting a joke. “I trust you reviewed the documents we emailed you earlier? The Estate is not at all unlike a bustling, big-city train station, and you will be its manager in my absence. Everything. Must. Run. On. Time. You see, I will be traveling with the Wadsworths, so I cannot overstate how important it is that every detail in those documents be attended to.” Perched upon an extravagantly upholstered sofa that nevertheless appeared to be grossly uncomfortable, the Wadsworths’ personal assistant reminded me of a prized show-dog preening for the attention of an adoring audience. Too bad he was actually dictating mundane house rules to a hitherto unemployed college dropout living out of a busted late-90s sedan instead.

“Certainly. Every last word.” An emergency trip to the local library, where I spent five dollars just to print out the insane information packet about the Estate, almost made me late for the interview. My ex-roommate was holding my laptop hostage — if I’m being honest, he probably threw it away — and the only other device in my possession was a flip phone with a cracked screen.

“No questions, then? The Wadsworths are eager to hit the road for the holidays before this wretched snowstorm hits.”

“I understand completely. Uh, where’s the nearest restroom? I need a moment to collect myself before you get on your way.” Blinking furiously, I attempted to remember the last time I went on a trip of any kind. Probably as a kid, when my parents took my sister and me to that campground with the fishing pond. Happier times.

“Of course. We passed it on the way here, two doors down on your left.”

— — —

I hurled my overnight bag onto the hip-height cabinet next to the bathroom sink, unzipped it, and began tossing articles of clothing onto the cool tiled floor. I knew the folder had to be in here somewhere. There’s no way I left it in my car, or worse, in my former apartment. If it was there before my ex-roommate changed the locks…

Nevermind.

Three pairs of underwear and two shirts later, I finally unearthed it with a sigh of relief. I practically ripped the folder apart as I pored over the loose sheets of paper within.

“Hilltop Socialite Goes Into Hiding Amid Allegations Against Husband”

“Wadsworth Family Doctor Implies Odd Maladies In Shocking Interview”

“Local Whistleblower Found Dead Under Mysterious Circumstances”

My ex-roommate was right: evil, rich, white pieces of shit. Sure, I’d read the headlines before and had heard all of the town gossip for years. Hell, I even sat through Joey and Karina going on about “the lights” while five drinks deep at the bar. No one believed them, not even me; and I was the dumbest person in the bar.

“I’m telling you, that mansion glows all creepy-like at night… like, every night. Have you seen it?” Joey had blathered on that night.

“He’s right, we drove past it just last night. So creepy!” Karina had chimed in.

But nothing about the Wadsworths really bothered me until my closest friends — ex-friends, at this point — lost their jobs. Their company employed over half the town, and then in the blink of an eye, it didn’t. I worked there for three weeks last year, even. During the mandatory exit interview held the day after my official firing, my supervisor joked that he hadn’t even gotten around to adding me to the payroll. Still laughing, he flipped open the cash box on his desk, pawed out a handful of hundreds, threw them at me, and slammed his office door in my face. It was as if I never worked there, just like my fake resume said.

Then, three more weeks later, Lisa was found dead.

“The Whistleblower.”

This was all for her. The only thing I cared about was learning everything about these rich sickos and, when they least expected it, I would destroy them. They destroyed our town, my friends — and me. I could sit around blaming any number of people, including myself, for all that happened. But at the end of the day, none of it would have happened without them.

— — —

I reentered the hallway and was immediately met with Percy’s shocked face. Just behind him, I saw a flurry of activity — Mrs. Wadsworth, in the flesh, being rushed into the nearest side room by a heretofore unseen man. Mr. Wadsworth, maybe? I averted my eyes as quickly as I could, but I caught a glimpse anyway: slim fitting black dress; slanted, wide-brimmed black hat; towering black heels. I didn’t act quickly enough.

When I returned my gaze to meet Percy’s, he was frowning so much that the creases in his forehead reminded me of an ocean at high tide. “Mr. Stevens, done so soon?” Considering how angry he looked, I was surprised by the nervousness in his voice. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. Please, take your time.”

“No, you didn’t… was that…?” Before I could finish my thought, the haggard personal assistant grabbed my arm and began dragging me back toward his office.

“Nothing to worry about. We’ll be out of your hair any minute now. I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, and before we could pass the room that now contained Mrs. Wadsworth, I felt myself turning around to catch just one more glimpse. I wrestled my arm free of Percy’s grasp and tried to force my head away, but it was too late.

Goddamnit, Rick. You couldn’t follow ONE simple rule.

— — —

There she was. Adorned from head to toe in black, and yet she radiated warmth and comfort. From underneath a pair of impenetrably thick sunglasses, I could tell that she was looking at me. She rose from a seated position with the grace of a ballerina, moved one step forward, then paused. She tilted her head with curiosity, holding me under her spell. I couldn’t move. I could feel Percy tugging at my pathetic shirt to no avail. She moved another step forward, lifted her hands to meet the edges of her glasses, and paused again. Then, in one swift motion, she pulled the lenses away from her eyes.

Light — none at all, then all at once — filled the room, the hallway, the entire house. It was coming from her eyes, from her entire body. It was everywhere, and yet it was directed right at me. A burning sensation rose up from my feet and through my legs, torso, and arms. My entire body, on fire. I was screaming in pain. I couldn’t feel Percy anymore and couldn’t hear anything but my own screams.

And then it was all over.

— — —

I awoke with a start and a sharp pain in my lower back, head spinning. I was folded awkwardly in the front seat of my car on the side of a darkened highway. Nighttime. I could see a cloud of smoke, broken glass, and a knotted tree branch where part of my windshield used to be. Coughing, I attempted to sit up more but couldn’t. Changing course, I waved my sore arms in front of my face to dispel the smoke, thus revealing a small placard on the side of the road ahead: “Hidden Pond Campground 2 miles.” I’ve been here before, but long ago. Despite the pain, a smile crept across my face.

Just beyond the placard stood a small hut of a building, steam piping steadily up and away from its roof into the cold winter air. On its side, a flashing neon-green sign: “DINER.” I didn’t know how I’d gotten here, but it probably didn’t matter. Nothing about my life mattered. What I did know, though, was that I was starving.

Too bad you’re broke, you drunk idiot.

Coughing again, I suddenly noticed a faint light coming from the floor in front of the passenger seat: the clasp of an open leather bag, toppled over on its side; and, protruding from the depths of the bag, a hefty envelope. An envelope full of cash. $100 bills, more than I’d ever seen in my entire life. I snatched them up with a wince before I noticed a small scrap of paper tucked into the stack about 5 bills deep:

“Thank you for your service. We trust you’ll keep this between us.”

I had no idea what it meant and my stomach was growling uncontrollably. I needed food and a tow truck. I needed to stop drinking, and I needed to call my ex-roommate.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d finally visit that pond again. Still smiling, I thought about its serene surface: probably frozen over this time of year. Full of life, then ice, then the thaw, then full of life again. That’s all I cared about now.