Hilltop House

Maeve, Six

"I can't figure out for the life of me where the things are coming from. I've put traps in every corner, sprayed outside and inside--there isn't even any food in the room, not even near it! Do you have a professional you could recommend?"

Maeve had finally taken up her work neighbor's offer to come in for an after-hours drink. He worked the bar, but there weren't many people at present. In fact, the place was almost deserted except for a couple all over each other in one corner booth and two old men and an over-makeuped old woman at the other end of the bar. So he had time to talk to her. Something about his gruffness comforted her; he had an honest look about him. Of course, she'd been deceived before.

Anyway, she'd found herself talking about ants. There was something dangerous in talking about ants; she knew it wasn't an ideal subject matter but hadn't been able to stop her complaining. The insects were becoming more than a nuisance--they were freaking her out.

"I can come take a look--if that's not too presumptuous," he said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms.

That was definitely too presumptuous. The corner of one of Maeve's eyes twitched. Was he onto her? No. She was overthinking, as usual. "That's all right. I'll look someone up. Lots of reviews online, I'm sure."

"I got a neighbor, think his son-in-law might be an exterminator. I'll talk to him, get you the name of the company."

"Thanks. That'd be . . . fine. That's fine."

Laughter from the couple in the corner--Maeve's attention turned to them. The woman was in a deep-cut red top and jeans, her legs over those of the man next to her; both were too young and attractive to be fair. Maeve found herself annoyed with them, especially the woman. She looked naïve. He'd lie to her, surely--that man she was with; he was probably already lying to her, and she'd do something stupid, probably sleep with him, and then he'd leave her with more problems than she deserved. Maybe the woman did deserve problems, though--who was Maeve to say? Had she deserved her own? Maybe. Hadn't she killed her own father? Hadn't she gone off and gotten pregnant and broken her father down until his health at last failed him? Her mother had made sure to let Maeve know that she'd literally destroyed her father's heart. So maybe Maeve the disreputable, disappointing daughter had deserved every single thing she'd brought upon herself. But did that mean Cora deserved the repercussions of it all, as well?

"Hey, hey there! You with me?" The man was waving a hand in front of her eyes, laughing a little, though with a slight hint of concern evident in his tone.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I could ask him if he has time to come look at your ant problem."

"Oh." Maeve shook her head. "No, that's all right." She didn't want to talk about this anymore. That couple in the corner brought up images of someone she'd rather not think about; the old woman laughing made her think of Luce; the ants . . . no. She couldn't sit here and talk about it anymore. Too much. "I--I have to go," she muttered, sliding off the barstool.

The man--what was his name, even? He'd told her, but she'd quickly forgotten--he stuttered a bit, gestured in confusion. "But you didn't finish your drink--"

Maeve was out the door without a response before he could say anything else. He wasn't even on her mind, actually. The ants were there, crawling through the tunnels of her brain, tapping in her skull, desirous of finding a way out. Or maybe wanting to stay; they'd made a comfortable enough nest there, hadn't they? They'd crawled from her floor to her bed into her ears, and they were there to stay. What could she do, set up a trap at her mouth, her nose, her eyes, and hope they followed one another out?