PERVERSE - Apply Fic

11

They do not, of course, figure it all out the next morning.

The smell of the day bothers Este more than it typically does. She doesn't particularly like the stench of cigarettes, nor the stale fabric of the new scarf, mauve and not purple, that she has wrapped around the bottom of her face. It isn't cold enough to justify it, but Este does not want to be recognized. Este is determined to solve problems before they come up.

Lydia has followed suit, mostly to keep her vocal cords warm. She hasn't sung yet. Lydia had thought about it, in the kitchen with Barry. With the sleeves of their shirt rolled up and sweaty beading on their brow caused by the heat of the stove, Barry looked like the kind of man women would serenade. The cold air helps clear Lydia's head. She couldn't talk to Barry about what she learned, how there is some relief to the symmetry. How could she explain to Barry that some part of her had wondered if he had killed her, and the relief that he didn't is more comforting than anything else she has been given in this second life?

"We're almost there," Eva stamps out the butt of her cigarette. She ruffles her hair up once more, walking through the street.

Este's eyes dart around the street. She hasn't asked questions, as requested. No one has. Only Lydia asked a question.

Can I come too?

They reach the street corner. It's ten in the morning on a Wednesday, and if she is correct, her mother won't be home. Eva hasn't been back here in weeks. Her lungs seem to freeze. It's not the cold, but a constriction. As if the cavity that her lungs should fill has been stuffed with dirt. Her body was buried shallowly, but maybe she swallowed all of it.

"What's our plan?" Lydia asks, looking around.

She doesn't live in this neighbourhood. Her family's home is in a much nicer area, not far from the place Este led her. She's local but seeing these houses after so many years in living near the Opera House is different. Tall yellow grass litters some houses. There are few sidewalks in Chelster and none here. One house has years of abandoned things on the lawn, but there is someone sitting on the porch. The woman looks as worn as the rusting bicycle on her lawn, as settled in as the stack of tires with as the mustard-coloured wildflowers growing from the centre.

Eva exhales. With Este and Lydia on either side of her, she speaks in a hushed voice, "house with the twelve. In the upstairs bedroom, there's money in the sock drawer. Two big fuzzy pairs at the back. We're emptying it."

Lydia looks around. Este reaches behind Eva and snatches Lydia's hand, forcing her back in.

"Keep it cool," Este says.

Lydia wipes the tip of her nose. It's cold. Her eye is going to twitch if she doesn't stop it. She feels the stress again.

"You can look out," Eva tells Lydia. "Este and I will go in."

Lydia nods, fast. She tips her head just slightly, and a sharp pain squeezes through her skull. Her hand flinches up, and she forces herself forward with the others. They get to the house, and Lydia goes to her position next to the house, on the opposite side of the empty driveway.

Once they are at the door, Eva grabs the handle.

"This your place we are robbing?" Este asks, her voice hush. It doesn't matter to her, but it might matter in how they approach this house.

Eva isn't sure how to answer. Correctly, no. It's not her house. It never was. Eva grew up in Chelster but not here. She didn't play on this living room floor, didn't slide down the bannister, and didn't dance to music while making cookies with her mother. Then again, the house Eva lived in, in a much nicer neighbourhood, wasn't this house either. When Eva was very exceptionally bad, a terribleness that couldn't even be corrected by locking her in her closet for the weekend, her mother would send her here.