The Resurrection of Blake House

Chapter Two: Through Glass Stained and Clear

Late September, present day

Elizabeth Griffin stood on the porch of the aging Victorian mansion, trying to burn holes in the realtor's back with the force of nothing but her growing annoyance. It wasn't working. Yet.

"If I can just find the right key... of course it's always the last place you look," the woman muttered, digging through her seemingly bottomless purse. "Just a moment, dear, and I'm sure..."

Elizabeth clamped down on her anger. The two-story structure with the peeling white paint and sagging, wrap-around porch was the last house on a long list of depressing options. If I see one more split-level ranch in a cluster of look-alike clones ever again, I'm going to burn the whole neighborhood to the ground, she resolved, her irritation peaking.

Now it was nearing dark, the gray sky had just started spitting cold rain, and she felt a migraine coming on. She fought the urge to call the whole thing off and head back to her hotel. But Elizabeth badly wanted to find a house, as soon as possible.

Elizabeth Griffin was tired. She was tired of living in hotel rooms and tired of wandering. She was tired of looking over her shoulder, afraid that Drake Anselm would track her down and force himself back into her life. She was tired of grieving her grandmother's death. And she was really, really tired of beating her head against the walls of Pacifica University, fighting for a degree she would never have in order to get a job she no longer wanted.

Just like the stray orange and white cat that kept appearing outside her motel room door, Elizabeth wanted a home. She took several deep, centering breaths, tapping into the quiet, calm center at the very core of her being where her deepest truths lived.

Calm down, she told herself firmly. Remember what Gran taught you. If you don't control your emotions, they control you.

When the elderly Mildred exclaimed, "There! I found it!" Elizabeth no longer felt like burning holes in her back. She gave the older woman what she hoped was an enthusiastic expression. When she stepped into the shadowy foyer of the sprawling old house, she was even able to smile.

Then she burst into a fit of sneezing as a wave of musty air and dust agitated her allergies. She huddled into her favorite sweater, knit by her grandmother years before in alternating patterns of sunbursts and Celtic knots. Elizabeth was grateful she'd thought to grab it on her way out of her room at the Whitfield Inn. A split-second decision made her pick it up; the weather had been bright and warm, if a little breezy, when Mildred the Realtor picked her up mid-morning. Her short-sleeved dress and knee-high suede boots were more than sufficient. But as she and Mildred got out of the realtor's car and stood on the cracked sidewalk leading up to the old house, the temperature dropped noticeably.

Elizabeth blamed the darkening sky and spitting rain. Of course the last house on the list would be the least welcoming. It was the way her life went, or had for the last six years, ever since she started her studies at Pacifica. Ever since she'd met Dr. Drake Anselm, and let him become her entire world.

Elizabeth shook herself a little, as much to get rid of any lingering raindrops as to banish the dark turn her thoughts had taken. It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. I'm putting that life behind me now.

She turned her attention to the house around her. She was happy, at least, to be out of the rain, although the temperature was still too cool for her comfort zone. She turned in a slow circle.

Empty, rapidly darkening rooms stretched out on either side of her. They were huge, high-ceilinged rooms that belonged to another time. They flowed easily into each other, separated by sliding French doors. But panes of glass were missing or broken in the few doors that remained attached to their hinges. She thought the hardwood floors showed signs of warping. It was hard to tell in the oncoming darkness. She didn't dare examine the ceiling, afraid she would find water damage or some other major problem that would force her to cross the house off her list and mark the end of another fruitless, frustrating day.