The Room Upstairs

Chapter Two

Reid looked around the room that Cassidy had shown him to. It had once been painted white, but time had yellowed the walls. It was dusty, but not nearly so bad as the first room. Reid was getting the notion that Cass didn't come upstairs often. He set his suitcase on the floor under the window and put his messenger bag on the dresser, briefly wrinkling his nose at the filthy mirror attached to the back of the furniture. Once again, Cass materialized behind him.
  "Brought some fresh sheets," she explained, nodding at her armful of bedding. "Those are probably dirty."
  "Thanks," Reid said, pulling the dust-coated blankets off the bed. "So what's the bathroom situation up here?"
Cass wrinkled her nose.
  "I haven't been upstairs- much less in that bathroom- in seven years," she muttered. "Put the clean sheets on the bed. I'll take the old ones downstairs and locate some sort of cleaning supply..."

Reid watched her go this time, noticing that she moved from side to side on the steps as she walked. They didn't creak. The agent frowned and put the clean bedding onto the mattress. Several minutes later, Cass returned in her silent-method with a bottle of Windex, a fistful of paper towels, a feather duster and a broom and dustpan.
  "Here," she said, tossing Reid the feather duster. "Clean off what you want."
  "Hey, thanks," Reid nodded, starting on the dresser.
Cass attacked the window with the Windex, removing a thick layer of grime so it could be seen through again. Between the two agents they had the space livable in about a half hour.

  "So, bathroom," Cass frowned. "Um, the one up here works I think, but it's probably a mess. Just use the one downstairs. It's the second door on the left at the bottom of the stairs. Oh, and sorry about the mess in the living room. It is, admittedly, un-lived in."
  "Okay," Reid nodded. "Do you mind me asking what part of this house you actually live in?"
Cass snorted.
  "Mostly the kitchen and my bedroom," she shrugged. "And the barn, I guess. Come on, I'm starving."

Reid followed Cass down the stairs, frowning at her odd descending pattern. They passed Buck laying in a basket and chewing on a bone, then went into the kitchen.
  "Why do you go down the stairs like that?" Reid asked, sitting at an oak table.
  "What? Oh. Habit," Cass dismissed. "I got good at sneaking out."
There was a pause as Cass stared into her fridge.
  "Hm, I don't usually cook," she mused. "Want a sandwich?"
  "Sure," Reid nodded.
  "Ah! You're gonna like this ham. Raised right here on the farm. So was the lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. And the bread. I haven't figured out how to make condiments yet, so those are from the store," Cass rambled.
  "Do you or do you not like living in this farm?" Reid frowned. "I'm getting both."
  "I like farm life, just not on this farm," Cass said. She emptied part of her fridge onto the table. "Help yourself."
Reid started making a sandwich, occasionally glancing at Cass, who was back in the fridge rummaging around.
  What's this?" she wondered, pulling out a container of something that was no longer edible. "Eh. Pigs'll eat it..."
She continued her scavenger of the fridge.
  "Aha!" Cass grinned, displaying a container in triumph. "Mrs. Carter sent over some macaroni. She cooks on some of her better days and she's always saying I don't eat enough hot meals. I can warm this up and we can split it."
  "Sounds good," Reid laughed.
Cass popped the macaroni into an old microwave and sat down while the food heated.
  "Sorry my house is such a mess," she apologized.
  "It's fine," Reid dismissed. "It's a big place and you're hardly home."
  "I'm home enough to keep it clean, I just..." Cass trailed off.
  "Just what?" Reid asked.
The microwave went off, but Cass ignored it.
  "I'm afraid of destroying evidence," she finally admitted.
  "Evidence of what?" Reid frowned.
  "Reid, I was born in this house," Cass said. "I've only ever lived here. You'd think I'd be attached to the place but I hate it more than anything. Anything, that is, except my father."
Reid regarded her carefully. Cass wasn't one to talk about her past, and he knew he was walking through dangerous territory. On top of that, she hadn't really answered his question and he had a feeling there was more.
  "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
  "Not really, but someone should know," Cass muttered. "When I was a little girl, everything was fine. Of course, I was still... normal. My brother was horrible, but big brothers are supposed to be horrible. I was six years younger than him, after all. The real trouble started when I was seven. Dad started acting weird. He was always drunk and Mom tried to reason with him but he usually just hit her."
  "Did he ever hurt you?" Reid asked.
  "Not physically," Cass said dryly. "Then one day, Mom was just... gone. Dad was actually sober that time, and he said she'd run off with a traveling salesman. 'Course, any little girl's gonna miss her mama, but I didn't have time to grieve. Alec, my brother, was in with a bad crowd. Dad was too drunk to care most of the time. One day, he got sick and locked himself in that room upstairs. I moved down here into the old parlor to be as far away from him as I could get, but he still made me bring him his liquor. I wasn't upset when he died, I can assure you. He was too stupid to write a will, so all his stuff was supposed to be divided up by the family. Alec should have gotten this place, but guess who was in jail at the time."
  "How old were you?" Reid asked.
  "Twenty five," Cass replied, "Fresh out of the Police Academy."
  "Seven years ago," Reid realized.
  "Yep," Cass said idly. "Alec got out on parole a year later but I wouldn't let him back in here. No thanks!"
  "Earlier you said your uncle had something you wanted," Reid ventured.
  "This farm belonged to my dad's family," Cass sighed. "Uncle Rick was my dad's brother, and his wife took my mom's pendant when she disappeared. Thank God that old hag's dead now too, but Uncle Rick still won't give back what's rightfully mine!"
  "Oh," Reid said, now at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
  "I know my mom's dead," Cass said quietly. "I think I've known it since that morning I woke up and she was gone. And I know she didn't run away with a traveling salesman- he killed her. She's buried somewhere on this farm. She's gotta be."
  "Has Buck searched?" Reid asked.
  "Several times," Cass said glumly. "Only problem is, he doesn't know her scent. All her stuff, or what's left of it at least, just smells like alcohol now and he's not too experienced at finding bodies, much less bodies that are twenty five years dead."
  "This whole thing is what..." Reid couldn't finish his sentence.
  "What made me a psychopath?" Cass guessed. "Yeah, that would probably do it."
  "Cass, I-"
  "I don't want pity, Spencer," Cass warned. "I want answers, and that's just something I'm never gonna get."
She stood up and headed out of the kitchen, pausing only to add: "Help yourself to the macaroni."