Belladonna

Chapter 3

We get into the house. My mother turns around and locks the several on our door. I go to the windows to draw the blinds and see a shadow. I jump back, then activate the security system. There's a buzz, and someone howls. I look out the window with narrowed eyes and see Mr. Webb running off the property, smoking. I smirk, but can't bury the shudder that comes over me.

We've been lucky so far. We've had burglaries while we were gone, of course, but we've been very careful that no one gets into the house while we're still there. Mr. Webb has been rumoured to keep things in his basement.

He's not the only one, naturally. These types of things are not rare, and are getting more common everyday.

It doesn't make it less ghastly.

I exchange glances with my mother. She looks out the window, then closes the blinds tightly, making a humph sound in her throat.

"Dinner at 7." she tells me, then goes off by herself.

That's our routine. It never changes. Shouldn't change. But today, after the funeral, I want more. It makes me afraid, this emptiness inside of me. I wonder if it's a symptom of...No. No. Don't even think about that.

My throat has been tight all day, and my eyes have been watering. I hope I'm not getting sick.

I walk into the living room and lean awkwardly on the door frame. If mother notices me, she gives no sign.

"Hey, Mom," I say, trying out the more casual honorific. It sounds forced and ridiculous. I never felt this way with Dad. He was always...Why was I still thinking of him? Dad was gone forever, and I should have moved on by now. Something in my stomach dropped, and I frowned, blinking away tears. What was wrong with me?

"Yes, Antiope? Is there something you need?" Her brows furrow as if she has completely no idea why I should be talking to her right now. To be honest, I feel much the same.

"Um. Not specifically. I just-I don't know. I feel like we should talk about Dad or something."

Her face relaxes.

"Ah. Well, if you're concerned about that, the sale will be on Wednesday."

I blink once. Twice.

"Sale?"

"Of your father's belongings. You didn't seriously think we'd keep all of that, did you? I never liked your father's style. It was too...Well. You know. It will be a relief to get rid of his things, especially those horrid paintings he got. The sooner we get rid of them, the better."

I treasured those paintings. They seemed more raw and alive than anything in actuality. But more than that...all of his things? The only reminders of him?

"Already?" My voice comes out several octaves higher than usual. There seems to be a pressure in my chest, and I rub my collarbone distractedly.

"I suppose we should evaluate which of his property we could keep. There was that dining room piece that is quite sumptuous." She gives me a small, thin smile. "But of course, his funeral was just a few hours ago. Wait a day, Antiope."