The Coming | The House of Voices #2

Thirty - Old Clients

Old Clients

October:

It was an uneventful afternoon.

After he ate, Parish and I wandered outside into the yard and played with the soccer ball. I was sort of pleased when Tubman followed me out of the kitchen and decided to try and join in Parish’s and my game. Parish found the way the little black cat would leap over the ball and swat it angrily funny, and at one point changed the game so that instead of passing the ball back and forth to each other, we rolled it close to Tubman, who swatted it and then, after a running start, leapt over it and repeated the process.

A little after noon, Ace called us into the house for lunch. The three of us were just sitting down to eat when Spade walked into the kitchen, dark hair covered in dust and cobwebs.

“Look kids,” Ace said in a sing-song voice, green eyes wide as she took in Spade’s disheveled appearance. “It’s a giant dust bunny! Quick, go get the vacuum.”

“Cute,” Spade shot back dryly. Turning to me and Parish he said, “I finally managed to dig out the client journals from 2007. I haven’t got around to sorting through them yet, but since there are only a handful of journals from that year, I suppose it won’t take me too long.”

With that, he turned around and started to walk out of the kitchen – to continue sorting through the journals, I guessed. Surprised and a little bit indignant, Ace pushed herself out of her seat and ran over to him. “Hey, hey, hey,” she slipped in front of him, blocking the exit and put a hand on his chest. “Slow down there Flash. How about you eat something first, huh?”

“Alright, alright,” he agreed, allowing her to push him backwards into the kitchen and over to the kitchen table.

After lunch, Spade disappeared into their boss’ office and Ace went over to the front of the shop, where she dealt with a handful of tourists. She told Parish and I that we could hang around in the den if we wanted, so we did. Parish watched TV while I continued reading the book I’d picked up from the shelves yesterday.

It was almost five in the evening when Spade called out to me, sounding very urgent. I had finished the book and replaced it on the shelf and was sitting next to Parish on the couch, so close together that I could smell the cinnamon from the soap he’d used. Hearing Spade’s voice Tubman, who’d been sleeping in my lap, woke up and hopped to the ground.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Parish, who watched me follow Tubman’s lead and get off the couch. He smiled and turned back to the TV.

Tubman and I went our separate ways in the hallway. She went in Ace’s direction, towards the front of the house, and I went the other way, down the corridor and past the dining room until, almost at the very end of the house, I came to a large, heavy oak door that had been left ajar.

“I found the journal!” Spade exclaimed happily when he noticed me standing by the door.

It looked like the kind of office space that even my father would have envied, and Dad kept his office immaculate. The furnishings were grand, finely finished cherry wood desks and wall to wall shelves. It was a long room, with the large, intimidating desk just in front of the window on the east of the room. A loveseat sat against the wall beside me, and there were two large visitor chairs in front of the desk. It looked like they must’ve had some serious group meetings in this room. The office would have been even more intimidating if Spade hadn’t made such a giant mess of the place.

Dusty books were strewn over every surface, sheaves of paper scattered across all the chairs. Dust motes flew about in every direction. For a moment, I was stunned. This room didn’t look like the kind of place that could accumulate so much dust. And then I noticed it. In the north east corner of the room, just beside a long floor lamp, a section of the floor had been removed and left to rest against the wall. Squinting, I realized that there were hinges where the removed section met the floor. A floor safe. So that’s where all the dust had come from.

Spade caught me looking at the mess he’d made and gave me a sheepish look. “Remind me to clean this place up before Ace sees the mess I’ve made. She’ll have a coronary.” I told him that I would, and then he shook his head, as if mentally chiding himself for getting sidetracked. “Anyway, look, I managed to find the correct journal and, after a bit of perusing, I managed to locate the name of the Conduit I was telling you about.”

Something about his tone set an alarm off in my head. “And?”

“And…” he sighed heavily. Moving to the armchair and gesturing for me to sit down. Wary, I sat and looked up at him expectantly. “What I discovered complicates things somewhat. I genuinely do not know why I didn’t remember the name earlier and make the connection – slow week, I suppose – but what I discovered could either change everything or nothing at all.”

“Spade,” I said, very worried now. “What’s going on?”

“Here,” he said, putting the open book in my hands and tapping at the name of the other Conduit with his index finger. “I thought I should show this to you first and let you decide how best to tell Parish.”

I was confused. What did Parish have to do with thi— looking down at the name, I froze, heart pounding heavily inside my throat, and almost dropped the book. Right above where Spade’s finger was touching the book was a name I recognized the instant I saw it, even though I’d only heard it once before.

Claudia Feltman – Parish’s mother.

“You see,” Spade said, his voice soft. “That complicates things a little, doesn’t it?”

I wanted to shake my head at him. The name alone didn’t complicate things as much as the words that were whispered in my head the instant I saw the name. The strangely familiar voice filled my head with words and images that connected everything together with clarity that made me feel stupid for not noticing the connection sooner.

Everything clicked into place.

Things finally made sense.

And I had no clue how to tell Parish.