spotlight :: malum

: seventy eight :

The doorbell rings and interrupts their collective worry. All eyes once anxiously glued on the door flicker down the hall to gaze at the foyer instead. They can't decide which is more important, the maori or the sudden stranger at the door.

Tiffany motions for Michael to go and answer whoever has arrived, her hand smooths down his arm in an assuring way. Her touch is sympathetic, she mouths a silent go to him, and he's gone. He skulks his way across the wooden floorboards, listening to the faint sound of Tiffany entering the studio to talk to Calum. The creak of the door before it's being clicked shut in the distance let's him know she's definitely in there with the broken boy.

He doesn't know who to expect. A part of him hopes it's an impromptu visit from Luke to save the day some more. Maybe Ashton is with him to keep Michael calm during something so stressful. His own boyfriend won't even talk to him, he needs someone else to consult to. But he highly doubts they know what's currently going on.

After an exasperated sigh, he swings open the front door and is met face to face with a girl. Short brown waves of hair that meet her collarbones, her eyes are a bold green, mascara on her eyelashes but her face is bare of any other makeup as far as he can tell. She has freckles dusting across her cheeks.

"You're not Calum," Her nose scrunches as her head tilts in confusion, she's definitely Australian by the thick accent. He recognizes it anywhere.

"Do I know you?" He tries to pinpoint if her face is anything he's seen before. There's something familiar about her, an aura of sorts.

"I'm an old friend," She gets interrupted by the sound of a door slamming, her shoulders bounce up as she flinches from the abrupt noise, her head cranes around Michael's to peer into the foyer, "Is he home?"

He leans against the doorframe to block her view, "Now's not a good time." He tenses as he can hear the sound of footsteps walking closer, his eyes do a quick once-over of the girl in front of him as she only weasels her way past him and enters the foyer.

Fear strikes him down to the bone when she practically makes herself at home, placing her purse off to the side and shrugging off her jacket to hang it up in the coat room to her left. How does she know where everything is? Maybe she really is an old friend.

"You really shouldn't be here." Michael doesn't have the guts to yell, otherwise he would just shout at her to get out. What kind of person waltz's inside someone's house without being given the right to? Apparently, she thinks this is her house now, throwing her stuff everywhere without a care in the world. It's preposterous. She could be a serial killer.

"Calum?" She calls his name in a sing-song tone, her eyes dance across every room in hopes to find him. This isn't some sick game of hide 'n seek.

Michael's lips part open, he wants to tell her to be quiet, he needs to. He considers raising his voice to get her to leave, he genuinely contemplates if it's worth it right now. His hand shuts the front door, one arm extended to try and step in and say something, the other still gripping the doorknob for dear life.

Calum's body appears at the top of the staircase, apprehensiveness in his features as he glances over to see who called his name. He looks downright terrified when he meets her stare. He does a double take, harshly shaking his head as he turns away from her view, knuckles burning white against the steel railing.

"You're not here, this isn't- you're not-"

"I'm as real as ever, baby." She grins up at him and heads for the stairs, giddy as ever.

"Baby?" Michael and Tiffany speak in sync, both in shock at her choice of a nickname. No one gets to call him baby except the guy marrying him. That's not even an opinion, it's a fact.