POV: S. A. Fletcher
"Oh...my..." I started, staring in awe at the strange hodgepodge of a house. "That's your...?"
"Yes," Jackaby said evenly, seemingly not noticing my expression.
I swallowed hard and followed him in through the little red door.
"Don't look at the frog," Jackaby warned.
The sound of his voice put me on edge. I didn't stare at the frog. Instead, I walked right by it, following Jackaby into the mess of a house.
Paintings hung on the walls, stuff cluttered up the floors by the wall. Random items were strewn about the house, seemingly put in random places. But I had a feeling Jackaby put everything in a certain place for a certain reason. There had to be some rhyme and reason to the place. It wouldn't make sense to even him otherwise.
His hand trailed on a few objects: a sword, a desk, a chair, a lamp. He stopped to glance at a fountain pen, then turned away from it and kept walking briskly. He turned and spread his arms, a goofy grin on his face.
"Welcome to my home."
I stared around, a fluttering feeling in my chest. "It's beautiful," I whispered.
"Is it?" Jackaby asked, sounding surprised.
I nodded, smiling. I looked at him with that same smile. "I love it."
YOU ARE READING
His Little Doe
FanfictionSiena la Ariel Fletcher, the English daughter of a duke and duchess, runs away from home. She comes to New Fiddleham, America. And she meets quite the...peculiar man. He calls himself R. F. Jackaby. He's an investigator, but...for the abnormal. The...
