Legacy In Fire (Book 1)

Missing Matriarch(Chap-4)

We were approaching chez moi, the variegated brick façade starting to display itself. I could almost imagine my mother running out of the house, jubilant, wrapping me in her own special bodily warmth. I missed her so much, my times at Darvey had been great and all, but as the familiar cliché goes: there is no place like home. And my home was anywhere that my mother was.

After I lost my father, she had been my solitary rock. The only thing that I could lean on for support. I don't know how she managed; she, being a psychologist and all, barely had time, she was overloaded with patients. It's true what they say that psychologists have the most twisted children, because I was utterly, completely messed up.

I understood because she had to independently pay the bills and independently take care of me; it wasn't easy. I remember once, when I was eleven, in my room crying, I thought I had set fire to my hands, I was crazed, frantic. Screaming that I was on fire, but my hands weren't burning, they were just on fire.

That was the start of it.

My mother came in immediately; she cradled me in her arms and told me sweet nothings in attempt to assuage me. The next day I was sitting in her office, lying on her long therapeutic bed. She was telling me that it was normal to hallucinate; the psychological trauma rendered upon me at such a tender age was rare and was common to bring into fruition thoughts of destruction, loneliness and even suicide.

That was one of the things I admired most about my mother; she didn't fear telling me the brittle details. The details most parents would fear would push their child off the edge. I think deep down inside she knows I've jumped off the edge already, on my own accord, and that I'm swimming in the deep end.

Not knowing if I like it.

Max pulled over in the driveway. My mother's car was there, but the house looked surprisingly desolate; not like my mother at all. She should've been expecting me. I guess she got busy and forgot. A droll thought shaped within my mind, and I imagined frightening her and acting all petulant that she forgot.

I got out of the car and noticed that the trees delimiting the house were a tad overgrown; mom had been completely out of her element while I was away, it seemed.

Max got out of the side of the car, taking out his keys and locking the car.
"How does it look?" I asked, gesturing to all that was my abode.

"It's rather quaint," he said in that obnoxiously charming British voice of his.

"Well, I hope you weren't expecting Lockwood Manor.", I said, giving him a pointed look, "Not all of us are that privileged"

"I didn't mean it in that way", his voice dropped an octave "I meant that it looks homey". Then he walked over to me, standing so close I could smell his perfume, an elegant aroma, and then he shoulder bumped me. "And by the way Lockwood Manor is not homey" his eyes became distant, "It's been feeling vast and empty...ever since...you know?"

I nodded, because I understood.

"Let's not talk about this anymore", I pointed to the front door "want to go inside?'

"Sure," he said, walking off "beats staying out here talking about my shitty life."

I stayed where I was; he was on the portico when he turned to look at me. The outdoor furniture looked a little musty, I noticed. The whites, cream and the scarlets, burgundy, even the floor seemed to be sporting a thin layer of dust.