The Edifice

18. Bachelor Pad

I don't know exactly what I've been expecting Lee's home to look like. Most likely an overturned barrel beneath an underpass, given the way he dresses. A stained, unmade mattress on the floor of a heroin den at the very best.

A mix of bohemian, urban cottagecore was certainly not on the list.

"No need to look so surprised," Lee mutters, a hand trailing lazily through the trellis of indoor vines that spans almost the length of his downstairs. The waxy sheen of their leaves glints as though the plants are... turning to follow him.

"I-" I have no words to follow.

It's lovely.

Almost everything I'd imagined my own college share-house to look when I'd moved to my first big city. My brain lost in the fantasy of realising my Pinterest décor dreams, I'd been quickly disillusioned by the chipped wallpaper and malfunctioning plumbing of actually affordable housing.

It's not exactly big, but the kitchen and dining area make up a single downstairs room of exposed brick and wooden floor. A botanic garden's worth of plants drape from any surface capable of fitting them, shining softly under the kitchen's golden light.

"I'll tell you what, stop judging me for one fucking second and I'll get you something to eat," Lee offers almost clairvoyantly, given he's had his back to me since he entered. Or perhaps it's through the same past encounters of each other that tell me he's scowling right now.

'Something to eat' turns out to be packet ramen and a glass of boxed wine, really finishing off the throwback to my college days.

The long, low coffee table that dominates the space of the living room is covered in deep etchings of pentagrams and alien symbols, neither of which are particularly appealing to me after the long night I've had. Instead, I scarf down the food standing and use the chance to properly inspect my surroundings.

There are more whispers of the occult in here the longer I look. The low-hanging plants seem to rustle of their own accord, as though some invisible creature stalks beneath them. Lots of thin, deep scratches mar the legs of the vintage, velveteen sofa.

I find Lee's "cats" too, I guess.

Three feline skulls rest upon a shelf overlooking the hall, pale with age and bearing their needle-like fangs. A deep sense of concern churns in my stomach as I meet their empty eye sockets, glancing at the numerous fluffy cat toys that still litter the floor.

The more I've come to learn of the context behind Lee's prickly, distrustful and quite frankly insane behaviour, the more I've slowly begun to forgive him. Now, however, I'm not quite sure where dead cats fits into it.

Lee rushes up and down stairs in the meantime, arms full of laundry and dishevelled takeaway containers. He ducks his head sheepishly as he deposits a bulging bag of rubbish and several empty beer cans into the bin.

"What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously as he makes his third trip past to the back room, presumably a laundry. This time he carries a basket full of folded clothes and sheets.

He groans as though he'd long been dreading the question. "The thing is, Olivia... I can't exactly get you home tonight."

Those words aren't exactly surprising. Nor are they completely unwelcome. The memory of those sucking, probing creatures that stalked me through the portal here is still fresh in my mind. Going through that hellish abyss again isn't something I look forward to, let alone the time-consuming ordeal of Lee working whatever magic is necessary to bring me back. Nevertheless, work and medication can't wait.

"There was a... demon... angel thing I spoke with before I called you," I say slowly, unsure of what term could possibly begin to describe Otis. "He didn't seem to think it was possible to get me back at all."