Gaining The Family Trust

Mary dreaded the drive. The scenery swept by in an endless blur of flat, beige and brown sameness. The kind of landscape a painter would render in the hastiest of brush strokes. But the leaden knot in her stomach had far more to do with her decision to head up to the house today.

Even as she sped down the freeway, the sun hung above the horizon. Mary gnawed at a fingernail as she drove, while her other hand tapped out the seconds. She ignored the diamond on her finger.

George and Mary were off. Their relationship was broken, and now she saw it, she couldn't leave things alone.

On paper, they should be in love. 

Same high school, same Ivy League college. 

Same politics. Even with money, they were two sides of the same coin. He had tons of it, and she liked that about him. 

He didn't like puns though. 

"Should've known," Mary said, turning off the arterial road onto a solitary dirt track.

Didn't matter how much she willed it, she wasn't in love with him. He was a pleasant enough guy, tall, handsome, kind and generous. He could have stepped out of a gothic fairytale. But she couldn't fake it; she couldn't do that to him.

''Momma, didn't raise no gold digger," said Mary.

He deserved the truth, and it couldn't wait until they were both back in the city.

Hours later, Mary turned onto the gravel drive that wound up to the house. She parked her beat-up Honda, in her own personal spot, around the back of the house near the toolshed. Unable to offend any of the other guests. Touching up her makeup, she gave herself one last confident glare in the fading light.

Mary walked up to the house; her boots crunching with every step. In the daylight, the dark manor house loomed. At night, the house radiated light, casting deep shadows in hidden nooks and statue filled niches. Ancient ivy twisted over every surface. The bare-branched trees hid manicured lawns and a small stream that George had shown her during the summer ago. Hours had flown by, though the afternoon light stretched on forever.

That had seemed like love.

Mary clenched her jaw and grabbed the ornate brass knocker, the metal on metal sent a boom through the home. No one answered. The silence drew on, as her heartbeat in her ears. She turned around, searched for George's car, any sign that he was inside. She hated being here without him at her side.

She paused, about to knock again when the door opened. Her hand hovered over the face of Klaus, the manservant. A spider thin man, with a rictus-like smile. Mary drew her hand back like it had been bitten.

"Evening, Klaus," said Mary, she tried out one of her best smiles.

"Evening, Miss Mary. The Family is waiting for you in the formal dining room," he said, the clipped words collided, like frightened little soldiers at a parade.

Klaus stared a few inches above her right shoulder. Mary used every bit of willpower inside her not to glance back. 

Creep."Two lefts then a right?"

"Right, right then left," he said. 

"Right." 

"Correct," Klaus said without a hint of anything warm.

Mary stood in the entrance hall as Klaus melted into the shadows. Silent steps carried him away to what she imagined was a private and obsessive fancy with taxidermy. Glassy eyes stared through you, but followed you around the room, fit him perfectly. Along with a perverse familiarity with the dead and dusty.

She peered around at the entrance hall at the doors and the warren of corridors she remembered branched off from them. Twin doors sat facing each other and led to separate wings of the house.

"Left," she said, "he definitely said left."

Mary followed her instincts and wove through George's family home. She studied the gloomy portraits and cold checkered tiles, it never made sense to her how George came from a house like this.

A sliver of light shone across the tiles, as Mary crept towards the door she overhead hushed words.

"... on the way, ... any minute. Be quick..."

Two figures were busy with something on the floor.

"George?" she called.

George's shadowed face appeared in the crack.

"Hey you, you're early." 

"I'm early?"

He held the door pulled close behind him, blocking Mary's view of whatever was going on behind him. 

"Yeah, a few minutes, nevermind." 

"Ah..." 

"Head to the dining room. I'll be right there." 

"Isn't this it?" 

"Nope, downstairs study." 

"Whoops." 

"Back the way you came, left then right." 

"Got it. Please be quick." 

"I'll be right there. Need to wrap something up." 

Mary shifted to go and George returned to the body on the floor. Before the door shut with a muffled thud, Mary observed enough for her blood to chill. The hall now dark, she froze.

In a daze, she stumbled back to the entrance hall and took the proper route to the dining room. She didn't think she wanted to happen into another room with any more of George's family.

The dining room was cold in demeanour and temperature. Little natural light entered it. The painted personages that hung from the walls and sneered down at her did little to improve the atmosphere.

"Sit my dear."

Mary started. She turned to find George's mother sitting at the head of the table. Her hair in a severe bun, hands busy with a needlepoint, a dark cardigan over her shoulders.

"Hello, Mrs Galloway," said Mary.

"Ms."

"Ms.?"

"I'm a widow now dear."

"What happened to Mr Galloway?"

"He had a rather fortunate accident."

"Oh."

Mary pulled a plush antique chair out and dropped heavily into it, causing the old wood to creak. Ms Galloway raised an eyebrow.

"You see, my dear, you wandered, and now you're found. But more than that, now, you're part of the family."

"Oh?" said Mary, her face grew pale, her palms sweaty.

"Yes, more than blood, what binds a family is their secrets."

Behind her, a door clicked closed.