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Celestial Souls, Book I: Christine
Chapter Seven: The Desslers

Saturday morning was a cold one, and I knew Halloween was going to be just as cold, the kind where you’d have to wear a jacket over your costume – which sucked, because then you couldn’t see the costume. Not that I was going to be wearing one anyway.

The ride over to work wasn’t so bad; I was in the bus most of the time, meaning that I was decently warm until I hit the school. After that, the walk over to the store was a frigid one, both literally and...mentally. Yeah, I know I’d said some stupid things on Thursday, for sure – not the first time I’d done that, and probably not the last, either. But hopefully Ruth would just let it slide for now. I was working nine until six today; I didn’t need to focus on whatever cryptic things they were discussing.

That was my goal, at least; it had been rattling around in my head for the past week, and I was really sick of thinking about it. I didn’t want to think about it any more, especially since it seemed like answers weren’t going to be coming any time soon. I would try to relax, and hopefully no one would bring up the subject.

My hopes were instantly dashed as soon as I saw Serena. Was she always there?

Konstancja was not working the counter that morning, for once; it was Ruth there instead, and Konstancja was taking care of the cleaning, mopping part of the floor. She was grumbling to herself about something or other; I ignored it as I stepped inside, trying to avoid the wet portions of floor.

They all greeted me quite politely, and I was assigned to help with new inventory that week. It was in the back, Ruth said, and to put it in the side room I’d attempted to clean the other day; the one filled with junk. I was half-tempted to say there wasn’t going to be any room in there for anything else, but bit my tongue. Literally.

The boxes varied in weight and size, and I lugged them unceremoniously to the other room, slowly. Konstancja was mopping still, grumbling still, and she paused a few times to watch me with some amusement.

“Where do you want these?” I said as soon as I had finished. Ruth, who was finishing up a purchase – it was unusually busy that day, and not just from little old ladies, either. By the looks of it, people were doing some unusual last-minute Halloween decorating.

“Just wait there; I’ll help you in a minute,” she said.

I never paid much attention to the boxes as I was carrying them, but now that they were in their place, I got a good look at some. Nine out of ten were in English, labelled with various company logos and a description of their contents, but there were several in different boxes; ones that had logos, all right, but the writing in the logos was undecipherable. I wouldn’t have even classed it at writing at all; little jagged lines and dots, or various kinds of symbols, all written in a rather flowing manner. They had to be writing just because of the way they were arranged, but I didn’t see anything like our alphabet there.

Ruth breezily walked in and immediately began sorting the boxes – the English ones and the non-English ones. She almost seemed to instruct me to take the English ones, but those were heavy things, and as I apparently couldn’t “lift anything heavier than a cup of coffee” she seemed to mentally decide against it.

“You can bring these lighter ones into that room over there,” she said, passing me a key from her pocket. “Just set the boxes in there and I’ll take care of it.”

I wondered what was in that room that she felt the need to lock it up. I knew the cabinet behind the counter was locked, too, but why? I all but dashed over and almost eagerly unlocked the door, moving back quickly to bring the first box in.

It was rather disappointing. It was a decently-sized room, probably once part of the crammed full of stuff room, but now divided. A door on my far left had to lead to the pottery room. A large window at the back was covered with blinds. I flicked the nearest light switch on to see better; industrial fluorescent lights flicked on and I went back for the second box.

This room also seemed to contain various things – chocolate bars, things in bottles, and some things I couldn’t adequately describe locked up in an old china cabinet with tinted glass. There was a label on the door, written in the same flowing script as some of the boxes. I went back for another, while meanwhile, the radio blared the same country music station over and over again.

In fact, I noted as I re-entered the room, all the labels were written in that odd script. One or two had translations written in red or blue underneath it, but it wasn’t translated into any language I could read, just the jagged-line script. And yet the prices I could read just fine – twenty dollars for a large bottle of something; seventy-five cents for a chocolate bar; the things in the cabinet ranged from fifty to hundreds of dollars. Damn it! I was trying not to think about the whole bizarre situation, and yet I somehow kept finding myself in situations that forced me to do exactly that.

By the time I’d gotten all of the boxes in there, piled awkwardly in the centre of the room, Ruth was already in there, cutting through the tape with a small knife while she unloaded thing after thing from the boxes. None of them looked particularly exotic.

“Oh, you’re still here,” she said, looking up at one point, “go into the other room and unpack some of the smaller things. Be careful – they’re glass.”

The radio was still on as I went back to carefully handle the boxes with glass in them – I didn’t want a repeat of the first time I’d been here. Finally, as I removed the last glassy orb – I think it was supposed to be a decoration of some sort – I relaxed, nothing having been broken, and went onto the next one.

“...there were no injuries. In other news, twenty-year-old Carmen Seymour, who went missing last Saturday, has not yet been found. Today, police announced they are reclassifying the case,” the reporter said, and it switched over to a press conference, where a man with a very bass voice was talking: “It was our initial belief that this was another one of the day-long abductions that have been frequently occurring in our area. But Ms. Seymour has not been returned, and we now believe that our initial theory was misguided. We are now treating this as a missing-persons case...”

From the other room, Ruth tisked sadly at the news.

People came and went frequently throughout the day, some of them the usual old ladies and their sneering grandchildren, but a good chunk were people I’d never seen around there before – olive-skinned people, cheerfully speaking a stacatto language, wandered past me to get to the back room Ruth was working in, and walked out with no small amount of various things. Pale-skinned people, their skin practically white, would come by too, speaking the same sing-songy language, and buy various things from the locked room, while Ruth spoke to them pleasantly all the while, like every single one of them were old friends.

I don’t think I had ever seen anyone go into the back room while I had been working there. Maybe the closeness to Halloween brought out the unusual in the town.

Finally, once the last customer of the morning had left – a couple who had bought something from the locked cabinet in the locked room; whatever it was, it was securely wrapped up in various bits of packaging, and required some kind of signature from them – Ruth popped upstairs to get something for lunch.

“Busy today, huh?” I said to Konstancja, trying to be pleasant.

“It is always busy near holiday,” she said.

“Even Halloween?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It is holiday too.”

“Yeah, but you usually buy candy and stuff near Halloween.”

I couldn’t say anymore, as Ruth came downstairs again with a plate of sandwiches. Again, she gave Konstancja and I two, only having one for herself. Only one person came in during our lunch break, and he was quickly tended to; he needed to buy a crystal ball, quick, for his Halloween decorations. Ignoring the offended look Serena gave him, Ruth steered him in the direction of a small cheap ball made of glass. He purchased it and was on his way.

“Does he not know some people use those for real?”

(I got the impression that she was one of those people, and somehow I wasn’t entirely surprised. Why? I wouldn’t be able to tell you. She just seemed the sort).

“Now, hon, a buck’s a buck; I can’t afford to discriminate,” Ruth said.

Afterwards, she brought down a few cookies – nothing fancy, the slice-and-bake kind; a bright orange pumpkin was in the centre.

“I had baked these hopin’ Theo might go for them instead of the candy,” she said, annoyance in her voice, “but it isn’t working.”

It was perhaps ironic that Theophanes chose that moment to come downstairs, cheerfully greeting us. He then helped himself to a cookie, and was half about to try and swipe a candy bar when Ruth swatted at him. With that settled, he seemed to linger downstairs as we finished eating – small talk was made, in English, but there was a sense of tension between them. Well, there went my plans of trying to relax.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the weekend?” Theophanes said politely.

I popped the last bit of cookie in my mouth. “Not really,” I said. “Going to a friend’s place tomorrow, but that’s it.”

“Oh, whose place?” Ruth added leisurely.

I wasn’t about to say Eric’s place; knowing their feelings about him, they would probably collectively flip out and Serena would probably follow me to his place and do God-knew-what. I had to be evasive.

“Oh,” I said, trying to stall, “a guy friend’s place.”

“By yourself?” Theophanes said, and I got the impression that he and I were thinking two totally different things. I was just planning on hanging out and politely meeting his family, but obviously he was taking the term ‘guy friend’ to mean something way different.

“His family’ll be there,” I said. “I don’t know him well enough to go alone.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, and he seemed to relax. While he couldn’t see, Ruth rolled her eyes, mouthing something I couldn’t catch, and grinning at me. I grinned back, a little less enthusiastic because I didn’t catch what it was, but the thought was there.

“So he’s not your boyfriend?” Serena said.

“God, no,” I said. “He hasn’t been here long enough for me to consider that.”

Ruth snorted. “Didn’t stop me,” she said, “When I was a junior a guy named Adrian Mitchell came to my school from Oregon. He was there all of three weeks b’fore I asked him out.”

“And?” Serena said.

“And it didn’t last,” she admitted, “I think I scared him off – he was used to datin’ little meek girls and I was anything but. Broke up ‘bout...two months later, just before Thanksgiving. Just as well; it was durin’ Christmas break that Theo and I started datin’.”

“He was your rebound boyfriend?” I said. They seemed to be such a loving couple, even if I couldn’t understand what they said half of the time. I didn’t associate rebound boyfriends with ‘loving relationships’. I associated it with Carly getting back at an old boyfriend through jealousy, or Marianne in Petawawa bouncing from boyfriend to boyfriend just so she could say she had one.

“Yes and no,” she admitted. “We’d known each other ‘bout a year at that point, but he thought I was too young to be datin’ him, and since I was all hurt I tried to go to other guys so forget ‘bout it. But finally when Adrian ran off scared I said to hell with it and went on datin’ him anyway, so he was really the rebound from the rebound.”

“Too young?” Serena and I said, at roughly the same time; by the look on her face, this story was just as new to her as it was to me. Konstancja didn’t look quite as interested.

“She was only sixteen when we met,” Theophanes admitted. He was trying to delicately hint at something, but I wasn’t getting it. She was only sixteen, sure, but he looked about the same age as her. At most, I would have pegged him as being a freshman in university when they had met, and even then that might have been stretching it; he more than likely had been a grade above her in school.

“And how old were you that made dating a sixteen year old a horrible thing?” I said. “Eighteen?”

The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a hint of a wry smile. “Twenty-eight. Hardly the age to be dating teenagers when there were many other women out there.”

Twenty-eight?! I was no good at math, but knowing there was – I paused to mentally calculate – twelve years difference threw my calculations way off. He was much older than I had thought, in his forties, but he had aged incredibly well. And even that was an understatement. I thought of the forties and I thought of my father just before he left – very tanned and more wrinkled than most of my friends’ fathers. Of course he was out in the blistering sun and wind of a desert most of the time, and I doubted Theophanes had ever done such a thing, but still.

I must have been gaping like an idiot, because Ruth cut in with a joke: “He’s got a very good plastic surgeon.”

“I’ll say,” I said. “What do you have to do to see this surgeon, sacrifice a goat?”

“Pretty much,” he joked right back.

“The guy must make a killing.”

Theophanes waved it off with a little hand gesture similar to the one Ruth did. “Oh, it’s all regulated,” he said vaguely, and I wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Of course surgery was regulated; why wouldn’t it be?

In the afternoon, more customers started coming in – children for the pottery lessons; some of their mothers browsed the store – and while Ruth went out back with the kids, Theophanes and Serena went back upstairs, talking quietly in what I suspected was the sing-song language. With the influx of people, Konstancja was sent to ‘work the floor’, asking if people needed help – once they looked at her, most didn’t – while I was stationed at the cash register.

“I would let you do this,” she admitted once she had a break, “because you people like looking at people like you, and I am not – but you do not know where thing are.”

“It can’t be that hard,” I said, “Books over there, clothing and trinkets here, and...well, weird crap in the room over there.”

“Maybe I will,” she said. “I have keys if needed. Most top-shelf items are not very heavy, and there is ladder if you need it – go deal with them. I very tired of being gawked at by ignorant idiots.”

It took only about five minutes for someone new to come in, an olive-skinned couple that was practically bundled up to their chins, and still looked cold. I let them browse around for a few minutes before I approached them, trying to put on a warm smile. It helped to look inviting, which was not something Konstancja did – polite, yes, but very cool and aloof.

“Hi there!” I chirped. “Can I help you?”

The woman looked a little relieved to see someone there, and immediately began asking me something in the sing-song language. A few of the browsing mothers still lingering in the store turned and stared a little bit.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to be polite. “I don’t know what you’re saying. Could you please repeat it in English?”

(“You come here you should speak our language,” one woman muttered to herself as she walked by.

“Your language is very hard to learn,” Konstancja said smoothly, not bothering to lower her voice.

“Yes, but you’re at least trying, which is more than those...well, I won’t say it, but more than what they’re doing.”).

“Oh,” the woman said, “You don’t speak it at all. I’m sorry. I thought you did.”

She was not the first person to have said that, and I wondered why they kept mistaking me for someone who did.

“Everyone who works here so far has spoken it,” she added as explanation.

“I don’t even know what it is,” I admitted. “I’m not good with languages.”

“It’s very hard to learn,” the man said; he didn’t have as much of an accent as she did.

“But am I right in assuming you want something from that room over there?” I said, gesturing towards the junk room.

“Yes,” the woman said.

“Okay, just let me get the key,” I said, dashing over to the counter.

“Ruth says you should not be in there,” Konstancja said, searching for the correct key.

“Ruth isn’t here,” I pointed out, “You were the one who wanted this.”

“Fine. I have copy of key. Do not tell her or else she will get mad at me,” Konstancja said, passing me the keys with a roll of her eyes. She didn’t seem too concerned about getting Ruth mad; it seemed more of a mild inconvenience than anything. I took it, gripping it by the appropriate key and heading over to the room. The couple followed; I jammed the key in the lock and turned; the door creaked open.

The couple walked inside, seemingly knowing what they were doing, and I hovered by the door to lock it back up when they were done. All the while the two of them were chatting to each other in that harsh language that I knew I’d heard before.

“What’s in this cabinet?” the man asked, gesturing to the repurposed china cabinet.

“I’m gonna be painfully honest and say I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t even know if the key to open it is here.”

The man squinted at the glass, while the woman looked a little tired. “We don’t have time to be looking at everything,” she said. “Hurry up.”

“Hang on, Chryssa,” the man said.

“Don’t ‘hang on, Chryssa’ me, Megalos. Hurry up.”

“Are those guns?” Megalos asked himself. “They look like them.”

“If they look like them I’m sure they are. And no, we’re not buying one.”

“Good because I don’t want one. These are all foreign models. I can never read the displays on ‘em. Don’t you need a license to sell these?”

What kind of guns had displays? The only ones I could think of were not the kind that fired bullets.

“I don’t know – do you need a license to sell handguns in this province?” Chryssa directed at me. Feeling bewildered, I could only shrug.

“I don’t know any more than you do,” I said. “I’m not familiar with the gun laws at all.”

“Of course not,” she said sweetly, finally ushering the Megalos out with their things. I locked the door securely behind them, wondering if, in fact, they were selling guns out of an old china cabinet. It might have explained how the business could keep getting new inventory but not seeming to sell that much.

Konstancja was ringing up their purchases as I came across them, handing her back the lanyard of keys. She accepted them silently, chattering on pleasantly with the couple in a language I didn’t think I’d heard yet; they were speaking right back in that same language. Finally, she passed them a small bag, with a brief greeting. And then, if my eyes didn’t deceive me, she actually smiled at them as they left. Smiled! I don’t think I had ever seen a genuine smile from her once, and that was as genuine as you could get.

The day passed by rather quickly, and aside from those unusual little incidents here and there, I was fine. People came and went, things were bought and sold, and many odd languages were spoken here and there. It seemed to be the usual for this place. I tried to relax and go with the flow as best I could, even if I was in the dark.

It was just as I was leaving, my mother giving a short honk from the driveway, did Serena catch up with me again (and she was still there? It had been well over nine hours at that point). Feeling someone grab my upper arm; I jerked and twisted backwards to see her, alone, concern written in her face.

“I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I could tell you the truth, I really do. But what kills me is that I can’t, and that I can’t help you in any way, and you have no idea how much I want to. So please, if not for my peace of mind, then your family’s – be safe.”

The next day was even colder than Saturday. Yes, there definitely would be coats on tonight. Surprisingly, my mother was okay with me up and disappearing off to his place for some time, and she usually wouldn’t be – at least not with this curfew. I could only guess that she trusted the Desslers enough to keep me safe for the time being – which I appreciated. She might have been strict but she wasn’t unfair. Now, if my dad had been around to see this, that would be another story. He always tried to do the alpha male/protective dad thing when we were around, but it was hard to be the alpha male when Mama was the alpha one.

Morning went by slowly, and I took the opportunity to eat and wash up while everyone else was still in bed. It wasn’t anything big, and yet I wanted to make a good first impression on the Desslers. I had no idea what they were like, but a good impression was a good impression. By the time I’d finished and stepped out of the bathroom, my mother was just getting up, a thick bathrobe wrapped around her.

“Morning, Chris,” she said. “Can you start a pot of coffee while you’re up?”

I had nothing better to do, so I went down the hallway to the kitchen and did just that. While the coffee was brewing, she came into the kitchen, looking no more awake than earlier.

“When this boy coming?” she said.

“He said around two.”

“Good, that way I can take my time with breakfast. How long are you going to be there?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” I admitted. We hadn’t really talked that out on Friday.

“Then you tell him you have to be back by six or else I’ll skin him,” she said, waiting for her toast to pop up. I rolled my eyes. She liked to exaggerate far too much sometimes.

“Will do.”

“You’d better,” she said.

Sure enough, the blue fridge on wheels pulled into the driveway at two sharp. Mama was out in the garden, raking leaves again and cursing the neighbour’s tree that caused all the leaves. I understood what was being said, but I’m sure Eric didn’t as he stepped out of the car, looking confused. I tried not to grin at his baffled expression.

“Hello,” I heard him offer as I stepped out, zipping up my coat. He sounded uncomfortable.

“Hello again,” my mother said. “How have you been?”

“Er, good,” he said, looking uncomfortable at holding a conversation with her. Once he caught me coming towards them, he immediately perked up.

“Keeping busy?”

“Yeah,” he said. “My grandpa’s got me raking leaves mostly. There’s this huge tree in our front yard and it’s dropping leaves like crazy.”

“Welcome to my world,” Mama said, pausing from her raking for a moment. “And this isn’t even our tree. How long is Chris going to be over there?”

“My grandma said she could stay for dinner if she wanted.”

“I want her back by six. She’s on curfew now.”

“Mama,” I hissed. “Do you have to tell everyone?”

“Yes, Christine, and don’t give me that tone. You’re not the only girl on a curfew right now, not with these bad things going on.”

“I could have mentioned it.”

“I’m sure you could have, but I’m here too, so I might as well. Have a nice time at your friend’s house, and don’t get up into anything funny, or else I’ll skin you.”

This was my mother being lighthearted. Placing my hands on my hips, looking mock-offended, I said “What kind of girl do you take me for?” and she laughed. Eric gave that kind of nervous chuckle.

“Be safe,” she said as I climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Not long after we’d both gotten in, and Eric was on his way to his place, did he mention it: “Your mom kinda weirds me out.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again, if she hates you, you’ll know.”

“I know you say that but she’s just so...” he struggled to think of a word, “harsh. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she’s a great mom, she’s just...seems way strict.”

I shrugged. “She’s had a hard life. She has to be strict. Besides...both sides were military families, so strictness just kinda...happens.”

“Huh,” he said. “I’m just so used to Nana – she’s like a kitten, really. It could have been me in that position, though.”

I tried switching subjects, for he was getting a gloomy look: “How’d you like the dance?”

“Oh, it was pretty great,” he said. “After the party we all headed to Carly’s place for an after-party.”

Ah yes, the after-party I was never invited to, and never would be invited to. Not that I wanted to go to one of hers.

“How was it?”

“It was okay,” he said. “Wish you could have been there. Lots of guys from the other schools in the area were there too, and it was weird. I didn’t know most of the people there.”

“I’ve never been to her after-parties, so I dunno who she invites.”

“A bunch of jerks,” he said. “There were some guys from Appleby’s football team there and they were all acting like assholes. And their girlfriends weren’t much better.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t go.”

Once we rounded the corner to Shelby’s street I knew where we were going, but we passed her house on the corner – I saw an unfamiliar car in her driveway; was that Shawn visiting her? – and kept going, rounding another corner to get onto Princess Street. This was in an older section of town, where the houses were generally larger, older, and made of real brick. I kept my eyes peeled for his house, but we drove down a long portion of the street before he pulled into the driveway of a large, two-storey Victorian home. A tree was in the yard, scattering red and orange leaves all over the grass. He stopped the car.

“Nice place,” I said. “Mine’s a dump in comparison.”

“It didn’t look that bad,” he said, “just small.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to live in it.”

An older man was out raking the leaves when Eric and I stepped out, stopping and looking up as he heard the car door slam.

“There you are,” he said to Eric. “Where did you run off to?”

“I went to pick up Christine,” he said, “You know, the one you wanted to meet?”

“Don’t give me lip,” he said warningly to Eric; he had a very thick British accent. “Where is she?”

Eric glanced backwards to where I was, closer to the car than him, and his grandfather followed his gaze, catching my eyes. He looked to be in his sixties, with wavy greyish hair that reminded me a little of Theophanes’, and altogether he looked a little like Eric. I stepped forward a little closer to them, and his grandfather walked the gap between us to meet me, grasping my hand firmly – a little too firmly; it felt like it was caught in a vice – and shaking it.

“Hello there, dearie,” he said warmly. “Alexander Dessler; you must be Christine?”

“Christine Schumacher, yes,” I said, feeling a little relieved as he released my hand.

“You two can head on inside,” he offered, “I’ll be in in a minute.”

Eric looked relieved himself to bring me inside. The house looked bigger on the inside than outside, but considering my house’s ‘foyer’ was a little mat and not much else, the spacious foyer in front of me seemed huge. A large staircase was there, leading to the second floor, off to my right appeared to be a living room. It didn’t look like it had much use.

“Yeah, that room’s just for show. We only ever use it when people come over. I think it’s a British thing,” Eric said; I felt him take the coat off my shoulder and hang it on a rack near the door. “Nana?” he called into the house. “I’m back!”

“You don’t have to yell, love, I’m not deaf yet,” a voice said from somewhere upstairs.

“It’s a large house,” he called right back, “how else am I supposed to talk?”

“Face to face would be much nicer,” she said, and then I saw her on the landing of the stairs, coming down with an empty laundry basket in her hand. “This must be your friend – Carrie?”

“Christine,” Eric corrected, looking a little embarrassed. “This isn’t the girl you’re thinking of anyway, that’s Carly.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she said with a frown. “That awful girl. Then who’s this?”

“Christine Schumacher,” I said, tentatively offering my hand as she came nearer to us. As short as she looked next to Eric, she was still taller than me.

“You haven’t met her,” Eric said.

“Obviously I haven’t,” she said to him, “Anne Dessler, love. Pleased to meet you. I’d think I’d remember if you brought home a sweet girl like this.”

I couldn’t help it; I found myself blushing, and felt embarrassed for doing so.

Mrs. Dessler thought it proper – with my being a guest and all – that we sit in the formal sitting room she’d set up, but Eric was opposed to the idea, and in the end we all wound up in the much more comfortable-looking living room down the hall. Sitting on a very soft couch, Eric beside me, we both felt a little awkward – I didn’t think Eric was too used to bringing people over, and they didn’t seem to like the few people he did (or in a certain other girl’s case, I think she invited herself over). I was more unused to the formality by which they did things – if that had been my place, Mama would have just offered them to seat themselves in the very beat-up living room and watch television if we so wanted.

Here, there was a television, but it was turned off. Instead Mr. Dessler was sitting on an armchair near us, and he apparently expected to have a nice, long conversation with us. Me, rather. I didn’t usually have long conversations with Shelby’s parents, and I know my mother wasn’t interested in holding long conversations with any of mine, so I was out of my element a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

“So, Christine,” Mr. Dessler said, “You’re working at the same store Eric’s at?”

“Yes,” I said; normally I would have just said ‘yeah’, but that struck me as too informal for these people, “My mother insisted I work it off.”

“Good, good,” he said, a hint of a frown appearing on his face. “And how have they treated you?”

“I haven’t been treated as badly as Eric says he is,” I said.

“Yeah, and they toned it down when she was there,” he said, sounding tired, like this was a conversation they’d had many times before.

Mr. Dessler appeared thoughtful. “Now that is odd,” he said. “I talked with Mrs. Kendrick and she was very evasive.”

You didn’t have to tell me that, Mr. Dessler. I knew that from first-hand experience. I found myself nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, she doesn’t like giving a straight answer sometimes,” I said.

“Hm. Very...do you see any odd behaviour, Christine?”

“From them? Well, she and her husband speak in an odd language a lot. She told me it was something called ‘Esperanto’, but I looked it up. It wasn’t.”

“She actually gave you a name?” Eric said.

“A fake name,” I pointed out.

“That’s one fake name more than she told me,” he said. “I asked once and she told me it was none of my business.”

“I wouldn’t call that suspicious, but very rude, certainly.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But lots of people who come to the shop speak the same way.”

“Do they?”

“Yeah. For some reason they keep mistaking me for someone who speaks it too, and I can’t figure out why.”

“You kinda look a little like her,” Eric admitted. “Maybe they think you’re related.”

I had never thought about it in that way, but he had a point. We were both pale with light hair and eyes; maybe they thought I was a niece or something. It didn’t make the constant stream of unknown languages any less annoying in that light, but it made the constant confusion for a native speaker more understandable.

“Maybe that’s it,” I agreed. “They all seem really surprised when I tell them I don’t know what they’re saying.”

“Hm,” Mr. Dessler said, deep in thought. “This is puzzling. I can’t figure out why they would treat one of you decently and the other one badly.”

“What do you mean by ‘badly’?”

“You were there,” Mr. Dessler said, “didn’t you see? They cornered him in a room and threatened to arrest him for no reason!”

“Yeah, but that was extreme for them,” Eric jumped in. “Mostly they just make me feel like a criminal – funny looks, talking to each other when they think I can’t hear, and Ruth makes me turn out my pockets and stuff before I leave. Like I would want to take anything from there.”

How odd. Ruth let me come and go as I liked, and she certainly wasn’t asking me to turn out my pockets. Of course, she spoke in odd languages when she thought I couldn’t hear, and I had received my share of sharp looks here and there, but I was treading on uncomfortable territory there. I knew that much. They didn’t like Eric, I was associating with Eric, so naturally they would have to keep a closer eye on me because of that. It was stupid. It was something Carly’s clique would do – put you on probation if you associated with people they didn’t like. But Carly was just a snobby teenager; these were all adults who really should know better.

I was suddenly reminded of what Serena had said – ‘be safe’. My mother had said the exact same thing, but that was to be expected from my mother. Coming from a stranger seemed much more odd. There was another alley I needed to explore – who was Serena and what did she want with Eric? She lied to me, knew that I knew she was lying...

This was a lot to wrap my head around. Was I really doing the right thing, digging too much into it? Should I have just smiled and nodded and bought the story they’d told? It might have been the easier route, but I didn’t know if it was the right one. There was going to be a toss-up here; between trying to get along with Ruth and her people, and trying to protect Eric and his family. I didn’t like the idea of ratting someone out; even if I had given Serena his address – even just the street name – what would she have done to him? It would have been my fault for anything that had happened. I don’t like the thought of someone getting hurt because of me, not at all.

There wasn’t really going back now, even if I didn’t know where I was going with this little investigation of mine. I had already picked my side, and it wasn’t theirs. I didn’t even know what they wanted.

Mr. Dessler learned forward in his armchair, propping his arms up on the armrests. “So you haven’t seen anything first-hand?”

“He came there once on my shift, on a Saturday. Mr. Kendrick asked him to leave. Didn’t yell or anything, just said now was not the time to visit friends.”

“Yeah, the one time she came on a Monday they locked her in a room so she couldn’t see,” Eric added.

“Did they?” Mr. Dessler said, looking interested. “Did you tell your mother about that? I called her last week; she said you were doing fine there.”

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t like to worry her. She can be...protective.”

“I would hope she is,” Mr. Dessler said, half to himself, “Why not? If you’re being locked in rooms, dearie, that’s plenty cause to be concerned.”

He had a point, but I felt myself shrugging helplessly. “Yeah, but they haven’t gotten violent or threatened me with anything. I thought if I just...pretended what they wanted me to, it might not get that bad.”

“Well my dear, take a stand!” Mr. Dessler said, with an appropriately grand hand gesture, “It’s not healthy to be a doormat.”

“I’m not a doormat,” I said, feeling a touch defensive. “It’s hard trying to find out the truth when they keep evading everything I throw at them.”

“That’s why you get other people involved,” he said, as though this was obvious. “I’ve never met your mother, but she sounds like a forceful person.”

“You got that right,” I said to myself, “But sometimes it’s not someone else’s place to get involved. I’m old enough to take care of my own situation.”

“You’re seventeen, dearie,” he said, “No one would blame you for turning to help.”

“And what are you planning on doing?”

“Getting the police involved! There’s a line there, and they crossed it.”

Eric muttered something I didn’t catch.

“Speak up,” his grandfather commanded.

“I said,” he repeated, “I really don’t think the cops are gonna do much.”

“And why not? They are there to prevent things like this from happening.”

“Pop, if they’d slapped me or hit me, yeah, you’d have a case. They cornered me in a room but didn’t do anything besides that. You don’t arrest someone for suspicious looks and strange languages.”

“You told me they spoke harsh with you. That’s at least harassment.”

“The weird pregnant one did,” he said.

“Konstancja?” I said. Both men turned to me, Eric looking a little surprised.

“Is that her name?” he said. “They just call her Connie. I thought that was her name.”

“No, Mrs. Kendrick mentioned it at one point. Sounds Russian to me.”

“Then maybe she’s Russian,” Eric said, “But whatever she is, she’s a bitch.”

“She’s a bitch to everyone,” I pointed out. “To the Kendricks, to me, to the customers...hell, she smiled at one of them the other day and I was floored. I don’t think you can slam her with harassment if she’s like that to everyone.”

“All right, fine,” Mr. Dessler conceded, “But the owners could certainly be scrutinised.”

I had chosen this side, just from my actions. But was it the right one? He had a point in involving the police; anyone else in his place would do it. But, on the other hand...Ruth was evasive, yes, but she was also very kind when I wasn’t probing into things she didn’t want me to. I don’t think most owners made lunch for their employees, even if there were only two. Konstancja was okay – only okay – as long as I let her do her thing. I think she tolerated me.

I was torn. Of course there were things I liked and disliked about both of them, but that was nothing new. I was more hesitant about the idea of action, of fines or jail time or whatever the cops could throw at them. It just struck me as...cruel, in a way. Konstancja was pregnant, and judging by the fact that they had two bedrooms, both well lived-in, I got the impression that she lived with them. Why, I didn’t know – and that, for once, wasn’t my business – but she did. If something happened to either of the Kendricks, what would happen to her?

But they were really being suspicious, too, so I didn’t know what was to be done—

“It’s getting close to tea time,” Mrs. Dessler said, appearing at the edge of the living room. “Would you like a cup, Christine?”

My attention was jolted back to reality, and the realisation I’d never drunk a cup of tea in my life. My house was more of a coffee place. I didn’t know if that was a uniquely German thing or if my mother just really liked her coffee, but tea was unheard of.

I felt a light kick to my ankle.

“Please, just drink the tea,” Eric muttered. “Everything will go much smoother that way.”

I wasn’t about to argue with him; one cup of tea wouldn’t kill me. It was only polite.

“Yes, please,” I said to his grandmother. Eric relaxed.

And so, not long later, Mrs. Dessler brought out several cups of tea and a plate of small sandwiches. I was passed a cup, offered sugar and milk – I took both – and we drank. With a good amount of sugar, it wasn’t too bad. Eric was the same way; I was pretty sure there was more milk than tea in his cup, and he appeared to drink it more out of obligation.

Any talk of police action, or taking a stand, or anything about the Kendricks halted immediately once Mrs. Dessler had stepped into the room. I found that odd. Wouldn’t he want to talk it over with his wife, too?

Apparently not; it was her turn to dominate the floor, and she asked the questions you’d expect someone to ask: how is school, how long have you been here, what do you plan to do with your life after? Throwing thoughts of loyalties and tough decisions aside, I answered: school is fine, we’ve only been here little over a year, and I’m going to university afterwards.

“Applications for those are opening up in a few weeks,” Mrs. Dessler said. “You,” and this was directed at Eric, “should be applying.”

“When they open,” he said.

“And what are you going to do?” she said, the question directed at both of us.

“If you’re smart you’ll both become doctors,” Mr. Dessler said.

“I don’t want to be a doctor,” Eric said. “I dunno what I want.”

“You’d better figure it out soon,” his grandmother said.

“Oh, lay off him,” Mr. Dessler said. “He’ll figure something out.”

“I’m planning on enrolling in a music program,” I said. “I haven’t quite figured out where. Western’s got a nice undergrad program for voice, but it looks tough to get in. I dunno if I’m qualified.”

I was given that politely bemused look I often got when they heard that answer. And with Mr. Dessler in the armchair behind her, I was getting the same look in stereo. It was that politely judgemental look, the one that said oh, there goes another naïve girl with dreams of stardom, you see those kinds of waitresses all over the place. What did I care what they thought?

“You sing?” Mrs. Dessler said carefully.

“Yes,” I said.

“Through the school?” Eric cut in, looking puzzled. “I thought what’s-her-face didn’t offer vocal.”

“Her name’s Mrs. Burke,” I said, “and I think she does offer that, but that’s not who I’m going to. This is a private instructor. That’s what I keep going to on Fridays after school.”

“Oh,” he said.

“And for how long?” Mrs. Dessler said.

“Oh, only to Mrs. Salucci for about the time we’ve been here,” I said, “but I had lessons back in Petawawa, too, and she referred me to the Saluccis when I moved. It’s been about three, four years altogether at this point.”

I wondered if I sounded like I was bragging. I wasn’t intending to.

“How nice,” she said, sounding like she didn’t quite know what else to say. “And you plan on continuing?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “For as long as I can.”

“What do you sing?” Eric said, trying to keep the already-somewhat-awkward conversation going. He seemed relieved that he was no longer the focus of their scrutiny. “Anything I’ve heard of?”

“Not unless you’re a big opera fan,” I said. “That’s all I sing.”

“And you...like that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Even if you dunno what they’re saying, it’s still pretty beautiful.”

Tea was finished shortly after, and finally Eric and I were allowed to roam the house, with Mr. Dessler saying he needed to do a few things before dinner, and Mrs. Dessler going to get said dinner ready. It seemed like I was staying.

“Hey, sorry about the tea thing earlier,” Eric said as we headed up the large staircase, “They seem to like people who drink tea, and as they seem to like you, I figured it’d help cement the deal.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Trust me, if they like you, it’s much easier to come over. I won’t say whose been over here before, but they refused the tea and...well, you heard what Nana said.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I said. “Thanks for the tip. Am I in their good books now?”

“I think so,” he said as we rounded the corner. “I’ll have to wait until after you’re gone and hear what they say. I’ll let you know.”

“Cool. Is this your room?”

“Yeah. Haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet.”

By ‘fixing it’, he probably meant making it his, for the walls were a very bland beige colour, and in the meantime he’d stuck some posters on the wall to brighten it up – posters I would expect, like sports and cars. Mostly cars, which was an obsession I didn’t think I would ever understand. The furniture all looked similar, probably part of a set, and was a light-coloured wood; off in a corner, beneath a window, was a small desk and laptop. (How lucky. He got his own computer, and not just a shared one. I wondered where the money was coming from). On the whole, it looked like a cleaner, bigger version of Thom’s room. Eric stood by the doorway, waiting for my comments.

“Nice,” I said. “Looks pretty big.”

“Yeah,” was the reply, “I can shove pretty much everything in that closet.”

(The closet door wasn’t mirrored either, like all the closets in our house. I found it useful, but the look was very, very dated – just like the rest of our house).

He invited me inside, offering me the chair at the desk while he sat on the edge of the bed.

“It isn’t much,” he said.

“Same with mine,” I said.

“We’re gonna paint it this month, I hope,” he said. “It’s boring right now.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed with a grin. “I take it you like cars?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, and then promptly went on a very enthusiastic talk about several kinds of cars that I could only distinguish by colour: a red one, a silver one, a blue one; and while the ins and outs made no sense to me, I had probably lost him with all my talk of opera, so it was my turn to be lost as he explained what kind of car he’d like to buy if he could buy any one, and then the kind of car he would like if he had enough money, which turned out to be a small used one he’d seen on a lot somewhere that looked ‘in decent condition’. I nodded and tried to keep up. It didn’t work.

“I never got the whole thing about cars,” I said, “To me they’re what you use to get to places.”

“I think it’s just a guy thing,” he said, “I don’t usually see girls liking it as much as their boyfriends do – no offense.”

“None taken,” I said. “I’ve never met a girl yet that interested in cars.”

It was rather relaxing, just the two of us there, and we talked for most of the afternoon until dinner was finally ready – about nothing in particular, really; life, school, movies...normal things. Boring things, but normal things. It was a shame when Mr. Dessler appeared at the top of the stairs and told Eric and I to get downstairs. He worded it much politer than that, but that was the essence of it.

Dinner was...well, bland was a nice way of putting it. It was similar to my mother’s cooking, except the plate wasn’t piled ridiculously high like my mother was doing nowadays. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud. They even ate formally, it seemed; we ate in the dining room, a glass chandelier hanging above our heads. I had just been expecting to eat near the kitchen, as, from what I’d seen, there was a table in there too.

But no, it was the dining room, and we made small talk while we ate.

“I thought we’d eat early,” Mrs. Dessler said. “Eric says he has to have you home by six?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “My mother’s got me on curfew until these...weird things blow over.”

“Well my word, you’ll be on that curfew a long time at this rate,” she said. “But let’s not discuss that over supper.”

Eric had loaded his plate full of food, dousing the whole thing in gravy, while Mrs. Dessler looked a little disgusted. But to be fair, Mr. Dessler was doing the exact same thing.

“We have company over and you two eat like wolves,” she said. “No wonder the grocery bills are so high.”

“My brother does the same thing,” I told her, “I’m pretty sure that’s just what men do.”

I couldn’t even remember quite what it was we ate – it might have been some British dish I didn’t know about – but when it was over, and Eric had cleaned off the table, we had pumpkin pie for dessert. It was obviously home-made, with a very cinnamon-y flavour. But she served very small portions of it, so I was done before I realised it, and Eric was as well.

“You’re lucky,” she said to Eric, “I’ll let the dishes slide tonight because of your guest.”

“Great,” he said. “I can show her the rest of the house.”

He started off with the main floor, pointing out the kitchen, the living room that I’d already seen, and a small washroom. Then we went back upstairs, but there wasn’t as much there – two bedrooms and a full-size bathroom that was decorated with a very nautical theme. The only other thing really up there was a linen closet and steps to the attic.

“Is there anything up there?”

“Nah,” he said, “Just some old boxes that came with the house, and then we put some stuff in there we didn’t know what to do with. I went up there once; it’s not that great.”

“Must be neat having an attic,” I said. “Did you look and see what was in there?”

“Some old photo albums,” he said, “and a couple of boxes of broken-down toys. I dunno what they’re going to do with them. The basement’s much nicer – it’s finished.”

“Wow. It seems like you don’t even know what to do with all this space.”

“Yeah, we don’t,” he said, and as we stepped onto the main floor again, he led me past the little washroom and to a door next to it, flicking the light switch on. I followed him.

“Right now Pop’s using it as an office,” he said, “even though he doesn’t really need it.”

I stepped downstairs, fully into the room. Obviously the old owners must have finished it, because I didn’t think the Desslers could have done all that and move in the short time they’d been here. The walls were painted a very pale bluish colour; the floor and stairs were carpeted, and a large, old-looking desk was there, with another laptop on it. It looked just a little out of place to me, but who was I to question their taste? A door to the side was open, showing off a very white laundry room, and then there was more unused space just beyond the little ‘office’.

“I have, like, no idea what we’re gonna put there. I don’t think we have anything to put there. It’s kinda funny, because our old house was really, really cramped and now...”

Scritch, came a noise from the wall. It was very faint. It was likely a noise from upstairs, or in my head; I think we were above the kitchen.

“Big damn house,” I said. “Looks like it was supposed to be a living room down here.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought – there’s a cable hook-up in one of the corners there, but we only have one T.V.”

We walked about the large space, making barely any noise as our feet hit the soft carpet. Scritch, I heard again, a little louder this time.

“Did you hear that?”

“All the time,” he said. “I think there’s rats down here or something but no one’s bothered to call an exterminator yet.”

“Ew,” I said, crinkling my nose at the thought, “Gross.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, looking a little disgusted himself. “We really should call someone about that. Want to go back upstairs? It’s better than down here.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, “What about the—”

Thud! Thud! There was no way that was in my head, and it was definitely coming from the wall just beyond the empty living room.

“What the hell is that?” Eric said, looking shocked.

“I dunno,” I said, feeling a shiver wash over me. The wall thudded again, very loudly this time, and there was something muffled along with it – something that was clearly no rat. Eric’s arm was suddenly around my shoulders, his grip tight and his face pale.

Scriiiitch, went the wall, again and again and again, like a frantic animal, followed by something...

“Eric,” I forced out slowly, “Is there someone...in there?”

‘Be safe’ Serena had said, ‘for your family’s peace of mind’. Was...that why she’d wanted his address so badly? Did she know of this happening, did she know and couldn’t say—

“Hello?” Eric attempted, trying to put me behind him as he faced the wall, rapping on it lightly with his knuckles. Whatever was behind that wall it mimicked his tapping exactly. His face even whiter, he knocked three times. Behind the wall, there were three knocks.

“Is anyone there?” Eric said, louder this time. My brain did not seem to be working – we were back in the parking lot again, and my muscles had locked up when every instinct was telling me to run, scream – get help – and all I could do was silently come up behind Eric, placing a shaking white hand onto the wall, feeling for any sort of gap. The wall was very smooth.

Behind the wall, it sounded a little like someone said ‘yes’, but I couldn’t be sure—

Knock, knock, knock, went the wall again—

There were several soft noises behind me, my hearing strained to hear more of what was going on, but I was focused on the wall.

“I can’t hear you,” Eric said, the tip of his nose pressed up against the wall. He was also feeling the walls, as though there would be a way in that we couldn’t see.

The person – dear God, there was a person behind the wall, but why? How? – began tapping something out – tap, tap, scriitch, like Morse code, but I didn’t know Morse code, and neither did Eric...

Hnnnnn... came a noise from the walls. It sounded electronic. Mechanical. Artificial. Tap, tap, tap – scritch—

“What’s that?”

“Morse code,” I said, the humming in my ears getting unbearable. “I think.”

“We—we gotta get someone,” Eric said, trying to stay as calm as he could. “I think there’s a cellar door somewhere on the outside; we – we, just slip out the front door, with Nana in the kitchen, and we should – you know, be able to – do something.”

“Yeah,” I choked out. “Yeah...”

The humming was drowning out everything, and even as Eric turned, trying to lead me up the stairs, it was as if I was deaf; his lips were moving, but I couldn’t piece out what he was saying. I could just feel his arm around my shoulders again, his skin white, his muscles tensed as he gripped my shoulder protectively...

Click.

My vision seemed to swirl into a vast whirl of colours and sounds, all blending together into an indistinguishable mess—

Then, blackness.