Remembrance, McMann #2

Raven Ives. She is a force of will and indecision, standing on our doorstep. I didn’t think Cy would actually invite her. Vasilis is too unpredictable. Maybe he doubts my loyalties. I would–do. If it came down to a choice between them, I don’t know who I’d pick.

Vasilis takes control of the situation before I have a chance to warn her away. Pity, she seems like someone who means well.

The scene in the kitchen doesn’t last long, but it’s tense enough for days. It’s a wonder to watch Raven’s indecision shatter on the tiles between her and Vasilis. She stands her ground, resolute and motionless, waiting for him to do something.

He knows a challenge when he sees one, and like all the other challenges he’s faced throughout his life, Vasilis stares it down and challenges it–her–back. That’s when he turns to me for the first time since the girl’s arrival.

“Kieran,” he says, looking over at me. “Take her to the attic.”

I don’t move. The attic isn’t a room we use. With good reason.

Cy crosses the kitchen and stands next to me, backing Raven up as she glares at Vasilis. I’m glad he’s here, though it occurs to me that Raven wouldn’t be here without his presence. A thought for later.

Vasilis crosses his arms and takes a step back to look at us. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

Cy nods, and Raven glances behind to see us standing at her back. She gives the briefest smile and turns to face Vasilis again.

“Not how it will be,” Cy says, ever the dramatic. “How it is.”

I smile at that, too, but then Vasilis addresses me again, ignoring Cy’s comment and treating me as he always does: condescending and dismissive. It’s something I hadn’t known until Cy came back. Vasilis’s confrontation the morning after his arrival proved that to me.

“Take her to one of the upper rooms and remember to feed her every once in a while.” Vasilis leaves the kitchen without another glance. Does he think I’ll do as he asks? He must; I’ve never questioned him before.

I take a moment to process the situation. Raven will need a room anyway while she’s staying here–she came with a packed bag that’s still by the front door. I nod to myself and motion for her to follow me.

She and Cy both follow me, anxiety written across their faces. They don’t know to trust me. Should they? I haven’t proven anything so far, and I’ve lived with Vasilis for so long that obeisance comes second nature to me. Why would they trust me?

I lead them to the farthest room from Vasilis’s study, the last available bedroom in the house. A bathroom separates Raven’s room from Cy’s, and mine is across the hall with its own bath.

It would be nice if the windows portrayed on the outside of the house were real. They aren’t. After Agatha’s death, Vasilis shut us into darkness, boarding up all the windows from the inside so no one would ever be able to see in. All except the windows in his study, of course, that look onto his own property and the reason he does anything: Agatha’s memory.

“Where are the windows?” Raven asks. She drops her duffel bag by the closet door and makes a slow turn to look at her accommodations.

“There aren’t any,” I respond without explanation. However much she knows about us, she doesn’t need to know more. “I’ll let you unpack.”

Cy exits with me and pushes me against the hallway wall. He gets up in my face and stares at me for several long moments before he says anything.

“What is going on here?” he asks in a low voice. His grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm. I remember his display by the stair landing, where Vasilis broke his arm. He knows how to fight. When did he learn?

“Cy,” I say, trying to think of something that could ease his conscience. I know he feels guilty and ashamed; he was never near as hard to read as Vasilis. “What do you know?”

All of my worry and pity through the past eight years hinge on his answer. Why did he leave? What might he have seen? How did he find out about Agatha’s death? When he arrived, he knew not to expect her. He knew she was dead. His outburst at what Vasilis had done with her body reveals some knowledge I might not know. It’s possible Vasilis is lying about the whole thing, but for my own sanity, I ignore the likelihood. His grief is still so palpable.

Cyril releases me and steps back, staring at me with uncertainty and… is that a hint of worry? Distrust? I can’t tell.

“What do I know?” he repeats. Maybe that’s contempt behind his indecision. It sounds like it. “Kieran, I don’t know whether to trust you or not. I can’t tell you what I know.”

I chuckle under my breath, and he cocks his head at me. “What?”

Unable to hold in my laughter, and my back still against the wall, I slide to the floor and let the humor roll through me.

“Cy,” I say. “You are always so dramatic!”

He stares down at me in confusion and amusement.

“Nothing is ever as dire as you pretend, okay?”

“I don’t pretend,” he mutters. “Things are that way.”

Staring up at him, I see he believes that. “What way?” I ask in genuine curiosity. All the reasons from before are the same, but maybe a different, less direct approach is better to find the answers to my questions.

He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs and turns aside. “They’re bad,” he says. “I don’t know how bad, and the only reason I’m here…” Cy takes a deep breath and returns his gaze to meet mine. “The only reason I’m here is to find the truth.”

So he really isn’t sure about what he knows. He and I may have different stories, but thanks to Vasilis and his secrets, neither of us knows what to believe.

“So,” I say with a glance toward Raven’s room. “Why is she here?”

* * * * *

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