Hey, guys! Here's part seven of The House for Lost Things. Please share, comment, let us know what you think. We really appreciate your feedback!
NOTE: All pictures here are strictly for viewer's pleasure. Those of any people may or may not be the writer's idea of what a character looks like and were chosen to reflect the mood of the scene or an attribute or emotion of the individual, rather than the character.
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The next morning, I didn’t get up. I couldn’t get up.
I was still lying on the couch where Master had tucked me in the night before, close to the warm fire. The fire was growing low, popping and crackling as the wood turned to ash. I stared into it numbly.
I can’t go back in there.
I curl up tighter beneath the blanket left around me. It scratches my skin, but at least it’s warm and safe. Master’s scent comes from the coat balled into a pillow under my head. Keeping the blanket pulled up around the bridge of my nose, I remain huddled beneath it.
I won’t come out. I won’t go back in there. He can’t make me.
I close my eyes and drift in and out of fitful sleep, constantly somewhere between sleeping and being jerked awake by tiny imagined noises around me.
I feel myself just slipping into the clutches of darkness when a hand brushes through my hair. My eyes flash open and I stare. Master is crouched before me, eyes worried.
“Master,” I whisper, starting to sit up a little.
“Shh,” he says, placing a hand on my arm. I rest against the couch once more. “Do you feel well?” he asks.
I can feel my insides shriveling up at the question and I shudder, ducking as far under the blanket as I dare till he can only see my eyes and the top of my head. Master sighs. He rests against the couch, and slides into a sitting position.
“I’m sorry, Esme.”
I close my eyes tightly as he strokes my hair with his hand.
“I can’t go back in there,” I feel tears brimming at my eyes but they won’t spill over. My body is tired
Master’s fingers curl in my hair.
“Yes, you can, Esme,” he says firmly. The shaking of my head starts slowly until I am vigorously shaking it back and forth. Master grabs my arms to hold me still as I try to formulate the words to argue with him. “Yes, you can,” his voice deepens to a soft growl that stills me.
But I can’t...The Mirror will get me, too.
Master looks at me, relaxing slowly before he promises, “It’s safe now. You’ll be safe.”
“Master, the Mirror will get me,” I whimper.
“No, it won’t,” he replies adamantly. “I’m not going to let the Mirror hurt you. You don’t have to go close to the Mirror. I promise.”
I curl up again and close my eyes, trying to relax.
“Please, don’t make me go back in there,” I whisper into his coat.
“Esme, I need your help to get our work done,” Master says softly. “I can’t do it by myself.”
But I’m scared!
“Andrew…”
“Andrew,” Master closes his eyes as I open mine. His fingers drop from my hair and curl in the blanket near my shoulders. “Andrew is safe at home.”
I shook my head, closing my eyes tightly again.
If only that were true.
“No, Esme,” Master whispers. “I mean it. He’s safe at home. With his woman.”
I stop, “What?” I ask in confusion.
How can that be?
“Whoever was looking for him found him and he was able to go back through the Mirror to his home.”
I stare at Master.
“But you said that wasn’t possible...for us to go home.”
Master bows his head and looks at the floor for a moment, seeming struggling to speak.
Master lied to me?
“I said it wasn’t possible for us to go back home,” Master corrected. “I never said anything about Andrew.”
...It is possible to get home then?
I push myself up into a sitting position, the blanket falling around my waist. Master leans back. He pulls one knee up under him and looks up at me, features calm and expectant.
“Then why can’t we go home?” I ask him, suddenly suspicious.
“The Mirror is constant,” Master replies, resting his hands on either side of my curled legs on the couch. “Something can only pass through if it has been found.”
“I could go home?”
“If someone found you,” Master looks down and his jaw tightens. His voice is begrudging and reluctant.
My mouth opens and closes slowly a few times before I find my voice, “Master, why would you not tell me this?”
Master remains silent, looking down at the floor for a long time. His fingers press into the couch one by one as if he is pressing silent piano keys. His brow wrinkles and his nose twitches.
At last he says, “No one is looking for us anymore.”
“But they might have!” I exclaim, sitting ramrod straight.“They might have looked for me and I would never know because you wouldn’t let me near the Mirror!”
Master clears his throat and speaks patiently, “Esme, you were terrified to even leave your room the first few days. Those periods are the most crucial. After that, people...stop looking.”
He looks up at me, searching my face for understanding.
You don’t even know if your family looked at all, Esme.
Master reaches forward and takes my hands in his. I frown down at our hands. His calloused palms fit around both my hands.
“I didn’t allow you near the Mirror afterward in order to protect you,” he tells me.
“Protect me from what?!” I demand rather harshly.
Our eyes meet, mine filled with the anger that is sullying my heart and his filled with some form of silent, chilled, ice. His clothing rustles as he stands.
“Come with me,” he says, tone indignant. “If you will not believe me, I will show you.”
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