Today proceeded as normal. A normal ending to a school day, students funnelling out of the building, dashing for their cars and I scurrying for the bus. A normal drive through town in my favourite seat by the window—on the left, middle row. Casual conversation with Tobias, exchanging how our day went.
The bus finally pulling into our stop and the descent of many students. And now the long walk home. Everything was normal, everything proceeded as it usually did. All except that last bit.
I bid farewell to Tobias at the bus stop, ignoring the worry on his face and voyaged down an unfamiliar path. But this time with Jonathan DeLark trailing besides me, on our way to his residence.
'How did it come to this?' the question played on maddening repeat in my vast mind. I knew the answer yet I reviewed it once again, hoping for some new result.
It all started when the foul-eyed bastard interrupted a basketball lecture that didn't particularly catch my interest. He wanted us to meet and I obliged, promptly adjourning the lesson and leaving with Jess in tow.
Even now Jess' worried grimace flashed in my mind. The scowl she wore while she stood outside of earshot of our conversation still gave me pause. I felt her eyes boring into me the whole time, beckoning us to let her in.
She'd made us promise her that we wouldn't fight before agreeing to be excused from the conversation. I was sure to get an earful tomorrow—not that I didn't get one today.
As for the insidious bigot, he was uncomfortably civil today. But his voice sounded serious and grave when he extended me the invitation to his home. I protested at first, finding the notion of visiting him absolutely insane. The only response I received was a silent stare down. It felt less like a choice and more like an order.
We walked in silence, I preferred it that way. I spent the better amount of my time watching the road and observing my surroundings. The streets changed, from rowdy packed spaces to a quiet sterile neighbourhood flanked by mansions or townhouses on either side. The area had turned wealthier and in turn quieter.
Large well manicured lawns devoid of children to play on them. Huge garages, with luxury cars parked outside, their expensive coats basking in the sun, casting reflection that just screamed money.
His plain attire and carefree demeanor made it easily forgettable at times. But he was archaic opulence, he was DeLark. This was the norm for him, this was the bare minimum for someone of his standing. 'Wohlhabender bastard!'
The security guards stood at mock attention, greeting us as we passed through the massive gate. The gravel crunched under our feet as we walked the long drive way, lined on both sides with exotic rose bushes, stunted ferns and light fixtures.
There were fountains scattered around the massive clairière, adding an artist element to it and also serving as a drinking source to the local aves.
Jonathan pushed open the doors to the manor, beckoning me to step in. He closed it behind him and suddenly I felt trapped. I was here alone in his home, in an expansive compound flanked on all sides with guards—some of them carrying some form of sidearm. And here I was walking into a confined space with the person I trusted least in the world.
"Welcome to Manor DeLark," he smirked, a twinge of humour when he noticed my discomfort. "Come let's get some refreshments. It's best not to speak on an empty stomach."
I would have declined the offer but he was already walking away, leaving me no choice but to follow.
The halls were hard to describe, a strange type of architecture that only invoked the image of silent power, of loneliness, of dark oppression.
But there was something odd about it, the painting that lined the walls, the ornaments and vases against the wall, the muted pastel colours of random objects. It spoke of another presence, a part of the manor that was long gone, leaving their nest abandoned. And with it I felt a touch of blackened warmth—a womanly touch.
There were traces of DeLark in some places as well. Especially the paintings. Some of them murals of dark battle, a glance into a fractured mind, a man holding a stick, a sparrow perched upon a valient general that seemed proud of a successful conquest. All of them shared a similar trait... the eyes. The eyes were mad.
The look in their eyes made me recoil, I remember seeing eyes like those.
Our steps echoed, bounding off the marble floors and the pecunious columns. Jonathan had said nothing, even in these large halls the house felt desolate. I'd expected to come across someone else by now, maybe a cleaner, charlady or some employed staff. And possibly another member of the elusive family. 'He can't possibly be living here alone, right?'
His steps slowed, we had arrived in front of large double-doors, the possible room for our meeting. It was a large sunroom, with a glass making up most of the walls and ceiling. Many plants littered around, saturating the room with greeny and the scent of flowers.
There were two sofas in the middle of the room, very slightly elevated on a wooden platform. We sat across each other on the comfortable beige sofas with a coffee table separating us. On the table fresh baked snacks were neatly arranged and even stranger a steaming kettle of coffee and tea.
I thought that there weren't any other people in the home, when had he arranged this spread, still warm and steaming. Since I entered I had failed to notice another human presence, even through the walls or in the rooms we passed. Perhaps he prefers to have them out of bounds when he's home or he'd dismissed them to unnerve me.
"Help yourself," He extended a hand to the table and served himself a cup of tea shortly after. "Before you go off on some long protest, I can assure you the food is safe. I have no reason to poison you. And no reason to want you dead... yet." To prove his point he served himself some of the snacks on a platter and started eating.
Over the muted sounds of Jonathan's chewing, Lukehiem finally reached for the kettle. Jonathan watched in amusement as his companion mixed the tea and coffee in the same cup. Luke took careful sips, always keeping eye contact with Johnathan over the rim of the cup.
"That's an interesting combination you have there. Is it any good?" Jonathan seemed genuinely curious.
"I would not drinking it if it tasted bad," Luke paused then sighed. "Yes, it does have its quirks. Nevertheless it's a blend that always puts a bit of pep in my mood. Try it." There was a humorous edge to Lukehiem's voice, almost mischievous.
Still Jonathan didn't hesitate to tip the coffee into his tea and giving it a stir for good measure. Jonathan sipped slowly, like he was afraid it would turn to poison on his tongue.
Luke hadn't seen Jonathan smile like that in a while, a grin stretching from ear to ear. But it was eerie, it felt wrong, the smile never reaching his eyes—same as the perfectly crafted ones he used in school. Luke soon regretted sharing his little drink mix with the foul-eyed snake. The chuckle and smile he drank it with made Luke feel... revolted.
While Jonathan savoured his newly discovered concoction, Lukehiem tentatively reached for a macron and browsed the greenhouse. It wasn't the exotic plants and shrubs he'd never seen or heard of before that stole his attention.
Rather it was the large painting fixed to the wall behind Jonathan. There was another right behind him, but a quick glance proved it wasn't nearly as captivating as the first. 'Fastinating!'
The yellowed parchment was framed with dark mahogany. The lines looked like they had been stroked with coal and mud. Luke imagined the artist grabbing whatever was at hand trying to immortalise this moment in paper. His finger clawing at the earth and charred wood, his nails cracking, peeling against the sunfired earth. Tears streaming down his face at the scene before him.
It depicted two groups lined up facing eachother. There features not quite human, a strange mix of beastial features morphing them in the strangest of places. One thing they all shared in common were the nasty snarls they wore—an atmosphere of conflict between the two groups. And the strange rings of light around their faces, almost as if the artist saw them in all their inhuman glory as radiant beings—as divine.
The details sprinkled into the piece were profound. The artist after successfully capturing this scene in a moment of inspiration went over it again. This was marked by the refined, carefully added layer of proper paint added over the rough sketch.
"You've been staring at it for a while. You have taken a liking to this painting I suppose." Jonathan's voice grazed Luke, pulling him back into the meeting.
"Yes. Although I can't seem to find the artist's signature. Do you know about them?"
"Hmmm," He glanced at the painting deep in thought. "Yes I knew them. Remarkable in their craft, but not the best marketing their works."
"So you knew them personally then. What's their name?"
Jonathan just smiled and continued sipping on his drink while the silence prolonged. Lukehiem aware that the conversation wouldn't progress any further sighed in frustration and imagined himself punching the smirk off the foul-eyed's face.
"It's about time you told me about the purpose of this visit." Luke set down his cup and snacks, leaning forward with an air of seriousness.
"Ah yes, I suppose we've stalled long enough," Jonathan put down his cutlery as well. And finally the dark look in his eyes and the malicious smirk returned.
"Lukehiem before we can go any further, I have to ask. Do you consider yourself a man of faith?"