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What’s more surprising is how the idea doesn’t scare me as it might have.
“Can you wait here?”
He nods.
Relieved, I make my way up the steps.
There are three rooms upstairs: my mother’s bedroom, my bedroom, and the small room she had converted into a study.
The study is the closest to the stairs while my room is at the very end of the small hallway.
I open the pink door that I know Mom painted at my request, and as soon as the door opens, I sneeze at the amount of dust in there.
Covering my nose, I study everything, dismay inside me at the moth-eaten blankets and stuffed animals. Why is this the only room in the house that is untouched? Everything else has been so carefully protected.
I close the door and lean against it, bewildered.
There’s not so much as a layer of dust downstairs. It’s almost as if someone comes every week to clean the place. So, why would they leave my room like this?
Confusion permeating me, I unsteadily make my way to my mother’s room and let out a sigh of relief when I see her room is fine. However, what’s surprising is that it gives the illusion of still being used.
The bed is made. The bed lamps work. Nothing is covered.
I touch the bedsheets and blink.
Why do they feel like they’ve been recently changed?
Even the bathroom plumbing seems fine.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, in thought.
Something is very strange about this house. One room looks like it’s been lived in. One room looks like nobody has tended to it. The rest of the hous
e is regularly cleaned. The gardens are in full bloom.
I make my way to the study and my hand hesitates on the doorknob, not knowing what to expect.
It’s good that I gave myself a minute to mentally prepare myself because when I open the door, the sight makes me let out a startled cry that has Jace calling out my name. I try to say something in response but the words are stuck in my throat.
I hear his footsteps bouncing upstairs till he comes to stand behind me.
Jace takes a sharp intake of breath, hissing, “What happened here?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble in shock.
The whole room has been torn apart. It’s almost as if someone went on a rampage in here.
Papers are strewn everywhere. The desk is lying on its side, the chair in a corner has one of the legs broken. It’s clearly been tossed against the glass cupboard because there is shattered glass surrounding it. Drawers are on the ground, pulled out with their contents scattered along the floor.
“Someone was looking for something,” Jace says, quietly as he reaches down to pick up a few papers. And then he stills. “Your mother was an information broker?”
“What?” I lean over to look at what he’s studying. “She was a wild nature photographer.”
However, the paper he’s holding begs to differ. It’s a list of companies with names next to them and scribbling. “What is this?”
Jace looks troubled. “Highly classified information. These are some of the top firms or at least they used to be a few years ago. The names highlighted are people who were involved in heavy scandals within the firms.”
I bite my lower lip. “Maybe she was just following their careers as a hobby.”
