It was a slightly awkward twenty minute drive back to my apartment building, but neither of us made any attempt to start a conversation. Before dropping me off in my modern part of the city, Miss Durant made me promise I’d call them when I knew if I would say yes or no. As the car sped towards the night, I punched in the key code to get into the building, through the hall and into the elevator.
One, two, three, four floors up and the doors opened, snapping me out of my train of though. I got out, and made my way to my door down the hall. I remember being so happy when they showed me the brick colored door with it’s big golden number forty-two on it, almost two years ago. It honestly felt so long ago, I don’t even remember why I was so happy about it, probably some inside joke I had long outgrown.
I went in to immediately plop unto the sofa, it was comfortable as always but now it felt a little hard compared to Miss Durant’s furniture. I turned to face my book shelves that were half empty, I had read them all and I’d yet to buy anything new. I was proud of my small collection, but now it seemed so tiny in comparison to Miss Durant’s library. I felt poor again, and even though my apartment was painted in the shades of green I had always wanted, it suddenly felt like it needed to be redone.
I was a little hungry so decided to go to the kitchen for something to eat. I opened the fridge and scanned it’s pitiful contents, wondering if Miss Durant’s own fridge might be full of expensive and exquisite ingredients. How rich where the Durants? Did their elegant spoken word come with the money? If they where so rich, why hadn’t they kept up with the times? Was it that hard for them to find anyone or did they just lose them very often? They couldn’t constantly be losing them physically, could they? They’d be under investigation, surely. Did I really want to stay?
My feet started to feel cold, I realized the fridge was still open and I was still snack-less, lost in my speculations. I took out a box of pasta I had cooked last week, emptied it unto a bowl and placed it in the microwave. While I waited I surrendered back into my thoughts.
But what was that thing that attacked us?
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know about the mysterious background of the Durants, and I hadn’t even met Mr or Miss Dietrich, and I felt that meeting them wouldn’t answer my questions immediately. Had they murdered someone and they where maybe being sought out for vengeance? What about the pictures in the front parlor? Would I rather avoid getting involved?
The microwave announced my food, and I went to my room to eat in bed while I searched the web. No matter how many times I searched for anything relating to the Durants, nothing appeared. No match on the address or the phone number I had written down. Maybe that’s why they hadn’t digitized anything? Maybe they where avoiding suspicions by keeping all their information close to the chest? And if so, the only way to unearth their secrets would be to read those files. As their secretary in charge of digitizing them, clearly I would have access to them. It was all very tempting. Much better than a regular office job, anyways. Their mystery was quite the incentive, but probably a double-edged sword.
I dialed their number and waited.
“Durant and Dietrich, how may we help you?”
“Hi, it’s Abby Gladstone, I was there earlier today for an interview.”
“Miss Gladstone? Right, of course. Did you wish to speak with Miss D?”
“Bonsoir, miss Gladstone. I presume you’ve come to a decision.”
“Yes. After some thought I’ve decided I’ll stay and start tomorrow.”
“Parfait! I’ll see you here tomorrow at noon, and our good Mister Schreiber will provide you with further instructions. Au revoir, Miss Gladstone.”
Her voice sounded comforting over the phone, and it eased my worries. I truly thought I could trust this woman, I mean, she did go to her brother’s rescue fully armed. With that thought in mind, I put my plate and laptop aside, crawled under the covers and dove into my dreams.
I was running through a hall after a brown-haired girl in the middle of summer, again. I needed to remember to tell Cat about it when I see her.