Between You And Me

5~The House

“Where do you think you’re going?” a familiar voice called out.

With a sigh, I looked over my shoulder at the father I currently had a grudge against for not disclosing the purpose of this film and now would rather play manager for this production than a father concerned for his daughters' mental health.

“We’re heading to the shoot location,” I answered, not meeting his eyes.

Joseph Mardas used to be one of the most sought-after agents in the acting world after furthering my mother, Heather Brookshaw, stardom in Hollywood after she’d grown “too mature” for Hollywood standards. He fashioned her into the most sought out actress at the end of the millennia or so, I’m told. For some reason, my mind can only remember fragments of her and they’re mainly from her TV shows, movies, and magazine pictures and articles. For the people so significant in my life, why could I hardly remember a thing about them, even after these past few years?

“Okay, we can take my car,” he offered, catching us off guard.

His icy-blue eyes pierced into Director Cross, examining him with skepticism I hadn’t seen before. Usually, he kept a longer leash on my activities on set, as most directors already knew his name from being in the industry for so long. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. Cross was a stranger about to run off to god knows where with his daughter, despite her being a grown adult.

“That’s not necessary,” Cross declined.

Dad squinted at him, giving him a dark look before heading towards the black Escalade he’d driven this morning, large and intimidating. “Yes, it is.” He unlocked the door and I gave Cross a look before following. “Wouldn’t want pesky paparazzi taking pictures of the wrong thing.”

The words seemed more of a threat than a reassurance, both our eyes directed at the makeshift studio gates security had been observing since this morning. Despite wanting to tell him he was wrong, we knew he was right and the last thing we needed was more of a scandal. Without another word, I took a seat in the back while Cross took the passenger seat beside Dad, more out of awkward necessity than pure want and will. I could practically feel Dad smirking in victory.

At the gates, there were a few picketers with signs saying ‘Shut Down Production’ and ‘Not in Our Town.’ I’d been informed to watch out for them; a few townies who didn’t appreciate their dirty laundry of being fooled by a serial killing pastor for years squandering their reputable name.

Not that it was reputable in the first place, I thought, a sliver of a memory entering my mind. Driving past the Hawthorne Peaks entrance, I stared at the back of a blonde woman’s head. Did Cindy drop me off the first time? A piece of me doubted that. She barely dropped her own son off, much less me by herself without a proper bribe from Dad.

Before I could process the memory more deeply, Dad started the car and signaled to security that we were heading out so they’d open the gates. A few security guards had to rush to the gates before us to ensure our safety from the cameras flashing and angry picketers shouting obscurity at us. “This movie’s a disgrace!” and “Stop the glorification of serial killers!”

Dad rolled his eyes, carefully driving through as security pushed the crowd back so we could pass through. “Annoying f***s,” he murmured under his breath, probably thinking of the years he’d been hounded by paparazzi and protestors since he first became Mom’s manager.

“So you’re used to them?” Cross asked him, keeping his eyes out the tinted window.

“What? Paparazzi or protestors?”

“Both.”

For the first time, Dad laughed, keeping a hand on the wheel as he sped down the road towards the house. There was no reason for him to ask for directions. Everyone at this point knew where the house was: tourists, townies, crewmen, weirdos, etc. It’d been memorialized in the town as ‘The Pastor’s House.’ “Oh, I’ve had my share of paparazzi and protestors. With Heather, there wasn’t a moment's rest from them, but it made escaping them so much fun.” The last part fell off his tongue like a long-lost wish that would never be fulfilled again. Before he could sulk at the feeling, he made a turn and asked, “I’m sure the son of the legendary Patrick Cross has had his moments with them, right?”

“A few,” Cross answered somewhat uncomfortably. “Didn’t get out of the house much.”

“Is that so?”

Taking another right, I could see the house approaching looking fresher and clean than I imagined it would be after so many years of neglect. I could see a few people still cleaning the yard and designing the pond. A hard ache touched my chest at the sight of the monstrous house that greeted us with a sinister, foreboding essence that seethed with familiarity. The sound of the iron gates made my spine straighten with apprehension and the curving of the wind as we drove towards the mansion made bubbles of nausea broil in my gut. All of this felt so familiar and yet my mind refused to latch onto any memory of it. Was it because I only came here during the worst night of my life? Or was my mind just protecting me from cruel thoughts?

Dad parked by a furnisher truck in front of bulky stairs leading towards the front door. “Daphne?”

Dad and Director Cross’ eyes were now on me, looking both worried and cautious. Looking down at myself, I realized I’d been clutching my thighs with my nails digging into the fabric of my jeans, they were starting to rip and penetrate my skin. Before anyone could say anything, Dad shook his head. “This was a mistake.”

Before he could get the car into reverse, Cross spoke. “Mr. Marda, don’t.” Turning around in his seat, his green eyes found mine and refused to let go. “Daphne, whatever you’re feeling right now, remember it and use it to propel you forward. This house can’t hurt you, I won’t let it.” Once again, he offered his palm to mine, urging me to retract my nails from my thighs and take a deep breath. “I know this is scary but you have me…and your dad. We’re here for you. We won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice, like the comfort of a warm blanket, soothed my aching apprehension, a fear I couldn’t quite grasp but held me until he finally placed his hand on mine, pulling me from it. “We won’t.”

Taking a deep breath, I listened to his reassuring words like a melody I could hum but couldn’t quite remember the lyrics to. Why was he so familiar?

“Ok,” I whispered, unhanding myself from my jeans. “Ok.”

Before I could change my mind, he took his hand and opened his door to slip out with only a few seconds passing before he opened the back door for me. It didn’t dawn on us until the last minute that throughout our exchange, my dad’s eyes were glued on us, only the heat of them alerting us to his presence as I took Cross’ hand to step out.

When I usually gained someone's attention, it was usually for a performance, but I noticed I’d been vexed by Cross from the very beginning, something that my dad now noticed. There was something about Cross, from his forest green eyes to the way his dirty blond hair had a swirl in the front that made him all the more alluring.

Dad cleared his throat loudly, stepping out of the car with us, and adjusting his sleeves. Cross closed both doors behind us, his footing already heading towards the mansion with me following. “Well, then, sweetheart,” my dad called from around the car, trying to catch up with us. “We will be right by your side.”

Quickly, Dad strode to our side as we approached the steps, grasping my other hand as he pulled me away from Cross. He whispered in my ear. “No scandals.” It took me a moment to realize he didn’t wish for there to be any scandals between how close Cross and I had become, to the point I’d been holding his hand as we approached the house. Oh gosh, I didn’t even realize it.

Slipping my hand away, I took a step back so no one would notice. But Cross noticed, feeling the emptiness of his palm but refusing to look back at me as he climbed the stairs. “Sorry.” I didn’t know who I was apologizing to but it left me with a hungering I couldn’t quite interpret.

Cross was greeted with a few nods from constructors still working on the final touches, approaching the open door. For the first time, he looked at me. “You ready?”

I squeezed Dad’s hand with a nod. I can’t turn back now. This would help me with my memories of that life before me, of Hawthorne Peaks, of my school days, of Lilah and Hazel, of…him. Taking a breath to calm my racing heart, I entered, and a rush of familiar warmth greeted me like I’d just stepped into a fairytale. A crystal chandelier shined down on us with newly solid wood flooring steadying my feet to the ground of the foyer.

In my mind, I could hear my lines as though it were the first time I’d entered as Lilah, being greeted by Ezra and his son, Asher. “Lilah, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m pastor Ezra Graham…Grant…Mallory has told me so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” I whispered to myself, images of a tall, handsome man with storm clouds raging in his eyes protruding in my mind. It felt like a whisper of a dream I had many times, my hand slipping from Dad’s hand as I stepped even further into the dream I once dreamt.

A fragment of a mischievous young man standing behind me caught my attention, especially the tail of a tattoo beneath his sleeve. I could hear Melissa’s voice like a chime in the back of my mind. “Ezra, Asher, I would like you to meet my sweet daughter, Lilah.” Did she say ‘sweet’ in the script? I can’t recall but I continued with the dream-like scene, following Asher with my luggage upstairs as we passed by a solid oakwood door. I paused, a haunting nightmare of a tale slowly bleeding into the crevasses of the fairytale, a shadow beneath the door passing by and catching my attention. My eyes drifted to the door on the left, hearing an ominous voice in the back of my head, “No one, under any circumstances, is allowed in the basement by my study, is that clear?”

Was that a part of the script or did I make that up?

Something awful awaited me behind the forbidden door of the basement and I wasn’t ready to open it, but my hand found the doorknob of the study. I could feel the shadow beneath the door, feeling a moment of foreboding and excitement about what was to come in his office.

Was this part of the script?

A tightness grasped my chest as I twisted the knob, opening the door to be greeted by a body swinging from the ceiling with a noose around its neck. No. I couldn’t make out their face but I felt myself tight roping between a dreamy state and the nightmare of reality. This wasn’t part of the script. I backed away, feeling the roaring of a scream about to escape from deep within me.

“AHHHHHHHH!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, losing my footing and falling to the ground. This wasn’t part of the script!

“Daphne!”

I screamed again, the body refusing to disappear. “Go away! Go away!” I shouted.

I felt warm hands grasp my shoulders before his voice bellowed to other people gathering. “Someone get that thing out of here!” He pointed to the body I saw swinging from the ceiling, confirming my relief and fears.

In a panic, I looked up at Cross, grasping his shirt to cling back to reality more thoroughly. “You see it?”