A Demon Inside

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Hunter lay in bed the night after they buried Nana, the images from her funeral fresh in his mind: the bright sunshine-infused day, the warm breeze, the autumnal colors of the leaves, almost seeming to glow against the backdrop of a sky so blue it looked unreal. The whole thing was so at odds with what Hunter had expected from a funeral: everyone in somber black, unceasing drizzle, black umbrellas raised against the cloud-choked sky.

He stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of a foghorn on Lake Michigan behind the house and the steady rush of traffic along Sheridan Road at the front. After his outburst at the funeral home, his eyes had remained dry, his emotions once again wrapped in cotton, leaving him feeling numb, like a zombie, just going through the motions. Was this how grieving was supposed to feel? Like…nothing?

He turned restlessly in his sheets. He supposed all the old people at the funeral had talked about him on their way home, commenting on his stoic attitude, his strength, his bravery in the face of his loss. And then he thought he was kidding himself. They probably never mentioned him at all. In a week or so, maybe less, he wouldn’t even cross their minds.

But on his own way home from Rosehill Cemetery, he wondered why he didn’t feel more, at least some anger at why the only person he loved in this world had been taken from him. Yet all he did when he got home was make himself a ham sandwich, pour a Coke Zero, and read the Tribune’s online edition.

He thought about all that lay ahead of him, enough to keep him busy for weeks. His grandmother’s large redbrick home, prime real estate, set as it was on the shores of Lake Michigan, would have to be sold. It was too big for him, with its six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, its library, its sewing room, and greenhouse. Hell, it was too big for the two of them, but Nana would have never considered leaving. Plus it was only a half hour or so from downtown Chicago, which frightened Hunter with all its noise, bustle, crime, and traffic. He wondered if he should escape to somewhere more secluded but had no idea where to start looking.

Fortunately for Hunter, Ian Mateer, Nana’s attorney and one of her oldest and dearest friends, would take care of all the details for him. In fact he had an appointment with him in the morning. Hunter planned on asking Ian about Beaumont House and Nana’s enigmatic last words. He wasn’t sure if her request had just been the ramblings of a woman on her deathbed. Perhaps Beaumont House wasn’t even real, or it was part of Nana’s history that had long faded into obscurity, the ground where it once stood now a subdivision.

Whatever. He needed to rest. His appointment with the attorney was at nine A.M., and not only would he perhaps find out about Beaumont House, but he would discover the contents of his grandmother’s will.

He turned over, thinking. He closed his eyes, believing sleep would never come, yet without even knowing it, he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.