2019-10-10 - The Tell-Tale Heart

Dressed in a sky blue silk long sleeved blouse, the top button left undone, and a curve hugging mid-length black pencil skirt, Ms. Marchand was dressed to impress. Her long legs were sheathed in fine hosiery with her feet tucked into a pair of black strappy heels to complete the image. Pausing before a hallway mirror on her way to answer the door, she makes certain that she looks absolutely perfect-- her waves of dark brown hair pulled up into a loose bun, her make-up done tastefully to add to her elegance. After having her text messages mostly ignored over the course of three years, she was not going to fail today.

Olivia Marchand was a lovely 38 year old professional who lived in Gray Harbor all her life. She works in real estate with an interest in the historical preservation of properties in town. This is when she came across the Thorne family's home when it was eventually put up for sale by Mary Thorne back in 2011. It's not that she lived in the Victorian home full time for she had her spacious family cottage on Bayside Road. What she did delight in, however, was restoring the large old house to its past glory. That was a work in progress still.

Shortly after Byron's return to Gray Harbor back in 2016, once she gave him and his mother the tour of their old home, they began dating. She may have been nearly 10 years his senior, but she was beautiful, intelligent professional. The type of women he tended to date when he was still in L.A. She had her shit together, unlike many in town, and in her mind, she had what he wanted, completely oblivious about his true feelings about the home.

Then, he stopped returning her messages. Not completely, but their dates lessened. Was it something she had said or done? Olivia is still baffled by it and means to get to the bottom of things here and now.

"Looks like summer is completely over," Olivia says, her eyes glancing out at the darkened skies once she opened the door, "But I love a nice rainy day, don't you?" It's small talk to break the ice on their radio silence over the last couple of months or so. That's when she notices his pale pallor, looking like someone who was recovering from the flu that's been going around. "I was about to say that you should stay over for dinner once you're through with... whatever it is that you're needing to do. Now I insist, because I made a pot of hot stew and you look like you deserve a bowl." Despite this fact, she leans over and places a kiss at the side of his lips.

Byron was definitely a little weary, but after having gotten some fresh air and, well, we'll call it exercise, he's feeling better than he was just a day or two ago. As usual, though this isn't particularly a business call, he's dressed in a dark gray suit ensemble. Even in sickness, he's done a little upkeep with his beard and today, his hair is slicked back in that city style that he leans towards. That's what attracted Olivia to him to begin with. Of course, he was handsome and would cut a striking figure no matter what he wore, but there was something about a sharp dressed man that grabbed her full attention.

Once he got close to the place, Byron already had a sense of this uneasiness, his eyes drawn to the dark corners of the home that shift in shadows from his point of view. This was a mistake. Silently, he was going through a full blown state of panic, the way that his heart pounded nervously within his chest in time with those quick breaths that he takes in. The last time he was here, he just arrived back in town and was only then becoming traumatizingly reacquainted with powers that he didn't completely understand. That was three years ago, he had better control over his abilities, right? Then why was he afraid to be here? Was it the memories?

Olivia says nothing if she senses the tension within the man, even when it's clear that he's distracted right now, the way that he's his shift warily over their surroundings and they hadn't even left the entryway yet. She leans in close, he can feel the mist of her breath against his cheek, "What are you looking for, Byron?" He can hear the smile in her voice when she asks this. "Everything that you need, everything that you desire is right here, isn't it?" There was something almost eerie in everything she said. This makes Thorne finally shift, eyes slowly turning to her to catch that wide grin on her classic red rouged lips and her bright eyes staring back at him.

"It shouldn't take long." He says this, but he honestly has no idea how long this will take. He was desperate now, having no idea what he was looking for in this place. Some of the furniture belonged to the Thornes, having been part of the package when his mother put the house up for sale, since she wouldn't be able to store any of them in the trailer which she was moving to. Where to begin? This was all incredibly frustrating for Byron as he starts towards the living room, surveying the entire area in search of... something. Anything!

The pictures on the wall and on display on various shelves were of Marchand's family, not his own. The couch was vintage, but new to the house. The coffee table where his father sometimes did his work, that was theirs. As was the dining room table, and to this Byron turns, his gaze staring off towards the kitchen. But what was any of that worth to him? The television was replaced, but the old fashioned radio that was in the Thorne family for who knows how many generations remained. Maybe that. It was worth something to the family itself even if he'd never used it in his entire life.

"I didn't mean to upset you, you know, when I told you that you could come over to my place and we could fuck in your parents' bedroom." He can hear Olivia say from off in the distance. "You never want to come back here and I just thought," she shakes her head with a laugh, scrunching up her nose, "I don't know what I thought. Maybe you had a rebellious streak in you. Or even better, you now felt like the master of the house... which you are. In a sense."

That marked the last time that they'd been together. He did take her up on some of her invitations to eat or to go out for dinner, but they've never slept together since. It wasn't what she said, not really. It was this God damned house. She wanted to fuck in this God. Damned. House. He'd always invited her to his place and once they'd slept together at her real home, but she wanted to have him here of all places to mix animal lust with the ghosts that still haunt this place, at least to the mind of Thorne.

"It's not that." Thorne snaps out tersely, dark and dangerous eyes turning towards her. It's a good thing that she wasn't within an arm's length at that very moment. His eyes then shut and he lets out a sound of frustration, "Maybe it is that." It's been ages since he's been in his parents' room. Usually, he'd linger outside or at the door if he needed to speak to either of them. Now he wonders if there's something there for him to find. He proceeds towards the stairs as he begins to explain himself; she deserved that much. Marchand owned this house now, "I'm looking for something. Something personal to me, failing that, maybe personal to my family. I was planning to give it to someone..." Most likely his mother or so Olivia probably assumes, "as a gift. But since my room has long been cleared, I'm hoping to find something of mine, maybe a card I'd given to her or..." He could continue to drone on as he makes his way up those creaking stairs. Usually, he'd stop at the bottom to stare uneasily up towards the second floor. This time, he moves without hesitation. If he took pause, he may have changed his mind about venturing onward. As he ascends, he keeps his hands to himself, not tempting fate by touching the stair rail.

What would he find in his parents' room? More jewelry that his father had given Mary? Had she, or they, kept anything at all of his? When he reaches the top of the stairs, his eyes are intently set on that one closed door at the end of the hall. It was a place that was almost completely off-limits to him. Even after his father had died had he rarely step foot into that room.

Every door on this floor was closed. All except for the first door to the right-- his childhood room. While there was something a little unsettling about those closed doors, the darkness seeping through the cracks beneath them, the fact that the door to the room in which he was tormented in the most was wide open, as if inviting him to enter, unnerved him most of all. It was dark, like the others and from out in the hall, the shadows within almost seemed to move and slither about in that darkness. Let's get this over with. He thinks in his mind, his jaw tightening as he steps forward to flick on the light switch.

It's been three years since he's been here and strangely this room was beginning to look more and more like the one in which he'd lived in for all of his childhood. The bedsheet and comforter which Marchand had chosen resembled ones that he owned in the past. Even the dresser and night stand were familiar. That display case which used to house his trophies and other memorabilia. How... A deep crease cuts through his brow as he slowly turns to glance over his shoulder. Olivia hadn't caught up with him yet, though he could hear her creaking steps and the tapping of her heels as she makes her way up the stairs. "You redecorated the place since I was last here." He murmurs out to her with this look of suspicion found in his piercing gaze as he wandered forward. He was silently telling himself to breathe and to just start searching. The sooner that he got out of here, the better.

"Is it true?" Byron calls out to Olivia, "That this room was completely empty when you bought the house?" The display case was very familiar, but the objects that were being displayed were definitely not his. He starts to open up one of the dresser drawers, then the drawer to the night stand. Nothing found inside belonged to him. "This new furniture, where did you get them from..." His voice drifts off when his gaze falls on his desk and the chair beside it. He was here sitting in this room that last time when his father...

The next thing Byron knew, he was resting on the bed, one foot crossed over the the other, his head propped back against those pillows; just like his younger self had done in that memory. It seems like Olivia Marchand finally made it to the room, her shapely form standing in the doorway before she begins to slink her way over to join him on the bed, all while undoing the rest of the buttons on her blouse with lithe fingers. "I knew you'd be back, Byron. We had such wonderful moments together. You'd never be able to stay away." With her blouse shed, drifting gracefully to the floor, she leans over to the side to unbuckle the straps on her heels, giving him a good view of the curve of her hips and her bared breasts, having opted out of wearing a bra for just his visit.

He can hear the clatter of one of her heels tipping over once removed, before she stretches her back to crawl atop the bed. There was this predatory gaze in her eyes, her red lips still curled into that hungry smile, the same one she'd worn downstairs. As he shrugs himself out of his jacket, she helps to undo his tie.

When they are both finally rid of their garments, he pulls her in close, her body molded against him, sharing a deep, passionate kiss. Their flesh burned with that heat stirring with wild fervor inside of them. Coupled together, they were in the throes of passion when he sensed the darkness closing in around them and even then he couldn't stop.

"Oh how I've missed you so, so much." He could hear her say, though her voice wasn't coming from her alone-- he could hear it from the surrounding darkness. from out of every corner of the room. From the room itself. "You know that you belong here. How long has it been? I've been waiting this whole time." Her lips brush against his neck, before she pulls back to look deeply within his eyes, "Stay with me. Don't leave me ever again." That darkness, the shadows began to engulf the room, crowding around them both and threatening to swallow them up completely. He could see it within her eyes too. Those dark, black eyes.

"What have you got there?" Ms. Marchand asks, standing at the doorway and making her way inside of the room.

Blinking suddenly out of his trance, his own dark eyes staring up at her, Byron was crouched beside the bed, having pushed the night stand off to the side. In his hand was a folded up piece of paper, one which he now tucks away into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He couldn't look at her, yet at the same time, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He remembers her last text message when he initially contacted her, asking for entrance into this house: "You know you're always welcome here."

While he had read it as a text at the time, he could hear her uttering those words right now. He could hear the HOUSE uttering those words right now. Olivia Marchand was now a tool of this place, the Thorne House. Both she and his mother had lured him here.

Quickly rising to stand, Byron doesn't wait for Marchand to reach him, cutting the distance and grabbing at her throat with an angry firm right hand. It catches her by surprise, her hazel eyes widen as she struggles for breathe, arms thrashing against him in an effort to free herself. She can barely let out a scream when he slams her up against the display case, toppling several picture frames to come crashing into broken shards upon the floor. Deja Vu... He remembers-- "You lured me back here, intending to feed me to the darkness. Absorb me into this... Hell, like every bit of negativity that this house contains.

Clawed fingers constrict at her willowy neck, pressing painfully up against her jaw when he slams her back against the shelf once more. Then again. And again. He could hear her gasping moans begging for him to let her go. Then it happens, in his paranoid murderous frenzy, the air begins to shift, with an ever growing stench of ozone, his arm begins to light up and crackle, sending forth a shock of electricity to her skull. At that moment, her body goes limp and he drops her to the floor to lay amidst the broken picture frames and pottery.

What had he done? But... but she was just a pawn of this house. Wasn't she? Was he imagining the whole thing?

Taking a couple of steps back, he watched her still form with a nervous intensity. From what he could see, she was still breathing. But for how long? And how much would she remember? That last question weighs heavily on his mind. The urge to finish her off was a strong one, to keep her from talking. Maybe he could get her help. Maybe she won't remember a damn thing. Carefully, he returns the night stand back to its proper position, using a handkerchief to wipe off his fingerprints. He was careful not to touch anything else, his own attempt to not accidentally pick up lingering emotions and memories on any unwanted object within this damned place.

What about Olivia Marchand though?

While he can't wipe her memory, hopefully the head trauma helps with that, he does induce her unconscious mind with a dose paranoia and madness. If she does come to, maybe she'll believe she had an episode of sorts and crashed against the display case, knocking herself out. He plays out several scenarios in his mind in rapid succession.

He'll leave and pretend that when he arrived, no one was there to greet him. Nor was she answering his calls. In fact, as he descends those steps, he pulls out his phone to do just that. Give her a call.

In all of the chaos, he almost forgot about the prize that he was now walking away with.

It's only when he's seated within the seclusion of his car that he finally unfolds that piece of paper, his eyes on that black heart. For a moment, he studies it's shapes, it's lines. How much care Lilith had taken when creating the thing. He was reunited with it now, but soon it would be lost to him again. Was it worth it? To come back here and face his fears? Turning slowly back to the house, knowing exactly what he had just done. It makes Byron wonder was it all worth it?