2019-10-12 - Checking In On a Friend

The swish of the wind shield wiper moved in brooding silence across the glass. Byron watched as the rest of the funeral-goers began to filter out, following their trek across the damp cemetery lawn. He's sure that they wanted to get as far away from this place as possible, and by this place, he means Gray Harbor. From the comfort of his car, he sees Lilith in the distance. He knows that he really should speak to her but... And here, his gaze flickers off in the distance where he views a certain Aston Martin making its way out of the driveway. Vivian's been in a mood as of late and he didn't have the time nor patience to put up with her. Especially not since they, like everyone else, was suffering from the flu for over a week.

Something happened today and while Gohl was finally laid to rest, their sacrifices made, Byron has a feeling that whatever this something was, it wasn't good.

Byron was not lying when he told his best friend that he could probably sleep for an entire week after what he'd gone through. Setting the phone aside, his gloved hands clutching onto the steering wheel, he smoothly begins to pull out from where he'd parked, making his way onto the main road.

He just didn't mean that he'd do that right now.

The town isn't very large, so the drive to Oak doesn't take long at all. The moment that the Thorne House comes into view, Byron takes notice of all the little details. The lights upstairs in his bedroom were still on, just the way he had left them, as were all of the lights downstairs, whichever Olivia had turned on in preparation for his visit. Had no one found her yet? Was she still unconscious? Was the stove still on? He remembers she was cooking at the time.

Pulling up to the side of the house to park, he sees that Olivia's car was there. Not that he expected her to be off driving. If anywhere, she'd be at the hospital by now. He doesn't immediately step out, instead waiting there in careful observation. His eyes quickly lift when he believes to have seen a shadow moving in one of his bedroom windows. Then there's another, this time downstairs at the third window from the front door. Whoever was upstairs couldn't have moved that fast. Someone else was here, possibly a relative of Marchand's. Byron knows that he should go, let them deal with her, but the concern surrounding what she would tell them -- or what she'd already told them if she came to-- No, he had to make sure.

This time he steps out without removing the umbrella from its holder, letting the door shut quietly behind him as he makes his way up the porch steps in the drizzle. Despite the shadows, the house was quiet. He gives the door a knock. Footsteps are heard coming from the other side.

When the door swings open, it's not Olivia at all. The face that greets him is not one that he recognizes, yet there was something almost familiar about her. She looked to be around his age, perhaps younger, with a fair complexion, waves of dark hair and bright blue eyes. Similar, somewhat to how Marchand looked. "I was looking for Olivia Marchand." His tone holds this sense of uncertainty as he looks beyond her from what little he can see through the small open crack of the door. The lights were on in the entry way and the living room and the interior of the home just looked so dark. Not only that, he couldn't help but feel that he were being watched. "I was supposed to meet with her yesterday. I showed up but she wasn't answering the door or taking my calls."

"Liv had a stroke last night and collapsed."

"I... I'm sorry to hear that. How is she doing now? I mean. I dropped by yesterday." A stroke. So that's what they believed happened to her. Byron could go with that. He's about to ask more questions, make more inquiries and explain his visit here today, but her large bright eyes just kept staring at him, while her lips subtly curve into what he perceives as a whisper of a smile. Or smirk. "Is she at the hospital?"

Shaking her head slowly, the mystery woman turns towards the stairs, looking up, up, up into the distance. It could be all a part of his imagination, but it was hard to shake this idea that she was directing his attention to where his bedroom was located. Up there. "She's resting." That over active imagination also takes note of the long shadows that start to creep down the length of those steps. From Byron's angle, all that he can see is feet. Those stockinged feet of Olivia Marchand. Whoever it really was up there, they weren't coming down those steps, despite casting such a long shadow.

"I'm glad that she has someone taking care of her then." His attention linger nervously at the feet at the top of the stairs, "Are you a relative? A sister, perhaps?" When he asks this, his gaze shifting, he's confronted by those near unblinking eyes and that same thin smile.

"Something like that." She says, before finally blinking, allowing the door to open wider. Her movements and words coming out far more animated than the mask that she wore just moments ago. "Did you want to come in? I'm afraid that Olivia is asleep right now and it may not be the best time to visit, but I'd hate to have you standing out there on the porch, especially since I figure there'll be more rain heading this way." A pause for a breath, before she has to nervously laugh, "I'm Amelia, by the way."

Olivia was asleep in bed. Then those feet at the top of the stairs, they weren't hers. Byron could still see them up there and those shadows. That doesn't keep him from smiling over at the other woman, giving her one of his well-practiced grins, "Amelia.. you look familiar, I'm,"

"Byron Thorne. I know who you are." Amelia says, her smile widening. "You own the Bayside Apartments. I grew up here until I was 12 and then we moved upstate. That's where I graduated. And yet, I'm back. I love this place, don't you?" She then adds, "You used to live here. In this house." Her large blue eyes flicker up at him, "I just love the aesthetics of these old houses. Olivia did too."

There's this natural urge for him to pat a hand against the painted wall of the old house, just to show off its sturdy yet old bones, but just as Byron's arm lifts to do just that, he quickly lowers it. "The place has history." So this Amelia... Amelia Birchwood, if he recalls now that she'd explained things for him, she returned to Gray Harbor. And was currently taking care of Olivia Marchand. But why? "I didn't realize that both you and Olivia were--" Related? Friends? "Nevermind. Welcome back." Another look is given those stairs. Whoever was up there was finally gone. "Can you pass along my well wishes to Olivia and her family?"

"I can always let you know when Olivia is feeling better. It would be nice if she had company while in recovery."

"Yes, please keep informed." He absently murmurs now. "You have a good evening."

On his way back to his car, Byron doesn't notice just how much the rain had picked up. While he lacked an umbrella, the heavy coat that he wore helped to keep the rain off of him, at the very least. Sitting there now, all the sounds of the outside world seemingly shut out to him, he notices Amelia Birchwood standing at the door still, smiling at him. Then he notices the feminine silhouette of someone looking down on him from the upstairs window of his bedroom.

He should check. Use his abilities to read every single person inside of that place. And yet he can't bring himself to do so, having this nauseating feeling that he won't like what he learns. He starts the car up and drives off into the night.