Chapter Five
I was too cranky, hurt and sore to ask Caretaker about the driveway and disappearing guests the next morning. I went to the garden and checked out my project, pleased to see everything had grown and many more plants bore vegetables.
This time, I felt someone watching me and turned fast enough to catch a glimpse of a dark figure near one fence post before it disappeared.
“I hate this place,” I muttered and strode towards the fence. Even in the early morning light, I saw nothing out of place, no sign anyone had been near the fence. I stood gazing at the quiet desert for a moment before I withdrew the obsidian rock from my pocket.
Keeping it was a reminder that I’d been rejected by a guy too wounded to stand who had somehow known I was as worthless as the damn rock. I didn’t understand at all why a stupid little stone upset me. Maybe it was his rejection instead, the fact even strangers somehow knew I was tainted by all I’d been through and wanted nothing to do with me.
I gazed at the rock, not caring why I was angry and sad and frustrated by it. I stepped back from the fence with one leg and threw it as far as I could, too far for me to see exactly where it went in the grainy light of dawn.
It didn’t help. Nothing ever did.
Resigned to being conflicted and torn up the rest of my life, I returned to my magic garden to work.
Shortly before seven, the Caretaker appeared to check out the garden. I stood from my place planting yet another row, waiting for her to acknowledge what I’d done yet suspecting she wouldn’t.
“This will do for now,” she said finally.
I hated being right.
“I’m going to town for groceries. Work on the house. Supplies are in the shed.”
“Wait, what am I doing to the house?” I asked, trailing her to the garage on the other side of the house.
“Start with the gutters.”
I looked up at the gutters lining the roofing. Two stories hadn’t seemed so tall before I considered how to get on top of the house.
She started away.
“Hey, Caretaker,” I called and trailed. “There’s something weird about this place, isn’t there?”
“Weird?” she echoed.
“Yeah. The visitors, my garden. Um, they’re not normal.”
“Why on earth do you think that?”
Speechless, I stared after her. Did she really not know something was weird? Or … was this me? Was I the one with issues?”
“Clean the gutters, Yankee,” she ordered over her shoulder.
I felt like I was going to snap and go crazy.
“Remember. Do not lock any of the doors,” she added before she disappeared inside.
Moments later, I heard the front door close as she left for the garage.
I circled the house to the front porch, wanting to watch to see if she, too, disappeared when she drove away. A black car from the twenties or thirties swayed and puttered out of the garage and down the driveway to the road. I held my breath, waiting to see what happened.
She drove to the edge of the driveway, turned left on the road and drove away, leaving a plume of dust behind her.
Had I imagined everything?
Even more frustrated and shaken, I walked to the end of the driveway and stared into the desert across the street from me. Cute bunnies hopped around the brush but nothing else stirred. If not for the ankle monitor …
“I’d be out of here,” I murmured. With a sigh, I turned and returned to the house. The men in cowboy hats and two warrior women were in the kitchen filling their plates with food from the breakfast buffet.
They were even less normal than my garden.
Was the Caretaker oblivious? Or tormenting me, making me think I was going crazy because she was a bitch?
I grabbed a plate and waited my turn, unaware they were looking at me until one spoke.
“How did she capture you?” one of the warrior women asked in halting English.
“Capture?” I looked up from the mini-quiches. “What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it you’re a prisoner,” a cowboy with golden eyes replied. All three cowboys had the same abnormal eyes. “You’re already well known. The Caretaker and the Prisoner.”
“Really?” I frowned, dismayed. “That’s what I’m called?” Did no one out west use names?
The Amazonian woman smiled. “What is this?” she pointed to my ankle bracelet. I’d worn shorts today while my workout clothing dried.
“Some sort of monitor?” the cowboy asked. “It restricts your movement, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said and stabbed a boiled egg to shove it onto my plate. “I guess I am her prisoner.”
Someone laughed.
I didn’t look. Prisoner was a better name than Murderer and just as accurate. “What’s your story? Why do you people just show up and leave at will?” I asked.
“You’re not her apprentice?” the cowboy asked.
“No.”
He exchanged a look with his fellow golden-eyed cowboy. “Maybe that’s for her to tell you. Seeing as how you’re a prisoner and all.”
“Yeah. Great.” I snatched a bottle of water and slammed the back door open, leaving the house for my garden. I sat down in the middle of it, comforted by all my plants and trees, and ate breakfast unhappily.
Nothing about this place was normal.
It was then I realized why the black rock upset me so much. For a few seconds two days ago, when I’d been praying for Tea Leaf not to die, I hadn’t been alone. We’d stared at each other long enough that I felt a connection to him, however small, a need for him not to suffer as I had. He clearly didn’t feel the same, or perhaps, he didn’t care.
Seated with nothing but my plants, I began to think I was afraid of being alone forever. I’d been alone since the incident, and I’d found no welcome here despite hoping the Caretaker wouldn’t judge me by what happened.
The walls around my emotions were reinforced with blood and tears, and I was looking for a reason not to keep the world at bay. Except it appeared as if the world would always be at bay, if not because of my fear then because of how everyone else would always view me.
I didn’t want to be isolated forever or to remain in a place that made no sense.
I wiped tears I didn’t feel fall from my face and finished off my breakfast. Watering the garden, I tossed my paper plate before stepping back to study the gutters.
I had to get up there some how. It looked possible from one of the windows on the third floor, possibly the attic. Without knowing what I’d need to clean gutters, I went inside and to the second floor. The attic was accessible through the ceiling of the second floor through a small crawlspace and up a rickety, folding ladder.
Amid the creaking and groaning of the ladder, I climbed into the attic. Beams provided a path between layers of fluffy, bubblegum pink insulation. I made my way through the musty, warm space to the window I’d seen and pried it open. Leaning out, I examined the roof. The material covering it was glittery black and sandpapery. It sloped down to gutters overflowing with sand and rocks and other junk I wasn’t able to make out.
Lifting my gaze to explore the length of the gutters, my attention was caught by the dark clouds forming over one mountain range. I had no idea if there were storms in a desert, but it looked like someone was about to get hit by one.
With a grunt, I moved carefully on hands and knees onto the roof. The material was too rough for me to slide and bit into my palms. I crawled down to the metal gutter and grimaced.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate my life?” I muttered to the junk in the gutter.
With nothing more than my hands, I began carefully working rocks free and scooping up sand, plant particles, dead bugs and other filth out of the gutters and tossing it onto the ground below. It was generally dry, for which I thanked the desert weather, though more than once the sharp edges of rocks sliced my already battered fingers.
I worked for
a while, the menial labor as soothing as working in the garden. It kept me from feeling my usual wired anxiety about pretty much everything in life and gave my mind something mundane to focus on. I didn’t enjoy being on top of a house digging crap out of a tiny space, but it definitely wasn’t the worst place I’d been in the past nineteen months either, and the physical activity was a good distraction. The faster the days passed, the sooner I could leave this bizarre house.
Heat radiated off the roof. When sweat dripped from my face onto my hands, I leaned back for a break.
The dark clouds were almost upon me. Surprised, I watched lightning ripple silently through the storm and marveled at the way the sky and ground seemed to smear together as rain fell miles away. The usual breeze remained dusty but was getting stronger. It was close to noon. I’d made it halfway around the house and sat looking out at the driveway. I hadn’t noticed if the guests left and kicked myself for not watching to see what happened when they did.
I stood carefully and started to make my way around the house to the window when I saw the dark figure at the end of the driveway. I froze, refusing to blink or move, waiting for it to vanish as the other blurs of movement did.
It didn’t disappear. I blinked. It was still present.
“I hate this place!” I returned to the open window of the attic and climbed back inside, walked the beam and descended the rickety ladder to the second floor.
Sneezing, I closed my eyes to the burst of dust that came from folding the ladder back up. I batted away the dust and sneezed again. I trotted downstairs. No sign of any guests remained. The house was empty and quiet, aside from the grandfather clock.
I went to the door and stared at the sign ordering me not to lock the door. I was tempted. So tempted. Rather than disobey the old bat who didn’t want anything to do with me, I opened the door to check out how close the storm was.
The figure stood at the edge of the driveway, dark and menacing. I started to close the door and stopped, suddenly recognizing the clothing. It was one of the Tea Leafs. But if he wanted to come in, why didn’t he? Everyone on the planet seemed to know the door was open for them.
I gazed at him for a moment before stepping out onto the porch. He was there for a reason, and I didn’t quite get what he wanted. Was he waiting for the Caretaker to return? Did he care there was a storm coming and he might get stuck outside in it if he did wait?
Crossing my arms, I walked down the driveway slowly, not wanting to get to close to one of the men whose size and glares reminded me of how helpless I’d been in the presence of another man.
The closer I got, the less interested I was in continuing. His clothing made him seem larger than life, and he wore a hood over his head that allowed my imagination to create a demon out of the man before me. The storm was almost overhead, the wind whipping past me.
“Storm’s coming,” I called.
He didn’t move or speak.
I stopped, hating how scared I was of everything anymore.
The man lowered his hood, and I raised my eyebrows. It was Tea Leaf himself, his golden skin turning once more the color of night.
I blinked and gasped, staring at his features as they changed colors.
He frowned and touched his face.
It didn’t look like face paint, but it had to be, because it wasn’t possible his skin changed colors.
Tea Leaf lifted his hood, and I saw his skin turn from black to pale gold once more. He lowered it, and his skin changed again.
But it wasn’t just his skin – it was his eyes and tattoos, too. They did the opposite of his skin. When he turned black, his eyes turned light blue-purple, and his tattoos glowed light purple. When his skin was the color of mine, his eyes were dark and deep, as were the markings on his face and neck.
I stared at him.
He lifted and lowered his hood twice more, and then finally gave a soft laugh as he gazed at my baffled features.
Tea Leaf was a human chameleon. What was the medical classification for someone who changed colors with his environment? How was it even possible?
He motioned to my face, puzzled, as if curious why I didn’t turn colors like he did.
Sucking in a deep breath, I shook my head. I wasn’t the weird one here – he was.
He was steady on his feet and as armed and brooding as his companions had been, once his amusement faded. His bulky clothing rendered him closer to the size of the other members of his tribe.
He lifted his hand. His fist was enclosed around something.
I hesitated, unsettled yet curious to see him, and taken aback by everything from his ominous clothing to his ability to turn colors. After a moment, I stepped closer until we were six feet apart. It was far enough for me to run if I had to and as close as I felt comfortable being to pretty much anyone.
Gazing up at him, I studied eyes that seemed purple-gray, like the mountains in the morning.
He moved forward until I started to step back and then lifted his chin to indicate the fist held out to me.
Cautiously, I held out my hand.
He placed the black rock into my palm, and I sighed softly, bringing it back before me. “I don’t understand. You want to make sure I know you’re rejecting me?”
He spoke and I shook my head.
“I don’t have anything else to give you,” I explained. “I know it’s stupid, but … I was trying to be nice, too.” Everything I tried to do turned out wrong, with the exception of my freakish garden.
Even someone with his bizarre medical condition rejected me.
I met his intent gaze. He clearly had no idea what I was saying, and neither did I understand why he had come just to return the rock. It wasn’t weird enough that he had to be a chameleon.
He spoke again, motioning to the road, back the way he’d come. He held out his hand, and I eyed him. There was no way I became the subject of a manhunt by moving too close to the road, no matter how curious I was about where the visitors went when they left the driveway.
I moved back, and his arm dropped. “Okay. Well, thank you for reminding me I suck,” I said and pocketed the rock. I’d toss it later after he was gone. Before he could further disappoint or confuse me, I turned and walked away, back to the house.
I paused on the porch and faced his direction once more. He hadn’t moved. His skin changed colors whenever patches of sunlight reached him through the clouds.
For the first time, I didn’t want to see someone vanish, assuming that’s what happened when he went back to the road. I was depressed enough about him visiting only to return the rock not to need another reason to be weirded out by my surroundings.
Closing the door behind me, I turned and peered through the peephole. Tea Leaf was gone and the rain had begun.
Thunder crackled overhead, loud enough to rattle the windows of the ancient farmhouse. I closed the back door and was going to escape to my room for a nap when there was a knock at the front door.
“Always something around here,” I mumbled and crossed to it.
I opened it, and uneasiness swept through me. Five men stood on the porch, all of them drenched and dressed in worn clothing.
“You’re new,” the one in front said. His eyes moved down my body and back up in a way that made my skin crawl. “Where’s the Caretaker?”
Alarms went off in my head. This kind of man was dangerous. I wasn’t about to tell him I was alone; that kind of truth brought on possible danger. Instead, I stepped aside to allow them entry. “Resting,” I said. “We had a long night.”
One of them chuckled. “Yeah, we heard.”
Heard what?
The five trooped into the house and the nearest sitting room. I sized them up and decided I liked my chances little more with them than the Tea Leaf savages. These men smelled of liquor and smoke and something I couldn’t quite place. They slung off wet trench coats and sat, speaking among themselves.
I considered offering them tea before notic
ing their leader was eyeing my breasts. Deciding I wanted to be nowhere near them, I crept away and went to my room. Another boom of thunder rattled the house before torrential rains began pounding the rooftop. But it wasn’t the rain that bothered me.
I sat on the bed, Tea Leaf’s knife clenched in my hand, and stared at the door, tense and ready to run or leap out the window if one of the visitors ventured down my wing of the house.
In the end, no one did, and I woke up the next morning to the blare of the alarm. It was my first night of more than seven hours of sleep since arriving. While it didn’t help my sore muscles, it did help me feel refreshed for the first time in a few weeks.
I changed clothes and trudged downstairs. To my surprise, one of the sitting rooms was an inch deep in water. I stood in the entrance, taking in the leaking ceiling and soaked couches and rugs.
“That’s why the gutters should’ve been cleaned out,” came the tart voice from the kitchen. The bottom floor smelled of homemade bread and pies.
It’s too early for this shit. “What’d I mess up now?” I grumbled and went to the kitchen.
“I told you to clean the gutters,” Caretaker responded.
“I got halfway done before the rain.”
“You couldn’t finish them in the rain?”
“There was lightning.”
She snorted. “The water backed up because the gutters were jammed and overwhelmed the weak spot in the roof. You got home insurance? Because I don’t.”
I sighed. “Fine. What do you want me to do about it?”
“Finish the gutters, girl. I’ll clean up the parlor.”
I spun away and went to the second floor. Scaling the rickety ladder again, I went to the attic window and gazed out at the gray skies briefly before climbing out onto the roof. It was slippery today, and I inched from place to place on my knees. A hole the size of my hand was next to where I’d stopped working on the gutters and a steady stream of water trickled into it.
I hated how right the Caretaker was. My gaze drifted to the spot where Tea Leaf had been before the storm. Just thinking of how no one wanted anything to do with me made me want to quit.
But I didn’t. I began working on the damned gutters again. Today, they were disgusting – mucky, dirty and wet. I was soon soaked and miserable, flinging gross piles of gunk onto the ground.
Laughter drew my attention, and I shifted to see the driveway from where it came.
The five ruffians were headed towards the road. I rose, anxious to see them gone and wanting to see someone else disappear. Creeping forward, I ended up slipping and smashed my knee into the rough roof.
“Dammit!” I snarled and sat on my ass to coddle my knee. Recalling what I’d been doing, I managed to stand despite the sting and groaned. The men were gone. I was too late. Limping back to where I left off, I continued until the blockage and junk was cleared then went back inside.
After a quick shower, I checked out the bruise blooming on my knee in dissatisfaction. It was soon stiff and achy, yet another reason to despise this place. I spotted the black rock I’d left on my nightstand and sighed once more.
Too hungry to avoid the Caretaker much longer, I hobbled down the stairs to the kitchen. Breakfast was put away already, and I prepped my own plate and nuked it.
“Our visitors said you were not a pleasant host.”
Lord give me strength. I released a long, slow breath before responding. “They gave me the creeps.”
“As well they should. Yet you had no problem with the Tili. The Tili are known for their violence.”
Disappointed to learn Tea Leaf was dangerous, I poured myself a glass of milk. “I didn’t like them either. They just didn’t creep me out.” Especially not the injured guy whose skin turned colors. How did he make it through school like that?
Aware of the Caretaker’s gaze, I willed the microwave to go faster, not wanting to stick around too long and end up pissing off the old lady I couldn’t stand.
“You might do well here,” she allowed.
“Might?” I repeated and turned. “I grew you a garden, didn’t I?”
“Anyone can grow a garden,” she replied dismissively. “But not anyone can understand which travelers are safe and which mean you harm.”
“Travelers. So you really don’t run a bed and breakfast. You expect these people to show up.”
“The doors are always unlocked.” She shrugged. “I don’t know who’s coming through that door.”
“What in god’s name is going on here? Are you letting gang members use this place for meetings?”
“Gangs.” A flicker of amusement was in her eyes. “Don’t be absurd, girl.”
“Then who are they? They aren’t normal tourists.”
“You aren’t as dumb as you seem.”
The microwave beeped, saving her from my scathing response. I yanked the door open and pulled out my food. Before I sat down, I had a spoonful in my mouth to keep me from saying anything.
“The Tilis returned?” she asked, watching me.
I shook my head.
“The Komandi said they saw one before they arrived.”
Swallowing everything, I dug my fork into scrambled eggs. “He came back to give me something.”
“A Tili?”
I nodded.
“What business does he have with you?” She sounded genuinely confused.
“None apparently,” I replied acidly. “They all think I’m your prisoner.”
“Fitting.”
I glared at her.
“This was the wounded Tili?”
“So what if it was?” I muttered. “I gave him … something and he returned it.”
“What was it?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Tell me, girl. The events of this house are all my business.”
“A rock I found in the wash.” My cheeks grew warm at the admittance. “He gave me a penny and I wanted to give him something back but didn’t have anything.”
“So you gave him a rock, and he returned it.”
“Yeah. Twice. I threw it over the fence yesterday morning. He brought it back last night before the storm.” I risked a glance at her, wanting for her to tell me how stupid I was.
She appeared pensive, her gaze on some point on the ceiling. “I see. That’s out of character for that particular Tili, but he is young and stupid, like you,” she replied finally. “The storm tore up the garden. You might have to replant half of it.”
My poor garden. Of everything in this house, it alone brought a smile to my face.
“Did you ever notice anything strange about his skin?” I ventured.
“Not at all. He’s no different than any other Tili.”
I wanted to smack her. Something was going on here. She knew it – but she wasn’t going to tell me.
She left the kitchen.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my pocket.
How’s my baby girl?
My mother’s cheerful texts had a way of melting my anger. I sighed and studied her note, missing her more than anything else I’d left behind in New York. I was an only child and knew without asking she was always worried sick about me, especially since we’d lost my father to cancer when I was ten. We had a huge extended family, most of whom lived upstate, and it always felt like it was just the two of us trying to make it in the world. I considered telling her about this weird place then decided against it. I’d caused her enough grief and stress the past eighteen months. As my probation officer said, I just need to buckle down and get this part of my life over with, so I could move on.
Fine, Mama, I responded. I miss you.
I finished eating in glum silence, texting my mother back and forth, before she had to return from her lunch break to her job as a bookkeeper for a construction company. When certain she was gone, I cleaned up after my lunch and left the house for my garden.