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punkscowardschampions · 5 years ago

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Ava & James

Ava: I've told all my family James: oh Ava: Maybe don't oh that hard Ava: thinking you've changed your mind and that's going to be very difficult to do a 180 on tbh James: I'm actually thinking about Bella's dad's reaction Ava: As far as I'm aware, my dad doesn't have a shotgun Ava: or an excellent moustache Ava: definitely not James: Mine does, on both counts, but the mentality simply isn't there James: war of words is as far as things have so far escalated Ava: That's a good visual Ava: what about your mum? James: she's very busy lining up every single woman she's aware of between the ages of 20 to 30 within a mile radius or so Ava: Very Mr Darcy Ava: I'll gatecrash James: I look forward to the dramatic dance scene during which we only touch palms & exchange looks Ava: I bet Lizzie Bennet didn't 😳 Ava: shame my sister isn't around to push over so your parents are forced to take us in whilst she languishes James: 😂 James: I'll happily push my sister over or let her fall through an iced over pond to further our romantic narrative Ava: 💘 Ava: I know it's less about me but I can swoon nonetheless James: if you're 😳 then you'll have my full attention regardless Ava: Promise? James: yes Ava: even if the single ladies have really good period costumes? James: well, I hadn't considered that Ava: 😏 Ava: rude James: before I decide, what are you going to be wearing when you gatecrash? Ava: Obviously something unexpectedly knockout Ava: am the protagonist, need I remind you James: okay, what I'm hearing is anything you already own or could pick out from anywhere given a few moments Ava: You're adorable Ava: how did it go really then? James: does that mean I'll get to see you before there's a seasons changing montage? because I really want to Ava: Providing you don't need to exile yourself, of course James: I'm sure there's now several people in both our lives who would like me to, but I won't Ava: They were as receptive as I expected but I've made it clear I won't be stopping seeing you, hopefully put to bed the concerns I can James: in my case, the only concern is outward appearances so there's very little I can do even if I particularly cared to James: & Teddy isn't concerned so much as shocked & appalled Ava: Of course Ava: at least I'm an addendum re. the main issue of the whole divorce, in that case? Ava: yeah, do you think I should make a point of talking to him or give him space? James: will you? as far as he's concerned I haven't made a good decision within his living memory, but you two are friends, or were Ava: I'll try, definitely Ava: if I can make him see it's as much my decision as yours, it might help, in the end Ava: and I can handle another person having their say James: thank you James: I meant what I said, I'm more than willing to discuss this with your parents, at any point James: I can handle that Ava: Thank you Ava: I think it might help Ava: but I also think I'm gonna give them a cool-off period or it won't be at all helpful and that won't be at all your fault James: understood James: I'm currently having to employ a similar situation with Jay's playdates because her friend's mothers cannot possibly keep their nose out of my business or their mouths shut about where hers is and every other single detail they believe to be fact Ava: Oh lord Ava: I wouldn't have envied you having to socialize by-proxy with the self-professed yummy mummies before but now Ava: I can only imagine Ava: Poor Jay Ava: I can't offer a human child for playdates but Frank is always down Ava: and my lips are, naturally, sealed James: I was hoping to take them away for a few days but it's as though my dad has decided that in lieu of my failings in other areas I need to suddenly become the hardest worker in the history of this company Ava: Of course Ava: Hmm James: because obviously what my children require most in their mother's absence is to also see me less Ava: Well, yeah, that's not potentially traumatizing Ava: thank God for School being right 'round the corner Ava: and Matty still being portable James: I've been bringing them both to the office & the bulging vein in his temple is honestly such a strong contender for the book cover Ava: 😏 That's how you do it Ava: risk his health and wellbeing so you get the time off for yours James: King's didn't teach me everything I know, I've got a few tricks Ava: When are you giving me that tour? James: When can I see you? Ava: When is your dad not working you to death? Ava: I can make it work James: [A pause while he figures that out] James: he's out of the office all day on [a date in the foreseeable to make this office hookup a thing] Ava: No offense but if your brother shows up again you need to send him on a really long coffee run James: as you said, school is right around the corner, meaning my parents priorities have shifted back to making sure he'll go Ava: In that case Ava: 😈 James: 😇 for saying yes Ava: I have ulterior motives, I promise you James: oh really? Ava: really Ava: it's very unfair I've yet to see you in your work clothes James: [sends her a pic because nobody can stop him] Ava: um hello 😍 Ava: you're really going to be away from me looking so good Ava: unfair James: I'm sorry James: I really, really am Ava: Me too Ava: I've not seen you enough to warrant how badly I want to right now James: [a casual essay about how much he misses her and wants her and everything he wishes they could do, in a saucy way but also just in cute ways like] Ava: James James: Ava Ava: I really love you, you know James: I love you too James: what I most wish is that we could go away for a while Ava: That would be Ava: so good Ava: maybe we could in like the Christmas hols, when everything has calmed down Ava: hopefully James: it would be indescribable Ava: I have no doubt you would do your best Ava: and it'd be impressive James: the subject matter lends itself to nothing but my best Ava: I'm honoured🙇 James: so am I, especially by that visual Ava: Gutted I'm out rn and can't immediately fulfill that wish for a visual like you did Ava: when I get back though James: [sends her an even better visual] James: until then, there you are Ava: oh, well, you aren't distracting at all 😖 Ava: definitely gonna get you back when you're so hard at work James: 😈 James: I so badly hope you do Ava: I intend to Ava: every day of the week Ava: but especially when I get to come see you James: you know, the things I intend to do to you on this desk drastically shifts the audience we're going to be able to pitch this book to Ava: You'll have to restrain your imagination in the write-up so the audience can use theirs to fill in the blanks Ava: because there's no way we're leaving your office 'til we've done everything you've thought of James: finally some overtime I'm not upset about Ava: It's all about balance, right? 😇 James: & I'm aware that you've got very good balance Ava: Will that help me be the best good luck charm on your best I can be? 🤔 Ava: intriguing 😋 James: absolutely, but if you need any more help, I'll help you Ava: You're very helpful, baby James: I try to be Ava: I've never met anyone like you James: I don't think I'll ever meet anyone else that comes close to you either James: I certainly haven't before Ava: Good Ava: I don't need to think about competiting so soon James: you don't need to think about it, full stop Ava: not 'til the dance, anyway James: even then, I'll only have eyes for you, that's the cliche Ava: Of course Ava: doesn't mean I'm not gonna do everything within my power to ensure it's worth your 👀s while James: I don't want to dance with anyone else, Ava James: I don't want to do any of this with anyone else Ava: I know Ava: you know I feel the same too James: you know I couldn't have done this without you though Ava: You did it all though, all the hard conversations and hard decisions James: a lot of those decisions were made for me, so there's limited credit due, & a lack of conversation with her just cements that Ava: Yeah but the ball is in her court on that one Ava: you're if not ready at least willing whenever she is James: of course, because that's not a decision, to not act, not any more Ava: yeah, and that's going to be a good thing Ava: even if it is not good all the time James: I'll be interested to see if she gets in contact before school starts because that's unlikely to be a good thing Ava: Yes, I wonder if this is just a summer holiday or Ava: makes you wonder what she's even doing that could keep her so 'busy' James: whoever cleans the pool, probably, not that she'd ever admit to such a cliche Ava: 😬 Ava: definitely not getting paid enough James: 😂 Ava: I'm just glad that right now you don't have to deal with her on the day to day, even if it's only a momentary reprieve, it'll never be that bad again James: me too, I can't & won't pretend that I didn't know how bad it had become but actually getting a break from it makes me wonder how either of us dealt with that for as long as we have Ava: I bet Ava: she must've been as sick of it, even though she was the one not letting go and doing the fucked up shit, that has to be exhausting to live like that Ava: full level hell beast all the time, like 😈 Ava: sorry, I'm not fully sure where the line is re. her Ava: but I've been hearing great things from Nancy and Buster today so, that's in my head James: it's okay, you're not wrong James: & neither are they Ava: Okay Ava: if it's ever weird or like, not up for discussion though, just say the word Ava: or several, as you're especially loquacious James: there's a fantastic word Ava: as far as safewords go Ava: I can think of a few situations where it might be hard to get out but isn't that half the fun James: I'll make a note of it, because yes, that's definitely a large percentage of the thrill Ava: I wish you were here Ava: I only am to get away from my parents for a bit James: where are you? Ava: My friend's house Ava: Her sister is called Stasia, think she was your year-ish? James: I remember her, whether she would me, favourably or otherwise, I can't possibly comment James: I'll take you home when you want to go Ava: Really? Ava: well, I'll go at whatever time means I get some extra with you James: okay, I'll take that as my cue to leave now, not only because any reason to get out of here is welcomed though Ava: Please do Ava: talking about you so much has only made my need to be with you even greater James: I can absolutely relate & admit to having had the same urge all day Ava: Oh good Ava: we're on the same page James: that said, a necessary note in the margin would be that in actual fact I've felt that way much longer, because whatever I'm talking about, I'm thinking about you Ava: Sometimes I think I think about you too much Ava: but then I remember I'm the protagonist in this romance so it's not just acceptable but necessary James: you can do whatever you like, darling, it's your story Ava: In that case Ava: read on James: voraciously Ava: 🤤🤤 James James: I'm just making sure we're still on the same page Ava: You're gonna have trouble keeping me on the page Ava: and making me go home James: & the driver's eyes on the road, we may need more than the Twilight soundtrack on this occasion Ava: Pride & Prejudice 2005? Ava: gotcha, honey James: 😂 James: yes, exactly Ava: 😊 Ava: I love you so much James: I miss you so much James: if I could take you home with me, I very happily would Ava: I know Ava: one day James: after the move to the other side of the river, because we both know there is a line Ava: It's pretty exciting, isn't it? James: I'm glad to hear you think so because I was going to ask you if you'd like to come house hunting with me Ava: I'd love to! James: [a possible date soonish] ? Ava: That should be good for me Ava: I'll let you know if otherwise Ava: it'll be nice to look at some actual decent places, let's face it, I doubt my student digs will be all that inspiring, like 😏 James: barely room for whatever hazing pranks they have in store, I'm sure Ava: I'm still not convinced that particular visual doesn't just come from a certain type of movie, babe James: you'll have to let me know 😏 Ava: I'll make it good for you James: my faith in you remains unwavering Ava: 🙇 James: have you reconsidered your stance on spoilers? Ava: That does depend James: oh? Ava: have you dumped fake girl? James: she was very slow to accept her fate, but yes Ava: I can't blame her Ava: I wouldn't wanna lose you either Ava: [picture, assumedly in her friend's room or somewhere not just in front of them like oh hey] James: Ava Ava: Make traffic move faster please James: I'll do the quickest rewrite possible & see you at your friend's door Ava: I'll be waiting so patiently James: & I'll be waiting impatiently James: 😇 & 😈 Ava: I think you deserve to be 😈 right now Ava: been a long day, yeah? James: yes, though it feels longer now, stretching out with the queued traffic Ava: 🥺 Ava: we'll just have to see it as motivation to not waste a single second James: it's a promise, in or out of traffic Ava: I'm so lucky James: if you think you are, then I need a better word to describe my own fortune right now Ava: I'm just really happy Ava: in spite of anything else, everything else, right now James: good, me too Ava: 🥰 Ava: you deserve that even more James: you deserve more than I can possibly give you, however patiently you wait Ava: nuuh James: yes you do Ava: 😣 Ava: no Ava: and I want you James: I want you, I'm well aware that it doesn't mean I deserve to have you Ava: How could you possibly not James: because James: the reasons I lack words to describe you aren't even close to the reasons I lack them to describe myself Ava: but I can't describe you either Ava: not just because I'm no writer James: but you do, all the time, in both words & actions I can vividly see myself the way you think of me Ava: I'm glad Ava: keep looking, okay Ava: we'll work on the believing bit James: okay James: if you'd like to get in the car, we can start immediately

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raindrop-on-a-spiderweb · 6 years ago

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There's Just Something About The Neighbors

Requested AU--if Leonardo's father had been alive during the story.

***

Flora Haywood liked her new neighbors.

The last ones had been a pain, acting as though the fact that they had moved into a middle-class neighborhood gave them special privileges. They stayed up and partied til the dawn, laughing and hollering until she couldn't sleep any longer. When they moved out, it was a enormous relief. They hoped the newer neighbors were quieter.

They were.

It was a married couple and the husband's father. They moved in quietly one day, not a peep. She stopped by to take some cookies to her new neighbors and the wife thanked her wanly but never invited her inside. She was a pale little thing with long, straight brown hair. She kept tugging her sleeves over the bruises on her wrists ("got them while moving boxes").

Flora never saw them outside much. Occasionally the father or husband she would see walking to work, or the wife would be doing yardwork, but other than that, they kept themselves away from the other neighbors. The husband was a handsome blond man who always tipped his hat to her when he saw her on the street. Flora wasn't sure what his job was--she thought he was employed by his father in his business, although she never did find out what business it was. The son had mentioned it was something to do with clothing, possible a factory or high-quality tailor store.

The only time she had seen the husband's father was when he turned up on her doorstep to inform her that her lawn was becoming too overgrown, and told her to mow it. Didn't ask. Told. That one meeting was enough for her, and she would be glad if she never had to see him again.

She was surprised to see that apparently the couple had children, as she had never seen them outside. At the grocery store she had run into the wife, sporting a fresh bruise on her cheek and a split lip, and more concerningly, a baby bump and a two-year-old. The child had a chubby round face and thick black hair--recessive genes?

When Flora greeted the wife, she looked panicked and refused to answer any questions about her child. She left the store soon after. From then on, whenever the wife saw Flora outside her home, she ducked inside.

Flora's musings about the neighbors were pushed to the back of her mind when her daughter Caroline came back from college, reeking of pot and dressed like a beatnik. She was taking a semester off to work and raise money for a trip to California. She took odd jobs babysitting around the neighborhood, even for the Borgheses, which did not last long.

"That family is fucking creepy," Caroline told her mother. "Mr. Borghese's father is always staring at me. I'm pretty sure he wants to fuck me. And I think someone is beating those kids. They always have bloody noses and the husband won't let me give them baths; I think they're bruised. Someone should call the cops on them."

Flora was tempted. A couple times, when the sounds of an argument or children crying wafted over to her side of the street, she nearly did. But then she thought of the dark cars that occasionally would be parked in their driveway at night. Of the shady men who were always in and out of their house. And their Italian last name. And she thought better of it.

***

One day when Flora went out to get the mail the wife was sitting on the doorstep crying. One of her younger children, a little blonde girl who looked all of three, was trying to comfort her, but kept looking lost and crying as well. Flora went across the street. "Are you all right, Mrs. Borghese? What's the matter?"

Mrs. Borghese looked thinner than she ever had. Her eyes were holes in her face as she looked up at Flora. "My baby's dead."

"What?" Flora was shocked. "What happened?"

"He... I just... I went in and...his body..." she was talking wildly, seeming desperate to tell her but unwilling to admit to something.

The husband came outside and ushered her in, then picked up his daughter. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Haywood," he said coolly. "My wife has been dealing with a lot over the past few days. We've just had a family tragedy."

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can--"

"No, no. But thank you. We just need to deal with this as it comes." He entered the house again and closed the door after him. Flora craned her neck to try and see through the window in the door, but like most things in the Borghese family's life, it was covered tightly by a curtain.

***

Caroline was due for her trip to California, and was waiting outside for her friends to pick her up. Every time she looked over at the Borghese's house across the street she got a little more agitated. "I never saw no funeral for that kid."

"They probably held one privately. They're a private family."

"Too private. They're hiding something. It's fishy that half of those kids got black hair. Either she's screwing around on him or she's getting some on the side from dad-in-law."

Flora was horrified. "Caroline!"

"I'm not saying it was of her own will. That woman looks like a beaten dog half the time. The way the father in law treated her was weird, too. Always shouting at her and giving her orders. And her husband would just stand by and look on. Something fucked up is going on in that household! PROMISE me you'll call the police after we leave? Those poor kids don't deserve to live like that."

"I will," promised Flora, having no intention of doing so.

As she watched her daughter leave, speeding off in a dented Buick with her hippie friends, she looked across the street at the Borghese's house again. The father-in-law was on the porch, watching her. She wasn't close enough to discern his features, but his posture suggested something ominous, and she went inside quickly. The Borgheses were not neighbors you wanted angry.

***

Pippy, her Staffordshire terrier, had taken off across the street in pursuit of a squirrel. Flora was tromping around in her neighbor's backyards, yelling his name. She heard distant crying and snatches of conversation, and followed it out of curosity. After brushing aside a bush, she came to a tall wooden fence--the Borghese's garden, heavily fortified just like everything else about their house. She peered through a slat.

She had never seen their garden before--it was clean and well-kept, just like every other middle class garden. Neatly trimmed lawn, and a white porch swing hanging between two trees. From her vantage point, she was behind the porch swing, looking at the backs of Mr. and Mrs. Borghese as they say side by side on the swing.

The faint sobs that drifted through the air were punctuated with his gentle, soothing remarks.

"Calm down, dolcezza. I'll kiss you, there. I'll make it all better..."

"Get off me. It needs to stop. You need to do something. You've done nothing in this marriage! You've been no help! You men, all you want is a warm hole to stick it in."

"That not true. I love you."

"If you really loved me you'd do something about this! He'll want to do it with me when you're in the room! And when the children are in the room! How can you let this happen? You call yourself a husband and a father?"

"Patience, we're talking about my father. My father. You are asking the impossible of me. It would be easier to flee to the moon than to go against my father."

"I'll kill myself! I'll kill myself and take every last one of our children with me! I can't live like this!"

"Patience--"

"I will never forgive you for what you did to my parents," she said, and her voice suddenly became icy. "But if you want the slightest, smallest glimmer of my gratitude--if you want me to give you the smallest modicum of respect as my husband and father of my children--the ones which are yours, anyway--"

Flora could not believe her ears. Her knees were hurting from crouching, and her lungs were screaming for air from holding her breath. The details--the unfurling tapestry of horror in front of her very eyes--were so unbelieveable she wondered if she were dreaming. Her daughter had been right. Caroline had been right all along. There was something very wrong with the Borgheses.

"There is nothing I can do. Patience, there is nothing. You're not the only victim here, Patience. How do you think it feels to me, having to watch this happen to you and the children? Do you know the last time I stood up to him? I was eight. Do you know what he did to me? He stomped my head into the floor until blood squirted from my nose. There is nothing I can do." He paused, and his voice became quieter. "Unless..."

The silence that followed was as tense as a bowstring, and Mrs. Borghese finally said, "No. What you're suggesting--it could go wrong. It WILL. He'll know. He'll know--"

The plank Flora had been leaning on shifted, the fence post moaning. The two whipped around, their conversation ceasing, and the minute before Flora turned away, she saw a huge, purpling bruise on the side of her face. Flora acted quickly, hurrying away into the treeline. When she was out of sight she let out a shaky sigh, leaning against a tree. Her legs were shaking, her heart pumping. She suddenly felt a sickening sense of danger. She was not supposed to hear that.

***

Pippy came back home the next week, muddy and tail wagging, and resumed chasing Mickey, her gray tabby. Flora breathed a sigh of relief. She had barely ventured out of her house since that day, save for groceries, and refused to even look in the direction of the Borghese house. She agonized over whether to call the police. The only thing that stopped her was the fear that Silvio Borghese would find out--and what he would do to her, and, god forbid, Caroline if he did. The sickening knowledge of what was going on in that house made her want to retch. Every time she caught a glance of the children in the yard she wanted to rush over and rescue them.

That day, the only member of the Borghese house outside was one of the daughters, a young girl with coke-bottle glasses and her thick black hair in pigtails. She was riding her trike down the sidewalk, glancing back at her house every few pedals. She never went past the perimeter of the house, and when she reached the end, turned and pedaled back to the other end. She was so preoccupied with not going past the invisible line that when she craned her neck back to look at the house she lost control and crashed to the ground.

Maternal instincts activating, Flora rushed out and over to the child, picking her up and cradling her. "Oh, my god! You poor thing, are you hurt? Come on, let me look at you."

***

The girl was nervous at being in Flora's home, she could tell. She sat ramrod-straight, her knees pulled together as Flora rummaged around in her bathroom cabinet looking for cotton and rubbing alcohol.

As soon as Flora applied it, the girl's face went ashen. Tears streamed down her face and her jaw wobbled, but she didn't utter a peel.

It was very odd to Flora, who knew children cried at the smallest things. And this was a deep wound, too--she had skinned her knee. "You can cry, honey. It's okay."

The girl's words escaped in a shaky whisper. "Nonno hates it when we cry."

She said nothing else, and when Flora sent her home with a bandaged knee, the girl went up to the front door, dawdled a bit, looked back, and then finally, reluctantly, pulled the door open and was immediately yanked inside.

***

It had been a few years since the Borghese family moved in across the street. Their children were mostly old enough to go to school, and every day they slogged their way down the sidewalk to Catholic School in their little uniforms, the older ones holding the hands of the younger ones. She never saw them with friends from school or the neighborhood. The Borghese children kept to themselves. They were polite to Flora when they saw her, and spoke mostly in Italian amongst themselves. The only trouble she'd ever had with them was with the oldest son, a hulking child with blue eyes and two front teeth missing. She had found him torturing Pippy while he was tied up in her front yard. He had been beyond the fence, holding a sharp stick and trying to poke his eyes out. Flora had yelled at him, and he had smiled blankly at her with his gap-toothed grin, then turned and trudged back to his house.

Mrs. Borghese was pregnant again. She was always pregnant. Flora had no idea what the household must have been like with so many children crammed in a medium-sized home, but she rarely heard any racket from the children. There was always an eerie silence from the other side of the street.

Only the sounds of an occasional argument between adults, which were few--at least until now--would sometimes pierce the silence. And it was becoming more common. She could discern the shrill, high voice of the wife, and then the booming, thunderous voice of the father-in-law. Sometimes she even heard one of the children, either crying or adding their voices to the fray.

One evening when she was pruning her water lilies the wife came to her yard, wringing her hands and asking if she could borrow some peroxide and bandages. Her whole manner was nervy, and she kept stuttering. She wore a yellow gingham dress, but the apron was smudged with dirty fingerprints and the skirt had been ripped and badly mended.

Flora took her inside immediately. As she bent down to rifle through her products under the sink, Mrs. Borghese closed the curtains over the kitchen. As soon as the door had snapped shut, her manner had become more panicked. Mrs. Borghese turned to Flora.

"Can you do something for me? Please?"

The woman looked so young. Battered and tired, but young.

"Of course, honey."

"Can you drive me to a hotel? Just, any hotel. I need to--I just--please?"

"Alone? What about your husband? Will you be taking your children?"

She looked stressed. "No. Not them. None of them. I need to be alone. I need to get out of--"

Her rantings were cut short by a soft knock on the door. "Pazienza? What are you doing here? Please come home."

"No!" She cried. She was shaking. "I will not. Leonardo, go away. Leave me be. I won't go back to that house--and that man. You can't make me!"

"Che ne sarà dai bambini?" his voice had softened into barely legible Italian. "Li lascerete in pace?"

Mrs. Borghese fell silent. Her face held a rapidly crumbling resolve. Flora met her gaze and shook her head firmly. Mrs. Borghese's eyes hardened. "This thing has to end. Leonardo, for the good of our children, too. Call--call the police, call Sawyer, hell, you can call the federal fucking authorities if you want to go that route! But I'm not coming back, Leonardo! Not if you drag me kicking and screaming! None of you care about me, how I feel, if I'm tired, and the children, god, the children..."

"Pazienza," he said quietly. "Allora faremo."

She was quiet again. Her face was turned away from Flora, but her shoulders were stiff. On the nape of her neck, half-covered by her hair, Flora saw a thick white scar indented with looked like teeth prints. "Che succederà se falliamo?" She whispered.

"Non lo faremo. Lo faremo insieme. Lo faremo stasera. Stasera. Vieni fuori, dolcezza."

Whatever he said made her reach her breaking point, and she slowly reached out to unlatch the door. Mr. Borghese was standing outside, hair slicked from rain and his suit damp. His face was gentle, but froze minutely when he saw Flora. He probably had hoped she hadn't been listening in. He offered Flora a vague apology and led his wife back across the street, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The streetlamp light glinted coldly off his golden curls.

Flora lay awake in bed, waiting for the argument to begin, the shouting between father-in-law and daughter-in-law. But she heard nothing. It was a quiet night in the sleepy suburb of Dearborne Heights.

***

Flora was awoken by the scream of an ambulance. Fearing the worst, she threw off her covers and ran out onto the doorstep.

There were police cars and an ambulance outside the Borghese house. Other neighbors were milling around--police cars were a rare sight in Dearborne Heights.

A policeman went over to push back against the nosy neighbors. "What happened?" Said Flora. "Was someone hurt? Did something happen to the children?"

"Reported suicide. Keep back, keep back."

Her worry broke when she saw the Borghese family huddled near the house, talking to another officer. Mr. Borghese looked calm as he gave his statement, but Mrs. Borghese looked shaken, clutching her many children close to her. Most of the children were crying, some of them looked to be in shock. But some of them had a carefully schooled look on their face similiar to their father's.

Eventually the family separated and got into police cars, and the crowd dispersed, as did the police cars themselves. Flora went back inside, her mind whirring. The whole situation seemed like a dream. The death, the couple, the conversation she had overheard--nothing added up.

Actually, she thought, everything DID add up. Just to a different answer.

***

The next morning Flora heard a knock at her door. She debated whether to answer it, hand hovering near the doorknob, until another, more irate knock sounded at the door.

Flora opened it hesitantly, and a man wearing a broad fedora barged in. He was dressed in a black suit; dark-haired, with wire-rimmed glasses that glinted coldly as he eyed her. "Flora Haywood?"

Flora nodded.

"Mind if I sit down?" He punctuated his words by pulling out a chair from her kitchen table and sitting down anyway. "I'm sure you've heard about the... unfortunate incident at 34 Knight Street, just across from you."

"...Yes... it was Mr. Borghese, Senior, am I correct?"

"I'm afraid so. Silvio Borghese. Single gunshot to the temple, self-inflicted. Horrible, horrible. I understand you knew the Borgheses personally."

"They're my neighbors, but I don't know them well."

His voice was as cold as his eyes. "So if, for example, someone from the police stopped by, and asked you some questions, what would you tell them?"

"Wh-what kind of questions?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Whether you heard anything that night. Whether there had been any... discord in the Borghese household as of late. Simple things, routine things the police tend to ask."

She felt a chill come down her back. "Who are you?"

"A friend of Mr. Borghese, junior. Leonardo." He smiled and got up, perusing her keepsakes neatly lined up on the mantlespiece. To her horror, he picked up a photo of Caroline. "Your granddaughter?"

She swallowed a lump. "Daughter."

"Lovely woman. She looks about the age of my wife. Truly in the prime of her life. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her."

Flora would have done anything he had asked of her in that moment. "I don't know anything about the Borghese family. I heard nothing last night. I don't know a thing. The family keeps to themselves."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "And that's what you'll tell the police?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I'll tell the police! I don't know anything! Please, I have laundry to do. I can't sit around and talk all day!"

He smiled as he left, a smug secret smile that told her he had accomplished exactly he had come to accomplish. She locked the door, latched the windows, and immediately called Caroline. She sounded woozy on the other end and the sounds of partying were in the background, but she was safe. Flora cautioned her to be careful, and Caroline agreed in that sure-mom-I-promise tone that teenagers took when they had no intention of listening to their parents. After wrangling more promises out of her to call every day, Flora hung up and spent the rest of the day peering out the window, watching every car parked on the sidewalk and every passerby.

***

The police never came, thank god, and Flora assumed the whole situation was over and done for when the large Borghese family, sans the grandfather, moved back into their tan suburban house across from her.

It was as if a shadow had lifted from Knight Street. Within a week the high fence around their property had been knocked down. Flora saw Mr. Borghese building a treehouse with his sons in the large oak tree in their backyard. The Borghese children were out and about more, and they seemed to be making friends, for the first time, around the neighborhood. Mrs. Borghese saw Flora outside in the garden and smiled and waved, something she had never done before. She looked vibrant, healthy, with no bruises. She gave birth several months later to a baby girl, who she dropped off at Flora's sometimes to be babysat. Leonardo even held a block party, with his smiling, beautiful wife and their newborn the centerpiece.

In the blink of an eye it seemed that years had passed since then and the eldest son was going to high school. But Flora never lost that sense of unease. The neighbors were outwardly affluent, popular people...

But sometimes Mrs. Borghese would get a look on her face, and Flora knew what lurked under the surface was never far from bubbling over, and that the secrets Flora had touched on were too deep and numerous for her to understand.

Not that she had any desire to.

#bonus chapter

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