Page 11 of Fight Or Flight

She was out of breath and sweating through her thin yellow dress by the time the manor came into view. The house itself was an enormous Victorian mansion, built in 1889 by Clarence Monroe, the first son of a wealthy businessman who had immigrated to Canada from England.

The front facade had about forty windows, an upper balcony in the centre, and a turret at the corner going up the three stories. The entire house was wrapped in a huge front porch.

Natalie assumed the door would be locked, but she climbed the five front steps, crossed the wide porch, and jiggled the door handle, anyway.

It was locked.

She remembered Elizabeth had hidden a key for her when she moved in. It was under a rock in her prized rose bushes that lined the porch. The rose bushes were a wild, rambling brush now, but the rock was still there, and when Natalie lifted it up, the tarnished key was still there, half-buried in the mud.

Maybe Elizabeth had forgotten about it. Natalie hoped she hadn’t left it there, waiting for Natalie to return someday.

She brushed the rush of guilt aside, shoved the key into the handle, and pushed the door open. The entryway was just as she remembered it.

Huge.

A floating, hand-carved oak staircase dominated the centre of the room. To the left was the parlour; to the right was the formal dining room. Both rooms were closed off from the foyer by twenty-foot-high solid oak pocket doors.

Natalie pulled the key from the knob and slipped it in her pocket. Pulling the front door closed behind her, she eyed the parlour door but walked past it to the staircase. She climbed the winding stairs, then turned at the top, and headed down a long hall to her old bedroom.

And found it exactly as she’d left it.

Directly ahead, the large window was still draped in lace curtains. A small metal, unmade bed rested along one wall, and an ornate wood dresser with a large mirror sat against the other.

She went to the dresser and found her white sheets trimmed in lace, carefully folded in the top drawer and topped with a lavender sachet.

She took them out and made the bed. The temptation to fall face first into the pillows and sleep the rest of the day away was strong, but she’d come all this way and was determined to do her assigned task. Sleep would have to wait.

She put her suitcase flat on the floor and unzipped it. Inside was nestled a large wooden jewellery box that was closed with a gold fastener and had her mother’s name carved on top. She placed it on the dresser, then pulled out three small photo albums and did the same.

Once her clothing was more accessible, she stripped out of the dirty, sweaty dress she had on and searched for something appropriate to wear into the woods. Of course, she only had thin clothing and sandals, so she grabbed a plain white cotton dress with three buttons down the front and thin straps and put it on. Trudging through the woods probably called for more clothing, but she owned nothing suitable, so she’d just have to wing it.

Downstairs, she slid open the parlour doors. The room was as it had been. Elegantly appointed, with bay windows that looked out over the vast gardens. An antique tea cart was off to the side of the window. Opposite sat a large buffet that held several generations of Monroes’ tea sets. In the centre of the room was aformal sitting area, with two dainty floral loveseats and two sets of matching chairs situated around an ornate wood coffee table.

On the coffee table sat the urn.

Natalie walked to the loveseat and plopped down. She closed her eyes and took in the room’s silence. When she heard a faint scratching noise in the distance, she opened her eyes. The old house always had a problem with mice. She turned behind her and looked at the stone fireplace, remembering the first time she’d seen a mouse in the house. It had been a few months after she moved in. The little grey mouse had scurried out of the fireplace and rushed across the floor at her. She’d shrieked and jumped on a chair to avoid it.

After that, Elizabeth had promised to set some traps and see about getting a cat.

She walked closer to the fireplace and peered inside. The hearth was big enough to fit a whole family inside. On top of the mantel was a collection of knick-knacks and picture frames. The largest picture in the centre was the same one the private investigator had given her.

Natalie looked away until her eyes rested on a clunky brown leather chair that looked too modern and out of place in the room’s corner. She remembered that chair vividly. The last time she’d seen it, Robert was sitting in it.

A foul taste rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep the memories of Robert in that chair from coming back. It was likely because that was the day she decided on her future . . .

It had been a school day in the early spring. Natalie had been living in Mapleton for about six months. She hated everything about the town and the school. She was still grieving and had only made one friend, a kind, shy girl who was the target of a bully and hadn’t realized it yet but was way too good for that town.

That day had started like any other chilly spring day, but by the time school let out, the weather had turned, and a snowstorm passed through. Natalie had taken the back way home, the way she always did, passing through part of the forest to avoid seeing people in town. She walked through the back kitchen door, then heard shouting.

She tiptoed through the house toward the sound until she heard that it was coming from the parlour. She grabbed hold of the big door and slid it open. From the doorway, she saw Elizabeth standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. The other woman, also on her feet, was crying into a balled-up tissue. They both stopped immediately when Natalie walked in. The other woman’s bloodshot eyes lifted to Natalie’s, then popped out of her face.

A slight movement in the room’s corner caught Natalie’s eye. She looked over and found Robert, lounging in the brown leather chair, one ankle rested on the opposite knee, a cigar between two fingers dropping ash onto the antique rug.

He barely moved when she entered, didn’t bother looking at her. Frankly, he looked bored with the entire exchange.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Elizabeth turned toward her, squared her shoulders, and brushed her hands across the wrinkles on the front of her dress. “We need some privacy, dear. Why don’t you go for a walk to the waterfall.”

---