Chapter Ten

She jogged out of the double gates, sparing a brief hello at the scrawny old gateman, and crossing the wide, deserted street. The Bonavich mansion was located a bit deeper into the foliage and she had to jog on the trail made by frequent tire marks for almost three minutes before finally coming to the opening that showcased the large mansion. The building was nearly identical to their house, save for the towers it lacked, and the more modern structure and painting.

Only a white Mercedes Benz and the latest model Audi were parked in the driveway.

Ophelia strode to the large polished black door and rang the doorbell, panting slightly from the exercise.

The door creaked open, revealing a fat, rosy-cheeked middle-aged woman wearing an apron. “Can I help you dear?” she offered, wiping her hands on her apron and swinging the door a little wider. She smiled kindly, revealing a dimple on her left cheek as her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Yes please. I’m here to see Seth Bonavich… he lives here right?”

“I’m afraid Seth is away dear. Would you like to leave him a message?”

“Uhm, no... When will he be back?” Ophelia asked again, chewing her bottom lip.

The woman giggled. “That’s entirely up to Seth dear. Sometimes he spends weeks away. We never know when he’ll pop back into the house.” “Are you a friend?” she added curiously.

“Yes, my family and I recently moved back to the house across the street.” Ophelia answered, thinking of what to do.

“Oh! The Clemonte mansion? Are you by any chance Florence’s niece?” the woman beamed, scanning Ophelia up and down for any appearance that would link her to Florence.

“Yes.” Ophelia affirmed with surprise.

“Oh, how lovely dear! Your aunt and I are old friends! I haven’t heard from her in a while, but work keeps me busy these days. I only keep the house clean and cook, and make sure old Mr. Arnold takes his medications, but you’d think I run a whole factory business with the amount of time and effort it takes me…”

Ophelia’s heart rate picked up at the name of ‘Arnold’ and she politely waited until the woman finished talking and asked if she would care for a cup of tea and cookies. Ophelia answered yes.

The interior of the mansion was spotless. The furniture in the living room were modern and tastefully arranged, making Ophelia feel a pang of jealousy at the modernity of the home. Compared to hers, the Clemonte mansion was creaky, old and weathered.

Ophelia gingerly sat on a plush white sofa, and the woman, who had introduced herself as Martha handed her a small plate of cookies and a tiny teacup. Ophelia politely thanked her, taking a bite out of the chocolate chip cookies and savoring the chocolate that melted deliciously on her tongue.

“Is Mr. Arnold Bonavich in?” Ophelia inquired politely, after finishing the cookies and tea.

“He’s taking a morning nap. Sometimes the muscles pain gets so bad, the only cure is sleep.” She replied. “Wouldn’t like to live that long if old age is that bad...” Martha murmured, disappearing into what Ophelia assumed to be the kitchen.

She got up to leave, dusting her skirt and contemplating whether to follow Martha into the kitchen and say goodbye, or wait for her to return back.

Slow footsteps resounded behind her, making the hairs on the back of Ophelia’s neck stand on edge. Whipping around at the speed of light, she came face to face with Mr. Arnold Bonavich, leaning on his walking stick and staring intently at her, an almost grotesque smile growing on his old and wrinkled face.

Ophelia instinctively reached to her pentagram necklace, her heart rate increasing along with the sense of dread that engulfed her. There was something horribly eerie and sinister about the old man, but Ophelia couldn’t place her finger on what exactly it was –apart from the crumpled form, blood red iris and the hideous scar that ran across his face.

“Born with the red eyes... Some form of gene defect they say. Old age doesn’t help…” he rasped out, slowly making his way to the sofa Ophelia just vacated.

“Robert’s granddaughter eh?” he inquired, carefully lowering himself into the plush sofa with difficulty.

“Yes. Yes, Sir… How did you know?” she asserted with a question, moving to the chair farthest away from him, but where she was still close enough to speak to him, and not look ill-mannered.

Mr. Arnold chuckled. “The looks... And I know a Clemonte when I see one. How’s your family? What brings you here?” he wheezed, a cough escaping his wrinkled lips along with a spray of spit.

He did not age with grace… Ophelia thought to herself.

“They’re fine, Sir. I –I uhm… I came to thank Seth for helping me… I was just about to leave though.” She uncomfortably lied. In reality, she had gone there in hopes to find the very man she was now talking to and ask him about his relationship with her grandfather. But the scrutiny of Mr. Arnold Bonavich melted away her confidence and she wanted to simply hightail out the door or vanish into thin air.

“Ah, my grandson helped you?”

Ophelia cursed herself for letting the information slip and giving more room for conversation.

“Yes, Sir… My car broke down last week and he helped me get home.” She curtly explained, cleaning her hands which felt sweaty on her skirt.

“How generous of him…” he murmured flatly, still gazing at Ophelia.

Unable to take the scrutiny anymore, Ophelia abruptly stood up, hastily saying a goodbye and wobbling to the door, hot on her heels.

She felt like an experimental guinea pig under a microscope.

Ophelia exited the house, running through the trail back home. The more she put distance between herself and the house, the more lost she got in her thoughts. Why did the old man scare her? Why did she feel vulnerable under his assessment?

Her head collided with something and Ophelia staggered back. A hand reached out around her waist, steadying her fall and pulling her close. Her heart rate picked up, and a feeling of Deja`Vu sent chills down her spine.

“How clumsy are you?” Seth murmured, lowering his face to Ophelia’s ears and using his free hand to tousle her hair.