Falling from Grace

Episode two

by Starla - published on July 6, 2000

Grace watched Igor's sleek gold car disappear into the dark, leafless trees that lined the street in both directions. There were few houses, although around the corner several blocks west she knew was the main street, as Igor had said, full of small businesses and the market.

The house was--what? Sort of Gothic, sort of colonial, sort of everything. Grace wasn't an expert on architecture, but it was obvious two wings had been added on to the sides of the house after its original construction, and each at a different time, probably by owners of a different era and decorative taste. Not that the house wasn't big enough to house a large family and a full staff anyway.

Grace dragged her single bag behind her as she ascended the steps, her muscles finally beginning to sting with pain. She was much stronger after her time in India, and had learned many techniques to maintain her fitness and conserve her energy. The walk up had been something she might not have managed a year ago, but her body was perfectly conditioned for the challenge now. Besides, she had learned the elusive art of packing only what one needs.

The door was surprisingly small for the intimidating size of the house. A clay flower pot, not yet replanted for spring and still containing dead stalks of last year's flowers, stood to the right of the door. Grace lifted it up and retrieved the key. Unlocking the deadbolt and the regular one, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Mmmmm..." The smell of orange spice and lemon hung in the air, from a small blue and white porcelain bowl of potpourri. "A man who buys potpourri?" Grace thought, taking in the collection of blue and white porcelain plates and vases that were displayed on shelves and tables around the spacious front hall. The decorating was expensive but not overpowering. In fact, the house gave off very good vibes, and seemed quite warm and comfortable, for all its massive size.

Igor must be a man of some distinction.

Grace hefted her load onto her hip and continued across the room, through a curved entryway and into a long corridor. She found the kitchen, and further down, her room. It was decorated in rich reds and yellows, with touches of green and black. Through a small door across the hall was the bathroom, with art deco tiling and fixtures in the shape of nymphs, drapery billowing and expressions of extreme bliss and contentment.

In five minutes, Grace stepped into the shower and turned on the water. She watched it spray out from a shower head on which rested a sleepy brass girl who lazily directed the jet of water, hands gripping the sides of the fixture. Grace closed her eyes and enjoyed the hot water cleaning all the grime off her sweaty skin.

After a few minutes she couldn't feel the water anymore, except for a small bit on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she realized the shower head had been pushed upwards so that it no longer aimed at her but at the side of the shower.

Grace frowned. She must have bumped it. As she reached up to center the shower head she realized the girl was no longer on top. She was on bottom of the pipe, and when Grace tried to twist it so she faced the top again, it wouldn't budge. "Now how did that happen?" Grace wondered. "How on earth could I have turned it upside down without knowing, and not be able to adjust it anymore?"

Examining it even more closely, Grace discovered that the girl was lying on her back. She could have sworn she was lying on her stomach...but perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps it had simply gotten twisted upside down, and stuck in that position. Grace pushed the shower head back where she wanted it, and continued her shower.

Later, clean and utterly exhausted, Grace flopped down on her bed for a power nap. The bedspread was a deep cherry red with gold embroidery, reminding Grace of royalty. She imagined she was royalty, a queen, and fell asleep looking forward to exploring every corner of this fantastic house that had swallowed up one poor human being. He had died of fright, they assumed. A heart attack. They had found him in the library, a look of sheer terror on his face, where he had tumbled down and lay sprawled next to the coffee table. Igor did not even know who he was or when he had entered the mansion. Or why.

"What a perfect old-fashioned mystery," Grace thought happily. No politics involved in this one. "And no voodoo, I hope!"

She assumed that since Igor had called her, he believed the cause of death to be supernatural. He did not seem to Grace the kind of man who would readily accept the notion of ghosts, demons or other worlds. He admitted he had felt responsible for the poor man's death, since it occurred in his house, and wanted to do everything he could to find the cause.

But if it was something in the house, then why did she feel so welcome here? So many questions unanswered. After her nap, Grace decided, she would immediately seek out the town library and Dominic.

Last update: October 24, 2007

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Falling from Grace

Episode two