by Dora Gelerinter
The chandelier shattered. As soon as I stepped into the room, it broke into a million pieces, littering the polished chestnut flooring with reflective shards. The hanging fixture must have caught a gleam off the surprise in the back pocket of my trousers, and been unable to take the intensity of light. Luckily, Lady McAllister hadn’t returned from the bathroom yet. She couldn’t have noticed me. And so I continued to walk slowly into the lounge, carefully placed left foot followed by right foot, as quiet as a fox. This was my last chance. Today she was here in Scotland, but tomorrow she would be sipping espresso beside the Seine in Paris.
A floorboard creaked. I scampered to my right, sidling up to the fireplace. Its warmth embraced and comforted me, giving me strength. Its warmth assured me I had made the right decision. This was the only way our company could survive. Brooks and I had worked on this venture for countless years, and we were one leap away from creating the life we had always wanted for ourselves and our families. No more sopping up the last drops of gravy with a crust of bread, still famished but having to wait until morning for another meal. No more scrutinizing our furnishings, wondering what could be sold to pay for my sister’s education. No more visits by the suspiciously inexpensive family physician with dusty vials. No more fatigue. No more struggle. Gazing into the sunset-colored flames, envisioning my new carefree life already, I rubbed my palms together. I murmured encouragements to myself. You can do this, Mr. Green. This is the only way. You are simply looking out for yourself and the ones you love. What’s so wrong with that? I inhaled laboriously and checked the time.
A door opened. In strolled Lady McAllister, regal as ever. A pair of pearl earrings complemented her burgundy dress. She hadn’t seen me yet. She walked closer. My eyes drifted to the beauty marks on her neck, one, two, three. There was a smudge of powder next to them that she had forgotten to blend in. My left hand reached back, and grasped the handle. Just two big steps, and I would be standing in her space, and she would be standing in mine. I plunged the dagger into her throat.
In the adjacent room, the chandelier reflected light with amazing brilliance, speckling the burgundy walls with dots of brightness. She couldn’t believe she was finally here, in the revered household of the most wealthy woman in all of Scotland. The dark green carpet felt soft under her ratty white sneakers. Claire wasn’t accustomed to this level of luxury.
As her eyes caught her reflection in the gold framed mirror, she snapped out of the trance. Daydreaming again, she thought. Get to work, kiddo. She always caught herself drifting off into fantasy worlds. Dreaming gave her great comfort, and sparked great yearning, but it also allowed her to imagine a billion tragic endings. In another universe, she shut out the demons that were also products of her imagination. As she walked down the crowded cobblestone street just half an hour ago on her way to the estate, every passing car posed a new danger. What if that red Toyota veers off the road, she thought. What if that black Audi crashes into me, she thought. What if I have to go to the hospital, she thought. What if they can’t revive me?
For now, she knew the task at hand. Homes were safe, and mansions, with their advanced alarm systems, were even safer. Claire had her toolbox, and her water bottle, and her knapsack, and those things were simple. Those items weren’t surprises. Moreover, working in places like these reminded her of the future she wanted to build for herself. She wanted to finally put her worries to rest, just as the families she worked for had done through money. Claire climbed on a chair, reaching up to the heavens, reaching up to another life. Her fingers grasped the lightbulb in the dining room. She wasn’t afraid the glass would shatter and cut her. She’d done this countless times, and she was about to do it 30 more times, for every room in this enormous household. The bulb reflected light as well, winking at her. She pulled out her phone, and the sounds of her favorite Bossa Nova playlist filled the space. Every lyric drowned out the worried words floating in her head. Every changed lightbulb was like turning over a new leaf. Every cherry wood door she creaked open led her one step closer to shutting out her anxiety. For once, she couldn’t wait to explore every room. Claire walked out of the dining room and into a pool of blood.
