Eleanor Jones pulled up at the side of the quiet tree-lined street and got out of the car. It wasn't often she did 'house calls' in her line of work, but as long as the client was paying she was happy to get out of the office for a while. The dark brick houses with their arched windows certainly made a change from the usual white walls and fluorescent lighting.
She bent down and quickly checked her hair and make-up in the rear-view mirror. Not that she suspected it would matter, a woman facing a divorce who was reluctant to even leave her own house would hardly be too critical of her appearance. But it wouldn't hurt to look professional.
She'd gotten the phone call late the previous evening, when most of her colleagues had already gone home. The client, by the name of Caroline Mayfair, was thirty two and had been married for seven years. Two weeks ago her husband, Philip, had abruptly told her he wanted a divorce and moved out (although Caroline had admitted he had been distant for some time).
Caroline had been out of work for some time with anxiety issues but she had assured Eleanor that she owned the house as part of a family inheritance, and was certainly capable of covering any legal fees. Eleanor knew that the strain of such issues, and one partner being unable to work, could certainly contribute to a break up, but kept this thought to herself.
Eleanor walked briskly up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. She heard a faint chime from inside, and then soft footsteps.
Caroline Mayfair was a frail looking woman, with large eyes and a thin mouth. Her soft brown hair was tied up in a loose ponytail. She smiled shyly as she opened the door.
“Ms. Jones?”
Eleanor offered her best sympathetic smile.
“Please, call me Eleanor.”
Caroline gestured for Eleanor to follow, and lead her through to an airy parlour at the back of the house, with French windows offering a view of a small garden. The window frames and furniture were a matching dark wood, but the windows allowed enough light to prevent the room from appearing stifling. A tea pot and two small china cups sat on a tray on the table, along with a packet of biscuits.
As Caroline busied herself pouring the tea, hands shaking slightly, Eleanor slid her slim briefcase underneath the chair and sat down. The briefcase contained an array of official documents, but it was best not to bring these to the clients' attention straight away. Her usual procedure was to let the client bring up whatever information they felt comfortable sharing, from there she could decide on the best approach. Bringing out the documents before she had a good grip on the situation would only cause the client to feel pressured, and that was the last thing they needed. The more at ease they felt with her, the better it would be, and Caroline already seemed slightly nervous.
“I suppose you're wondering why I didn't want to leave the house,” said Caroline abruptly.
Eleanor looked up at her in surprise, she had been wondering, but had thought it rude to ask. She hadn't expected Caroline to volunteer the information so readily.
“I told you I'd been suffering from anxiety? We'll the truth is, more specifically its agoraphobia. I suppose you've heard of it?”
Eleanor gulped a sip of her tea as she thought out her answer.
“I have... It's the fear of going outside, isn't it?”
Caroline gave her that shy smile again.
“That's what most people think, what I thought up until last year I suppose. People seem to think it's the opposite of claustrophobia, but they're really quite alike. Agoraphobia can be a fear of any public place, whether it’s a wide open space or a crowded shopping centre, so the actual space isn't the issue. It's about feeling that you can't control what's happening around you. So I imagine claustrophobia would be similar, in feeling out of control. Either way, it’s about not feeling safe in certain places. I feel safe at home, I can breathe here. And I'm sure you can see why at this time I would want to be in my comfort zone as much as possible. Biscuit?”
Eleanor took one of the offered biscuits and nibbled thoughtfully.
“I... I wouldn't have thought you would be so open about that. It's really none of my business where you prefer us to have our meetings.”
“Yes, it can be a sensitive subject. But my therapist has encouraged me to be open about it. If I'm constantly hiding this from people, worried that they'll find out... well, that's one more thing to be anxious about isn't it? If I can talk about it freely, like it isn't an issue, then the less it will seem like an issue to me.”
Eleanor smiled warmly at Caroline.
“That actually makes a lot of sense. Not that I'd expect a therapist not to make sense of course... Maybe now we've got that out of the way, we could discuss the, ah, business at hand?”
A short while later, Eleanor excused herself to go to the bathroom. Everything seemed to be going quite smoothly, and Caroline's unusual frankness certainly seemed to work for her, she wasn't quite the sobbing mess that some of her clients were. Nor was she the cold, vengeful type she occasionally encountered, out to get every penny she could from the settlement. No, she was just concerned that since a large share of the assets concerned were from her inheritance (the house, several family heirlooms, some investments), Philip may try to claim for more than he deserved.
Eleanor turned on the tap and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was perhaps not looking her best after all, it’s always difficult to tell from a car mirror. The bags under her eyes showed that she possibly needed to take a break, but then that's what happens when you deal with the bitter and heartbroken for a living. She cupped her hands under the cold tap and carefully splashed a little of the water on to her face, making sure not to wet her hair.
After wiping the water out of her eyes she reached down for the towel, and then jerked her hand back as if stung. Her throat seemed to tighten, in her panic she may have actually screamed if she could get the air into her lungs. She looked down nervously and saw; a towel. A slightly faded green towel (once possibly a deep forest green), hanging from the hook. What had she felt?
Warmth, certainly.
(A pulse)
She reached down and touched it; it wasn't warm at all, not hanging from a heated rail. And it felt
(Fleshy)
Slightly rough to the touch, possibly once fluffy but damaged by many washes. Certainly not
(Alive)
Anything unusual.
Still breathing heavily, aware of her heart pounding, Eleanor looked at the mirror again, and then picked up the towel. She dabbed her face, and looked into the mirror, making a conscious effort to calm her breathing. She clearly did need to take a bit of a rest. But first she was going to finish this the job at hand, leave Caroline reassured that she was a competent lawyer, and remain professional.
She looked into her own eyes, watching her pupils recede, and then suddenly she couldn't bear to look at herself for a second longer.
Downstairs, Eleanor finally opened her briefcase of documents, and Caroline took it all very calmly, as they drew up plans for how to go forward. Eleanor declined the offer of another cup of tea, and Caroline walked her to the door. As she opened the door, she gave Eleanor another of those curious smiles. Shy, and almost apologetic, she was certainly not the average client. Eleanor wished her well and made her way down the front steps.
A crow cawed above her, and Eleanor looked upwards briefly into the trees. That was when everything seemed to slow down. She could tell that the breeze was rustling the leaves, but in front of her eyes it seemed that they all simply blurred into each other, turning from their vibrant green to a deep red. Then everything went black.
She woke up in a dimly lit room, not sure of where she was. Most of her surroundings seemed to blend into a blur of browns and russet’s, until her eyes focussed on an individual item. A dusty bookcase. A bell jar. A rotary telephone. The more she looked around, the more the room looked like something from another time, left unattended for decades. Eleanor tried to sit up, and found she didn't even have the strength to move her arm. She groaned.
Caroline rushed into the room, face flushed, more tendrils of hair escaping from the ponytail.
“Eleanor, please, don't try to sit up. You fainted as you were leaving, I've called an ambulance.”
Caroline dashed out of the room again before Eleanor could ask anything more. She remembered the house she was in now, but she still didn't recognise the room. The closed curtains and stuffy air were so different from the light, airy room she had been lead into earlier. She could feel her lungs struggling for air.
Caroline came back in holding a glass of water with a straw.
“Here, drink through the straw, I don't want you sitting up and making yourself dizzy again. The ambulance will be here soon, just try to relax.”
Eleanor tried to sip water through the straw, but every now and then her chest would heave and she would begin to cough. Eventually Caroline moved the glass of water away. She was looking down at Eleanor pityingly, something Eleanor wasn't used to. Usually she was the one in control, the one who could make things right. But she saw something else in Caroline's eyes that she recognised. A hopelessness and despair that she hadn't showed before.
She wanted to ask Caroline if this was what it felt like, when she tried to leave the house. Being unable to breathe, the weakness of the limbs, the absolute fear that she was helpless to control the situation. But she couldn't form the words. Her eyelids started to sag, as she tried to maintain eye contact with Caroline (looking ever more despondent as she looked down at her), and just as she slipped out of consciousness again she felt as if the sofa she lay on was less a solid piece of old furniture and more a living thing supporting her, holding her. She could almost feel its pulse...
There was darkness, for a long time. Perhaps time was the wrong word; time seemed to have little meaning in the void she lay suspended in. She could hear voices though, faint and distant.
“How long do we have to keep doing this? Can't you just let me go?”
Yes, thought Eleanor, let me go. I want to go too...
“It's not time, the debt has not yet been repaid.”
This voice was deeper, unfamiliar. It shook through the walls of the house, although Eleanor couldn't have said how she knew this, feeling so little of herself.
A sobbing came then, and Eleanor could not tell if it was her own weeping, as it felt so far removed, but something it in also reminded her of Caroline's soft voice. And as she strained to focus on it, it became softer and softer, and eventually she was aware of nothing at all.
Caroline walked back into the room in time to see a pale hand disappear into the folds of the sofa. She knew if she threw back the sofa cushions she would find no trace of her previous house guest, just as with all the others. Taking a deep breath and choking back a sob, she lifted her head and looked into the stained mirror above the fireplace. As with everything else in this room, it was faded and dark, but her reflection showed a sly smile.
“How many more? I'm beginning to run out of excuses for getting them to come here. I won't be any good to you if I'm taken away, suspected of murder.”
The reflection silently laughed, but Caroline heard the hissing voice in her head.
“After you, my dear, there will be another. It’s a shame your Philip was unable to help you continue the family line, but there will be others. I can wait. I'm quite good at that, I think you'll find.”
Caroline slumped down in the chair, thought of Philip and sobbed. She had lied before in service of the house, bringing people in while Philip was out at work, believing she could keep him safe from her mysterious ‘inheritance’ that had come into her life two years ago. At first she had been able to leave the house, but in time she grew more dependent on the very atmosphere of the place. It became harder to get people to come round, and the house whispered lies in her head as she slept, which she tried to ignore, until Philip disappeared. If they’d had a child she supposed the house would have taken him straight away, but either way, he was gone now. Now Philip was the lie she used to trap people.
Caroline stood up and moved slowly towards the doorway, out into the hall towards the front door. Her legs became shaky, the carpet seemed to stick to her feet, but slowly the doorway got closer. She used every last bit of her strength to cling to the door knob, pulling it open and pulling herself forward.
Feeling light-headed, she reached out to the wall for support, shivering as she felt the soft pulse of the house beneath her fingertips. The front steps seemed to lead ten foot down, and the gravel lining the path may as well have been broken glass. As she placed one foot on the step, her chest tightened and she gripped the wall more tightly. Another step and her breathing became more difficult, gasping for air she stumbled, and found herself slumped on the steps, one hand barely touching the door frame.
She gripped the wooden frame more tightly, and slowly began to pull herself back in. It was easier than it had been earlier, pulling herself out of the door. As she crawled slowly back in side, elbows scraping on the doormat, she found that the ache in her lungs receded.
Eventually she lay on the hall carpet, breathing heavily, too weak to move. And as she lay there, eyes shut, so tired she felt she was sinking into a soft bed, she heard the door slam shut as if from far away.
