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51 - Crystals

51 – Crystals

Maya Sumedh

 

 I didn’t eat at the diner we stopped at in Newton. Luke gorged down a hamburger and a Coke – I had no idea how he was still hungry after the (undercooked) ramen. Once we got back on the road, he pushed his seat back and stretched his bad leg out on the dashboard, his foot a deathly white colour I was unaccustomed to. I was starting to tire, not used to driving for so long, but we were just an hour away from Springfield. He lived in the suburbs (unsurprisingly) and very soon we were crawling around in a neighbourhood that was more like a gated community for royalty. Luke told me which turns to take till we stopped at a large black gate that was flanked by hedges taller than I was. He got out of the car and pressed a few buttons on a thingy near the gate and it opened, as if ushering us in.

 “Holy heckaroo,” I mumbled, as we drove up the long easement to the huge fucking mansion ahead of us. “Don’t tell me you fucking live here.”

 There was a large marble fountain in the vast lawn, reflecting the moonlight in an extremely eerie way. The trees fringing the lawns were huge, swaying creepily. Half the windows on the front façade of the Greek-style house were shuttered up.

 “I do, unfortunately,” Luke said, looking quite unlike a resident of this palace with his hairy bare feet, baggy sweatshirt, and jeans. Not to mention the cane. “The garage is that way,” he said, pointing to the easement that curved off the left side of the house. Dumbly, I followed. Luke had to punch in a code again for the garage to open. Once inside, I noticed that the humble Mercedes we were driving was parked with two Range Rovers and a Porsche. One slot was empty and at the end of the line I noticed another Mercedes.

 “That one’s mine,” Luke said, following my gaze. “I feel uncomfortable in sports cars.”

 I killed the engine, and turned to look at him. He looked tired and sleepy – understandably, given that it was past midnight. He hadn’t shaved since I saw him at the gallery and actually looked quite the hobo.

 “So what exactly does your dad do?”

 “The Waters estate is built on steel trade and titanium imports,” Luke said in a bored voice. “And some undercurrent money on the side.”

 “Jesus fuck.”

 We shouldered our bags and walked out of the garage and onto the crunchy gravel path. Luke led us to a side entry through a door fixed with fly-mesh that was unlocked. It opened into the ‘downstairs kitchen’ as Luke said. The kitchen itself looked like an ad for Veneta Cucine. I suddenly felt very drab. We trudged through the kitchen and emerged into a scullery kind of hallway.

 “I’ll show you the guest bedroom,” Luke murmured through the darkness. “It’s getting late.”

 I shook my head.

 “I want to see your bedroom.”

 I couldn’t see his face properly, but I knew the expression he had on his face. I just shoved him along.

 “Alright, alright. You’ll have to help me upstairs.”

 “Oh,” I realised. “No, it’s alright then, we’ll see it tomorrow. Where are you going to sleep?”

 “I stand corrected,” Luke said. “It’s a guest suite. Two beds for both of us.”

 I rolled my eyes. Guest suite. Of course.

 “Fine, lead the way.”

 After bumping into tiny tables and questionable artifacts, Luke cracked open a door to a warm, well-lit suite. It had apparently been made ready for us. The walls were a delicate cream and the furniture was suede. There was a flatscreen in the room we were standing in, which was evidently the living room of sorts. There was a crystal bowl of potpourri on the teakwood coffee table, reflecting the light off the ornate chandelier hanging above our heads.