Right Into Place

Five

I know how it goes. I used to have friends who love writing and most of the time, they never show me their works and they have to write their ideas down immediately. . . otherwise they'd just forget about it.

I escaped my slow drifting to my thoughts when I heard a quick shutter of a camera. Her camera.

"Would you please stop that?" I asked but it's in a light tone rather than what I'd normally use.

"Since you said it." She put her camera aside and continued along with what she was doing. Believe me, even I am estranged by the fact that I'm letting her do a load of these things, in this place. "Harry, can I ask you a question?"

"Limited to one a day," I muttered. I've never really been a fan of questions.

She turned around to look at me. "Two."

"One," I said firmly.

"Three."

"One."

"Four, take it or leave it."

As if that threatens me. Although it did occur to me that four questions a day wouldn't really hurt.

"Done." I nodded. "No follow-ups, the use of conjunctions depends."

"Deal." She agreed then took her time, probably thinking about what to ask. She has to be very careful about it too, as she's limited. "So when did this first open?" She asked.

Now I'm hoping she won't write a story about this place. I've already had enough of those, thank you.

"February first, 1945," I replied briefly, not giving her any satisfaction with it. I've never been really much of a people pleaser anyways.

She seemed a bit disappointed with that answer yet I'm not much of a fan of too much words. Direct answer to a direct question.

She blinked a few times, "I was expecting for a bit more personal pull there."

"There's no such thing as a personal pull here," I said.

"Not even when, coincidentally, the shop opened at the same day you were born?" She asked with a smile that makes her eyes sparkle in a way it's almost inhuman. Then she rubbed her eyes, "I want to go to sleep."

Taylor walked away from me and faced the shelves, the one right in front of me that has the dolls that are seemingly her favourite as not a visit had gone by when she never took one minute or more to stare at it.

I shut my eyes then faced her again, "I've no idea how you get your information but I'll ask you to please stop that." She always seemed as though she knows more about the place than I do.

She let her fingers trace off to the toys on the shelf. Her eyes kept staring on them as if she's watching a film or reading a book, her sole focus was only on them.

She kept muttering things, saying countries and foreign languages or places that she's almost freaking me out. It was strange, very strange.

In the middle of a heating conversation, she suddenly decides to stray off and leave it hanging, only to be distracted by toys.

"How old are you when you got this shop?" She asked.

"Four years ago, I was twenty-three," I answered.

"What does this place mean to you?" She asked as if the question before was just to warm up if I'll answer her or not. As if the question before was only the appetiser and this is the main course.

If asked that question, I would probably answer the same thing. "One property my father left me in his will."

"And that's it?"