My stomach filled with scrambled eggs, toast, cheese, an orange, a couple of scoops of ice cream and a beer; I'm finally thinking clearly again.
I'm going home.
I came to this house to create paintings, not entangle myself in some weird psychological mystery. I'm even considering the possibility that someone is using me for an experiment, messing with my sanity. Would Craig knowingly volunteer me as a subject for something like that?
Craig is not a cruel guy, but logic sometimes fails him, especially when he gets desperate for money.
No, I don't really think Craig would do something like that to me, but he might not be aware of it. I mean, why would a house filled with so many valuables be available for a month at such a cheap rate? Where did he even find the ad for it?
The Psychology department at the university?
My mind made up, I march through the hallway, across the foyer and grab my car keys from the bowl near the front door. I unlock the door and step out onto the patio, carefully scanning the area before I step down to the broken stones surrounding it.
The forest is alive with birds, but that is all that I can see and hear. There are many broken branches on the ground; the storm has done quite a number on the trees.
My car is still in its spot, its wheels covered in drying mud. Perhaps the mud is dry enough to give traction now. It cannot be that deep. I get into the car, put the key in the ignition, turn it and... nothing. It sometimes does that. I often need to try a couple of times, but usually, it at least pretends to want to start.
There is no sound, just a click when I turn the key. It's done this once before when I'd left the lights on. Did I leave the lights on last night? The possibility is upsettingly huge. I check the light switch, and... yes, I'd left the friggin' lights on!
"Shit!"
I press my forehead against the steering wheel. What am I going to do now? Call Ron to jump me? He probably will jump me right through the phone... and not in a fun way.
"Shit!"
I'm still thinking about the feasibility of calling Ron for help when I enter my bedroom, dragging my feet. I pick up my plugged-in phone and plop down on the bed. Perhaps I should call Craig. Craig is about three hours away; it will be dark in three hours, he might get lost and what if he gets stranded too?
I dial Ron.
"Ron!"
"My car is stuck in the mud, and the battery is flat. Could you please bring jumper cables and help me get it going?" Why would I bother greeting him and being polite? Perhaps I should have started by yelling, "Belle!" I feel a little guilty about my rudeness, but I'll get over it.
"There's a shovel in the utility room..."
"I'm not going down there again; the whole place is covered with maggots from some rotting vegetables."
"Vege... oh, yes, yes... Need to clear that away. Maggots mean flies; you don't want flies."
"No, I don't want flies, I don't want maggots either, and I need to get my car out."
Wait... did he mean I need to clear it away, or he needed to? I take a breath to really let him have it, but he's talking again.
"Shops will be closed before you get there."
Oh, wow, really? That's the level of his helpfulness?
"I don't want to go to the shops; I want to-."
The rest of my sentence, though almost shouted, is drowned out by the orchestra starting up in a chorus of bongs and dings and dongs and cuckoos.
Thank you!
"Turn down your music; I cannot hear what you're saying!" At least, that's what I think he says.
I unplug my phone and run from the room, down the stairs and out the front door while I scream into the phone. "It's not my music; it's the bloody broken clocks that never even tick!"
From the patio, the sound is audible enough to irritate Ron (I hope) but dim enough to at least make out what the other person is saying. Mostly. Let him feel the pain a bit longer.
"The clocks?"
"Yes. The ones that woke me up last night. They seem to be going off randomly now."
"They're chiming?"
"And then some." What did he need, an illustration?
"You sure it is the clocks?"
Does he really require an answer to that stupid question?
"Could you just jump-start the car so that I can get out of here, please?" My "please" sounded more like a snarl.
He starts talking about being out of town for the day and gardening and renovations happening at the house tomorrow. I'm not really listening; I don't need that many details about his plans in life; all I'm hearing is that he is not coming to help me today, and I really don't want to hear that.
"Tomorrow?" Even I can hear the rising panic in my voice.
"Yes, will the activity bother you?"
"The clocks?" Yes, their activity is bothering me. Wasn't he paying attention in class? Wasn't their noise bothering him?
"What? The garden renovations. Weren't you listening?!" Caught me...
"The clocks... noisy..." I cannot lie in full sentences, though this is only half a lie.
"Well, I don't know about the clocks, but the car can certainly be sorted and those maggots. If the gardening activities are going to interfere with your... work," he seriously paused before using the word. Arsehole. "I'll re-schedule..."
"No!" Hell no, if I cannot get him here today, then at least his garden renovation schedule will bring him tomorrow. "I don't mind activity." Unless they come deafeningly loud from broken clocks or involve me playing in cellars while asleep.
"Tomorrow then."
I stand with the phone pressed to my ear long after Ron hung up. Tomorrow. He's going to dig out my car and start it tomorrow. The sun is waning, and tomorrow means another night in this house. Another night with Unconscious Belle.
Easy, I'm just not going to sleep.
"I'm stuck here for tonight," I text Craig.
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