Thunk.

“Could you give me that pitcher?”

Clink.

Natalie dared not say a word throughout the mother and son’s sparse yet frigid exchange. The atmosphere was so tense that it marked the fifteenth time she’d almost run out screaming. She focused on the plate and the food it contained, gripping the silverware until her knuckles shone white, not wanting to make the mistake of looking up and seeing the barely restrained anger on Elizabeth’s face and the emotionless features of Kristoph.

A phone rang, cutting through the syrupy silence that had enmeshed them all. Elizabeth picked it up, her eyebrows knitting themselves together. There was a brief flash of irritation in Kristoph’s eyes and he began methodically chewing on a strip of bacon.

“Excuse me.” His mother left the table and walked out into the veranda that wrapped around the house, using a sliding glass panel that provided easy access to the outside. The woman sat on one of the wrought iron chairs that littered the veranda, her back to the dining room, her golden locks of hair falling forward as she listened to whoever was on the other side.

Kristoph threw down his fork with a clatter, mouth set in a straight line. He left the room without a word, Natalie watching him as he went, disconcerted.

Alone, Natalie tried to think of the reason why they were both in an unfavorable mood the whole day. They had had an argument during breakfast and Kristoph had driven himself to school, not wanting to be with his mother. And then the silent accusations had come, filling the house ever since they had both returned in the afternoon. Their actions didn’t make much sense. Left with no answer, she had to conclude that it was like this every day. Then she shuddered at the thought of the time she would have to spend with the both of them in such a disagreeable manner.

She finished her food and picked up Kristoph’s plate with hers to bring them to the kitchen. It was a little warmer here than other parts of the house; a couple of maids bustled, arranging and stocking food, preparing for the next day, cleaning pots and pans, sweeping and mopping the white marble floor. She placed the plates gently on the sink and the servant took them with a strained smile.

Natalie did not linger, knowing she would serve only as a hindrance to other people’s jobs. She didn’t much relish the thought of going upstairs, so she walked out into the garden where the gardener was at work, tending to the flowers that bloomed so beautifully under the sun’s watchful gaze.

“Good morning, Miss,” the gardener said, spotting her as he put down his shears.

Natalie smiled in acknowledgment. “Good morning to you, too.”

“You may call me Joseph,” he said, wiping away the drops of sweat that beaded his forehead. He looked to be in his forties, with closely cropped dark hair and warm, brown eyes. He walked over to where the hose was looped around a faucet. He unwound it and brought it to the row of plants he had been working on.

“Joseph,” Natalie repeated. She turned on the faucet, the rust coming off on her hands and left orangey-red streaks across her palm.

“Thank you, miss.” Water gushed forth and he carefully aimed them until the petals sparkled with drops, the soil dark and muddy. As he sprayed the flowers, he asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Natalie bit her lip, wondering if it were all right for her to ask him about something that had been bothering her since she’d arrived at this household close to three days ago. But it might offend him, dedicated as he was to his mistress, Elizabeth Skye…

He glanced at her with quick, perceptive eyes. In the light, she noticed that his temples were sprinkled with gray hairs and wrinkles lined his face. “Would you mind lowering the water pressure a little bit?”

She quietly turned the faucet until he nodded at her to stop. He turned back to his task.

“You want to know why they’re like that, don’t you?” Although his voice rose at the end, it was more of a statement, a confirmation of her thoughts, than a question. But she answered him anyway.

“Yes, you could say that.”

He was silent for a while, thinking. Then he spoke: “It started eight years ago.”

She waited for him to continue, moving to examine the rosebushes. Three days ago, she had nearly been pricked to death here when she had leapt out of her bedroom window. Desperate and mute back then, she had been afraid of everything she’d woken up to. She was still afraid, of course. Her life was a blank, nothing to remember, nothing to remind her, just…nothing.

And the future lay before her, just as uncertain, just as unclear.

“Mr. Skye had died ten years ago. Mrs. Skye then began job hopping, from shop to shop, which lasted two years. On the third year after her husband’s death, she decided to put up a business.”

His words were followed by the spray of water. Then, “Ah, could you please turn it off?”

Natalie obliged and walked back to the faucet, turning it once more. The gardener began coming towards her, rolling up the hose as he went, which lay like a huge yellow snake on the bed of green grass. He looped it back over the faucet and looked at her.

“I think you can guess now that Kristoph has been neglected after that.”

She nodded. “Thank you for your help, um…”

“Joseph,” he reminded her.

She nodded once more. “I’ll take my leave, then. Those flowers…they’re beautiful.”

His eyes lit up with joy at the praise. “Yes, they are the products of my hard work. You can say that I see them as my own children.”

His words stopped her short. “You’ve never married?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I never really loved someone as much as I loved taking care of these plants.”

She smiled. “Well, I’ll go now. I don’t want to bother you any further.” She strode briskly back to the house.

“Miss?” Joseph called. She glanced back. “A word of advice: Don’t ask around too much.”

He returned to his job and she stepped into the shade. His words rang in her ears.

Don’t ask around too much…

But how was she supposed to know this family’s past? How was she to know what she was doing here? How was she to find the pieces she needed, which might be found by learning more about these people around her?

How can she not ask when it was all she could do?

Kristoph decided to go out for a spin.

He threw on a jacket and grabbed his key, pausing to pull on his trusty sneakers before bounding down the spiraling staircase. Natalie happened to be in the area, about to climb up, and she looked at him.

“Where are you going?” she asked, frowning. To her knowledge, school was now over and the Skyes usually didn’t go anywhere else at this time. Elizabeth, as per routine, would go up to her office and work while Kristoph would turn on the speakers in his room, a daily attempt to annoy his mother. Natalie had a suspicion that it was a maneuver that had lost its flavor a long time ago. Yesterday, she had knocked on Elizabeth’s door to ask if she could tell Kristoph to lower the volume but the woman merely held out a pair of ear plugs. Natalie had taken them with no comment.

He scowled. “None of your business.” He brushed past her and headed out to the garage.

His mother had given him peace offerings over the years, which had started with his top-of-the-line electric guitar. The offerings had increased in value over the years, climbing as her income rose and her business went international. At first he’d been excited. Then, slowly, he was worn out with the extravagant gifts that were promises of “I’ll go to your program next year” or whatever, but they were promises she never kept. However, when he got bored, he liked to play with them a little.

He got on his midnight-black motorcycle and strapped on his helmet. He was going there tonight, and with this town at the end of the line, he could be sure that no one would bother him on his way. His mother knew better than sending cops after him or the servants. Nowadays, she contented herself with a lengthy lecture and would spend the rest of the time berating herself for buying him those things mindlessly.

Living in a town where nobody really cared was a breath of fresh air. He and his mother had moved every time, and they owned quite a number of estates. They liked this place best because it was far away from civilization and because this was where it all started. Not many houses looked like theirs, but there were three or four other estates, the owners of whom were friends of his mother and where she spent a lot of her time while she was here.

As he roared down the dusty, slightly pitted roads, he noticed the sidewalk lamps were now being lit. The sun was setting, dipping down low in the west, the clouds a colorful explosion of pink and orange with hints of bruised purple. He passed by the sprawling school that mixed in first graders with fourth years in a single campus. Built by the same family that had governed this place for generations, it had recently undergone renovations. Not that there was much to be done, since there were few students, adding up to a puny one thousand, eight hundred and sixty-four. The space was owed mostly to the fact that not many people owned the land, which meant that they could build things there and nobody raised a finger in protest.

He zoomed past several more houses before navigating a sharp bend. The lakeside was empty by this hour, but though that was the case, Kristoph didn’t feel the need to be wary. He got off his motorcycle and left it beside a tree, chucking off his helmet carelessly. Then he slipped past the iron gates which were never locked and always slightly open, as if anticipating his visits every time.

He walked past weathering tombstones, murmuring as he tread lightly on the ground. When he was a little kid, his father had told him to say “Excuse me” when he walked through cemeteries because he might be stepping on the graves of other people and disturbing spirits by his presence. Kristoph believed in it. He always believed in his father.

He had believed his father’s promise that he would be all right, all those years ago, even though the man was having difficulty breathing, was wasting away, looking so small in the bed, light years away from his six foot one intimidating form.  He had believed that promise to the very end. He still believed it, even now, even when that promise was void and expired.

He found his father’s resting place, marked by a simple tombstone. That was all they could afford then. His mother had tried, a couple of times, to update that tombstone, but he had strongly disagreed until she backed off. Kristoph knew it didn’t really matter much to his father what his grave looked like. What mattered was who would be visiting it, remembering him.

His mother had never really understood.

Kristoph hadn’t brought a candle or flowers; this had been a spur-of-the moment trip, although, like his mother said, “That boy never does anything in advance.”

He squatted sat down on the ground, careful not to hit the crosses that were scattered rather haphazardly around his father.

“Hey, Dad. There’s someone new in the house. Not a maid, though; Mom wants me to see her as a ‘sister’, though that’s pretty impossible at the moment. I’m still mad at her for thinking that everything can be solved by those wacky ideas of hers.”

He shook his head grimly at the thought.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to see us fighting, but…I don’t hate her. It’s just…I resent her for not being there, you know? I mean, can’t she find someone else to take her place or something? She says it’s because she’s a workaholic. She’s not fooling me. You and I both know it’s because she’s a coward. She runs away from the truth…that you’re gone, and she’s forgetting it by driving herself hard 24/7.”

The wind whistled in response, but Kristoph couldn’t figure out whether it was agreeing with him or not.

“I feel kind of lonely, even though I’m surrounded by people. I can’t help it. I’ve lost my family eight years ago and myself.”

The blurred edges of a figure slowly appeared.  Kristoph waited for it to complete its shape before continuing. A man was sitting beside him, with the same tousled hair as his although it was a different color and the coal-black eyes flecked with gold. He put his arm around the boy, and Kristoph imagined that it was warm, not cold.

Robert Skye looked at him wordlessly.

“I’m not going to cry,” he said, as if in reply to the question that hung in the air. “I didn’t cry then. I won’t cry now.”

If anyone were there, they wouldn’t have seen what he was seeing. But Kristoph had long since gone beyond reality and had transcended the many layers between the world and the life that went past death.

He could see, by his own will, the spirits that walked restlessly and aimlessly, searching for an answer before moving on.

Which explained why he was talking to his father. Because he could see him and he could guess what his father was trying to tell him.

Robert looked unhappy, not seeming to trust his son’s words.

“No, I’m not harassing her or anything. She has amnesia and Mom took her in until we could trace her identity…though I think Mom’s pleased that she’s staying, for the moment, at least.”

Robert shook his head, blending in and out with the fast-coming twilight, shining white and dimming with a frequency that might have caused a seizure.

“I don’t want to go home, not yet.”

Smiling, the man stood and held out a ghostly hand to his son. Kristoph took it, although all he could feel was air. Still, even though he was sixteen years old, the thought of spending the day ---pardon, the rest of the night--- sitting by the lake with his father appealed to him just as much as it did back when he was five.

Elizabeth practically went insane when she knocked on her son’s door and found it locked. The absence of any piped rock music was an alarm in and of itself. She screamed for the hired help, for the neighbors, for anyone. Natalie went flat out running at her hysterical cries and the servants basically stampeded through the house. However, the girl kept quiet as the distraught mother asked them where Kristoph had gone.

“Maybe he’s still in there, just sleeping?” one of them suggested.

The thought gave her pause and she called for Joseph, who came with his spare set of keys. They broke into the room and found it dark, the window still open from when Kristoph had peered through in the morning to yell, bad-tempered, at the dog who had yowled by his room the night before. Panicked, Elizabeth switched on the lights and it confirmed the fact that her son was not in his room. She ordered everyone to search the whole house, which yielded no results.

“Where has he gone?” she cried, barging through rooms which bore the air of disuse then banging them closed. Natalie followed, making sure that nothing was destroyed due to the jarring impact the doors made against their frames.

“Calm down,” Natalie murmured, still not saying that Kristoph had left on his motorcycle. She deduced that he hadn’t been running away from home, simply because he had not brought essentials like a bag or wallet…

But then again, she could be wrong.

“Kristoph Skye, when you come home, I will ground you for a month!” Elizabeth screamed at nobody in particular. Anyone who was listening on a five feet radius instinctively cringed.

He’ll probably see it as a sort of vacation, Natalie thought to herself.

Elizabeth continued to storm through the house, outdoing even her maids with her unusual energy. However, since she was a full-time businesswoman who was used to the rigors of multitasking and was certainly capable of shooting off to another country entirely in the space of thirty minutes (Elizabeth was working on fifteen), it was only natural. Natalie mused that she could have considered a position in the army.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” a voice demanded from downstairs.

It seemed that everyone in the vicinity froze. Then with dignified air and rigid poise, Elizabeth clacked down the stairs, meeting her son halfway up.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

He regarded her coldly. “I don't think I'm under any obligation to tell you anything.”

“I’m your mother, I have the right to know!” She glanced down to his hand and spotted the keys he clutched tightly. She wrestled it from him. Kristoph glared at her but did not offer an insult or sarcastic remark. He moved on past her, entered his room, and slammed the door closed.

Her voice now about three octaves lower and her knees going weak with relief and frustration, Elizabeth hoarsely said, “You are dismissed.”

The servants swept by her, bowing respectfully before leaving for their quarters, Joseph going out to his little house in the back.

Elizabeth glanced up at Natalie and managed a slight smile. “You may go on and sleep, dear.”

Natalie nodded and turned to her room.

Elizabeth stood there for a few minutes, under the blazing lights of the chandelier that hung over the staircase, she shook her head in fond memory, a thought that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“Just like you, Robert. He may look most like me, but he was, is, and will always be just like you.”

She went to a panel of switches set on the wall beside the entryway to her office and flicked off the switches. One by one, the lights went out as the Skye estate turned in for the night.

Only three windows were left untouched by the darkness, three people who could not sleep, worn down in body and mind, too exhausted to even close their eyes and succumb to the sweetness to sleep, for it was a repose they did not seek.

Their ideas of escape were a little bit more complicated than that.