The Fallen Parler: Part One (A supernatural mystery thriller) (4 page)

‘I can do this,’ muttered Charlotte. Improvising to the best of her ability, Charlotte plugged her scented candles and juggled furniture about the room. Before long, the droning bedroom had gained some personality; it needed more work but Charlotte was not fazed. Luchia checked in on them every ten minutes and offered to help unpack each time. On each occasion, the housekeeper’s offer was declined.
‘What do you think of … Luchia?’ asked Junior, when the coast was clear.
‘She’s awfully picky, but I suppose she’s alright.’
‘I’ve never heard such a deep voice on a woman!’ sniggered Junior.
‘Junior!’ exclaimed Charlotte, chuckling under her breath.
‘Vat iz it?’ he answered, impersonating Luchia’s thick European accent. Junior’s mimicry of Luchia would not have been as funny if he did not proceed to parody Luchia’s signature posture (crossed arms and tapping heels).
Charlotte chuckled loudly.

‘You sound more like Dracula,’ she snorted, tossing a fluffy pillow at her brother’s face. ‘That’ll shut you up.’
Junior caught the cushion in mid-air. Lately, his reflexes had been
finely tuned. H
e replayed the moment that he’d bolted into the train tracks and saved young Maddie Brown, all in what seemed like less than a second.
Strange.

The next time Luchia appeared at the doorway, she had a frothy edge to her voice. ‘Zere is someone who wants to meet you.’
The housekeeper turned brusquely and motioned the twins toward the hallway; they followed her down the steep wooden stairway. They were going to meet Dr. Willow, the man whom they’d heard little of,
and knew less about. Charlotte could feel her heart bursting forth from her chest each
time the floorboard creaked. Junior, who was rarely ever anxious, had even more unanswered questions.
Would Dr.
Willow like them? Would he care about them at all? What if he just didn’t like the look of them, would he send them packing?
Thoughts ran rampant. Junior found solace in the idea of Dr. Willow disliking them instantly and sending them packing. If that were to happen, Peter and Sonia would be obliged to take them in. The visit to Shorebridge would be nothing more than a mini vacation.
A tall figure barred the doorway. The moonlight stroked his silhouette with such slightness that only a mild shadow was cast into the foyer. He had his back to his guests, and was peering into his beautiful front lawn. The doctor seemed to sense that his guests were approaching him, but left it until they were two small steps away before he turned on his heels. He was a man of large-build. A man who, like Junior, had strong individual features which, when placed alongside each other, appeared unusually gentle. He modelled a pair of round, obsolete spectacles which glossed as the light bounced from them. The doctor sported a fitting russet suit and ornate footwear. For a split second, Dr. Willow appeared to smile at his guests. Very quickly, this affable front ceased; the doctor’s blasé countenance was soon filled with pain. He turned from the twins and gestured Luchia away with two fingers.
In a quiet, airy voice, Dr. Willow murmured, ‘Mister Roterbee, Miss Roterbee…I hope you have made yourselves at home.’
‘Yes we have,’ blurted Charlotte, ‘your home is very beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ said the doctor, evading the young woman’s eyes. Turning to Junior, the doctor muttered, ‘I should count myself lucky to be hosting Shorbridge’s newest male protagonist.’
‘And who would that be?’ replied Junior.
‘You of course,’ chortled Dr. Willow. ‘I received four detailed reports today, of how a local young fella rescued a child from being mowed over by a train. It was not until I ran into Mr. Brown that I discovered the young girl was his little one…and the brave hero was one of my own guests.’
‘Oh that…that was nothing, really,’ shrugged Junior.
‘Really!’ ejaculated Dr. Willow, ‘because
‘that’
is exactly the kind of episode that’ll make you very popular in Shorebridge...very popular indeed.’
It should hardly be fame
. The speed at which news of Junior’s heroic episode had disseminated was enough to confirm that Shorebridge was an extremely close-knit town.

Somehow, Junior hoped he would be able to stay off the radar in Shorebridge, but this was no longer a possibility.
‘How exactly did you do it?’ pestered Dr. Willow, his eyes ablaze with curiosity. ‘The mayor seems to be quite bewildered at how you appeared out of nowhere. If I remember exactly, he said he was positive the train would’ve had her in the next second.’
Junior eyed the doctor tentatively, ‘in all honesty, I can’t remember exactly how it happened,’ he replied.

The doctor’s zeal was fading fast, it was as if he expected Junior to illustrate a more graphic, more spectacular, account than Mr. Brown had given. He glowered back and forth between Junior and Charlotte Roterbee.

‘Your father trusted me with his life,’ announced Dr. Willow, ‘at the very least, he trusted that I could look after the two of you. So if there is anything, anything–at–all, that you wish to tell me?’

The doctor shot Junior a suspicious leer and paused for a response…he was met with none.
‘If that is all,’ said Dr. Willow, finally, ‘up to your rooms, I wish you a good night’s sleep.’
The twins lumbered up the staircase and when they reached the top landing, they heard the doctor shout, ‘I trust Luchia has informed you about your new school…you start tomorrow.’
‘What a peculiar man,’ whispered Charlotte.
It took the Roterbee twins a while to fully recline after their first encounter with Dr. Willow, and once they had, they discussed the unusual doctor for most of the night. The topic of discussion then moved to their new school. The idea of starting a new college was daunting. Charlotte had since established an interesting statute of all collages:
‘All boys and girls must belong to a clique’
.
At
Ridgewood high school, it was highly unlikely to spot a young boy or girl who did not belong to a clique. The plastics, the intelligent ones, the sporty ones, there was even a clique for the ones who didn’t belong to any clique. It was also an established statute that finding one’s niche within a clique was a tough job, and more times than never, new members would not be readily accepted. Knowing this, it was with great apprehension that the Roterbee twins pondered over their new school. Charlotte, being the occupant of the bottom bunk, had already taken ownership of her role as the one responsible for switching lights out at the end of the night. When she did, the room was pitch black and so quiet that one could almost hear a pin drop. The silence came with an intense feeling of loneliness, so every now and then, Junior would extend his hand down from the top bunk to check if his sister was still awake, and she would slap his palm if she was. He did this until he could no longer receive a response. Charlotte was fast asleep. The young man reflected on the events of his day, said his daily prayer and was soon, like his sister, in a deep, deep sleep. By the time midnight fell upon the Willow Lodge, each of its inhabitants was
immersed in sleep, replaying the subconscious recollections of their day. Charlotte tussled within her bed, she was visited by the same dream that she had
dreamed every night since her father’s death.

A dome stadium. Two masked figures, one dressed in white and the other black. She moans and hisses each time a contender is catapulted to the ground. ‘Finish him! Finish him!’ The onlookers shout. Then, she’s forced to the floor by a group of fanatics rising violently from their seats…she sees his face. Just like that, the dream ends at the arrival of daybreak.

‘Clique’

The notion of order within the Willow Lodge was a practice that was set in place prior to the arrival of Charlotte and Junior Roterbee. Dr. Willow was usually up by 6.30 am. By 7, he would’ve showered and dressed, all whilst Luchia fixed him breakfast. On a normal day, he would collect the Shorebridge telegraph from the rusted letterbox and consume his breakfast at the large dining room table, alone. Many times, Luchia felt to join him but had learned, from her countless years of servitude, that her master did not like to be disturbed. So, she would eat her own breakfast at the kitchen table and wait until the doctor was finished. He never took long. On days when he was working, Dr. Willow would pace out of the Willow Lodge by 7.45, and on days off, he would disappear into his study, where he would not be bothered for the rest of the day. If it had not already begun to, the arrival of two new visitors would soon transform the dynamics of the large cottage. This morning, Luchia had already added the task of hanging up two new sets of uniform by the twin’s bunk bed, as well as preparing thrice the amount of breakfast, to her busy schedule. At precisely 7 am, the Roterbee’s were awoken by a pounding alarm clock which Luchia had placed on Charlotte’s dresser. They were less than pleased to see murky brown uniform hanging against their beds.

‘What an awful combo!’ Charlotte moaned, pulling the mustard coloured over-the-knee socks up her long legs. How any school could permit students to sport such unsightly attire, she would never understand. Junior spent most of the morning laughing at his sister moan over her outfit. He, being a boy, did not need to wear the bright yellow socks but simply modelled the chequered brown blazer and matching trousers. By the time they’d groomed themselves and descended down the stairs, breakfast was already cold and Dr. Willow had already quit the lodge.

‘Dr. Willow sez I should wish you a great first day at school,’ said Luchia, handing Charlotte a steaming mug of coffee.

Charlotte sifted the steam gently, ‘what’s the name of the school?’ she asked.

‘St. Andrew’s college.’

‘A Catholic school?’ mumbled Junior, biting into a piece of cold toast.

‘It has links with ze cathedral ... I will show you all of zese places when we walk down,’ said the housekeeper. Grabbing Dr. Willow’s already-read newspaper and scurrying to Junior, Luchia gasped, ‘look, here you are Mizter Junior!’

She passed the paper to Junior and pointed at two greyed out figures. Mr. Brown and Junior were shaking hands.
‘Mayor’s daughter Madison Brown saved by local hero.’

‘Let me see it!’ cried Charlotte, snatching the paper. She pressed it to her nose and studied the article still, ‘check you, Mr. Hero,’ Charlotte teased, tossing her brother a taunting glare.

Strangely embarrassed at Luchia’s and Charlotte’s excitement, Junior sighed, ‘women!’

When Luchia suggested they depart the lodge, Junior was actually pleased to be going to school (as it meant he could escape a house full of hyperactive females).

‘Could I have an umbrella, Luchia?’ asked Charlotte, stepping onto the front porch.

‘Miz Charlotte, zis has been the hottest autumn we’ve had in many years,’ chuckled Luchia. ‘We have not seen rain for ze past two weeks…ze forecast shows zat we are not due rain until next Thursday.’

Charlotte twiddled her brows dubiously. ‘I just have a feeling it’s going to rain,’ she muttered, ‘I’m never wrong.’

‘If you wish,’ said Luchia, tossing Charlotte a polka-dotted brolly.

‘I’ll bet ten pounds,’ challenged Junior, ‘it won’t rain a drop today.’

‘Deal,’ muttered Charlotte.

The walk to St. Andrew’s school took less than ten minutes. From the rising population of youngsters (dressed in tartan blazers) all converging into a narrow black gate, Charlotte could just about tell when they had arrived. The overhead banner read
St. Andrew’s school for boys and girls
. The Roterbee twins had forgotten what a normal school felt like. Ridgewood High was the city’s most renowned private school, reserved for the kin of London’s crème de la crème. St Andrews, however, was a non-exclusive school and it catered to pupils all ages below eighteen. Squeezing through a crowd of hyperactive eleven year olds each morning was not going to be an easy job. With the help of numerous sign boards and arrowheads, Luchia directed the twins to the reception foyer. Here, they were warmly greeted by the deputy head teacher, who was quick to congratulate Junior on his valiant saving of little Maddie Brown. Roberta Quabble was her name, on days when the headmaster was absent she would assume his duties. Meeting and greeting new students was one of these duties. Quabble would explain the school’s health and safety regulations and shortly discuss subjects, before referring new students to their head of year. Today, she conducted these duties in perfect timing. By 8.30, Junior and Charlotte had been educated on all they needed to know about St. Andrew’s college. Afterwards, Mrs. Quabble instructed one of the students on reception duty to escort Charlotte and Allan Junior to the form class 13.4. When they arrived at the classroom, the Roterbee’s were greeted by a group of impassive 17 year olds, who sat, dull and immobile, behind their desks. Junior could tell that half the class were texting away underneath the tattered desks; he could also tell that the female teacher at the front of the class did not have the slightest clue.

‘Allan and Charlotte Roterbee, I’ve been expecting you,’ cawed the mousy woman at the front of the class, ‘come on in, and don’t be shy.’

‘I’m Mrs. Lee,’ she said, in a feathery voice that matched her pixie features. ‘Let’s give a warm welcome to the newest members of our form.’

Mrs. Lee began to clap and the class followed languorously.

‘Before you take your seats, introduce yourselves, tell us something about yourselves.’

‘Err, I’m Charlotte,’ Charlotte began, ‘but you can call me Charley, I prefer Charley and I guess I like...’

The word ‘chemistry’ appeared in Charlotte’s head, but she was certain it’d be social suicide if she professed her love for chemistry on the first day.

‘I like swimming,’ she mumbled.

The class was as indifferent as a group of people could be, so as soon as Charlotte felt herself getting red, she grabbed the first free seat at the front of the classroom.

‘And you, Mr. Roterbee?’

‘I’m Allan Junior,’ mumbled Junior, ‘and I-’

‘You’re the boy from the paper this morning!’ exclaimed Lena Gwen, from the back of the classroom.

‘Um yeah,’ gulped Junior, cursing the Shorebridge telegraph underneath his breath. The young girl’s verbal outpour had now captured the attention of the entire class.