Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I like a nice subtle horror movie so here’s what I want everyone to do… Pay attention to the little details! Was that door open before? Did Marinette leave that light on? Did she put the car keys there? If it’s different from what you think you remember, well… Enjoy a nice freak out!

The gunmetal-grey sky poured torrential rain. The steady pitter-patter on the roof of the car and the balanced whup-whup of the windshield wipers should have been comforting, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s eyes burned from staring at the road for so long. Mental exhaustion and stiff muscles plucked at what was left of her nerves.

The radio station she had been listening to for little more than an hour began to cut in and out with static. She reached down to punch the dial. The radio scanned automatically for a new station, found a country channel first, and Marinette left it there. She put her hand back on the wheel, catching a glimpse of her chipped petal-pink nail polish.

Damn, how long ago had she painted her fingernails? Six weeks? Right before her father had—? A prickling of tears swelled in her throat and burned her eyes. She swiped desperately at her cheeks, willing the tears away. If she started crying now, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop. She turned up the music, but it was a sad song about tears and heaven and watchful eyes. She punched the dial again, harder than necessary, and let out a tiny tremulous breath when it settled into some hard rock that drowned out her thoughts.

The steady downpour drowned out everything else.

Marinette kept her eyes focused on the road, making out the wavy yellow line through the blur of raindrops and the slash of the wipers. The road was bordered on all sides by dense greenery, lush and thick from the rain that had lasted nearly a full two days.

She saw a sign declaring the amount of miles from here to New York City. It was a large number, but not impossible to close. Marinette choked back a little derisive snort. She had wanted to see America for so long and this was how she came to have her dream granted. She would have given it up if it only meant that her father—

She fought the tears again, turning her mind over to the music. She recognized the lead singer’s voice, but not the particular song. She listened, attention divided evenly between it and the treacherously wet road. She guided the car around a tight turn.

Something reared up in front of her, illuminated by the headlights horrifically in the grey rain. The scream of metal against metal filled Marinette’s mind like a bomb, the memories coming over her in a flood that crippled her. She lost all the breath in her lungs.

Marinette slammed on the breaks, snapping her mother against her seatbelt in the passenger seat. Sabine woke with a start, a tiny cry of surprise escaping her lips. A deer stared back at Marinette, sodden from the rain and clearly more frightened of the car than Marinette was of it. It bounded away and vanished into the dark forest.

Marinette sucked in a shuddering breath and uncurled her fingers from the steering wheel one knuckle at a time. Her chest ached, her eyes burned with tears, and her throat closed around the ragged cry that welled in her heart.

Sabine put her hand on Marinette’s arm, her palm warm and soft. “Ma chérie,” she said gently in French. She continued, “Don’t push yourself. I can drive for a while.”

Marinette shook her head and eased her foot off the brake. “I’m fine,” she answered in French.

“Ma chérie,” Sabine murmured. There was a chide in her voice, but it was gentle and sad.

“I’m fine, Mama,” Marinette answered, “really.”

“If you’re certain,” Sabine said softly. She sank back into the passenger seat with a quiet sigh. Gingerly, she put her fingers to the space between her breasts and against her neck where the seatbelt had snapped into her.

Marinette tried not to notice. She tried not to feel the memories of her own seatbelt cutting into her body, tried not to hear the screech of the brakes or recall the stench of burning rubber, tried not to remember the glimpse of her father’s face in the moment before the car crumpled all around them. Breathing shakily, Marinette eased her foot onto the gas. The rain continued to patter on the windshield and roof.

“Are we almost there?” Marinette asked to distract herself.

Sabine took out a sheaf of pages, including many printed directions and a map. Since the directions were in English, she opened the map and found the marked place with her finger. “How long since we got off the interstate?”

“About an hour,” Marinette answered. “You fell asleep right when I took the exit. We’ve been following East River Road since then.”

Sabine tracked the path with her finger, repeating the road’s name to herself. “It appears that we’re very close,” she said. “The house is on Rural Street.”

“Rural,” Marinette repeated and looked at the walls of impenetrable forest on either side of the road. She thought it was apt.

Sabine gazed out the window in silence and Marinette kept her eyes on the road. Her hands shook, but it was easy to hide if she kept her grip on the wheel tight. She spotted a sign quarter of a mile before Rural Road and put on her blinker. Easing into the wet turn, she followed the road and kept her eyes peeled for houses. There weren’t many and most were pushed far enough back from the road that she couldn’t see them through the trees. Marinette bit back the thought that she didn’t feel much like interacting with neighbors anyway.

“Ah, there,” Sabine said and pointed.

Marinette followed the line of her mother’s hand and turned up the gravel driveway, bouncing through ruts and puddles. She pulled to a stop in front of the house and stared up at it in shock. The manor towered over them, glorious even through the rain and with all the weeds overgrowing in its front garden.

“Mama,” Marinette protested. “There’s no way we can afford this. Is this the right address?”

Sabine passed her the papers and let Marinette compare, just in case she had misread the English lettering.

It matched, much to Marinette’s surprise. She scanned the closing paperwork in confusion. Either she sorely misunderstood the transition from French to American currency or this mansion was outrageously cheap. This house was to be their new home. This enormous house that was much too big for two small French-Chinese women but was just the house Marinette’s father had always wanted.

“There must be something wrong with it,” she said without thinking. Her voice came out colder and sharper than she had expected.

“Ma chérie,” Sabine said gently. “The house is beautiful. It’s good luck for us.”

“It’s not,” Marinette continued. Her emotions felt like a heavy boulder that had been tipped down a hill. The house loomed over her, staring down with dark empty windows. Her words snowballed, dragging across the fresh start like a razor. “There’s probably toxic mold or a portal to hell in the basement—”

“Ma chérie!” Sabine put her hand on Marinette’s arm and squeezed carefully.

Marinette sucked in a tremulous breath and let it out slowly, trying to get a grip on herself.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” Sabine murmured.

Marinette nodded. She shut off the car and the silence that followed was crushing. She breathed through the surge of panic as she clicked off her seatbelt, fumbled in the backseat for her umbrella, and climbed out. The fresh air was crisp with rain and smelled of nature. It was nothing like the crowded block in Paris where Marinette had lived previously.

Sabine opened her own umbrella, jingled the keys, and marched up the steps. She unlocked the front door and swung it open. As Sabine disappeared inside, Marinette felt her heart rate increase. She was about to call out to her mother when the light flipped on and Sabine reappeared in the threshold. She smiled and beckoned.

Marinette opened the back door of the car, hefted out her cat’s carrier, and hastened inside with her mother. Everything else in the car could wait, but Marinette hated keeping Tikki cooped up. The house was just as remarkable inside as it was outside, but marked with dust and neglect. For each stunning piece of finery, there was a layer of grime and grit.

“Wow,” Marinette murmured as she gazed up at the cobweb-dusted chandelier.

“Stunning,” Sabine agreed. “Why don’t you pick out your room? The movers will be here tomorrow. Hopefully the rain will stop by then.”

“Hopefully,” Marinette echoed.

The foyer was utterly empty, allowing all her attention to flow over the grand central staircase. The balusters and finials at the top and bottom of the hardwood railing were elaborately carved and stunning, but threaded with dust and cobwebs. There was a wraparound hallway visible from the foyer, giving her a clear view of the closed doors above. Climbing the stairs slowly, she gathered dust against her palm as she swept it along the railing. She found the light switch at the top of the stairs and flipped it on. Wide beautiful French doors sat at the front and rear of the space, opening onto twin balconies and letting in the gloomy light. The side at the top of the stairs had enough space for a small chair and table.

Marinette wandered down one side of the square open hallway. She opened each door onto an empty room and turned on the lights. She found a large bathroom with a garden tub and stall shower along with a deep pedestal sink and a toilet folded into a modest corner. There was no mirror, but the bathroom was still remarkable. The rooms were not as stunning as she expected, but that was probably because they were empty. One room had a bay window with a bench and balcony access that spoke to her immediately, but she continued down the hallway.

She curled her fingers around the knob of the final door and Tikki meowed mournfully in her carrier.

Marinette cooed, “Don’t worry, Tikki. I’ll let you out soon.”

The doorknob turned easily and Marinette made to swing open the door. However, it opened only a few inches before crashing into something on the other side. Marinette put her hip to it and heaved, but the door didn’t budge. Curious, she set down Tikki’s carrier and squeezed through the tiny space. She flipped on the lights and stared in shock at the sight that awaited her.

By its size, bay window, and ensuite bathroom, this was clearly the master bedroom, but it was positively packed with antique furniture, unmarked boxes, and heaps of musty clothes. Everything was piled haphazardly atop each other. A table was upturned on a bed, a dresser leaned against the wall with two feet in the air and clothing spilling from its half-open drawers, paintings were crammed in the space behind it, and a single vase had been set on a stack of boxes.

Marinette would have thought someone was squatting here if not for the dust that coated everything. No one had been in this room in a great while.

“What on earth?” she muttered and picked up the vase. It was a perfectly nice vase and she couldn’t see why anyone would leave it behind when they moved. In fact, she couldn’t see a reason to leave behind any of this. The furniture had to be worth selling at the very least. Marinette put down the vase and squeezed back out of the room.

Tikki meowed at her again and the cat’s voice echoed against the empty hall.

“I know, I know,” Marinette said and hastened down the hallway. She paused at the top of the staircase and peered down into the foyer. “Mama?”

Sabine was nowhere to be seen. Their wet footprints glistened on the tiled floor and the umbrellas had dripped a small puddle.

Marinette clambered down the stairs, kicking up plumes of dust. There were four doors in the foyer—one to the right and left while the final two were on either side of the staircase.

Marinette chose the one at random and found a library with pitifully empty built-in shelves along one wall and a grand piano that was probably too heavy to move. The door beyond hung open, giving a clear view into a living room. The twin doors behind the stairs opened into what she presumed to be a dining room with a wall of glass doors that led into a sunroom and onto a covered patio. Beyond the glass, she could see an empty swimming pool and several dry fountains. Just how rich had the people who owned this house been?

The third and final door led down a hallway. Every door in her path was already open, but she peeked into each room regardless. There was another bathroom, a laundry room, a room she imagined had once been for servants, and a large kitchen. The kitchen had plenty of counter space, an island with a raised bar, a small nook with another bay window where a table could comfortably fit, and a single closed door that Marinette assumed hid a pantry. Her father would have loved this kitchen.

“Mama?” Marinette called again.

She approached the pantry, half-curious and half-searching. She turned the knob, opened the door, and stared into the black abyss in surprise. The narrow staircase wound down into the deep darkness. She patted around and found a light switch, but nothing happened when she flipped it. The basement remained impenetrably dark and musty air wafted up. The longer Marinette stood there, looking down, the more rank the air began to smell.

In her carrier, Tikki yowled.

A hand closed around Marinette’s elbow.

Shrieking, Marinette whirled around.

Sabine looked as surprised as Marinette felt. “Ma chérie?”

Marinette breathed shakily. “You startled me,” she admitted.

Sabine peered into the basement alongside Marinette. She reached for the switch.

“It doesn’t work,” Marinette told her and closed the door. She inhaled, but couldn’t smell the foul stench any longer. It was a basement. Maybe it was full of mold or something. It probably needed to be cleaned, just like the rest of the house. “Where were you?”

Sabine gestured to the damp box on the counter. “I started unpacking the car,” she explained. “Did you decide on a room?”

“I think so,” Marinette said, “but there’s something weird. There’s a ton of furniture in the master bedroom, piled all over the place. It’s a real mess.”

Sabine tilted her head. “Let’s take a look,” she said. “Then you can help me unpack the rest of the car.”

Marinette nodded and led her mother upstairs. She squeezed into the room, shuffled some boxes out of the way, and heaved at the marble coffee table blocking the door. Sabine wriggled into the room, stood in the small clear space beside Marinette, and looked around in surprise.

“You’re right,” Sabine said. “It is strange. It’s like someone put all the furniture in the house in this one room.”

Marinette handed her mother the vase. “Most of this stuff looks nice. Why would they leave it behind?”

Sabine examined the pattern on the vase. It was of a field full of flowers, bright and colorful. “I don’t know, ma chérie,” she said. “Who can say why people do what they do? Who can say why anything happens the way it does?”

What happened to Tom Dupain hung between them, his death a cold heavy weight. It was suffocating.

Marinette backpedaled from the room. “What do we do with all this stuff?”

Sabine put the vase down gently, stepped out of the room, and closed the door. “I don’t know,” she said. “What do you think the custom is in America?”

“I have no idea,” Marinette said.

“We’ll ask the movers tomorrow,” Sabine said.

Marinette didn’t have a better idea so she just nodded.

“Which room did you like the best?” Sabine asked.

Marinette led her down the hallway and opened the door to the bedroom with the window seat. Sabine looked around approvingly. She opened the large closet and then the single door onto the balcony. Rain pattered on the stone, but the breeze was delightful. Marinette breathed deeply.

The sun was beginning to set and Marinette hadn’t realized just how much of the day she spent driving.

“Let’s hurry and unpack the car while it’s still light out,” Sabine said.

Marinette put Tikki’s carrier in her chosen room, shut the door, and followed her mother back downstairs. She opened her umbrella, tucked it over her shoulder and under her chin, and grabbed the first cardboard box from the back seat. She and Sabine made quick work unloading the car. They had packed only the things they couldn’t bear to be without and some things that they needed before the movers would arrive. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that there was a small lake inside the front door from the dripping umbrellas and sodden shoes.

Sabine locked up the car and closed the front door with a sigh. “That’s a relief,” she said and began opening boxes.

Marinette found the box containing Tikki’s litter box, toys, and bed. She wrapped her arms around it and carried it upstairs. The door to her bedroom stood open. Tikki glowered from behind the slates of her carrier and meowed loudly when she spotted Marinette. Marinette set down the box and returned downstairs for her two suitcases.

Sabine followed and chose a room seemingly at random.

“Aren’t you going to take the master bedroom?” Marinette called.

“Maybe,” Sabine answered, “But it’s not as if I can put anything in there now.”

Marinette dumped litter into Tikki’s box and set it up in the corner of her new room. She scattered toys, set Tikki’s bed in the window seat along with a bowl of food and water. Then, she opened the carrier and let her cat out. Tikki was a red Norwegian Forest cat so she was quite large for a housecat but inquisitive and sturdy. Marinette had had her since she was a kitten. In fact, her father had given Tikki to her for her seventh birthday.

“What do you think, Tikki?” Marinette asked as the cat prowled the room, sniffing at the baseboards and windows. Finally, she jumped into the window seat, hunkered down to eat, and ignored everything else. She hated being locked up. Marinette imagined that the long drive had made her cranky.

Marinette made sure to close her bedroom door behind her when she headed back downstairs. Sabine had carried all but one box into the kitchen. A quick peak in the final box revealed their air-mattresses, quilts, and pillows. Marinette left it in the foyer and wandered to the kitchen.

Sabine unpacked the boxes slowly on the island. They contained condiments and foods, a few cooking implements, and—most importantly—Tom’s cookbook. Marinette swallowed the threat of tears and forced herself to look away from it. The largest box was still on the floor, filled to overflowing with cleaning supplies.

“When will the movers be here tomorrow?” Sabine asked.

“Early, I hope,” Marinette told her mother. “I asked them to be here at eight.”

Sabine nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m going to go upstairs,” Marinette said, “and unpack a little.”

“Good, good,” Sabine remarked.

Marinette could see that her mother was slowly losing herself to the memories of her husband. The box containing their photo albums and precious things hadn’t been touched yet, but Marinette knew Sabine would unpack it tonight. She wasn’t ready to see that so she excused herself, picked up the box of sleeping supplies, and climbed the stairs. She gathered her things from the box and carried them down the hall to her room, leaving the rest of the box for her mother.

Arms full, Marinette fumbled to open the door. When it finally swung open, Marinette found Tikki still in the window. However, she was fluffed up to twice her size. She hissed loudly and then growled low in her chest. All the hair along her back stood up and her tail puffed manically.

“Tikki?” Marinette asked. “What’s the matter?”

Tikki snarled, spitting loudly. She jumped down from the window and ran towards the middle of the room like a predator with her eyes on prey. A chill ran down Marinette’s spine, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, almost as though it had passed through her. Tikki stopped and began licking her paw as though nothing had happened.

“Psycho cat,” Marinette muttered and kicked the door closed.

She spread out the air-mattress, plugged the pump into the wall, and watched it inflate slowly. She didn’t have any sheets so she just tossed the blanket and pillows onto it. As soon as she finished, Tikki hopped onto the bed and made herself comfortable. Marinette dropped down beside the cat and petted her long soft fur for a moment.

Then, she got back to her feet and went downstairs for the vacuum. Plugging it into the wall, she began vacuuming all the cobwebs from the corners and the dust from the hardwood. Once she finished her bedroom, she vacuumed the long hallway, the bathroom, her mother’s room, and the remaining empty bedroom. Using the hose from the vacuum, she sucked up all the cobwebs between the balusters. It was a little cathartic to clean some of the grime from the beautiful house. Marinette felt almost like she was cleaning out herself.

She bounced the vacuum down the stairs and set to work on the foyer. However, the wet footprints she and her mother had left and mingled with the dust and turned into a sort of damp smearing muck. Nothing short of a mop would get it up. Marinette rolled into the library and vacuumed each shelf. The piano might have been glossy beneath all its dust, but Marinette couldn’t tell. She vacuumed the living room, admiring the window seat there as well.

It really was a magnificent house.

Now, it was partially clean. It was at least livable and she was sure the movers would track dirt everywhere tomorrow. Marinette tucked the vacuum into a corner out of the way until they could decide on a place for it, trudged back up the stairs, and entered her room. Tikki was still lying on the bed, stretched out as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Her whiskers twitched with dreams. Marinette settled down beside her cat. Then, only then, did she allow herself to break down completely. She buried her face in her knees and cried for all she was worth.

Her father was dead. He was gone forever.

And she missed him. She missed him so much.

Look for updates to this story on Mondays.

Questions, comments, concerns?