A Hundred Lifetimes

Six

"Is that really necessary?” Mary asked, looking down at the taser I was holding tightly in my hands. We stood at the foot of the stairs to the mansion, and in the glow of the afternoon sunset, it looked a deal more welcoming than it did in the night.

“It’s better to be safe,” I replied, clutching it protectively to my chest. “You can’t blame me.”

Mary rolled her eyes, muttering a, “Whatever, crazy lady,” under her breath as she walked up the steps. I was about to call her out on it, when Clarissa opened a door wide for us.

“Miss Shay,” she breathed in relief as she saw me. “I’m glad you are well. Please, do come up. Master Dorian is waiting inside.” She smiled so sweetly, that I couldn’t believe she was the same old woman who jammed something into Dorian’s mouth just last night. Nevertheless, I obliged.

The main hall was brightly lit by the grand chandelier this time, showcasing the beauty of its old, brick walls and carpeted floors. “I sincerely apologize for our behavior last night, you see—” Clarissa was saying, but she noticed that I had stopped by the door, looking up at something that caught my eye. “Are you okay, miss?” she asked, following my gaze.

I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the painting that hung in the middle—the one that I couldn’t quite make out before—for there was a family portrait of a dignified, middle-aged, wealthy-looking couple. They stood proudly above a man who looked all-too familiar. He sat prim and proper on a velvet couch, not a smile on his beautifully sculpted face. Shivers ran through my spine as I stared into the realistic painting of those two brown eyes—the same ones that had stared me down last night. Even the buzzing of my phone inside my pocket couldn’t snap me out of it.

“Oh, that?” Mary said beside me. “Good-looking fella, no? That’s Mr. D's great-great-grandfather. They look alike, don’t they?”

That made me turn to look at Mary. “Great-great-grandfather?” I asked incredulously, for they looked almost like the same man, except the last time I saw Dorian, his face was paler than the moon unlike this man's complexion, and his hair was shorter and unruly.

Clarissa cleared her throat and glanced from Mary to me. “Yes, that’s right. They were the ones who built the mansion almost 200 years ago. An affluent family at that century, the Dupin Mansion stood larger than any in Cherry Lane. Shall we go now, miss? The tea might get cold,” Clarissa said, a hint of desperation in her voice.

“Sorry, I just,” I smiled sheepishly. “Sure, lead the way.”

Clarissa led us into a room on the left wing, which looked like where they would receive guests in the old days. My goodness, I thought, their living room is the size of my house! When we entered, Dorian sprang up from his seat and hastily walked towards me. “Welcome!” he greeted with his arms open wide.

My eyes widened at the sight of him, and I stepped back in a panic, raising the taser in his direction. He held his hands up and stopped in his tracks, while Clarissa simply stood unbothered beside him. “Okay,” he said with a smile as he looked at my weapon. That really wasn’t the response I was hoping for. “I just wanted to welcome you back.”

My hand slowly lowered as I continued to stare at him. How could I not? He looked completely different from the last time I saw him. In front of me, he stood there looking magnificent in a white linen shirt and fitted gray pants, beaming at me like a child. His face was still quite pale, but it had more of a color now, and his eyes weren’t sunken and tired anymore—in fact, they looked attentive and alive; and what used to be a brown mop on top of his head now looked like it was finally brushed and styled. With the orange light pouring into the large pane windows, it looked like his hair and eyes were glowing. He looked completely different from the deranged man wearing a robe that almost bit me last night. If anything—especially with the charming smile he had on—he seemed more like one of those rich kids that go sailing in their cardigans.

“You can welcome me back while keeping your distance,” I sternly replied, trying to seem as if I wasn’t being swayed by him. Remember, I thought, he’s a freaking weirdo!

“I’m sorry, I got a bit too excited,” Dorian sighed, the longing in his eyes was apparent as he scanned every inch of my face. “I just can’t believe my eyes, is all. Come, let’s have a seat. Clarissa prepared tea and biscuits for us. I do hope you drink tea?” He said, leading us to the couches, where I warily sat away from him.

“Tea is fine,” I muttered. Clarissa poured two cups and walked back towards the door.

“If there is anything else,” she said politely.

“None, thank you, Clarissa. And, thank you, Mary. We will call if we need anything else,” Dorian said. With that, Mary and Clarissa left the room before I could even ask them to stay, but not before I caught Mary giving Dorian a warning look; to which he responded to by waving a hand and smiling.

The two of us finally alone, Dorian crossed his legs and leaned forward to look at me. An expression of wonder on his face, as if he was at a gallery and I was one of the paintings.

“What?” I asked, a bit defensively, even though I had a feeling I knew why he was staring.

“Apologies for staring, I didn’t mean to,” he said, finally tearing his eyes away from me and buying himself with the tea. “I’m just glad that you came, even though with a weapon.” He glanced at the taser I was still holding on my lap.

“I want you to know that Clarissa and Mary have already filled me in with the… undesirable events of last night,” he said, stirring his tea.

Undesirable is one way to put it, I thought.

“Wait a second, do you not remember what happened?” I asked.

He shook his head and took a sip. It was almost annoying how calmly he acted. “I do not, but they said that when Mary was having you over for dinner, I attacked you in the washroom,” he stated, then with an apologetic look, said, “I’m truly sorry for how rudely I behaved. I–I’m not usually like that. It’s just that I… I have an illness, you see, and without my medication, I tend to be—well, you’ve witnessed first hand how I could be.”

“What kind of sickness?”

Dorian hesitated, then looked down at his cup and answered, “It’s something that’s been in the family for generations. My great-great-grandfather had it, and it continued to all the males along the line. It causes me to act irrationally.” He looked up at me with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I could only remember seeing your face. Until now I can’t believe it. You just really look like—”

Knowing where he was going with it, I immediately said with a hard voice, “I’m not her. I’m not this girl called Clara.”

The sound of the name made his eyes widen. “You know her?” he asked excitedly.

“I don’t. You just called me by her name last night,” I answered. Technically, I didn’t really know her, but I wasn’t going to say that my face was an exact replication of hers because I literally shifted into her body. “So, please, get the idea out of your head. I’m not her.”

He was crestfallen, that I even felt a tiny bit guilty for being so harsh with my words. “I know you’re not her. It would be impossible,” he said with a sad smile. I didn’t answer, and after a few seconds, his expression suddenly changed to that of curiosity. “You might find this a bit odd, but have we met before?” he asked. A question that reminded me of that time when I first ran into him in the grocery store. “It’s just that you smelled—I mean, your energy feels familiar.”

“My energy?” I repeated, and he simply nodded. What was he, some sort of mystic?

“You live in Oak Lane, don’t you?”

I didn’t know why I was surprised that he knew it, when he sent Mary to give me a ride.

“That’s very stalker-ish, sir—” I also didn’t know why I called him “sir" but the air around him made him seem older and wiser, despite looking like he was only in his late 20's.

“Please, call me Dorian,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… stalk, but I think I’ve seen you around that street before. Mary also tells me you rent a house there. I know the landlady and she can be quite—”

“No, I don’t think we’ve met,” I quickly interjected. Going on with that conversation was a rabbit hole—especially since the landlady was about to call the police on me. Also, did he just say that he saw me there? I recalled an instance where the jogger called out the name Clara, but, the hoodie, the tall frame… ir couldn’t be, could it? I felt my phone buzz again, but chose to ignore it.

Dorian seemed doubtful at my statement, but he didn’t say anything else about it. He leaned forward once again and uncrossed his legs. “Anyhow,” he said with such seriousness, “I would like to tell you how sorry I am for what happened. There is no excuse, and I hope my sincerity translates well. If there is anything—anything at all—that I can do to make up for it, you can name it. Everything I have is at your disposal.”

With every word he said, the curiosity in me only kept growing. There must be a plausible explanation how a sick man could get from Oak Lane to Cherry Lane with superhuman speed. Mary must’ve driven him, I rationalized.

“Everything?” I repeated thoughtfully, knowing exactly what I wanted from him. Dorian earnestly nodded, so I bluntly said, “I want to take a look at your museum.”

That seemed to surprise him. “Why?” he asked defensively. My pocket vibrated again, and this time, I took my phone out.

“Hold that thought,” I said. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“By all means,” he said, sitting back comfortably in his seat as he attentively watched me. In different circumstances, I would’ve answered the phone in another room, but when I saw who was calling me, I decided to immediately answer.

“Davis!” I hissed at the phone. I quickly glanced at Dorian, and seeing as how he didn’t even bother to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping, I stood up and walked to the farther corner of the room. “What the hell, man? I’ve been calling you but you never answer!”

The click-clacking of the keyboard was audible from the other line. When it stopped, a voice said, “Hello to you, too, Shay. I’m calling now, aren’t I? I assume it’s an emergency.” The little brat. If he weren’t the one who made fake IDs for my last persona, I would’ve kicked him in the butt.

“It is. I need,” with Dorian still looking at me with a small smile on his face, I whispered, “the same thing. I’m about to get kicked out of my house.”

“Is it just me or do you sound different?” Davis Scott asked.

“That’s none of your business,” I snapped. “Can you make them by tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest?”

I heard him scoff. “I’m not some magician you can order around. I need two days.”

“Two days won’t cut it! I’ll double your pay.”

“Triple.”

“Fine, you gold-di—”

“I’m kidding. Even if I wanted to, it would take at least two days, really.”

With that, he hung up. Oh, that computer genius boy is bound to give me a headache, I thought, staring at my phone and wishing I could flick his ear through it. That train of thought quickly disappeared, however, when it finally dawned on me that I had no choice.

“Problem?” Dorian asked, biting down on a biscuit.

I walked back to the couch and answered a dignified, “No.”

“You know, Shay.” He stood up and placed the biscuit down. Walking towards me, he said, “I do hope it’s alright to call you Shay.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, but he continued, “The mansion is big and there’s only me, Clarissa and Mary. You can stay here for as long as you want. I do owe you, after all.”