Page 23 of Possessed By Shadows

I knew that she was a nurse and worked long shifts, but sometimes it was sad to realize that my mom cared so little that the only time I heard from her was when I called. Even then, I felt like my call was putting her out, taking up her time, and I tried not to call very often.

A contrast to Micah’s family with his mother insisting on a video call for the holidays to rave about her gifts. It was an odd feeling like I’d missed something in my life. His dad, though a bit on the stern side, seemed genuinely thrilled with the things we’d sent him, and to see his son doing well. He had even expressed interest in the shop, stating he had watched one of the tutorial videos we had done for promotion. A handful of conversations, and a few minutes of interaction, and I knew Micah’s parents adored him, even if they didn’t always understand him.

We came from very different worlds, Micah and I. Yet fit so well together these days I couldn’t imagine living without him.

I heard Sky’s voice from the other area and prayed she’d found the keys. It was Micah who returned, dangling a set from a simple keyring with a little cloth fob that was from the shop. “Mr. Caine, I can walk you over to Lukas’s house. It’s not far,” he offered.

“I’ll carry your luggage,” I said, getting up and closing the food boxes. It all sat like a stone in my gut anyway. Had he met Micah before? Had my dad ever been to New Orleans? Did he know about Sky? There was a lot I didn’t know. Maybe he was regularly having conversations with Lukas, and didn’t see fit to extend any of that to me. I tried to swallow down my emotions and act like my brother would.

“Have you met Micah?” I asked as I reached for the rolling bag. “My boyfriend, and the shop owner.”

My father eyed Micah, and it was not a friendly look. “Should you be involved with someone where you work?”

Who was he asking? Me or Micah? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter either. I shoved the containers into the work fridge and towed the bag out and through the shop. “Let me get you settled for the night. We’ll work on figuring out where Lukas is tomorrow.”

Sky stood behind the register staring down at the case below and trying to be small. It was strange as she rarely became that small, hiding. Had she met my dad? I raised a brow in question in her direction, but she did not return my gaze.

“Are you okay to close?” Micah asked her, following my dad and me toward the door. He had my messenger bag in hand, which I’d forgotten in all the stress, as well as his own.

“I’m great. Have a good night,” Sky said, her pitch slightly higher than usual.

I lifted the case and carried it down the stairs outside, waiting for them to follow, but feeling a little less odd outside in the open. It was almost like having my dad in the shop had made me claustrophobic. Him in my safe space had been too much, the judgment I could see in his eyes adding stress.

When Micah and my dad finally appeared, I was happy to get moving. “Sorry for the walk,” I said. “My doctor says it’s safer if I don’t drive.”

My father said nothing as we walked through the streets of the Quarter. Having lived in this area of New Orleans for half a year, walking felt normal to me. I knew a lot of cities overseas were walking cities, and mostly we had car culture in the USA. I even knew that my mom drove almost an hour to work every day, one way, which I always thought a bit ludicrous.

The Garden District wasn’t far, sort of southwest from the slightly north to Jackson Square area the shop was located in. Though our place was a bit further than Lukas’s was. I wished I could just go home and make Micah a sandwich, then curl up with him on the couch. It was almost nine, so the sky had gone dark, days slowly getting longer, but the streets were quiet as we headed down Prytania toward Fourth. As we followed the streets in silence, the distance felt long. In reality, I guess it was a few miles.

“Wow!” My dad said. “Look at these houses.”

“The Garden District is known for its architecture,” Micah said. “Lots of pretty houses.” We reached Fourth, the houses a bit smaller, and Lukas’s was further down toward the river. It didn’t have a big gate out front like ours did, instead meeting the street, and supposedly had parking in back, though I’d never looked. As the crow flies, or so it’s said, a diagonal route of four houses and we’d be at our house. However, the houses in-between were huge sprawls with yards and giant fences. Down the street, around the corner, and up a few houses, our place was one of three massive houses on the street that was now made up of smaller loft spaces, individually owned, and part of an HOA. Lukas’s place was not even half the size of the one our place was nestled into.

Two stories, a dingy white in color, and with a giant porch on both floors, it sort of reminded me of some of the houses in Savannah where I’d grown up. I knew it was smaller, only around thirty-five hundred square feet. It was also in bad shape, still having some water damage from Hurricane Katrina. The roof had been replaced, but that’s all I knew about. Standing outside, it looked like just a house. Nothing weird or creepy, old and in need of TLC, but not some portal to hell.

Could I hand my dad the keys and wish him luck? He waited beside me.

“This is it,” I said, waving at the house. “Needs some work.”

“Good thing I’m here then,” my dad said. “Let’s go.” He headed toward the door.

I glanced at Micah who rubbed his arms. Obviously, he still felt the ants. I really hoped Lukas planned to work on the exterior lighting. There were boards on the side windows. Had there been squatters? I headed to the door, dragging my dad’s bag along behind me, and wishing I was anywhere else.

It took three attempts, as the ring had a half-dozen keys on it, to get the door unlocked. I turned the handle and pushed it open, partially expecting something to jump out at me. There were no lights on. Was there power? “Lukas?” I called, wondering if maybe he was in the house somewhere. I stepped inside, lifting the bag and setting it beside the door.

Micah pulled out his phone and flipped on the flashlight. “Did he turn the power on?”

“I have no idea,” I said as we searched the wall for a switch. Found it, and I flicked it on expecting nothing, but the front area we were standing in illuminated from an overhead chandelier.

“Lukas said he already had some electrical and plumbing work done. Replaced windows and the roof,” my father said. “Has to keep it buttoned up tight to keep people from stealing.”

All news to me.

The front room didn’t look like anything special. Like a lot of these older houses, woodwork, and walls was the name of the game. Lots of small rooms, peeling wallpaper, and warped floors. I could tell the water damaged area from the stains on the wall, and the curved flooring, though there were some wide swaths of discoloration on the ceiling, either from the roof leak or an upstairs bathroom. The door to the left seemed to lead to a dining room space, or perhaps a formal sitting room, and the main entry area was small, with a fireplace and a big front window.

I knew from Micah’s long historical explanations that old houses like these had many walls and smaller rooms to help with heating and cooling. The more modern open concept of housing meant higher utility costs in large spaces because they were heating or cooling unused rooms. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed his small studio, even when he could have purchased something larger. But Micah was all about minimizing his carbon footprint. I sort of understood, and knew there was more to it. Since I was happy wherever he was, I didn’t care much about big spaces. Lukas, however, seemed to think bigger was better. I couldn’t imagine him needing a house this big for himself.

It was Micah who ventured further, turning on lights as he found them, even though I could see the tightness in his shoulders as he was feeling something I couldn’t. Maybe with all the lights I wouldn’t see some shadow, ghost, or demon lurking. I certainly didn’t want to, but I followed him slowly, gaze searching every corner for unjustified movement.