Act III, Thea

Leonie Buhl

by Leonie Buhl

Story

The first few hours after signing the lease contract feel the worst. There is a thrum beneath Thea’s skin, like the blood inside her veins is flooding in the wrong direction, away away and just plain wrong. Her heart gallops up to her throat and the tips of her fingers are cool and tingling. Rain and wind roar against the front doors of the building, despite the overhang that protects it. Thea watches the arms of the clock. Are they moving? Sandy makes a joke about not having to move much inside, is Thea planning on staying the night, and is there actually something to move in?

She figures it’s the nerves from just having agreed to spend money she barely has. Her hands still tremble when Sandy hands her the keys with a warm, “Welcome to your new home.” Home? Thea thinks about the word for the rest of the day as she moves up to her apartment again and twists the key in the lock. To her apartment.

Her head is filled with pictures of what she once knew as home. A set of swings, growing rust on the hinges and cold, lemon iced tea on a veranda overlooking a lake. The sound of insects humming in long grass and the taste of sun on her tongue. She thinks of the old cot, pushed up against the wall closest to the window. In comparison to the old cabin, the apartment is luxurious. A soft bed with even softer pillows. Windows that close upon swinging the latch shut and a lockable door. Thea smiles as she sinks onto the soft mattress, thinking about home.

And aside from the storm, her first few days at the Grande Hawke go uneventful. She makes one grocery run, picking up her backpack from the motel she had stayed at on her way. Her belongings – the meager lot of them – appear lost laid out on the sofa. Sandy was right, when she joked about not having to move much in. In favor of making dinner, Thea looks past the couch and ignores it for the rest of the night.

It becomes a habit, her ignorance. A bliss with a bitter aftertaste. And it comes in the form of a broken faucet. One morning, she holds it in her hand while brushing her teeth. The cold steel digs into her palm, and she sees her eyes grow round in the mirror. There is a metallic, earthy scent in the air as water starts bubbling out of the broken appliance at the sink.

She calls Sandy from the landline on the kitchen wall. Her eyes feel hot and her breath catches in her throat as she explains the situation. “I’m so sorry,” she gasps. “It just broke off and into my hand. I have no idea what I did.”

“Oh dear, don’t worry. I’ll send our expert up to you. Don’t even think about the cost. Remember, I told you we don’t live in the youngest building,” Sandy says, calm and sweet. “You are in good hands with Love. He is our janitor and handyman. Don’t worry.”

As sweet as Sandy’s motherly tone is, Thea still sniffles but thanks her before hanging up. She looks at her backpack. What would happen if she were to be thrown out? Before she can delve deeper into despair, there is a knock at the door.

© Leonie Buhl 2024-05-23

Genres
Suspense & Horror
Moods
Angespannt