CHAPTER ONE
Looking around the busy street on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, I double checked the address and walked into the sumptuous lobby of the posh high-rise. I pulled the flyer out of my bag and unfolded it. Reading the bold scrawl racing across the page, I twisted my lips thoughtfully.
Looking for someone to clean out old house.
A few hours a week.
Must be organized and methodical.
Will pay cash.
Admittedly, it was the last sentence that had roped me in. My portion of the rent was due in a week and a half and I was seriously short. Buying my last round of text books had left me practically broke.
The building was off campus and I wondered again who’d pinned the notice to the student bulletin board. The board was mainly utilized by students for posting odd jobs around the university campus, offering tutoring services, or selling used books. I glanced down at my worn jeans and thin T-shirt as people walked by me dressed in designer suits that probably cost more than I made last year.
The doorman announced me and I nervously walked toward the elevator bank. The mirrored doors mocked my non-compliant hair, causing my lips to purse in a frown. Pawing my fingers through my long dark waves, I tried to create order out of chaos. My brown eyes stared back at me, hopeful but anxious. In no time, I was whisked to the top floor and approached a sleek silver door. Straightening my T-shirt and the messenger bag slashing across my chest, I took a deep breath to bolster my courage.
Had I known that I was coming to this luxury building, I wouldn’t have come looking like something the cat reluctantly dragged in. I would have dressed considerably better. But from the phone interview it seemed as though this was going to be a casual meeting. I whispered a quick prayer and took another deep breath. God, I needed this job!
My gaze landed on my well-worn sneakers and ripped jeans, and then I scanned the richly appointed hall with its damask textured wall paper and carpet that felt like quicksand. I was fucked!
The door pulled open and a boy stood in front of me. Well, not a boy really, more like a young man with a very boyish face. With his sun-streaked blonde hair and deep blue eyes, he looked like a fresh preppy face you’d see in a Polo ad. He was shirtless, revealing a slightly muscled torso. My younger sister would be falling all over herself if she saw him. He was just the type she liked. Handsome. Blonde. Rich.
A slow smile pulled his lips as his gaze traveled over my face, then stroked boldly down my body, and back to my face again. After a minute or so, when it appeared that he’d forgotten his manners, I stretched out a hand and introduced myself, looking behind him to find the person who’d be interviewing me.
“Ah… ah, sorry. I’m Charles,” the young man said, pumping my hand and pulling the door open further to allow me to pass.
I smiled politely and stepped in, still feeling a little skeeved from his brazen perusal. The apartment was magnificent. From what I could see, it had high vaulted ceilings and my eyes hurt from the glare of the marble that was ubiquitous. This was an impressive home—if you could ignore the clothes and debris strewn everywhere. It looked as if a hurricane had swirled through the room and spewed shit everywhere. It was a Park Avenue pig sty.
“I hope you found it okay?” Charles said, swooping down to grab a shirt off the floor.
“Yes, no prob.” I watched him pull it over his head and rake a hand through his blonde waves.
I wondered if the doorman had awoken him. From the appearance of the apartment, I’d bet there’d been a wild party recently.
“I’m here for the interview,” I nudged when his gaze dropped and lingered on my breasts.
“Yes. Ah, yes.” He smiled brightly, but stayed rooted in his spot.
“The interview for the cleaning position…” I prodded, getting annoyed now. “I’m meeting with Mr. Whitmore.”
His smile broadened and he squared his shoulders. “I’m Mr. Whitmore.”
I couldn’t stop my brows from jerking up. Seriously?
He laughed, noticing my expression.
“Please, have a seat.” He indicated a couch at the far end of the room where large windows overlooked Central Park.
I had to remove several beer bottles and items of wrinkled clothing in order to clear a spot on the couch for me to sit. He chuckled apologetically, but I had trouble sharing his humor. There was a lace thong hanging off the other end of the sofa that I wasn’t going anywhere near. I just hoped that nothing jumping off of it could reach me.
“Sorry. We had midterms yesterday,” he said by way of explanation, his gaze following mine.
I nodded, noting his pale skin starting to redden. My own midterms were coming up, so I understood the need to celebrate when that monkey finally jumped off your back. Somehow though, my celebrations never involved mysterious couch stains, broken beer bottles, or dirty underwear.
“Jack, my family’s attorney, was who you spoke with over the phone,” he explained, pulling me from my thoughts. “This is just a formality to get my final approval, but you’ve basically got the job. You just have to prove to me that you’re the right person.”
“Prove to you?” I said slowly, my spine tensing at the way he’d intoned the words.
His eyes rounded with sudden embarrassment. His gaze dropped to my breasts, then darted quickly down to his hands. “Uh…I mean, I didn’t mean…”
I watched more red splash across his cheeks. Was he blushing again? I’d thought he was in his early twenties, but now looking at him, I didn’t think he could be more than eighteen or nineteen. He was probably in his second year of undergrad. He seemed a bit too self-assured to be a first year. I was an old hag compared to him. I was twenty-four and busting my ass through my first year of grad school.
Deciding to put him out of his misery, I started relaying my qualifications. Despite his apparent fascination with my breasts, he seemed like a sweet kid.
“I’ve been a Registered Nurse for over two years. As a nurse I have to be very organized with the duties I perform during my shift. I multitask well and am great at prioritizing. I also worked part time at the student library last year when it reopened. I spent a semester helping to organize and archive old books.”
He listened with seemingly rapt interest, smiling broadly. I wondered if he’d heard a word I said. He appeared preoccupied with studying my face. His gaze trekked over my countenance, making a deliberate pit stop at my lips. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore him. I toyed with telling him I’d worked as a CIA operative just to see if he’d been paying attention, and then ditched the idea. I really needed this job. Instead, I tried some light humor.
“I’m somewhat of a neat freak. I clean constantly. It drives my roommate nuts! I have to admit that I’m a lint picker, a crumb brusher, a fur ball finder, a…a…”
“Dirt destroyer?” He supplied with a grin.
“Yes!” I snapped my fingers, grinning back at him. “I’ll have to remember that one. Just give me a cape and a broom, and I’m ready to conquer messes everywhere.”
“Well, say no more. You’ve got the job.”
Although I’d already guessed that I had it, I couldn’t help the spark of happiness that ignited inside me. I looked around at the carnage, trying not to wince. I wondered where I’d even begin. I spotted a partially eaten pizza pie sticking out from under a couch topped with pepperoni and discarded condoms. Eew! I hoped to God he had gloves. Maybe a hazmat suit.
“This place could use a bit of tidying up,” I joked.
“A bit,” he mumbled, looking sheepish. “The cleaning crew will be coming later. Don’t worry. This is not where you’ll be working. It’ll be at the house where I grew up. Not far from here.”
Thank the holy mother of mercies! That’s right. The ad had said ‘someone to clean out old house’. I wondered about that. It must be one of the townhouses in the area. The prestigious neighborhoods around Central Park were lined with them. He’d obviously come from a wealthy family.
“How old are you?” Charles asked abruptly.
The question came out of nowhere, and I turned to see him regarding me curiously.
“Don’t you know that it’s illegal to ask that on a job interview?” I shot back, half teasing. I couldn’t help it. I’d normally not be so glib on an interview, but this was no normal interview. Plus, I was becoming annoyed by his blatant scrutiny.
He tilted his head and his gaze traveled over my face. “I can easily find out from the application you filled out and sent in to Jack.”
“Yes, you could,” I said, standing. I really didn’t wish to discuss anything personal. Hopefully, he’d get the point. “When would you expect me to start?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, but something like a smile flashed in his eyes. “Tomorrow. We can meet there and go over a few things.”
I hadn’t expected to start right away, but figured the sooner I started, the sooner I’d be making money. I nodded and he shuffled through piles of refuse on a nearby table and found a broken pencil. He ripped a piece of cardboard off of a pizza box, scribbled an address and time on it, and then handed it to me. There was still mozzarella cheese stuck to it.
“Very nice meeting you, Mr. Whitmore.” I said, walking toward the door and pulling it open.
“Call me Charles.” He smiled, a touch of shyness shielding his face. He lifted his blonde lashes. “Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”
Out in the hall now, I turned back to face him, irritated that he wasn’t dropping it. “Let’s just say that I was probably already in school while you were still in diapers.”
Challenge swirled in his smiling blue eyes. “They say there’s a lot to be learned from an older woman.”
“I wasn’t aware that this was a teaching position,” I returned seriously. “I don’t teach, or anything else. I clean. Is that clear?”
Another blush, reminding me of why I never dated younger men. His face sobered. “Yes. Clear.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Whitmore.”
It was a beautiful early spring day in the city. A crisp breeze tickled my cheek and rooted under my thin jacket. I stood in front of the tall wrought iron fence that barricaded the stately brownstone and secluded it from pedestrians milling on the sidewalk. I could see the facade from where I stood and it was an impressive structure. Set back from the street, it was beautifully ornate and surrounded by a small patch of green. A refreshing visage in this city of concrete and stone.
My cell phone buzzed and I dug it out of my bag, wondering if it was Mr. Whitmore calling to apologize for being late. It was already forty-five minutes past our designated meeting time. Had I known that I’d have all this idle time on my hands, I would’ve brought my sketch book. I loved to sketch. It relaxed me. Or better yet, I would’ve brought my text books so I could squeeze in some study time.
I saw a text from my sister, Anna, and sighed.
Remember to get a pic for me!!!
I scolded myself again for having told her about Mr. Whitmore. She’d been relentless with questions about him since I told her about my new job.
No way!!!! I added the extra exclamation marks for emphasis. Anna was prolific with this form of punctuation. As in real life, she was outrageously dramatic. She played center stage and the world was her supporting cast. Hopefully she’d get my point.
Pleeeease!!!
No!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Just pretend yr takn a selfie n get him in the backgrnd! I can photoshop you out!
Thanks
Why not? U said he was hot!
I never said ‘HOT’ He’s like 12
I googled him. He’s 19
In man years 19 is 12. If you googled him, you know what he looks like.
He’s hot, but I want a real pic! Just get it!!!!
No.
He’s filthy rich! Single! Family in banking!
So?
Parents died in a car accident!
So?
All alone. Poor thing. Needs comforting!!
I rolled my eyes. From the items I’d seen in his apartment yesterday, it looked as though he already got plenty of comforting.
No.
Pleeeease!!!
Thankfully, my phone started ringing.
Gotta go. I texted, then answered the call.
“Hey, babe,” a deep, lazy voice came through the phone.
I swore softly, guilt immediately washing over me. It was Mark, a guy I’d gone on a few dates with. He’d left me several messages after our third date two nights ago and I hadn’t had a chance to return his calls. I’d been so busy with work and studying that I’d completely forgot them. He’d taken me to a movie and we’d enjoyed each other’s company. Mark was a nice guy, a thirty-year old trader I’d met at a party a few weeks back. I didn’t date much. With work and school, I found I just didn’t have the time, and the men I met on campus barely stirred my interest.
“Well, did you get it?”
“What?”
“The job. You had an interview, right?”
I smiled. It was nice that he’d remembered. “Yes. In fact, I’m starting today.”
“That’s great. Congrats,”
I tucked loose strands of hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten a chance to call you back. It’s been crazy.”
“No worries. You can make it up to me on Friday.”
“Friday?” I questioned, watching a white Bentley pull up to the curb.
“Yes, I’d love to see you again.”
Mr. Whitmore’s head appeared in the window and he waved energetically. A Bentley with a driver? Seriously? My lips quirked. He lived three blocks away. With cross town traffic he could have walked here faster than it would have taken to drive. My grandmother would have beaten the car here.
“Um…”
“Are we on? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I really should study.” I hesitated, distracted as I watched Mr. Whitmore exit the Bentley.
“Can’t I steal you away for just an hour or so?”
“Um…okay. Fine. But I’m working till eight. So it’ll have to be late. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
I hung up quickly and watched as Mr. Whitmore approached. He was dressed in loose faded denims that hung low on his narrow hips and another T-shirt. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just crawled out of bed. Not sexy disheveled. Just sloppy. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses.
“Angie!” he greeted me with a big smile as if I was an old friend. No apology for his tardiness. I forced my tongue to remain silent, reminding myself that he was my boss and that I needed the money.
I smiled back, trying to muster enthusiasm and gave myself the pep talk I’d been reciting since yesterday. I was starting a new job that would really help me make ends meet. The thought of being able to pay my bills and help my family sculpted my tight features into a smile.
“Mr. Whitmore,” I greeted.
He pouted like a two year old. “I must insist that you call me Charles. I feel so old when you call me that. And as you pointed out yesterday, I’m barely out of diapers.”
“Okay, Charles,” I conceded, somehow sensing that it meant a lot to him.
He smiled and I watched him lift up a keypad and dial in a series of numbers.
“This is your key code.” He handed me a piece of paper as the gate slid open like creaky old bones.
I must have looked confused because he continued. “It’s how you’ll get through the fence and into the house. Just dial in those numbers and hit enter. It will ask you one security question.”
I nodded and stuffed the piece of paper in my bag, looking around the small, neat front lawn. I felt as if I’d stepped into a different realm, a place far beyond the bustling city. An unexplained calm settled over me, slowing the pace of my pulse. I followed him down a path that cut through the postage-stamp lawn and up the wide front steps to a massive mahogany door. He indicated a keypad on the side.
“You try.” He nodded in my direction and I pulled out the paper and typed in the code.
A question popped up: How old are you?
I typed in ‘twenty-four’ and rolled my eyes in his direction as he surveyed the screen. His smile broadened, showing straight white teeth.
“Knew I’d get it out of you one way or another. Now the system will be set to that answer.” He chuckled, hit a few more buttons, and pushed the door open.
I laughed lightly, tossing out a sarcastic, “You are too clever.”
“Yes, I am.” He nodded seriously, his gaze an inflexible blue beam. “And I always get what I want.”
An uncomfortable tingle crept down my back. I was about to respond when I stepped into the house and my breath stuck in my lungs. I stood rooted by the door, letting my brain catch up to what my eyes were reporting. What the fuck?
The room was massive, yet there wasn’t an area unencumbered. Stacks of books and furniture piled up to my elbow and strangled the space of the room. There were dusty barrels and crates, furniture piled on top of furniture, ornate vases, sculptures, paintings—you name it, it was in this room. There was likely no room left for the proverbial kitchen sink. I felt as if I’d just stepped into an episode of Hoarders. This house would definitely be a main feature.
“Wow. Just…wow.”
Charles scanned the room and sighed, shaking his head.
“Yeah, it’s a hot mess,” he noted. “It just got worse over time. I haven’t been here in months. I’ve never known where to start, so I’ve done nothing.”
I followed him as he wove us through a tight maze of books, trying not to knock over the haphazard piles. A musky smell invaded my nose as we got further into the room and I trampled a sneeze. I could now see a full wall of floor-to-ceiling old fashioned casement windows. I couldn’t help thinking how gloriously the light would dance in this room if the glass wasn't so filthy. We emerged into an area of wooden crates and Charles turned to me, looking concerned.
“I hope you still want the job.”
I paused for a moment, thought about the rent money that was due, and nodded.
He beamed. “Great! Remember, you can take as much time as you want. A lot of this stuff needs to be thrown out. Anything you think is worthwhile, we can keep.”
I looked around the room again, my gaze alighting on large pieces of art leaning against one wall.
“I don’t mind cleaning things out. I just don’t want to throw away anything that might be valuable.”
“Don’t worry,” He started walking again and I followed. I’ve already had an art dealer take the valuable pieces and a book collector has gone through the tomes. What’s left is mostly junk. You can just organize things. Most of the books are old and have suffered damage. They can be thrown out.”
I looked at a large stack, noting some classics. Moby Dick, Lord of the Flies, Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, and there was even a collection of Robert Frost’s poetry.
“Someone really likes to read.”
“My father,” Charles said sadly. “He used to collect books.”
“Oh,” was all I could say, feeling bad for sparking the memory of his father. I remembered Anna saying in her text that his parents had died in a car accident. It must have been tough losing them. Perhaps that’s why he had a hard time cleaning out the home he’d grown up in. It was unfair of me to have judged him as a spoiled rich kid when I knew so little about him or what he must have endured.
We moved into an adjacent room and it was more of the same. However, in here the walls were in worse condition with large holes eating through the plaster. One area looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it and released some aggression. My nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of mildew. The stuffiness was starting to become oppressive, and I removed my jacket, folding it over my arm.
“Some things are quite large…” Charles’ words trailed off as he turned to me. His gaze traveled over my body, latching on to the objects of his affection. I almost cleared my throat to snap him out of his trance.
I hated when men did that. I knew that I had large breasts, something I’d learned early on had a brain-numbing effect on the opposite sex. Why? I had no idea. Really, they were just masses of fat, glands and ducts. No. Big. Deal. I was tempted to lift my shirt and flash him. The poor kid would probably faint from all of the blood rushing from his head to his dick. But then where would I be? Out of a job and dealing with an unconscious letch.
Where were we? Yes, ‘some things are large…’ That was where his thoughts had derailed into a ditch. I sighed inwardly and decided to clear my throat. His fair skin turned a burnished red as his brain kicked back on.
He looked at me with a sly smile. “They are large and heavy.”
I frowned. Huh? What were we talking about here? “Excuse me?”
“Some of the objects in the room,” he clarified, but I could see a smile drift into his eyes at the juvenile innuendo.
Seriously? Was I going to have to deal with this every time I saw him?
“I can arrange for some help for you to move the large items,” he continued.
I bit back a curse as I followed him through four other large rooms. The kitchen wasn’t as bad as the rest of the house. Although it was filled with junk, it appeared to be a lot cleaner. I noticed a staircase leading to the second floor from the kitchen, and a backdoor that opened to the back of the house. We had just circled back to the main room when Charles checked his watch. It had taken us an hour to just go through a run down of what needed to be done.
“You can make a list of the supplies that you’ll need. Garbage bags, cleaning stuff, whatever. I’ll see that you get them. Just bring the list by to my apartment. You know you’re welcome to come over anytime.”
He ended the last sentence with another smile that made me want to grit my teeth. I had no intentions of going anywhere near his apartment if I didn’t need to. One minute he could be a shy awkward kid, the next, an impudent playboy. I wanted to sit him down and tell him a thing or two about women, but as I said yesterday, I didn’t teach. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told him that.
I’d long ago grown tired of the self absorbed, overly zealous men who could literally get off by humping my leg like a dog in heat. Those were the type of men I met on campus every day. The type that were reduced to blathering, horny fools by the sight of big breasts. Other than having a good time, most of the men I met had no real interest in getting to know me, my thoughts, or my passions. Mark was the first guy in a long time who’d even sparked my interest.
“I’ll drop it off with your doorman tomorrow.” I returned, ignoring his exaggerated pout. “I’d like to take some time today to just get a general idea of what’s here and the scope of the work.”
Charles consulted his Rolex. “I have to run, but take whatever time you need. You may come and go as you like, just keep track of the hours.” His head jerked up as if he just remembered something. “Oh, that door.”
My gaze followed as he pointed to a door to my far right.
That’s the stairs that go up to the second floor. You should never go up there. My father is up there.”
My eyes grew huge and round. Huh? Wasn’t he…dead? I immediately thought of a giant urn with ashes, a mummified corpse, or worse… Rich people did some weird shit.
“Father?”
“Yes. He mostly stays upstairs. He’s very particular.”
Great research, Anna!!!!!!
“You mean that someone lives here?”
Charles nodded, his expression stoic. “Yes. My father lives here,” he repeated slowly as if I was mentally impaired.
I looked around the room that posed a serious fire hazard. I couldn’t believe that someone actually lived in this house. Perhaps the second floor was in better repair, but somehow I doubted it. This place was a disaster area.
“Don’t worry. He won’t bother you. You won’t even know that he’s here,” he said, noticing my frown.
I nodded hesitantly and he seemed to relax.
“Talk soon.” He gave me a Hollywood wink and walked toward the door, leaving me with the frown on my face.
It wasn’t until after he’d left that I realized that he hadn’t gone upstairs to say hello or check on his father. Hadn’t he said it had been months since he’d been here?
I turned in a slow circle, absorbing the room and trying to combat the chaotic energy bouncing into my personal space. It would take me weeks to clean and thoroughly catalogue everything. I’d told Charles that as we’d walked around and he’d said to do the best I could. I worried now about even my best efforts. This would be a challenge. There was an absurd amount of stuff in this room alone. If not for the high domed ceilings, the space would be severely claustrophobic. My head tilted up and my gaze connected with the ceiling. It brushed along a beautiful pastel mural of dancing cherubs that was still in fine condition. The plaster was cracked and peeling in several areas, but I could still discern the delicate lines and the dynamic essence of the painting. This house had been gorgeous at one point.
I spent the next two hours lifting tarps, deconstructing piles and relocating statues and small pieces of furniture. I was simply trying to clear a space where I could work. It was strange knowing that someone else was in the house and I worked as silently as I could.
Strangely enough, despite the clutter that was boxing me in, there was a quiet calmness to the house. Several times I felt a stillness in the air, a suspended moment of tranquility. It made the back of my neck prickle with awareness and my breath quicken. I shrugged it off as me being silly and focused on my tasks.
After a while, the thick plumes of dust started to get to me. When my coughing became persistent, I decided to call it a day. I pulled the heavy mahogany door shut as I left the house. It was early evening by the time I stepped onto the small patch of grass outside the house. The music of the city, familiar notes, filled my ears and lured me away, but something pulled me back and made me stop and turn back to the old house. Something made my gaze travel up to the second floor and I thought I caught sight of a slight rustle of drapery.
The next day I dropped off my supply list with Rudy, the doorman in Charles’ building, declining when he asked if I wanted to take it up to him personally. I had a few hours between classes and thought I’d get some work done. I knew the next few days were going to be tough. I worked three twelve hour shifts a week at the hospital which gave me a great deal of flexibility, but the days I worked could sometimes be grouped together. I’d be working the next three days, plus I also had to fit studying and classes in.
I keyed my security code into the pad and entered the townhouse, noting the thick film of dust hovering in the air and coating the clutter like freshly fallen snow. I’d stirred things up the last time I was here and even the musty odor seemed more pungent. I left the front door wide open to let in fresh air and dilute the smell.
Following the narrow path to the back of the room, I approached the small space I’d cleared yesterday. There was dust everywhere. I was afraid to put my jacket or purse down on the small coffee table I’d ferreted out of the debris. I remembered seeing a sponge and some rags in the kitchen and headed in that direction. At least if I could clean that small area, I’d have a relatively clean place to work, and could start sorting the books into a discard pile.
When I got to the entrance of the kitchen, my palm flew to my mouth as I stifled a gasp. My eyes caught the edges of a large blur, a sudden flash of harried movement. It was quickly followed by the race of heavy steps up the stairs. A door banged shut somewhere in the distance and the echo rang through me like the reverberations of a chapel bell. It took a minute to calm my racing heart and process that someone had been in this room. It must have been Charles’ father. Strange. I frown, staring at the stairs he’d just stampeded up to the second floor.
Why would he run off like that? Why not stay and at least introduce himself?
Certainly Charles must have told him I’d be cleaning out the house. I chewed my lip as I contemplated what had just occurred. Charles had said that his father was particular. Maybe he was a recluse, an old man who just wanted to be left alone. It was strange, though, that he chose to live in this dilapidated place. Images of Charles’ spacious penthouse flashed through my mind. Shrugging, I found the sponge and a bucket under the sink. After filling it with water, I headed back to the main room.
A half hour later, I stepped back and surveyed my progress. The small space was relatively clean, an oasis in a desert of dust. And I was a mess. I looked down at my jeans and tee that were smudged with dirt and splattered with mucky water. I’d have to go home and shower before my next class. I stood quietly for a minute, plotting a time schedule in my head, then bent down to pick up the pail of dirty water. I stopped suddenly, getting that odd prickly feeling on the back of my neck again. I straightened and pivoted, my gaze darting to the tight recesses of the room. My senses were suddenly acute, buzzing with a tingly awareness. I felt like I was being watched, like a forceful intensity was trained on me.
“Hello?” I called, thinking that maybe Charles’ father had come back downstairs. I should introduce myself, let him know that I wouldn’t be a bother. After all, I’d invaded his space, his home as it were. “Hello?”
Nothing.
“Hello?” I called again.
Feeling spooked, I grabbed the bucket and quickly discarded the dirty water in the kitchen sink. I’d done enough today. That uneasy feeling of being exposed wasn’t leaving me and I needed to fill my lungs with fresh air. Perhaps it would help calm my sudden disquiet. I grabbed my jacket and purse and hurried out the front door. Some persistent voice whispered for me to stop on the grass and look up at the windows on the second floor, but I firmly ignored it. My pace quickened as I hustled through the iron gate.