The places we go

First ending-

I almost sang with glee at the ridiculously easy escape. Perhaps I had scared the hell out of the poor guy. In his place, I would have screamed my head of, at finding a stranger in my closet.

Pumping my arms and willing my legs to run faster back down the hallway from which I came earlier, I barely passed the first door on my left when I heard his footsteps thundering behind me. Shockingly cool fingers closed sharply against my wrist, and I squeaked in surprise as I wrenched my arm and jabbed my elbows back, hitting him somewhere. Not that I looked back at the possible damage. Either I’d escape, or I wouldn’t, and there was no point in losing precious seconds in checking whether he had stumbled and lost ground.

I careened down the stairs, three at a time, the speed dizzying, leaving me breathless. It was while jumping from one step too many on the second landing that I twisted my ankle. It stretched my ligaments and sent a sharp flare of fiery pain up my leg. Tears seeped from the corner of my eyes and for a second, I was blinded. But I obviously couldn’t just stop and assess the damage, with the guy breathing down my neck. So I just kept going, crossing my fingers that my ankle wouldn’t give out.

I didn’t know where the outside door was, and I was running blindly through the halls. Again. There were doors everywhere and it was starting to annoy me. Who the hell had designed this place? Nobody whom I liked, apparently, because after rounding another corner, I ran into a dead end hallway. I was peeved. They should have posted road signs and street names at all intersections because this wasn't a house, it was a labyrinth. And having nowhere else to go, I popped into the last room on the right.

It was a dining room –don’t ask me what a dining room was doing here, so far away from any visible kitchen- or maybe a meeting room. It had a dark, wood table, long enough to sit a dozen people per side, at regal, tall-backed chairs. As I flew along its side, my steps were muffled by the thick carpet, and a small corner of my mind seemed calm enough to notice the darker feel of this room. There were no other furniture, but everything seemed massive, heavy and dark, in a strange contrast to the first sitting room I had stumbled into it seemed a life time ago. But I didn’t have time to wonder at the change in decoration. As I rounded the end of the table, I got a chance to look back, and I wasn't comforted by what I saw. The guy, my stalker –I really needed a better name for him, as my original assumptions about this whole event had long ago flown out the window- was standing by the doorway to the room. The only doorway. And he didn’t look pleased in the least. His chest was heaving from the run, but he was not as nearly winded as me. I could barely stand, gripping the back of one of the chairs until my knuckles turned white. And he was glaring at me. Again. I could see the green of his eyes all the way from here, and my heart didn’t want to slow down. I was in a pickle, stuck in this room with no way out. And by the way “the guy” was glaring –and smirking, damn him- at me, the same thoughts were running through his mind. It wasn't comforting. But instead of advancing on me and finally ending this idiocy, he crossed his arms and just stood there. Well, at least, he was giving me time to calm down and recuperate. How nice of him. Right. I doubt he would stand aside and let me pass without saying a word, even if I asked nicely.

There was no point in moving up either side of the table, since he was standing at the front of it, right by the door, and blocking the exit out of the room. So I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him as well. That was fine with me, I could stand there forever. I had all the time in the world. Well, kind of. I didn’t know what he would do next, but it still surprised me when he spoke for the first time, his voice low and deep, tinged with annoyance –well, I was annoyed too pal-.

“Who are you?” the words were barely inflected to make it a question. And although I knew he had every right to ask the imposter –aka: me- who he was, I still didn’t really want to give that info away, for obvious reasons. But as I stood there in silence, debating what to answer, his scowl only deepened.

“Anais”

“What are you doing here, Anais.” I wasn't sure I liked the way he inflected my name, mostly because I couldn’t pinpoint whether he was mocking me, or rolling it around his tongue to get a feel for it. Wow, ok, now that I’ve actually put that into words, it sounds very creepy. But there was no point in lying. Not that I could make a believable alternate story in a second; that had never been my strong point. So I told him that I had just wanted to take a peak at the outside of the house. Intermixed with the short explanation, I felt compelled to resort to excuses: everybody says it’s abandoned. Nobody ever comes here. You scared the hell out of me. I got lost in the house and didn’t know how to get out…

By the end, I had managed to bring myself back into a state of panic while the “guy”, on the contrary, had relaxed, to lean calmly against the doorframe. After some more staring with his strange gaze, he once again broke the silence.

“I’ll lead you out.”

“Nuh uh.” I shook my head. I wasn't prepared to trust him yet, no matter his apparent lack of ulterior motives. From what I had seen so far, I didn’t know what to think of him, really. Of him, and of this –his?- house. But he was not in the least concerned with my negativity. He just had the gall to smirk at me.

“So how do you plan to find your way out?” well, if he put it that way, of course it sounded like a very attractive invitation. But… there was always a “but.” Something seemed to change in his expression then. He relaxed his arms to his sides, and his eyes softened to an eerie light sea-green, losing the insufferable twinkle of his grin.

“Listen, I’ll just walk out of here, and you will follow me, at whatever distance you deem respectable, as long as you don’t lose me from sight. Is that fine?”

No, it wasn't fine. Why was he being so nice suddenly? And why the hell did it take that moment for him to smile, and for me to notice that he had not bothered to put his shirt back on –or get a new one. Silly me. He had been too busy chasing after me. Well….not in the way that it sounds. Anyway, he had been standing in front of me for the past ten minutes and my brain had not picked up on that detail. That thought was as disturbing as the fact that I would have liked to have had those extra ten minutes to look. My brain must have had a short circuited neuronal connection.

While I was busy talking to myself, he just turned around and walked out, showing me his back in the process. Well, what’s so great about his back, you ask? A large tattoo swirling across his shoulder blades, is what. I had the sudden urge to trace it with my fingers. And then, my mind of course came up with a few other places through which I could be running my fingers. Damn it, what was happening to me? I was lusting after my stalker. And that, ladies and gents was beyond creepy. No matter that he was wonderful to look at, no matter that he had turned into a gentleman, and no matter that he wasn't really my stalker. What did matter, though, was that he had already left, and that my feet were still stuck to the carpet.

When I finally ran out, I found him halfway down the corridor, his arms crossed again, waiting for me to come to my senses and catch up with him. And so I did.

Now that I wasn't running around like a headless chicken, I tried to sight see as much as possible. This was, after all, my last chance to get a glimpse of this house that I had always wanted to investigate, although I wasn’t courageous enough to ask my “guide” even to slow down so I could get a better look. So I looked at what I could, in passing.

All the doorways were open and most rooms still held that light and breezy theme, despite my encounter with the dark dining-meeting room. I wondered whether its purpose had perhaps been to intimidate possible business partners. The hallways too were painted white, with white molding running along the ceiling and floor, in patterns much like the ones outside on the façade. I almost backtracked and ducked into the library as we passed it by along a first floor corridor. It too had those big door-windows that let the sunshine stream in onto a pair of comfy arm chairs, draped with fluffy white throws. Despite myself, I heaved a satisfied sigh, just thinking about plopping onto one of them with a good book. It was not right for the big house to be so empty and so lifeless. It just didn’t feel … right. But all I could do was trot behind me guide. Hey, at least I now had a new name for him! I'm sure he would appreciate the upgrade; not that I would tell him about it. I didn’t actually dare tell or ask him anything even though I had thousands of questions. Debating with myself whether to ask them or not wasn't such a great idea because by the time I came to a conclusion, we had reached the door. And for once, I didn’t really want to find it. Damn, we stopped too soon. I still wanted to see so much, and to spend some time here. I didn’t know what the hell was attracting me here, and tugging at me to stay. I greatly enjoyed the open spaces and the light, but I did not think it a good enough pretense, even to myself, to stay even for a little while longer. Perhaps I had hit my head somewhere and wasn't aware that I was lying on the floor somewhere, hallucinating. But then, he fiddled with the door, unlocked the deadbolts, and finally stepped outside.

I was surprised that not too much time had past while I had been sneaking around. The sun was still high overhead, and the wind was still non-existent. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, emerging from her hole, except that my reluctant guide wasn't a fluffy white rabbit, but a handsome young man. Not that it really mattered what he looked like. I would be out of here in five minutes top, and I’d never see him, or his house, ever again. My host didn’t seem to think it sad in any way though.

With a sharp turn on his heel and a crunch of gravel, he turned around and pointed toward the receding driveway with a cool, polite “here you go.” Ever the gentleman. He almost reminded me of a butler, and I was half of a mind to ask him if that was what he really was. But I snapped my mouth shut and nodded my thanks, adding a soft “I’m sorry for…” Well, I wasn't really sure how to end this, so I just waved my hand back at the house and repeated a “sorry.” All he did was nod, with that strange look in his eyes, and say “don’t worry about it.”

The walk down the path toward the main road was very anticlimactic. Nobody else accosted me on the way out and I had not turned around to check whether the guy was still standing in front of the house when I rounded a bend, despite how much I longed to do so. But I figured that it was best not to know and to try to forget this day ever happened. Perhaps in time, I would come to think of it as a strange dream that had happened one night. Perhaps I would then forget the emptiness under my ribcage and a pair of striking green eyes. Perhaps one day, I would smile in reminiscence at the silliness of my own imagination.

And starting from tomorrow, I would definitely take a little detour on my way to class. Just like everybody else.

-END of first version-