The Impenetrable House

The house was large, made of stone, and impenetrable. Cameras were installed along the perimeter. No one could come, and no one could leave, without getting their image trapped in a recording.

Unless, of course, someone came prepared.

I checked my watch. My rental car had been parked for a full minute. I didn’t want to linger here too long and raise any suspicions. The housekeeper worked every day, but the landscaper came and went based on a schedule outside of manmade time.

I took my hands off the steering wheel and itched the edge of my platinum blonde wig, near my temple. I didn’t stop until it felt like my skin would bleed. I didn’t want droplets of blood staining the platinum blonde hair. I had selected this color specifically for Dan Salem. I assumed he preferred blondes after he had left my mother for one.

“Breathe,” I reminded myself. I leaned back into the driver’s seat with a huff. I couldn’t wait to rip this wig off and carry on with my day. My life.

I slung my empty, oversized work bag over my shoulder. It was large enough to fit a lifetime’s worth of work. I emerged from the car with slow, careful movements. The dark skies had cleared into sunshine, but the paved driveway was still slick from morning rain.

One wrong move, and someone would get injured on this pavement, I thought.

When I reached the front door, I extended my arm. Before I could knock, the housekeeper cracked it open. According to my research, she had been hired a few months ago. The last housekeeper had been caught selling secrets about the house.

Guess I wasn’t the only one keeping an eye on Dan Salem.

“You must be Claire,” the housekeeper said through the crack.

“I’m not late, am I?” I blurted.

The door opened wider. The housekeeper gestured for me to come inside.

“Not at all,” she said. An even smile spread across her face, which was punctuated with moles of every shape and size. She spread her hands along her unwrinkled, beige uniform. “Come with me.”

I did as instructed. I followed the woman down a long hallway with arched ceilings. My eyes scanned the walls as we walked. I searched for a framed photograph, a color, anything that could resemble my mother. Empty white walls stared back at me, mocking me.

Not easily, at least.

“My name is Rose, by the way. I’m Mr. Salem’s housekeeper.”

I nodded.

“Mr. Salem is gone for the week, so he asked me to conduct the interview.”

“Nice to see you,” I said.

When we reached a large sitting room, Rose lowered herself onto a stiff-looking armchair and motioned for me to follow suit.

This room was just as empty as the hallway. The only hint of a personality rested on the mantel of the stone fireplace. It was a line of books. All twenty of them, with their spines colored in various shades of blue.

So, there’s my mother, I thought.

My mother’s mind had created those books, but Dan Salem’s name claimed each one. He had stolen her diaries before he had left her, and claimed her ideas as his own.

I fantasized about taking each book off the shelf. I’d peel the spine from its pages with pleasure. Flames of red would devour the printed word until nothing was left of those books except their truth and their ash. Those ashes would join my mother’s grave. It was where they belonged.

But I wasn’t here for him and his books. I was here for my mother and her diaries.

Dan Salem is dangerous, Claire, she had once warned me, after I had mentioned the idea of stealing her diaries back. He’s already convinced the world I’m jealous of his work. So, let them think I’m jealous and Dan Salem is genius. In a way, it’s true, isn’t it? Just not in the way the world sees. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my days fighting, Claire. I want to rest.

“Impressive house, isn’t it?”

I snapped my head toward Rose.

“I wouldn’t say impressive,” I said. “If I can be honest, I’m more surprised than impressed.”

“Surprised?”

“For someone who writes such imaginative stories, Dan’s house feels empty, no?”

Rose swallowed. “Well, lately there’s been some … disturbances.

“Disturbances?” I said, feeling my spine straighten. I tilted my head at Rose. “What kind of disturbances?”

Rose let out a breathless, shaky laugh. “Mr. Salem feels like he’s being watched.”

My nails scratched at the pounding in my temples. This was not part of the script. Was this a warning?

“Are you still interested in the job?”

My mother’s wish replayed in my head like a haunting: I don’t want to spend the rest of my days fighting, Claire. I want to rest.

My nails continued scratching. I needed to get this wig off.

I’m sorry, Mom, my mind responded, I can't rest yet.

I looked at Rose, who was still waiting for a response. “Of course I’m interested in the job,” I said. “As long as it’s, you know, still safe.”

Rose nodded with a smile that appeared too wide for her face. “Before we begin, is there anything you need? Water? Bathroom?”

With every second that passed, I felt my spine transform into an iron rod. At least the tension forced me to remain upright. I stared at Rose, waiting for the cue. She tilted her chin in the slightest nod.

“I do have to go to the bathroom, actually. Where can I find it?”

“The guest bathroom has been acting strange all week, so you’ll have to use the one in Mr. Salem’s office. Follow me.”

I followed Rose further down the arched hallway. I swore the sound of my heartbeat echoed off the house’s bare walls. Still, I put one foot in front of the other, even as the hallway expanded with every step. I clutched my work bag closer to my body.

Finally, Rose pulled a silver key from her pocket. She placed the key in the lock, turned her wrist with one flick, and before I could think twice, I was inside Dan Salem’s office.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room was decorated. Framed movie posters and news headlines hung on the walls.

“Dan Salem’s Literary Empire: Meet the man behind the #1 bestsellers” one headline read.

“Dan Salem Takes on Hollywood!” read another.

I forced my eyes away from the words, afraid the contents in my stomach were going to release all over the hardwood floor.

“The bathroom is right through that door,” Rose said.

Her fingers pointed ahead, but my gaze continued to study the room. The walls consisted of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Plain leatherbound books decorated each shelf. They were the kind of books that appeared larger than they were by keeping their spines thick and contents hidden.

I continued scanning the room, looking for a bin, a key, anything besides framed accomplishments and unread books, but there was nothing. Even the large wooden desk that cut through the middle of the room appeared bare, with nothing but a closed laptop and a shut-off lamp decorating its surface.

I turned to Rose. “Are you sure the bathroom’s here?”

This time, I looked where Rose pointed. There was a door, sure, but there was also a group of books that appeared unlike the rest. Their spines were burgundy, and thicker than the books surrounding them.

“Thank you,” I said, stifling a smile.

Before Rose could leave the room, I gently touched her arm. “Am I the only one who’s been in here?”

“There’s a good handful of people we’ve been interviewing.”

Rose turned on her heels to leave, but something stopped her. “By the way,” she said, and the tone of her voice grew quieter, yet firm. “I left extra toiletries in the bottom drawer of the vanity. There’s six drawers in there, but the toiletries are on the bottom, left side.”

The room narrowed. Once Rose disappeared from view, I beelined toward the section of burgundy-colored books.

Six. Bottom left. I repeated the instructions in my head.

My knees sunk into the hardwood. My eyes devoured each spine until I saw volume six. I pulled the book. I expected to see the pages ripped out and one of my mother’s stolen diaries taking their place, but the book was heavy and intact. I fanned through the pages and searched for signs of my mother’s ideas, handwriting, anything, but there was nothing. I pulled the next burgundy-colored book.

It was just as heavy. I flipped to page six. Would I find an underlined word? A left behind letter? There had to be some kind of clue in these books.

With every volume I flipped through, nothing but pages of text glared back at me. They witnessed my frustration, my failure. I was about to scream Rose’s name. We had made a deal.

I stood, ready to rip through the walls, the floors, every nook and cranny of this room.

Six. Bottom left, Rose’s instructions repeated in my head.

I pushed the bathroom door open. I counted the sixth drawer down, on the bottom left. When I flung open the drawer, a folded piece of crisp white paper greeted me. I tilted my head at the object, before I picked it up with my fingertips and carefully unfolded the message.

Take the trunk, the paper instructed in neat black handwriting.

“Trunk?” I whispered out loud. I glanced from the paper to the office, and back to the paper again. The instructions didn’t change. I refolded the piece of paper and placed it into the front pocket of my jeans.

Sure enough, when I returned to Dan Salem’s office, my eyes found the trunk. It was tucked in the corner of the room, near the section of burgundy-colored books. My hands seized upon the brass lock, but of course, it was locked.

“Damn it!” I cried. Why would Rose leave instructions for this trunk but no key? Then again, why would Dan Salem leave something like that lying around?

I scoured the room for a key, a weapon, anything that might unlock or break the trunk open, but there was nothing. There was no way around the instructions on the piece of paper. I’d have to take the entire trunk and break it open later. I grabbed the side handles and lifted. It was heavy, but not impossible.

I peeked through the office door. The house was large and empty, the same as it was when I had entered, but something felt different. I had the unexplainable, yet undeniable feeling that someone was watching me. It was the same feeling Dan Salem had apparently complained about. With widened eyes and shallow breath, I looked through the crack of the door, but the long, arched hallway guarded the house’s secrets.

Cameras only monitor the outside, I reminded myself. Rose had sworn there were no cameras in the house. The thought didn’t stop the tension that paralyzed my spine. I set the trunk to rest on the floor for a moment. I adjusted my work bag’s strap, making sure it remained close to my body.

I looked behind me, half-expecting someone to be in the doorway of the bathroom. There was no one. I looked ahead. All clear.

You’re so close, Claire, my mind encouraged me. Once I made it to my car, I’d be free.

I looked down the long hallway. Knuckles white, I carried the trunk beneath the arches, past the living room. My hands were sweaty. I gripped the brass handles tighter. My urgent footsteps reverberated down the hallway. I wanted their manic melody to seep into the walls and remind Dan Salem of the moment his interiors had met me.

It can’t be, was all I could think as I saw the front door get closer and closer. After years of yearning, plotting, and praying, I couldn’t believe how easy it was to take my mother's diaries.

The moment I stepped into the bright sunshine, I realized why.

“Hands in the air!” A police officer commanded. A handful of other officers began to swarm. Weapons pointed at me. The trunk was still clutched in my hands, guarding my chest.

“Claire Voss, put your hands in the air. You are under arrest.”

“I was set up!” I shrieked. I grasped the trunk until my fingertips turned white, but the officers were stronger. My world grew blurry as I watched the object that carried my mother’s history, written by her mind, her heart, her hands, pried from my body. Before I could process it, I felt cold handcuffs slapped across my wrists.

“We have the suspect,” someone said into a walkie talkie.

“You can’t arrest me! I didn’t do anything!”

“You are being arrested on the following charges: stalking, breaking and entering, theft.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” another police officer said.

The officer continued listing my rights, but my body was violently shaking. I had been poisoned, just like my mother was. Not bodily poison. A psychological one. Before I could stop myself, I was hunched over, releasing myself onto the pavement below in a mixture of vomit and sweat.

When I lifted my head, my eyes landed on Rose. She was cowering behind one of the police officers. Her moles danced across her face in a distorted look of concern.

“You set me up!”

The sunlight was blinding. Birds flew from their branches. I heard my sobs echo across the vast, dead lawn.

I jabbed a finger in Rose’s direction. “She’s the one who let me inside! How can I be charged with breaking and entering if I was allowed inside?”

The wrinkles on Rose’s face deepened. Her head shook violently back and forth. “No, that’s not what happened. I heard a knock on the door. I opened it a crack,” she explained. She switched her gaze to the officers. Her eyes welled with fake tears. “This woman pushed it open and let herself in. She said she was here for a job interview and needed to use the bathroom. I was scared. I told her Dan Salem was on vacation, hoping she’d leave, but she didn’t.”

“You’re lying!”

“She wears different wigs. Last time it was blonde, today it's red, but I recognized her tattoo from the other times. It's the one on her left forearm, see? It's a crow, I believe."

I tried to yank my arm free, but the officers were now inspecting my left arm like a petri dish.

"So, I brought her to the bathroom, and then I called you guys.”

“She’s lying!" I yelled, and remembered the piece of paper in my pocket. "I have evidence! There's a note from her in my pocket. She's the one who told me to take the trunk. Go on, check! Front pocket, left side."

One officer patted me down, before reaching his hand into my jean pocket. His hand returned empty.

"Well, check the other side," I commanded, even though my teeth started chattering.

He repeated the procedure, but again, his hand was empty.

"No note."

"No, no that can't be. It must of fell out of my pocket! I promise you, I'm being set up. That woman knows the truth about Dan Salem. She promised she’d help me, and now she’s probably paid off or something! Maybe you're all being paid off!”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t know you.”

The officers started chuckling just as their grip tightened on my arms. They needed to make sure I couldn’t reach the traitor.

"Let me check my pockets myself!"

The officer shook his head. "We're not letting you do that. We need to take you to the station."

“Dan Salem stole from my mother!"

The officers were silent. My voice seized upon the opportunity.

“He stole her life work and published it under his own name! Did Rose tell you that? Huh?” I said. “That trunk contains my mother’s diaries! Please. Please, just open it.”

The officers exchanged looks with one another. A hidden language only they understood.

“This trunk belongs to Dan Salem,” one of the officers said. “We’re not allowed to open it without his permission. Or a search warrant.”

“Of course,” I said. My teeth clenched together. I was afraid of what I might say if I allowed myself to speak.

“We need to take you to the station now,” another officer said.

I opened my mouth, but there were officers on either side of me, guiding me into the backseat of their car.

Rose had already turned her back to me. So, I focused on the house. The large, impenetrable house.

I had found my way inside once. I would find my way again. I thought of my mother, and let a thought slip from my mind. The words were so quiet, only I could hear them. "I rest with vengeance."