Thea: Chapter Two

This is a continuation of James' story. It is from Thea's perspective, and is set in present day. James's note isn't handwritten, but I couldn't get the right font so just imagine it in some fancy script. Thanks!

Thea

Present Day

           

               I stood on the front steps for a long time, staring intently at the engravings on the thick oak door. I slowly lowered my eyes down to the once-shiny brass doorknob. I willed my heartbeat to slow, relaxing my body. I imagined that I was a marionette, and the string that controlled my hand had gone taught. As my own puppet master, I lifted my hand to hover above the oval of brass.

After a moment, I gently dropped my hand onto the cold, smooth metal. Gripping the doorknob firmly, I turned it until I heard a soft click. Bracing myself, I rammed my shoulder into the practically immovable door.

        I stumbled ungracefully into the vast hallway, letting in a shard of the brilliant, warm sunlight from outside. I inhaled the still air, and it felt as if I had been underwater and had just now met the surface. The communal trench coat that all three of us would wear but none would claim hung on the wall, adorned with cobwebs. Fragments of sun were caught by the magnificent chandelier above and were reflected a million times over and cast upon the dark walls. I glanced briefly at the symbolic deep blue vase and the withered orange rose that still rested inside. He would always notice when I put flowers there, but wouldn't mention them. I ran my hand across the left wall in search of the light switch. I could never remember its exact position, only that it was behind a portrait of Queen Victoria.

        I flailed helplessly in the darkness for a while before locating the painting.

        "Hello, Victoria," I whispered to the portrait as I flipped on the lights. I caught the Queen's eye and smiled at her before turning to the vast room before me.

        Not a thing was out of place. It was just as I had left it more than a century ago in 1901, when Queen Victoria died and the Victorian Era ended. The same fat, mushy, velvet couch and matching armchair rested in front of the grand fireplace. The polished floorboards were covered with various Persian rugs, and the walls were adorned with crystal oil lamps. I grinned as I remembered how proud Tim had been when he rigged the oil lamps to ignite at the flip of a switch. It had been unheard of during that time period, but then again, Tim has always been remarkably eccentric. A second chandelier swung gently above it all.

        Everything was covered with dust, years and years of accumulation. I glanced down to look at the letter I had left, should he ever return. It looked out of place among the thick deposit of dust that adorned everything else, as it had about half the accumulation. Curious, I stepped forward and realized that the envelope was torn.

        A great hope rose in my chest, a glowing, warm sensation that spread all throughout my body and tugged at my heartstrings. I felt lighter than air as I bounded forward, snatching up the envelope with a sudden burst of grace.

        I tenderly removed the delicate paper within. My eyes raced over the lines of familiar words. I ran my fingers over the dark splotches and recognized them as my tears. I still agreed with every word, and with this realization I triumphantly beamed at the manuscript as I read.

        When I reached the end, I was surprised by a collection of unfamiliar words. The script, however, was all too familiar. He had written back.

Dear Hopeful,

It is true that all things had an end, but you are forgetting that they also have beginnings. I believe that thievery has a positive argument, if the skill is intelligently utilized and the resulting product spent wisely. I decided you should know that I came back and I remember, should you ever return. I remember you reading by the fire in winter in your orange sweater, reading under that willow tree out back in the summer draped in a bright orange scarf. I remember Tim singing when he thought no one could hear him. But most of all, I remember happiness.

James

Departed Accomplice

           It was astonishing, the number of emotions entwined in such few words. I laughed, I cried, I regretted. As I read the words for what seemed like the hundredth time, I heard a knock on the door.

        Curious, I cautiously crept down the hallway. Another knock, louder and more urgent. I approached the door and peered through the peephole. My eyes met another pair of ice blue ones flecked with molten gold. My heart skipped a beat.

        I threw the door open with all my might and found myself face-to-face with my favorite departed accomplice.

        He hadn't changed. The same crooked nose sat in between two brilliant, glittering eyes. They reminded me of an ocean; sometimes stormy and distant, other times light, shining like waves in sunlight, but always as deep and mysterious of the depths of the sea. An amused smile played about his thin lips, framed by a sharp jawline. Dark, bushy eyebrows shadowed his strikingly blue eyes and matched his ridiculously unruly dark brown hair. It was certainly a magnificent mop of hair, blowing in the warm summer air. If you never saw him in the sun you might have thought it was black, but when the sun looked upon it, it would turn brown as if by some magic.

        I whispered his name as a question that was begging to be answered.

        "James?"