Attempted Pyrokinetic Murder

Okay, so the title is obviously a work in progress. Who else knows what will happen.

Incidentally, the story starts here.

It continues below, or above, depending on whether or not you know where to click.



James was a simple creature, and he liked life best when it was sunny and uncomplicated. He'd never admit it to his mates, but he'd always imagined that his first real gander at love would've been...simple: an exchange of smiles across a room at party; a long, surprisingly engaging conversation. They'd exchange phone numbers, and then there'd be dates and long phone calls, and one day there'd be no more dates, there'd be living in each other's lives. After that, the only answer would be marriage...or moving on.

James hadn't expected the object of his affection to be co-opted by his co-star. Everyone on set loved Riley, so maybe James shouldn't have been surprised that Asia fell in with the rest, but people loved Riley because he was adorably shy and polite, and Asia the super stunt-girl should hardly have been attracted to such...puppyish sweetness.

During sword training Asia was polite and helpful, encouraging even, and James had to summon all his acting skills so as not to blush whenever Asia curled her hand around his to correct his grip. It took every ounce of his will not to lean close and breathe in the scent of her whenever she put a hand on his hip to correct his posture. Outside of the training shed, Asia's acknowledgment of him was perfunctory at best. She always seemed too busy to do more than nod and make brief eye-contact before hurrying on to do whatever it was that anyone needed her to do. Because, of course, she wasn't just the stunt coordinator - she also handled armor and weapons and a host of other things that required her to hover around James almost as much as his AD without ever really acknowledging him.

It was only a month into shooting, and James was convinced that someone higher up the ladder was conspiring with the fates to taunt him with Asia's presence as much as possible so as to drive him insane - or maybe just test his acting mettle. Lunch was his only reprieve. He could slump alone in a corner of the catering tent and eat slowly, pretend that he wasn't scanning the face of ever passer-by and hoping it was hers.

Until the day when it was hers and she was laughing, face alight with joy, and goodness gracious she was beautiful in an uncanny, unexpected way - and she was laughing at something Riley had said.

James's chest tightened. He watched, gaze hawk-like, as Asia and Riley drifted through the catering line together, got matching salads and drinks, chattering all the while. They sat down at the other end of the table. Fiona amd Serena, who were usually thick as thieves with Riley, didn't join him. They sat with James instead. That was a bad sign. A horrible sign. A boy and a girl only got deliberately left alone like that when their friends were hoping they'd hit it off or something equally rom-com horrid.

Serena glanced down at the happily chatting couple. "I'm surprised you're not with them, Fi."

Fiona shrugged. "Unlike Riley, my Irish is terrible. I'd never keep up."

"What Irish?" James asked distractedly, watching how Asia and Riley spoke, heads bent close.

"Asia speaks Irish, so Riley's getting his daily dose of home during lunch," Serena explained.

"Oh." James swallowed and focused his attention more closely on his lunch companions. "I thought Asia was American."

Serena snickered softly; Bradley rolled his eyes.

"Apparently one of her adopted brothers is from Northern Ireland, so she speaks Irish," Fiona said. "She's terribly fascinating."

James agreed, though for entirely different reasons than Serena might.

"She's quite fun to talk to when she's not bossing the stunt boys around," Serena said. "You should talk to her sometime. I think you'd like her."

James would've given he wasn't sure what - something extreme, definitely - if she's say something to him beyond Guard up!

"What makes you think I don't like her?" he asked.

Fiona made an indelicate sound rather like a snort, but she was too pretty to snort. "You barely speak to her, you hardly look at her, and when you do, you seem to be putting every effort into pyrokinetically murdering her."

Haunted

The house was old and I loved it from the first moment I saw it. It was of Victorian design, and all three stories of it leaned slightly to the south, like an old man huddled over a fire on a cold day. Janine Harold had called it 'the blue house', but what little you could see of the paint beneath the ivy was peeling and had long since faded to grey. Dusty, moth eaten curtains hung wearily in the large windows, and combined with the overgrown hedges skirting the fence and the large oak tree that obscured most the house from the street, it gave the house a feeling of impenetrable solitude.
The little iron gate squeaked as I pushed it open, a sound somewhere between heartache and a slow smile. Silence hung low in the yard, swirling idly about the empty bottles, balls and broken things that it had collected over the years from opprobrious neighbors. It was like stepping out of reality into the realm of forgotten and overlooked treasures, and I felt neither wanted nor unwelcome- I was just another lost thing that had found my way to the place where all lost things go.

I heard Janine's car purr to a stop just beyond the hedge. I sighed, and tried to look at the house as I thought she might. I couldn't get far enough out of my head. I turned to watch her pick her way across the yard in her heels, jamming my hands into my sweater's pocket. She looked up and gave me a tight lipped smile. I imagine she was trying to appear friendly and eager, but a blind man would have been able to see how uncomfortable she was. A plump, smartly dressed woman in the shady end of a seedy town.
"Good morning, Miss Brunning!" her voice was so overly sweet it almost hurt as she extended a hand towards me.
I barely touched her hand before she whisked it away.
"So, this is the house! Its a...bit of a fixer-upper, I suppose." she gestured to the front door and "For the life of me, I don't know why your mother never did anything with it. She refused to sell the place, but as far as I know, she hadn't gone past the front gate in over a decade before she died."
I followed her onto the front porch and watched as she fumbled with the keys and the front door.
"I can't imagine a woman like my mother had much interest in a house like this." I offered quietly.
Janine shot me a strange look "She...She said that it had been her mother's house. They used to come here for the summers when she was little. Fond childhood memories, I suppose."
She finally convinced the door to open, and stood to the side so I could enter.
"Your grandmother had the place re-wired for electricity and fixed up the plumbing. The heat is all gas, you can find the tank in the back. I believe your mother kept it full, just in case."
I stepped inside and flicked the old light switch to the side of the door. The light-an old chandelier with regular 100 watt light bulbs screwed into it- flickered on, illuminating the entry way. The walls were the shade of yellow that could once have been white, a long time ago, and the hardwood floor was carpeted with dust. Janine stepped in behind me, leaving the door ajar, and moved to stand by the stairs.
"The door to the left leads to the parlour, the other leads to the old library. If you follow the hallway, it leads back to the kitchen, dining room and office. A bathroom" She pointed as she spoke "There are stairs down to the cellar in the kitchen, I believe. The second floor is all bedrooms. One master bedroom, a nursery, and two smaller bedrooms. Two bathrooms. The third floor was all servant housing, I don't think anyone's done anything to change that since the place was built. Then there's the attic, of course."
I nodded, and pushed open the door to the parlour. It was smaller than I'd imagined it, but still large. The furniture was all draped with dust cloths. Portraits in oval frames hung on the walls, so covered in dust you could barely see them.