Hero

6 Master of the house

The equipment’s hum suits the room’s grey, steely surroundings. Machinery that never rests heats the space, but warmth seems inherently wrong for all the sharp edges. Indiscriminate file cabinets filled with data close us in. Files are labeled, alphabetized, slid, shut, and locked into place. Cameras guard the most important corners of the mansion and transmit here. From this underground security chamber, I am even more transcendent than usual. My shoulders depress with a deep and overdue exhale.

“I can handle this, sir,” Norman says to my back. “You have more important things to worry about.”

I ignore him as screen number four of twelve distorts, erratic scribbles marring the black-and-white dining room.

“I know how this type of behavior upsets you,” Carter mutters as he rewinds the footage.

“You say this isn’t the first time?”

“She has fits now and then. So far only during the day when you aren’t around.”

“She should be thankful for that.”

“Give her time,” Norman says. “There’s bound to be some wreckage until she settles.”

I turn to face him with an arched eyebrow. “It’s not the wreckage that concerns me. It’s the disregard for your authority and the lack of a routine. We don’t ask much of her. It shouldn’t be so difficult to acclimate.”

“Put yourself in her shoes,” Norman says under his breath. “It’s only been a week.”

“This is the time for authority. There’s no room for mistakes in our world, you know that. Even the smallest one can change everything. If I could ignore her antics, I would. I don’t give a damn what she does with her days. But disobedience has to be cut off at the source.”

“I understand, but all I’m suggesting is some patience. Maybe I can give her something to make her feel more at home. Is there anything in her apartment she can have?”

“Like I have time to go snooping in her apartment. She seems to like Mexican food—why don’t you have Michael make her some of those chicken tacos?” He frowns when I laugh. “Don’t treat her like such a child, Norman. She’ll adapt. If she doesn’t, I’ll just have to put myself in her path. How’s that for an idea?”

“Not a good one, Master.”

“If she behaves this way while I’m here, it’ll come to that. Once she sees tantrums won’t be tolerated, she’ll have no choice but to accept her situation. However, if she snoops, or if she insists on being difficult, she might unknowingly walk into a world she couldn’t even dream up. A world where I’m this,” I say, touching my chest and lowering my voice, “and that’s information she can never know.”

“Sir?”

I glance down at Carter and then the screen. Cataline sits in a tall chair at the dining table. She’s still for so long that I find myself studying her face. The camera turns her unblinking blue eyes a shade of grey. Her cheeks are probably pink to match lips that are too feminine, too shaped like a heart for my taste. As though she picked a rose from its vase and rubbed it over her white skin. In monochrome, her hair is a tangled inky web waiting for prey. Waiting for me.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Norman asks.

“Why?”

“You made a noise.”

I raise my eyebrows just as Cataline’s body jerks into motion. Without warning, she lunges across the table, reaching out for something.

“Here we go,” Carter says.