[It's when he takes a breath that he realizes where he is. His old house always had this smell about it. When he was little, he didn't know what it was; it was just the smell of home. He can pick it apart now a little better: it's old cedar, and musty carpet, and the jasmine in Mom's garden, and the cleaning solution the maids used. They'd come once every two weeks, scrub down the counters, and they used this all-natural cleaning product that smelled floral and nice. It's the ocean, too. He'd forgotten how strong the smell of the ocean was here. They lived so close to the sea.
A step. Under his feet, the floorboards give a familiar squeak.
He feels afraid.
The windows are open. It's the early afternoon, and the sun is shining through the leaves of the trees. He knows he can go out - through the sliding glass door, living room to the garden, and he can go and lay on his back and stare up as the wind stirs the leaves. He can spend an afternoon like that, listening to the leaves, and the birds chirping to one another. He can go and pick a lemon from their lemon tree. He can sit with Dad's law books, try to understand legal decisions just beyond his comprehension. He can sit and wait for Dad to get home, drumming his feet against the chair under him. Thinking about putting on a language tape. Spanish, maybe; he wants to learn Spanish, and he's been told that this is the best time to learn a language, when he's still little.
No. He's not a kid now. He's a grown-up. And he's wise enough, and experienced enough, to know that this is all illusory. It's -
Somewhere else, somewhere in the house, a floorboard squeaks. There's someone else in here. And Miles turns to Sirius, illness churning in his stomach.
Edgeworth, locked to best fwend Serious Black
A step. Under his feet, the floorboards give a familiar squeak.
He feels afraid.
The windows are open. It's the early afternoon, and the sun is shining through the leaves of the trees. He knows he can go out - through the sliding glass door, living room to the garden, and he can go and lay on his back and stare up as the wind stirs the leaves. He can spend an afternoon like that, listening to the leaves, and the birds chirping to one another. He can go and pick a lemon from their lemon tree. He can sit with Dad's law books, try to understand legal decisions just beyond his comprehension. He can sit and wait for Dad to get home, drumming his feet against the chair under him. Thinking about putting on a language tape. Spanish, maybe; he wants to learn Spanish, and he's been told that this is the best time to learn a language, when he's still little.
No. He's not a kid now. He's a grown-up. And he's wise enough, and experienced enough, to know that this is all illusory. It's -
Somewhere else, somewhere in the house, a floorboard squeaks. There's someone else in here. And Miles turns to Sirius, illness churning in his stomach.
And he whispers:]
Oh, God.