14. The Hellerman House （Melissa）
Chapter fourteen
The Hellerman House (Melissa)
I f I hadn’t been standing in front of the wrought iron gates of the house, staring at the golden letters hovering in thin metal filament stating, “Hellerman House,” I would have had a hard time believing his story.
But there it was: a white neoclassical house with the foreboding front facade and the complex hedge-work along the sides, making it look like some sepulchral mansion, basking in the moon’s glow.
One of the hundreds of windows had a light yellow glow coming from it. All the others were dark, reflecting the light of the moon.
“Just where do you think you are going?” Ryan asked as he came up behind me.
“Ryan. You’re telling me that your sister is still in there, bound to the house in a wheelchair, and you haven’t been back to see her once?” I asked incredulously.
“I come here every other week. I park my car right there. I try to muster the courage to go in. You don’t understand that I can’t,” Ryan stuttered. This was the first time I had heard him talk in such a rattled manner.
“Then go in there with me,” I said, my hand reaching out.
“Melissa, the point…is that…I wanted to…”
“Listen,” I said. My hand on his cheek, my reassuring touch on his trepid face.
“I didn’t before, but I understand you on a deeper level now.
Everything makes sense. Your parents were wrong to be so cold, And because no one has told you this before, let me relieve you of your burden.
It was not your fault. It was nobody’s fault.
You were children. Whatever penance you think you are owed has been paid in spades.
You are contrite. You have lived your whole life, wearing your shame and self-loathing.
Now, I want you to let go of it. And the only way is by confronting your sister.
My father is dead, Ryan. I will never get to see him ever again.
No matter how much I want it to happen, he’s gone.
But your sister is in there. Maybe a single light is on behind that window because she wants you to know that she’s waiting… wanting.”
“I’m so afraid,” Ryan whispered, holding my hand and pressing it further against his cheek. “I cannot.”
“What do you think will happen? The spirits of your ancestor will jump out from their tombstones, grasp your neck with their icy hands, and drag you to hell? Please. Real life doesn’t have the same knack for drama that our minds do.
You have allowed yourself to suffer more in your imagination than you’d ever do in real life,” I said, not believing that the class I’d taken on stoicism in college was coming in handy right now.
Thank you, Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus.
“It’s too damn late. My parents are dead.”
“But your sister is not. She is waiting.”
As if to further emphasize what I’d just said, the wrought iron gates swung open, and the cobblestone path that led to the house lit up with a dozen lamps. The rest of the lights around the house lit up, too, making the whole place come alive with a palatial vibe.
Ryan was petrified, standing there, looking at the open gate with horror in his eyes.
“Ryan! What’s wrong with you? There’s literally a camera and an intercom here. That’s how she knew we were here. It’s not a haunted house,” I said, tugging him by the arm and dragging him into the house.
“You underestimate the legacy of this house,” Ryan whispered.
“And you need to come with me,” I insisted, not letting go of his arm.
“How are you so sure of what will happen?” Ryan tried to bargain as we walked up to the ornate maroon doors. They still had those Victorian brass knockers. I pulled on one and let it go. It clanged against the metal plate, creating one hell of a ringing noise.
“You have allowed fear to rule your life. I am just helping you get over the crippling inertia of it all,” I said.
Earlier that night, when I had walked into Ryan’s office, I knew him as a different man.
The man who stood by my side right now, pensively looking at the closed doors, was another man altogether.
A man who had shared his deepest, darkest secret and had changed my entire perception.
I no longer saw him as brazen, reckless, needlessly cruel, and erratic.
Now, I knew the truth and knowing made me sympathize with him.
We didn’t have to stand there long. The doors opened, not mechanically this time, but by a butler — a most elegantly dressed man with an immaculate mustache.
“Griswold?” Ryan said. “You’re still here?”
“Master Hellerman,” Griswold said, his eyes bearing signs of bewilderment.
“You recognize me?” Ryan gasped.
“Naturally, sir. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I haven’t been here in thirty years, and the last time you saw me, I was a child,” Ryan said, a torrent of emotions coming undone.
“The question here isn’t whether you’re seeing a phantasm, Master Hellerman. It is whether my eyes are deceiving me or not. Are you really here after all this time?” Griswold mused. “Please do come in. It is your house, after all.”
My father’s house was beautiful, big, and roomy.
It was every bit as ornate and decorated as a house could get.
But it was still nothing in comparison to the sheer opalescence of this place with grandeur dripping from the tapestries, luxurious paper on the walls, thick carpets, marble floors, and carved stone pillars.
It was like walking into a Renaissance painting.
The high ceilings were painted with illusionistic scenes, and the wainscotting leading up to them was made of real gold.
Crystal chandeliers hung everywhere, casting warm light.
Large portraits of the Hellerman family hung along the walls, with antique swords, axes, muskets, and the taxidermized heads of animals alongside them.
This foyer, or entrance hall, smelled of musk and expensive tobacco.
Large white windows with metal frames were shut against the wind and rain.
I took one confirming look behind me and saw that it was indeed raining.
It wasn’t my imagination. The gentle pitter-patter of the raindrops on those humungous windowpanes resonated everywhere.
In another part of the house, I could hear the crackling of flames in a fireplace. I wanted to be there more than anywhere else. My hands had gone cold, and my extremities were numb. Thankfully, the butler closed the doors behind us; all of a sudden, we were not that cold anymore.
“We have been expecting you, Master Hellerman,” Griswold said, a warm smile on his face. “We have been expecting you for long.”
“Who are we?” I asked.
“More pertinently, who is the young lady?”
“I’m his…”
“She’s my girlfriend, Griswold,” Ryan said. “She’s the person responsible for bringing me here. Without her, I wouldn’t have had the courage to come back.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” Griswold said, took my hand, and planted a kiss on it.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I said.
“Now, before the lady of the house can meet you, and she is quite eager to do so, why don’t the two of you follow me into the drawing room to relax?” Griswold asked.
We followed him up a wide corridor and into the first room on the right.
As opposed to the rest of the house, the drawing room’s interior was wood-centric.
The walls had cedar paneling, giving the room an orange glow.
There was an enormous fireplace. I quickly went over to it, ignoring the large table laden with refreshments, and warmed my hands in front of the flames.
I turned and saw that Ryan had seated himself at the head of the table and was helping himself to some coffee and scones.
“Martha used to make these,” he said, lifting up a scone. “I think, judging by their taste that she still does.”
I went over to the table, having sufficiently warmed up, and looked at the fine assortment of pastries, biscuits, baked goods, and buns placed along the array of teas and coffees.
“I have the best chefs in the entire world at my beck and call, and none of them can make scones like these,” Ryan said, handing me a scone.
I never had a scone before in my life. I thought it was a very British thing to have with tea or coffee.
My first bite and I was immediately in heaven.
There was clotted cream and jam as well…
with who knew what else? Were there traces of walnut in there?
“Oh, my God!”
“I know”
“It tastes divine!”
“I heard someone say my name just now, didn’t I?” a woman’s voice rang from behind us.
Ryan was already off the table and rushing to the old lady who was standing there, wearing an apron.
“Martha!” he said and hugged her fiercely.
“Ryan, goddammit, where were you all this time?” Martha was in tears, hugging Ryan as if he was her long-lost son. “Thirty fucking years, sonny boy!”
“I am so glad to see you!” Ryan said jubilantly.
“And I, you. Christ, you’re tall. I saw you in the papers and I was like, nah, this little boy can’t be that tall…but Jesus, what are you, six feet something?”
“Martha, I want you to meet, Melissa,” Ryan said, introducing me.
“Charmed!” Martha said, taking my hands. “Griswold tells me that you’re the woman who made this one get some sense and come back. Well, thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome,” I said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.
“Martha’s been the head chef here for as long as I remember,” Ryan said. There was such a childlike and free expression of joy on his face that I couldn’t even recognize him. He was like a man freed from a huge burden.
“Uh uh, it’s been forty-five years!” Martha interjected. “Oh, I missed you, Ryan.” She proceeded to reach up with both hands, pull Ryan’s face close to hers, and give him a big kiss on the cheek.
For me, it was everything, seeing him reunited with the people from his childhood. Then, right on cue, Griswold rolled in a wheelchair, holding a beautiful, resplendent woman, in the most well-appointed attire I’d ever seen.
“It has been too long,” she said, “brother dear.”