Houseguest
dr. nadia said & dr. marcel pascal
las ballenas
dr. nadia said & dr. marcel pascal
las ballenas
Once a week, Dr. Nadia Said cleaned her daughter's bedroom. Dust accumulated fast in the southwest, over shelves and comic book and records. The records had been her before they'd been her daughters. But she'd left them for her when they'd left her, and she'd made them hers. They were her daughter's records, now. Her daughter's shirts from concerts that Nadia had gone to, her daughter's hockey jersey even though she had never played. They didn't fit Nadia anymore, anyway. Maybe they also wouldn't fit her daughter. There was really no way of knowing.
She closed the door and locked it behind her, and listened to the sound of her husband coming home. His steps were distinctive, the thump of his shoe and the click of his wooden leg.
They could afford something nicer than the peg leg. It had sentimental value, and he thought it looked stylishly piratical. It was, in every way, quintessentially Marcel.
There were other steps, quieter steps. She had a sneaking suspicion. She adjusted her glasses, and swept down the steps. She gathered her shawl and her knitting from the living room, and brought them with her to sit at the dining room table. That was always where Marcel liked to bring guests.
Her hair had begun to gray years ago. The shawl and the knitting were theoretically gratuitous, but she liked them. If she was going to look old, she might as well look old. Fifty was the new forty, but she'd already been forty. She was done with forty. Fifty was much more interesting.
"Nadia!" Marcel said with some surprise, and she raised an eyebrow as she looked up from her needles. Through her glasses, he glowed a faint green. The pale young blonde who was his guest was a more distinctive red. She adjusted her glasses with a curl to her mouth. "I didn't think you'd be in here." He descended on her to kiss her in a way that should have been uncomfortable with company. Dr. Pascal had never been good at restraining his affections. "This is one of the new grad students, Stephen Mills. Stephen, this is my wife, Dr. Said."
"I've heard wonderful things," he said, holding out a hand. Nadia kept hers on her knitting needles, and made no move to accept the gesture. Marcel shook his head behind his wife, and Stephen let his hand fall.
"I'm going to go throw something in the oven," Marcel said, because he had very particular ideas about hospitality. "You go ahead and have a seat," he said to Stephen. "We're going to be working closely together, so two should probably get acquainted." The squeeze he gave her shoulder was almost pleading. Please be nice, he did not need to say.
She would not be nice.
"It's nice meeting you," Stephen attempted when they were alone.
"Drop the act," she said flatly, still knitting. Stephen smiled slowly, and he did not keep his fangs retracted. "Enchanted ring?" she asked.
"You're very clever," he said, "but you're well past your prime. A little old lady, knitting and everything."
"You shouldn't have brought Marcel into it."
"He invited me right inside. Didn't even think twice."
"Of all the stupid shit you could have done," she said, "you had to bring Marcel into it."
"Do you remember my brother?" he asked.
"No," she said, and she didn't even need to look up.
"Two years ago."
"No."
"Cincinnati."
"I cut his head off," she said this time.
"So you do remember."
"No," she said. "It's just what I do." She finished her row, and waited before switching hands. Stephen hissed, which was almost disappointingly stereotypical, and attempted to rip her throat out. He was stopped by a knitting needle through his jaw, up and penetrating into his brain. Even the dead tended to need a minute after something like that.
"My husband," she said, looking him in eyes that were rapidly starting to bleed, "is going to be very upset with me about this. That's your fault, asshole." Then she yanked the wooden needle out of his head, and jabbed it into his heart. She released it to let him fall to the floor. She sighed, and looked at her unfinished scarf. She'd have to be careful to get all the blood off the needle before she could work on it again.
Marcel returned to the dining room with scones, which he immediately dropped, scattering across the floor. Nadia sighed.
"I was only gone for ten minutes!" he exclaimed, running his hands over his scalp, wide-eyed with horror.
"It was an eventful ten minutes."
"Was he dangerous?"
"Not to me. But, generally, yes."
Marcel rubbed his hands over his face. "How am I supposed to explain this?"
"Don't," she said. "If anyone asks, send them to me."
"Are you going to kill them, too?"
She considered the question seriously. "I might," she admitted. "It depends on circumstances."
"Nadia, honey..."
"Please ask me before inviting any more grad students into our home."
"Not every grad student is a monster!"
"Debatable."
"What are we supposed to do with the body?"
"I'll take care of it," she said, and Marcel groaned.
"What if the neighbors see?"
"The neighbors will keep their mouths shut if they know what's good for them."
"Did you just threaten to murder the neighbors?"
"Yes."
Marcel sighed. "I really liked Stephen."
"You like most people." She stood. "Go make monkey bread or something. By the time you're done I'll have this taken care of."
"You really can't keep doing this," he said, though he shifted toward the kitchen in surrender.
"You knew what you were getting into when you married me."
"I didn't, actually."
"You figured it out eventually."
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