Snippet #1063846

Deciding at this point to simply leave the front door open in case the boy still remaining outside chose to enter, Kit slipped back inside, trusting that Bastet's sense of adventure would not overcome her quite so much as to lead her outside. The blind girl then decided to make her way to the kitchen, and see what might be had to eat there. She was sure that Amunet must be hungry after all her travels; Kit knew she certainly was.

She counted doorknobs as she passed them. Lounge, study, game room, ah, here we go.

The kitchen had much the same feel as she remembered. It had, of course, been visible the last time she had been here. The former cook here, a portly man with an easy, wide grin called Giovanni, was not one to mess with the well-oiled machine that was his workspace, and so Kit felt fairly safe in the assumption that everything would be as she had last known it.

What was not familiar, she realized quickly, was the smell. It assailed her extra-delicate nose as she entered, and Kit had to grab onto a counter to keep from falling over from the sheer nausea that followed. The smell was unmistakeably decay, and Kit was not quite so naive as to fail in understanding the implications. Suddenly, the effort to stand was too much, and she slid down the cabinet to the floor. Giovanni... She knew who it was, for even amidst the overwhelming odor, she could pick out the scent of ginger, basil, and a hint of cologne.

Kit managed to overcome the urge to retch and raise herself to her hands and knees, crawling closer towards the source of the smell, reaching out a tentative hand. Within a few feet of distance, it made contact with something solid. Moving her fingers along whatever it was, she was able to determine that what she was touching had once been a hand. It was now a squelchy, soft mass of flesh hanging off bones, and Kit quickly withdrew her hand, cradling the wrist in the other one whilst sitting back on her calves.

"No..." she whispered. "No, no no!" She scrambled backwards as far as she could, until her back made contact with the wall. Drawing her knees to her chest, Kit rested her chin on them, at once welcoming and cursing the blindness that made the image before her unrealized. Her breathing grew ragged, but she refused to succumb to the same sobs that had gripped her earlier. This was her reality now, this death and destruction and inky-black dark. Help me...

*

Norman heard the call as little more than a whisper in his mind, but it was enough to set him in the direction of the kitchen at once. Throwing the door open with all due haste, it took him only moments to take in the situation. It was not long after that he had pulled young Kitty into arms much stronger than an elderly man's should be, and returned her to the foyer. He wasn't exactly sure what to do. How did one comfort a child, a mere girl really, who had had more than a lifetime's taste of death in a few short weeks?

"Piano," she whispered, "take me to Daddy's piano." Norman nodded without hesitation. He had seen the young Katherine pour out her troubles to the keys more often than he cared to think, and supposed that it truly was the comfort of the familiar that she needed. He found himself hoping dearly that she could still play, given her present condition.

He set her at the bench, and turned to leave. Miss Katherine would want her privacy for a time, he could tell. Instead, he returned to the kitchen. Unless his newly-sharpened eyes deceived him, what lay on the floor had once been Giovanni, the cook on the Exodar staff. Likely, he had known that the family was planning on returning here soon, and had pressed past his sickness to return to work. Such was the way of the Wilsons: nearly every person that had ever worked for the couple had come to consider themselves- and be considered- family.

With those same too-strong arms, Norman managed to move the body outside to the gardens, where he noticed that two mounds of earth had been recently disturbed, enough for the rest of the regular staff. He realized with some trepidation that Giovanni had likely dug these makeshift graves himself, and known full well what awaited him. Indeed, the shovel he had used was still nearby. Norman took it up, and spent the next ten minutes creating a depression of suitable size, and lowering the man's corpse into it.

Another few minutes later, Norman straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow and regarding his handiwork solemnly. It is in my hands now, friend. I shall not fail, he swore silently. With a heaved sigh, the butler returned to the kitchen. It would need some bleach, and then he could use it to prepare a meal for his charge and her guests, however many there might be eventually. As he retrieved the mop from an attached closet, he heard the sound of music drifting from the foyer, and smiled a little to himself. Not all was lost after all.

*

Kit allowed her fingers to move over the keys without depressing them at first, testing to make sure she could tell what was what. Encouraged by her success, she ran a few test scales, feeling the familiar joy she always got when she played. Before long, she was confident enough to begin a song properly, and eased into the first bars of Chopin's Nocturne #4, letting her long, thin fingers dance easily across the many keys of her father's grand piano. It was a melancholy piece, beautiful in its delicate sadness before transitioning into a stronger, more robust melody, a dichotomy that had struck Giovanni and made the song his favorite.

I do not know what to make of this new world, with so few in it. I cannot pretend to know why I survived where other, stronger people did not. But, Liz, I meant what I promised. I will live. And I will help others to do the same, wherever I can, for as long as I can. That resolution, at least, was something she could carry with her, when all else seemed so impermanent.