Wake to Dream(3)

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, "I thought my presence would be helpful. You're the realtor, correct?"

Alice's suspicious eyes narrowed, her gaze settling on the sharp lines of the stranger's face. "How did you get up here without me hearing you? The entire floor is practically falling apart. You're not supposed to be here. This is private property."

Inching away from the frightened woman, the stranger held up his hands in placation. "My name is Maximilian Frost."

Recognition of the name pulled Alice from the terror she felt. "Your family owns the house."

His lip twitched in response to some unknown thought. "I find it hard to believe my family owns anything, especially when considering they're all six feet beneath the ground."

Her eyes narrowed more, and he smiled. "May they all rest in peace."

Shaking off the remnants of her shock, she kept her eyes trained on the man while her hands moved quickly to brush the dust and debris from her clothes. “My name is Alice Beaumont. And yes, I'm the realtor."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Beaumont. Have you had an opportunity to walk the entire house?"

Unable to dislodge all of the filth from her white shirt, she sighed in resignation. It wouldn't please Sarah to know the buyer's first impression of the realty firm was a wet behind the ears agent with dirt covering her clothes. Perhaps the decrepit state of the home they were touring would distract them from Alice's state of dress. "Everything except for this closet. The door appears to be jammed tight."

Taking the time to study the man's face, Alice first noticed his strong jaw and cutting cheekbones that cast sharp lines of shadow across his cheek. Five o'clock shadow dusted his skin, the hue matching his obsidian hair. A straight nose sat above full lips.

But that was only half his face. The other half was hidden behind a tragic and disfiguring scar. Mottled and misshapen, his skin was obviously burned, bearing the evidence of attempted skin grafts that failed to completely cover the damage done. Even with the scar, he was a handsome man, character and the need to survive written into the imperfection of his skin.

Most startling of all were the clear blue eyes that stared back as observant of her as she was of him.

"I apologize for my reaction, Mr. Frost..."

"Max," he interrupted, not surprised in any way at the manner in which she studied his face. "I prefer to be called Max."

Stepping forward, he moved into the sunlight that barely broke through the filth laden windows. Alice sucked in a sharp breath, the scant bits of light illuminating the depth of the color of the man's eyes, the shock to her system a palpable thing.

"Max," she corrected herself, "are you able to open the door?"

Not fully a smile, the corners of his lips pulled up in amusement. "I am. Although, I have to ask: Are you sure you want it open?"

It was an odd question fitting of the odd house in which they were located. Nothing about this experience set Alice's heart at ease. "Of course, I'm sure," she lied, her determination to stay employed vying with the strong urge inside her to run from the house and never look back.

He smiled, "It's just that the closet is, most likely, filthy. Just like the rest of the house."

It wasn't until that moment that she noticed the clothes the strange man wore. They weren't shabby or out of style, just peculiar in their formality. Perhaps he was a businessman, so conditioned to dressing in a suit and tie that, even on the weekends, he couldn't find it in himself to dress in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

A black button down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, the wrinkle free material tucked into the trim waistband of his slate gray, linen pants. A black leather belt held the pants loose over his hips, a crimson tie tight around his neck. Not a speck of dust could be found on his clothes. Alice wasn't sure how, in this environment, the lack of dust was even possible.

She felt a nagging sense of inferiority in comparison to Max. Her income wasn't enough for her to dress well, and the white shirt and navy blue skirt she wore were sale items purchased at the local bargain store. At the time, she'd found them nice enough for the beginning of her new career, but not now that she stood in the presence of a man of obvious wealth and sophistication.

Her phone vibrated from her purse, the man's eyes dragged to the bag by the noise. "Do you need to answer that?"

Her lips fell apart on an answer that she couldn’t easily voice. Shaking her head after a few awkward seconds, she forced the answer from her tongue. "No. I'll get to it when I'm done here."

He grinned in response. "Very well. If you'll allow me to squeeze around you, I'll happily open the door."

Due to the slope of the roof, two people couldn't stand next to the door at the same time unless one was willing to be on hands and knees. Not willing to stoop in front of a man she barely knew, Alice politely moved aside to allow him closer to the jammed partition.

The antique handle gave out a deafening clang when Max finally dislodged the door. Dust wafted out, just like every other room in the house. Shadows and cobwebs filled the interior, a single bulb hanging down, swinging slowly as if caught in some imaginary breeze.

"Can you turn on the light?" Fear laced her voice.

Reaching inside, he pulled the switch. The bulb failed to fire to life. "I'm afraid not," he said, moving away from the door so that he could stand upright and brush the dust from his clothes. His eyes locked to hers. "You're welcome to take a look."