Into the Aether_Part One(25)

Cybil stopped running, bracing her hands on her knees. Sweat beaded all over her body, and the cold air gave her chills. Her legs were starting to ache from being pushed too hard. Her cell phone now read 10:58 am. She started walking back to her rental.

Cybil had finished her schooling via correspondence in her hometown of Dalhousie. Eventually, she found a full-time, albeit temporary, job at the new Dalhousie General Hospital, otherwise known as DGH. The nurse who originally had the position was on a six-week maternity leave, but lucky for Cybil, she decided to stay at home and raise her newborn instead. Cybil worked in the Emergency Department opposite a second nurse and two nurses’ aides. It was a small hospital that usually took in about forty emergency room patients in any given shift. Mostly they were seniors with heart conditions, infections, or everyday illnesses. Lately, with all the new construction in town, they had been seeing construction workers almost daily.

Although she had the hours at the hospital, Cybil took on a second job of community nursing work. It was an on-call position that gave her an extra eight to twelve hours per week. She would go to various homes in the area and provide private nursing care ranging from administering medication to tending to wounds.

For the past two years in Dalhousie, she had saved as much of her paychecks as she could. It was her dream to buy her own home.

Back in the rental, Cybil slipped out of her clothes and into a hot shower. The water cascaded down her body, soothing her aching thigh and calf muscles. After her shower, she wrapped her hair in a towel and dressed in a warm housecoat. She took the clothes out of the washer and tossed them into the dryer.

Cybil thought about all the houses she had looked at. Because of the recent local boom, new houses were being built all over town, but they were designed for the more affluent buyer. This caused the prices of the existing homes to increase as well, and it had become a sellers’ market.

Three days ago, she had gotten a frantic call from her real estate agent, Carl. A house was just about to go onto the market and he had the inside track. It was a great price, but needed a lot of work. With her coworkers’ blessings, she slipped out of work on her lunch break and met with Carl at the house.

A stout man in a black suede jacket and black dress pants greeted her. His wide grin was visible from the street as she pulled up.

“Wait until you see this!” he said. She looked at the red-bricked detached house. There was a large front window with a crack running up the right hand side. Instead of curtains, someone thought a confederate flag would make for a bold decorative statement. The blue shutter on the left-hand side had come loose and was hanging precariously from a rusted hinge. The other shutter, this one green, seemed to be affixed firmly to the house. A gravel driveway crunched beneath their feet, while the gardens lay barren of any plants or trees, save for an empty beer bottle. Curb appeal? Why would anyone want that? she thought.

“Uh, Carl?” she asked, looking at him with a grimace.

“I know, I know. It’s not much to look at from the outside, but this one is a buried treasure!” he replied, striding toward the front of the house. He pressed the doorbell and waited. After several seconds, he produced a key and opened the front door.

“Mr. Straczynski?” he called out. No answer. “Alright, c’mon in!” he held the door open for her as she walked inside.

“This house was built in 1993. It has three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a wood burning fireplace, and it’s over fifteen hundred square feet. Oh, and it also has an in-law suite in the basement.”

“I see,” she replied, looking about the room. It was obvious that the house had been neglected for some time; paint was peeling off the walls, the hardwood floors were in desperate need of refinishing, and the kitchen looked as if it hadn’t been updated since it was built.

“Yep, the upstairs needs a little TLC,” Carl said, his smile diminishing only slightly, “but let me show you the downstairs!”

They walked down a narrow, creaking staircase to a six-panel pine door. She turned the handle to a pitch-black room.

“The light switch is just on the inside,” Carl said from behind her. Cybil flipped the switch and immediately covered her mouth.

“Oh my,” she said.

The open-concept in-law suite had both a kitchen and living room. The kitchen had white oak cabinets, and a white subway tile backsplash with a contrasting stone-grey countertop. She ran her hand along its coolness.

“Granite?” she asked. Carl nodded.

Stainless steel appliances stood gleaming under the recessed pot lights. Crown molding framed the ceiling, while the walls were clad in a light beige with a caramel-colored accent wall. Cybil glanced down at paint sample pallets that were on the counter with ‘Silken Pine’ and ‘Kiss Me Caramel’ highlighted.

Blonde-colored bamboo flooring filled the room. There were two doors, one of which was open, revealing the adjoining bedroom. Inside, Cybil found a queen-sized bed as well as modern bedside tables and lamps. A door behind her led to an ensuite washroom with a full bath. It had conservative white tile walls and dark, long, narrow floor tiles, which made it seem larger than it really was.

The downstairs would look perfect in a New York City apartment, not Dalhousie, Indiana. “Why is there such a difference?” she asked Carl.

“The owner was in the process of renovating the house with the intention of flipping it. Obviously he finished the downstairs, but not the upstairs,” he said, shrugging.