WARNING/DISCLAIMER: It's Uber. It might be scary. It might have sex. There could even be violence. So, it's for grown ups.

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THE RETREAT

By

Phair

Taylor Kendall regretted her only decision of the day. The sale's agent at the bus terminal in Boston told her the line ended a few miles short of her ultimate destination. The bus driver warned her it was at least five miles from the last bus stop to Sagamore Place. He also cautioned her that Terrace View Road was really nothing more than a steep, gravel incline. It was barely fit to travel with a four wheel drive never mind walk. He advised her to call the local cab to take her directly from town to the front door of the old estate. But, Taylor, the ever frugal graduate student, was trying to save money and decided to walk.
"What's a five mile hike?" She mocked herself as she wiped sweat from her slightly pink brow.
The late spring day was unseasonably warm. Her heavy backpack made the temperature that much more unbearable. Taylor, quite literally, carried the weight of her world on her shoulders.
"I'm in good shape. Five miles is nothing!" She huffed as she shifted the backpack again. "Well, it ain't nothin' when you're carrying every God damn thing you own, stupid."
Taylor started to look around for a place to rest when she noticed the woods seemed to be thinning out on the east side of the road. On more careful inspection, she noticed a low rock wall set in a few feet from the shoulder. The layered rocks appeared to rise from the earth itself and grow with each step forward Taylor took.
"Just like a good Yankee stonewall should," Taylor said.
She picked up her pace feeling reenergized by the simple marker of civilization. It didn't matter that it was only a common artifact from the pre-Revolutionary American civilization. Civilization was, after all, civilization. A couple of dozen steps later and the carefully balanced stones were too high to easily climb over.
"Should have jumped it when you had your chance there, Taylor," she mumbled to herself.
When Taylor reached the marble pillars that guarded the entrance to Sagamore Place, she found herself shivering in her sweat dampenedclothes. Old shade trees lined either side of the hard packed, dirt drive way. They not only provided a dramatic archway but they blocked the direct sunlight enough to cool the air by at least ten degrees. Of course, the view of the ancient Victorian house at the end of the drive could also have contributed to the chill Taylor felt down her spine.
"Gotta love that old gothic New England charm," she whispered and the trees rustled in agreement.
The house itself was enormous with twin turrets at either end. A wooden porch which appeared to wrap itself around the first floor only added to the bulk of the imposing structure. In spite of thearchitecture, there were obvious signs the building had been poorlymaintained over the years. As she drew closer, Taylor observed roofing shingles were missing, paint was peeling off of parched wood, the window shutters were hanging at odd angles, and the windows were so filthy they reflected more light than they admitted.
Taylor smiled thinking she might look as run down as Sagamore Placeafter her long journey from the bus stop. Running her hand through her shoulder length brown hair, she hoped it didn't look as grimy as it felt. She cautiously climbed the creaking stairs to the front door. Wiping her feet on the moldy mat, Taylor took a deep breath and knocked. Nothing. Another, louder knock. Nothing. Taylor tried the door knob and gently pushed the door open.
"Hello?" Nothing.
The foyer was dreary. Layers of dust covering everything from the marble floor to the mahogany banister of the once grand staircase. Taylor imagined the entryway must have been quite impressive in its day. Today, though, it was a fading memory of wealth from a bygone era. It stunk of decay.
"Hello? Anybody home?" Taylor tried a little louder and coughed on a floating particle of grunge.
"Hey," an alarmed voice called from another room.
A young woman rushed into the foyer. Her t-shirt and jeans were covered with dirt and grease. The bandana covering her hair was equally grubby. Wisps of blonde hair escaped out around the edges. But, it was the woman's eyes that caught Taylor's attention. Deep, dark circles stained the pale skin to underline the dull blue eyes that were wide with fear. Taylor didn't think she had ever seen another person so afraid in all her life.
"I'm sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I'm Taylor Kendall. You know, I won the summer internship," Taylor explained in a rush.
"No, no, go around to the side of the house," the girl hushed. "The help can't come in the front. Hurry. Go before she sees you."
"Before who,"
Taylor's question was interrupted by a shrill voice from the top of the stairs, "BAILEY!"
"Sorry, Madame, I was gonna try to show her," the young womanseemed to shrink an inch or two as she began to explain.
"Enough of your excuses!" The stout woman shouted before lumbering down the stairs. "Apparently, I can't trust you with the simplest of matters. After you serve dinner tonight, it's right to bed for you. Maybe that will help you to remember your chores."
"Yes, Madame," Bailey flinched.
"Really, it's my fault," Taylor tried to intervene on the young woman's behalf. "I just walked right in. Didn't knock loud enough, I guess."
"Bailey was told to watch for you and see to it that you were acquainted with your position here. And informed about the rules!" She paused as she stepped next to the cringing young woman to hiss, "Imbecile." Then the portly woman turned her full attention to Taylor, "I am Madame Philomene Isabelle DuPrey. You should address me asMadame. Always!"
"Yes, Madame."
Taylor fought hard not to smirk. Now that Madame DuPrey had stopped shouting, she seemed to be effecting an obnoxious, fake French accent. The woman might have been fiftyish, Taylor guessed. She was barely five feet tall and could easily have been just as wide. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. The Madame was sweating profusely from the strain of her short walk down the stairs to the foyer and her testy reprimand of Bailey.
"Miss Kendall, you internship with us is a rare opportunity. It is a chance to explore the mysteries of the writing process with six exquisite but, alas, troubled authors," the fat woman smirked. "Of course, I will expect you to earn your keep. You won an internship, not room and board. That you will have to work for. There are no free rides at Sagamore Place. And there is so very much to do before our guests join us next week."
"Yes, Madame, tell me what needs doing. I'm ready to get my hands dirty," Taylor gave a big smile and hoped Bailey and Madame DuPrey would smile too but that did not happen.
"Bailey, show Miss Kendall to her quarters so she can put her things away. Then she can help you finish in the kitchen," Madame DuPrey dismissed the pair with a waive of her hand.
As she hobbled off to an adjoining room, Taylor wondered how the Madame managed to balance her girth on tiny feet stuffed in to shoes at least a size too small.
"Yes, Madame, whatever you say, Madame," Bailey muttered under her breath behind the departing woman's back before pointing to Taylor. "You, come with me."
Taylor followed Bailey back out the front door. Once down the steps, she almost had to jog to keep up with the double time pace Bailey was setting.
"Hey, do you mind? Would you slow up a bit?" Taylor finally stopped in her tracks and dropped her pack.
Bailey spun around, "You, stupid, lazy shit! Quit whining and follow me. What are you trying to do, get me in more trouble?"
"I'm sorry about that but I didn't know, I mean, how could I know something like that, you know,"
"Yeah, sure. Sorry is really gonna help me out," the blonde shook her at the pathetic apology.
"Can't we start over?" Taylor held out her hand, "Please, call me Taylor. Is it okay for me to call you Bailey?"
"Just shut up and follow me," Bailey turned away and resumed her harried steps.
Stunned by the young woman's venom, Taylor picked up the backpack and followed in silence. When they rounded the far side of the house, their path became uneven. Once hard packed earth had been broken down by too little care and too many feet. The way was strewn with rocks and thorn covered vines. Several broken liquor bottles littered the patches of overgrown grass. Bailey stopped at the door to the bulkhead.
"We go in and out this way. Your room is down cellar, under the stairwell to the kitchen. There's a separate toilet and sink down theretoo. That's the only one we're allowed to use. To wash, we have to use the outdoor, cold water shower under the kitchen window. Madame DuPrey demands we shower every morning before five; regardless of the weather."
"Sounds like a miserable way to start the day,² Taylor smirked. ³Is your room down in the cellar too?²
³I wish,² Bailey complained but did not explain her comment. ³Look, I canıt waste any more time with you. Iıve gotta get back to work. You should stow your stuff in your room and change into something you donıt mind getting ruined. Weıre cleaning the stove,² Bailey called over her shoulder as she disappeared down the bulkhead stairs.
³Yep, good old gothic New England charm,² Taylor shook her head with a grimace and followed.

Continued in part 2

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