This is a short bit of fiction based on a prompt from Write On Edge. I welcome your opinions on this piece.
As she entered the building memories of a musty old house enveloped her. What was an attorney doing in this rundown old building?
Standing before room 119 she took a deep breath. This was perhaps the final step in divorcing her mother. She knocked.
“It’s open.” Someone yelled.
The door was heavy for an eighty pound twelve year old. She stopped short as the door swung closed. This place reminded her of something out of Great Expectations. Just like Miss Havisham, Mr.Romaneski had made time stand still.
A cloud of dust hovered over his bald head in a faint stream of light coming through the scarlet velvet drapes. Everything was heavy and dark.
He motioned toward a leather chair in front of his mahogany desk. It dwarfed her.
Mom always finds the losers, she thought. But then she never met anyone in a library or church, no, only bars.
As he rifled through papers she glanced around the room and noticed an odd arrangement of tarnished silver pieces on a credenza.
Had there been a time he might have lit the dusty candle in the almost black candlestick? How out of place it seemed.
“So!” he began, “Tell me everything.”
“About what?” she asked.
“Your mother.” He replied.
“I’d rather not.” She said.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” He said. “You can trust me.”
Her gut said otherwise. Even though the court sent her here she knew he really worked for her mother.