The Final Blueprint

Chapter 8The Trembling Tram

Aurora and Kenan froze in each other’s arms, like two startled deer in a forest. Or, rather, like two frightened cats caught off guard. They both heard it: a faint creak coming from somewhere deep within the old house. As if someone was cautiously stepping on a squeaky floorboard, hiding in the gloom.

In the house that Aurora thought would be her refuge from the nightmares of the past, a new anxiety had now taken root. It was an ominous silence, thick and sticky, like the Portuguese «Mel de Bragança» honey they had tried at the fair last week. That honey, viscous, golden, with a subtle scent of heather, now seemed a symbol of something clinging and dangerous. A silence in which only the ticking of grandfather’s clock in the hall could be heard, counting down the last seconds of their peace, and the persistent cracking of old floorboards, as if the house was complaining about the weight of time, about being disturbed.

Kenan carefully held Aurora tighter. He could feel her trembling. «It’s alright,» he whispered, «probably just the wind.» But the wind, of course, had nothing to do with it.

«Who’s there?» Aurora whispered, her voice shaking like Lisbon’s Tram 28 on a steep climb in Alfama. That tram, conquering the steep slopes, had always seemed to her a symbol of courage and perseverance, but now she felt just as fragile and defenseless. The fear familiar from her childhood was rearing its head again, like a snake from a basket. And it wasn’t just fear; it was a cold, clammy horror, paralyzing her will and making her heart beat in a frantic rhythm. She remembered all the scary stories she had been told as a child, all the ghosts and monsters inhabiting old houses. And it seemed to her that they were here, nearby, in the dark.

Kenan slowly moved Aurora behind him and looked in the direction of the sound. He knew better than to underestimate the danger. «Stay here,» he said in a quiet but firm voice. He bent down, picked up a heavy vase of flowers from the table, and, ready for a fight, cautiously moved towards the hall. Aurora, afraid to move, waited, pressed against the wall, trying to catch her breath. The most terrible thoughts swarmed in her head. What is it? Burglars? A ghost? Or… him again?

Like a knight without fear or reproach, Kenan moved slowly, trying not to make a sound, towards the suspicious noise. Aurora, holding her breath, watched him, clutching the old photograph of her grandmother in her hand – her only connection to the past she didn’t want to lose. Her grandmother in the photograph looked like a true silent movie star, with a mysterious gaze and an elegant dress. Fear gripped her heart with an icy grip, like Portuguese ivy clinging to old walls.

Kenan reached the living room. He peered inside, trying to appear calm, like a sardine merchant at the Mercado da Ribeira. The room was empty… almost. The large window overlooking the garden was broken, and the floor was littered with sharp shards of glass, like icy daggers.

«There’s no one here,» he said, returning to Aurora with feigned calm. «Looks like it’s just vandals. Maybe they wanted to steal your grandmother’s silver service. You know, vandals do worse things.»

But Aurora didn’t believe a word he said. She felt someone’s presence in the house, someone’s malevolent, clinging attention, like cheap wine. «I don’t think it’s vandals,» she objected. «I feel like someone is here… someone who knows about us.»

Kenan sighed, cursing his habit of being an optimist in any situation. He understood that Aurora was frightened and that now was not the time for sarcasm. «Alright, let’s check the whole house, together,» he suggested, taking her hand. «Like real detectives, like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Only we don’t have a pipe or a magnifying glass.»

They slowly, cautiously, went through all the rooms. The house was dark, like the Portuguese Alcátara cave, and every rustle seemed a sinister threat. In one of the rooms, they discovered signs of real chaos. Things were scattered on the floor as if dumped from a truck. The dresser drawers were pulled out, their contents lying around like trash after a street carnival.

«They were looking for something,» Aurora whispered, looking at the mess. «But what? Grandmother’s recipes for pastéis de nata?»

«Perhaps they were after the family jewels,» Kenan suggested, picking up an old mother-of-pearl-inlaid box from the floor. «You said your grandmother had a diamond brooch she received as a gift from some countess.»

«But how did they know about them?» Aurora asked, frowning. «No one knew about the jewels except me and my grandmother.»

Kenan shrugged. «Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe someone overheard a conversation in a café or saw you on the street.»