The last thing Aluzka expected to hear as she exited her cabin, was the sound of hammering and, something else she couldnât quite place. Her nose scrunched at the thought of other people anywhere near her home and she was soon off to see who was doing what. Following the sound of the noise, she was quickly reminded of the one other house that was out here. It had been empty for a while considering itâs condition and Aluzka loved the fact she was the only one out here again.Â
Yet now, she was being pulled towards it, the noises sounding as if someone was either trying to tear it down or, even stranger, build it back up. Coming up a few yards away from the side of the house, Alu watched from behind a tree. Her gaze narrowed, she was a bit angry. Before she could even stop herself, she was out from behind the tree, shawl nearly falling off her shoulders.Â
âOi! What dâyou think youâre doing?â A question that sounded like it commanded an answer. âThis is not your property, I suggest you leave. Now.â Arms crossed then, she stood her ground. She remembered the couple that had lived here before and he was certainly not one of them. In fact, she didnât think sheâd ever seen him before.Â
Careful hands sifted through the rubble, tossing the destroyed panels-- which once made up this thing called home-- outside, on the grass. All of Daphne was back in its mostly-pristine shape after the hurricane save for this wheat-colored, two-story home, maimed by a large tree caving in on the roof. It was deep in the middle of the woods; easily forgotten. But Beckett, who had just recovered from long months in the hospital and even longer years at war, would never forget.Â
It took a few weeks to get the courage to come back to this place. His parents had found a temporary home, somewhere cozy in the neighborhoods, but Beckett couldnât let go of this old house. It was his every intention, despite still being in recovery, despite still being haunted by the ghosts of his tours at war, to fix this house-- even if it was the last thing he could do.Â
One by one, he tossed each pile of roof tile and house siding to the grass, clamoring throughout the woods. It wouldnât matter-- no one would hear him, anyway. Heâd done the whole thing in silence except for pants and grunts as he moved weight around for the first time since his injury. But when he heard a voice from nearby-- one that was growing closer, and angrier by the second-- he furrowed his brows and looked up.Â
He scratched at his nose with his sleeve, gloved hands dirty from the piles. âMaâam, this is my house,â he said, matter-of-factly-- not condescending as to piss her off even more. How long had it been since heâd been to this house that someone else was trying to claim it? âAre you... a realtor, or somethinâ?â he asked, looking her up and down-- the womanâs shawl was weird for Alabama summer. It was almost like she came from a whole other place.Â
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