My body felt refreshed when I woke up. I suppose I hadn't really had any "proper release" since that first night with Jack, and I'd suffered through several teasing experiences since then. If nothing else was true, Victor certainly did seem to know his way around a woman's body. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

I looked over at Mr. Weston. He was still fast asleep. I guess he was just as drained from our "conversation" yesterday as I was. His sleeping face was peaceful, I had the strong urge to lean over and kiss him. I wished I could treat him gently, like a real lover, but I couldn't.

He wouldn't know me again today, so the last thing I wanted was to have him find me naked in his bed. It would take a lot of explaining. I got up and went to the closet to get some clothes, grabbing my old ones off the floor as I did so. Leave no trace.

I grimaced a bit thinking of how I was treating our relationship like a crime, but until my relationship was firmly cemented in the mind of all the personas it had to be this way.

As much as I worried about my own relationship I was just as worried about Thomas. I was almost certain the "good friend" he was referring to yesterday was his fiancée. What was such an emergency someone from town had to get him? I just hoped everything was alright.

As I exited the closet I saw Thomas poke his head in. I breathed a sigh of relief. If he was back it couldn't have been too bad. I waved my arms to signal him silently. He caught sight of me and nodded before heading back out. I did my best to close the door quietly as I followed. As I walked downstairs Thomas looked at me nervously.

"Is everything okay, Thomas?" I asked.

"I should be asking you that," he sighed. "Ms. Walton, please forgive my absence these past couple days. Especially last night. Of all the days I had to have an emergency it had to be when he was around."

I could easily guess the "he" he was referring to. Although I knew Thomas felt this way I couldn't help feeling a little defensive of Victor now. He really wasn't bad. I think he and Thomas more misunderstood each other than anything.

"Thomas, it's okay. Victor was actually very gentle and thoughtful toward me last night," I said. He looked at me, confused. "What I'm more concerned with is what happened to you last night? Is everything okay with your fiancée?"

Thomas seemed to snap back to reality at this. He cleared his throat and nodded his head firmly.

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Walton. It was nothing serious after all. Laura twisted her ankle buying groceries. She told her sister to send someone up to inform me," he said, shaking his head. "However, it seems like the story got a little lost in translation. I was told she was in serious condition at the hospital. You can imagine her surprise when I turned up frantic for a twisted ankle."

I couldn't help but giggle a little at the situation. Thomas smiled, he looked relieved. He had probably been worrying all night if Victor had driven me off somehow.

"I know you are a strong woman, Ms. Walton," he said, sighing, "but I couldn't help worrying Victor would try to force you into something. You were still in the room when I went to check. He didn't-"

"Thomas, I promise you Victor didn't force me to do anything."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. The truth was, I didn't know what Thomas would think of my "relationship" with Mr. Weston. Before, I was just worried about the job, but now? I worried about losing him. I had just come to terms with my feelings, the last thing I wanted was Thomas to send me away because he thought they were inappropriate or unprofessional.

Full truth or not, it did seem to relieve him though. He nodded and motioned toward the dining room. The chef was already setting up breakfast when we arrived. Thomas looked at his watch as he sat down.

"Oh, by the way. The cleaners come again today. It would be good for you to meet them after breakfast," he said. "Perhaps they'll mind you this time. It's important you know how to speak with them and exactly what you should be checking for."

"And Mr. Weston?" I asked.

"Besides Victor and a few others, most of his personalities are fairly independent. They just enjoy the company. It's more than possible for you to get away for a couple of hours to oversee things, and if he absolutely must be watched then bring him with you. He can put up with being bored for a short time while you work."

I nodded. I was glad most of them could be left alone while I took care of things, but I wondered if there was any way to work around them. I mulled over this while eating. There had to be some pattern after all these years, didn't there?

"Thomas, is there any way to predict who Mr. Weston might become the next day?" I asked.

He frowned a bit. "No, I wish there was. Trust me, I've been searching for some rhyme or reason for a while now. It seems like just when I have an idea what will happen a curveball gets thrown in. The book is the closest thing I have to a guide for him, and even that's tentative. Why do you think all his frequency of appearances have 'approximately' next to them?"

So it really was unpredictable. Every day a new day. I hoped I would have the energy to keep up with whoever he was today. As if my thoughts had summoned him, Mr. Weston appeared in the doorway. He was scowling.

A small panic filled me. Did this persona remember me? Was he upset? My fears disappeared as he stomped over to Thomas.

"Thomas! What in the world do you think you're doing ordering out?!" He shouted. "Are you really so starving you can't wait until I get up to cook for you?"

"I apologize, sir," Thomas said without flinching. "However, we have a guest in the house and it seemed rude to starve her while we waited for you."

Thomas glanced over at me. Right, new persona. I needed to introduce myself. I stood and went over to Mr. Weston.

"Hello, sir," I said gently. "I'm Anna Walton. I'll be taking over as your assistant soon."

He looked at me a moment before extending his hand to shake mine. He seemed cautious.

"Henry Weston. I'm the mansion's chef. Well, at least I'm supposed to be," he said, shooting a look at Thomas.

"Well, I hope you will still eat something, sir," Thomas said standing. "I'm afraid I have a lot of training to do with Ms. Walton today. As always, use the intercom if you should need us."

Mr. Weston grunted half-heartedly before sitting at the table and picking at some food. Thomas motioned for me to follow him. He led me towards the kitchen. I'd almost forgotten how big it really was. The chef was there washing dishes from breakfast.

"Chef Philip," Thomas called out. The chef turned to look at him. "Mr. Weston is having one of those days. Thank you for breakfast, but your services are not required today. Please finish the dishes and return to town for the day."

"Yes, Mr. Anderson. Ms. Walton," he said, nodding to both of us.

As we walked out of the kitchen I gave Thomas a confused look. He nodded over to the table where the binder lay from yesterday.

"The most important thing to know about Henry is that Chef Philip is to be off-premises as quickly as possible on his days," Thomas said firmly. "He's a firm believer of the 'too many cooks' mantra and I'd rather not trouble Philip. He'd be very hard to replace. Apologize for 'ordering out' to Mr. Weston, convince him to eat, and quickly rush Philip out. He is still paid for the days Henry appears. Now, read quickly we have to meet the housekeepers."

I did as he said and flipped through the book. Henry was one of Mr. Weston's 'regulars' apparently.

Age: 26

Occupation: Chef

Personality: Passionate, creative, focused, friendly

Interests: cooking, gardens, wine, people

Dislikes: instant/take-out meals, picky eaters, introverts

Frequency: Approximately once a week

Henry Weston considers himself the "chef of the mansion." He will spend most of his day in the kitchen experimenting with different cuisines. Any chef hired should be sent home this day as Henry hates his position to be challenged. Always have a couple "favorite foods" prepared in your mind, as he will ask, and simply stating you have no preference will only result in an argument. Despite this, Henry is incredibly friendly and believes good food is made better by good company. Be friendly toward him and he will cause no problems.

I closed the book when I finished. Thomas merely nodded at me before walking off. I followed him. As we walked down the hall I heard a faint voice. I paused, Thomas turned back to look at me. I heard it again, I walked into the nearest bedroom.

"Thomas, are you there?" The intercom crackled.

"This is Ms. Walton, sir. How can I help you?" I asked.

"Oh, good. I was going to ask about you anyway. What would you like for lunch, Ms. Walton?"

"Oh, I don't really-" I paused. Right. It would be bad not to suggest something. "Umm, uh..."

Amazing how every food in existence could leave my mind all at once. I went blank. What foods even existed?

"Ms. Walton?" The speaker crackled.

"Salad," I blurted out. "I like salad."

He grunted. "Rather simple, but I'll see what I can do with it. Thank you."

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the door. Thomas stood there smiling.

"I must be getting old," he said with a chuckle. "I used to be able to hear that intercom from a mile away."

"That was the most stress-inducing order I've ever placed," I mumbled, shaking my head.

"You did just fine," he assured me. "I would suggest coming up with a list of your favorite meals for days like this though. Don't be afraid to challenge him, he loves a challenge."

I nodded. We continued down the hall. Thomas led me to the same room I found him in last time. I heard voices muttering on the other side. He turned to me.

"Remember, Anna. These people are employees. They work for you. Don't be afraid to speak out or order them around. That is your job," he said sternly. "Those who are difficult or sloppy should be reported to their company, don't hesitate to fire anyone who is unwilling to follow your orders and keep them as far away from Mr. Weston as possible. Always hold preliminary and final briefings here. It's the farthest area of the mansion and there's no reason Mr. Weston should come here on his own. Okay?"

My head was spinning from all the information he'd just given me, but I managed to nod in reply. He smiled and threw open the doors. Several dozen workers in blue jumpsuits suddenly fell silent. Thomas walked to the front of the room. I followed silently.

"Everyone, this is Anna Walton," he said, gesturing towards me. "She'll be taking over soon as the house's new caretaker."

Mumbles filled the room. Thomas clapped his hands to quiet them. They fell silent again.

"I know you've already had this introduction several times," he continued. "However, Anna is already on her fifth day now. She has proven to be quite capable even with Mr. Weston's worst days. I have confidence in her abilities and trust her fully with the duties of the mansion. That being said, from now on you follow Ms. Walton's orders as if they were my own. You will do as she says and anyone unwilling to do so can find new employment. Is that understood?"

The crew grumbled amongst themselves, but no one left or argued. As serious as I was about doing well I couldn't help but blush a bit at how highly Thomas had praised me. Did he really think I was so capable? Apparently so, because he immediately pulled me off to the side.

"Alright, Ms. Walton," he whispered. "I will leave a cleaning schedule with you before I go, but you should learn the routine quickly. As I mentioned the crew comes three times a week. Each time they clean a different part of the mansion. Today they focus on the bedrooms and cellars. Meaning they will be divided into two groups. Now, go announce it to them."

I stared at him in shock. I was giving the orders? He looked at me expectantly. Right, he just told them I'd be taking charge, I guess this was a good time to prove it. I cleared my throat and went back to the front of the room. A couple of them glanced at me, but mostly they ignored me. I tried to clap my hands in the same way Thomas had. The room fell silent, all eyes were on me. I gulped and took a deep breath.

"Alright, today the bedrooms and the cellar have to be cleaned," I tried to say confidently. I thought of the dozens of bedrooms. "There are more bedrooms than anything else in the mansion, they'll take a while, so most of you will be assigned to cleaning them. The others will handle the cellar. I know a lot of you have worked at the mansion for years, so I leave it to you to decide who is best for each job."

The crew all muttered amongst themselves again as they started to leave the room. A few glanced in my direction as they passed by. I still felt the butterflies in my stomach as the last ones filed out. Thomas put his hand on my shoulder. He smiled.

"Not the best directions I've heard, but certainly not the worst," he said with a chuckle. "The first day is always nerve-wracking, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it after a few tries. Just remember. Confidence." I nodded. "Good, now, remember that while we go talk to the gardeners now."

He laughed as the color drained from my face. He led me out the door and down the hall. We met the gardeners in the rose garden. Our interaction was pretty much the same as with the cleaners. I was so anxious by the end I thought I would collapse. I felt like I'd been directing people all day, but the clock told me it'd only been an hour.

I glanced over at Thomas. How was he able to do this for years? Ordering and keeping track of so many people. The mansion was in perfect condition from the moment I arrived, he had this down to a science by now. I was pretty confident in my ability to handle Mr. Weston, but this many workers?

Thomas looked my way. It was at that moment I realized I'd been staring. I looked away, but I heard him chuckle.

"I know it all seems impossible now, I thought so too when I was first put in this position, but you'll be amazed how quickly you adjust," he said gently. "Soon, every week will be like clockwork. You'll need the seasons just to remember that time has passed."

"I just don't get how you did it for so long," I muttered.

I heard him sigh. "It wasn't the plan originally. None of this was. I was meant to be Mr. Weston's caretaker, but that was when he was a child. He and his brother had several, not just me. It was just supposed to be temporary."

"So, what happened?" I asked.

"You heard about the accident?" He asked. I nodded. "Well, we were all the boy had left. A couple of months after it happened was when Victor first appeared."

"Wait, Victor was the first?!" I said, shocked.

"He wasn't as troublesome then," he sighed. "I suppose that's one reason I'm a little tough on Victor. He was the first, the one who started it. I guess that never really left my mind. We all thought Mr. Weston was just acting out at first, a grieving child doing his best to cope with what had happened.

Then the others appeared. Doctors, psychologists, we must have called everyone. No one could give us a real answer. The staff became overwhelmed by his changes, they left one by one. Somehow, I was the only one left."

"Why didn't you leave too?" I asked.

He stared off into the garden. He seemed to be thinking intently. After a while, he turned back to me.

"Who else did he have?" He said simply. "Everyone he cared about had either died or abandoned him. I thought about it a couple times, just leaving, but I could never actually go through with it. I couldn't abandon that poor child, and even when he grew I could never see him as anything else. He has always been that ten-year-old boy who clung to me so desperately, afraid I'd leave him too."

What could I say? I knew Thomas had a strong attachment to Mr. Weston, but I guess I never thought about the reason so much. It must have been hard. All those years to raise a child who wasn't even his own. Giving up his own personal life in order to care for that child.

"Sometimes I wonder if I can really let him go," he said, mostly to himself. "As the week goes on, and the day of my resignation gets closer, I keep wondering if I can really walk away. I trust you, Ms. Walton, but it isn't easy. That boy is my child in every way except blood. I worry about him, his future. Sometimes I wonder if I'll always feel that way."

"Of course you will, Thomas," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "You said it yourself. He's practically your child. I think I'd worry more if you didn't feel that way."

He half-smiled at this, his eyes seemed a bit misty. No, it couldn't be easy at all. I could never understand how Thomas felt. I cared for Mr. Weston as a lover, but as a child? I couldn't imagine.

"Why don't you stay then?" I asked. He turned to me in shock. "Mr. Weston obviously cares for you Thomas. Getting married, living with him. I'm sure he'd approve if you asked."

Thomas chuckled a bit. "He already has, Ms. Walton. As soon as I mentioned retiring he brought up at least a dozen suggestions of how I could stay, but it's more than just me moving on with my life. It's him moving on with his.

I'm all he's ever known. The things any man would want for his child, I want for him. Happiness, independence, love. I know he will always need to be cared for, but, as I said, I can't see him as anything but a child. I baby him too much, I'm afraid. It's time for me to step back so he can move on too."

He looked over at me and smiled. He started walking toward the house. I followed silently. What more could I say? As we walked in he peeked into the kitchen. He let out a deep sigh.

"It might be good for you to meet with Henry for a while, Ms. Walton," he said gently. "I'll call for you when it's time to inspect the cleaners."

With that, he walked off. I wasn't sure how to feel for Thomas. Happy he was starting his life? Sad he was leaving his old one behind? Sorry about the situation he was forced into? And what about Mr. Weston? How did he really feel about Thomas leaving? It might be a while before I could ask him.

I peeked into the kitchen myself. Mr. Weston was staring intently into the refrigerator. I couldn't help smiling at the scene. If I could understand anything, it was how Thomas could so quickly cling to this man, how he found it so hard to leave him after such a short time.

At that moment Mr. Weston turned and noticed me. I blushed a bit at being caught spying on him, but he didn't seem to care.

"Oh, good. Ms... Walton? Right? Come in here a moment," he said, waving me over.

I walked in. I didn't have a clear view of the kitchen before, but now I could see it was absolute chaos. I wouldn't call it "messy," everything was obviously organized. Still, it seemed crowded and overly busy. He led me over to a table at the far end of the kitchen. There were several plates on it.

"Since your lunch request was quite simple, I decided to experiment with some new recipes. Please, try these and tell me what you think," he said, pushing one of the plates my way.

"I'm not really a food critic or anything, sir. I'm not sure I'd be able to tell you much," I said, shrugging.

He rolled his eyes. "If you have a working tongue, you have everything I need. Even the worst palate can tell good from bad, or salty from sweet. Just do your best."

I looked down. It seemed to be bread and tomatoes. Bruschetta, I think that's what it was called. I picked it up and took a bite. He watched me expectantly. I felt nervous having him watch me eat. Then the flavor hit me.

"Oh! It's really good," I said happily.

"You almost sound shocked," he said teasingly.

I smiled a bit. "Sorry, sir. I've never had the chance to try your cooking before."

"Well, then you're in for quite the treat today," he said grabbing another plate. "Try this now."

I looked at the table, there were easily more than a half dozen plates. Was I going to try them all?

"Sir, if I eat all of these I don't think I'll be able to eat lunch," I said nervously.

He just laughed. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine."

I could already tell arguing would be pointless. I sighed and resigned myself to my new role as a taste-tester. I tried several more plates. Escargot, Berry tartlets, burrata, charcuterie, and various chocolate truffles. They were all astoundingly delicious, but, as I feared, I was becoming full very fast. Any protest I made was met with a plea for "one more bite," and to leave something unfinished was "a terrible waste."

I loved food and eating, but I feared how my stomach would react to all these rich dishes at once. I already feared dinner, and it wasn't even lunch yet.

"One more thing," he said suddenly, running to the fridge.

"Sir, please," I begged. "If I eat anything else I'll explode."

He smiled mischievously and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. He brought it over to the table and poured a glass.

"Alright, but how about drinking something?" he asked.

I half-smiled. I sure could use a drink after the last couple days, but I wasn't sure if I should. Still, as he slid the glass my way the red liquid's shine and sweet aroma called to me. I sighed and gave in, yet again.

"One glass," I said sternly.

He waved me off. "We'll see. Just drink it."

I rolled my eyes, but still took a sip. I was surprised by how sweet it was. I would quite say it was a "dessert wine," but the fruity flavor was strong. I could barely even taste the alcohol. Before I knew it I'd finished my glass. He quickly went to refill it.

"Now, wait. I-"

"Do you like it?" He asked, ignoring me.

"Well, yes," I said, sighing," but I really shouldn't have any more."

"Well, it's already poured so you might as well," he said, shrugging.

I glared at him a bit but still took another sip. It was really good. I looked over at him, he was smiling.

"What is it, sir?" I asked.

"You really like this?" He asked again.

"Yes, I usually prefer sweet wines," I said.

"Good, it's my first batch so I was a little worried about how it would turn out," he said, smiling.

"First batch?"

"I made this," he said, beaming. "I wanted to make something more suited to a woman's palate, so I made it a little sweeter. It's been in storage a couple years actually. I was starting to wonder if there'd ever be a woman in the house to taste it."

He laughed happily as he said this. His happiness was contagious. I couldn't help myself from smiling. Thomas was right, Henry really was a friendly persona. He was obviously very talented too, the food and wine were both delicious. As much as I complained I was very happy to try them all.

Before I noticed he began to fill my glass again. I didn't bother to argue this time, I just took another sip. The way he smiled so happily at me only encouraged me to drink more. As if I was giving him what he wanted.

The clock chimed suddenly. Noon? It couldn't be, could it? I gulped down the last bit of my wine and stood. At least, I tried to stand, but I felt a bit hazy. I glanced at the bottle. Empty. Had I really finished the whole thing? The haziness grew stronger the longer I stood. I sat back down. Was I drunk?

I heard Mr. Weston laugh. "I guess I should have mentioned that despite its sweetness this wine actually has quite a high alcohol content."

This was bad. I couldn't get drunk at this job, and I had to meet with Thomas soon. What would he say about this? Mr. Weston put his finger under my chin and tilted my head up to meet his eyes.

"Alcohol makes people more honest. Forgive my deception, but it's really the best way," he said, shrugging.

He planned this? I felt nerves mixing with the fuzziness in my head. What was he going to do exactly? I should have been more careful. He leaned down. His face was close to mine. He smiled.

"I have some questions for you, Ms. Walton."