Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Catherine Earnshaw had been dead for barely an hour when Heathcliff was sure he would join her.

There were many risks to living in the Heights: the lightning, winds carrying excessive T Corp pollution, and the predatory animals that skulked the coastal perimeter were just the tip of the cragged plain’s ways of killing you. The worst and most confounding, however, was the inexplicable chronic, slow, illnesses that sunk their claws in silently to its residents and didn’t unsheath them until the fatal quarts had been drained from their bodies. And if not that, the same parasite would crawl into the crevices of one’s brain and slowly drive them mad until they did the job themselves. It would seem the Heights wanted nothing but corpses strewn amongst its heathers to feed the beasts in its copse-like woods. Forget a predator, this place was a scavenger.

The Heights had placed its poison somewhere in her spine’s vertebrae. Unsure of what had started it exactly - viral, a mutation, bad luck - Cathy had started facing a cold tingling in her hands and feet, a sharp pain in her lower back, and they’d only just gotten her to the doctor by the time she’d become an ambulatory wheelchair user. The doctor had been useless, simply shutting the leather case in his gloved hands and insisting Cathy was a lost cause, just like her mother, and it was in fact a miracle she’d even been born at all. Heathcliff had clocked the pipe out of his mouth shortly after, sending the ashes flying into the grass and Nelly whirlwinding in to put two fingers on his nearest acupoint. He’d been inconsolable ever since.

Two years ago, Linton had succumbed to something collapsing his lungs. Five years ago, it was Hindley downing his last bottle and falling into a breathless sleep in the field. The last two he’d felt relieved about, as Linton was another candidate for Cathy’s heart, and Hindley, well…Hindley was almost the most responsible for all the scars over Heathcliff’s body, second only to himself (a promise he’d made to Cathy - he wouldn’t give himself any more). He’d prayed to whatever was listening that Hindley would die, then he did. But the Heights took the favour of no one but death, first getting rid of his two biggest targets for him and then killing the one he’d vowed to give his bleeding heart to. What the Heights giveth, it taketh away. A betrayal he should’ve so easily foreseen.

Well, maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to let it have what it wants early. It wanted fresh young bodies. Who was Heathcliff to deny it another one?

Crouched by Cathy’s side long after she was buried, Heathcliff let Nelly believe he was going to fall asleep on the family plot, and let her fireman carry him to his bed - just like she had when he was a child. He wasn’t faking sleep, but rather catatonia. Nelly and the other butlers and maids were trained to recognize vital and bodily signs. They’d know if he was faking sleep better than any seasoned parent. That was fine. He didn’t need to hide anything from them.

It would go without saying that he was now under a suicide watch as the same level as martial law.

Truth was, he’d been planning it ever since she’d been pronounced terminal. Even contemplated ending both their lives at the same time so they wouldn’t have to suffer a second apart. Driving an unattended sword from Linton’s dust-coated armoury through both of their midsections at the same time would be a bitter but efficient solution. But he could never bear the idea of so much glaring at Cathy. So he beat himself for even conjuring an idea so terrible and tried to focus this self-destructive train onto another track.

To say the Heights’ architecture was wearing down was an understatement. It reminded him all too much of the fabled house of Usher, crumbling almost as fast as the inhabitants. One night whilst dreading Cathy’s last days, he’d been changing into his nightclothes (often just underwear) when he noticed a plank of the floor had given a bit under the ball of his foot. He kneeled, and discovered that the plank could be moved. Did one of the disgruntled servants make this passage for the past occupant of this spare room that had been made his, the night he was taken in? Must have been, for he’d been sleeping here for years without noticing. The nails had been removed silently, and there was no other indication that it was any different from the others in its row. A trapdoor of sorts. This level of stealthy craftsmanship could only be performed by a maid or butler, perhaps even before Nelly’s time.

Making sure the others were busy watching over Cathy’s deathbed, he’d taken a chance, lifted the panel, and slid himself in, startled by the steep earthmade chute below. By the time his body reached flat ground again (via pulverizing his tailbone), he was staring out at the jagged rocks of the coast that surrounded the Heights. Perfect.

He’d long thought a rope would be the one to solve his problem of being away from her. Squeeze back in the tendons that had threatened to fall out of his raw throat. But for obvious reasons, Nelly and the others hand confiscated all those. No bother. He had his own solution now.

The ocean, which to him existed as only a gentle thrumming rhythm of his insomniac nights, was how he’d reunite with Cathy. He’d just walk right in to his death. It wasn’t the ground, but surely his remains would end up in the ocean floor, and that was close enough to her, wasn’t it?

For the first time in weeks that wasn’t performative, Heathcliff smiled to himself. Wait for me, love, he thought. I’m not too far behind ya. The first time he’d opened that makeship hatch had simply been a test run. Now was the real thing.

Of course, the Heights had protested his action with a storm that most would consider once-in-a-lifetime. But here it was maybe once a month. Sheets of rain drowned his hair and coated his exposed skin immediately. He made sure not to bring a lantern, that might attract attention of monitors, human or not. Walking slowly, he hummed a wordless tune that he was certain had come from Cathy. How many days had they spent frolicking in these same fields? Never enough. Surely the Elysian ones he’d see soon would suffice.

His heart lightened in finality once he saw the violent tide beyond the craggy rocks. There wasn’t much time left. Nelly would feel the floor above her was one Heathcliff lighter and send a swarm after him if he didn’t act fast enough.

He dropped the arm he was using to shield his vision from the rain, wanting to meet the merciless ocean with open eyes and arms. But the moment he unblocked his line of sight, something unexpected awaited him.

Some kind of giant fleshy lump, paler than the foams of oncoming waves, lay immobile on the half-drenched coast. Something furry and scarlet was leaning over it. The smaller one on top was bulging back and forth…then lifted itself up to look at him.

The orange thing was naked, and not human. It was bipedal, humanoid, and had ginger hair down to its ankles, but its skin was half-human half-scaled, like it was midway between one of his own kind and halfway to something that would emerge from the Challenger deep. Dull scales encroached on its cheeks, where normal contours should have been, all of its digits were webbed, and ears were replaced with fins. A reptilian tail, flared at the end, stilled cautiously behind it. Vertebrae halfway to fanlike spines stuck out from its back. But that wasn’t the worst part.

Hanging from a mouth full of serrated teeth, positioned widely under its green eyes with slitted pupils, were the intestines of the mammal it was eating, longer than the length of its body, sheared off at one end, blood coating the chin beneath and funneling onto the front of its dis-angled throat.

The stare of those slitted pupils made Heathcliff’s broken heart seize, and he fell lost to the ground before his toes even met the water.

Chapter Text

“Woooow, quite the specimen we have here!”

Hong Lu clicked his monocle into place, over that jade-coloured iris. He stood with Heathcliff in the Heights’ tall grass, overlooking the crags where that dead whale had washed up, a haphazard gash opening its contents up to the world. Hong Lu’s workers all had intensive gas masks and hazmat suits on to block the putrefaction that had sucker-punched Heathcliff right out.

“The hell even is it?” Heathcliff said, not facing Hong Lu. That odd-eyed man had always been a bit shady to him. Sure, he never went back on his word, but Heathcliff could never fight the idea that he was…hiding something. First off, why would someone clearly living in the lap of luxury in H Corp fuck right off to T Corp, to be some random merchant?

…Wait, actually no. Heathcliff had more than enough knowledge as to why someone would flee a silver-plattered table. He did it a few years back, to the Dead Rabbits, but had pathetically crawled back on bloody knees when that hadn’t worked out. The Heights were at least something he knew. And Meursault hadn’t discounted him for leaving either.

Hong Lu hummed. “I can’t really say I have marine creature knowledge, but it’s so much bigger than what we usually see. Whale oil powers so much so there’ll be tons of buyers. I’ll make sure you fetch a good finder’s fee, mmkay?”

Heathcliff just nodded. He felt so much of a failure for being unable to complete what should’ve been an easy attempt on his life. And he’d woken up like nothing had happened, wet clothes in the hamper, pajamas on, and nothing but some residual congestion in his nose and over his palate. Typical Nelly. There was a 50/50 chance she’d chew him out to hell later. But so far, she’d decided to save it.

“Heathcliff?”

He blinked those purple eyes, coming back to the heather-filled field. “O-oh, yeah?”

“Are we perhaps too close to the whale still? I can’t help but notice you seem to be lacking focus.”

“Oh, uh, no. I-I’m alright.” he didn’t even sound like himself when he spoke. He felt the top of his head, near the eyebrow slit, pushing back his hair. Of course Hong Lu knew he was lying. His whole deal was to act like he knew absolutely nothing, yet he definitely knew more than whoever was on the other side of the table.

Just what kind of place is H Corp anyways?

Heathcliff made a gander at Hong Lu’s pockets, only to notice a white cloth, crosshatched in a fashion he’d seen only too much in his time with the Dead Rabbits.

The Yurodiviye?

“Oi,” Heathcliff huffed,”what’s that?” He made a crude point with his marked-up arm.

Hong Lu took a moment to play oblivious, then gazed at his own backside. “Oh, my pocket?”

“C’mon, don’t act all like that now. I know you haven’t lost the plot.” He folded his arms.

“Ah, that tells me you know what it is, Mister Heathcliff.” Hong Lu said.

“Yeah I do, so what? Doesn’t give you the right to just wave it around like that.” Heathcliff grumbled. “I didn’t cross ‘em when I was in the Rabbits. No turf wars if you’re not on each other’s turf.” He zeroed in on Hong Lu. “So you with ‘em or not?”

Hong Lu just shrugged. “It’s a lot more complex than a yes or no question, Mister Heathcliff. But yes, I have dealings with and have supported them.”

Before the inquisition could continue, a worker called to Hong Lu and gave him a thumbs up. Hong Lu made an applause gesture back.

His ponytail swished in the Heights’ gusts behind him. “Until our paths cross again, Mister Heathcliff.”

As the merchant left, the furrow in Heathcliff’s brow threatened to become permanent.

—-

Meanwhile, Outis and Josephine were sharing a cup of tea, one waiting for the other to speak in a silence that made each of their skins cold in their suits.

“...Josephine.”

“Aye?”

“How in the nine hells was Heathcliff able to get out last night?”

“Don’t y’ask me, that’s the maids’ side o’ the manor.” Josephine said wistfully. Like Ryoshu to Nelly, Outis was Josephine’s first mate. The two pairs operated almost like twins, siblings. Josephine regarded Outis near-equal, despite her usual misanthropy. “They must’ve let th’ rats chew through, I tell ye.”

“But it makes no sense.” Outis set down her cup and folded her arms. “Remember how I had to venture down to the west root cellar to gather supplies after the burial yesterday? The place was still securely boarded shut. Wood, brick and even some stone. Come evening, Heathcliff had clawed his way through like it’s nothing.”

“What are ye suggestin’, lass? Ye accusin’ me, now?”

Outis shook her head. “Absolutely not. Rather, I’m suggesting…there’s a rat within the Heights that walks on two legs. We must keep a sharp eye out.”

“Aye. A rat that knew that it was easiest to dismantle from the outside.”

That uncomfortable silence had the floor again as the two finished their tea. They cleaned up and went to bed in their respective quarters in silence.

Josephine swore she felt eyes between the back of her shoulderblades as she passed by the window that looked out to the sea, but the manor had a way of doing that. It was surely nothing.

Chapter Text

For the longest time, despite drinking the products of whales and other creatures, Ishmael had never been on the Lake.

The stories that came from those Waves were never good. People lost to the jaws of the water or something within, or cast off into thin air with but a shrug of an explanation to be found. 

It was much better to get a cushy desk job on land, but all of those seats were occupied. And with that kind of security? They’d never leave those chairs until the Lake dried up. So in other words, to say jobs were scarce was an incredible understatement. 

That was, unless, you held out a hand into the darkness and shook until a contract was signed with the great fluid devil that was the Lake.

No waivers, disclaimers, or training. That was the way of the Lake. From cradle to grave no matter what put you there, you were in its clutches.

Ishmael caught a distant grumble of thunder as she watched some of the more tenured crew untying the only lines keeping them to the shore. One by one, the ropes, the tethers to Ishmael’s home were skillfully unwrapped and set aside, creating a narrow gulf of water between her and the last vestige of land.

Would she ever meet it again?

All her regrets and anxieties about signing her life away like this crashed up to the surface of her heart. Somewhere near the lookout tower, Ahab, who had purposefully hunted Ishmael down at that job board, consulted her astrolabe and compass. Crowing about how the tides were in their favour. Somehow, Ishmael doubted that.

Next, she heard the extensive motor roar up from under the floorboards. She was looking at the other sailors, their muscles, their tans. Could she hope to get closer to them? Would she even tan, with her complexion?

The anchor was hoisted up just as a particularly loud crackle of thunder sounded in their path. By all means, this was starting to not look like a favourable course at all. Wasn’t there some guideline in place saying they’d have to wait?

Well, a voice said in her head, you didn’t want to be a prissy little Nest nepo baby anymore, right? You wanted, no, needed out. To make some money that isn’t in your deadbeat parents’ idle hands and to your own name. To get yourself out. Get them all out. 

Do you think they’ve noticed you're gone?

Swallowing nothing, Ishmael answered in her head: Siblings, yes. They’re the only reasons I stayed as long as I did. I had to watch out for them, keep them safe. Gan…I’m sorry. You’re probably blotting the whale ink on my note by now. It’s selfish. You can be disgusted and angry at me. I know I would. You can take my room. I cleared it out.

Parents…I’m lucky if they even remember my name some days. 

She was wrested from her lament by a sudden toss of the ship, sending her flying back. Instead of her skull splintering the ship’s boards, she found flesh under her. She’d been drifted too far to notice the ship was already leaving.

Ishmael looked up, to see a hulking woman with as many scars on her body as thick dreads on her head. She beheld Ishmael with a focussed gaze that looked…wary. Ishmael almost fell the other way once she was pushed up.

“No worry, sea legs…will come soon.” the larger woman grunted. It sounded like she was having some difficulty speaking, not the language but just in general. Some kind of impediment, for sure. 

But how would that explain the almost leper-like scarring all over her body?

Ishmael opened her mouth, but the big woman trode off, personally flagged over by Ahab for some task that probably anyone on the ship could’ve done.

There is no camaraderie in these waters.

“...Thank you,” escaped Ishmael’s mouth all too late as they sailed away.

Chapter Text

As the moon waned, so did the excitement at the Heights. Heathcliff found time and space at night, which left him wanting, waiting as he sat back next to Cathy’s grave, as if being closer to her soulless body would somehow bring him closer to her. There was the urge to bury himself with her so that maybe their lifeless bodies could coalesce and decay together. Become the same layer of earth.

He refuted that urge of course, knowing that if Cathy knew somehow she’d kill him and hate him in the afterlife forever. She’d want him to live, that’s what Nelly would say to guilt-trip him. Though he refused to hear it when Nelly said it, he knew it in his broken heart to be true. Had Cathy left that godforsaken whale on their shore too, as one last joke?

No, if it had been her, he doubted that would be the last. 

It was waning afternoon, probably an hour or so before Nelly would corral him in like a zoo animal being dropped raw steaks for dinner. Patches of sun reached out from behind heavy charcoal clouds, creating the illusion that the sun was already setting, even though that was still some hours off. 

He got up. Decided to take a stroll down to the same coast where that cetacean corpse had wound up. Kicked his shoes and socks off, set them in the last vestige of grass. Went to one of the few flatter sandy pools hidden within the crags and seated himself on a dry rock above it.

As the water inhaled and exhaled around his scarred ankles, he let his tense jaw release, head tipped back. He’d been holding it ever since she died. He wished he could be a young and naïve teenager again, and instead of running off with the Rabbits, stay with Cathy, even if it meant being a meat shield against Hindley most days.Or maybe he could’ve taken her a-

A living flinch on his foot sent him flailing back with a yipe! He panicked, shouted gibberish, and cursed in all dialects District T had to offer. Then before he could crack open his crown on his momentary stone throne, he caught himself, chest puffing under his crinkled shirt. 

“What the bloody…”

There was no creature to be found, just a literal empty shell. Flipped over, as if to say hey, I’m unoccupied, come on in!. Heathcliff covered his face with his palm and made a chuffing sigh into it. Absolute nitwit, I am. Scared shiteless by someone’s roof.

It had probably been unearthed as Heathcliff mindlessly moved his toes around. Hadn’t even been aware he’d been moving his feet in the first place. Odd, but not out of character for himself. He reached in the water and picked out the shell.

With the landscape of the Heights’ coast not exactly being conducive to sand, shells were also incredibly rare. Once the shell was out of the water, he turned it over in his thumb and forefinger. It had fluorescent stripes, almost like abalone, and yet the rest of it was a plain white. Nelly had never put anything like this obnoxiously close to his face as a child. So was it new? New to the Heights at least?

Nodding to himself, he shoved the thing in his pocket, damning himself half a second later for not fully drying it off first. Oh well, with how his luck was going, that was probably one of the best things to happen. 

Of course, when had already strode around halfway back through the field, Nelly came out to call for him. He had to bleatingly remind her all the way that I know, I know, all the while his hand never left his front pocket.

—----------------------

That night, when he retired to his bed, Heathcliff placed the shell front and centre on his bedside table. Yeah, it was one thing to idly fiddle with it in his pocket (for about two seconds before realizing it looked like something else) but staring at its lustre allured him even more. Despite being empty, it was like it wanted to show him something. Behold something until then unknown to him, or anybody. 

His fingers delicately traced the shell’s outside, before one of his tips ventured inside the hidden part-

-only to catch something under his nail. 

He pulled his hand back only to discover a hair, a long orange hair had lodged itself under his nail.

The same colour as that whale-eating bitch-creature on the shore.

At that moment Heathcliff lost all his senses, flinging the shell out of his hand, letting it smack the floorboards. By all means it should have shattered, splintered into a million pieces in front of him.

But it persevered and barely flipped over on the floor.

Not wanting anything more to do with this damned thing, Heathcliff wrenched the hair from under his nail, tossing it at the glass of the window before yanking down the shutter and tossing it out for real this time. 

He barely managed to shut it, not wanting even a hint of ocean air in his private, sacred space. The only redhead he’d seen in recent years had been that bloody nightmare hallucination. Nelly had by chance never hired anyone with that shade - just didn’t really work, with T Corp’s colour regulations. 

So it had to be from her. It. Whatever.

After calming himself from breathing to the point of whooping, Heathcliff crawled onto his mattress, covering his fetal self with the thickest blanket he had. Sleep may not have been possible for him, no, but feigning protection from the figments of the dark like a child would really felt like the best option. What other one was there, really? In the dark he could see nothing, and nothing was good.

That night, Heathcliff was unsure whether he’d slept or not. He’d lost large chunks of time, to sleep or insomnia or stress he did not know.  

But when he kept his ears open, he swore from below he could hear singing.

Chapter Text

“Heathcliff, what’s this?”

Nelly set her palm down on the tablecloth in front of him. The fact that Heathcliff came to the table at all, instead of leaving a dumb supper out for the flies, was in her ever-observant eyes an improvement. Grieving wouldn’t be easy. Especially for the man who had dedicated every moment of his life, waking or not, to the departed. It was important as ever to keep an eye on him now.

Like taking her hand off a scared baby bird, she uncovered the shell. Heathcliff’s violet eyes widened in something akin to guilt, fear, that same expression he’d had when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I just happened on it in your room when I was tidying it. Where’d you find it? Never seen a lustre like this before!”

The words were genuine - Nelly could not identify this shell, and even when spending time with the young masters when they were just children, sifting through the gravel at the water’s edge, there had been gorgeous ones with aspects like this, just not on one specimen at the same time. But Heathcliff knew her soft words could have a million different daggers hidden behind them.

“Oh…uh…just found it. By the shore.” He tried to nonchalantly muss with his hair. Pretend that if he was out of it, it was because of Cathy. Not the thing that Nelly covered under her palm.

Nelly’s golden eyes sparkled briefly. “Well, it’s absolutely stunning! I’d say maybe we should put it up in the display case and-”

“No.”

Nelly’s breath caught. “...no?”

Heathcliff realized how quickly he’d interjected and waved her off. “W-well, if y’want to, you can, but…I found it, y’know. Finders’ privilege an’ all that. Kinda wanna just…keep it.”

Nelly’s ponytail bobbed as she took in this info. Maybe he saw it as a message from Cathy? If so, she didn’t want to play into any delusion on his part, but if it kept him stable.

“Very well then. Just wanted to make sure the precious little thing didn’t get smashed, is all.”

“Oi,” Heathcliff’s characteristic sneer returned, “what kind of oaf’re you takin’ me for?”

For the first time in days, Nelly smiled.

“Oh, nothing. Just the usual sort. Bull in a china shop and all.”

Raucous dual laughter echoed from the dining hall. Some of the other servants startled by the sudden change from silence.

—---

He was amazed at how well he’d pulled it off. The laughter and everything.

As he lay back in the usual storming darkness of his bedroom, the lightning flashes giving the impression of a place much more impoverished with boarded-up windows and floor cots, Heathcliff wore his half-unbuttoned top and underwear as a poor excuse for pajamas. He wasn’t an insomniac by definition, but if something particularly vexed him or a nightmare prowled in halfway through, he’d find his eyes wide open until sunrise. Such was now.

He didn’t want to sleep. The shell was talking to him.

“Oi, um…you awake?”

Yes I am. Do you want something?

“N-no, I mean, aye, I just wanna talk.”

That big house of yours seems to have plenty of people in it.

“Well, yeah, but-”

Don’t worry. I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people and yet be all alone.

Heathcliff propped himself up on one elbow. “Oh, uh, sorry about Nelly. I thought I hid you well enough she wouldn’t find ya…that was a right mess.”

That doesn’t matter. She’s doing her job, right?

“Right. And she’d think I’m right barmy for talking to a bloody shell.” he chuffed. Then trailed off. Cathy had always been the one to carry conversations. Unless it was about giving someone what for, she’d have to keep him talking.

Cathy Cathy Cathy. Was that all he ever thought?! Jesus, how much had he relied on her while living? Had he even been a whole person outside of her to begin with?

You’re crying.

“S-sorry, I…I’m still in mournin’, y’know. What I was sayin’ last night…about her.”

He could practically hear the nod on the other end. That’s fine. In fact, I didn’t say it but, I had a pretty similar experience. I…lost someone I loved. A lot.

Heathcliff bolted up. “Shite, we’re practically mirror images of each other! Why’d y’not speak up before?”

A long sigh, like the tides coming in. We only just started talking, you know. Wasn’t really sure if I could trust you yet.

Heathcliff nodded. “Right, right. I mean, it was rough to trust you, too. Thought y’might be the fae, wantin’ to run off with my name.”

A hearty laugh. Oh hell no. I’d rather get a rope than be in league with those slimy bastards.

Good, so she wasn’t a fae. “Well, I guess I can quit callin’ you Shell. What’s your real name? I’m Heathcliff.” Despite the fact she’d proven herself against fairy law, he still felt cold guilt saying his name aloud.

Well, we’re two for two on the ‘original’ names. Call me Ishmael.

“Wait, so are ya-”

I’m still a girl. She/her.

“Ah…well, nice to meet ya, Ishmael. Wish I could see you face-to-face an’ all, but you’re probably fathoms away.”

You have seen my face, actually. Just not in the best timing.

“Huh?”

I was…hunting. I took the organs of the whale before you all hauled the rest away.

Heathcliff’s chest turned cold. “That…bloody…that was you?”

Yes. I don’t sugarcoat things, Heathcliff. That was me, eating it. Me and that whale had a sort of long-standing grudge. It’s over now. But thank you for making sure that bastard didn’t even get a proper burial.

Heathcliff was breathing heavy, the realization hitting him like hell. “So you’re a…”

Yes. I’m what we call a mermaid. Not as pretty as those picture books, though. All of us except the original used to be human. And we’re all carnivores.

Silence for a while.

I hope I’m not scaring you off. I know it’s,um, a lot to take in. But I hate hiding truths. Most of all, mine.

“T-that’s fine.”

Look…we’ve connected a lot. Why don’t we meet each other in person again, but…on a better note this time? Where I’m not tearing up some whale’s guts for food. Get off on a better foot.

Heathcliff perked up. “A-aye, I could do that. When about?”

Let’s do…tomorrow. Once the moon rises over orion.

“Blimey, you act like I’m supposed to know all these stars.” he laughed. “But yeah, I can come out then.” Cathy had taught him the constellations, all the astrology.

Okay, and…bring a shirt or something to put on me. Us mermaids don’t wear shells or anything, but I don’t want our first in-person chat to be with me hiding my naked body under the water.

“Got it.”

You get some rest now, I’m starving for something.

“G’night.”

Night.

Heathcliff rolled over in bed, the low hum of the shell disappearing. No, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not after that. Not well.

He was so caught up he missed the faint aroma of cigarette smoke wafting through the door’s cracks.