by Mason, V. F.
“She brought it on herself when she married him. I told her he was a bad choice. He was my friend, but God knows no sane woman should have ever picked him.”
Their reactions during all this make me think they all got body swaps with someone else, because how can they show so much distaste for Ethan when each one of them is no better?
Even Eudard didn’t bother to show up.
Thinking about the green-eyed devil sends warmth through me, reminding me of the last five days spent with him. During those days, I gave myself to him without reservation. He showed me around the town, helping me discover our nature’s beauty anew.
At night, he loved my body, giving me a piece of himself that completed me in a way that went beyond basic desire.
Patricia with her message about Ethan’s funeral broke the bubble I’d placed us in and brought me back to reality.
The time with him allowed for the longing in my heart to flourish, wanting to explore the relationship with him. What would it be like to belong to this man, be his singular obsession in life?
Give a normal life a chance even if he is part of my past?
Even if it means Eachann…
As if on cue, my gaze shifts to him while he still tries to console Dorothy, always a saint.
“I’m going to stay for a little longer.”
Frank watches me in confusion for several seconds but then shrugs. “I’ll see you around then.” With that, he salutes me and walks off to the parking lot.
Once he is several feet away, I slip off one of my gloves and remove the contacts from my eyes, blinking in relief.
I hate those things, even if they give me the perfect cover.
Done, I slide the sunglasses on my nose and exhale a breath.
Ethan fell first, and it’s only fitting that his ex-wife comes next, following the original order.
The grass crunches under my shoes, alerting Eachann to my presence. As he sees me approaching, he gets up, dusting off his knees while Dorothy bursts into tears once again.
Geez, keep the waterfall coming, will ya?
“Cassandra,” he says, his tone even as usual. I wonder if there is anything that can affect his emotional state, or does his faith permanently give him a zen feeling? “You stayed.”
“I couldn’t leave her alone here. I’ll take care of her now.” Surprise is reflected on his face, and he presses the Bible to his chest, contemplating my words. “All her friends left.” I coat my voice in distaste, and to my shock, he chuckles, looking in the distance.
“Yeah, I thought as much.” He scans me, and it seems as if he finds my proposition funny. “Very well. I have to get back to the preparations for the camping trip.”
Right. Eudard mentioned as much when he refused to go to the funeral today and instead attended a meeting concerning the trip. It should happen earlier than planned, and the anticipation for it from his side is real. He told me we’d go together, and I almost laughed in his face.
I’ll never go back to that place if I can help it, and I don’t understand his urgency to take me there. He claims I won’t ever regret it, and who knows, maybe even find happiness there.
How about never?
“Are you going?” I ask Eachann, and regret crosses his face when he gives me a sad smile.
“No. If Eudard is coming, then….” He trails off, and I nod in understanding, because I thought as much. I can’t even raise the subject of their relationship in Eudard’s company; he instantly gets angry. But all this hostility doesn't convince me to tell him the truth about me, because the twins’ bond is absolute.
Dorothy’s sobs snag my attention, and I kneel next to her, softly running my hand over her back, waiting for Eachann to go, which he does in a few seconds, sending a few small rocks flying on his way. “Shhh, Dorothy. It’s not healthy to cry this much.” Opening my arms, I invite her into them, and with a sob she hugs me fiercely, crying into my neck.
“No one showed up,” she says, her arms squeezing me so tightly it’s hard to breath. “Everyone thinks he deserves it.”
“They are shocked,” I murmur, faking the shit out of this embrace.
She shakes her head. “No, they mean it. Everyone believes the letter.”
“It’s not true though, is it?” I ask, and she freezes in my arms, not even breathing as if contemplating the truth.
And my next action will depend on her answer.
Dorothy might have played a part in this plan all those years ago, but she was never my friend. She could have believed any lie Patricia told her. Still though, what she did to me was cruel, but life punished her enough on its own.
No one ever loved her. I can’t imagine greater punishment than that. She always dreamed about belonging, being part of the team.
Sadly, even marrying piece-of-shit Ethan didn't help her get genuine affection and fit in.
I can live with that, because in a way… she was the least evil of them.
But she has to be honest for me to leave her be. “Did Ethan and the rest of the founding five hurt Arianna?” I ask once again, waiting for her reply, but she stays silent.
Finally, she leans back, giving me her mascara-smeared face, and whispers, “No. It’s not true. Arianna wanted what happened to her, and we just helped her to achieve it. We weren't wrong.” She defends herself even if her voice has an odd sound to it, as if she wishes it was true.
Fisting my hands, I hate her in this moment more than anything, because she chose the wrong answer, awakening the vindictive monster inside me that extends his hands to tear her apart.
Our words have the power to seal our fates; that’s why we should always think before we speak.
“It’s not good to lie, Dorothy,” I say coldly, my mouth pulling up in a half grin as she frowns in confusion. “Didn’t your mama teach you better?” I tsk and slowly remove my sunglasses, giving her a view of my striking violet eyes that are so rare there is no mistaking me with anyone.
She gasps, her eyes widening, and I push her back so she lands on her ass with a thud, groaning, “It can’t be true.” She scrambles back, shaking her head in denial. “You’re dead,” she mumbles, and I cock my head to the side, tapping my chin with my index finger.
“Then you must be seeing a ghost, darling.” I move forward, lightly touching her cheek while she trembles. “You are at the cemetery, after all.”
She crawls back, her nails digging into the ground while she whispers, “It’s impossible.” She scrunches her eyes and then snaps them open as if willing me away, but I’m still here. “You are just a figment of my imagination. I drank before,” she mumbles. So leaning closer, I palm her head, lifting her face so her focus is on me, and shake my head.
“It’s not. I’m Arianna. I’m back from the dead, Dorothy.” Fear crosses her face as she gulps for breath, so I continue. “Ethan managed to tell the truth before he died.” I glance at his grave where the men with shovels have already left, leaving only barren ground. “Why don’t you admit your despicable deeds?” Dorothy pales, tears sliding down her cheeks, and I cluck my tongue. “Stop crying. Answer my question.”
“You killed Ethan?” she asks, her teeth clacking with her shaking.
“Ethan has paid for what he did. Don’t you think everyone should?”
She tentatively touches my hands and my arms. “You are real. You’re not a ghost?” She frantically slides her hands, so I trap them between mine, squeezing harshly until she cries out in pain and snatches them away from me.
“Seeing you suffering is not enough, Dorothy.” I sigh dramatically, musing, “Should I make you pay like I did Ethan?” I lower my voice, making it barely audible. “Help you join your beloved?” I wrap my hands around her neck, and she gasps, even though my hold on her is light.
It’s all about psychological torture. “No, please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I want you to tell the truth about that night,” I say, and she stills, shock carved in her features. “So the entire town kn
ows what you did, with proof.” Tightening my grasp on her neck, I make her wrap her hands around mine, silently begging me to let go. “Can you do that, Dorothy? Or is it easier to inflict my own vengeance on you?”
I let go and she coughs loudly, slapping herself wildly before chanting, “You are not real.” Another slap. “Not real. Arianna is dead.” Slap. Slap. Slap. “She is dead.”
“Dead or alive, I won’t rest until everyone pays their debts,” I inform her even though she is too far gone, covering her ears and chanting.
“Arianna is dead.” Rocking back and forth, her movements are hectic as panic and hysterics slowly overtake her. “Dead. Dead. Dead,” she cries out, pulling at her hair and slapping herself again. “Dead.”
Getting up, I dust my black dress off and put my sunglasses back on. I toss my hair over my shoulder and pat her on the head, but she doesn't even notice as she continues rocking in her trance. “Choose wisely, Dorothy.” With that, I leave her there while she cries out and mumbles something again, loud enough for some nearby church kids to point at her, whispering to their parents.
If living with Ethan didn't make her crazy, the truth will.
She won’t say anything about me to anyone yet; the thought of me showing up here won’t ever give her peace.
I’ll haunt her in her dreams, in her nightmares, and in her reality for the rest of her life.
I walk to the parking lot, my heels clicking on the rocks and pulling me back to the present. I wonder why it doesn't bring me the satisfaction I hoped for.
It only smears me in more darkness as I practically turned a person insane.
Well, at least for the time being.
She can have her marbles back once the truth comes out. I won’t damage her further.
I’m next to my car, almost in the shadows, when a voice from behind me stops my movements, and I place my palm on the hood of my car. “You weren't kind to Dorothy.”
“I never promised to be kind to her.” I turn around to face him, and blink in surprise when I notice how close he is to me, worry crossing his face. “I said I’d take care of her.”
He motions with his head toward the screams still coming from the cemetery. “You call this taking care of someone with a fragile state of mind?” he asks, and I cross my arms.
“I offered help; she declined. Too bad.” I’m not really in the mood to argue with holy people today, so I swing around to open my car door, but he closes it, trapping me between the car and his chest to my shock.
He must immediately see the error of his ways when I gasp, because he steps back, tugging on his clerical clothing. “I apologize for this.”
The heartbeat in my chest speeds up and I hate it, wanting to rip it away.
Why do I react to him so close to me?
Even back in high school, my body never reacted to him; no, all those emotions belonged to Eudard.
Eachann just held a piece of my heart.
“Dorothy’s life has been difficult, but she is good under the need to be loved,” he says in the uncomfortable silence, and I huff in disbelief.
Figures he’d be defending his own. “Lack of love doesn't justify everything.”
“Pain doesn't justify everything either,” he fires back as we stare at one another, while he drills his green pools so much like his twin’s into me, probably trying to gauge what I’m thinking behind the rims of my glasses.
I can’t take them off though or he’ll know the truth, and it’s not his turn yet.
Everything should go according to the plan.
“Sorry, priest, but I don't have time to shoot the breeze with you.”
“Cassandra…” His voice trails off and I freeze once again. “Sometimes forgiveness is our only salvation in the nightmare that our life has become.” Anguish dances on the edges of his tone, and I wonder what he knows about it.
Nightmares are only reserved for sinners like me.
But looking at him now… for the first time since I came back here, I notice regrets and pain permanently carved in him as if he wears it like a trophy, atoning for his sins.
The boy I used to know always had a serene expression, drowning in music and his books, and his laughter was always filled with joy.
It seems that even after all this time… I’m not immune to his pain, because part of me wants to ask him what’s going on.
Will I ever be able to be free from the hold he still has on me? He is like this unopened gift that I always had but could never know what was inside, and because of that, I longed to know what if.
He betrayed me on that night, covered up other’s sins.
But does it mean he regrets it too?
Maybe the time has come to unwrap the gift to settle this ghost too? Otherwise, I won’t be freely Eudard’s, no matter how much I try.
He stands still, blinking in surprise when I move closer and put my hand on his chest. He asks, confusion lacing his tone, “What are you doing, Cassandra?” So innocent, so afraid as if my presence… disturbs him?
Did he have a crush on me back in high school as well?
Although I imagine whatever his love was, it didn't include protection or loyalty.
My raspy breath vibrates between us as I gather all the courage I have in my fist and tear the Band-Aid off once and for all.
Rising up, I press my lips against his in time with the clouds blocking the sun, dusting early sunset on us and creating a gloomy atmosphere.
A sinner kissed a saint.
For a second, warmth spreads through me, blocking the outside world as I concentrate on my body. Because we can hide from our thoughts.
But we can never hide from our reactions.
I gaze at him; his eyes are closed even though he breathes heavily, his lips warm but unmoving under mine, and I feel…
Nothing.
The gift I so desperately wished for as a teen ended up being a phantom of my imagination.
A fantasy that always guarded me from the devil I wanted and craved.
Eudard.
Coldness and regret slam into me, almost knocking me down, because my madman doesn't deserve this from me, even if I didn’t promise him forever.
I step back, my ass hitting the car while the wound I didn’t even know I carried in my chest heals up, closing forever all the possibilities of my what-ifs.
I owed it to Arianna, to understand Eachann was never meant to be my forever; his deception never played part in this equation.
His eyelids open, and he watches me with an unreadable expression, swallowing harshly, but before he can say anything, I jump into the car, starting the engine and pulling onto the road, ignoring him shouting my name in the rearview mirror.
Which only makes me press on the accelerator harder, wanting to get out of here before I ask him why… despite the fact we could never be anything… he betrayed me like that.
Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I block away everything and concentrate on the envelope lying beside me.
I’ll have all the time in the world to question Eachann, but for now it’s Patricia’s turn.
Stopping at the traffic light, I quickly put in a new pair of lenses and fix my makeup so no one will know my emotional turmoil.
Squeezing the steering wheel tightly, I pray to God for the first time in a long while to guide my way, because kissing Eachann proved one thing.
I can never wish for him to die anymore.
Because I’m in love with his brother.
* * *
Emerging from my car with it still running, I quickly move toward the steps as James hastily comes down them, confusion written all over his face. “Miss Scott, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Giving him a light smile, I pat his arm and wink. “I’ll be quick. I’m here to see Ralph.” He frowns but nods, pointing at the door. “He is in his office.” He opens his mouth to add something, but I ignore it, darting up the stairs to the house, my heels clicking soundly with each step cementing the overwhelming doom
in this house.
Time to bring chaos to the Browns. I can’t have them being the only ones unaffected, after all. And how convenient that this little secret throws Frank under the bus as well?
Chuckling inwardly at this, I enter the house and call, “Hello?” I expect the maid to greet me and take me to the office, but instead Ralph walks in, a book in his hand while he scans it.
He stops abruptly at my presence, blinks in surprise for a second before regaining his composure, saying, “Cassandra. What an unexpected visit.” He puts the book on the closest shelf. “The funeral is over I gather?”
“Hi. Yes, all done. Poor Dorothy decided to stay there.” His eyes study me, running over my exposed skin in this pencil dress but then comes back to look at me, wariness present among the interest too.
God, with how much everyone screws around here, I wonder why they even bothered getting married in the first place. Did Patricia drag him to the altar or what?
To be fair to Ralph though, I never received reports of him cheating, but I wouldn't be surprised to know he has a fuck buddy or two around.
“Patricia is not home, but she should be here soon. You’re welcome to wait for her in the living room. I’m afraid I’m not good company for anyone today. I’m sure you understand.” He half turns in the direction of the hall leading to the kitchen, shouting, “Lina, please take our guest—”
“I’m here to see you.” His brows rise at my interruption, so I wave the envelope in my hand at him while explaining, “There is something I need to show you.” Even though the bile rises in my throat at the prospect of spending time with him alone without any protection, I push it back and will myself to keep my carefree expression on so he won’t have any suspicions.
Compared to all the other founding five, he doesn’t look very concerned with the rumors floating around about their involvement in Arianna Griffin’s death, if his resting face is anything to go by. But then maybe he still doesn’t feel guilty about it, justifying all the horrendous things they did to me with the excuses he used on that night.
Ralph.
His end will be worse than Ethan’s, but better than Frank’s.