Darkest Pattern- The Door

by Riva Zmajoki

  Darkest Pattern

  The Door

  Riva Zmajoki

  Mesial Canvas

  Clubtail Asterism

  Stations of Redemption:

  I. The House of Sin

  II. The Clean Skin must be Dusted

  III. Impatience is the Virtue of the Young

  IV. There Was Love until There Was Hate

  V. That Crooked Witch Tricked Me

  VI. I Will Hate You Until I Die

  VII. Turn Around, You’ll See Nothing is Left

  VIII. I Pray for Her Every Day

  IX. The Dust in his Pockets

  X. The Lady will give you Comfort

  XI. The Room was Empty

  XII. You Measured Me with Your Hands

  XIII. The War is for the Dead

  STATION ONE

  The beginning of any trip is to exit through the door.

  To exit slavery means to escape.

  To escape means to risk it all.

  After all, there is security in captivity even if it’s bone-shattering and unjust beyond reason. The outside world might seem even harsher and less understandable.

  So, for people to exit someone must enter from the outside and tell them tales of the outside world.

  Good tales of hope and redemption where everyone makes it and people are safe on the other side.

  The fight must march on. There are many steps before us but to cross them we must console ourselves on each step of the way with stories that make life bearable.

  I. The House of Sin

  09/04/1858

  Dear Josephine,

  Once a woman enters your house of sin, she’s forever lost.

  I too was in that house and will forever regret crossing its threshold.

  Still, some things can’t be erased they can only be cleaned in an act of redemption.

  I see you’re doing your first steps on the journey.

  My advice would be to burn down your house of sin and then you might start to rebuild yourself again.

  Sincerely, but not yours,

  Cecilia.

  1.0 Like Your Life Depends upon it

  Everything was worn out. The conquests weren’t what they used to be. There was a constant fear in Josephine Gaillard that she’ll lose her game.

  There was no doubt that she was getting older, each day she was becoming less attractive. It was harder and harder for her to attract young women with her charm. On top of all that she felt old beside their tight skin and endless shame.

  Josephine lifted up her mirror and adjusted her powder. Yes, there they were, clearly visible, small wrinkles around her mouth they didn’t disappear. She was still an attractive woman, but for how long before all those girls start to look at her as their mother figure, no one seductive and alluring.

  If only she managed to find herself a companion, a constant companion to be by her side. To find that was much harder than to find pleasure for an afternoon, for one night. All those women she tried and tasted always disappeared with the first light of the dawn, the first-afternoon bell. Afterwards, they would never look her in the eye. Instead, they would just return to their obese husbands with the gentleness of a mule.

  Sure, there were those who would stay longer, but after their departure, those women wouldn’t get close enough for her to see wrinkles, which must be at home on those faces too.

  Josephine’s Major-Domo looked at her from a seat across from hers. His eyes express nothing except a mask of disdain and mockery. Like other men, he too was completely unattractive to her.

  Luckily, her Major-Domo knew her deep desires and decided to keep her secrets. He didn’t desert her with disgust after her husband, his master died. All through her unwanted marriage, he served her husband respecting her secrets and after it he stayed by her side, loyal and obedient.

  Josephine looked through the window of her carriage. Her behind ached from the bumping of the road which supposed to be freshly pressed. The pillows on the benches weren’t enough to ease the pain her crinoline brought to her thighs on every bump on the road. At that moment she wished that something would change. For far too long she was seducing women lying to them. She would tell them that there’s nothing wicked or corrupt in what she asked them to do, that her touch doesn’t leave traces on their skin.

  All touch leaves traces on the skin, that much the life taught her. Even her husband’s touch was still down there somewhere, unwanted among wanted ones. She could bet that she could feel the tips of his fingers if she tried to remember but she would never try to do that.

  The carriage stopped too early. The Major-Domo jumped out, she peeked through the window. There was a road blockage again. They became all too often lately.

  “Excuse us, madam,” the patrolman bowed before her. “A couple of bandits sneaked into these parts. We will find them, don’t worry.”

  The patrolman smiled at her as she was hysterical.

  “Does it look like there are bandits in here?” she snapped at him.

  “No madam, forgive us the intrusion,” he bowed again.

  “I expect a guest later, let her through without this kind of unpleasantness.”

  “Of course madam.”

  Finally, they let the carriage through. She was upset even more than she was willing to admit. The small tyrants like the patrolman brought shivers to her spine. Those kinds of tyrants with small eyes would like nothing better than to see right through her. Then she would be let to their mercy and she knew they had none.

  Luckily, she shook that feeling off, she didn’t do anything perverse, nothing real. She just had many visitors, female visitors. There’s nothing wrong in friends visiting a lonely widow. Sometimes they would bring their male appendices, but it was easy to distract them. You just needed to give them a cigar and a glass of brandy, or better yet, send them out hunting and all is clear. It was a challenge of sorts to seduce their wives under their noses.

  The carriage shook suddenly. It was as something hit their side. The coachman just kept on forcing horses forward. He should be replaced because he’s old and deaf, but it was a nightmare to think about the search for the new coachman. To find new and reliable help that knew how to keep quiet was no easy feat.

  The door of the carriage opened and there was a pistol peeking inside aiming left and right. She froze from the sight of the end of a barrel. She didn’t see them often, not from up close. There were those few duels she caused, but their pistols were far away, aimed away from her. She looked at the Major-Domo and saw that he was still. It was better that way, she didn’t want to get shot just because he decided to be a silly man and act as he can outrun bullets.

  Josephine turned her head back to the pistol and saw two dark eyes staring back at her. The face that went with those eyes were in the colour of the coffee with a lot of milk, just the way Josephine liked it.

  “Shush,” the dark-skinned woman who held the pistol told them.

  She had to note that the woman held the pistol admirable still amongst all the bouncing of the carriage.

  “You don’t want to get hurt, don’t you?” her voice was soft, but determinant.

  Josephine didn’t doubt in her ability to hurt them, especially because the barrel was now pointed straight to her chest.

  Belva Durant hated her name. It was the whitest name she could imagine. It mocked her dark skin denying her the black identity of her mother, denying her the right to be dissatisfied with the world.

  The name gave out the illusion that she had the privilege of any kind. Just because her father was white it didn’t mean she was white too, or that she was considered his rightful child. Why he made her wear his name and live in his house remained a mystery to Belva.

 
; Still, even if it was just to spite his other children, or to humiliate his white wife, her white father taught her many things. Among others, he taught her how to survive, how to fight back. Her mother died when she was very young so there was no way of knowing her side of the story.

  It bothered Belva that she didn’t know was she a child of rape, or was it some strange and unlikely love. When she was in a good mood she liked to think it was love because at times it seemed as her father really cares for her. When there were days like this one she thought that it must be rape and all his deeds were just to clean his face before his merciless maker.

  Belva ran through the forest as the posse behind her were closing in on her. All her wits proved wrong today. None of her tricks worked and she felt as an animal cornered into a trap, but she wasn’t an animal, she had her mind, there must be a way out, there must be something.

  Suddenly there was a road in the middle of nowhere. There was no town or houses at sight only this track in the mud. It looked used, as chariots drove through recently. She could hear the voices of the patrol which set a blockage further down this road. Like she would ever drive straight through, or would she? Maybe that was the way, to abandon all her logic and board a carriage.

  There was one carriage up the road. The patrolman doing the under inspection as she would just hang from the undercarriage. The road curved ahead and Belva cut through the forest hoping that she’ll find a road before that carriage moves.

  She went against all her instincts returning towards her posse. There was a strong curve on the road and a tree, she just passed it. It can’t be seen from either blockage patrols. The dogs were near, she could hear their bark as they ran through the rough terrain.

  Finally, she came to the road and climbed the tree clearly visible from the road.

  The carriage came in swaying on the curve. The coachman hit the horses not looking up.

  Belva jumped and barely managed to hold on the roof.

  When she found her balance, it was easier. After all, she rode trains all the time entering and exiting over the roof.

  The door was easy to open but it was hard to push her head in to see are their revolvers in there turned her way.

  There were none. Just an old servant looking placid and unwilling to even speak up and his mistress who starred at her with an unreadable intensity.

  Belva decided quickly that the woman is a greater threat so she sat next to her pushing her ridiculously big flowered skirt from the seat. She sat on the red velvety bench and pointed her pistol at her admirable bosom and noticed her exposed white shoulders. It was some time now since Belva saw a decorated noble lady from up close. It was disturbing somehow as she was obligated to be polite and social all of a sudden. Like she should smile at her heart-shaped face under her neatly pressed blond hair. Her emerald green eyes pierced Belva’s and she felt weak.

  The feeling enraged her.

  The intruder sat beside Josephine keeping her aim steady. She even reached out and grabbed the flapping door closing them and still managed to keep the pistol steadily on Josephine. There was a moment before the door closed when Josephine could risk it and push the woman out, but that wasn’t something Josephine wanted to do now or ever.

  The intruder sat comfortably leaning in the cushions as she was at home.

  “Now, all three of us will drive around in peace. I apologize for forcing myself on you, but I urgently needed a ride,” her voice was velvety, her words well pronounced.

  Josephine couldn’t take her eyes of an intruder. She forgot about the pistol completely. There was no sense of fear inside of her, just a sense of admiration. The woman was beautiful. Never before had Josephine seen someone so ravishing, she was beyond pretty to her, she was a goddess in a body.

  Her skin was dark as milk with a dash of coffee. Her strong squared face was fuscous. Although the skin showed that the woman was probably a bit older than Josephine she was more alluring than any young girl Josephine has ever courted.

  In her dark curly hair, there were grey strikes. Her face was wide and full of small wrinkles, there was laughter around her eyes and determination between her eyebrows.

  Most would say that she wasn’t pretty, Josephine’s former lovers could be called prettier than her, but there was such strength about her, resolve and peace inside of her eyes. Josephine yearned for her then, she wanted her here and now.

  Still, Josephine kept enough of her mind to know for certain that this woman she could never seduce with a casual touch and seemingly careless remarks. This woman would see right through her and then she would just snap her neck. Maybe that was the reason Josephine’s craving for the woman grew.

  “What are you staring at,” the woman frowned at Josephine.

  Josephine lowered her gaze observing her lavish breasts that were hidden under clothes. They must be soft under fingers. Her waist in the corset was higher than usual, her hips were hidden under the simple black dress that didn’t reach the size of the fashionable skirts. There was no exposed skin to touch. Yet, everything on her was completely flattering, she looked like she was made for holding. Josephine shivered from the strain of her desire.

  “What’s wrong with you?” the woman put the barrel to Josephine’s face. “Are you ill?”

  Josephine lifted her gaze and just got lost in her eyes in the colour of the fine chocolate her guest would sometimes bring as a gift to her. Josephine grabbed the cushion between them.

  “Again the road blockage,” yelled the coachman from his seat.

  The intruder pressed the end of the barrel to Josephine’s breast.

  “I’m your stupid servant,” the woman growled at her. “Do you hear me, if you even squeak you’re dead, your stud and you,” she nodded towards Major-Domo.

  “I don’t care,” Josephine said quickly leaning in towards her.

  “What?” she frowned angrily. “I’m not joking. Do you understand the danger you’re in?”

  “I know, but I’m not joking either. I will keep quiet, I’ll say whatever you want, but not because of the pistol.”

  “Why then?” she didn’t move the barrel away.

  “Because of the kiss,” Josephine said breathlessly.

  “Excuse me?” the woman lowered her pistol. “You are crazy. I won’t kiss your thug, no way.”

  “Not him,” Josephine waved it off dismissively. “Kiss me, and kiss me well. Then I will lie for you.”

  “You’re crazy,” the woman moved away.

  “I am but you’re dead if you don’t kiss me.”

  The carriage started to slow down. The woman looked out doubtfully.

  “To hell with it all,” she said and threw herself on Josephine.

  Their lips met. The woman pressed her lips hard on hers at first but then just as she expected the woman tried to withdraw, but Josephine didn’t let go. A good kiss was what she asked. After a short hesitation, the woman attacked her lips fiercely again. The kiss was just as it should be like their life depended upon it.

  Belva felt strange while the kiss lasted. It was as the fire is crossing over through her lips straight to her loins. The father of her son kissed her but never like this. She could see his cold stare from the last time she saw him and then suddenly the lips were torn from her and she was dazed for a moment.

  The danger woke her up but everything seemed unreal. The servant looked at her with disdain as the noble lady barked at the patrolman lying for her just as she promised. The lady was surely crazy but smart enough to get them through the blockage.

  The carriage stopped all too soon. Josephine let her grip go, but not before tasting her lips one last time crossing their edges with the tip of her tongue. When she was free, the woman moved away slowly seeming confused. She touched her lips, but the patrolman was already leaning through the window.

  “Madam,” he started, but she interrupted him sharply.

  “I know, the bandits on the road, your colleague told me as much. He examined us too. Can we go home,
please? My servant is ill from the road, she’s pregnant and I’m not in a good mood either.”

  “Certainly madam, we apologize. It’s our job to check on everyone.”

  “Very well,” she said impatiently. “Do your job better and don’t check people twice in a few seconds.”

  Josephine knocked on the roof for the coachman to move and mercifully he heard her moving them away from the danger.

  “You’re one crazy bitch, aren’t you?” the woman spoke up after they drove for a while.

  “Completely crazy,” she said calmly adjusting layers of her crumpled skirt.

  “You would just let me shoot you?”

  Josephine looked at her calmly.

  “You wouldn’t shoot me,” she said with conviction.

  “How do you know that?” the woman leaned back in her chair.

  Her short pocket pistol lied in the woman’s lap not pointed at anyone anymore, seemingly forgotten. The pistol had an unusual inscription on its handle.

  ‘Love can’t be wrong,’ it said.

  Maybe it was a gift from her husband, the kind of a husband who would gun down anyone who touches his woman.

  Josephine licked her lips looking at hers which were still red from friction.

  “I know because your kiss like there is no tomorrow, like someone who loves life.”

  The woman laughed with her belly.

  “You’re a good bitch, but you won’t get another one.”

  “Good things come in small doses,” Josephine sighed.

  “Most of them do,” the woman shrugged her shoulders. “I’m getting off soon.”

  “Where are you going?” Josephine leaned forward tempted to stop her.