Fractured Slipper

by Adrienne Monson

  A chill fingered up my spine and wrapped tendrils around my ribs, clamping down my stomach.

  He remembers me, but no one told him what happened to Father that day.

  “Well, I’m not the type to give up. I let it rest for a few months, allowing for time to soften the anxiety over the subject, then began asking again. I questioned the servants, whenever I could get them alone. Finally, one of the stable boys confirmed my suspicions. A girl had helped me that day. I wasn’t crazy. My mind hadn’t played a trick on me.”

  Greyson grinned.

  “So, I convinced my father to hold this ball. I hoped when I sent the invitation, you would come. I wanted to meet with you, talk to you, show you my appreciation,” he said, his tone steeped in emotion and gratitude. “I knew I’d recognize you if you came. How could I forget the charming face of the girl frequenting my dreams and waking fantasies? My only fear was that you wouldn’t come.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and blushed.

  “But it seemed my fear was unsubstantiated because you walked through that door tonight, more beautiful than I even imagined. Only . . . when I saw you standing there, searching over the crowd, floods of strange memories poured into my mind. I saw us dining and dancing together. I even saw myself pushing you on this swing. We’ve spoken about the stars, our late mothers, even your cruel stepmother and stepsisters. All of this has happened before—the ball, this garden, the swing. Everything. Many times.”

  His eyes met mine and longing stretched from his gaze. He pulled me in.

  “Do you remember being here with me before?”

  I tried to draw up any sort of memory or experience, but I knew what my answer was already.

  “There were a few times tonight where certain things rang a bell and felt familiar. I’ve had strange spells of dizziness and déjà vu all evening.” My cheeks and ears felt hot. “But I’m sorry to say, nothing with you so far seems familiar.”

  Greyson rolled up on his knees, then stood. He offered his hand and I took it. He pulled me up and cradled me in his arms. We began to sway back and forth, dancing under the watching moon. I wanted to forget the odd phenomenon unraveling, just live in the moment with him—drink in his woodsy scent, melt into the warmth of his chest, and relish his embrace. I longed to accept for the first time in over a year in his arms I was safe and cared for. I wanted to lose myself in this refuge. It’d been so long since I’d had human contact that wasn’t cruel or violent. I would’ve given anything to force my mind to settle into this dream coming true, but confused thoughts racked my brain, interrupting the live fantasy.

  How can I not remember him when other things have triggered my memory? What are these time lapses? Why is this happening?

  Greyson slowed to a stop and pulled away. The corner of his mouth rose in a coy grin. My palms moistened, and the ends of my fingers trembled as he stood over me, capturing me in his intense gaze. He reached up, grazed my cheekbones with his fingertips, then ran them over my upper lip. The blood inside my heart launched like a startled grasshopper, then vaulted through my arteries, laced with drawn adrenaline, sending exhilarating sensations to the edges of my limbs. He leaned in, our noses almost touching. His sweet hot breath bathed my face in warm delicious air.

  “Perhaps you’ll remember this.”

  Our eyes met for a brief second, then his closed. The bell tower of the castle began to chime with loud bongs, reverberating over the muffled music of the ballroom. I anticipated the feeling of his lips against mine. Then everything faded and bled into darkness.

  Chapter 6

  The Clock Strikes Twelve

  The clacking of glass on marble echoed in my ears as my feet pounded the floor. Confusion jarred me, and I opened my eyes to see the open front door of the castle, not Greyson’s lips, rushing up to meet me. I burst through it and found myself on the pathway I’d followed to get to the castle earlier.

  Greyson and the garden were gone.

  The bell in the tower continued to echo through the cooling air, chiming over and over. I whipped around to see the clock. The hands met each other on the twelve.

  Three hours had passed since I arrived.

  Light and color swam like pinwheels in my peripheral vision. All I could think of was getting back home. Hair tickled my bare back, flying wildly behind me as I jogged down the steep stone steps leading to the road.

  What are you doing?

  I tried to force myself to stop running, but the urge to return home compelled me with such vivid potency it forced me forward. I was on its leash. For the first time tonight, fear overrode confusion, piercing me to my core. The events of the evening were no longer strange—they were terrifying.

  Greyson’s shouts rang through the air behind me. “Ella, no! Please, come back. I can’t lose you again.”

  The pleading in his voice struck a chord in my heart, so I turned to see him standing at the precipice of the stairs. A look of devastation and longing carved into his perfect face. His voice challenged the pull dragging me away, but it didn’t hold enough power. I continued to run, hearing his frantic shouts fade as the distance between us grew.

  The clang of the clock tower struck its last. Midnight fell as I reached the edge of the royal property. Time skipped again. I hurtled down the road in the direction of my house. Bewildered and frightened, I whipped around to look behind me. With the focus off my direction, I caught my heel in a large divot. The tendons in my ankle twisted and the glass of the heel on my right foot crackled and splintered. I tumbled to the ground, colliding with the unforgiving gravelly dirt.

  Both the slippers vibrated, sending peculiar inviting sensations up through my legs, into my body. Vivid memories of the night’s events frolicked inside my head; Anjelina coaxing me to dress for the ball; the doorman’s courteous smile as he greeted me at the door; Greyson’s handsome face leaning close to mine—the musk of his cologne popping onto my tongue as I opened my mouth to receive his kiss.

  A dark hooded figure breached the trees just across the road. The comfortable, soothing vibration turned to pain. Shocking stings shot from the base of the slipper, scrabbling like razored tendrils up the same pathways. I tried to cry out but my throat seized.

  The figure approached me slowly, its head tilted, savoring the scene. I writhed as searing agony electrocuted my body from the inside out. Convinced death had surely come for me, I closed my eyes and begged for my heart to stop, for this shadow to deliver me from the earth into my parents’ arms.

  Then I thought of Greyson—the pleading emanating from his hurt eyes, the slight pout on his lips, his crestfallen shouts for me to turn around. I rolled over to face the shadow now hovering over me.

  Whatever this was, I would fight it.

  A cold voice rasped from under the hood. “How many nights must we do this, Ella, before you learn to stay where you belong?”

  The figure reached for the slippers still clinging to my feet and yanked them off. The moment they left my soles, the struggle within dissipated. Darkness encased me as my feet iced over and I faded into sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Familiar Chores and Speeches

  “Mother, she ruined the glaze on the rolls on purpose.”

  Gisella threw her napkin on the floor, then picked up her plate and shoved it at Lilith. “Taste them. The glaze is scorched.”

  I opened my mouth to protest that I would never have burned the glaze on Father’s favorite rolls on his birthday. A swell of nausea and déjà vu swept over me. A flash of memory pulsed and I recalled similar mornings when Gisella accused me of this. The thoughts seemed to cling to the inside of my mind like a cobweb on the corner of a wall.

  So strange. I only make these for Father’s birthday. She couldn’t have accused me of this before. This is the first birthday we’ve had without him.

  Voices from the table chattered back and forth but were unrecognizable, as if they were underwater. I moved my attention to Mother’s vase on the stationary. I saw it falling t
o the ground, splitting open, spilling dirt all over the floor. I reached over and steadied myself against the threshold of the doorway. My vision waned and turned black.

  The clang of a bucket on the ground woke me. I stood feet from our stone wall in a puddle of filthy mud-seeped water. The gentle breeze on the air chilled me. A pale buttery orb hung low on the horizon, preparing to dip itself in the pool of dark blue rising to swallow it for the night. I grabbed my head with both hands. Flashes of this scene along with many others reeled through my bending mind.

  I’ve done this before. Many times.

  I watched the butterfly bush in anticipation of Anjelina peeking her head from the branches. When I saw her lean out I placed my hand across her mouth.

  “Shh. Come with me.”

  Her eyebrows raised into her hairline. She furrowed her brows. I grabbed her hand and yanked her to our barn. She sprinted behind me, nearly tripping on the large pumpkin vines curling up through the garden. The moment we reached the barn stalls, I snatched the scroll from her hand and tore it open. Anjelina huffed and put her hands on her hips.

  “Hey! I was going to show you that. What in the world is going on, Ella?”

  I ignored her and read the calligraphy penned across the parchment aloud:

  King Francis and his honored son, the Prince of Wallachia,

  cordially invite all maidens of the kingdom over the age of seventeen to join them

  in celebrating his coming of age at a grand ball on the 31st day of October.

  The gallant Prince Greyson wishes to choose a maiden to accompany him

  for the evening. As such, we request you wear your most exquisite finery and

  present yourself at the castle at 8:00 p.m. Please RSVP

  She cleared her throat and pulled the scroll from my hand.

  “You’re acting so weird. What’s gotten into you? I’ve never seen you this . . . ruffled.”

  I gaped at her, my insides whipping around like a sizzling summer wind. The words rolling around on my tongue fought to break free, but I was afraid to say them out loud.

  I didn’t want to admit to my fears.

  “Ella, tell me,” she coaxed and put her soft manicured hand on my arm.

  I collapsed onto the milking stool, hiding my face in my hands

  “I think I’m going crazy, Anj. I’ve seen this scroll before. I cleaned up the exact same mess in my house before, dropped that same bucket. I’ve even talked to you in this barn about the ball before, more than once. More than ten times.” I exhaled, pulling my hands from my face. “I can tell you what you’re going to say next. List every single event that happens in the next two days.”

  Anjelina stared at me with a worried look for a few moments, then her frown curved upward.

  “Ella, those horrible women have worked you into delirium. Let me guess. You haven’t eaten today. You’ve worked those slender fingers of yours to the bone and beyond. You need some sleep, my dear friend. A healthy meal and a restful night’s sleep.”

  I stood and grasped her sleeves, laden with anxiety.

  “I’m telling you, Anjelina. I know what’s going to happen. You’re going to convince me to sneak over to your house tonight so you can let me borrow your mother’s blue gown for the ball. You tell me your cousins Jacque and Gus owe you a favor. They send a carriage for me. The footman gives me a pair of glass slippers to wear. I end up at the ball tomorrow and dance with Prince Greyson. He almost kisses me. Then the clock starts chiming. I start running and I fall. The glass slipper cracks. A figure in a hooded cloak comes to steal them, and I—”

  I slapped my hands over my face as scores of images pepper my mind, a raging storm of watery recollection, each droplet containing a memory that repeated once it hit: scrubbing the plant soil from the rug, picking up Mother’s broken vase, emptying the bucket.

  “I’m remembering today and tomorrow, the past and future all at the same time. I’ve repeated them. Not just once before, but—a hundred times.”

  Anjelina’s eyes widened. She smacked her hand over her mouth. She leaned against the work bench and stared at me.

  “Do you believe me?” I whispered, praying she wouldn’t run from the barn to call the lunatic wagon.

  “Actually, yes I do. You’re my best friend. I know you would never lie.” Relieved, I fell into her open arms. She hugged me fiercely, then pulled away and grabbed my hands.

  “When Mother received the invitation and I read it, I knew your wicked stepmother and those horrible stepsisters of yours would forbid you to go. I’ve been setting those gowns out all day. I’ve already sent the message to Jacque and Gus to arrange your carriage. I came over here to show this to you, hoping I could convince you to go. There’s no way you could’ve known about that.”

  She escorted me to the barn doors.

  “I’ve got to get back or Mother will be missing me. We’ll figure this out, Ella. I promise. Go back inside, finish your chores.”

  Anjelina gave me her famous devilish look, winked, then hurried through the garden and disappeared behind the stone wall.

  Still shaking, I went inside to start supper. As the stew bubbled in the cauldron over the fire, an inconsistency in the repetitive events troubled me.

  If I’m repeating the same two days over and over again, why aren’t the others having the same experience I am? Why doesn’t Anjelina remember repeating this day? Why haven’t Lilith and the girls complained about the strange phenomenon? What was different about today? What had happened last night that forced me to remember?

  My stomach flip-flopped, full of angst and strangely enough—excitement. The only person who remembered was Prince Greyson. He’d been desperate for me to remember too.

  A voice from behind me caused me to jump and flip the soup spoon, dousing the front of my dress with hot drippings.

  “Don’t scorch the supper, Cinderella. I’ll not be eating two burned meals today. Didn’t Mother tell you? We’re celebrating.”

  I turned around to see Ophelia staring at me, mocking malice ebbing inside her deep brown eyes. Gisella appeared behind her and butted in front.

  “King Francis announced a ball in Prince Greyson’s honor. Mother took us shopping for dresses today. But she told us there wasn’t enough of our dead Father’s money left for four dresses, only three. So you won’t be going.”

  They sniggered and marched out of the kitchen, waggling their large buttocks behind them, proud they’d pulled one over on me.

  But I knew about the ball. I knew everything that was going to happen.

  I stirred the stew, the savory steam joining the mist forming in my eyes. Never since Father died had the girls left an opportunity to bring up my father’s death in any conversation. That memory, mixing with the confusion and frustration about this repeating time rocked my composure.

  For the first time since Father died, waves of anger emptied into my core. All this time, I’d been tormenting myself for playing a part in his death, acting the victim. I allowed Lilith, Ophelia, and Gisella to rub my nose in my ever-present guilt. The past year was composed of nothing more than daily punishments—both emotional and physical. I willingly allowed Lilith to take advantage of me, giving me all the responsibilities of the house, the chores, everything because I’d resigned myself to a life of slavery.

  No more.

  I couldn’t bring Father back but in that moment, I embraced the truth of what happened. It was an accident. If anyone was to blame, it was Commander Drake. I’m giving myself permission to let go of the past and allow fate to embrace me. Prince Greyson remembered me. In his arms, with his love, I could be free of this hell and hold the commander responsible for Father.

  My way out was clear, tonight was my last night of servitude. When I attended the ball tomorrow night, nothing would keep me from Greyson. I turned to dish up the stew for Lilith and the girls, but pain surged through me like a jolt of lightning. My knees buckled. I plummeted into a heap on the floor. Pressure thronged me from every di
rection, threatening to squeeze me to death. I wrestled with the invisible force, trying to free myself. Then the pressure ceased, and a delicate wind tickled my face. I opened my eyes to find myself standing on the veranda, Greyson’s hand clutching mine.

  “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” he questioned.

  Once the shock of finding myself at the ball again dissipated, I answered.

  “Yes. Several times.”

  He turned to me, and I surveyed his quizzical face. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He swallowed and squeezed my hand. “What’s happening to us?”

  Chapter 8

  Discoveries

  “Come with me,” I said. I pulled him from the veranda. We ran around the crowd of twirling guests, and I scanned across the sea of color to find Lilith and my stepsisters engaged in what seemed like a passionate conversation with Anjelina and her mother. I caught sight of Commander Drake eyeing them. White-hot hatred struck me to my core. My heart ricocheted so hard against my sternum I could barely breathe. Pain and pressure again surged through me. Looming darkness on the edge of my vision threatened to tear me from the present into the past.

  Begging whatever this curse was for a few more seconds, I barreled through the side door, dragging Greyson behind me into his secret garden. I had to get him alone, I needed to tell him everything I knew, everything I remembered before the time loop reset again.

  The swing hung from the large oak as it had done so many times before. I headed for it to recreate the many scenes I now so vividly remembered in this garden, praying time would allow for a short conversation. I had to find out what he remembered this time.

  Just before I reached the swing, my right foot caught on an exposed tree root and the cracked heel of the glass slipper broke free. I tumbled forward. Greyson caught me mid-fall. When he pulled me upward, the broken slipper tumbled from my foot.