by Cindy Miles
I hadn’t turned on the heat, so a chill hung in the air as I sat my belongings down. I went straight to the hearth, busied myself making the fire, and once it was lit, I opened my blankets up and lay down. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t thirsty. I didn’t want to shower. I didn’t want to think.
I just stared into the flames, letting the heat wash over me, until my eye lids grew heavy and I fell asleep.
In my dreams, Kane was there, making love to me, touching me, kissing me with his mouth, his eyes, but then that dream had turned into a nightmare, and I was locked in the dark room upstairs, naked of clothes, and that dank smell of the kitchen cabinet clung to my nostrils. I saw my mother’s pale hair, streaked with blood, and her glassy eyes wide and staring at me as she lay on the floor in an unnatural way. She wouldn’t wake, no matter how hard I shook her. Her eyes wouldn’t close. Only stared. Then the voices. I ran. I hid. Crammed into the cabinet. Shanks found me, and I was in his arms again, but then it was at Winston and I screamed as the monster inside of me showed itself to Murphy, to everyone.
I woke in a panic, in a sweat, the cold air striking it and making me shiver. My breath came harsh. My heart pounded against my ribs like a hammer. Somehow, I drifted back to sleep. When I woke the next morning, the fire had gone out, and I was left cold on the outside and on the inside.
I trudged around for two more days. I chopped wood. Got more blisters. I finally did shower. And I read. I walked the property, noticing how run down the place had become, and felt a ping of guilt for letting it do so. Kane, though, always interrupted my thoughts. I even kept my phone on me, just in case. But he didn’t call. Or text. And I was too ashamed to call or text him.
Christmas Eve had arrived.
I was once again alone with my ghosts.
I sat in front of my fire at Belle House, eating a turkey sandwich I’d made. Christmas Eve. Alone in Belle House again. I’d gotten a grip on myself. Somewhat, anyway.
I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to end.
Sleep wouldn’t come; I’d napped earlier and I just wasn’t tired. The nightmares had made me sleepless and I felt off kilter. I’d brought a book to read, but I didn’t feeling like reading Emily Bronte. I didn’t feel like reading at all.
I wanted Kane. I wanted to tell him everything. To ease the burden I’d carried for so long. I wanted him so badly, it hurt to even think his name. To bring his face, his eyes, and that mouth that had made me writhe with pleasure, to mind? The gaping hole in my heart grew. I’d never felt more alone than I did on Christmas Eve.
Restless, I began to wander the halls, and I knew what sort of trouble that invited. Memories I had no business remembering. Fear I had no business surfacing.
But the pain? I deserved that, after all. Corinne Belle had said so.
I was sick of it. Sick to hell of it all.
A thought stole over me, and I ran outside in the cold. Grabbed the ax, and made my way to the dark room on the third floor. I recalled that day, my first day arriving at Belle House. Corinne Belle had made me strip in front of her, made me shower off the retched dirty little girl she loathed, and never once allowed me to mourn the loss of my parents. Never once hugged me, or soothed me. Never consoled me. She’d taken my belongings, burned the only picture I had. Left me alone. Locked me in that dark room, naked, for trying to get my stuff back. For trying to hold onto a piece of me. Of my life. She made me suffer consequences. Told me I was dead.
Down that long hall sat the dark door. I marched to it, my breath in my throat, my heart pounding. Tears fell down my cheeks. I screamed once.
I took that ax, and I swung it, embedding the blade into the door. I hacked it, over and over and over until the door was splintered, laying on the floor. Breathless, I sobbed, dragged the ax downstairs to my old room, every memory and nightmare assailing me. Kane. God, how I wished he were with me.
I felt that loneliness again, now. And it was my own fault.
As I pushed open my old room, fears cloaked me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wash of memories, yet almost felt as though I deserved them. So I stayed. Walked to my bed and sat down.
And cried.
Visions slammed into me now, of that night the police officers had found me, and so vivid were the visions that I gasped. Jumped up. Ran from the room as though demons chased me. They did. They were there. They were always there.
Down the stairs I dropped the ax and flew, skidding across the hall and flinging myself onto my makeshift bed in front of the fire. I pulled the thin blanket up, over my chin, my eyes, and only then did the tears crash, turning from sobs to wailing. I fell asleep crying; I didn’t even remember when they stopped. But by the time my eyes opened again, rays of light fell across my face. It was morning. Christmas morning. Cold. Hollow. Alone. I pushed my despair over my past, my lost childhood, and my newfound love in Kane McCarthy. It was time to face an old demon.
Quickly, I readied myself for another visit with Corinne Belle.
At Oakview, Ms. Baker greeted me as always, as though she hadn’t seen me just a few weeks ago. I’d dressed in a trim green velvet maxi dress and a pair of expensive black pumps. I’d left my hair down, tucked behind my ears. I’d carried a fruitcake for the staff. It felt like a brick in my hand, but they always seemed to enjoy it.
I went through the usual greetings and braced myself for the icy stare I’d receive when I stepped inside Corinne’s room. She didn’t open her eyes when I entered; she’d been dressed in a red plaid flannel nightgown that had a white collar. Her hair, snowy white, was pulled into a bun. Her face was relaxed, void of the angry lines usually there. My heart began to beat fast, and I drew a deep breath.
“Merry Christmas, Grandmother Belle.”
Those icy blue eyes didn’t flash open. Those snowy brows didn’t collide into a terrorizing scowl.
I moved closer. Slipped my hand to hers as it rested on top of her quilt. It was as icy as her stare. Cold. Stiff.
My heart lurched. “Grandmother?”
Corinne Belle didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. And she didn’t breathe.
I stood there, staring down at her, waiting for those awful mean eyes to flutter open, focus on me, and blaze. They didn’t. My body began to shake. My breath quickened, and so did my heart. How could this be? How?
“Merry Christmas! So, how are we doing this morning?” Ms. Baker announced as she walked in.
My eyes didn’t leave Corinne Belle’s body. “She’s…” my voice quivered. Cracked.
“Oh my dear child!” Ms. Baker gasped. “Ms. Belle!” She hurried over to my grandmother’s side, patting her hand, her cheek. She raised her worried gaze to mine. “I just bathed her an hour and a half ago,” she said, tearful. “Ms. Harper, I’m so sorry.”
Tears didn’t fall from my eyes.
Not for Corinne Belle.
No one knew the things I knew.
And it’d stay that way.
Forever.
“Ms. Belle! Darling, are you okay?” Ms. Baker crooned.
I saw the monster in the bed. Her eyes were closed. And they weren’t opening. My hands gripped the side of the frame, so tightly my knuckles were white. I eased my breathing as much as could.
I looked at Ms. Baker. “I’m perfectly fine. For the first time in my life.”
The monster was dead.
And I was alone.
The staff rushed in then, Ms. Baker cooing and pushing Corinne Belle’s hair back and disconnecting her feeding tubes. I sat back and watched, quietly. Confusion kept me there. What was I to do?
“Ms. Belle, don’t you worry about a thing,” Ms. Baker said, squatting beside me in the chair I sat in. “Your grandmother was a gracious woman, I can tell. She has all of her final arrangements in order.” She patted my hand. “You won’t have to do a thing.”
The words were almost comical to me. I didn’t blame Ms. Baker for not knowing. Although how she couldn’t see the pure hatred shooting from those icy blue eyes like lightning bolts was beyon
d me. Still, I stared at Corinne Belle, even as the staff fussed over her, making her stiff head comfortable on the pillow, the quilt tucked just so around her skinny frail neck. They had no idea about the monster they were tucking in one last time.
“Is there someone I should call for you, dear?” Ms. Baker asked.
I didn’t look at her. Only at my dead grandmother. “There’s no one,” I answered. “No one except me.”
* * *
Christmas night, I laid by the fire in Belle House. I wondered what would happen now. What I’d do next. I didn’t know who I was. Who I was supposed to be. Was I free now? Or would I always be trapped inside this prison Corinne had set for me. Would I ever be normal? I wanted to call Murphy. I’d shut her out completely, but now I wanted to let her know things. My past. Why Detective Shanks was at Winston. It’d feel good to release those demons without fear of repercussions from Corinne. Would it be that easy? Just…release?
And that’s when an idea struck me.
I had something to do first. Then I’d call Murphy.
I sat up, found my phone, and called information.
“City and state please,” the operator called out.
“Boston, Mass,” I offered. “I’m unsure of the city, actually. The listing is Harbor Breeze Care Facility.”
“That’s in Revere, hold for your number.”
So I did.
* * *
After I’d made the call, my thoughts rampaged. For the first time in my life, I’d known who I was with Kane. Even if for a little while, I’d known. It was the first time I’d felt real my whole life. Now, he was gone. I was truly alone. And I didn’t know what to do. I wanted him back. So very badly.
Finally, sleep overcame me. Corinne’s face appeared before me as I closed my eyes, almost like a ghost from a Charles Dickens novel. Her eyes flashed fury, dripped with icy blue frost, and her brows plowed together as she drew close to me, staring, damning my soul. Threatening to lock me away in an asylum. I think she wanted to haunt me, truly. I forced my eyes to stay shut. Forced her vision to leave. Forced sleep.
I drifted then, in and out of nightmares and the past and under beds and in cubbyholes and in dank dirty kitchen cabinets. Visions of that night flashed before me like an old movie projector, faces pale, angry, screaming. And the blood.
“No!” I screamed with my eyes shut. My lips were numb, my heart raced wildly against my ribs and, despite the cold in the hall, I poured sweat across my brow. Tears flowed from my eyes, and I sobbed. “No! Please! Don’t lock me in an asylum! I’m not bad! I…I am not psychotic! Please, grandmother!”
“Harper, Harper,” a voice crooned. Familiar, soft, husky. “Open your eyes.”
I noticed the hand that covered my shoulder. Felt the body heat that crouched beside me. When my eyes fluttered open, my breath lodged painfully in my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe. I gasped, gasped again, and tried to get up. Run. I needed air. I couldn’t breathe.
Kane was there, somehow, and he held me fast, pulled me against his chest. Was he a vision? Was I hallucinating? With his big hand pressing against the side of my head, he held me steady. He felt real. Had to be real. “Feel the rise and fall of my chest,” he said gently. “Feel my air moving in. Out. Feel my heart, Harper. Be like me.”
I listened. Focused.
“Breathe, baby,” he whispered. “Breathe like me.”
Confusion warped my thoughts; made the inside of my head all buzzy and hazy. But I breathed. In. Out. Again. Until my lips weren’t so numb. Until my heart didn’t pound so hard. Kane’s piney scent wrapped around me, and I leaned away. Reality struck.
“How are you here?” I whispered.
His eyes searched mine. “I found you.”
He had. Old fears struck me. I couldn’t help it. “No one…knows.”
His hand reached out, grazed my cheek, my jaw. “Tell me, Harper. Tell me about the dream you just had.”
“I’m so sorry, Kane,” I said first, then fell against his chest. I slipped my arms around his waist. He was here. Really here, and I didn’t want to let him go. “I wanted to tell you about the Dare, end it right away, and I just…didn’t.” I looked at him. “I never meant to hurt you.”
His eyes softened. “I know that. And I’m sorry for not giving you the chance to tell me. I’m sorry for running off.”
I drank him in. His dark tousled hair. Alabaster skin, although there were a few fading bruises still remaining. And those profound, expressive eyes that spoke to me. “I still can’t stop staring at you,” I breathed.
He pulled me to him. “Then don’t ever stop,” he said against my temple.
Kane held me that way for some time. Tears fell; I hadn’t known they’d started back up. I wanted to squeeze him so tightly to me, but I didn’t dare because of his ribs.
“You’re not going to hurt me, Harper,” he whispered against my ear.
So I squeezed.
“This place,” he urged. “What’s going on, honey?” He lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. “What’d they do to you?”
With a resigned sigh that seemed to set free any inhibitions or reservations I had about telling another soul of my past, I told Kane everything I remembered.
Even the things I’d kept locked away from myself.
I listened. It wasn’t easy. Wasn’t easy at all. Her story lasted until morning.
Seemed like life tried to fuck us both over.
To hear Harper recall the painful memories of her childhood past was like watching a small child being punished for spilling a drink on white carpet. No matter what memory she recalled, she felt it was her fault. Her parents were both hooked on crack. Harper’s fault. Penniless and living in squalor. Harper’s fault. Had not only watched her parents be murdered by a disgruntled drug lord’s lackey but then stayed locked in the run-down apartment for days, with her dead parents inside, until the cops found her. Harper’s fault. Why? She’d let the lackey in. Had opened the door. At age eight, she’d shouldered the blame.
And her grandmother had allowed it. Had taken her in. Forced her to ignore her past, forget her parents. And then had tormented her. Threatened to lock her away in an institution. Convinced her spies watched her continuously, even at school, ready to report back any wrong-doings. Any sin. Jesus Christ, what sort of monster did that to a kid? When Harper had fallen asleep, I’d held her for a while, then decided to wander around. Upstairs, I found the dark room on the third floor. The one Corinne Belle had made Harper strip down and stay locked in. For consequences. Harper had taken an ax to it and ripped it to shreds. Good.
Harper was never beaten physically. She’d been beaten down all the same. Forced to pretend her past hadn’t happened. Forced to be something she wasn’t. All in the name of keeping the Belle family out of the black. Corinne Belle had terrified Harper, even after she’d grown up and moved off to college. Even after she’d had a stroke, unable to harm Harper. She still had managed it. Probably known it, too. She was no better than the loser bastard of a father I had. That crazy old woman had convinced Harper that she had something evil living inside of her. That to have relations with a guy was sinful. That she’d allowed me to even touch her once was a miracle. It’d take a long, long time to get past some of the stuff she told me.
I wanted to be the one she could lean on. To trust.
To love.
“Your back,” she said softy. “Why?”
Dark memories washed over me, but I’d beaten those demons years ago. When I’d almost killed my own father. “It was just my sadistic father’s way of controlling me,” I said. “Called me stupid. Every day. He knew I’d take it to keep Katy from getting beat.” I laughed harshly. “Hurt like hell, every single letter, but it was worth it. Katy was so frail. I always knew she’d never survive one of his thrashings if he got ahold of her.” I looked at Harper, and her eyes had softened, and her hand found mine. “I was wrong about that,” I said. Katy’s small twisted body flashed before me. The way it was
then, that night so long ago. And again only a handful of days ago. “She’s still in there, my sister,” I continued. “I don’t care what any doctor says, or any of the nurses. She knows I’m there.” I nodded, gripping Harper’s hand. “I’ll always be there.”
“She knows you love her,” Harper said, and laid her head against my chest. “She knows it.”
We were both silent for a few moments, but then she looked at me. “Do you think I’ll ever be normal, Kane? Or do you think the nightmares will always be here?”
“We’ll learn to be normal together,” I offered.
She didn’t say anything else but her small arms tightened around me, and she sighed against my skin. An exhale of relief, maybe? Only time would tell. I knew it’d be a long road ahead. For us both. But mostly for her.
Harper drifted off to sleep again, and when she woke, she woke crying. Terrified. Screaming about being locked in an asylum. I smoothed her hair, held her, and when she was finished, her sobs still bubbling up and catching her breath, she told me the next thing that blew me away.
“I found Corinne Belle dead in her bed yesterday.”
I looked at her. I didn’t know what to say, so I held her hand.
Harper gave an acerbic laugh. “Even in death, she had to have one final jab at me.”
“What was that?” I asked.
Harper’s seagreen eyes searched mine. “She took Christmas away from me a long time ago, Kane. Yesterday?” she folded her hands in her lap. “She made sure of it.”
A thought came to mind.
“No she didn’t,” I said gently. When Harper’s brows bunched in question, I gave her a soft smile. “We’re taking it back. Today.”
She cocked her head. “What?”
I stood, extended my hand. “Come with me.”
With a hesitant smile, she grasped my hand and I pulled, her feather-light body easily rising. That was something else I’d have to work on.
Somehow, Corinne Belle had forced Harper into believing she was so worthless, that she needed to treat herself sparingly—including her intake with food. Just the thought of that old bat infuriated me. I was glad she was dead. And I’m glad Harper found her. It’d provide closure one day. And I aimed to help her get it.