The Girl in the Scarlet Chair: A New Adult and Clean Romance with Supernatural Elements (City of Affection - Book 1)

by Janice Tremayne

  It was all too much for Clarisse, and she fainted, collapsing onto the wooden floorboards, bumping her head on an elegantly carved leg. The chair’s thirst excruciated her memories in return for the truth, and it rendered her helpless. Clarisse suffered its wrath once more, and her search for love and truth had taken its toll on her. She needed help but could not scream. She wanted to run but could not move. The negative energy of the chair was holding her back and would not let go.

  The next morning, Marlita was frantically looking for her daughter.

  “Clarisse, Clarisse … are you there?” she said, scouring the house room by room until worry gripped her. There was only one room left to check, and it belonged to the scarlet chair. She dropped her coffee on the floor, trembling, and dashed to the backroom to find her sprawled on the floor next to the chair. She had a cut on her head and was bleeding.

  “Oh my God, what has happened to you, my child?” She put her ear to Clarisse’s mouth and could hear her breathing.

  “Wake up, wake up,” she said, patting her gently on her face. There was a groan from Clarisse as she responded to her mother’s attempts to revive her. She was alive and regaining consciousness, although very slowly. She looked sleepy and could barely open her eyes; she was dazed and bewildered—she fell in and out of consciousness intermittingly. She was fearless and brave but also a risk-taker. Her mother would have never advised her to sit in the chair to extract the truth—she knew what it was capable of, and the ramifications were not worth it.

  Marlita was not a big woman, she was physically unable of carrying Clarisse to her bedroom. She had her mobile phone with her all the time and called her brother-in-law next door for help.

  “Clarisse, what have you done? I have told you never to use the chair this way … it’s forbidden.” Marlita held her tightly in her arms while gently caressing her forehead. “Now we have to go through this all over again in the name of love.” She was angry with Clarisse but even more so with the chair. She stared at it with stark intensity, pointing to it fervently.

  “Look at what you have become, Grandmother,” she said to the chair. “Even with your own flesh and blood, you cannot curtail yourself!”

  Marlita was aware Clarisse’s fiancé had been unfaithful more than once but never addressed it with Clarisse, opting to stay out of the relationship instead. There was a level of guilt she had to endure as a mother. If she had been closer to Clarisse, she could have found a way to express her broken heart. At the same time, she also understood that Clarisse was stubborn and kept things to herself. She had had the same characteristics when she was a child and had never changed. Considering Clarisse’s personality, having a deep and meaningful discussion was always going to be challenging.

  Clarisse was groggy and not making sense, mumbling words while gesturing with her hands. Her uncle Pablo came rushing into the room, fearful of what to expect.

  “Did you bring the pellegrina with you?” Marlita asked.

  “Yes, I have it here.” Her uncle Pablo unfolded it from the pouch and placed it over Clarisse.

  “This will help bring her spirit back and ward off the negative energy,” Uncle Pablo said.

  The pellegrina is a short shoulder cape reaching to the elbow only worn by cardinals in the Catholic church. The scarlet chair rattled at the sight of the pellegrina. The two forces of negative and positive energy collided with one another. Uncle Pablo only used the pellegrina as a last resort. Otherwise, it remained in the sacred pouch, tucked away in his altar drawer.

  As soon as Uncle Pablo placed the pellegrina around Clarisse’s shoulders, the shivering stopped immediately, and her bright red cheeks returned to normal colour. How her uncle Pablo managed to get hold of such a sacred object was unbeknown to everyone. He never discussed it openly with family.

  Uncle Pablo lifted and carried Clarisse to the car, gently resting her slender frame into the back seat. He was ready to take her to the hospital—where she spent two months the last time this happened. There was no way of telling how long her recovery could take as there was no science to support an assessment of this phenomenon. But how do you explain to a doctor that it was the result of superstition—who would believe it was because of a scarlet chair? Marlita had been through this before and knew the drill: keep your mouth shut and hope for a speedy recovery.

  The superstition endured and became entrenched in her family culture in the following one hundred years. In her native tongue, it was referred to as pamahiin. It was the making of a broken heart and enduring love that originated with Elena and ended in a tragedy. They never talked about how Elena died and the drama that followed. It was a guarded secret and for a good reason—only Marlita knew the circumstances that led to her tragic end.

  “Clarisse, my dear … we are taking you to the hospital now … can you hear me?” Marlita said while holding back her tears. “There is no need to worry—I will be with you the whole time.”

  Clarisse nodded in acknowledgment but could not speak a word.

  With the help of Uncle Pablo they adjusted the seatbelt and made sure it was firm enough to stop her from bumping herself on the frame of the car. They were ready to take her to the hospital—the same one when a similar episode occurred.

  Clarisse’s fiancé was nowhere, he had gone missing during the evening with his mistress. He did not return home that night and was unaware of what had happened. He was not answering Clarisse’s messages as she desperately tried to contact him the previous night. Marlita blamed Clarisse’s fiancé for what happened and considered him the source of the problem. She was in no mood to call him and inform him Clarisse was in the hospital. As far as she was concerned, he was scum and not a good fit for her daughter. The sooner she got rid of him, the better for everyone.

  Upon arriving at the hospital, Marlita explained to the doctor on duty that Clarisse had had an anxiety attack and blamed it on her fiancé. It was a credible story that would get her admitted without too many questions. Clarisse was vague and mentally drained. She could not recall what happened and had trouble understanding where she was as disorientation set in. She could not recognise the people in the room except for her mother. She mumbled words that did not make sense and lacked clarity in her vocabulary. The symptoms were the same as when she was admitted as a teenager.

  Marlita had been through this before and knew what to expect. It would be a minimum of two weeks of recovery before Clarisse could be her usual self again.

  For one straight week Marlita and Uncle Pablo spent every day and evening at the hospital by her bedside. They were taking turns looking after her every need to ensure she could make a speedy recovery. Clarisse was making good progress in hospital and was able to communicate. She was on the path to recovery and confident she would return home soon. Marlita and Uncle Pablo continued visiting every day to make sure she had family around her.

  Her uncle Pablo was a kind and considerate man, always there to help the family. He never asked for anything in return or expected favours from others. For him, it was God’s work, and he remained a deeply religious man. Uncle Pablo grew up with the superstition of the scarlet chair as a young boy and understood its powers. Now in his late fifties and getting older, the notion was starting to wear him down. He did not have the same energy as before, and every struggle with the chair became harder each time. Nevertheless, even though he walked with a stooping back and a slight limp in his right leg, he always found the strength to support his family.

  “Mother, I still can’t remember what happened,” Clarisse said.

  “It was an accident, my dear … all the stress caused by your fiancé and the worries caught up with you.”

  “That’s what the doctor has been saying also. But I remember going into the room with the scarlet chair, and then everything went blank.”

  “Are they flashbacks or memories?” Marlita asked.

  “No, they usually happen in my dreams, and then I wake up suddenly—sweating all over. Sometimes I am so wet I need
to shower and change again.” Clarisse was almost in tears but managed to hold herself together.

  “I’m sure that has to do with the trauma of what you’ve been through.” Marlita took her hand and gently caressed it. “On a positive note, the doctors have told me you have made significant progress in the last couple of days, and if it continues, you will be going home soon.”

  “Mother, I can’t wait to go home again. But there is a problem …” Clarisse stalled for a moment and looked at her.

  “Yes, I know, my dear. He has to leave the house before you return,” Marlita said.

  “Mother, I don’t want him in my sight ever again.” Clarisse was feeling emotional and shed a tear.

  “Don’t worry. Your uncle Pablo and I will deal with it.” Marlita brought a photo of Clarisse’s fiancé to make a point. She took it out of her bag and tore it to shreds in front of her. “I will make sure you never have to be with that unfaithful bastard ever again.”

  Marlita gave her daughter a big hug, caressing her hair with her fingers and gently patting her on the back. However, she realised she had a problem on her hands. She had already told Clarisse’s fiancé to leave the house many times and he had refused, demanding to see Clarisse to make amends.

  Clarisse’s fiancé was having a difficult time coming to terms with the thought that his time was up, and Clarisse wanted nothing to do with him. How was Marlita going to resolve this issue before she returned home? But for the sake of her daughter, she was going to continue applying pressure on him to leave until he understood it.

  2 The picture of love

  Two weeks later

  “Here … and take this—you’re an unfaithful bastard!” One by one, Clarisse threw out his clothes and belongings into the street as neighbours gathered around to see what was going on. They were all aware of his infidelity, and it did not come as a surprise he was being thrown out of the house. It was her day of reckoning, and she was making it count.

  “And don’t forget your perfume … I’m sure your mistress enjoyed it!”

  One by one, she launched each bottle onto the concrete path—smashing them with the same intent as one would with a Molotov cocktail. She was making a stand, and it was well overdue in the eyes of her family. His possessions were scattered across the street—shirts, pants, underwear and even another woman’s bra—it was all there for everyone to see. It resembled a disorganised marketplace with items thrown about and laid derelict on the gravel.

  “You should have got rid of that vermin a long time ago!” shouted one of the neighbours.

  “You’re too good for him, Clarisse,” said another woman, pointing at him directly.

  There was a sudden round of applause from the crowd of onlookers as he picked up his things and threw them aggressively into his Jeep Renegade car—head down and ashamed by the reaction around him. He was outnumbered and couldn’t push anyone around.

  In the past, he had relied on his threatening behaviour to silence the people that questioned him. His volatile persona was unpredictable—it meant people turned away from him to avoid confrontation. On this occasion, he was done for, and his powerful broad shoulders, strong chest and six-pack were not going to save him. It was the power of the people: the mob rendered him hapless.

  Marlita refused him access to Clarisse at the hospital, and this made him angry. She also asked him to leave home on many occasions, but he had threatened her, preferring to act like a bully instead. However, Clarisse was having none of it—it was her family’s house, and he was a boarder, which meant she had rights. Her plan was always to throw him out when she returned home—also, to rally the people in the street for support. She made him aware through gossip what her intentions were—everyone was waiting for the event.

  They all knew each other in the street, they made it their business to know what was going on with each family. Generations of different family members grew up in the same house and supported one another during tough times. Clarisse’s fiancé was an outsider from another town fifty miles away with a reputation for being a lazy larrikin. How someone as beautiful as Clarisse ended up with such a loser baffled everyone. She knew his tendencies to frighten the neighbours and act aggressively towards them. If they united as a group, there would be nothing he could do—outnumbered and unable to put up a fight, he would have no option but to leave.

  “And if I ever see you around here again, I will tear you apart—limb from limb!” Marlita said with a clenched fist. She did not mince her words this time.

  He drove off tentatively at first, dodging pieces of stone and gravel thrown on the windscreen by children hidden behind the bushes. The onlookers gestured and made faces at him while one man imitated a gorilla. They wanted to make sure he knew he was not welcome anymore, that their cherished Clarisse would find a better person, one that would respect her and care for her.

  The incident with the scarlet chair took its toll on Clarisse and the family. For two weeks she remained in hospital under observation, and the doctors could not diagnose her condition. They ran a series of tests to determine if her condition was part of a more sinister mental condition. But none of the results came back with anything and there was no diagnosed condition. The doctors eventually decided it was related to anxiety and frayed nerves caused by her cheating partner that pushed her to the edge.

  The good news was she was at home now and fully recovered with the support of her mother and childhood friend Marjorie. She could not recall the incident with the scarlet chair and Marlita was happy to keep it that way. Those memories and flashbacks would only serve to bring her back to an immobilising state of mind.

  After the charade with her fiancé, everyone returned to their normal daily activities, and Clarisse joined Marjorie for an iced tea in the alfresco garden. It was a lovely garden that had been cultivated by her mother since she was a child. It had the best jasmine sambac flowers in the local area—their scent was divine. This beautifully refined white flower bestowed a pleasant jasmine fragrance that provided a calm and relaxing environment. Many family members and neighbours used the garden for afternoon tea and as a time of reflection. Some also picked the flowers to provide a natural scent in their homes—but always made sure there were enough flowers to go around. There was always someone having tea on the old wooden garden table; it became a place for congregation and discussion. All types of problems and family feuds were discussed and resolved around the old wooden table.

  “Who are you chatting to on your laptop?” Clarisse asked her friend.

  Marjorie smiled and looked directly at her. “Oh, it’s just a friend from overseas.”

  “I didn’t know you had a friend from overseas … when did that happen? Must have been when I was in the hospital?”

  “I just started talking to him a month ago and he seems nice.”

  “Oh, so it’s a he? Where is he from?”

  “Australia.”

  “It’s not a dating site, is it? Come on … I won’t tell anyone,” Clarisse said.

  Marjorie was silent and had a deadpan look on her face. “It’s not a dating site, I got his details from a friend who said he was interested in meeting a girl from the Philippines.”

  “You don’t mean your friend Alicia from Manila? I remember she was always talking about foreign men at work.” Clarisse took a sip of her tea. “I think she ended up meeting someone from Australia?”

  “Yes, Clarisse, it was Alicia, and she did end up meeting someone from Australia. It was last month, in Manila.”

  “I thought so. See, I have not lost all my memory.”

  Marjorie was happy to see Clarisse still had a sense of humour. “Yeah, and he’s coming back next month to see Alicia again. I think they care for each other.”

  “Is he serious about her or just after some fun?”

  Marjorie gasped and took a deep sigh.

  “Alicia is not that type of girl and you should know her better than that!”

  “Marjorie, you know what foreigners
are like. You should be more careful with the person you’re talking to from Australia.”

  “I only talk to him about things that I want him to know … nothing more than that. Do you want to see his photo?”

  “Yeah, sure. Show me.”

  She turned her laptop towards Clarisse and clicked on his profile. “So, what do you think?”

  “Yeah, he’s cute and not that old either. Do you have any more photos?

  “Just this one. He sent it today while working on his car.”

  “Oh, that’s nice … the car, I mean.”

  “Are you being funny, Clarisse?”

  “You know me. I am just joking.” She took another sip of tea to relieve herself from the stifling heat. “It looks like you got yourself a find, and he is very guapo.”

  “We are just talking.” Marjorie was trying to play the whole thing down. “He has a lot of interesting things to say about Australian life.”

  “Talking is OK, I suppose … it can’t hurt if it’s long distance.” Clarisse glanced at her with a grin. “I mean, he can’t just turn up at the front door and give you a hard time.”

  “Yes, or be demanding and expect things,” Marjorie said. “Can I send him your photo? He has a friend that is interested in chatting with someone beautiful like you.”

  Clarisse jolted and stood upright with her hands on her slender hips. “You want to do what? Send him my photo, just like that?”