A White Room

by Stephanie Carroll

  We reached the top of the stairs and he yanked me down the hallway. I couldn’t see with my eyes, but I knew the corridor in my mind. The people in the rooms watched through their doors. The woman who prepared the deceased boy turned from the vanity and gasped at the shocking scene. The young woman’s head shot up, distracted from her own personal horror. The little girl watched from her hiding spot in the corner.

  We stopped. John fumbled with the door handle, and I turned my head in the direction of the beast’s room. I saw only black, could hear my breath as if time had slowed down. For all I knew, the beast could have been standing two feet from me, or inches from my nose. John opened our chamber door, light flashed across the beast’s closed door, and John yanked me by the wrist and swung me in front of him into our chamber. I stumbled into the middle of the room. The lamps were lit. I rubbed my eyes. I heard him step in and shut the door.

  He stood in front of the door, his eyes accusing. The beast crept close to the wall to listen to us. The little girl hushed her cries. John paced, stopped and lifted his finger, but instead of scolding, he shook his head. His slicked-back hair had fallen out of place. He paced again and stopped in front of his dressing table. He leaned over, put his hands down, and lowered his head, his body rigid—full of angles. “How could you have done this?”

  I held my hands up, palms down. They shook. “I—I’m—”

  His eyes hit me and I stepped back.

  “What?” He clenched his hands into fists. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  My lips parted, waiting for something, anything—another lie, another excuse—but nothing came out.

  “I am disgusted.” His bottom lip curled up as the corners of his mouth dropped. “Why?”

  “I—I—”

  He stepped toward me.

  I stepped back. His eyes locked on mine, and I feared looking away. “I wanted to help.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jaw clenched, teeth flashing.

  “I—I’ve been—she needed me to—”

  He grimaced. “You’re a—a—an abortionist?”

  I shook my head, but I couldn’t deny it.

  “A murderer.”

  I stopped and looked up at him wide-eyed.

  He stepped forward. “Why?”

  I stepped back and put my hands up. “She—she was afraid—”

  “No.” He brought his hands up and turned away. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  I felt the beast press against the wall, leering.

  “How long?”

  “Never—never before.” I shook my head. “Nothing like this.”

  He whirled around. “What?”

  “I’ve never done that before.”

  “But you’ve done other things?”

  “I help people who are sick.” I glanced at him and then lowered my eyes to the floor.

  His voice became calm, rational. “You—are you—” He lifted his eyes with his head down. “Are you that woman? Mrs. Free—”

  “Yes.”

  “You are what I am trying to stop.”

  I avoided his eyes.

  “You may have killed her—you are ruining me.”

  “I know.”

  “You know? Of course you know!” He laughed bitterly. “You are guilty. So what should I do?”

  I shook. “I don’t know.”

  He came at me with force. “Do you know what I have done for you? Everything I have done and you do this?”

  I backed up and bumped against my vanity, against the beast’s wall.

  “I have given everything for you.”

  A tear streamed down my face.

  “This is how you repay me?”

  I shook my head.

  “I have given everything for this household. I have suffered—for this?” His brow glistened with sweat.

  I squinted and felt a blaze in my chest.

  “You really are crazy!” He pointed.

  I balled my hands into fists.

  He leaned over me and put his face close to mine. I recoiled as he shouted, “I have done everything for you!” His voice sounded shrill, as if he were crying, too. He stepped away and turned his back to me.

  I remained against my vanity, eyes clenched shut, my breath heavy.

  He paced and, in a much lower voice, began to rant. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to. And you! Nothing. No affection. No loyalty. Nothing.” He stopped by his dressing table, paused and snatched a metal tray holding his cuff links and other items and hurled it against the wall. The crack, bang, and prattle of little metal objects hitting the floor startled the beast.

  I’d spoiled everything? I hadn’t tried? I’d given nothing? No. I stepped away from the vanity. I grit my teeth. My nails dug into my palms. The sound of my voice was shrill and wet. “I…have…given…everything!”

  John stopped pacing and cast his blazing eyes at me.

  “I have put everything I have into this. You—” I pointed at him and took a step forward. “You are the one who has given nothing.”

  His mouth fell open.

  My voice trembled. “You provide for me? I take care of this cussed place.” I waved my hands and looked around at the insulted house that encased us. “I cook. I clean. And I hate this place. I hate this damned house! And I especially hate you”—I pointed—“because you brought me here. You have done nothing but bring me misery.” I put my hands to my head, recalling my frustration. “Whatever I have become is your doing—you made me this way.” Now I paced. “All I do is try—try to be a good wife—try to be perfect—perfect for you—and inspire the slightest sliver of affection between us, but you—you are a walking, breathing corpse! I have driven myself absolutely and completely mad for you. I was ready to leave. I was ready to run away, go back to St. Louis, and be a spinster rather than be your wife. The only thing that kept me here was helping those people.”

  He stepped back.

  I stepped forward. “And what I did for those people—for Lottie and for everyone else—”

  “You—”

  “Let me finish!” I screeched.

  He stopped.

  “Everything I have done was to help people, and I did it so I wouldn’t go absolutely piss-pot loony in this cursed, awful place with you.”

  The monster stepped back from the wall, limbs tucked in close, fearing something would burst through and snatch it up. The little girl perked up in her corner, the people in the rooms down the hall stared in awe, and the furniture below cowered.

  John looked shocked for a moment, but his face quickly returned to fury. He clenched his fists and turned red. “I don’t try?” He pointed to himself. “I don’t have affection for you?”

  I realized I had said too much, pushed him too far. Would he turn me in? Take me to the authorities? An asylum? He took those long, powerful strides in my direction, and I backed up until I bumped into the wall. He grabbed me by the arm, pulled me toward him, and held me inches from his face. He sighed, closed his eyes, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you not understand how much I care for you?”

  I trembled. “I—”

  Before I could speak, his lips were against mine. His hand slid up my neck and into my hair. Then he pulled away and dropped his head. “I’m sorry.” He took his hands away from my body and placed them on the wall behind me.

  I took deep breaths. I tried to catch his eyes with mine, but he hid them from me. My lips quivered, wanting to say something, anything. I brought my hand up to touch his face, hesitated. He really loved me. Then I imagined kissing him—how he’d feel if I did, how I’d feel—so I did. I kissed him.

  Surprised, his eyes shot open, but I didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around me tight and pressed his lips and body against me. I think I heard the little girl giggle. It may have been me.

  We rose as if to go somewhere but lost our footing and fell against the wall together. The beast jumped in surprise. The mirror depicting the woman on the beach fell off the
wall and broke on the floor. I heard a crack and the cling-cling and crackle of glass shattering, but I didn’t care.

  We stumbled to the bedstead and fell onto the bed, but John stood back up and began unbuttoning his shirt. I reached back and unbuttoned my dress, starting with the high collar. John removed his shirt and began helping me undo the buttons I could not reach. When I felt the cool air on my skin, I remembered I wasn’t wearing a corset or a corset cover. At the sight of my bare flesh, John exhaled from his gut, abandoned the buttons, and lifted me farther onto the bed. He got onto his knees over me, lifted my petticoats and dress to my waist, and bundled them between us. He stopped and locked his dark brown eyes on mine, and for the briefest of moments I saw into him and felt him see into me, and in that moment we understood each other completely. Then he slid his hands into my hair and kissed me. I felt his hot skin on my hands, and he slid his down my back under my dress. Exhilaration flowed up and over me, followed by a sensation I did not know. I let go of something then. I didn’t know what, but I had never felt so out of control, so liberated. Free.

  John buttoned up his shirt. I repositioned my dress and tightened the ribbon around my waist, and John helped with the buttons on the high collar. Then we sat next to each other, not speaking.

  I felt oddly shy. “What now?”

  “I don’t know.” He chuckled.

  We sat there for a minute or so, silent.

  “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  He touched my cheek. “I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

  “You never showed it.”

  He took his hand away. “I was confused.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He lowered his eyes and fiddled with his clothes. “I didn’t exactly want to get married.”

  I stared at him. “Do tell.”

  “I had feelings for you, but with your family’s loss…All of a sudden my parents arranged it. They didn’t ask me. They informed me.” John’s eyes dropped down. “I liked you, but I wasn’t ready to marry anyone. I didn’t even know you. I didn’t even know who I was yet. When we got here, I tried to be a husband, but everything felt so awkward and then I felt too stressed with work and pressured by my father to think of romance. Things were so awful at the firm. Lewis Coddington hated me when we first got here. I ruined everything I touched. Eventually, I was certain I couldn’t do anything right. I couldn’t be the lawyer my father wanted or the husband that you needed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No. It was my fault.” I brought my hand to my throat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I asked your parents to arrange it.” We locked eyes and I gulped.

  “What? But you’ve never shown any interest in me.”

  “I know.” I lowered my eyes. “I—I asked because I wanted to help my family, but I was interested in you. You’re so—every girl was, but I didn’t think you were within reach. That’s why I didn’t show it before.”

  We didn’t say anything.

  “I wasn’t within reach so you decided to ask my parents to make me?” He laughed and I giggled at how ridiculous that sounded. Then we were quiet again.

  “I’m sorry you had to marry me,” I said.

  “I’m sorry you had to marry me.” He squeezed my hand.

  “I thought I had failed you.”

  “No. You’re wonderful.”

  “Even after what I did?” I took my hand away.

  He hesitated. “You said I drove you to that?”

  “There were many things.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I did what I did today because Lott—Mrs. Schwab needed my help. It was the only thing to do.”

  “Are you joking?”

  I looked up.

  “You didn’t have any idea what you were doing. She’s probably going to die. That’s what always happens.”

  “That’s not true—not in your cases—”

  John crinkled his nose. “You read my notes?”

  “I—just—”

  “Emeline, are you absolutely insane? Don’t you understand? You might be a murderer. You could be arrested. You are going to be committed.”

  “Mrs. Schwab can’t care for her children as it is. If she had another, it would die or kill her!”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “She’s my friend. I had to help.”

  He stood over me. “I’m your husband. You should have thought. You should have done what was right.”

  I stood. “I did.”

  “Emeline, I need to know that you will never do anything like this ever again. If you were to get caught—I should be taking you to the authorities.”

  I blinked rapidly and looked away.

  “Promise me you will never do this kind of thing again?”

  I was supposed to give in, like I always did.

  “Will you promise me?”

  I was supposed to submit.

  “Emeline?”

  “No.”

  He drew back. “What?”

  “If you really cared for me, you’d listen to why I can’t.”

  “If you really cared for me, you wouldn’t risk everything I have worked for.”

  “I care for people in a way you can’t even comprehend.”

  “No, Emeline. You’re not a doctor! You don’t know what you’re doing.” He pointed.

  I pointed to myself. “I help when physicians won’t.”

  He squinted and then widened his eyes. “That man, the one you and Dr. Bradbridge argued—you were playing nurse with him, weren’t you?”

  “I was doing what a physician refused to do.”

  “And he died!”

  I gasped, brought my hand to my chest. “What?”

  “You didn’t help him. He died today.”

  “He died?”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “How could you—no.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, slipped under my chin. “No one could prevent it.”

  “So you knew it was unnecessary to get involved with such a mess.”

  “I treated his pain and helped his wife. I would never do anything to hurt anyone.”

  “What about our servant?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Obviously, you don’t understand.” He marched to the door and opened it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. You’re insane. You’re absolutely mad!” He slammed the door behind him.

  I spent the next hour pacing, going over everything in my head. It was dark now. I thought about letting myself go insane so John would curse himself for what he had said. I thought about punishing him. I could keep doing things behind his back. I could get caught. I was so furious.

  The beast rustled, writhing in pleasure.

  What now? Should I stay now that I knew how John really felt, or should I flee with James? If I stayed, would anything change?

  The beast snickered.

  Would the house fade away or would it take me over?

  It started scratching the walls. I could hear it reach to the top and slowly claw down to the floor.

  I shook with anger. Should I talk to him? Should I insist—should I—?

  Scratching.

  Should I argue? How could I stop helping people? I couldn’t. I needed it. They needed it. It was the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only reason I had survived.

  The beast cackled as it bobbed up and down. It returned to its scratching and noise-making.

  I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t think with that noise, the rebellion. I couldn’t continue to live this way. I refused.

  The evil creature scratched wildly and banged itself against the walls. It wanted to push me to the brink. It sensed weakness and wanted to strike.

  I had to do something about John. I wanted to scream. The beast. The noise. The constant poking and prodding at my nerves. Scratching, banging, and scratching. I could hear the paint peeling under its t
alons. The scratching grew frantic, and I realized it had finally decided to tear through the wall to get to me. I couldn’t stand it.

  I bellowed a curdling war cry and threw myself at the wall. “Quiet! Quiet! I hate you. No more,” I screamed as I pounded and scratched the wall. “How do you like the noise? Huh? How do you like it? Silence. Be quiet, damn you!” It stood back and cackled. I threw myself at the wall again. “Get out. I demand you get out of my house!” I stopped, teeth clenched. My lips curled. I looked at the door and then back at the wall. It saw my intention and stopped laughing. “You stupid beast, you think I can’t get to you.” I stomped to the door. I could sense it back up in fear. “Unlike you, I can use a doorknob!”

  I threw my door open followed by the beasts door. I burst into its dark room and slammed the door behind me. I stood there in darkness and screamed with all my might and all my power. “Here I am. You want to take over? Do it. Try. I will rip you to shreds. Do something! I don’t care what I’ve done, I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you!” My throat hurt from the anger behind my threats, and my fingernails dug into my palms. I raised my voice again. “You are nothing. You aren’t real. You’re a punishment. I created you, and I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want it! I don’t want to be punished anymore! I don’t need you. Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  The door opened and light cut through the darkness in the empty room, no beast to be seen. Gone. Quiet. I turned around, my arms folded, teeth clenched.

  “What is the matter with you?” John asked.

  “Is that convenient for you?”

  “What?”

  “To conclude I am mad any time you wish?”

  He shook his head. “No—I—” He paused. “You’re acting crazy.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.” He motioned his hands toward me.

  I pointed. “If I am acting crazy, it is only in reaction to your lunacy.”

  His eyes widened. He shook his head once. “Listen, Mr. Schwab is downstairs and—”

  “What? Oh no.” I moved quickly, bumping John as I passed.