Almost Gone

by Ophelia Night

  Margot snatched it from her and yanked it open.

  “You see,” she said triumphantly, pulling a sheaf of orange fifty-euro notes out and flinging them onto the floor. Cassie watched the notes flutter down, and her stomach plummeted with them, because she realized Margot’s instinct had been right.

  “What a lot of money for someone who was complaining this morning that all their cash had been stolen,” Margot taunted her. “Are you going to pretend you drew all this out of your bank account in ‘town’? I thought you were going to pay a bill, not get paid. But someone gave you money, didn’t they? I wonder who that could have been.”

  “Pierre gave me an advance on my salary,” Cassie said.

  “Oh, no, he didn’t. You got the money out of him another way, you whore!”

  Cassie stifled a cry as Margot grabbed her shoulder, shoving her backward. She stumbled, and her bag slipped off her shoulder. The contents spilled to the floor—Chapstick, lipstick, hair clips, pens, scattering down onto the marble tiles.

  She glanced down, and as she did, Margot’s hand lashed across her face in a stinging slap. This time Cassie did cry out.

  Cassie’s first instinct was to slap the blonde woman right back again. The sheer force of her own anger scared her. She controlled herself with a huge effort, telling herself that she must be the better, stronger person here and not stoop to Margot’s level. She had to try and resolve this peacefully—especially seeing Antoinette was watching.

  “Margot, please! Calm down. What I’ve said is the truth.”

  Margot pushed her again and Cassie stood on her lipstick, almost falling over as it rolled under her foot. She heard a crack as the tube broke.

  She was beginning to feel strangely dissociated. The way Margot was leaning into her, the taunts, the stink of alcohol on her breath, was dredging up memories that she’d forgotten long ago. Other places, other times. When she’d been much younger, and scared to death, and confronting another drunk, angry woman who had been taunting her.

  Elaine, the one she’d hated the most out of all her father’s girlfriends.

  Cassie remembered now that she hadn’t just wished her gone. She really had wished her dead. And she’d said so—shouting out the words while she attacked the woman with her fists—hitting her, kicking her, curling her fingers to try and gouge out her eyes.

  “I wish you were dead,” she’d screamed at Elaine. “Get into your car and crash it. Go upstairs and jump out the window!”

  And Elaine had shouted back, attacking her with far more strength.

  “Get lost, you stupid, skinny bitch. Why don’t you go dive under a truck? Or find your daddy’s gun and play with it. You think anyone wants you here?”

  Her words had carved a giant chasm in Cassie’s heart, because she’d known deep down that the truth was nobody wanted her there. Not her father, nor Elaine, nor any of their drunken friends. She was an expense, a responsibility, an inconvenience. And perhaps, just looking at her, her father had been reminded too much of her mother, and of the person he used to be.

  Now, as she fought for control, she remembered how she’d lost it that time. She and Elaine had hurt each other badly. Elaine had ripped out a chunk of her hair, causing Cassie’s scalp to bleed, and Cassie had dislocated Elaine’s finger so that she’d screamed in agony and finally let go of her. Elaine had to go to the emergency room for treatment, and they’d ended up calling an ambulance because when her dad had come back half an hour later, he’d already been too drunk to drive her there.

  In Margot now, she saw the same anger, the same loss of control.

  The same hatred.

  The blonde woman snarled in rage as she grabbed at Cassie. Her nails raked Cassie’s skin, tearing at her clothing, her knuckles battering her face.

  “Stop it,” Cassie screamed.

  She dropped her purse and abandoned her own good advice to herself. She wasn’t prepared to tolerate this abuse for a moment longer. She’d given Margot more than enough time to calm down and see reason, and she hadn’t. Margot was beyond reason or words—she was on the attack, and Cassie was ready.

  As Margot lunged toward Cassie, she clawed at the blonde woman’s face, feeling her nails rake her skin and hearing Margot gasp. But one of Margot’s lime green stiletto heels plunged into Cassie’s foot, stabbing through the thin canvas of her trainer. Cassie staggered back, screaming in pain, but with her foot trapped, she overbalanced and fell, her hip and shoulder banging onto the slippery marble floor.

  She heard a frightened cry from behind her and knew that Ella had come to see what was happening.

  “Ella, go back upstairs,” she shouted.

  There was nothing she could do if Ella ignored her. The children would be affected by this regardless and the only choice she had was whether they would see her defeated by Margot or whether they would see her win.

  Cassie fought back as hard as she could. She grabbed for Margot’s ankles, hoping to unbalance her, but Margot began stamping and kicking so that Cassie had to writhe out of the way to avoid her lethal heels.

  Cassie kicked back and connected with Margot’s shin, so that she screeched in pain. Encouraged, Cassie kicked her again and Margot stepped back, swearing violently.

  Then, behind Margot, Cassie saw Antoinette had entered the fray. With her eyes narrowed, she aimed carefully before punching the blonde woman in the back of her knee with all her might.

  Margot’s leg buckled under her and, shrieking, she toppled off her heels. She made a grab for a shelf to stop her fall, and ripped one side of it from its hinges. Copper birds clanged to the ground around her, but Margot snatched up a tall African mask before it fell.

  “Bitch! You hurt me!” Using the heavy mask as a bat, she swung it at Cassie, who jackknifed out of the way as the wooden head crashed to the floor where her arm had been. With Margot temporarily off balance, she grabbed the other end of the mask, trying to jerk it out of Margot’s grasp.

  Margot leaned toward her, screaming threats and obscenities as she tried to kick Cassie away.

  “Bitch! Slut!”

  Fighting her off with one hand, keeping a death grip on the mask with the other, Cassie managed to scramble to her feet. Then she pushed as hard as she could on the mask, shoving it backward toward Margot, so that she sprawled onto the floor.

  Cassie threw the mask at Margot, feeling a thrill of triumph as it cracked down on her forehead.

  Then she turned and ran. Enough was enough. She was going to lock herself in her bedroom until Margot had regained her sanity. Thankfully, Ella was nowhere to be seen, and Cassie hoped she’d left when she was told to, and hadn’t stayed to watch the entire fight.

  As she sprinted around the corner, Cassie collided with Pierre.

  She saw him at the last minute, and even though she tried to slow down, she still slammed into him with some force.

  Pierre grasped her tightly as they both staggered back.

  “What is happening here?” he shouted, as Margot rounded the corner, and Cassie struggled out of Pierre’s embrace as she saw the venom in Margot’s face.

  “Take your hands off her,” Margot spat.

  Cassie saw her cheek was bleeding—her clawing nails had cut through Margot’s porcelain skin, and she was limping, but she seemed to be unaware of either injury, still as furious as ever.

  “What are you implying?” Pierre asked. His voice was quieter, but the tone made Cassie deeply uneasy.

  “You and her!” Margot stabbed a finger at each of them to emphasize her words. “You were together. Don’t try to deny it. I know what you were doing.”

  Pierre sighed heavily.

  “Margot, you are wrong. I went into Paris to assess a sculpture that is going for auction next week. Your behavior is completely out of line. As is yours.” He turned to Cassie, his heavy brow creased in a frown.

  Before Cassie had a chance to explain she’d acted in self-defense against the madwoman that Margot had become, he continued.

&
nbsp; “Go to your room immediately, Cassie, I do not require you to work anymore tonight. I will deal with the children now. We can discuss this situation tomorrow.”

  “But…” she tried.

  “Go,” Pierre insisted.

  Despite his thunderous expression and the finality of his tone, Cassie found the courage to stand her ground. She couldn’t allow herself to walk away without explaining what had happened.

  “Please will you hear me out? This wasn’t my fault,” she insisted.

  “It was,” Margot hissed from behind her.

  “Margot attacked me. I was only defending myself.”

  “You were not! See how my face is scratched,” Margot argued.

  Pierre looked back and forth, between her and Margot. For a hopeful moment Cassie believed he would at least accept what she’d said. But then his face darkened.

  “Margot is my fiancée and I will listen to her side of the story first. In any case, I believe you arrived back unacceptably late. If you had been on time, none of this would have happened. We will discuss it further tomorrow.”

  Frustrated that Pierre was refusing to hear her, but knowing she couldn’t push the situation any further, Cassie turned away. She picked up her scattered belongings and put them back in her bag. One of the banknotes was torn, and the crushed lipstick was beyond repair. As she walked away she felt ashamed, as if Pierre’s dismissive words had already decided her guilt.

  The piano music had stopped. Cassie guessed Pierre had detoured into the music room as he passed, because Marc was nowhere to be seen. As she reached the staircase, Marnie hurried through from the kitchen with a dustpan and brush, to sweep up the fragments of plate.

  “I believe you have just had a horrible fight with Margot,” she whispered.

  Cassie nodded.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Marnie said, before turning away and bending down to sweep up the mess on the floor.

  Ella was still at the top of the stairs, crying harder.

  “Are you going to put me to bed now?” she sobbed. “Margot was so nasty to us tonight.”

  “Your father is going to put you to bed,” Cassie said. “Perhaps he’ll read you a story if you ask him nicely.”

  She ruffled Ella’s hair as she passed by.

  After she tried three times to get her key into the lock, she realized how badly she had started to shake. By the time she walked into her bedroom, she was on the point of tears. She felt utterly traumatized by the recent fight, and furious over Margot’s accusations. She wished she’d thrown that mask hard enough to knock her out. No, hard enough to cause permanent damage to her selfish, cruel brain.

  Scenes from the melee kept replaying in her mind. The stink of spirits on Margot’s breath and the insults she’d shrieked at Cassie. How she’d had to writhe away from that sharp, spiked, lime-green heel as Margot tried to trample her. The way her vision had exploded into stars as she’d hit the tiles. The look on Antoinette’s face—utterly distraught, as if she’d had enough of Margot’s bullying ways.

  The whiff of perfume that she’d smelled unexpectedly; a delicate, feminine scent that had been shocking to her for some reason.

  Cassie frowned, trying to place it. She hadn’t noticed it when Margot attacked her. Her eyes widened as she realized when she’d picked it up. It had been just after she’d cannoned into Pierre. She’d smelled it lingering on his skin.

  Suddenly Cassie wondered if Pierre had indeed been out on a romantic assignation with someone else.

  Well, whether he had or hadn’t, Margot’s attack had been completely unjustified, and Pierre had been deaf to her side of the story. He hadn’t cared. He hadn’t stood up for her and he would do nothing to stop this from happening again.

  As for Margot, she was a devil straight from hell.

  Rage surged in Cassie as she thought about the way she’d been treated. It was completely out of line. This household was stuck in the dark ages in more ways than one. There was no cell phone connectivity, no internet, no TV, and the owner’s fiancée felt entitled to abuse staff as if they were her possessions, and not even human beings.

  The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Rage at the unjust treatment boiled inside her. She felt like marching into Pierre’s bedroom right now and slapping Margot as hard as she could. That would show her.

  A soft tap on her bedroom door yanked Cassie away from her vengeful thoughts.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Marnie entered, closing the door quickly behind her. She was holding a covered plate.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened,” she said in a low voice, as she put the plate on the desk. “I don’t know if you’ve eaten tonight, but I brought you some cheese and biscuits in case you were hungry.”

  “Thanks,” Cassie said. She wasn’t in the least hungry, but Marnie’s gesture was so kind that she couldn’t possibly refuse the food. She uncovered the plate and took a biscuit, but her mouth was so dry she struggled to chew it. She coughed, and reached for the glass of water on her bedside table.

  “I’m sorry this has happened,” Marnie sympathized. “Things have been very difficult for all of us since Margot arrived.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “The first time I told her that a food delivery would be late and we would have to change the planned menu for a dinner party, she slapped me.”

  “Really? You too? That’s awful. What did you do?”

  Marnie’s face hardened. “I was so surprised at the time, I did nothing,” she said. “Then afterwards, I felt so furious I could have killed her. Never, ever have I had an employer treat me that way. But I didn’t complain, because she fired three of the household staff after a piece of jewelry went ‘missing.’ I don’t think it went missing at all. I think she sold it and Pierre noticed it was gone.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Pierre controls the money and what she spends. If they fight, the purse strings are closed. Or at any rate, that is what I understand, from the loud arguments I have overheard.”

  “How do you feel about being in this situation?” Cassie asked, eating a piece of cheese. The conversation was strangely comforting. At least she didn’t feel like Margot’s only enemy anymore.

  “Everyone working here hates her, and none of us want to stay. I’m looking for another job,” Marnie confessed. “I already have one offer, from a guesthouse in a neighboring village. At the end of the month I will decide where to go and hand in my notice.”

  “I don’t blame you. I feel the same way, and I’ve only been here three days. I also want to quit, and I think I’m going to.”

  Marnie nodded in sympathy. “It’s not easy here. Nobody can blame you for leaving. The au pair who worked here before you walked out after a month for the same reasons. And now I had better leave you to get some sleep. Let’s forget we had this conversation and not mention it again, or it will not go well for either of us in this household.”

  She gave Cassie a conspiratorial smile as she left.

  Cassie decided that Marnie’s words had cemented her own decision. She was not prepared to stay in a home where this level of violence could, and would, happen regularly. She was an emotional and physical wreck already, and she’d now found out her only friend would be leaving at the end of the month.

  Cassie resolved that for her own sanity, she would have to quit in the morning.

  She spent an hour carefully packing her bags. She didn’t care about Ella’s pleas, or Pierre’s threats. She wasn’t going to think about the career implications of this decision. She was going to take care of herself and her own well-being, and she could only hope the rest would fall into place.

  When everything was packed and ready to go, Cassie climbed into bed but found she couldn’t sleep. Her back was bruised and aching, she’d wrenched a shoulder muscle during the tussle with Margot, and those were just the physical injuries.

  Since she left home, she’d gone out of her way to avoid a repeat of what s
he’d had to suffer as a child.

  She’d actively shunned conflict. She’d broken up with Zane the first time he’d raised a hand in anger. She’d chosen friends who were gentle people, who lived the way she aspired to, and she’d tried to choose jobs where she’d have the minimum of friction in her workplace.

  Now it felt as if a Pandora’s box of memories had been opened. She remembered the times her father had hit her. That had started as the occasional push and slap, and escalated to full-on beatings, as if he couldn’t control his inner rage at the sorry turn his life had taken, and so he let it all out on her.

  Cassie recalled, now, that there had been other fights with Elaine. And she vividly remembered the time she’d caught one of Elaine’s friends in her bedroom, rummaging through her drawers. Her only weapon had been the house keys she’d been holding. She’d attacked the short, middle-aged man with them, and he’d ended up running out of the room with a cut on his face.

  But he had come back, later at night.

  “Hey, little honey. Are you there, girlie?”

  Cassie shivered. She remembered the choking panic she’d felt hiding away from him, knowing that if he found her there, he wasn’t just looking to get payback for the hurt she’d caused him—but planning to do something worse.

  With shaking hands, she opened the packs of tablets she’d gotten from the pharmacy. This was not a time for half-doses; she took one of each. She had just enough water left in her glass to swallow them down.

  Then she huddled onto her pillows, aching and traumatized, waiting for the pills to work so that she could finally fall asleep.

  But as she waited, Cassie realized she could hear a noise coming from the other side of her bedroom door.

  Cassie climbed out of bed, tiptoeing over to the door as soundlessly as she could. She listened carefully, waiting for a lull in the gusty breeze that was rattling her window.

  Then she heard it unmistakably—the soft, continuous sound of breathing.

  Someone was standing outside her room.