by Mandi Martin
The answer was not to come. Marianne’s speech resumed as if she had never paused, a silvery tear glittering in her eye.
“Not beautiful…I hear them cry, hear them wail as my feet touch them, crush them. They live, wretched as their existence is. They are alive like us and like me they are believed to feel naught. Trapped in a garden made of glass, fearful of shattering at any moment.” Her face fell and her eyes clouded as she drifted away, “Oh how they cry, just like a baby.”
James’s lips moved but no sound would emerge, unable to move or raise his voice to give any comfort. Even if it was a simple superficial comment it could have offered some solace.
Marianne rocked herself robotically, cradling an invisible babe in her arms before her head dropped forward and her body wilted.
“No. No one else. I am alone. I am always alone with only the ghosts of memories to haunt me.”
James swallowed, inching forward and watching his shadow stretch out as it mirrored his movements.
He rested a hand on her thin shoulder, squeezing her collarbone.
She was lost to him and made no sign of even feeling his touch or noting his presence anymore.
James knew there was little point in staying, curious as he was about the reaction, about her dreams.
He slipped from the room as silently as he was able; every sound seemed heightened in this place. He took a final look back at the closed door, hoping to hear some noise from the room but there was none.
Just the sound of the wind outside.
Chapter Fourteen
James saw no one as he returned to his room but could not shake the feeling that his every movement was being watched by some unseen eye.
He sighed and shook his head. Sheer paranoia, this place had a talent of making one feel that way in every waking moment. It felt like this much of the time but…somehow today felt worse.
The hope diminished as the door screeched open, revealing the blooded note fastened to the wall, still unopened.
He froze the doorway, pushing his fringe back to prove to himself that his uncovered eye was not deceiving him.
It wasn’t.
His lips moved but no sound emerged as he edged closer, knocking his hip sharply on the open drawer as he did so.
He couldn’t even swear as the sting travelled through the bone.
“This is ridiculous,” James managed to stutter, forcing the words from his throat simply to break the ominous silence. “This is a pathetic joke and it isn’t going to work!”
He tore the paper down and torn it in two, trying not the glance at the scrawled writing that lay within, throwing it violently into the corner.
Giving a long and lethargic sigh he sat down on the bed, rubbing his temples before looking over to the open drawer, the contents clearly disordered.
He reached to shut it, pausing when he noticed the ornate knife he kept was missing. A chill of unease rippled through him as he shifted the already untidy items aside in the hope it was simply hidden underneath the papers.
He bit his lip. Anything such as that was forbidden despite the knowledge most of the wardens here claimed amongst them to have something of the like. But it wasn’t the type of item to leave lying about or to lose. The excuse it was simply sentimental would not hold.
“Calm it,” he whispered aloud to himself, taking a breath to still his increased heart beat, “it will turn up. There is nothing to worry about, it cannot be far. It is a pathetic joke that is going too far.”
The words seemed hollow and did little to soothe his nerves. He cursed himself for being highly strung; he should have overcome that by now.
He slammed the drawer shut, flopping back onto the bed, closing his eyes to quell the headache that was beginning to throb through his sinuses.
Strange lights flickered, emitting an odd humming sound as if a swarm of insects panicked frantically within them.
There was so much white.
Too much white.
White walls, white bedding.
Not again.
James sat up, sickness rolling within his body. He clutched his stomach, feeling as if a thousand needles were piercing his gastric lining.
Why was this happening?
It had to be stress. An irrational illusion that would be banished as his mind calmed down. When his mind calmed down, that alone seemed impossible.
The floor was cold as he inched forward and placed his feet down. The pull of curiosity pulled him on, dulling the fear. He needed to know what this was, why this was.
Reaching the door he looked down a sickly green corridor, a bitter chemical scent burning his nose, the smell reminded him of the pungent fluids they used to mop away the accumulated filth when they deigned to clean a vacant room.
But that only masked a smell. This was pure.
His neck ached as he turned his head to look around. This was wrong, all wrong.
The lights hanging above and those glowing yellow behind cloudy patches in the wall hurt his head, sending throbbing aches behind his eyes as they strained against it to see properly. But everything seemed hazy.
There was a sound from somewhere nearby, the soft scuff of footfalls.
James fled. He didn’t want to see anymore of this purgatory.
He flung himself back down onto the strange bed, burying his head in the pillow, counting slowly in his head.
Once again as he opened his eyes the room had shifted, returning to the familiar bleak surroundings. He lay still for several moments, trembling.
After a few uncomfortable moments he slowly sat up. Normally he liked being alone but for some reason the emptiness felt wrong, eerie and unnatural. He didn’t want to seek the other warders; they were of no use and Silas would no doubt still be brooding.
That left only Marianne, even silent and distant she was company. It was a risk but one he was willing to take just to break the monotony and the stillness. To leave the ominous weight that bore down behind him.
Chapter Fifteen
“I was dreaming again, dreaming in my waking hours.”
Marianne’s ‘voice’ met James as soon as he reached her door, as if she knew who stood behind it despite the iron between them.
“I saw great figures, rising through a jagged roof, as if they are trying to escape,” she rocked herself idly side to side as the warden entered. “A woman, grown from a girl in pieces at her feet, frozen in a run, her hair still flowing behind, a fragile marble. At her feet there is a boy, he cannot grow and is unable to stand tall, simply cowering to hide from a shrouded figure.”
James nodded, only half listening. He knew it was another cryptic ramble about herself and the loss of the child.
“They are so still,” she continued in a sorrowful tone, “perhaps they shall crumble into happy rubble together with the great walls that confine them or, like us, perhaps they are simply trapped in a world beyond their control?”
“Do you have these dreams often?” James queried, speaking aloud whilst he was in her presence. He had a headache from his own dreams and it seemed more sensible. He glanced away. “Lucid dreaming seems common here.”
Marianne looked up, tilting her head as her eyes sparkled in the dim light. She seemed to be looking right through him, searching.
“Dreams are a gate to a new world,” she answered smoothly, a smile tweaking her pink lips. “Not always a good world but you can learn from them nonetheless. Sometimes they contain signs and omens that one should heed, revealing trapped memories that need release.”
As if hypnotised James moved toward her and cupped her cold cheek sympathetically with a warming hand. Clearly he didn’t understand or didn’t believe her words, dreams were simply ones imagination working whilst one was lost in slumber.
Her gentle eyes lifted to meet his. Silence settled between them.
The crash of metal startled James back to reality, snatching his hand back swiftly and looking over his shoulder in alarm.
A flush appeared on his cheeks a
s he felt the cool tingle of her lingering on his fingertips.
“I have to go,” he said quietly, giving a tense flutter of his lips, an attempted smile. “If I’m caught here I’ll be in serious trouble.”
She nodded. “Speak to me and I shall hear. It gets easier the more you listen, the more you try.”
“I will, I promise.”
James touched her hand briefly before retreating swiftly from the room. Rather than feeling better he felt even more flustered.
Despite his caution his door slammed shut behind him, muffling the sound of hurried footsteps.
He didn’t want to go back to his room but other than facing the contempt of the others he had little option.
That choice was soon snatched from him as he passed by the entrance of the dining hall and caught sight of a fellow warder standing outside, still as stone until he neared, as if he had only been activated by the other’s presence.
“Good timing. You can go downstairs instead of me,” the older male said curtly, his eyes cold and disinterested in any answer. “It isn’t worth wasting my energy to put a few ticks on paper. You’re younger and have more to spare.”
“What?” James shook his head vigorously, pausing to adjust his fringe which flicked out of place. “I’ve done my shift, do your own damn job!”
The man glared at him. “Call it a favour, Grey. If you do that I won’t tell Morbridge I think you’re coming unhinged.”
James’s eyes narrowed.
“I may be thinking over a lot but I am most certainly not unhinged! Whatever mind I lost then I lost it a long while back and I am not planning on losing anything else!”
“Does that matter? Half the imbeciles here say that when they arrive and keep it up even when they’re rolling about in their own filth. No one believes them and no one would believe you either.”
The words were blunt and matter of fact. The folded arms adding to the effect.
James’s eyes narrowed darkly and he took a breath, biting the inside of his cheek to calm the rising temper that he could not afford to lose.
“Fine. But why do I feel that if I ever need a favour then there’s no point in asking you?”
The man snorted. Dignifying a foolish question with an obvious answer seemed pointless. He ambled away, muttering under his breath, a few words reaching James’s ears, causing him to arch an eyebrow. Such language!
Giving a long and exasperated sigh he turned on his heel abruptly, heading towards the stairs to the basement. There was no use in putting things off, one look and he was done. But halfway down the tenebrous steps he froze, remembering that low, malicious voice.
Even the thought of it was enough to make him shudder.
‘Please come back…’
His eyes widened as the voice whispered about him, the sorrowful female voice that refused to leave him be.
He felt torn. He didn’t want to continue down to the beast’s lair but nor did he want to turn and face whatever was behind.
If anything.
And if nothing was there it surely only cemented the others words that he was losing himself.
Reluctantly and with shivers running down his spine James looked over his shoulder. Only to see nothing at all.
He wasn’t certain if this was a relief or not. Part of him hoped to see something, just to prove he wasn’t going mad. But when he thought of it without another to witness that sort of proof would not hold much weight.
“Good grief, pull yourself together man!” James cursed to himself, striding boldly down the stairs, filling the silence with the sound of loud footfalls.
The bold pace tapered off as he reached the bottom and his eyes saw the bolted door when they adjusted to the gloom.
The recollection of his last encounter came rushing back. The strange aura that hovered like a lingering spirit about the room and the feel of him watching even though his eyes were covered.
“One look,” James muttered, “one look and I leave. No need to remain any longer unless something urgent is required.”
Simple.
He tossed his head and left the last step but his pace remained slow, fearful of making any sound that would let Nathaniel know of his presence.
But those blind to the world, natural or not, had sharp hearing.
A low chuckle emanated from within the locked room, echoing about him.
“Because of their parents the children pay, strangled by their loving tourniquet.”
The urge to simply turn, taking the words as a validation that the man was alright. He was alive anyway.
But although most others would have done just that it would be negligent and if something did happen to go wrong then the blame would be squarely at his feet. As abhorrent as the man was he couldn’t allow laxness in duty.
Taking a breath of the fetid air he moved onward and approached the heavy door, pausing for a brief moment before sliding the hatch back with a loud click.
Nathaniel was still as he always has. The only movement was a slight twitch of his fingers as he flexed them occasionally.
“So we meet again, the friend of the mute, the friend of the madman,” Nathaniel breathed maliciously, “and yet I sense you are as bemused as ever, your soul dying even as you stand there.”
“My soul is perfectly fine, thank you,” James answered resolutely. “It is a shame I cannot say the same about your own.”
“Black as a night without stars or moon,” Nathaniel almost purred almost proudly, “and if light appears than it is soon quashed.”
James wrinkled his nose and snapped the hatch shut, pausing as he heard more whispered words, straining his ears to hear through the door.
‘Who will be incriminated now?’
The voice being so soft, the words almost a hiss, it was nigh-on impossible to be certain if that was the statement he heard.
“Perhaps I am dreaming whilst still awake,” James muttered as he turned resignedly. “Marianne can surely not be the only one to do that.”
But Marianne found beauty amongst the ugliness in her dreams. He saw only darkness.
Hastily he mounted the stairs which seemed so much longer than they had when he descended a few moments ago.
Silas was still brooding when he heard soft footsteps that paused behind the door. He gave a sigh and turned to look over his shoulder, his glossy hair falling in a cascade down his back.
“I’m sufficiently calm that you’re not in danger of a chair launched at your head,” Silas said in a loud enough voice to carry, “so don’t dally if you wish to speak, even though the hour groweth late.”
The chair swivelled around as the door was gingerly eased open.
“Silas…”
“Ah! We are back on first name terms! How stupendous!” Silas pressed his hands together as if silently applauding.
James gave a blink of a smile.
“Well I cannot ever remember us being so but I shall take your word for it. All things considered it’s fair I suppose.”
“You do that, I know best,” his lazy eyes sparkled, resuming the knowing exuberance “from apothecary to zephyr. And considering you all seem oblivious to a comforting Earl Grey I suppose your company will suffice.”
“I’d give you my ration but…”
“Dishwater,” Silas finished with a knowing smirk “and of course who know what a person such as I would do with tepid water, hmm?”
James chuckled.
“Third degree burns no doubt, but you’d also have to see Morbridge or the nurse.”
Silas shuddered.
“I’d rather not see Old Morbid or the skinny creature that masquerades as a nurse.” He arched an indignant eyebrow at the badly suppressed snort which morphed into a cough in an attempt to cover it. “And that is amusing how?”
“My apologies, I just think it’s rather a fitting pet name,” James said as he composed himself, leaning back against the door in order to keep a sharp ear out for any approach.
“A satirical term o
f endearment would be my description but call it what you wish,” Silas flung his legs onto the desk and examined his nails, “but I don’t think you came simply for idle chitchat did you? I don’t mind but I sense more pressing issues.”
James muttered something under his breath.
Silas cocked his head and looked at him intently, rocking back and forth in his chair.
“Why is Marianne really here?” James asked breathily as if he was speaking and sighing in tandem. “For surely being mute is no reason to be confined? And I am certain she is no killer.”
“That isn’t your true question, I can tell,” Silas replied smoothly, lacing his fingers, “but I shall humour you, Marianne was brought after what was most likely a forced miscarriage. She was not born a mute but her voice was silenced at eleven. When she birthed her own brother.”
A sickening silence fell as James digested the foul words, the implication of which took a short moment to register.
Birthing her own brother.
The image of a classroom was suddenly envisioned. The scenery vague but the blurred visage of an unhappy girl, sat trying to hide away in the corner, was the focal point. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of it, he didn’t understand these visions and they perturbed him.
“Try not to dwell upon it,” Silas advised as he gazed at him. “It turns the stomach and stirs the temper.”
James’s gaze moved to the grubby floor. The advice was easier said than done, the idea was foul and almost impossible to erase.
“Maybe we ought to move on?” Silas suggested as he watched the others expression. “Pull your thoughts from such things?”
“Perhaps, although I doubt it will leave now the seed is sowed.” He gave a long sigh and moved from the door, none could walk so softly that their feet made no sound here, sitting rather rigidly on the bed.
Silas made a small murmur of agreement but nothing more, waiting for the man to continue speaking whilst continuing to rock in his chair.