The Beast

by A R Davis

  “Listen, I –”

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  She didn’t need to tell him twice. You’re a fool, he thought. “All right,” he said before finally tearing himself away from the door. He descended down the stairs and returned to the kitchen. After washing his hands for the third time that day, he sat at the table and watched the food he made grow cold.

  As he sat there, the words returned to him. He could have started out with a good morning. He could have asked what she wanted for breakfast or if there was something she wanted to do. He could have told her his name and maybe asked for hers in return because he couldn’t remember it, though he remembered hearing it. He could have, he could have, he could have. And now he was doing nothing.

  Damien leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes. He imagined being in the storm, being tossed by the waves, not knowing which way was up or down. Salt water filled his ears and his mouth and his eyes. It felt like he was going to be lost forever down there, until a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him up and up until he broke the surface and took a deep, relishing breath. Dante kept him afloat—even when the storm had died down, even when they were far away from the sea.

  He opened his eyes. No matter what I do, I can’t forget, he thought as he began to dig into his meal. Every so often, his eyes would rest on the empty seat across from him, and he’d feel a twinge of resentment.

  Damien froze when he heard footsteps. When the swinging door opened, he could scarcely believe it, but there was the girl clutching a book to her chest, looking frightened of him.

  He chewed the rest of his food, swallowed, and said, “Hello.”

  Her eyes darted all around the room and he could tell that she was debating whether or not she should flee. After a while, she took a few brisk steps toward the table, and quickly sat down. Her gaze was focused entirely on the food, which she inspected with a queer expression. Grease was congealing at the bottom of the plate. Damien supposed he could have done a better job with his presentation.

  The girl opened her book and placed it flat on the table before she started her meal proper. Her attention was divided between reading and pretending to eat. She mostly pushed her food around on her plate, taking a few bites when necessary, grimacing when she swallowed. It was as though Damien did not exist at all. He didn’t care; he was used to such behavior. His mind was too preoccupied with what he was going to say. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Why did words always fail him?

  He stared down at the book she was reading and tried to make out the upside down words. When he couldn’t decipher it, he asked, “What are you reading?”

  The girl stiffened. For a moment, it looked as though she was going to ignore him. Then she raised the book to show the title, blocking her face entirely. Damien recognized the title. It was one of those silly romance books that he could only stomach a few pages of. He found it a rather surprising choice on her part. “What made you choose that one?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  She raised her eyes briefly before looking away. “I wanted to read it,” she said, moving the book closer to her.

  “Do you like it?”

  “When I can read it, yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  The girl sighed with impatience. “Why do you want to know?”

  Damien paused. “I’m curious to know why someone would want to subject themselves to…” he pointed at the book, “that.”

  She could have frozen him to death with that stare. “Why do you have it, then?”

  “It was here before me.”

  From the look she was giving him, he could tell what she was thinking. Damien rushed to fix it. “I-I didn’t know the people who kept it.”

  This was making things worse. He could feel her disgust and hatred. “There was no one here when I entered,” he said.

  Damien drank more wine, trying to rinse any other words from his mouth that would dig him further in this hole. She doesn’t believe me, he thought. She thinks I’m a monster and a liar and, yes, I am both of those things, but I am not lying now.

  “Where were you before?” the girl asked, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

  “Spirea,” he said automatically.

  The girl blinked with mild surprise. “Across the sea?”

  I don’t know. “Yes.”

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you from, then?”

  Damien kept looking at his cup as though he expected it to refill itself. Then he looked past the girl to the window. Everything outside was still, and his cup remained empty. “I don’t know,” he said. It was the only answer he could come up with.

  The girl looked skeptical. “How come?”

  “I don’t know,” he repeated. Then he asked, “What is your name?”

  For a moment, she was taken aback by the abrupt change in the conversation. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want you to think that we’re…friends, or that I’ve forgotten that you threatened me, or that you’re keeping me here.”

  Damien’s eyes darted from the cup to the window again. What did she want him to say?

  The girl closed her book and stood. “Thank you for the meal. Know, however, that this changes nothing.” She left quickly, the door swinging back and forth, giving him small glimpses of her before she vanished up the stairs.

  Damien felt that she needn’t have bothered saying something he already knew. You really are a fool. The voice sounded like Dante, and suddenly, it seemed as though he were standing over him again, his fists balled tight and stained with blood. Did you really think you could make it up to me? Did you really expect me to believe that you could change everything with just one act? It matters not what you do or what you say. You can apologize a thousand times, until you’re dead. It matters not one bit.

  It is already too late for you.

  Chapter 14

  Lord Aubrey was buried on a foggy fall morning in the same spot where his father had been buried, and his father before him. There were no bones littering the bottom of the Aubrey grave, only dirt and worms eagerly awaiting their fresh feast. Not even the glass coffin would offer Lord Aubrey protection. He would need none where he was going.

  Young Aubrey stared at his father’s still body as two guardsmen carried the coffin to the final resting place. It looked as though his father was sleeping, and at any moment, he would wake up and point accusingly at him. You tried to kill me, he would say. You can’t kill Aubrey. Aubrey lives forever. But none of that would happen because a man was attached to the Aubrey name, and a man could always be killed.

  All around him, he could hear weeping. Even a few of the guardsmen kept their visors low, shielding the redness of their eyes. Young Aubrey looked around at the lowered faces of his father’s friends and allies, and it was then he realized how much love there was for his father. I loved him too, he thought as his father’s body was lowered into the ground. I loved him terribly, more so than any of these people here. Even though he had not believed him, in the end his father was a good man. Naïve and foolish, yes, but good. That was what mattered.

  A voice clawed its way from the back of his mind. I did this, it said—it screamed. His ears were full of the sound of it. I did this. I killed him. He pressed his lips together, his heart pounding madly. He was sure that if anyone was to look up at him, they would think he was smirking. I killed my father. Young Aubrey swallowed a few times to clear the confession that stained his throat. Tell them you did it. Tell them you killed him and you loved him and that the demon made you do it. They will understand. They will forgive you.

  He made sure his father’s body was completely covered with dirt. He even thought about standing over the mound to crush the body beneath. It’s over, he thought, trying to calm himself.

  The visitors, however, would not let it be over. He found himself surrounded
by bodies and faces and hands. They reached for him, and it felt as though they were all trying to drag him down, trying to bury him with his father. They apologized for his loss as though they were responsible for it. He said nothing to them. He let them embrace him and shake his hand because he was Lord and that was the proper thing to do. A woman sobbed on his shoulder and called him a poor boy. He fought the urge to violently shove her away.

  Eventually, the crowd thinned out until Young Aubrey was left with his guardsmen. Jonasson – now Captain Jonasson – walked up to him with a tear-stained face. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady as though he was drunk. “How are you feeling, Master Aubrey?”

  “Lord Aubrey,” he corrected.

  “Oh – yes. Forgive me, sir, I –”

  “It is all right, Captain. It was a small mistake.”

  “One that will not be repeated, my Lord.”

  Young Aubrey nearly smiled before he remembered he was not supposed to. His mask smiled for him. “I feel like I want to see the prisoner.”

  “Ma – My Lord, are you sure?”

  “Yes, Captain. I can think of no better time.”

  Captain Jonasson reluctantly conceded. “Then I will arrange transportation for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Young Aubrey, Captain Jonasson, and two other guardsmen rode on horseback into town. Several of the townspeople were dressed in mourning attire, waving miniature Aubrey flags. When they spotted Young Aubrey, they waved to him and called out words of sorrow. Young Aubrey did not hear them; he did not wish to. He was tired of the world being sorry.

  He was tired of being sorry, too.

  On their way toward the justice building, his eyes were drawn to the forest entrance. The trees were slowly shedding their leaves like a woman cutting her hair. Thick clumps of red and orange leaves spun around in the autumn breeze, scattering along the path as though it was leading him toward the forest. His heart tightened. Young Aubrey knew he was to return there soon, and he was not sure if he was ready. This was no time to dwell on it, however. There was other business to finish.

  The Aubrey banner was flapping wildly in the front of the building. The golden letter “A” shown bright against the gloom. Out front were two frail men in stockades. They cried out for mercy, but Young Aubrey had none to give.

  It was considerably colder inside, or perhaps that was Young Aubrey’s imagination. His spine tingled as he took in the chilly iron color of the walls. Down below, he could already hear the cries and shouts of the prisoners in the dungeon. He stopped by the stairway and saw nothing but darkness beneath. Captain Jonasson lit a lamp and held it up, illuminating a few of the stairs.

  “Are you ready, my Lord?” he asked.

  No, he thought. He did not want to go down there. He could smell the faint scent of shit and blood again. “Yes,” he whispered, and they descended.

  The sound of Captain Jonasson’s iron boots could not drown out the anguished cries of the prisoners. The smell was so strong that it caused Young Aubrey to gag behind his hand. The prisoners reached desperately for him, trying to grab at his cape or his hand, begging him to set them free. The lit torches on the walls illuminated the dark circles under their eyes and the maggots that crawled in their greasy heads. Rotten food and piss stained the floor. They called for mercy. They were animals; they deserved none.

  They walked down the endless hallway of men in cells. Near the end of the hall were two cells that only had single prisoners in them. One of them was his mother. She was huddled in the corner, wearing only a potato sack, her long hair shielding her face as though it could protect her from the things she had done. Young Aubrey did not stop to talk with her; he knew she would have nothing to say to him. Instead, he moved to the adjacent cell, the one that contained the former Captain Yendel.

  Young Aubrey almost did not recognize him. The few days he had been here nearly rotted him completely. He was practically naked except for the dirty sheet that he had tied around his privates. His ribs looked as though they were going to break through his skin. The color of his hair had gone from pretty blonde to an ugly brown. And when he looked up to see Young Aubrey, his blue eyes were crusted with yellow.

  “Ma – Master Aubrey,” he said in a broken voice.

  “It’s Lord Aubrey,” Young Aubrey said coldly. How many times was he going to have to make that correction?

  Tears formed in Yendel’s eyes. “You have to believe me. I swear on everything that I did not kill your father.” He shook his head vehemently. “I would never hurt him.”

  I know, Young Aubrey thought. He laughed. “You would never hurt him? Not directly, you mean. Did you not think you were hurting him when you decided to lay with my mother?”

  Captain Yendel shook his head again and again. “I did not mean to hurt you, Master Aubrey –”

  “It’s Lord Aubrey. I am Lord Aubrey. Because of you.”

  “I did not kill him.”

  I know, Young Aubrey thought. “You would still dare to say that to me? You would dare look me in the eye and lie to me?”

  “I did not do it!” Captain Yendel shouted. “I did not kill him!” He burst into tears and it was so pathetic to watch that Young Aubrey nearly looked away. “Please,” Captain Yendel said through his sobs, “whatever crimes I may have committed…She does not deserve to hang with me.” He looked to the wall between his cell and Young Aubrey’s mother’s. “Spare her.”

  Young Aubrey hesitated for a moment. I want to, he thought. I do not want to lose her, too.

  “No,” he said. “She was the wife of a lord. She is just as much a traitor as you are.”

  “I am not a traitor!”

  “You are.” Young Aubrey crossed his arms, and for a time he listened to the former Captain’s sobbing. He wanted it to end. Just let it end. “I see your time here has made you no better. You insist on insulting me with your lies. I really wanted to hear you admit it before you died. I think that would have been better for both of us.”

  Captain Yendel’s shoulders were trembling. He wiped at his eyes with his filthy hands. And then he looked up at Young Aubrey, not with hate as he expected, but with a strange tenderness.

  “I can help you,” he said softly. “I can help you find whoever did this. W-we can make things right. I can help you make things right.”

  Young Aubrey could feel Captain Jonasson’s eyes on his back. It felt as though the whole world was waiting for him to admit that he had indeed kill his father. Young Aubrey wanted to cry.

  But everyone had already wept for him.

  “I have no need of your help,” Young Aubrey said as coldly as he could, “because you did it. You pulled the trigger, and you watched my father die. The only way for you to make this right is to admit what you’ve done and accept your punishment.” He took a moment to steady his breathing. “I will not be sad when you die. You have committed a great evil.” He leaned in close, his golden mask nearly touching the bars. “And evil must be punished.”

  Then he walked away, commanding Captain Jonasson to follow him. Behind them, Captain Yendel begged and begged him for forgiveness. Young Aubrey’s mask smiled and smiled and it felt as though his own lips were forming that cruel and mocking gesture.

  It smiled through the execution, too. It smiled brightly in the autumn morning as it watched Captain Yendel and his mother fall, and the noose snapped their necks in two.

  *

  Valerie told herself many times that she wouldn’t do it, that she would not join the monster even if he threatened her. Yet here she was at the start of her second week, sitting across from him for the fifth time to eat a meal that could be best described as unsatisfying. The second time she had allowed herself to give in, she sat quietly, angry at him for inviting her and angry at herself for accepting the invitation. It was only upon the third time that she allowed herself to ask more questions.

  What was it about the creature that caused her to lose her resolve? She worried it was due to loneliness. Surely
she wasn’t so desirous of companionship that she was making due with a monster! However, when she was in her room, and the dark thoughts clouded over her like a blanket she could not throw off, she found herself wishing for someone to be there, to ease the ache in her heart and to help her break through the darkness. Sitting with a monster would just have to do for now.

  It also did not help that she had yet to form a proper plan of escape. There were no maps in the parlor and no books on the shelf that gave her some kind of clue to as to where to go or how to survive on her own. The thought of wondering around in the forest alone for a long period of time made her stomach lurch, and the thought of being trapped in the forest during the winter made her feel worse. She was starting to sense the overwhelming feeling that no matter what she did, she would have to remain here, perhaps forever.

  She could feel a bitterness pulsing under her skin. She wished the monster wasn’t so kind to her; he made it hard to hate him even though he had threatened her life. Other than asking for her name the first time she shared a meal with him, he hadn’t asked her any questions. He did not seem to mind when she pried and only kept silent when she went too far. She hated that he was interesting, and she hated the fact that he had done so much with his life, things she could only dream of doing. His adventures rivaled the ones in the books: he had not only traveled by ship, he also had climbed mountains, wandered through open fields, slept under a sky scattered with stars. The monster was a good storyteller for the most part; Valerie could almost completely picture these places, could almost smell the salty ocean, and feel the biting chill of the mountaintops.

  “How many places have you been?” Valerie asked, doing her best to keep jealousy out of her tone.

  “Too many to count,” the monster replied. “What about you?”

  Valerie was reluctant to answer, mostly because she was embarrassed by it. She scraped her fork against her plate and stared at her lap. “I’ve only stayed in Leola,” she said quickly, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t catch it.