Anonymous
Date unknown- Finally, calmness approaches. I understand what I have to do. All the tools that are required for my special project were already provided. I have the most perfect pot, and soil enriched with nutrients. I will provide the seeds. My goal is simply to bring life to this starved world. My surroundings are dank and dark. I am locked in this lonely cell. Physically, I am confined, but I found a way to make myself free. I’ve never claimed to be omnipotent, but to give life is to possess a great power, and this type of power is liberating. Doors will be unlocked. Chains will be broken. I have transformed myself from the helpless prisoner to the willing servant of nature.
Giving life is dirty work. My hands are soiled with dirt, and the grime is caked beneath my fingertips. When my work is complete, I’ll definitely need new bedding. The walls will require a good scrubbing and hosing. I am giddy, but tired, oh so tired. Most people would cower at the sight of me, but they lack the understanding of this task. Should I be called mad because I want to better my world? Does the lunatic enhance their environment? The progressives are the first to be ridiculed before history has the chance to declare them as the lonely geniuses. I am far too modest and humble to refer myself as to any of these terms. I am just following the path that was set in front of me.
Oh, what wonderment awaits! When the seed opens up, and a stalk is bloomed, my excitement will be as ripe as the fruit that I will bear. I will accomplish a nearly miraculous feat. What beauty will grow and rise from the filth from whence it came. The look in people’s faces will turn from shock and horror to awe and wonder. May this garden inspire all of mankind. Ugliness is a temporary state of mind. Desperation can flourish into empowerment.
I hear the bolt from my door. -- is about to enter, but my garden is in the beginning stages. -- ------- enters quietly with a tray of food in hand. I notice that --- hands waver, but -- steadies ------- careful to steady the plate. -- ------- wears a face of disgust. I look up from my pencil and paper.
And -- says to me, “No, no, keep writing.”
I abide, but out of my periphery I track --- movements. -- doesn’t look at the walls or my bed, but keeps --- gaze directly on me. I notice with his free hand that --- grabs a handkerchief out of his pocket and holds it up to his nose. I can’t help but to stifle my laugh. It’s painful to admit that my laughter is exaggerated and dramatic, but I do so without the attempt to ridicule ---. It’s simple to see how naïve and foolish -- is acting. From the stinking smell of shit will emerge the beautiful aroma of the flower.
From the Diary of Thomas Braham
May 25th- I rose early, not to say that I found any sleep. The images of Cordelia’s dead body will forever be with me, although I fear the phantasmagorias will appear more often in by bed chamber. I don’t regret my action, but I still caused a young woman’s death. It is a weight that will always be upon my shoulders. Cordelia’s ghastly, emaciated figure and Mrs. Bethel’s frantic, shrill scream filled my thoughts, but I will try to push them down into the recesses of my mind, not only for my sanity, but to have a clear head so the day can be productive. We have much to accomplish. There are many details still hidden, begging to be discovered.
As I made my way over to the washstand, I passed John, who lay awake on the sofa. Evidently, he had the same restless, torrid night fighting his fears and his guilt.
“It might be a good idea for you to accompany Jessica to the police station while I stay behind and look over the scraps of Mrs. Bethel’s diary,” said John.
I retorted, “It might not be a good idea for me to be near Officer McQuarters. I don’t think I’d be welcomed.”
“Agreed. Don’t go into the station. Walk with Jessica and provide companionship and support. The procedure of being questioned at a police station isn’t pleasant. She is in a fragile state. It might comfort her to know she has a friend waiting for her while she is being interviewed.”
“Yes, you’re right.” And John was right, but still I was slightly disappointed. I wanted to pour over the contents of the diary with John. It is more exciting to be part of the discovery.
“And one more thing,” John added. “Let’s not clue Jessica in about the diary just yet. Keep its existence between you and me.”
I wanted to inquire as to John’s reasoning, but I was too tired for an argument, so I simply nodded.
Once I filled the washbasin, I drew my blade. I splashed water on my cheeks and slowly lifted my head, looking at my weary face in the mirror. I applied my cream and began to shave. This was a calming chore for me. Pulling my skin taut, I walked the fine line of achieving a close shave without nicking the skin. I could feel the pull of the bristle against the blade. At first it burned, bringing a tear to my eye, but then as the hair gave way a sense of relief overwhelmed me. This practice of shaving is righting a wrong. Nature pronounces us men as mongrel beasts, and this is my act of stubborn defiance, proclaiming that I am civilized, I am intelligent; I am fixed. And after I apply the towel and wipe away the excess cream and hair, the cool air rebounding against my fresh skin tells me I am once again ready to rejoin the society of men, never to succumb to the apish herd that my body demands.
I tidy myself and neatly dress, and thus, I am prepared and ready to meet the world—but first, a proper cup of coffee.
From the Diary of John Doyle
May 25th- Thomas and Jessica left for the police station, and I didn’t waste any time in my anticipated task. I didn’t sleep one wink last night, as I am sure that Thomas and Jessica shared the same fate, each of us compartmentalized in our own seclusion of terror and doom. When I saw the first glimmer of dawn’s light, I was grateful as it meant the nearing of a mental distraction. I know I am procrastinating my self-destructive recovery filled with heavy doses of reclusion and alcohol, but I owe it to Charlie to clear up this mystery. My good friend Thomas took his time as he went through the trial of his obsessive preparedness. It was difficult to be patient to watch Thomas’ painfully slow process. I saw Jessica for just a flash. She didn’t say but a single word. When they finally left, I rushed, as I knew I only had a few hours. I carefully cleared Jessica’s dining room table, so I had ample room. I spread out all the pages of Mrs. Bethel’s diaries that I rescued. There wasn’t a single scrap that was missed even if it seemed insignificant. Every word mattered. I tried to arrange the ripped and torn pages in chronological order so that her story would become clearer. This was a hard task since there wasn’t a single date listed. I tried to achieve this near impossible goal by content. After a couple of attempts, I think I was close. I know that it wasn’t a perfect picture, as there are many pieces of the puzzle that had gone missing, but it was a starting point.
Excerpts of Charlotte Bethel’s Diary
as arranged by John Doyle
—Charlie left today for Sweden. I am uncertain when or if Charlie will return to Ashford. I, for one, do not understand this endeavor. He is a newly licensed physician, and it is admirable what he has accomplished at such a young age. He built a small practice and had a fine start to his career. I could finally say with an honest heart Charlie was beginning to become respectable. What Mr. Bethel always used to say is so true: “You can dress up the underprivileged man in fine clothes, but he can never escape his class in life.” Charlie may be a physician, but he’s his father’s son, and I always knew he wasn’t the right man for my Cordelia. He threw away his career, his life, and for what? Scientific discoveries? It’s for the better. Let Charlie masquerade around Europe or Asia or whatever land he finds himself. With time, Cordelia will forget about him. Let him become an old, faded memory of her past that with maturity and growth she will shed. Cordelia will find a deserving young man that is worthy of her stature. She may not understand this blessing today or ever, but fate always steps in and mends all the glitches. Cordelia has been secluded in her bedroom all day. Silly child, hopefully she’ll soon come to her senses—
—I am losing patience with Cordelia. At first, I gave her some room to grieve, but it has been two weeks. She has rarely left her room. Cordelia barely eats. She has no interest in her activities or hobbies. I can’t even say if she sleeps or not. All she does is lay in bed, without expression or energy. Cordelia doesn’t even cry any more. I try to inquire with a sensitive ear, but I only receive dismissive one-word answers. Her room is beginning to have a dank odor. She lost the plumpness in her cheeks and her eyes are lined with red. I don’t know what—
—Exciting news! I have been named to the board of commerce in Ashford. We are currently tasked to raise funds to help rebuild the library, which suffered that unfortunate fire last November. Later, we will organize the Strawberry Festival. Even though it is an honor, I must say I had ulterior motives when accepting this position. Mrs. Ingrid Poe sits on the board. Her son Theodore is the lieutenant Governor of Connecticut and has yet to find his match. I cannot think of a better suitor for Cordelia. Hopefully, I can arrange a meeting. This may be the catalyst to break her out of her depression. I—
—and she had a turnip salad. Cordelia didn’t finish the whole meal, but she wasn’t holed up in her bedroom for the entire day. We had a very nice conversation—
—Today was a bad day. As soon as I thought that Cordelia’s mood had changed for the better, she looked depleted once again. I asked if she missed Charlie and she slumped over, broke down, and started crying. She didn’t eat the entire day and was unresponsive to any of my questions. I suppose I have to take the good days with the bad—
—came in today from Milan! It is silk embroidered with a floral print. It will be perfect for the Harrington’s brunch. Oh, how Mrs. Kinney will scoff, but deep down she’ll feel the pang of jealousy. Not everyone can afford a custom Italian dress. Maybe fate has dealt Mrs. Kinney this blow. She is a known gossiper, and I know for a fact that she has talked ill about the late Mr. Bethel. What nerve she has, but still, I am a lady. I will not stoop to her level. I won’t flaunt my new acquisition and will display my normal humbleness. Oh, I am looking forward to this brunch!—
—Cordelia has been more social lately, but I have mixed feelings about this latest occurrence. I am grateful when she wakes from her depressed moods and am glad she is trying to make a human connection, but it is this new relationship to which I object. She has lately made the acquaintance with Wilhelm, the gardener’s son. He is a servant to the house. He helps manicure the lawn and maintain the shrubbery. His hands are callused. Why must Cordelia choose to surround herself with men who are beneath her? At least Charlie became a physician. It’s laughable that Cordelia should bat an eye at Wilhelm, let alone giggle with him in private. I try to tread lightly with Cordelia. Trying to avoid an argument, I try not to broach the subject, rather my strategy is one of distraction. I have not been too successful. Whenever my head is turned, she finds his company. Wilhelm had fallen under my ire under the supposition that he is being neglectful of his duty. I hope that Cordelia doesn’t see through this ruse. Maybe if Wilhelm fears the safety of his position within our house then he may distance himself from Cordelia. Since their relationship is newly formed, the blow may not be as heavy. Oh, I worry about Cordelia’s fragile state. Maybe I should let it be and let the natural order correct itself. No! I cannot, will not stand idly by and let—
—Bad news. Theodore Poe, the esteemed lieutenant Governor of Connecticut, is engaged to marry. We had a board meeting, and during our brief break, I chatted with Mrs. Poe. I was careful to fake happiness and hide my disappointment with great care. I wouldn’t want to give off the impression—
—We attended a pastry party at the Dalton’s. And by we, I mean Cordelia attended with me. When I implored her to accompany me, I was sure Cordelia would give me her normal one-word dismissal. I was delighted when she accepted. Not only was she present, but she was the lone light at that dull party. Her dress was beautiful, and there was a curl to her hair and color in her cheeks. She looked like her old self, full of vitality and spunk. There was a time when her spirit embarrassed me in public, but I looked on toward her with happiness and pride. Cordelia was so cordial and endearing with the other guests. My heart swelled and all my recent anxieties had quieted. I think all will be well now—
—Cordelia received a letter from Charlie by post. Luckily, it fell into my hands before she knew it had arrived. I burned the letter, and as the smoke rose from the ashes, may his memory fade up into the ether. Cordelia must never find out about this letter—
—My heart is racing. Cordelia has been having both good and bad days, so when she didn’t come downstairs all morning, I thought nothing of it other than disappointment. I was expecting another downtrodden and silent day. There wasn’t a peep from her bedroom, which was normal when she was amid her depressed state. Around 3 o’clock, I knocked on her door. I knew there was little chance she would leave the comforts of her room, but I had to offer her something to eat. There was no answer. As usual, I cracked the door and asked if she was hungry. I was expecting the one-word and monotone reply, “No.” Nothing. I swung the door fully open. The room was empty! Her bed was made. The bedroom looked untouched. I searched the house room by room, with no avail. I asked Mildred the housemaid if she had seen Cordelia. She shook her head no, and said she found her room empty early in the morning, so Mildred tidied up and made the bed. I asked all the help, and no one had recollected seeing her. I went outside and confronted Wilhelm.
“Where is Cordelia?”
He looked up as he was shoveling compost. “I don’t know, Mrs. Bethel,” Wilhelm answered in his thick Polish accent. “Haven’t seen her all day.”
“You must know something! What are you up to?”
He looked befuddled. “No, I not up to anything. Just work. I stay away like you ask. I keep head down and focus on my tasks. I no see her.”
My rage and fear turned on Wilhelm. I was frantic. “You’re lying! You are up to something. If you have done anything, I’ll have your head!”
I stormed away as I heard Wilhelm calling after me, “No, no, Mrs. Bethel. I no see Miss Cordelia. I do nothing but work.”
Cordelia has not left the house in weeks, all except the few times with my accompaniment. It was a chore to bring her along on any outing, let alone one by her own volition. Maybe she gathered up the energy to run some menial errand, but still, I was worried. Gathering some of my most trusted staff, I instructed them to scour the town and find her. They were to bring her safely home once she was located. It wasn’t the right time to involve the authorities. I didn’t want this affair to be under any public scrutiny. I have a duty to maintain a certain composure, a certain dignity. Cordelia is still viewed under a favorable light, and I must not let her recent difficulties affect her reputation. She—
—Cordelia has been found, but anxiety and dread still churn within me. I had sent my “emissaries” to locate Cordelia. They searched all throughout Ashford, but they came up empty-handed. My daughter was found in a more compromised situation than I had originally feared. When I first noticed her missing, I worried that she may have run off in a depressed state of desperation. The possibility of Cordelia hurting herself was likely. It also crossed my mind that perhaps she was taken by force in the middle of the night. Cordelia knew of my disappointment with her informal relationship with Wilhelm, so maybe she had fled our house so that she could secretly rendezvous with him at another location. These scenarios weighed upon my mind, but the reality was more alarming.
Almost 3 miles from our house on the hilly street of Hickory, there resides the Hansford’s quaint house. They are a respectable family. Mr. Robert Hansford is a minister. He is known to be strict and conservative, but empathetic towards his flock. It was in their house that Cordelia was found. The Hansford family was returning home from Sunday services when they noticed that their front door was ajar. This occurrence was abnormal, but the Hansford’s weren’t yet suspicious of anything afoul. It was likely that Robert Jr. may have forgot to latch the door. Upon entering, it was when they heard the rummaging when they became nervous. Robert Sr. sent his family back outside and courageously went forward in search of the intruder. He expected to find a robber (even though the family lived a plain and simple lifestyle and did not have much to offer), or some fiendish soul sent to desecrate the home of the devout. What he found was much more pathetic.
Cordelia sat on the living room floor amongst a rabble of broken pots and soil. She ran her hands through the dirt, babbling about creating an indoor garden. She was still wearing her nightdress. Her hair was unspun, and her eyes were wild. She looked up when Robert Sr. approached and sniffed the air, and then after she was convinced there was no external threat, she dove back into her ridiculous task. Father Hansford calmly walked back outside and sent Robert Jr. to the police station. He instructed his son to tell the on-duty officer that there was no crime, but they needed assistance in helping a distressed woman in need. Father Hansford returned to Cordelia and knelt by her, asking her about the garden. He was not inflamed by this erratic intruder. Father Hansford did not cast down an authoritative finger but instead offered his kindness and compassion. Father Hansford listened to Cordelia. A few broken pots and a pile of soil can easily be cleaned, but a damaged soul cannot just be swept away.
Officer Williams arrived, and he immediately recognized Cordelia. Father Hansford did not press any chargers. His main concern was finding Cordelia help. Officer Williams escorted Cordelia home. Even though she was confused, Cordelia complied peacefully. Both Officer Williams and Father Hansford understood this delicate situation and agreed to be discreet. I will forever be grateful to—
—tonic by Dr. Moore. Cordelia was heavily sedated and slept most of the day. She woke a few times and muttered a few incomprehensible sentences. I am worried about her current state but am relieved that she is resting and is physically unable to find herself in more trouble. Cordelia—
—Hansford stopped by to check on Cordelia. He brought a freshly baked cherry pie that Mrs. Hansford had made. Cordelia rested most of the day, but she was coherent. Even though Cordelia was subdued, she snapped out of the trappings of the tonic. Cordelia was beginning to act like herself once again. Her thoughts were sharp and her intellect and feistiness broke through the haze. Father Hansford sat by her bedside and talked to her for over an hour—
—She just sat on her bed all day and softly tapped on the wall. For hours upon hours, she knocked on the wall monotonously. Her knuckles began to bleed—
—Cordelia talked about riding horses again. The subject seemed to brighten her mood, and I sensed something in her that I haven’t seen in a while: excitement. When she was a little girl, horseback riding was a hobby of Cordelia’s. I guess over time she grew out of the sport. I don’t know if Cordelia is reminiscing, or finding a safe and happy place, but I am elated that she up and talking. She ventured downstairs and had tea with me. It was lovely—
—missing! Oh, not again! My heart is aching. I cannot take the ebb and flow, first hope and then despair. Where is she? Last time Cordelia was lucky and wandered to the sympathetic and discreet hands of Father Hansford. What danger has she stumbled into? What embarrassment has she caused? There is no—
—It’s been several days. We have been scouring the town to no avail. I didn’t have a choice but to expose myself to the veil of public scrutiny and ask for help at the police station. Seeking Officer Williams seemed like the right choice since he understands the sensitive history of Cordelia. I was furious that I was forced to fill out a police report in order to employ the help of the police. This situation will now be public record. What shame this will bring to the family name—
—where Cordelia was found. I cannot fathom our new reality. Sometimes I break down into tears filled with panic and the inescapable truth of her condition. What a disgrace this has been. I need the tonic that Dr. Moore has given me to—
—isn’t the same person anymore. Since she has returned home, her personality has shifted. Nothing interests her, but isolation. All of her feistiness that used to shock or embarrass me is now numbed. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear one of her tactless remarks. Before, when she went into one of her reclusive moods, she would try to be dismissive without even turning her gaze my way. She wanted to be left alone. Now, Cordelia won’t leave her bed, but she sits up when I enter. She won’t answer any of my questions or engage in conversation, but she’ll just stare at me. Her eyes aren’t dulled or glazed over as I might have expected. They’re sharp and shrewd. I must say that it makes me uncomfortable being in the same room as her. It pains me to think—
—Dr. Moore! I can’t believe it! What am I supposed to do? I am shaking with fear and panic. Cordelia has changed, but she is still my daughter. I have a duty as a mother—
—for days. It will lock Cordelia’s muscles under great tension. She contorts herself into an angular position. I notice the great amount of stress in her face when she has these lengthy spasms. A spoonful of soup will not part her lips. I spread her lips only to find clenched teeth. I take both of my hands and try to pry her mouth open, but it won’t budge. It breaks my heart to see her wasting away. She used to have long auburn hair. It was always thin, but perfectly straight. It now lays in clumps next to her bed, her vein-laden balding scalp protruding. Her frail frame seems to be made of iron. When I look at her, it seems like a flick of a finger would break her spine in two, but she is hard as a rock. Cordelia is no longer my beautiful and graceful daughter. She is a horrid phantom. Even her deep brown eyes have lost all of their color. She lays in her bed as rigid as a statue. Sometimes the only way I know that she is still alive is when she wets the bed. I admit when she is locked into these horrific positions, it is ghastly to witness, but still, it is easier than when she is awake and lucid. At least it’s calm—
—and it brought tears to my eyes. It was the first time in weeks that her language didn’t consist of a series of grunts and barks. I heard her voice, her sweet and gentle voice. Even though she didn’t look like my daughter, at the very least, she sounded like her again. She wasn’t sitting up in bed but was flat on her back. Her head was propped up slightly. The covers were drawn tight. She said she was cold. I was grateful because it’s difficult to look at her withered body. Gazing at her wasted face was no easy task as I didn’t want to betray my thoughts. I didn’t want Cordelia to see the horror on my face as I looked down upon her. She spoke of fear and worry, but she did not wear these emotions on her face. Her eyes were sullen but serene. Her demeanor was calm. The room had the feel of a peaceful death quickly approaching. I was nauseous as I smiled. My lying hands caressed Cordelia’s as I tried to soothe her, as I tried to tell Cordelia that everything was alright.
“I have changed, and not in the way that a young lady flowers from adolescence. I don’t fear death as I am not dying,” Cordelia said in a whisper.
“Cordelia, it is no—”
— She waved me off. “I can’t explain how I know, but I am not sick. I have no disease. My worry has turned to loathsome fear. Even though what is ailing me is not mortal, I am transforming. You have seen it. When I am not … ” She paused for a bit, then continued. “ … myself, I am self-aware, but I am not your daughter. These moments when I am able to be human are becoming sparse, and I know that soon they will cease. I won’t be Cordelia. I will be an abomination. This is not what I want. My greatest wish is to go back to being myself. I am so terrified, Momma.”
I squeezed her hand and cried. “You will always be my daughter. We will fight this. We will find a way.”—
—biting and gnashing. Attacking like an animal, she took a chunk out of his arm—
—There are a few fleeting moments when I pray Cordelia will slip away into death. I immediately hate myself for having these thoughts. It would be an act of compassion to put Cordelia out of her misery. The simple act of holding a pillow over her face would take just minutes. It seems like an easy chore. If Cordelia were gone, then this nightmare would have ended. But when I look down at the grotesque and contorted figure lying on that bed, I can still see the thin veil of my daughter. I can close my eyes and picture her as a toddler with a tear running down her cheek, running towards my open arms for security. I can feel her tiny hand in mine. So, how can I grasp the pillow and hold it over her once-sweet face and use all of my weight to suffocate her? She would thrash, she would cry, and even though she changed, I would be murdering my daughter. Besides, I know that Cordelia isn’t suffering. Just the opposite, she is thriving. Cordelia is strong like an ox. Much like she predicted, her ability to communicate has stopped, and even though she carries no disease, Cordelia has transformed fully, and I fear permanently.
With these horrendous choices circulating and haunting my thoughts, all I feel is guilt and regret. All these years I was trying to correct Cordelia, embarrassed by her will and drive. My main concern was for her to live up to her status, and in doing so, I ignored her wants and needs. The fear of Cordelia never finding the perfect suitor overwhelmed all of my motives. I thought I was being maternal and protective, but I was selfish, and worse yet, heartless. I fear I wasn’t a very good mother. Maybe my actions were the catalyst that transformed her into this monster. My need for her to perform perfectly within her class was the poison in her veins. As she lay here with snarled teeth, locked into a distorted hibernation until her next feeding, it is I that is the abomination.—
—it breaks my heart, but the restraints are a necessity. If I am to help her survive, I need to protect myself. The tamer does not feed the lion without the proper precautions.—
—has not eaten in several days. I can now comprehend that she will only feed on human meat. The Lord knows I have tried everything. Cordelia was offered every assortment of flesh, from pork to lamb, both cooked and raw. I must be mad, but I brought her a live chicken. I even went through great lengths to obtain body parts from a discarded and used cadaver. It was not an easy task to retrieve such an item, and I will not lay down the means in ink. Even if one of my house servants completed the errand, the task compromised my dignity. When I brought her a thigh, Cordelia wouldn’t look at the offering. She needs to eat. Cordelia needs to survive. I have to help her. With a heavy soul I must accept her needs. Wilhelm is the obvious choice—
—with now several bodies. Luckily, there is not much odor, as they’re mostly bones when Cordelia is finished with them. I have dismissed the rest of the staff. Keeping Cordelia’s “needs” a secret from them was no easy task, especially since a few fell victim to her nourishment. It would’ve been wise to have one of the gardeners dig a trench before I sacked them, but that may have raised mistrust among them. What reasoning could I invent for such a strange task? It was necessary to conceal the bones, and since I was in no physical shape to lay them underground, they would have to be hidden in the basement for the time being.
I have been without my house staff for a few weeks, but to my dismay, they have been suspicious all along. I was informed about a complaint made with the police, and I am not yet aware whom ran to the authorities, but I suspect my head gardener, Tad, was the culprit. He is the father of that miscreant, Wilhelm. The son of the gardener who fancied my daughter and who was indolent in his duties. In the end, he provided his usefulness. Even though his father was no longer in my employ, Wilhelm will have a permanent home with us as he lays with a few other friends in the basement. Tad was quite frantic when Wilhelm went missing. I must admit, I was not too kind or understanding in my reaction. When Tad asked me if I had any information about his son’s whereabouts, I replied by saying that the location of his son was none of my concern and I would consider his absence as a notice of forfeiting his job and that his pay would immediately cease. Tad reacted as any subordinate should by quietly nodding with a sad and pathetic look in his eye, and then he went back to his work, being careful to not let his grief affect the quality in his duties.
I know it was Tad that went to the police. Luckily, it was Officer Williams who responded to the call. With hat in hand, Officer Williams made his inquiry. He apologized profusely about the intrusion but explained that it was his duty to investigate when such a claim was made. He mentioned that a family member of one of the townspeople was inquiring about a missing person and that I might have the knowledge or was even the cause of the disappearance. I could tell that Officer Williams was being intentionally vague. Before I could answer, he noticed my complete lack of staff and asked about their absence. I explained that our family has fallen on hard financial times and I could not afford their help. Officer Williams sadly shook his head when I admitted that I would have to sell my residence and downsize so I could make ends meet. The decision to be direct when answering his first question was a wise choice.
“I know that you are in no position to tell me, but I would deduce that one of the people to make this compliant against me was one of my former employees. Even though I tried to be generous, and I begged them to try to understand my situation, there were a few who were disgruntled and left on bad terms.”
That was all Officer Williams needed to hear. He was satisfied with my response and considered the matter closed. I was safe, for now, but I would have to make a sacrifice and sell the house. I had a potential plan for Cordelia and me, but it would take time to secure all the details. It is probable to gather my resources and put the plan into action within a few weeks. Cordelia would need to feed again before we ventured off. Luckily, I have one last potential person en route.—
—I often pray there is no God. Without a spiritual element in this world, when I die, I will have no conscience or any judgment against me. In time, the history of my name will fall into the void and be forgotten. All of my past sins will be swallowed by the overwhelming multitude of sin and degradation of the present.
If there is a God, the eventuality of my destination to hell is a certainty. My sins will be the noose around my neck, and I will deserve any punishment served upon me. In the eyes of God, I would’ve failed the test. God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son. I could never triumph like Abraham. Cordelia’s condition has stripped me down to my most basic self, to my most maternal. I would protect Cordelia with my last breath and throw everyone into the jaws of danger in order to ensure her survival. This may deem me to be morally corrupt. I am aware of my transgressions. I understand the devastation I have caused other people and their families, but I own a clean conscience. Everyone will fall from my sword. It is my duty as a mother, God be damned.—
—Charlie will be here soon. He was an easy target. Even though he fled halfway across the world, I knew he was in love with Cordelia. Once he was informed that she was “gravely” ill, his only choice was to immediately come to her aid. Cordelia needs one last meal before we depart to New Hampshire. It is fitting that Charlie’s demise will be bestowed from the gritting teeth of his beloved.
I was deliriously happy when Charlie first ventured off into his new profession. I thought it would free Cordelia to pursue more deserving suitors, but he put some evil spell on her. Since his absence, Cordelia has gone through a rapid descent, both physically and mentally. I blame Charlie for this. His death will be well deserved. He will not die in vain. Charlie will serve a purpose in his destruction. He will provide Cordelia with nourishment. Charlie’s departure from this Earth will not cause me any sadness or grief. I have never liked him, not even when he was a child. Cordelia sensed his weakness. Cordelia used to tease him and bring him to the brink of tears and then when she was finished toying with Charlie, she always called out, “Poor Charlie, always so frightened.” Almost every time Charlie visited our house, Cordelia would say that statement. Before Charlie departed on his ridiculous adventure, with tears in her eyes, Cordelia uttered those final words.—
—I am so grateful to her. Without her help I would be lost.—
—It’s worse during the day than at night. Sure, there were countless times where I would find myself awake, horrified by my thoughts and memories. Images of what Cordelia has become, what she is capable of, is projected upon my closed eyelids. My heart races and there is no escape. Sleep will not provide me with a few hours of peace as it is fleeting. But, still, the waking hours are ghastlier. It is hard to explain. When you hear a ghost story, it is creepy when there is a lack of light. Your mind may play tricks. You may invent something in your thoughts that is not really there. A shadow may be exaggerated, a whisper misinterpreted. When the senses are dulled, it is scary to think what might be. What is truly a fright to me is when I see that ghost with the sun’s full light. The nightmare is in full view. It is not in my head, but is a reality, right in my daughter’s bedroom. I can see her yellowing superfluous skin, with spider veins of red and blue pulsing towards the surface. What once was a sweet and gentle voice is replaced by a low grumbling growl. When she isn’t contorted in an inhuman spasm, her restraints are necessary as she flails violently in order to be freed, so that she can devour me. I will take the unseen and unknown. The creatures hiding in the darkness will be a welcomed fantasy. Let me leave the nightmare of my reality behind.—
—he looked different. It has only been a few short years since I’ve seen him, but he looks older, more worn. His weathered appearance is not due to his current travel fatigue, but from his few years abroad. It is due to exhaustion, weariness, and stress. Charlie’s eyes are the same, the grey conjuring of a peaceful cloud. Before wanting to visit with Cordelia, he wanted to gather as much information about her condition as possible. Even though his heart ached to see her once again, his primary motivation was her health. It would be easy to be swayed. Seeing Charlie now, I could simply fall into the trap of reminiscence. Seeing the utter concern in his eyes may guilt me into shielding him from the harm that Cordelia would deliver onto him. But I too have only Cordelia’s health in mind.
So I answered his questions, played the part of a grieving mother. He wrote everything down meticulously in a notepad. If my moral compass pointed more ways than just one direction, then I may have been touched by his sincere desire to protect her from whatever illness that I had invented.—
—was satisfied with all the data he collected, and he was prepared to visit with Cordelia. With most of her prey, I invited them into her bedroom, closed, then locked her door, and waited for her natural procedure to occur. I would normally try to occupy myself with a loud activity or choose a location in the house that was far away from her bedroom, but sometimes I could still hear the screams. With Charlie, I decided to stay and watch. I don’t know what motivated me. Was it some sick sense of revenge? Did my morbid curiosity overtake me? Or was I trying to understand Cordelia, to grow closer to her as I became more intimate with the process?
Charlie slowly approached the bed, and he gasped when he caught sight of her. Cordelia’s knees were planted firmly in the middle of the bed. Her head dipped to the left underneath her arm. Cordelia’s right arm was held straight across, as if she was saluting. Naturally, I removed Cordelia’s restraints prior to Charlie’s visit, so that she would be able to conduct her affair freely. I don’t think Charlie was only shocked by her stagnant position. The last time that Charlie had seen Cordelia, she was bristling with beauty, and now she was reduced to a pile of skin and bones with a hidden ferocity. When he noticed the dire situation, he fled to her bed and knelt down to the floor.
“Cordelia,” he wept, “I should have never left you. Cowardice is my only excuse. I love you. Cordelia, you are the only love of my life. I was so afraid that I was beneath your class and that you could never reciprocate my feelings. Leaving your side was the greatest mistake of my life. And now you are here to suffer from my fallibilities. I should have been here to protect you, to shield you from whatever it is you’re suffering from. I don’t know if I can help you, to find a diagnosis, to figure out a cure, but with my last breath I shall try.” He buried his head on the side of the bed while grasping her hand.
Before this pitiful scene, Charlie had been a professional, but after seeing his love turned into a monster, he melted into a blithering mess. He ceased to be the dutiful physician and transformed into the forlorn lover. Charlie didn’t observe her symptoms, he did not take her pulse. He sobbed by her bedside. Charlie tried to pull her hand close to his heart, but Cordelia’s arm was locked and did not budge.
“Cordelia, look at me.”
She didn’t respond.
“Please say something,” he pleaded.
She didn’t answer.
“Please, I’m so—” Cordelia’s eyes darted to Charlie. Cordelia’s head hadn’t yet turned, but Charlie noticed the sudden movement. He gasped with hope. Her hand loosened, and she squeezed Charlie’s hand softly. Cordelia lifted her head from under her arm and she sat up straight. She looked right into Charlie’s eyes, and for the first time in weeks I heard my daughter speak. Cordelia didn’t grunt or squeak. She didn’t growl or yell. I heard her sweet and gentle angelic voice once again.
“Poor Charlie, always so frightened.” I felt a chill in the air and my hairs stood up on end.
Charlie looked at her with amazement and wonder. He was about to speak, but he gasped, unable to find any words.
It was quick. Charlie didn’t realize what happened until it was too late. As if she was a vulture snapping down on a carcass, Cordelia bit Charlie’s neck, claiming a large piece of skin as her prize. Charlie’s eyes widened with terror as he clutched his gushing wound. Cordelia gazed at him emotionlessly as she chewed his flesh. Cordelia swallowed with a gulp. She caressed his cheek lovingly with her fingers. She massaged her thumb around his lips. With her fingertips, Cordelia drew Charlie in closer. He was frozen stiff with fear and shock. Cordelia kissed him ever so softly with a slow peck. She kissed him deeper with the second pass, with her passion growing. I heard her moan as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Cordelia kissed his bottom lip and then pulled back gently and, in a flash, she bit down and ripped Charlie’s lip off his face. He shrieked and fell backward onto the floor. Cordelia slithered after him. She climbed on top of Charlie and straddled him. Cordelia took both of his hands and slid them up both of her bare legs, caressing her hips and finally cupping his hands as she brought them to her breasts. She looked down upon him as she munched loudly. Cordelia brought his right hand up to her mouth as she kissed his index finger. It took her a couple of bites before she gnawed his finger off. She took her time with Charlie. Cordelia ate him piece by piece. She savored every ligament, licking her lips as she separated the bone from the gristle. Charlie was alive for a long time. He screamed with anguish, but he didn’t resist. It was as if he accepted his devourment as he succumbed to Cordelia’s appetite.
And I stood in the corner, witnessing this horrid scene. It felt peaceful in that room. I found myself speaking out to Cordelia. And I said, “Eat hearty my child.”—