Elizabeth’s chin felt sewn to her chest. Her neck weakened, unable to lift her head. Her body folded over, cradling herself as she huddled in the corner. How is this possible? Am I going crazy? How did this happen? She kept pulling on her memory like a reel of film, revisiting the exact moment the man stepped out of the shadows. She remembered his hand reaching the door knob. She remembered the door glided open at his push. She remembered the blade. She could still see his profile cradled against the moonlight. Yet it didn’t make sense. Was she not fast enough? Where did he go? How did it happen?
Her mother’s body had been taken away long ago, but she could still see how the sheets fell against her form, leaving a soft imprint on the bed. Elizabeth crunched her fingers through the bulk of her hair, trying to dig up answers. The doctors proclaimed a stroke took her mother’s life, but that’s not what she saw. Ana was murdered. How they did it and left no marks on the body, she couldn’t understand. It had been hours since the funeral, maybe even a whole day, and Elizabeth still couldn’t find the strength to lift herself up. Ana’s friends came to mourn her and help pay for her burial. They looked at Elizabeth with deep remorse, patted her on the shoulder, and passed on their condolences, but it was wasted breath. Elizabeth was alone now. No amounts of I’m sorry were going to help her.
#
With the passing week, Elizabeth’s shattered world only grew darker. Time never stopped even when her reason to live collapsed, turning familiar rooms into unrecognizable spaces, mocking her with her mother’s fading presence. And tomorrow, she was going to be sold. The realization came to her during the blood sunrise. Red warmed the streets, peeling back the ice as time felt both fleeting and unbearably slow. Lack of sleep left her delirious. Everywhere she looked, she saw Ana. Even with all the pictures turned down, the furniture moved to create a lounge that wasn’t hers, a kitchen that wasn’t theirs, but she was still there, in every creak of a floorboard and the catch of her reflection. Ana was there. Haunting her.
Elizabeth cried so hard the tears felt heaved up from the pit of her stomach. When the sadness hollowed her out, Elizabeth felt like she could not get lower. With nothing left, she ran out into the streets in her sleeping attire and bare feet. Letters piled up outside her door, formal inquests about her absence from the academy. She looked like a ghost amongst the dew; blue veins tattooed her pale skin as white hair unbundled from its messy bun. She reached Doctor Wicker’s house and stormed right up to the intercom by the barred gates. She took the handle and brought it to her lips. As the receiver end was picked up and the sound of someone’s breath tickled against her ear, Elizabeth felt her chest tighten.
“I need to speak to Doctor William Wicker immediately. Tell him it’s Elizabeth Blackmore. I don’t care if I have to wait all day, I must speak with him.” Her tone didn’t shift despite her knees shaking. The intercom’s heavy breathing continued. Elizabeth stepped around to see the house through the bars of the gate. There were two cars parked there—William’s and another she couldn’t recognize. All the lights were off and the curtains were drawn.
“This is an emergency—”
“It’s me.”
She froze. His voice rang with familiarity, bringing forth a collage of memories. She remembered him walking into her room, big hands combing back her white bangs. He greeted her with a hot tea, a lemon wedged on the side, her favorite. She remembered the first time she disobeyed his instructions against playing tag with the rest of the children, and how he scooped her up when she fell down, unable to collect a breath. She even remembered the moment he confronted Ana; his face soft as he whispered, ‘Is she mine?’
She slumped against the post. “Doctor Wicker?” He didn’t reply, but she could still hear him breathing. “My mother…”
“I know. I’m so sorry, Miss Blackmore.” His voice dropped with genuine remorse. Elizabeth waited for him to keep speaking, for him to say something, anything that would give her reason to hope. She folded her lips in to stop herself from shattering. Her eyes rolled upwards, blinking furiously to stop the tears.
She eventually whispered, “I need your help.”
He gently sighed, “I truly am sorry,” before hanging up. Numbness took her first, taking her strength as her fingers fumbled with the phone, causing her to drop it. The mouthpiece dangled by the end of the cord as a man hangs from a noose. The world became quiet. Her mind snapped in two, her thoughts running into the ground. That was it, she thought. Game over.
Lukewarm water filled the bathtub. She sat at the bottom of the drum, water rising past her ribs and pulling the fabric of her dress against the side. In her nimble fingers, she cradled the vial of cyanide. She had popped open the lid but couldn’t bring the tiny bottle to her lips. If she killed herself, her mother’s murderer would get away without justice. Even though she feared life with the Beaumont’s, the rage inside her wouldn’t let her budge. Even if it meant bending to the whims of Arthur Beaumont, she will find the fiend who killed her mother and she would end him. Yet, she did not rise from the water. She did not drop the poison. She studied it. Memorizing it. Imagining the acidic doze tearing up her insides, spewing up red. Imagined dying. Imagined meeting her mother again.
A loud bang jolted Elizabeth out of her daze. The water had long gone cold. She edged the tap off with her toes, but the water had already overspilled the edge on to the floor. Her wrinkled skin felt frozen as she turned her head toward the front door. The banging continued. Urgently. Wanting her attention. She looked at her numbed, emptied hands. No vial? Below her grip, the broken vial sprawled out across the floor in shards. Poison bubbled and washed away with the tub water. The person knocked three more times before silence followed. Soon, all that was left was the sharp drip of a leaking pipe. Elizabeth eased herself down until the water crept up to her chin and pressed against her ear drums. The dripping echoed in the body of the water. Loud, but distant. Without taking a breath, she slipped under the surface.
Tiny air bubbles escaped her nostrils and lips. It was heavenly tranquil with a low hum rippling across the water from edge to edge. It could be coming from the churning pipes underneath her or the traffic right outside her window. Her vision was hazy through the water and clouded by strands of white hair floating in suspended space. As if preparing for sleep, she felt her eyes get heavier and her vision begin to shift. She closed her eyes. Her body softened. Her chest deflated, pushing more bubbles to the surface.
When she opened them again, a shadow stepped over and drove a hand down, hoisting her up. As she rose, water spraying everywhere, she inhaled a long and frightened gasp.
“What are you doing?” Sara leant over the bath edge, running her hands over Elizabeth’s face, trying to clear the hair away. Elizabeth coughed and choked on the inhaled water.
“Sara?” she spluttered. Sara jumped up to grab a towel. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been so worried. I haven’t heard anything from you in days.” She helped ease Elizabeth to a stand before she hugged the towel around Elizabeth’s body, helping her climb out of her drenched gown. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if Sara hadn’t noticed the broken bottle or elected to ignore the disturbing thought her friend could have already drunken the deathly dose. She ducked in and out in moments, returning to the bathroom with a dry clean outfit.
“I don’t want to get dressed.”
“You can’t sit there in the nude.” Elizabeth turned her face away as Sara stepped around her, bringing out a brush. She started to comb through Elizabeth’s hair, yanking at her scalp as the bristles got caught in the knots. There was more knocking on the door. Sara called out over her shoulder, “We’re coming.”
“Who’s that?” Elizabeth clenched her towel closer to her body.
“Mr. Beaumont is waiting.” Sara tucked a loose strand behind Elizabeth’s ear. “You’ve been purchased.”
Elizabeth didn’t remember getting dressed, only Sara’s rough hands as she forced Elizabeth into a long skirt and cream blouse. And as she passed the front window, she caught sight of Harold Beaumont standing by the front threshold with his car parked on the curb. She jerked her head away as Sara took her to the lounge. Sara invited Harold in while Elizabeth waited on the couch in front of the fireplace.
“Thank you for helping me, Miss Coven.” Harold Beaumont nodded toward Sara as she curtsied in reply. She glanced wearily over at Elizabeth, who hadn’t turned her gaze away from the ash pile.
“Miss Blackmore, let me just say how truly sorry I am for your loss. Your mother was such a beautiful and wonderful woman. I know how much she meant to you, and how much you meant to her. Ana truly was loved.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. Hearing him say her name curled her hands into fists. Stay calm, you can do this. You can do this. He stepped around to face her and tugged his hand out of his pocket, pulling out his pocket watch.
Elizabeth rolled her gaze upwards, her face tightening into a scowl. “Are you here about the bidding?” Even her voice strained with loathing.
“Yes, actually.” He tucked his watch back in. “And quite the bidding war it was, very spectacular. Arthur placed his last bid just this morning for a price that was far out of reason. I would have to sell half my staff just to pay his debt. I came here to withdraw the bid, but your head mistress has informed me it was unnecessary.”
“Wait, unnecessary?”
Harold glanced down at her, eyes unfamiliarly gentle for a Beaumont and a soft tilt of a smile. “Someone had already outmatched the bid. Doctor Wicker, if my information is correct.”
Elizabeth bolted upright. “He did?”
“Ah, Sir William.”
She spun around as Doctor William Wicker stepped out from around the corner, his soft but full grey hair combed back into a stiff, ashy flame. He looked older, but in a good way, as wine ages with grace and value. Though he seemed tired, William kept his posture straight and his blue eyes calm.
“Governor Beaumont,” he greeted with a nod. Harold chuckled and clapped him on the back.
“None of this Governor business. I just wanted to ensure that our young Miss Blackmore is holding up okay.”
Her eyes shot up to meet William’s, and though she could hear them talking, the connections weren’t being made in her head. She glanced over at Sara for confirmation that this wasn’t a dream. Sara’s eyes were just as large, her cheeks pinched pink in happiness. She gave her a brisk nod, biting back her laughter.
“Thank you for your concern, Governor Beaumont, and please pass on my apology to your son, Arthur. I understand the news will be upsetting for him.”
Harold cleared his throat with a cough. “It’ll do that boy some good to hear no once in a while.”
William gently reached out to take Elizabeth’s elbow. “If you don’t mind, Miss Elizabeth, we should get going. I’ll have my men return for your things.”
Elizabeth almost couldn’t stand. He called her by her name. It was incredibly personal, incredibly foreign. But this whole thing felt unreal. She must be dead. It was the only possible solution. She was dead, and this was her version of heaven. But then, where was Ana?
As William helped her stand, her knees wobbled and her head felt stuffed with stones. She felt too heavy to be a spirit. Too angry to be in heaven. She looked up at William, unsure of her own feelings. Why didn’t he tell me earlier? Why wait until the last minute? She jerked her head away from his gaze in fear he’d read her inner turmoil and change his mind. She didn’t even look at Sara or turn to grab her more personal things. She went straight out to the car, suddenly sick that she had been within two seconds of killing herself. If he had said something sooner and not led her to believe she was deserted, the notion of suicide would never had crossed her mind. And for that, Elizabeth’s knuckles curled, she blamed him.