Page 36 of Fragile Wicked Things
I shook it with a polite yet guarded, "How do you do."
"My, you're young, not beautiful like the rest of them, but you have a certain amount of innocence to ya. I can see the interest in that sweet little girl look ya got going on theres. You caused a disruption to my business there for a time you did. Had to make other arrangements." He spoke the last statement in a hushed tone, looked over his shoulder and tugged at his shirt collar. I didn't know who he thought I was, but obviously, a mistake had been made.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Story, I don't see your name on the list."
"List?" Here, he looked over his shoulder a second time. "Baby, I'm on everyone's private list."
"I'll check again, Mr. Story." Another thorough check came up with the same empty result. I looked around to get out of the conversation, spotting Shirley slumped in a chair, fanning herself. Holding my finger up, I tried to get her attention, but she never looked my way and continued to fan herself. Before I could say anything, he began talking again.
"If that's the guest list for this women's thing here, I ain't on it. Nah, I was just over at the bar, waiting for one of my girls to come down, you see. Private party upstairs, you know." He winked at me, and I wanted to yell at him,No, I don't know what you mean.
"I just came from Thornfield, dropped off another...colleague, I did." He hesitated before continuing. "Business meetin' with Rochester, you know. He's been liking variety for years now, slowed down once he got an in-house type, though I gotta say, lookin' at you, no one would ever guess the kinky things he does to you."
I stood up, horrified, bumping against the table and knocked over the Silent Auction sign.
"Please understand, Mr. Story, that I don't know what it is you are referring to. You are not on the guest list, and I suggest you return to the bar from which you came."
I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't sure whether to believe me or not, and finally, he acquiesced and returned to his barstool, waving a finger at the bartender for a drink. I didn't know him, but by then, I understood what he did. I had heard about men like him and the women he consorted with, the women he employed and the men who associated with them. He said he had dropped off a "colleague" at Thornfield, but it couldn't be true. Still, it could explain why Rochester wanted me to stay in the city for the night.
My breathing came in shallow gasps, and I had to sit down before I fell. The room spun, and the heat was unbearable. When a volunteer came to my aid with a glass of water, I told her I had to rest in my hotel room.
I twisted my sweaty feet back into my shoes and stumbled a little on the way to the elevator. Then, once nearly there, I changed my mind and darted out to the street. Flagging down a taxi, I jumped into the back seat, giving the driver the address of Thornfield Hall.
The long drive gave me time to think about what I would do and say once I got there. What was it that I thought I would do? Enter the attic unannounced and catch him with this woman? He made no promise to me; without question, I was no one other than his grandmother's caretaker. But I did question it. He asked me to stay when she passed on. No, it had been Catherine who first asked me to stay. When he wondered about my happiness and willingness to stay, he meant as an employee. He had just lost Auntie; of course, it made sense that he feared losing another. I had to be sure. If I saw with my own eyes, I would have my answer.
When I arrived, Thornfield was quiet. Most lights were turned off except for a few in the hallway below and on the second floor. I traveled through the kitchen at the back of the house, taking the rear staircase to avoid passing Catherine's room. I crept up the steps, aware of my breathing. I stopped and listened when I reached the top of the second floor. There was no sound, no squeal of pleasure, no music. Nothing.
Still, my hand wrapped itself around the doorknob leading to the attic, and as I held it ajar, I stopped to listen. Silence. The staircase was dark except for a small light that flickered at the top. I took one step at a time, sweeping my hand against the wall for balance as I ascended the dark, narrow staircase. A floorboard creaked under my foot. I stopped to see if someone heard or if there would be some movement upstairs in response, but there wasn't any. I continued and reached the top step. The flicker I had seen earlier shone down an even narrower corridor, guiding me, tempting me to follow. I dared not call out anyone's name—not the red-haired creature, Minotaur, or Rochester.
As I edged closer to the light, I could discern things—a half-missing floorboard, gold paint on the corridor wall, a second set of stairs to my right that led down, a sign for me to escape. But I had to know the secret of Thornfield Hall.
There came a strange sound, a sucking one that became a loud gurgle. I moved forward, looking into the room, shifting my eyes towards the sound still hidden from view behind a wall. From where I stood, I could see the room appeared almost bare, a record player sat on a small, round table, a chair next to it and then the foot of the wrought iron bed came into view. On the bed was a woman, Sydney's woman, lying naked as if in a trance, staring up at the ceiling. Its arms were around her; not the arms of the red-haired monster, or the Minotaur, but the creature from my youth, from my nightmares at Lowood, sucking on her neck, its mouth drawing in blood and a small amount trickled down towards her breast.
The creature stopped and looked at me with those dark, familiar eyes. My eyes widened in terror, my mouth filled with bile and, leaning against the wall, too weak to stand on my own, I vomited a small amount. I wiped the remnants from my lips and looked back into those dark eyes that belonged to Rochester.
I ran away down the corridor, veering to the right and then left, knocking myself against the wall. Coming across that second set of stairs, I ran down them to escape. My steps were too quick, and I stumbled, my foot twisting underneath. I fell down the last remaining steps, tumbling until I crashed against a door. I had to get my bearings but had no time as I could hear Rochester in the attic charging after me. My hands fumbled for the doorknob, and I turned it, pulling the door towards me, but it wouldn't open. I tried repeatedly. It wouldn't give, so I pushed and flung myself onto the floor of a room—Catherine's. She sat at her desk, pen in hand, a small light illuminating her desk surface and stared at me in surprise.
"Jane, are you hurt?"
I stood, limping toward her. "We have to leave. Now!" I reached out to grab her, to force her to leave with me, but she was stubborn and wouldn't move. I could hear him coming down the stairs. "Leave this place with me. Edward's a monster!"
I held her by her arm, her frailty enough that I could force her with me, but when I looked at her, I saw her face lacked horror or surprise, and it dawned on me that she already knew. I pulled away from her as I grasped this thought, my mind filled with memories of the past few months—overhearing Catherine tell Rochester that he needs me, being called Catherine's little protégé. I grappled with the thought of being her replacement.
Within moments, Rochester stood by the open attic door, blood smeared on his face and shirt. His hand grasped the door handle and there was such darkness in his eyes. Despite the pain in my foot, I bolted towards the fireplace, grabbed a poker and held it mid-air, prepared to stake him in his heart. He didn't move, and I couldn't, frozen by a fear deep within me. I knew in an instant he could jump me and tear me to pieces, sucking the life out, and, although it had not been much of a life, it was mine, and I would fight for it.
Rochester flung himself at me, knocking the poker from my hand and held me against the wall, hands around my neck to throttle me. We wrestled, my strength unequal to his force, and I felt ill-prepared for a fight with a monster. He would not use his hands to choke the life out of me, but rather the teeth he bared, sharp and jagged.Was this how I would die?My body weakened in his arms.
"You stand at the mouth of hell. Now you see my true self," Rochester said.
"Stop it!" Catherine shouted, grabbing at Rochester's hands.
"Demon," I spat out at him.
This should have angered him; things as they were should have escalated, but instead, he quieted and pulled his hands away from me. Catherine fell back, weak from her attempt to stop Rochester, and he grabbed her and sat her down at the foot of her bed.
"She saw me. I can't let her go." Rochester told Catherine.
"Nonsense. When she entered the attic, you felt her presence, but you let her find you so it would come to this. Can't let her go? My dear Edward, it's her choice."
