Lile : Oh, dear who let me write FOUR installments
Muse : *whistles*
LiLe : So I pretty much hinted at the stuff in LL that made this whole ordeal come about.
Now originally I was going to add in this vague short story to August that starts of with Mr. F and Martin getting into a fight. It's later revealed that they are fighting because (for some reason) Clara gives birth to this sickly grotesque child and it’s hinted that Mr. F knocked her up on purpose to ruin Martin/Roger’s perfect pretty family.
Then Martin wakes up to find Clara mysteriously gone.
So, I liked the idea of Mr. F trying to ruin Martin/Roger’s family but I thought him doing it by getting Clara pregnant to piss of Martin was mean so I cut the storyline but hints of it are still there. Then I had this awesome idea for how to end HOF but that meant killing a character.
Well, you know.
December 18th
PRESENT
The local boys chased each other around the woods, careful not to trip on overgrown roots or dare to step on a toad. One of the boys with brown eyes of no more than 13 stopped at the tree line as the others ran a bit farther into the woods.
“Stop”, the brown-eyed boy called to his friends, “We shouldn’t go that way”
His two companions snickered at him and they resolved to finish their exploration, not ready to end the day and think of school.
“Why not ?”, questioned the oldest of trio.
“Don’t you know?”, said the brown-eyed boy, “There is a house just beyond there. . . a haunted house”
What is this third person ? I like it.
The brown-eyed boy extended his hands into the woods, teasing his friends with frightful noise.
The youngest , and third member of the party, went further into the woods his baseball cap over his eyes, his friends close behind. Deeper into the woods the three walked in silence till they came upon the large manor, windows drawn shut with long spiraling bars over each, there was a large iron gate that swung open, as a warning and a welcome.
It was nearing twilight and the house appeared long since abandoned. A mist rolling off the lake ebbed closer to the gates.
“It’s an abandon house, just plain and simple”, the brown-eyed boy as he kicked the dirt, “nothing interesting”
“Let’s get closer”, suggested the oldest boy now ready to explore.
The brave group approached the swinging gate and as they reached the gates the ground beneath them began to quiver, shake almost followed by a thump.
“What was that?”, asked the brown-eyed boy
It was followed by another thump and the boys turned to see a black crow had fallen to the ground, before another could speak more birds fell dead to the ground.Terrified the oldest and brown-eyed boy ran.
The youngest turned slowly from the house, intent on coming back.
“The people in that house”, Joshua spoke to himself, “they are just like me. . . I’m just like them”
Remember
this kid. What his full story is I have no idea. What he means is this kids has also come back from Nightfall.
Had either of the children stayed for maybe a second they would have noticed the highest window facing east, they would have seen the curtains forced open and the dim figure of a woman with her hands and fist beating against the glass.
Possible they would have also seen the thin white hand cover her mouth and pull her back into the darkness.
So, this is the present. Fair warning the characters may be keeping me company on this one more than ever. So just roll with the crazy
Chapter 1
December, 18th
One
Two
Three
Four
Each of the locks opened with relative ease except the last which required a number combination, I can hear the piano’s music filtering through the door just before it opens. Inside the small room the windows have been shut and the drapes nailed to the floor, only a series of candles lights the dim room.
The walls are painted slate black a black piano forced to the farthest corner of the room. Apart from a modest bed and chair the room is empty.
The woman behind the piano continues to play, unaffected by my unusual presence. Perhaps she was frightened, although she did have every right to be.
“I have bought you something, Ms. DeLune”, I spoke softly to her.
She stops playing at the sound of my voice but remains with her back to me. By her music alone she appears lonely, tired and docile.
Cautiously I enter the room setting a small majolica planter on top of the piano, the green plants now held the most color in the room.
LiLe : really majolica gets used but not corporeal ?
“They are clovers”, I explain to her.
I pick one of the plants and sit next to her at the piano. She takes the plant into her thumb and fore finger slightly twirling it, her face still covered by a curtain of black hair.
One
Two
Three
Four
A perfect four leaf clover.
Cause he’s Irish. I have no idea what I was getting at here.
Turning abruptly she throws the plants on the floor and digs her nails into my shirt sleeves, piecing my skin, her face is expressionless, worn and tired but there is passion in her voice.
“Let me out of here”, she begs me, "please”
I try to have few regrets, I should have never spoken to her of course it was too late to turn back now.
“You will not think like that. "
Ms. DeLune’s pleas lead to a physical struggle between the two of us, the piano bench falls over and splinters into two pieces. I struggled under her desperation as she tries to reach the door.
I allow her to fight for a while but void of sleep and good nutrition she soon gives in, and falls onto the floor.
Her eyes are darkening and even if she could make it to the door she would never make it out the house.
“That was a foolish thing you did”, I scolded her for earlier, “Someone could have seen you at the window. You know what will happen.”
Lucie will make you eat your own fingers or something, of course the reader doesn’t know this.
“Shut up”
“I am going into town—“
“Why are you telling me? ”
“Ms.. .”, I began but cannot finish.
She picks herself off the floor and drags the spare chair from the far side of the room to the piano, spreading the dirt across the floor, and resumes playing.
I listen for a while before closing the door behind me and placing each key into each lock.
One
Two
Three
Four.
+++
“Where to, Sir ?”, Mr. Ciani ,wakes from his early evening nap, and calls across the garage, his cap in hand, “Been looking forward to taking the Continental out.”
Ciani is a classical musician. I really got tired of picking names.
“I see”, I considered the vehicle in question, “You may leave early, Mr. Ciani. There is a storm coming.”
“Heard about that. . .You going far in this weather, Mr. Fierro ?”, he insists on friendly conversation.
“Just to town”, I offer, taking the keys.
How long had it been since I had driven a vehicle? I had observed Mr. Ciani expert handling of the vehicles, either way I would not allow the mechanics to bother me.
LiLe : Seriosuly, writing in Mr. F’s somewhat formal POV is fun. Also he is driving a 1956 Lincoln Continental.
The garage opens to a fine mist of December rain and a dark sky, the headlights cut through the darkness easily and I began my journey away from the house. Silence consumes me as I speed down the 10 mile road toward civilization.
I continue at an increasing speed, the rain continues to pour, I can hardly see where I am going.
Suddenly I’m forced to hit the brakes.
A figure stands in the middle of the road, the car stops just inches from what appears to be a child, I have little regard for children, least one alone in the rain.
LiLe : Interesting you mention that.
Still . . .
Maybe it was a strange instance of compassion or the thought of a woman who would no doubt stop, that I released the window.
The child had a baseball cap on to shield him from the rain, he kept his eyes down but looked in my direction.
“Are you far from home ?”, I called to him
“The home”, he said, “St. Marks home for boys. . .it’s not far from here.”
This child was carefree, without worries or fears and apparently without a family. I knew of the home and it was far from here, but once again of little concern to me.
“Well then . . .stay out of the road.”
He nodded and I continued my journey uninterrupted, I sped over the bascule bridge and soon street lights of lake cottages dotted the night. The homes continued for several streets till I found the one I was looking for.
Cardall Farm’s Bed and Breakfast.
Cardall is another composer. I just thought a ritzy lakeside town wouldn’t have bars and also Emile would be staying here.
Inside the modest house they boosted one of the most exquisite restaurants in Southern Chautauqua Lake County.
This is probably like South Detroit in that Bon Jovi song. I did some preliminary research on the geography but this just sounded cool.
It was near closing and I suffered few stares and simple minded gapes from wait staff and late drinkers. Surely a man with my pallid complexion and taste in vehicles was not common in this modest part of the county.
The dining room was nearly empty, wilted poinsettias past their season decorated the table. I approached the reserved table, as always, cautiously.
“Emile”, I greeted my good friend.
“Fierro”, his mood matched the weather, “Have you seen this ?”
He turned his small phone towards me, a lighted picture of Ms. DeLune showed followed by dark text spelling out ‘Reaches Two Million Dollar Reward.”
LiLe : By
“lighted pictures” he means the Blackberry screen.
“Yes, her father came to me for a ...contribution.”, I informed him
“It’s been almost 3 months Do you think they will stop looking for her ?”, he asks
“No”
“It seems you already have... so quickly to lose another love.”
“You supposed I loved her?”
“I suppose”, he was confident.
What Emile really means is he placed bets on it.
“What else do you suppose, Emile?”
“I suppose that you called me here for a reason, what is it ?”
I remained silent as a glum waiter and requested a ’78 Chateau Lafite Rothschild and declined an offer for a menu.
It’s expensive wine.
“I know where she is”,
“Dear God, are you mad ?”, he believes me so quickly, ”Was this your plan for revenge ? Where have you put her?”
Emile has so many questions, none of which I felt obliged to answer.
“Ms. DeLune has been a prisoner for quite sometime. Stay, have a drink then judge me.”
LiLe : Well if you are offering
Chapter 2
LiLe : These next two sections are kind of pointless to the plot. I just really liked that song Eddie Arnold Song "Sway" and I was testing my fluff-writing meter.
December
I
hovered over the candle, listening to the stillness of the empty room. I could
hear the garage open and the hum of the car as it drove off into the distance.
I
laid my head against the closed lid of the piano, watching the flame dance
mercifully into the night. Somehow I was able to ignore the pain, I wasn't sure
if it was emotional or physical. I began lulling myself to sleep I thought of
happier times, I thought of the charity dinner this summer, I thought of
warmer times and nights
. 1 .
September 1st - Sway with me
The family had flown to the Hamptons for the weekend, I remembered that warm August night on the private patio of 1770 House.
Dinner had been long since finished and 50 of the DeLune academies largest donors had gathered, mostly to just be seen.
Clairce and Claudia were there with their perspective fiancées. I’d worn a white chiffon dress with a black silk sash around the middle, catching a 360 degree view of the Charity Dinner while accompanied on the dance floor.
Every time my dance partner, whose name I didn’t know then, stepped and turned around the corner of the dance floor I caught a glimpse of my father’s table, stealing occasional glances at tonight’s largest donor.
Mr. Fierro had made a rare appearance outside his house, he occasional leaned in and made a comment to my father and his company. He always made it a point to appear busy. My father and I shared a smile across the dance floor and I continued into the second song with my partner.
Dinner had ended in a quiet rumble of conversation and the music slowly lulling. A few camera flashes had gone off around me, as my partner held on to me tightly. I began to ask my partner his name when I was interrupted.
“I believe I will cut in”
I turned, not even realizing when Mr. Fierro had left his seat, my father was now deep in conversation with a doctor, he had already taken my hand.
“I don’t think I have a choice”, I politely excused my previous partner and took Mr. Fierro's other hand into mine.
He pulled me toward the corner of the dance floor, gently correcting my hands.
“Hello", I said
"Hello", he responded
Emile : NOW KISS
You made a very generous donation”, I said as we began to dance, “Thank you"
“No more or less than I felt was adequate”
“You’re very . . . coordinated”, I reached for a compliment as he gently lead me back and to the side, I was suddenly aware of how light my heart felt.
“Practice, Ms. DeLune”, he turned me once,” I’ve heard your father speak highly of you to other men.”
“Has he”, I looked over his shoulder to see my father still lost in conversation with Dr. Florist, our family doctor.
LiLe : If you don’t get it you don’t get it.
“Yes, although your social graces speak for themselves.”
“Speaking of social graces, you are being unusually sociable this evening.”
“One can hardly expect to make it in this world without proper connections.”
“You mean you didn’t’ come all this way to see me”
"No” he answered simply, “although I find you being here very agreeable”
Flirty Flirty
“Hm. . “, is all I offer
Turning again I noticed my father was no longer at his table. My sisters whispering intently to each other behind their wine glasses.
"Where did-"
He [her father] go.
“. . . And here he approaches”, Mr. Fierro narrated into my ear, “Though Martin hardly ever felt threatened. Still as he moved along the jovial dancers ,he began to worry for his youngest daughter; locked in the arms of the strange man whose wealth and regency had permitted him notice. . . still Martin knew this strange man harbored a secret.”
Our embrace became closer and I steeped back, my heel tapping the toe of my father’s shoe. I stepped off quickly and came face to face with him.
“I’m sorry Father”, I apologized
“I think Clara could use a break”, Father spoke over me, clearly not sore over his scuffed shoe.
“Of course”, Mr. Fierro obliged. He kissed my hand before letting go.
Behind me my father had walked off.
I stood on the dance floor alone as the lights began to dim
. . .
I blew out the candle, giving into the flames torment and sunk deeper into myself. The realization always hit me that it had been the end of September were this story started. It was the wedding and what followed that made me prisoner in this house.
+2+
See, that’s a weird transition. I just wanted to write that top fluff in.
September Pachbel
“Wait, wait . . .”
I dashed away from the guest I had been introduced to and across the lawn of the vineyard, I had my shoes in my hand and reached the Tuscan-style villa just in time. Eleanor Lamont, also barefoot, was already sitting down gently strumming her bass. Eleanor and I had been friends since school, her father was a composer and frequently held lectures at the Conservatory. Issac,a friend of Peter's stood tuning his Violin. Peter was sitting at the piano and slid over to make room for me.
“You’re late”, he teased me
“I know, I know”
From where we were sitting I could see the entire reception, a large group of beautiful people chatting and talking, occasionally passing glimpses to the two sets of newlyweds sitting at the head table.
Although it had only been a few hours, my two sister’s new married lives ,almost for a minute seemed brighter than my own. They were each made a beautiful couple, Clarice and Colin has a calm sensibility about them while Claudia and Derek seemed to always be having a good time.
“You came alone ?”, asked Peter
“Yeah, you ?”, I asked to be polite although I already knew the answer.
“Yes”, he looked back down at the keys and then at the song book, “What are we playing”
So akward.
“My sisters favorite song”, I answered
Yeah, they are like the Vitamin String Quartet. Let’s see it’s 2007 so they are probably pumping out some Daughtry Home or JT’s My Love.
Speaking of which JT’s My Love is a great song for Clierro.
We continued to tune the piano in a tense and rather uncomfortable silence as the emcee called the brides and grooms for the first dance.
I let Peter play the first bars, after a slow count in Issac began a rhythmic strumming against the strings of the violin . I turned the sheet music picking up wherever Peter left off, out of habit I began to play with my eyes closed, knowing I was missing the first dance. When the music began to pick up Eleanor chimed in. The bass provided the perfect rhythm and other couples where encouraged on the dance floor. The sounds came together seamlessly and ---
LiLe : Peter and Clara are doing what I like to call the double friend zone. They both want to just be friends.
“Wait a fucking minute, Martin”
SHOTZ. Yes, we are still drinking when a rare curse word makes it in here.
“Roger--er Dad, not now.”
My grandfather and father whom were previously absent entered the reception area and began to cause a ruckus, Father had two glasses of wine in his hand no doubt taken from Grandpa. Everyone looked over quickly and then back at the newlyweds.
I jumped at the chance for damage control, while Peter finished playing
“Father”, I said going over to join them and pulling them away from the main tent, “What’s wrong?”
Oh, Clara still sweetly trying to solve everyone’s problems. Even though she knows her Gramps killed a man just to watch him die.
“Not now, Clara”, Father was stern
“Leave her alone, Martin”, Grandpa chimed in, “It’s okay Clarabelle grandpa and your father are just having a disagreement”
Father began to retort but their argument took a quick intermission when one of the photographers came over, and like clockwork they struck their “proud father-son” pose for the camera.
Grandpa stalked off to talk with some business associates.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have had the wedding in a vineyard ?”, I offered.
“Don’t be smart Clara, it’s not your wedding”, father snapped, pouring out the wine.
LiLe : Awwww, Martin doesn’t want to be a drunk like his father.
I let that comment past and shadowed my father till the first dance was done and went to help the other musicians pack, Peter was putting the case over the piano, I helped Eleanor with her bass.
“Peter told me you had an audition with the Hartman Symphony’, she said
“Yes, I just thought I’d try something new next summer. . . something I was passionate about.”
Clara : You know once you get a second chance at life you really put things in perspective.
Kind of wish I had explored the idea of Clara playing in a symphony more.
We chatted a little when the two blushing brides found their way over to us, each giving multiple hugs.
“The music was beautiful, thank you guys”, Clarice said. Her bouquet still in hand
“Speaking of beautiful”, said Eleanor, “Where did you get the roses they are beautiful”
“One of father’s friends or something. You’ll find no other flowers like it anywhere.”, she let Elanor admire her bouquet, “I can’t wait to see the pictures .. .”
I left them alone to chat and went to find Grandpa, I knew the family gave him a hard time about his drinking. From a distance I watched as he and Father continued to fight. They were only forced together a handful of times during large family events yet they always seemed to end the same.
+3+
The residential villa on the northside of the vineyard had been reserved for the weekend. While the reception came to an end a few select guest and friends milled around the private villa, either watching the sunset or sampling the local wines.
I curled up on a bench outside, spent after spending the day on my feet. The pleated ends of my pale green bridesmaid dress dusted along the grass. A dark shadow loomed over me as I skimmed and slid the next page of my book.
“What do we have here ?”
The voice belonged to an older man I had seen at the wedding, I believed he was one of my mother’s friends; an actor or musician. He held himself well, he was well dressed with a designer tie.
Okay, so this is me throwing in a bunch of old ideas I had. I wanted Clara to get out and date more, but I also needed Clara to realize that she wanted a real relationship with Mr. F.
“Just taking a break, did you enjoy the wedding ?”, I wanted to be a good hostess.
“Yes, I did, I did”, he repeated himself
“I’m glad”
“What are you reading ?’
I clutched the book closer, before handing it to him.
“Anna Karenina ?”, he read aloud, “It’s a bit dense isn’t it ?”
“ A little, Not as much as War and Peace , according to some”
“You’ve read War and Peace ?”
"Yes. . . I’m sorry I don’t know your name ?”
“Henry Thorpe… you must be Clara DeLune”
I recalled a Thorpe pharmaceutical company, it would explain the only way he gained admittance to the wedding
“Well, it was nice to have met you, Mr. Thorpe”
“Don’t be silly Clara, we’ve met before.”
“We Have ?”, I stood up and took my book back. Yes, he had been my dance partner at the charity event. Well, my other dance partner, “Yes, in the Hamptons.”“And before that. . .you were much younger then you probably don’t remember.”
“Oh, well it was nice to have met you. . . again”
I said a quick good night and went inside the villa, Mother was leaning against the sofa peering out the window. A few guest were sitting in a circle listening to my father speak.
“Going to bed so soon, dear ?”
“Yes, Mother”
“Was Henry pleasant ?”, she asked
“Yes, Mr. Thorpe was interested in my reading habits.”
She let out a light hearted laugh and sat on her heels, holding out her hands to pull me closer.
“Your father seems to think you two would be a good match.”
“Father thinks a lot of things.”, I could see father amiably engaged with a few guest.
“True dear, but you know Henry has been to numerous of our functions and you know he is looking for a wife. Your father likes him and I’m sure you would. . .”
“Mother”, I said a little to loudly removing my hands from hers. Father turned noticing my outburst.
“Don’t make a scene dear, think of your father-“
“My father ? what about me”, I said in a hushed voice , “You can’t make me marry him—“
“Clara”, she turned and smiled to guest passing by, “When you were going to marry Peter you made a promise.”
“Not that kind of promise”, I said a little louder.
Now
the REAL reason they are doing this is because they are BROKE. They need Clara to marry someone rich so they can get some of his money. Of course Mr. F is also rich but Martin doesn't like him.
I glared at my father before going up to my room, my father catching drift followed with my mother close behind. I could hear Grandpa snoring peacefully as I passed his room.
Father, embarrassed at my outburst, shut the door behind them as they entered.
“I’m 22 years old”, I started "you can’t just—“
“Listen to me Clara”, father restrained himself, “Your mother and I never ask anything of you and your sisters, not once. This one time you will not be an ungrateful child. This is for the good of the family and I won’t have another word about it.
“Mother”, I looked to her for support
“We just want you to be taken care of”, she answered.
“You can’t”, I was almost in tears, “I don’t even know him. . . he’s almost 40 for Godsakes”
“Don’t make this about age”, mother interjected, "good families should marry into good families"
I opened my mouth to protest to ask her what that meant when my father seized my wrist and pulled me almost to my knees, Never had I been disobident nor he more agressive. His increasing anger and strain on my wrist threatened tears to fall, he was hurting me but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
“You will marry him or I will put you out. Out of the house and the family”, he pulled closer to the floor with each word.
He let go of my wrist, I felt ridiculous for almost crying and began throwing clothes into a suitcase.
LiLe : You know originally Martin hits Clara but I didn’t want people to instantly villanize him.
“Clara”, mother, “it’s not the end of the world. .. you had a choice, we let you make one mistake with Peter. Darling it—“
“How can you be so archaic”, I shouted to both of them,
I began to gently fold my clothes hoping for their apology. I thought about the DeLune Academy where I had attended school, letting my thoughts grace to how I was accepted into Rochester after my father’s dinner with the dean.
My parents continued to watch me pack while I thought about how Father Ligardi helped me get a job at St. Theresa. The condo my parents had paid for, the car I didn’t have. The hospital bills they paid, even the clothes I was packing now.
Had I done anything in this world without my family's connection ? Could I do anything ?
If Father told them to cut me out would they ?
All of this paled in comparison to the fact that I loved my family. I didn’t want to ever be without them again. I wiped a final tear and closed the empty suitcase
“I’d like to go bed now.”, I finally looked at them. They stood firm arm and arm, “I won’t leave… I promise”
Father left first. My mother brimming with maternal instinct pulled back the covers of my bed.
“It’s a hard world out there dear, we just want you taken care of“
“I won’t marry him”, I whispered to her, "I can take care of myself"
I was only half-convinced.
Mother turned away, drumming her fingers against the door.
“Stop being selfish, Clara. For once”
She closed the door behind her and I sat in my room for a long time till I fell asleep.
So
maybe Clara’s parents should have just told her they need her to marry for
money. I’m sure she would have done it.
+4+
Grey Room
Mr. Fierro
The wedding was on Saturday.
On Sunday ,the front page of the New York Times society page was littered with images of the DeLune family. The Sunday paper was opened and creased with eight black and white images boasting class, elegance and the family whom was rumored to descend from nobility. All spread across my dining room table.
LiLe : Oh, the descended from Royalty comes back later.
So I don’t know if I talk about how Mr. F is rich. In my mind it’s either A. he inherited money tied up in his Aunt’s estate given to her by Lucie. He just pretended to be a relative of the family Or B. He cashed in a slew of 1940 war bonds and went to the stock market. Probably A and B.
“Mrs. Beck ?”, I called to the woman in the next room
“Yes, sir?’, she came into the dining room and noticed the table, “Oh, I’m sorry about the paper, my neighbor was going on and on about that wedding. I just had to see”
For the most part Gail Beck was a quiet middle age woman with a moderate amount maternal affection. I paid her well to keep my schedule and not cause any rifts, something any simple housekeeper should be able to do.
“Just coffee this morning, Mrs. Beck thank you”
I turned the page again, looking over each picture, specifically the one of Roger with his family. Along the bottom was text about the wedding details. The last page of the article contained the wedding pictures of 3 generations of the family.
Lucie and Roger’s was placed in the center, her gown and the position they were in concealed her condition. Lucie and Clara shared the same dark hair and features, possibly the same smile ?
Would she still be as beautiful if—
Clara was my granddaughter. Was what he was going to say.
So this is still tied into my Mr. F getting her pregnant storyline.
“Here you go sir.”, Mrs. Beck laid the cup in front of met, the liquid leaving a stain along the inside, “Not sleeping well ?”
I moved the unfolded and open section of paper to the corner of the table.
“Dispose of this, immediately”
She gathered the paper and headed toward the back. I contemplated my inability to sleep through the night. Even knowing Roger was spending the weekend at Wolffer Vineyard with his family did little to affect my constant insomnia.
Read : Mr. F is all alone cause Roger killed him and took the family that should have been his.
Also Mr. F isn’t sleeping
I had begun to read the front page when I heard Ms. Beck’s scream come from the backyard. She slowly came in through the backdoor, her back to me, eyes fixed on the ground.
“Mrs. Beck what—“
She had dragged in bloody shoe print, her face twisted in a sort of unexplained agony.
“Don’t go out there, sir” , she stammered, suddenly realizing the blood on her shoes.
My first thoughts went to Mr. Ciani. I brushed passed Mrs. Beck, whom made a failed attempt to stop me, and out to the backyard. I followed the thin trail of blood down the back steps to the side of the house.Tucked away in the flower bed I saw the bodies flushed among the flowers. Although the scene was gruesome I attempted to piece together what happened.
“I’m so sorry, sir”, Mrs. Beck offered, she was hardly able to control her emotions, unable to take her eyes from the carnage just a few feet ahead of us.
“Where are—“, I considered and said without thinking, “Where are the heads?”
I ordered Ms. Beck into the house and fetched a tarp from the greenhouse and covered the bodies. Mrs. Beck had already began to clean up the blood on the dining room floor, she appeared ill to what she had witnessed.
“They were good dogs”, she said, “I know you cared for them”
Hmm
I can’t remember if it’s Lucie or Victor who Kicks Kills the dogs. I
really wanted Mr. F to have dogs and I had all these ideas so this was so harsh
to me. Sadly after re-reading August I realize one of the dogs was a puppy ):
I went back to the dining room, feverously going through the paper again. Pushing the coffee aside I had lost my appetite.
Chekov : Hey remember in one of the novellas where Roger started a rumor that Mr. F killed a bunch of animals because he was crazy . . .
+++
“Cigar ?”
My eyes continued to scan the contracts infront of me, for a moment I ignored Martin DeLune’s offer. He seemed to enjoy presenting his wealth, though I dared think he was attempting to befriend me.
“Churchill ?”
“That’s all I smoke”, he said
Mr. DeLune dipped the end of his cigar into his scotch, leaving seven tiny drops spread across my desk. I offered him a match and he considered it an olive branch that I would let him smoke in my study.
LiLe : is dipping cigars in scotch a thing? I have no idea where that came from.
“Most people wouldn’t touch one”, he blew an even column of smoke.
“Is that so”, I placed the cigar inside my desk.
He’s smoking a cigar cause he’s celebrating that his wife is going to have a son.
Mrs. Beck came in to do a fair bit of dusting, first opening a window and letting the fresh air through. She smiled at Martin (recognizing him from the paper) and continued polishing the bookshelves, I had to redo them later.
“You weren’t at my little girls wedding”, Martin began looking around for the invitation, “they didn’t notice but I did. Wedding are were I do my best business”, he was offended
“I was ill”
“Is that so ? Is that so, Sweetheart ?”, he addressed Mrs. Beck. She was a bit shaken at being acknowledged by Mr. DeLune.
“Oh, yes Sir. Terribly ill. I had to come in on my day off”
She met my eyes to see if I approved of her lie, not that I offered her the relief.
Martin began to laugh, “That so ? what was he looking a little pale ?”
The fountain pen snapped and bleed over my hand, unnoticed by Martin who was still finding humor in his joke. Mrs. Beck smiled politely and excused herself.
Oh, he can bleed.
Once again we were alone and I began fighting ill thoughts about the well dressed man. His station, family and career lined perfectly in order. Everything had been given to him, nothing taken.. . not yet
Would he act this way if he was my son ?
Muse : Well what if . . .
LiLe : Shut it down. We still have two more after this.
The pen fragments pinched and sliced through my palm a insignificant drop of red slid down my palm, still I pressed further.
I must not think such thoughts
“You alright, son ?”, he asked noticing my hand
“I told you. . . I’ve been ill… my dogs have also died”
“That’s too bad, bet it’s like losing family, if I lost my girls.”
"How is your youngest ?”, I asked in passing.
“Clara ? She’ll settle down. . . her mother and I will figure something out”, he takes out his cigar, “why do you ask.”
“If it ever comes down to it I would very much like to take her”, I took a minute to locate a handkerchief in my desk, “as part of my staff. I would very much like to have an assistant and she seems as if she could follow orders.”
LiLe : I see what you did there, Mr. F
His cigar finds its way back into his mouth and his eyes brightened slightly.
“You are a very funny man, Mr. Fierro”
“Funny how?”, I further inquired
“Funny peculiar”, he clarified.
Our conversation quickly turned back to landscaping and flora.Though the conversation was most likely forgotten by him, I believe that day lead to the events of his daughters disappearance.
+++
I escorted Martin to the door, where his daughter was waiting for him outside. His daughter was sitting on the steps with a book in her hands. There was any empty glass next to her, Mrs. Beck had probably come to speak to her.
Until previously I hadn’t been aware she had accompanied him
“Taking my daughter out today, that right sweetheart.”, he explained, "maybe we can look at another SUV?"
So yeah, Martin gets the “sweetheart” thing from his Mom.
She nodded but continued to read.
“Yes, father is keeping an eye on me.”, she said
LiLe : so it may seem like Clara’s family treats her like a child but this is just four months after she is in a nearly fatal car accident.
Ms. DeLune turned the book over in her hands.
“Anna Karenina?”, I read the title
“Have you read it ?”
I took the book and familiarized myself with some of the text.
“Yes, although not in English.
She took the book away, “Of course”
Mr. F speaks Russian apparently.
“I happen to own a third edition. . .You may find it more beneficial. If you would prefer, madam”
"Why not', she answered
“It will just be a minute.”, I told Martin taking her back inside the house.
I knew exactly where the book was housed it took 23 seconds to reach and unlock my study. I found the hardcover version of Anna Karenina, a few notes had been written in the margins otherwise it was in perfect condition
Yeah,
Mr. F was supposed to count things in his POV to show how neurotic he is, but I dropped it.
She reached for the book, and lightly touched my hand and before I can stop her she began to earnestly kiss me.
“Ms. DeLune”, I separated myself from her
She gazed up at my under her long lashes, Her hand trailed over my shirt, hovering just a few inches from my face.
“I want to touch you”, still I wondered whether it was a question or demand.
“Your father is waiting”, I opened my watch and checked the time exactly one minute
See.
I pressed the book into her hands so she would not forget it. She looked down at it and pushed it back into mine.
“Keep it”
“Clara”, I attempted to get her attention
LiLe : Oh, first name.
She turned back and removed the watch from hands, letting the silver chain slip through her fingers. She stared at it intently knowing what laid beneath the face.
A picture of Lucie
“I get it” Ms. DeLune said, “you have hard limits. . . so do I.”
She held the watch at the hinge, pressing it lightly as if threatening to break it in half. I knew she had more sense than that.
“Stop looking for what is not there.”
“You let her touch you.”, she spoke in a hushed voice
LiLe : I know Clara’s use of the word touch seems somewhat mild but all she really wants to do is be able to hold hands and touch him. . . for now. Mr. F wants to take things all slow and traditional.
“We were married it was different”, I copied her tone
“No it’s not. what kind of world is it when marriages makes people jaded, selfish, greedy, idiotic and submissive”
She placed the watch on a table in the hall.
"What is this about ?", there was something else.
“They want me to marry some. . .person. . . Henry Thorpe”, she said his name with contempt, “my father is being so-so—so tyrannical”
“Ms. DeLune your father can do very little to force you to marry this man.”
At that moment my comment only intensified her anger.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand familial obligation. Honestly, Mr. Fierro, Is that all you can say ?”
"Is there something in particular you would like me to say ?"
"Yes", was all she said.
Lile : I think she wanted him to propose here, I’m not sure
I understood her meaning, in truth I understood many things but I said nothing.
She passed out of the study doors and down the hall without so much as a second, third or final glance.