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"Awakening" - short story phase 1 |
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Note to the reader: I wrote this short story as my final project for a creative writing class this year. There was a maximum number of pages, so unfortunately I had to cut out a lot of my original ideas. Overall, I think it turned out well but I would love to hear any constructive criticism or comments from people. I intend to hopefully find some time to further this story and tell it how I wanted to in the beginning. Regardless, enjoy!
P.S. Anyone who even attempts to steal ANYTHING from this story will die a wretched, gruesome death. I've got copyrights all over this b-tch.
Awakening
"Mommy! Daddy!"
My high soprano voice rang out weakly but was drown out by the deafening roar of the fire. I stood frozen as I watched the white-hot flames lick up the sides of the barn and char the boards inch by inch.
They were colossal, glowing so brightly they set the surrounding acres of trees and fields aglow. Their blinding brightness caused my widened eyes to sting, and I swiped at the frightened tears out of reflex.
Mommy and Daddy were still in that building, trying to save our cattle before the roof caved in on them. I understood how important it was, but all I wanted at that moment was for my parents to be safe and somewhere I could see them. I clutched the doll my mother had hand-stitched for me to my chest and sobbed into its soft curls. When were they going to come out of the barn?
I struggled to imagine what could be taking them so long to get out. Then, I could have sworn I heard a chilling scream attempt to pierce through the growls of the angry flames. I recognized the voice as belonging to my mother, but it wasn't how I was used to hearing her; the normally musical sound was distorted. This shrill cry sent a wave of shivers through my already trembling body. I tried so hard to will my tiny feet to uproot from the ground and run for help, but they stubbornly refused. I was trapped. My body presented itself as a physical challenge and refused to carry me from the torturous heat blazing yards from where I stood.
A thunderous cracking sound startled me from my fretful thoughts and I jumped in response, dropping my doll to the still green patch of grass at my feet. What was happening? I stared with horrified eyes as the roof of the barn gave way to another gush of flames. An enormous portion of it had collapsed, finally falling victim to the inferno raging within. Another crack followed by a series of shudders and groans, and soon the entire structure was devoured. My mother and father had not come out.
"NO! MOMMY," the words ripped from my throat. Suddenly it burned to breathe and my stomach convulsed in pain and terror. My arms fell limp to my sides, the life drained from them.
They were gone. My mommy. My daddy. Our barn. My entire life had been engulfed by those wicked flames overnight. The only thing I had left was my doll.
My legs finally gave way beneath me and I sank helplessly into the dirt. I felt my eyes drift from the dimming cinders of the barn to where my doll lay, fragile yet complacent on the ground. Scooping her into my arms, I cradled her against my quivering chest which was now cold and damp with sweat. I inhaled with careful, gasping breaths only to exhale each time into a coughing fit. The pit in my stomach convulsed again.
I feebly managed to curl up on my side, lying so I faced away from the ashes. "Lizzie…make Mommy and Daddy come back," I choked out while suppressing tears. I pulled my doll away from my chest and peeked at her softly smiling face only to find that she remained unresponsive. Examining her red yarn lips, sky blue button eyes, and gentle brown ringlets of hair sent a crushing wave of sorrow through me. Lizzie looked like my mommy, and she was never coming back.
"Maybe they’re hiding," I whispered into her ear, "or they already got out and took the cows somewhere safe. They’ll come back for us, Lizzie…they have to…"
Now that the fires had ceased, night’s heavy blanket of darkness began to unravel itself from the remainders of the ashes to where I lay. I closed my dry, sore eyes tightly and silently begged to wake up from this horrible nightmare. I saw my mommy’s face shining from out of the darkness, felt her gentle caress against my hair, breathed in her sweet lavender scent…
But when she opened her mouth to sing me my favorite lullaby, a piercing shriek filled the darkness around me. I felt myself screaming, wailing, the effort of it tearing at my throat and making it bleed, hurting, that sound still ringing in my ears—
* * * * *
Valerie Hale's eyes flashed open as she sat straight up in what she thought was her bed. Her cold, clammy hand grasped at her throat, trying to ease the air into her raw windpipe. With a start, Valerie realized she was no longer lying in her room on the second floor of the Lennox Estate. In a daze of frantic confusion, her eyes swept through the darkness in order to assess where she had wandered in the middle of the night.
Valerie sighed as she recognized the familiar scent of straw and dirt hanging in the air. For the third time that month, she had sleepwalked down the spiral staircase of the manor house, across the expansive garden, through the vegetable patches, and into the small barn which was shared by both the livestock as well as the servants. She mildly wondered if anyone had heard her screams. She tried to gauge how long and loudly she had done so by clearing her throat; it seized up and propelled her into a painful coughing fit. Apparently, she had screamed quite a bit.
After pulling a few stray strands of straw from her matted chestnut hair and dusting the dirt off her silk nightgown, she hoisted herself up from off the barn's floor. She stumbled to the open door, cracked it open, and peeked out to observe the sun rising just off the horizon. The sight of it alarmed her - she had to get back to her room in the manor house before her foster parents knew she was missing. If they found out she had been sleepwalking again...
With a grimace, she lifted the edges of her nightgown from off the ground and ran frantically away from the barn. There was no way she could finish that thought. The outcome of it frightened her.
Valerie managed to make it back to her room just as dawn's rosy fingertips had begun filtering through the four-paned windows. She was excruciatingly thirsty and flushed from sprinting, and after a hasty glance at her reflection in her cloudy vanity mirror she knew she had to clean herself up.
She fought to scrub away the dirt which clung to her tired feet, then focused on brushing out the knots in her wind-blown hair. After splashing cold water from the basin into her face, she crawled under her quilted covers and prayed that no one had heard her bustling about.
"Miss Hale!"
Georgia, the head servant and personal maid to Valerie, rapped her knuckles lightly against the opposite side of the closed bedroom door. Valerie closed her eyes and attempted to appear as if she had slept soundly through the night. She listened intently as the soft footsteps approached her door, crossed the threshold, and stopped in front of her single window. The dark reprieve which her closed eyelids brought her vanished as Georgia pulled back the curtains and allowed the brilliant sunlight to pour into the room. Valerie groaned, but quickly stopped as the effort of doing so strained her still aching throat.
"Miss Hale," Georgia spoke while shaking Valerie awake, "come now child, it's time to rise and shine! Mr. and Mrs. Carter will be expectin' you downstairs for breakfast."
"But Miss Georgia, couldn't you tell them I'd much rather have breakfast in my room today? I don't feel well..." she let her voice tremble and crack to illustrate her point.
Georgia placed a calloused hand to Valerie's forehead, and then peeked into her mouth to check for sores. She deliberated for only a moment before inquiring in her gentle southern cadence, "Dear Lord, child, were you chewin' on glass shards all last night? Your vocal chords look mighty torn up! And lookit your face!" She tipped Valerie's chin upward to examine her unusual pallor and the bruised spots under her glassy eyes. "It looks to me you didn't get one ounce o' sleep! Mr. and Mrs. Carter sure ain't gonna be happy seein' you goin' around the rest of the day like that."
Valerie shrugged away from her imploring gaze and dragged herself over to the wardrobe perched against the west wall. Georgia hustled ahead of her and yanked out a suitable gown from the racks, one which included a bodice with a high collar, tight wrist cuffs, and a heavy evergreen petticoat. Valerie lifted off her flimsy nightgown and stood compliantly as the elder woman dressed her in irritating layers of uncomfortable lace and itchy taffeta. Even in the middle of August, the Carters insisted formal attire be worn throughout the entirety of the day incase any visitors arrived.
"Miss Georgia," Valerie hedged, "I've been having nightmares again about my parents... I don't think the tonic you gave me is working."
"Is it the same bad dream as before?"
"Yes...always the same."
"Hmm," she considered while pinning Valerie's hair into a bun, "well, I sure don’t want you gettin’ an addiction to no brain drugs anyhow. What about that dream catcher my little Isaac made you?"
Valerie glanced sideways at the empty spot on the wall above her bed. "Mr. Carter found it one evening while I was away at school. He...tore it down. He said it was the devil's work." She stared guiltily at the wooden floorboards.
Infuriated, Georgia scowled and secured the last loose strand of hair into Valerie’s bun with an exaggerated stab. The Carters was one of the only families in the entire state of New York who owned African servants – it only made sense that someone as pigheaded as Mr. Carter would find their traditions to be satanic. “Best not say anythin’ of it to them folks then. Lord help ‘em, I say. I just don’t understand how men like him can walk ‘round with their noses in the air but their heads stuck where the sun don’t shine.”
A giggle escaped from between Valerie’s pursed lips, though she knew very well that if Georgia was caught speaking of her foster father that way she would be punished. She turned carefully and examined her reflection in the cloudy vanity once more, except this time she nearly didn’t recognize herself. She still had her father’s deep brown hair, but her mother’s emerald eyes and supple lips, which were always slightly upturned at the corners in a fragile smile. However, the noticeable bags under her eyes betrayed what little sleep she had gotten, and the blood still looked drained from her face. Hopefully, the Carters would be too preoccupied tending to their social calendars to detect the changes in her appearance.
She raised her dainty hand into the air next to her and watched the movement imitated by the strange girl in the dim glass. She was still petite, still delicate in her movements even at the age of sixteen.
Sighing quietly to herself, she paced to her door and approached the grand spiral staircase, vigilantly monitoring each step she took. The last thing she needed was to sail down the treacherous steps and land headfirst at the bottom, undoubtedly adding another battle scar to her already battered exterior. On the bright side, a bleeding gash in her forehead might splash some color onto her face.
Georgia had already vanished downstairs to prepare the expansive breakfast which was now laid out before Valerie’s cautious eyes. Plates piled high with pancakes, assortments of eggs, a tower of toast, jugs filled with freshly-squeezed orange juice, bowls of sliced fruit, and handfuls of simmering strips of bacon heaped together in a mountain in the center of the table. Their delicious, mouth-watering aromas stirred the air and enveloped her in a euphoric cloud. Her stomach growled intensely, causing Valerie to realize for the first time that morning how ravenously hungry she was.
“Ahem!”
With a start, Valerie’s eager gaze snapped up and took in the two figures sitting across from each other at the opposite end of the long, ornate wooden table. Her foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Carter, were staring pointedly up at her from where they sat, poised like snakes ready to strike. Valerie winced infinitesimally under the power of their icy stare, and then swept quickly into her seat just as one of the younger servants placed a dish in front of her. She made sure to keep her head angled downwards, always looking away from them – her food looked extremely appetizing, but she found herself struggling to focus on it as the feeling of their cold stares penetrated her thoughts.
“Good morning Mother…Father,” she forced out feebly. To further avoid their criticizing looks, she preoccupied herself by straightening out her skirt and folding a napkin over her lap. She felt a twinge of contempt for the couple; her distaste stemmed from the fact that for the past eleven years since she had been forced to live with them, they maintained that she always refer to them with endearing titles. Valerie often fancied that if they demanded to be referred to as such, they owed it to her to at least act the roles as parental figures.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Mr. Carter snapped, though his face and posture remained unchanged. Both he and his wife possessed the marvelous ability to cut through people by using the slightest inflections in their words while keeping their expressions defensive.
“I apologize, sir. I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit under the weather today—”
“Have you at least had Georgia prepare your things for today?” Mrs. Carter interjected, though she was obviously uninterested.
“My things?” Valerie piped hoarsely, her head peeking up at them in confusion. Had she forgotten something important? Were they going on a late summer holiday?
Before she could open her mouth to inquire upon the occasion, Georgia’s prominent figure appeared at the edges of her periphery. She loomed behind and slightly to the left of Valerie’s high-backed chair, making it impossible for Valerie to see her face without having to twist around in her seat, very un-ladylike. Georgia cleared her throat – a guttural yet muted sound – before politely stating, “All of Miss Hale’s belongings have been arranged. I shall announce when Doctor Ashford has arrived, sir.”
“Good. You may be dismissed now,” Mr. Carter replied flatly. With that, Georgia vanished through the servants’ kitchen door, pausing only to spare a quick but meaningful glance at Valerie. Her expression seemed apologetic and anxious, but for what reason Valerie simply could not fathom.
Mr. Carter clenched his perfectly chiseled jaw, swallowed the bit of toast he had been chewing on, and then shifted his attention to Valerie. The force of his stern gaze caused warning alarms to sound in the back of her mind, so she chose to counteract this by picking up her fork and pushing the eggs around on her plate.
“Valerie,” he began, “as you know, we brought you into this household when you were merely five years old as an orphan with no known family left after your parents’ deaths.” He took a measured sip of his juice before continuing, “Eleven years have passed since that time. We realize that, despite this, you are still a naive young woman and therefore must be properly prepared for the world beyond Lennox Estate.”
“To help with this, we’ve arranged to send you away for a while under the care of Doctor Daniel Ashford. He’s immigrated here from a prestigious facility in London and shall soon be arriving in from Philadelphia to meet you. He is a brilliant man and is to receive your full respect, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will not blacken our good name by behaving disorderly, now, will you?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well,” he nodded, seeming satisfied. Valerie snuck a glance up at him to check if he was still watching her, but thankfully his attention had been diverted by his unfinished meal. However, before she could feel too relieved she noticed Mrs. Carter’s intent blue eyes on her from across the table. The statuesque woman, seated perfectly upright with her slick blonde hair pushed back from her face, seemed to be digesting what Valerie looked like for the first time that morning. Valerie cowered, a light fluttery panic beginning to dance in her chest. Had she noticed the dark circles?
“Valerie,” she pronounced slowly, “what has happened to your face? You look positively dreadful.”
“I…,” she faltered, searching for a suitable excuse, “I’m fine. Nothing happened.”
“Did you stay up all this past night?” she pressed, horrified. “I thought I heard an awful howling, like a pack of wolves. You weren’t out there, were you?”
“No, there weren’t any wolves –”
“And your voice!” she had dropped her silverware with a clang and was now gripping her handkerchief tightly to her chest. “That wasn’t you out there, was it?”
“What were you doing outside in the middle of the night?” Mr. Carter boomed, furious now that Valerie had upset his flighty wife.
“I didn’t mean to! It was another nightmare!”
“And you wandered outside again, unconscious?”
“Well, yes, but –”
“She’s possessed! I knew it!” Mrs. Carter shrieked. “And dear Doctor Ashford is going to think that we feed you hot coals when he hears your voice! Oh, what will the neighbors think? Darling, what are we going to do?” Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she panicked.
“Doctor Daniel Ashford has arrived,” a small voice interjected. All eyes turned and landed on the figure of a small servant girl standing in the doorway, head bowed. “He’s waiting in the parlor for you, sir.”
Although the girl surely meant no harm, Valerie eyed her in revulsion for permitting the man who was sure to rip her life away from her into their house. Her cheeks burned and her stomach churned; the small portion of eggs she had eaten was refusing to stay down.
“You are not to say a word, you hear me?” Mr. Carter barked at her. “You will mind your manners and do as you are told.”
Valerie obediently nodded and rose from her chair, striding into the adjacent room with the Carters leading. She noticed that Mr. Carter kept watch over her out of the corner of his eye, probably to make sure she didn’t run away, and Mrs. Carter kept a fair distance for fear of her “possession”. Valerie couldn’t help but wonder how perverted the minds of her foster parents must be in order for them to honestly believe that her bad dreams meant the presence of a demonic influence.
As they entered the lushly decorated parlor room, Valerie spotted a rather tall man, younger than even Mr. Carter, waiting for them by the French settee. His features were more defined than any of the men she had seen in New York, and his sense of style was certainly more refined than theirs. He smiled as they approached, a hint of wickedness glinting in his eyes. His hand extended to Mr. Carter, who took it in a strong grip. If these two men were anything alike, Valerie knew she was going to thoroughly loath her new “home”.
“Good day, Doctor Ashford,” Mr. Carter greeted him politely; “I do hope you haven’t had to wait long. How was your trip from Philadelphia?”
“Quite pleasant, thank you,” he responded, his masculine voice smooth and confident, “The scenery was lovely, but nothing compared to the English countryside. Is this your wife, Mrs. Carter?” he turned his attention on her, taking her dainty hand in his and bending to kiss the back of it like a true gentleman. She swooned a bit, all traces of her panic from before having seemingly vanished.
“And this,” Mr. Carter began, the tone of his voice growing darker, “is our daughter, Miss Valerie Hale. She is very pleased to meet you and has anticipated your arrival all morning.”
Dr. Ashford directed the full force of his examiner’s eyes on Valerie, who was up until that point attempting to focus on not puking all over this man’s polished shoes. She certainly would have liked to have a word with him about her living arrangements, but his intent gaze left her speechless. As she stood looking up into his face, she noticed the striking contrast of his eyes to the rest of his features; like smoldering flames amidst two piles of burnt wood, his irises were a rich brown with tiny flicks of reddish-orange around the edges. They reminded her of something, she knew, but she couldn’t quite recall…
The alarms finally sounded in the back of Valerie’s mind. Flashes of her nightmare – the nightmare that was really a distant memory – left her trembling. Wanting nothing more than to escape from it, she instinctively reached for the nearest sharp object she could find and settled on a letter opener. A cold fear swept through her, chilled her veins, as she raised her arm poised above his chest. The edges of her vision blurred from the tears welling up, yet she could clearly see the looks of mortification on the Carters’ faces, and the wretched doctor smiling at her – why was he still smiling? – the letter opener slicing through the air towards him—
And then it dropped from her hand, landing with a thud onto the Persian rug at her feet. The hand that had held her weapon flashed to the side of her neck, feeling at a small, warm puncture wound there. Although her mind was still hazy from the adrenaline, she was able to adjust her vision enough to notice the doctor holding a strange object. The end of it looked extremely sharp and pointy, whereas the midsection looked like it was supposed to hold something, maybe some kind of liquid…
As Valerie’s muscles relaxed and her eyelids drooped, she heard – or perhaps imagined – Doctor Ashford say, “It certainly is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hale.”
And she collapsed.
* * * * *
Valerie woke feeling terribly sore and extremely disoriented. Her eyes tried to blink the darkness away from them, but it remained like a stain across her vision. Irritated, she instead tried to utilize her other senses in order to judge where she had wound up since this morning… Was it this morning? How much time had passed since…?
She let her head roll back and felt it smack against something hard – it felt like stone. A sharp pain throbbed at the spot, but when she brought her hand up to feel at the bruise a high-pitched rattling noise bounced off the shadows. Alarmed by what she couldn’t see, she scrambled to the right until she slammed into what must have been another stone wall. She was cornered. Something was tugging at her arm, constricting her wrist…
Chains; she realized it was the only logical explanation for the noise and the cold constrictor on her arm. But why would she be in chains? Where WAS she? Why was it so eerily quiet and musty in this unknown place? It couldn’t have been a nightmare; all of her nighttime terrors were centralized on that awful memory of her parents’ death.
The sound of bolts coming undone broke through her frenzy. A large door swung open across the room from her, spilling a hazy light into what she now saw was practically a prison cell. The only distinction was the absence of a cot, a toilet, and anything else other than the chains binding her to the wall. She had to squint in order to make out the figure which had proceeded to cross the threshold and approach her.
“Good morning, Miss Hale!” a man’s voice sang out. As Valerie’s eyes adjusted, she recognized its owner by his distinct posture and blistering gaze. With a burst of remembrance, she suddenly recalled the events of what must have been days ago. The image of her trying to stab the doctor with a letter opener caused her to cringe. Surely he was furious and desired to inflict some sort of punishment.
“Valerie,” he cooed, no doubt trying to fool her, “allow me to be the first to personally welcome you to the Saint James Mental Health Institution. Now, I’m sure you must be confused about why you’re here – shall I shed some light on the subject?”
“I want to go home,” Valerie whispered hoarsely at him, though she knew her efforts were in vain. Would the Carters even want her back after how she had embarrassed them?
“Oh, you aren’t going home, love. You’re to stay here with me and become my star pupil. But while we’re on the subject of home, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”
“Send me home, I implore you!”
“Very well,” he conceded tersely. His hands reached down and unfastened her shackles – was her really going to let her leave? He grabbed her by her forearm and pulled her violently to her feet, dragging her alongside him as he navigated their way down the dim corridor. The entire place felt like a tomb and showed no signs of escape for her; only more closed doors appeared on either side. Doctor Ashford led her to one, swiftly unlocked it, and threw her into a crude wooden chair positioned in the center of the windowless room. This one looked and felt the same as her cell, apart from a small table holding a series of syringes, cloths, clay bowls, and one rather small yet deadly-looking steel blade.
“Since you refuse to discuss your past with me, perhaps I shall share with you a bit of my own,” the doctor informed her as he wrapped a leather strap around each of her wrists, ankles, her waist and her neck. Valerie sucked in the dank air as her heart accelerated beyond panic. She fought against the restraints as he prepared his instruments, but in doing so she only caused herself more pain to accompany the sore on her head.
“What are you doing?” she cried out.
“Your thoughtful foster parents were kind enough to inform me about your erratic sleeping habits over the past few years. According to them, you’re prone to wandering through the night unconsciously and it causes you to scream a fair amount. Would you care to tell me why, or shall I simply diagnose you?”
Now Valerie was truly terrified. She thrashed about in the chair, but when it didn’t move she realized that it must have been nailed to the ground. Even though she couldn't escape, she found herself nonetheless unwilling to talk to her captor about what happened so many years ago...
"Where are my manners?" he wondered aloud, turning to face her with an impish grin. "I should be inclined to tell you a bit about myself before we move on to your history." He took measured steps toward her, holding a loaded syringe in one hand. The sight of it caused her to squirm further, not wanting to fall asleep in his presence for fear of what would happen next.
"I was born Daniel Ashford in London, England to a successful physician and a stay-at-home seamstress," he began without caring whether Valerie listened or not, "they paid close attention to my education and eventually I was sent off to medical school. I was fascinated by the subject of mental health. However, during my practice I was unfortunately forced to relocate because the other doctors did not quite share my ideals concerning the treatment of our patients."
He towered over her now, examining her uneasy expression: her bottom lip quivered, her eyes were glassy and flickered between his face and his hand. He poised the needle over a thick blue vein in her forearm and pierced the skin, pressing the trigger to inject the unknown substance. Valerie yelped and closed her eyes in an attempt to will this living nightmare away. Her thoughts were frantic as she tried to fathom what he had just put into her body.
"Maybe now you'll pay closer attention to my story. It's rude to ignore someone, you know," he scolded her, setting the empty syringe on the table in exchange for the steel blade. "I have always felt that a medieval approach to medicine is more effective than modern science; my colleagues focused on simply drugging the patient's illness away rather than truly eradicating it. To me, that would be neglecting my duties as a doctor - I intend to treat and cure my patients."
"There's nothing wrong with me!" Valerie wailed desperately. She eyed the smooth, razor sharp edges of the blade and began to choke on her own tears.
Doctor Ashford took a long pause before responding to her statement. "Really? Why don't you tell me about your parents?" He crouched down and leveled his face with hers, one hand reaching up to touch her damp cheek. She defiantly jerked her head away.
"The Carters take care of me. They've always been good to me, I would never--"
"I don't mean the Carters. I want to know about your real parents. Where are they?"
"Dead," she snapped at him.
"How did they die?" he urged, raising his eyebrows at her change of tone.
"In a barn fire. It was an accident."
"An accident how? Did you start it?"
"No, the candle--"
"Are you or are you not responsible for the deaths of your parents?"
"I didn't kill them!"
"And yet you didn't save them!"
Valerie locked her jaw, viciously fighting back a new onslaught of tears. Had the fire that night so long ago really been her fault? She thought of how she had been too frightened to run for help. She heard her mother's screech ringing in her ears, saw the thick smoke rise into the sky, and yet...and yet...
"I see. It seems you have a typical case of bad blood - it's quite common in children your age. All we need to do is drain it away and you should be fine," as he spoke, he neared the tip of the blade to the spot on her cheek where he had touched her. It pricked through her skin, and the spot stung so badly she howled in agony. She felt the blood begin to seep from the wound and trail down to the edge of her chin where it fell in droplets onto her lap.
"Evil has stained the blood which courses through your body. It must be purged," he spoke like a clergyman. Valerie was so shocked and repulsed that she found she could do nothing but cry and silently beg for death.
He jabbed the blade at a vein on the back of each of her hands, causing more blood to pool at the surface and swell over onto the floor. Although the pricks from the blade must have been tiny, whatever drug he had injected her with must have been causing her blood to thin. He added to her wounds by creating more on her forearms, neck, and thighs. Each time, Valerie cried out in pain. Each time, Doctor Ashford smiled pleasantly.
By the time he had made the last mark on her left calf, Valerie had had enough of this man, her foster parents, and her life. She knew that it wasn’t her fault for the barn catching on fire. She knew that this man had no right to treat her as a “patient” because she knew she wasn’t a lunatic. Most importantly, Valerie knew that she was stronger than this and that she had endured much more by living with the oppressive, uncaring Carter family. So why had she seen herself as frail and helpless these past eleven years…?
She bit down on her lower lip and inhaled a deep, calming breath. She could do this. She had to do this – and if she failed, at least she would die knowing that she had tried. Her parents would have been proud of her for that.
“Doctor Ashford,” she murmured, “I’ll tell you anything you wish to know in the morning. Please…please allow me to rest first. You’re right. Perhaps I do have…bad blood.”
He considered this for a moment and gauged how much blood she had lost by the stains on her gown. After determining that she was too weak to fight anymore and mentally congratulating himself, he sighed, “Very well. I shall escort you back to your room.” He loosened the leather straps on the chair and then turned to clean off his knife, whistling as he did so. Valerie eyed a loaded syringe on the table and, praying with every fiber of her being that it was some heavy narcotic, launched out of her seat towards it.
Her limbs felt as if they were working against her when she tried to move so swiftly. She managed to grab hold of the syringe just as Doctor Ashford, who was clearly shocked by her mobility, had finished cleaning his equipment. He went to restrain her but was a moment too late – she thrust the needle into his chest and slammed her other hand on the trigger to release the liquid. He stood for a few slow seconds, staring at her with a bewildered look in his smoldering eyes, before he staggered against the chair and collapsed on the ground.
“I did it,” she breathed to herself. She gawked at his limp body, partially to make sure he had truly fainted and partially because she was incredulous. Suddenly, it dawned on her that he couldn’t possibly be the only doctor in the facility and that someone would eventually come looking for him. She bent over and searched through the pockets of his white robe until she grabbed hold of his iron ring of keys. The door to their room was still unlocked, but she gripped them tightly as she prepared to flee.
Valerie hurled herself through the door and down the corridor; each time she rounded a corner she feared that a wall of guards would be waiting to haul her back. After finding nothing but more locked doors for what felt like ages, she finally came across a flight of stairs. She took the steps two at a time, but the strain on her muscles from the loss of blood was beginning to take its toll on her. She pressed on, climbing further, approaching a large wooden door, almost there, just a few more steps and…
She jammed a key into the lock and twisted it, feeling a breath of relief escape her strained lungs when it gave way and swung open. No daylight greeted her, but instead she found herself surrounded by colossal shadowy elm trees on either side. A dirt pathway led from where she stood to a large brick building looming in the distance. That doctor must have taken her out back to the cellar of the mental hospital, where he could perform all of his cruel treatments away from the scrutiny of others. She casually wondered how many others were still trapped in the dank cellars underground or how many before her had died in them. A cold shiver ran up her spine.
Without knowing where in particular she was going, she fled into the dark forest. She vaguely acknowledged the danger she was putting herself in by heading into an unknown wilderness without any provisions, but she swallowed her fear. After what she had suffered through, anywhere was a better place to be than where she now was. She struggled to think as she ran, in between the sharp pains in her bare feet from stepping on rocks and branches, and tried to remember where she was. Had Mr. Carter said Doctor Ashford was from Philadelphia?
Valerie continued onward until her legs refused to carry her any further. Dripping with sweat which stung the open wounds on her body, she sunk to the ground by the base of a particularly large elm. It hurt to breath, to move, to think…so she laid herself down beneath the protective cover of the tree’s thick branches overhead.
As she lay there, she contemplated what she would do and where she would go in the morning. She decided there was no possibility of returning to her life with the Carters. She had no known family, nor any friends who would take her in. There was nothing left for her in the world, and no one to care for her apart from herself. As the notion sank in, she decided she liked the idea; she would become independent and create a fake story to tell strangers when she drifted into town.
It felt like ages since Valerie had been able to fall into a deep sleep and awaken feeling refreshed, without any battle scars from her restless nightmares. Although she hadn’t noticed the exact moment when it happened, a perceptible change had occurred in Valerie over the course of the past few days. She was finally free from being under other people’s control. Despite how malicious Doctor Ashford was in treating her, Valerie felt a strange sort of gratitude towards him.
When her parents had died so many years ago, Valerie had become an empty shell of a person. She secretly blamed herself for not being able to help them, but now that she thought about it, Valerie knew her parents would be more upset with her now because she had done nothing to honor their memory. What they truly would have wanted was for Valerie to grow into a strong young woman and live her life without fear or regret. These thoughts eased her burdened mind, and she allowed the soft whispering of the breeze against the leaves above her to carry her to a distant place.
For the first time in the past eleven years, Valerie Hale slept soundlessly, motionlessly, and peacefully through the night.
Rosalie de Lioncourt · Sat Dec 13, 2008 @ 06:58am · 1 Comments |
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