Hello fellow writers, this is a new piece that I wrote originally for a contest. The challenge was to take a cliché story line, and turn it into something, well something that doesn’t make you want to hurl your computer out the window. The story line was the classic love triangle; a woman in love with two men must chose between them. I hope you like my story. Please comment, I would really appreciate it. It’s a bit lengthy but if you have the time take a look.
Thanks
The English Country Side, 1939
“It looks as if we have another war on our hands,” said an intoxicated Herald Wincher, he drawled on, something about the Germans, I didn’t listen. My mind was elsewhere. The party surrounding me smelt of pleasure and excesses. Strong booze mixed with sweat and laughter. Jazzy music swelled the air around me. My eyes searched the crowd for Sebastian, my husband.
There was no sign of him, and since Sebastian would never willingly allow himself to go unnoticed I figured he must have left the room. Perhaps a game of poker had broken out and he was off placing his bets, gambling away whatever was left of his inheritance. No matter the cause of his absence, I was determined to find him. Parties were never my strong suit, and without the aid of Sebastian’s charisma, I felt mysef out of place amongst the laughter and the dancing. I finished my drink, swirly brown at the bottom, and excused myself from Herald Winchers company. Heading out of the room, I made my way upstairs.
The task of finding my husband seemed impossible when I had taken in the scale of Wincher Estate. Room after room lined the impossibly grand halls. I decided instead for the library. Such a great house must have an extensive collection of books; I could busy myself for hours hidden within their pages. When the party was over Sebastian would come to collect me and we would go home. Both of us satisfied with our evening. He would tell me of his game and his winnings, and I would listen in high spirits at the fact that I had devoured yet another novel.
Though you must know this was not what happened that evening. Dear reader how I wish I could tell you otherwise, but ones tale of woe must begin somewhere and this, in the library of Wincher Estate, is where mine begins.
The library was as I expected. Row after row from wall to wall, books. I ran the tips of my fingers across the volumes until I stumbled across a delicious morsel; I plucked it from its casing. I read the ancient volume, brown paper crunching between my fingers as I turned it page after page. That was until I heard it.
A blood curdling sound filled the room.
It was the sound of a skull shattering the sound of a body falling limply to the floor, the sound that I now relate to only one thing, death. I watched in horror as dark red blood flowed out from underneath the bookcase I was in front of. I stood frozen in place as the warm blood drenched my shoes. I surprised myself when instead of running blindly; I walked to the other side of the case from which the sound had come. Behind the case was what I had accepted, a man lay face down blood seeping from a great blow to the head. I knelt down beside him, placing two fingers on the back of his neck I felt his pulse, it was gone.
I was about to scream out for help when I discovered a trail of blood leading through the libraries rows. Mustering the little bravery I had, I stood shaking. My loud thrashing heart was one of two sounds in that eerily quite room. The other was the sound of feet stepping one after the other on the cold wood floor. I followed the trail, hot shivers up and down me. I weaved between shelves following the red speckled path, until I reached its end. I found a man. His back was turned to me his hand clenched hard around a bloody metal crowbar. I stood for a moment taking him in, and with one heart wrenching glance I knew.
“Sebastian?”
“Rose,” he answered turning, he met my eyes.
“Are you hurt,” I said my eyes running wildly over his blood drenched clothes. You may not understand why the dots didn’t seem to connect? Why I chose not to believe? To you the truth must seem obvious, the pieces fit together. You can see clearly Sebastian’s guilt. You however are not in love with Sebastian. Love can blind us beyond reason. I knew within my heart that the blood on Sebastian’s suit was not his own, and yet I allowed myself a moment of ignorance.
“No,” he shattered my innocence, he came towards me then. He smelt of rum. He held my head in his hands. The blood was both cold and hot against my pale skin. His hands fell to my waist as he drunkenly embraced me, his head buried in my neck. The blood from his clothes covered mine; I had worn white that night.
I washed blood from my hands.
I scrubbed my tainted flesh hard, thinking perhaps it was possible along with the blood to wash away the memory of that evening. I soon discovered that though the blood would wash away, the stains would remain deep beneath my skin. When I least expected a smell or sound would prompt the memory. The guilt would spread like wild fire, a guilt that did not belong to me, but haunted me nonetheless.
I scrubbed harder, looking up at my reflection. I was white, the color of a woman struck with terror at the sight of a ghost, and though I knew Sebastian was flesh and bones to me he would always be a ghost. A ghost of the man I loved. Sebastian, with all his charm and beauty was dead. He died that night in the library. In his place stood a murderous fool, with blood soaked hands and a polluted heart.
My husband was gone.
In a fit of frustration and rage I slammed my palm hard against the glass mirror. It shattered, pieces flew through the air gashing at my hands. My blood mixed with that of the strangers. The poor soul met his end at the hands of my husband; the thought brought me to the ground. I gathered my knees to my chest and cried. Gulping sobs of shock and hate.
It was late, by the time I finally found the strength to stand. I made my way down the upstairs hallway. As I approached Sebastian’s study, I made every effort to keep my steps quite. To see his face again seemed an impossible thought.
I silenced my steps, begging the floors beneath my feet to keep quite. As I passed the door the wood forsook me. It let out a quite creek, but it was enough.
“Rose,” his voice traveled from the room, it was wavered, the sound of tears, “please Rose”
I entered,
The room was cold and dark except for a single burning candle. Next to the flickering light sat Sebastian barley visible through the darkness. His head was buried in his hands his shoulders slumped.
I walked closer,
He lifted his head, the light of the flame allowed me to catch sight of his face. It was drained of life, the only color provided by the candle which glowed scarlet. Sadness etched in every line, and guilt, was there guilt?
“Rose, if I could… if,” he drew a shaky breath and met my eyes. His eyes were so black and hollow, the color of ash, the depth of hell. “Come closer, to me,”
I hesitated,
“Please my love, come to me,” his voice was desperate, but I did not fear him as I thought I would, I pitied him.
I came.
He held my waist and pulled me down to his level. I knelt, he sat. I felt raw with emotion His hands moved up to hold my face. He kissed my forehead. I looked away. He kissed my cheek. I pulled away, he held me tighter.
“I’m sorry my love, please forgive me, I beg you please forget what you saw, just know that I love you,” he stroked my hair away from my face, “oh how I love you, Rose,” he leaned in and kissed me. I let him, but did not return the gesture. Instead my lips stayed closed like the broken, barely pulsing heart within me.
The memories of those next few months are but a blur in my mind. I remember them like a quick flash of lightning against the darkest of skies. Sebastian and I moved from our quite country estate to the bustling streets of London. I was not in favor of the move; Sebastian thought it best for us, he said he was growing restless of the country. Though the real reason we abandoned our life was obvious. The crime Sebastian committed in the library that night had forever destroyed the life we had. So we moved on, to a place where no one would now the secrets of our past. We never spoke of that night, and I tried to do what was asked of me, I tried to forget. However the moment I forgot was the exact moment I remembered. I would remember that night, and the blood stains beneath my palms I had thought washed away would resurface to haunt my soul to its core.
By the time the leaves had changed, Germany invaded Poland, thrusting the nation into the devastation of yet another war. I was born the year the first war ended, the year after my brother died, the year my father died. I always wondered what my mother looked like before the war, before it took everything from her.
When winter came I was with child, but by the time snow covered the ground my womb was once again barren. I wish I could tell you I cried. Sebastian cried for days. The truth was I didn’t want the baby, I was young and scared but above all a child would be yet another string tying me to him and I wanted so much to be free from the knots between us. The baby would make me love him I knew that beyond a doubt.
I ate and slept to fill my days. Sebastian thought it depression and the doctors agreed. I was empty like a glass once full to the brim. That was until the days grew long and hot, until Sebastian headed off to the front in France. That was until I met Frank.
The day we met was the hottest London had seen in years. The blistering sun beat down against the back of my neck as I walked. The street walk sizzled beneath my feet. The creases of my dress stuck to my wet skin. I waved to Mr. Hunter as I passed his butcher shop, and Mrs. Wiley the dressmaker smiled sweetly back at me. I checked my watch. I was late.
I climbed the spiral stairs which led to Charlotte Arnold’s cramped apartment. The sound of music flowed from beneath the door. I knocked with one hand, balancing with the other a toppling fruit cake. My hair once pinned back, flew down across my face, I was a mess.
“Rose, darling,” Charlotte greeted me demurely with a kiss as she opened the door, “you must come in and settle this disagreement I’m having with Suzanne,”
“Of course,” I said, tossing the dissembled fruit cake to the nearest table, I sat in a chair placed for me and adjusted my skirt.
“Suzanne seems to believe that Charlotte Bronte wrote The Tenet of Wildfell Hall, but I say it was most certainly Emily, aren’t I right?” said Charlotte handing me a milky cup of tea.
“Neither actually, It was Anne Bronte’s novel,” I said staring into my cup.
“Well isn’t she darling, so smart,” Charlotte laughed
“Very sweet,” agreed the other ladies.
Sipping my tea I watched them as they talked. They spoke of recipes and the latest styles, topics with which I found no interest. As I observed, I felt the uncomfortable sensation of a pair of eyes watching me. I turned to discover their owners. I met the eyes of a man; he was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. I did not recognize him; he smiled at me as he approached.
Pulling out a chair beside me he started in a low tone,
“My name is Frank, Charlotte’s older brother, and I just couldn’t help but notice you seem rather indifferent to this society. You have sat here for half an hour sipping your tea and haven’t said a word”
I looked at him with a piercing stare.
“Don’t take offence, I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean… rather I meant to say I agree with you,” his hand shook in his lap, “My sisters friends are tedious, you however seem to be much more interesting,”
I didn’t respond, only looked forward.
“It appears that you have quite the knowledge of books, would you mind if I picked your brain? I’m looking for something to read, the days get very dull, and I think a good book might fill the time.”
I continued my silence, pretending that all my attention was completely engrossed by Suzanne’s tale of pink taffeta.
“Right then,” admitting defeat Frank rose to his feet, though on his feet he did not stay for long.
As he walked from the chair, his right foot caught on the side of an end table. He fell forward, taking with him my fruit cake.
On the ground he lay in an embarrassingly disastrous mess of fruit cake.
“Oh dear,” charlotte cried out jumping from the couch, hurrying to his side
I tried to hold it in but an unfortunate giggle escaped from me. Frank looked up at me candied fruit strewn through his hair, he smiled.
I laughed louder. He joined me; our hysterical laughter filled the room. Shocked faces stared at us.
I realized then that I had never laughed that hard, not in my entire life. And that’s how it began, that’s how I fell in love with Frank Waters.
A few weeks later an invitation came in the mail. Charlotte had organized yet another gathering of our little group, this time it was a picnic. When the day arrived I took extra attention to my appearance. At the time the reason for spending countless hours in front of a mirror was unclear. Now though I can see the reason with the help of insight, Frank. He would be there and I wanted to look beautiful, a desire I rarely experienced. I wasn’t in love with him, not yet that is, but something inside of me wanted him to want me. It was wrong I knew, but I had always done the right thing and once, just once I wanted to try something new.
In the end I wore a blue dress, my hair down, and a substantial coat of red across my lips.
Frank was driving, and as I entered the backseat he turned to take a look at me. He smiled his adorably nervous smile. Then he stared.
“Well then,” said Charlotte, forcing Frank’s eyes from me “let’s get going.”
“Let’s,” replied Frank as he turned the key, and started off
We drove from London. The wind in my hair, smile across my face. The country air flowed through my lungs, sun warming my bare arms. Charlotte turned to me,
“Doesn’t the country make you feel so free, Rose?”
“Yes, yes it does,” I laughed.
As we drove I observed Frank through the view of the side mirror. He was handsome, but not as you would expect. He had a sort of indefinable beauty, one that could only be seen through the eyes of his most intimate companions. Not like Sebastian, they were nothing alike
“Were here,” exclaimed Charlotte after hours of driving, we pulled up to a park, “isn’t it lovely, Frank, come on then, bring the basket, and Rose be a doll and help him, oh look its Suzy and Clara,” she waved to her friends, and then clambered off toward them; towering heel’s sinking into the dirt bellow.
Frank turned to me shrugging his shoulders, he headed off after her.
“Rose by the way,” he said turning, his hand shook, “You look beautiful,”
“Thank you,” my cheeks flushed red
“Come on you two, were all starving,” shouted Charlotte from the distance. We followed her command.
After we ate Frank asked me to take a walk with him, I heartily agreed. We walked through the thick woods which lined the property. My arm linked through his, we were close, closer then we should have been, farther then I wanted to be.
“You know, I believe I have you figured out Rose,” he started
“Do you?” I asked with a teasing tone.
“Yes, you Rose are not what you appear, when I met you I thought you the shyest creature I had ever seen, but I soon discovered you are quite the opposite.”
“Am I?”
“You are not shy or meek, when you keep quite in conversation and stare at your feet it is not because you don’t know what to say, it’s that you don’t want to speak. You would much rather observe, you judge.”
“Excuse me,” my tone was no longer teasing, his words were to true for comfort “you don’t know me,”
“I think I do,”
“Am I so plain to you, so transparent?” I slipped my arm from his, “I am more then you know, there is more to me,”
“I know, believe me I know”
“How dare you accuse me of being judgmental,” my voice grew loud “and what of you, why aren’t you at war, you are a coward. You pretend not to be, but you can’t even keep your hand still when you speak to me,” I huffed loudly as I finished
He wrapped his still hand around the other in an attempt to steady it, his eyes for the first time averted from mine.
“You are quite right about me,” he spoke slowly his eyes glued to the ground, “forgive me if I have hurt you, but you should know these tremors, I, I can’t control them they happen at the most inconvenient times, its all part of the disease,”
“Disease?” I repeated
“Yes, I’m sick. Why on earth do you think I stayed behind? Do you think I chose to be the only coward to not sign up for the war? Do you think I wanted to be mocked? They wouldn’t take me, I’m too weak. I should go,” he started to walk from me then stopped, “can I just say? Rose, you are quite possibly the most lovely women I have ever laid eyes on, your husband is lucky to have you,” and with that he walked away.
My eyes welled up with painful tears as I watched him. I watched until I couldn’t bear it until I thought my heart would burst from my chest. Every moment of my life seemed so entirely insignificant. In that moment all I cared about was Frank. I ran.
When I met his stride I grabbed a hold of his arm turning him to face me, I leaned in and kissed him wrapping my arms around his neck. He kissed me back. We fell in love. I felt even then however the pull of a few tiny strings tugging at my heart. Their other end tied tightly to another man all the way in France.
Within a few weeks the wind began to change, and the letters began to arrive. White with a ghastly red seal, they struck relentlessly at the hearts of us women left behind. Charlottes was the first to arrive,
We sat opposite each other in that little apartment, sipping wine and laughing. Frank was beside me his hand resting secretly on mine. I remember thinking how perfect life was at that very moment, how completely perfect.
Then the letter came.
A loud wrap at the door interrupted our conversation. Charlotte raised her eyes suspiciously. She opened the door; a man stood his face hidden by the shadow of the door. He handed it to her, the paper crinkled in her fingertips. As the realization of its contents struck her she fell to her knees. I ran to her side wrapping her in my arms. She cried so violently I thought she would vomit, her screaming sobs shattered through the room. Peter her husband had died in the air. His plane shot to pieces by a German.
After that it seemed like every day a new letter arrived. Like birds returning from winter travels, they flew, one after the other. News of the deaths of husbands, sweethearts, sons, and fathers became regular topic. I waited impatiently for mine to arrive. As much as my heart belonged to Frank I knew that if Sebastian died it would break my heart.
My letter arrived by post. I felt the flood of relief as I burned through the pages. Sebastian was alive, but he was injured. His injuries to severe to continue at the front, he was to return within the month. Though as soon as I felt relief I felt myself plunge into the despair of dread. I had to make a choice. I loved Frank, but I couldn’t bear to continue our affair, not when Sebastian was so close. Sebastian was my husband and as much as I wished he would always have a hold on me. A hold Frank could never break. I no longer loved Sebastian; my love was in the form of duty not passion. So I made my choice, I told Frank. He was angry, but above all he was sad. Tears ran across our faces as we said our goodbyes. He understood, like me he knew our relationship couldn’t last forever. He left London a few weeks later. He told everyone he needed a change in scene and it was the truth he needed to be away with me.
Sebastian returned by winter, a new coat of guilt across his heart. He was depressed then, and relied on me for everything. He relied on my love more then anything, so I had to pretend.
I became pregnant; I thought it certain I would lose the baby. But as my stomach swelled it became more and more obvious that I was going to deliver this child, Sebastian’s child. I told you before dear reader that a baby was the last thing I wanted; for I knew that it would make me love Sebastian, and that is just what happened. The prospect of a child improved his moods. He became increasingly attentive to my every need. He would hold my stomach and whisper his love to the child within. Soon I found myself growing fond of the thought of a family with Sebastian. I grew attached to the squirming life inside me. I loved it with all my heart. I loved it more then Sebastian, I loved it more then Frank. By my seventh month Sebastian’s spirits were so high that he began to organize a party.
And so it was the beginning of the end. The stage was set. Guests began to arrive.
In my room I struggled with a white dress, I had grown since I had bought it and it was much too tight. Sebastian entered the room. He looked at he and laughed
“It’s not funny,” I pouted, giving up I sat down and rested my hands across my belly, “nothing fits,”
“Sure it dose,” he comforted, he rummaged through my closet until he found a beaded red dress, “try this, my love,” he slipped it over my head, it fell easily over my bump, “you look beautiful,” he kissed my forehead softly and led me out of the room and down the stairs.
The party was a gay affair. Loud music and even louder laughter filled the room. I smelt the air around me. I was happy in my own little world. That was until I saw him out of the corner of my. He stood by the doorway, he was watching me. Our eyes met. It was Frank; his face was worn and tired. He swigged his drink back and accepted another. His eyes left mine and rested instead on Sebastian. Sebastian didn’t notice his stare. Frank looked at him with all the angry one man could possess. Then he left the room. I followed him all the way out to the back porch. His back was to me.
“What are you doing here Frank,” I tried to keep my voice steady
“I had to see you,” his voice was weak. “I just- I needed to see you,” he turned to me
“You can’t be here Frank, you know,”
“I don’t care,” he said bluntly as he came closer, he was disheveled, he was drunk. “Come with me, rose,”
“What?”
“Run away with me, the two of us, and,” he looked down at my stomach, “Ill raise it, I will, if it means I can be with you,
“Frank, stop”
“No, no I wont stop, I love you rose and you love me. Let’s leave I’ll save you from him,”
“I don’t need to be saved,” I headed for the door he grasped my fingers
“I know Rose; I know what he did, Sebastian. He’s a murderer. I won’t let you be with him. It’s not safe,”
“How do you know?”
“The man he murdered his name was Robert, he was my cousin. He was a drunken fool with too many debts, but so was your husband, Please Rose run away with me, he’s dangerous” Franks hands clasped around my mine, for a moment I considered it. I considered a life with Frank. It was a lovely thought, but that’s all it was a thought.
“Rose, what are you doing out here?” Sebastian voice came from behind us, “who are you? Let go of my wife,”
The seconds pulsed slowly between us, as I watched it. As I watched it all end.
Frank hurled himself towards Sebastian. They fought. Sebastian fell to the ground as Frank overpowered him. He swung his fist into Sebastian’s jaw. He hit him again and again. My world felt so slow, what was only seconds felt like hours. With each blow to Sebastian battered face I felt my heart beat faster. I had to make a choice, a fatal choice.
So I made it. I ran from them up the stairs to my bedroom. I opened the top drawer of the dresser where I knew a gun lay. I took it. Hiding it under my dress I ran back to the porch.
The fight continued where I left it. They had traveled out to the field behind the yard. I ran to where they were each step took so much strength. Sebastian bled his face distorted his eyes so sad.
“Stop,” I screamed, they didn’t listen, so I did it, I fired.
The bullet shot straight through his chest.
I heard the sound, the blood curdling sound, the clinks of a metal bullet against the ground, the sound of a body falling limply to the ground, the sound of death, of franks death. I whimper escaped my lips, my jaw shook as tears welled in my eyes. And as we stood there, Sebastian and me, I felt the pull of a thousand tiny strings knotting us together,
An unbreakable bond, holding us for eternity.
The End
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