Henry Avenal: The mysteries of love

This story itself isn’t supernatural, but it’s part of a supernatural story. More supernatural things happen later. Also, please let me know if I should give this a higher rating.

Hi!!!

I'm going to try and leave a review here, also I haven't read any of the previous or following works if this is part of a series so I apologies in advance for any mistake or misunderstanding I make because of that. I shall go rectify this situation of mine the second I get a chance!

Overall it's a very beautiful story, full of emotion, longing, desire, guilt, hope, love, desperation, and I really love the way the storyline flows so seamlessly, however there are some things I'm confused about.

"Better yet, why didn’t Claire leave him for Thomas? If she wasn’t with Henry, then she wouldn’t have tripped over one of his rusted inventions in the basement, and she wouldn’t have metal festering in her flesh. She’d be walking in rose gardens with Thomas, as free as a faerie.

He tried his best to heal her, with all kinds of concoctions, because there was only one doctor in the neighborhood and he only associated himself with Thomas’ family, so Henry tried himself to help her."

These lines give me the impression that Thomas is better off - financially -compared to Henry, who seems to be a failed inventor, however, the following lines-

"Henry never wanted Claire and his young son, Thorne, to see his unfinished inventions. That was why he built in their cramped basement and nowhere in their spacious house above, because who would want to go down a basement of forgotten cogs and gears when there was a chance for playing the piano in the parlor?"

-seem to indicate the opposite, spacious house, piano in the parlor, all these indicate that Henry is not financially lacking. Therefore, I'm a little confused as to why he considers Thomas to be better than him.

The second thing that confuses me is why he initially hesitates to remove the piece of metal with his hands, especially when - in the end - he does use his hands to remove the piece of metal, succeeds and doesn't seem to suffer from any adverse affect.

The last thing the confused was one of the final sentences, "He had to help Thorne see the light." I'm afraid I didn't really understand what Henry meant by 'the light'.


All in all it is a beautiful story and I really like the way you managed to convey Henry's desperation to save his wife without seeming repetitive and truly enjoyed your writing style, the short sentences and the gaps between each sentence really add a lovely dramatic flair to the story!

Again I apologies for any mistake or misunderstanding the might have stemmed from the fact that I have not read preceding or following works.


Take care!

--KB

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression: Well yet another powerful and emotionally charged scene for us to reflect on here. This one hits especially hard with the way that Henry is so desperate and feeling so guilty about everything and Claire only wants to reassure.

Anyway let's get right to it,

Henry held Claire’s cold hand, rubbing small circles on it with his fingers. Her breathing was slow and ragged, but still, she breathed.

With his free hand, he reached for the cup on the nightstand and brought it up to Claire’s chapped lips.

She shook her head, yet still, he poured it down her mouth.

“It’s no use. I’m dying, Henry.” Claire croaked when he was finished with giving her the drink.

He set it back on the nightstand. It was finished, and he didn’t have anymore left, but perhaps that last sip would be what helped her.

It had to help her. He crafted that medicine for her sickness, for the graying and decaying of her body. She had to come back, she couldn’t just…she couldn’t just die.

“Don’t talk like that, Claire. You’re going to be fine. Tomorrow, you’ll be up and running, all good to go!” Henry declared.

He cringed at his own words. Why did he always talk like he was advertising a machine, a new invention? Why couldn’t he be like eloquent-speaking Thomas?

Better yet, why didn’t Claire leave him for Thomas? If she wasn’t with Henry, then she wouldn’t have tripped over one of his rusted inventions in the basement, and she wouldn’t have metal festering in her flesh. She’d be walking in rose gardens with Thomas, as free as a faerie.

He tried his best to heal her, with all kinds of concoctions, because there was only one doctor in the neighborhood and he only associated himself with Thomas’ family, so Henry tried himself to help her.

Claire smiled good-naturedly, an action that sunk Henry’s heart, and said in her barely-there voice:

“Everyone dies someday. Don’t fear, I’ll always watch over you, and I’ll wait with open arms.”

She was trying to comfort him, he could see that, but in her skeletal, unnatural state, it sounded more like an omen than reassurance.

When she first got the rusted metal lodged in her leg, he tried pulling it out himself, but every single time he did so, she screamed in pain, and it only seemed to lodge itself further in. He was careful to use tools and not his own hands, and yet, it still deepened itself into Claire.

Henry pushed back the sheets and pulled up the skirt of Claire’s nightgown, where the metal piece was in thinning layers of skin on her left leg. If he removed the problem, she’d have a faster recovery.

“Henry…” Claire trailed off, but he wasn’t listening. He dug his fingers through her cut and pulled at the piece, the mechanical thing in a living soul, the thing that didn’t belong.

Henry never wanted Claire and his young son, Thorne, to see his unfinished inventions. That was why he built in their cramped basement and nowhere in their spacious house above, because who would want to go down a basement of forgotten cogs and gears when there was a chance for playing the piano in the parlor?

But no, Claire wanted to see for herself what he made. She walked down the basement when he was at the town dump, getting rid of old scraps. He made trips every day to get rid of all old things. Every day, even though the nearest dump was five miles from home.

He had arrived back home too late, for her screams had died down to whimpers when he got to the basement.

Every day he made trips, and yet he couldn’t stop Claire from getting infected.

With every force within him, he pulled out the long, twisted, brown piece of metal from her leg, blood gushing on the white sheets, Claire screaming out raggedly.

Henry tossed it to the ground. The thing that had caused such problems, that had deteriorated his wife, that had yellowed her skin, had been removed, but what did it matter?

Henry held Claire’s hand again, and said ever so softly:

“This is all my fault. I wanted to create a world for you and Thorne, but look at what I’ve done. Claire, Thomas would have given you everything. He would have treated you better. He would have…”

Claire put a weary, weathered hand on his cheek.

“He didn’t love me the way you do. It’s not your fault. You tried everything you could to help. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

Her hand trailed away from his cheek and fell flat to her side, her eyelids closed shut.

And it was all because of Henry and his inventions.

Henry watched Thorne closely. No longer was Thorne a giggling five-year old, but a lovestruck sixteen year old.

He could see it in Thorne’s eyes. The longing and desire, mixed with hope and delight. It was the same look in his eyes when he thought of Claire, and it was the look that she herself used to give him before she passed.

As his own son, what if Thorne made the same mistakes he did? What if he killed his sweet love out of his own passions?

Henry could not let history repeat itself. He had to find who Thorne loved, and create something that would take the person far away. He had to help Thorne feel, too. He had to help Thorne see the light.

Henry had to save him…