“You have to believe that I never meant for any of this to happen.” Mother croaked. “I love you, son.”
“It’s too late for your empty words, Mother. Or your pathetic excuses. It’s time you received the same measure of compassion you’ve always shown me.”
“Ien, please listen to me.” She struggled to speak, struggled to breathe. “You have it all wrong. I’ve never tried to kill you.”
“Yes you did!” Ien yelled.
“It was you, Ien. I just wanted to protect you.”
Don’t listen to the liar.
“The protection I needed was from you.”
“No, son. You need protection from…yourself.”
No!
Ien froze, dropping the knife in shock. Mother grasped her neck, gasping for air.
“No!” Ien said as he backed away from her, his eyes wide. “No! You’re lying to me.”
Don’t believe her. She lies!
Ien shook his head. “You’re trying to confuse me with your excuses.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Ien. Your actions, seeing that girl. You tried to hurt yourself, tried to hurt us all. I had to protect you.”
Sister Anne’s conversations flooded his thoughts.
…
more to the accident…
He covered his ears, desperate to shut out the Sister’s voice.
…more than you dare believe
…
He shook his head trying to focus his thoughts.
...you don’t know what really happened…
“Ien,” Mother whispered, taking a step towards him. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Flashes of her abuse—the brand on his skin, the yelling, the beating—enveloped him.
“Stay away from me!” he yelled, anger seething from every cell.
He ran from the room, his mind in ruins as voices from the walls, the floor, the air, all screamed out to him.
Don’t believe her.
She lies.
Kill her.
Kill them all.
23.
“I know indeed what evil I intend to do,
but stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury…
fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils.”
~Euripedes (Medea)
~~
I run from the house, my legs shaking. My vision blurs, blocking out anything familiar.
“You did this. You tried to hurt us all.”
Mother’s words circle and swirl, haunting my every step. Over and over they repeat, taking on a life of their own.
I replay that night as I have so many times in the past. The sounds, the smells, the feelings. All of it.
It was the happiest night of my life. Kiera was mine, all mine.
Until Mother took it all away.
The scent of sulfur and acid flood my senses as the sounds of shattering glass push into my ears. I shove open the doors to the stable and stumble inside. My mind fills with the horrors of that night, blending with the here and now until I can no longer discern between past and present. Fire blinds me. Ash and smoke steal the air from the room.
“You’re to blame, Ien. You are always to blame.”
The words repeat, first in Mother’s voice, then in Erik’s.
“I am innocent,” I say to no one. “Innocent.” I collapse to the ground.
“If you are innocent, dear brother, then don’t let her win.”
Lost in my own feelings of failure, I ignore Erik’s voice.
Erik forms from the fire and smoke surrounding me. He closes the distance between us in a single breath. “You’re so weak,” he says. “Can’t you see the truth? She’s manipulating you. She abused you. Failed you. Her and Father. They have to pay.” Erik leans in and whispers to me. “Make them pay, dear brother. If you can.”
His accusations caress my doubts, turning them into monsters. Anguish turns to hate. It blooms through me, penetrating through every cell.
“Poor little Ien. Too weak, too pathetic to take control of his own life. However did you manage to kill me?”
A tidal wave of white hot rage overwhelms me. Too many expectations. Too little control over my own life. I won’t have yet another person hold dominion over me. Just once I want to make every decision.
“Tell me, was my death just a fluke? An accident after all?”
I can’t hold back the anger and shame. It wells inside and flows from me in a feral scream. “Go away! You have no power over me, Erik. Not anymore.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Erik laughs. He turns and walks away. “I always knew you were the weaker brother.”
Something in me snaps and my world falls away. “I. Am. Not. Weak!”
Everything slows.
Only Erik exists now.
I lunge at him, succumbing to the monsters I can no longer control. He steps away from my grasp, hitting me with something hard, metallic. I grab my arm. Hot, sticky liquid drips from fresh wounds onto my hands.
“No,” I yell, lunging again.
He’s too slow this time and I grab him by the neck, spinning him toward me. My fingers close and squeeze. “I am not weak.”
Erik’s neck tightens against my grasp. “You can’t hurt me.” He swings a hook wildly, catching me again and again.
My skin tears in places; more blood spills to the floor. I feel nothing, the pain masked by pure hatred for my brother.
Hatred for myself.
I squeeze harder, watching Erik’s eyes bulge. Blood flows from my open wounds, painting him in crimson heat.
He wrestles against my grasp. “You…won’t…win.” His voice is barely audible.
The color drains from his face and his eyes bulge further.
He shakes and moans.
I tighten my grip in response.
“You’ll always be…the weaker brother.”
Erik’s eyes roll back, his body quiets and I know that I have killed my brother.
Again.
Inhale.
My mind is quiet now. There is no fire or ash, no sulfur or shattering glass. Only silence, empty and cold. I cling to it as it nourishes my soul.
Exhale.
The silence fuels my anger, my hatred. I no longer fear this absence of noise, no longer resist it. It is a welcome respite, come to consume me.
Define me.
Inhale.
“Find Kiera.” Her name comes only from me, more thought than voice coming from a part of my soul I thought dead. The part unscathed.
Exhale.
“Kiera,” I call out. “Kiera!”
Her name drips off my tongue like honey. I must find her.
I stare at the dead corpse littering the floor of the barn. I should feel guilty for what I've done. But I don’t. There is no sadness or misery lodged inside of me.
I remember the feel of his bones crushing under the weight of my grasp. It excites me. There was power in his death.
My power.
My thoughts float back to Kiera. I lose myself in a fantasy created just for me: Kiera, dressed in black, giving herself to me.
I imagine pulling her into a tight embrace, our lips meeting in a feverish kiss.
“Ien,” she moans in my thoughts. Her voice electrifies me.
Our tongues explore each other and we lose ourselves to our passion. Through her touch, her kisses, I’m made whole. Our passion grows.
Until she hesitates.
Stops.
I pull back and stare at her closed eyes. Her hands tremble. Her body trembles. She opens her eyes, reflecting a macabre blend of emotions.
Longing.
Pain.
Anguish.
And terror.
Raw terror.
Kiera screams, pushing herself away from me.
“Wait. Kiera, wait. It’s me. Ien.”
I reach out, pulling her back to me. Her body turns to dust at my touch. It scatters across the barn and I am alone again. Kiera is
forever
gone…
24.
“Eternal Passion!
Eternal Pain!”
~Matthew Arnold (Philomela)
~
Ien’s vision blurred until black emptiness overtook him. A lifetime of anguish flooded through his veins, pouring onto the floor. So much loss, so much regret. He slid down the wall of the stable, slumping into a heap on the floor.
“Ien? Ien? Are you okay?” Jenna’s voice was soft against his thoughts.
He opened his eyes and straightened himself up. A metallic smell filled his nose and his stomach lurched. He looked at his arms covered in a sticky mess. He wiped them on his shirt, smearing away the evidence of his crimes.
Jenna’s voice continued to waft in through the stable windows. “Ien, please answer me. I heard a scream. Are you okay? Ien?”
“Go away,” he said, his voice cracking. “You can’t be here.” Ien choked on every word. He wanted her there. Needed her.
Jenna appeared at the doorway, silhouetted by the setting sun. She rushed towards Ien, concern etched on her face. “You’re hurt.” Jenna grabbed his arm, her eyes darting from the discarded hay hook painted red, to the large gash on his arm oozing blood. “What happened?”
“You have to leave, Jenna. Please. Get out of here.”
“No! You’re hurt. I’m not leaving.”
He forced himself to a standing position, sucking in the pain of each movement. “I’m fine, really.”
“Don’t tell me everything’s fine when your arm is gushing blood. It’s a wonder you can stand at this point.”
Ien wobbled on cue with her words.
She grabbed his waist and steadied him. “Now let me look at that.” Jenna examined the wound. The cut extended through the skin and muscle, straight through to the bone. “This is too deep. You need a doctor.”
He panicked, yanking his arm free of her grasp. The motion exacted another wave of agony as his stomach clenched and the room began to spin. He reached for her arm to steady himself. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath. His jaw tightened and his arms twitched.
When he opened his eyes moments later, a steely resolve replaced the pain and guilt. “No doctor. No one can know of this, do you understand?” His face flushed with anger. “No one!”
Jenna bit her cheek. A second passed. Then another. The tension in the room expanded with the silence. Finally, Jenna released a heavy sigh. “But Ien—”
“No!”
Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “Fine! But you have to let me clean it. I’m not letting you die right here.”
Ien said nothing while Jenna wiped away the blood with her dress. “This is bad. You need to get this checked out before an infection sets in.”
“No, I can’t let anyone know about this. About me.”
“Then you have to let me get medicines and linens from the house. They won’t keep you from getting sick, but maybe I can hold off an infection and keep the wound clean.”
He lowered his gaze. Part of him hated that he needed her help. And yet, her kindness touched him. It always had. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“No one from the staff.”
“Ien, I won’t. You can trust me. I promise.” Jenna looked at his face, once again seeing straight through to his soul. She never flinched at his wounds or disfigurement. She never registered fear or disgust on her face. Never reacted to the blood dripping from him. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she left the barn.
He paced the hay-filled floor, worried.
She lied to you.
The voices chimed his fears.
She’s going to tell.
“Never. I trust her.” His voice trembled.
She’ll ruin everything.
“No, I don’t believe that.”
“You can trust her, Ien.” The sweet voice filled him with fear. “Trust us both. We only care for you.”
“Go away,” he said. “I’m tired of you—all of you.”
The voices faded and his mind grew quiet. Jenna appeared at the door, her arms filled with medicines, linens and herbs.
“No one saw me. Now, give me your arm.”
Too tired to put up a fight, Ien complied. Jenna wrapped pieces of cloth around his arm forming a tourniquet. She cleaned off the wound and poured a pungent clear liquid into the gash.
“Ouch,” he said trying to free his arm. “That hurts!”
Jenna kept a firm grip. “Stop being a coward. This isn’t going to kill you.” She looked into his eyes and held his gaze.
Ien smiled. No one had looked at him that way since the accident—honest, caring. There was no pity in her eyes. No fear. Only a deep compassion and affection.
The smile on Ien’s face melted away, replaced by shame. He felt naked, exposed. He couldn’t withstand the honesty of her presence. Or her affection. He deserved none of it.
Ien lowered his head and turned away.
“Does it still hurt? Your face?”
“No,” he said, unwilling to risk another glance at her. “Not like it used to.”
Jenna bandaged his arm and released her hold on him.
“I can never repay this,” he said as he reached for her hand. His heart ached.
Once again he was confused by his sudden rush of emotions for his childhood friend. He had never allowed himself feelings for her before, despite her awkward advances. The wistful looks she used to give him, and the way she always made sure his room had flowers whenever he came home from Chadwick.
It wasn’t that he had never fantasized about her; he had. Often, in fact. He just understood that such a union couldn’t be, not while she was a member of his household staff. Things like that didn’t happen.
Erik had teased him about his feelings for Jenna before he’d died. He teased Ien about everything.
Lingering sadness gripped Ien’s heart as he thought about his brother.
And rage.
“So what happened?” Jenna asked, breaking through Ien’s thoughts. “How did you hurt yourself?”
He stared at his arm. He wasn’t exactly clear on what had happened. He remembered Erik and the fight. It had felt so real. But it couldn’t have been.
Erik is dead.
Piece by piece, he tried to assemble the events of the night. But nothing gelled together. Nothing explained what actually happened, or why his arm was ripped open.