by Amy Cross
Taking the towel, she dipped it into the warm water and then stepped closer to Edgar. She placed the fabric against his chest and pressed slightly, pushing against the muscle and squeezing out not only water from the towel but also a little more blood from a cut just below his collarbone. She began to wipe, smearing blood and sweat away, and finally she was able to clean at least that one spot. It wasn't much, but it was a start and it meant that she saw now how she could proceed. Perhaps she couldn't help his pain, but she could at least give him a little more dignity, so she continued to clean his chest and arms, wiping away all the blood until his flesh was clear and his wounds glistened in the low candlelight. There wasn't much fresh blood, and she felt almost mesmerized by her work as she -
Suddenly Edgar gasped and raised his head a little. He looked at her, his eyes open wide.
She stepped back, flinching slightly as if she expected him to strike her.
Their eyes met for a moment, Edgar's expression filled with wonder and shock, as if he didn't quite understand what was happening to him. Slowly, however, his head began to drop again, as if he had too little strength to speak.
“I'm helping you,” Estella stammered. “I... I thought you'd liked to be clean.”
She waited, but there was no response.
“You don't need to thank me,” she added. “Just let me do this for you, won't you?”
With no response still, she reached down and dipped the towel back into the water, before getting onto her knees and starting to clean Edgar's heavily-damaged belly. She kept glancing up, expecting to find him watching her, but his eyes were shut again and he seemed to have drifted back into unconsciousness. Solemnly, she continued her work, and once his belly was clean she moved on to his waist, then his hips, then his crotch and finally his legs, all with the reverence of someone assigned a holy task. The whole time, the only sound in the basement came from the drips that fell from the towel each time it was dipped back into the water and then lifted up to Edgar's flesh. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath for the duration of the solemn act.
“Stop the coach,” she remembered Edgar calling out one day, many years ago, as he'd been driven through town by Jacob.
She remembered watching in awe as the coach's side door was opened, and as Baron Edgar Le Compte had stepped down into the street, his eyes fixed on her as if he'd spotted her from the coach window and had been compelled to stop. She remembered the jealous, shocked expressions on the other girls' faces as they'd realized that it was she, Estella Graves, who had so captured the man's attention.
“What is your name?” he'd asked her, as if he was struck by her beauty.
“Estella,” she'd replied, curtseying. “Estella Graves.”
“Why have I never seen you before, Estella Graves?”
“I don't know, Sir,” she'd told him. “Perhaps because I spent most of my time working in my parents' home.”
“And your evenings? Are they free?”
“I usually sit with my mother and sew.”
“Not tonight,” he'd replied, with a faint, playful smile. “Tonight you shall come to my home and dine with me.”
She still remembered the leap in her heart, the feeling that finally, out of the blue, life had noticed her and good things were going to happen.
“I'd be honored,” she'd told him. “Absolutely honored.”
That day felt so far away now, as she wiped the dried blood from his ankles. It was as if everything had happened in another lifetime, a lifetime where happiness had briefly seemed possible. She felt as if she'd held the possibility of love in her hand, and then other people had forced her to make a fist that had crushed all things delicate and pure. Staring now at Edgar's damaged and torn flesh, she felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss him. She told herself she should do no such thing, but the urge grew and grew, twisting through her soul until finally she leaned closer and gently let her open lips brush against the blood that had dried on his leg. She stayed like that for a moment, fully aware that he couldn't reciprocate, before pulling away and getting back to work.
“Fool,” she whispered to herself. “Weak idiot.”
Suddenly, as she finished cleaning Edgar's ankles, she realized she could feel his gaze on the top of her head. She knew with absolute certainty that he'd woken again, and when she looked up she found that she was right: he was staring down at her with calm, unblinking intensity.
“I'm cleaning you,” she told him, her voice trembling slightly. “I thought you'd like it.”
His lips moved, but no words came out.
“You've already begun to heal,” she continued, swallowing hard. “How is the pain?”
He continued to stare at her, and although no words left his lips this time, she could tell that his stare was not empty, nor was it overcome with pain.
Feeling a faint twinge of nausea in her belly, she got to her feet, until they were face to face.
“Quillian will be back soon,” she told him. “I don't know what he plans to do with you next, but...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “What would you have me do, Edgar? Stop him? Stop you?” She paused. “Should I kill you, or show some mercy, perhaps? Why? When did you ever show mercy to me?”
She waited for a response, but none came.
“Did you ever truly love me?” she asked. “Just tell me that. Now, at least, I think you owe me the truth. Did you love me, or did you somehow know, deep down, that one day another woman would come to take your heart? Did you sense that Kate Langley would someday come to Thaxos and steal you away from me?”
She waited, but still no words came from his lips.
“I suppose you thought me to be another pitiable wretch from the town,” she continued. “Just a dumb little human you could use for your amusement. I suppose that's how I seemed, until my powers began to emerge. Oh Edgar, you were unlucky, you picked the one human woman you couldn't crush to dust when you were done with her. The worst part is...” She paused, before placing her hands on his bare chest and feeling, for a moment, his heart pounding deep inside. “The worst part is, you have reduced me to this miserable state,” she added finally. “I used to see women who thought only of men, whose whole lives revolved solely around the pursuit of a man, and I pitied them. Yet now here I am...”
She ran her hands down onto his belly.
“I am nothing,” she whispered, “but my love for you. And that sickens me.”
She waited in silence for a moment, feeling a shiver pass through her body.
“What would my life have been like if I had chosen Paul Lassiter instead?” she asked. “Would I be a happy doctor's wife by now, perhaps with a child of my own? Would these powers have still blossomed, or would I have remained ignorant of them forever? Would I have occasionally glanced up at your mansion and wondered what it would be like to walk through those doors, with no chance of ever finding out? Would I have longed for the life I have now, even if I knew it would be devoid of happiness?” She paused, with tears in her eyes. “Would I have been happy as a doctor's wife, Edgar? Do you think someone like me could ever be happy?”
She waited, but he simply stared at her.
“It's all my fault, of course,” she continued. “I see that now. I could never have been happy with Paul, I would always have wanted something greater. There's just a part of me that can't be happy with what I have, not unless...” Another pause, as she ran her hands back up onto his chest, feeling his muscles against her palms and remembering other, better times when she'd touched him in the same way and he'd touched her in return. “I'm a fool,” she whispered. “I'm an absolute idiot, but I can't help myself. I want this power.” Slowly, she leaned closer and pressed her lips against his, just for a few seconds. “We still have a chance,” she said finally.
She pulled back a little, looking deep into his eyes.
“I can get you out of here,” she told him, feeling a sudden burst of passion that had erupted, seemingly out of nowhere, in her chest. She gla
nced over her shoulder, to make sure that Quillian wasn't nearby, before turning back to him. “I can help you. I'll get you free, I'll get you strong again, and then we'll deal with Quillian together. Don't you see? It's your love for Kate that has brought you so low, Edgar. Quillian can use her against you, he can threaten to kill her, but he can't do the same thing to me. You need a wife who is strong, Edgar, and who can stand against these monsters and not be knocked down.”
She paused, waiting for him to reply.
“You need me,” she said firmly. “You might not realize it, but I'm the perfect wife for you and we were made to be together. All I ask for in return is your love. Tell me you love me, make me believe it, that's all I ask, and then I'll help you.”
She waited.
Nothing.
“Tell me,” she said again, as tears ran down her cheeks. “Say the words.”
His lips trembled, but still he refused to speak.
“What's wrong with you?” she hissed. “Don't you see what's good for you? Tell me you love me, convince me, and everything will be okay.”
Again, she waited.
“Tell me,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Make it all okay.”
Silence.
“Go to hell,” Edgar said suddenly.
She opened her eyes again.
“You heard me,” he continued, his voice wracked with pain but still strong and angry. “You talk about love? You, who treat men like mirrors and prefer the ones who reflect the prettiest image of your own face.”
“Edgar, no...”
“You who had the love of a good man and threw it away, as if it was garbage.”
“Threw it away? Edgar, I didn't throw our love away -”
“I'm talking about Paul Lassiter,” he sneered. “From the moment I first met you, I knew he was the man you should be with, but I also knew you'd toss him aside if you were given the chance of something greater. I saw the fault-line in your soul before I even stepped out of the carriage and introduced myself, and I was right.”
She shook her head, as tears ran down her face.
“You asked if I knew that Kate Langley was coming,” he continued. “No, I didn't know. I knew that some day, I would meet someone I loved, and I knew that in the meantime I could amuse myself by meddling with the likes of you. That's all you ever were, Estella. An amusement, a chance to alleviate the boredom, to watch as you spiraled further and further down. It's true, I didn't know you'd develop these powers, but I knew you had other special abilities, abilities that are far more human. Self-deception is one. Rapacious greed, an inability to see what's right in front of you without getting blinded by your own fantasies... I've watched you make one wrong choice after another.”
“I tried!” she hissed.
“And do you know the best part?” he asked her, with a faint smile. “If you had been born somewhere else, somewhere far from Thaxos, you would still have ended up ruined and alone. Take away all the other elements of your life, force you to live a normal human existence, and you'd still screw it all up. Even without me, and without vampires or werewolves or witchcraft... You'd still be a disaster.”
She stared at him, as she felt her soul starting to harden.
“Love you?” he continued. “I loved watching you fall, but no, I never loved you as a person. And no matter how much pleasure you and Quillian might get from torturing me, it'll be as nothing compared to the pleasure I got from watching you torture yourself as -”
“Shut up!” she shouted, taking a step back and then looking over at the rack in the corner, where Quillian had laid out the instruments of torture he intended to use on Edgar.
“Go on,” Edgar sneered. “Try them out. See if it makes you feel any better.”
“Don't tempt me,” she said darkly, as her gaze fell upon the cat o' nine tails.
“You disgust me,” Edgar continued. “In your own twisted way, Estella, you're the worst monster on this whole goddamn island.”
“Are you trying to provoke me?” she asked, still looking at the whip. “Is that what this is? Are you saying these things purely because you want me to break down and hurt you?”
“You couldn't hurt me,” he replied. “Look at you. You're pathetic, coming here to bathe me. What the hell did you hope to accomplish? Quillian intends to torture me forever, so do you intend to bathe me forever? Seriously?”
“Then maybe I should undo my work,” she stammered, stepping over to the table and picking up the cat o' nine tails, before turning back to him. “All the blood I wiped from you, all the sweat I took from your skin... Maybe I should put it all back.”
“Do it,” he said firmly.
She paused, feeling as if she couldn't quite bring herself to perform an act of such cruelty, even as the cat o' nine tail's knotted cotton plaits hung down, poised to strike.
“Do it!” Edgar shouted, leaning toward her until the chains held him back, with his torn muscles straining.
“And that would make you feel better, would it?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger. “You want me to hurt you?”
“You couldn't hurt me,” he sneered. “You could barely even get my attention.”
“Is that right?” she asked, stepping closer and raising the cat o' nine tails. “Do I mean so little to you, Edgar?”
“You mean nothing to me. Kate -”
“Don't say that name,” she hissed.
“Kate, try to hear me,” he continued, as if he was hoping to reach out to her across the island. “Kate -”
Without letting him finish, Estella swung the whip at his chest, slashing his flesh open and bringing a cry of pain from his lips. Filled with anger, she immediately struck again, and then again, and she kept going, consumed by a blind frenzy and driven on by Edgar's increasingly pained screams.
IV
“Benjamin!” Nixon called out, pushing the door open and rushing into the workshop. Looking around, he quickly spotted the body on the ground. He rushed over and dropped to his knees, immediately seeing the thick patch of blood on the side of the man's face.
“Benjamin!” Madeleine shouted, reaching out to feel her way into the room. “Benjamin, are you in here?”
“Stay back,” Nixon told her, as he reached down and checked for any sign of a pulse on the side of Benjamin's neck. “Damn it, you weak human idiot, don't do this.”
“He's here,” Madeleine said, her voice filled with fear. “I can smell him. I can smell blood too.”
“He's hurt,” Nixon replied, gently rolling Benjamin onto his back, “but he's alive. Barely.”
“What happened to him?” she asked, making her way over before getting down onto her knees. “Benjamin, can you hear me? Say something!”
“It looks like he hit his head,” Nixon told her, glancing at the workbench and seeing a telltale patch of blood on the corner. “With all the dangers on this goddamn island, it was something so simple that got him.” Glancing over toward the far wall, he spotted the knife on the floor. “Then again, maybe he didn't simply trip.”
“Stop talking and help him,” Madeleine hissed, reaching down and feeling for Benjamin's face. “His skin feels cold.”
“Don't distract me,” Nixon replied, unbuttoning Benjamin's shirt and pulling it open to reveal the man's bare chest. Running his hand across the skin, he paused for a moment. “His heart-rate is dropping. If we'd arrived much later, he'd have already been dead.”
“Save him,” Madeleine said firmly. “Fix him, Nixon, or I swear I'll make you pay.”
“I'm really in luck right now,” Nixon muttered, as he examined the wound on Benjamin's forehead. “People just won't stop telling me to fix their dumb human lovers.”
“Fix him!” she shouted. “I don't care what you have to do! Make this right!”
***
“It's a memorial,” Jennifer explained, as she and Anna watched men digging in the center of the town square. “It's to help us remember all the people who died in the war.”
“
Where did the war happen?” Anna asked with a frown. “I didn't see anything.”
“It was far away,” Jennifer told her. “Well, not that far away. We're lucky it didn't come to Thaxos, not directly, but some men from here went to fight. Those who were able, anyway.”
“Why did they go to fight?”
“Because they believed in doing the right thing,” Jennifer replied. “Sometimes you have to put yourself in danger if you want to stand up for the things that are important to you.”
“I don't ever want to leave Thaxos,” Anna said, turning to look over at the harbor for a moment. “I want to stay on Thaxos for the rest of my life.”
“I thought you wanted to explore the world?”
Anna stared at the horizon for a moment. She remembered telling her mother and everyone else that she wanted to travel, but suddenly that idea seemed chilling. Although she had no memory of having ever left the island, as she looked at the horizon she felt certain that somewhere out there, far away but waiting for her, there were dark forces. Thaxos, meanwhile, felt safe, like home.
“I don't want to go anywhere,” she said finally, looking up at her mother. “Please don't make me.”
“Make you?” With a hint of sadness, Jennifer realized that there were perhaps some instinctive parts of Anna's ordeal that could never entirely be scrubbed away. Leaning down, she kissed the top of the little girl's head. “I'd never make you do anything you don't want to do. Why don't we go home and get some ice-cream?” She paused for a moment. “I think our role in this story is over.”
“What story?” Anna asked.
“Nothing,” Jennifer said quickly, keen to keep the girl from thinking about such things. There was a part of her that wanted to go and check on Kate, to see what she could do to help, but at the same time she felt certain that her daughter was her priority. Anna came first, and if that meant keeping well clear of the Le Comptes and their insanity, then that was what she'd have to do. “Come on,” she added, holding back tears as she took Anna's hand, “let's get that ice-cream.”
