by Aubrey Rose
“You’re right,” Eliot said. “I should never have come back.”
“No. You should have come back years ago. You should never have left.” Brynn wiped her tears from her face, crying through her words. “You’re not weak, you’re stupid.”
Eliot was speechless, and Brynn continued to lash out, turning toward the window.
“Look at this. All of this. It’s so beautiful. And you gave it up—why? So that you wouldn’t have to face her death?”
“Brynn—”
“I waited for years to be able to come here,” Brynn said. Her lip quivered as she looked out at the grounds of the estate. The lawn was still covered in a frosting of snow. “I didn’t want anything but to see my mom.”
“It wasn’t your fault—”
“It wasn’t your fault either,” Brynn said. “Marta told me what happened.”
Eliot froze, stricken.
“She had no right to tell you.”
“You weren’t going to tell me,” Brynn said, spinning around toward Eliot accusingly. “You didn’t even tell me you had a wife!”
“She should not have told you.” Eliot’s mind had gone blank, his thoughts spinning around in circles incomprehensibly.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You didn’t care about me enough to tell me the truth.”
“Brynn—” Eliot reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away, backing toward the kitchen door.
“You treat me like a child! Like I don’t deserve to know anything!”
“That’s not true—”
“I can’t just stop caring about you, Eliot!” Brynn’s voice trembled, and Eliot could see the streaks that the tears had left on her cheeks, two damp tracks stained slightly with makeup. “Not when you keep doing this. Not when you leave me and then chase me. Not when you tell me you’re going back to America and then kiss me like you might stay. Please...”
They stood apart from each other. Eliot wanted with all his heart to go to her, to cross the space between them and embrace her body with his. It wouldn’t be right, after all of his efforts to keep her distant, and she deserved more than he could ever give. He forced himself to stay put.
“I’ll call for a cab,” Eliot said quietly. Brynn turned her face away from him and for a moment he thought she might break down into tears again, but when she lifted her face it had hardened into a neutral expression.
“I’ll wait outside,” she said. “I’d like to walk through the snow here one more time. If that’s alright with you.”
Eliot nodded. “Let me get you your coat.”
He went to the entryway to get Brynn’s wool overcoat, each step heavier than the last. Losing Brynn tore at his heart, but he thought that it must be the right thing to do. She could never be happy with such a man as Eliot, distracted and heartsick as he was. His own happiness could not be further from his mind.
When he came back, her red coat draped over his arm, he saw that she had already gone out back. His gaze swept the immediate gardens, but he could not see her. Then he found her trail. Brynn’s footsteps dotted the pathway out toward the forest, dark but already filling back up with snowflakes.
“She must be mad,” Eliot muttered under his breath. He threw the coat down onto the chair and stared out of the window. He might have run after her immediately but for the fact that he was barefoot. He turned to go find his shoes, but then paused.
No. I shouldn’t run after her.
He stood there in indecision. The woods were filled with poachers at this time of the year, and he knew it was dangerous. Still, if she stayed on the trails clearly, her dress should be enough for her to be seen even far off. But it was so cold out there, and she had no coat...
“Enough, Eliot,” he said to himself firmly. She would be fine, and the cab would be only a few minutes anyway. He had made up his mind not to worry, when from the woods and over the frosted lawn came a high-pitched cry.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
He had abandoned me, and I would do what I normally did when I felt lost and alone and abandoned.
I ran.
It was cold, but I did not want my coat. I wanted to feel the aching chill inside of me, the way I had when I first arrived in Hungary. Before the weeks of anticipation and disappointment, before I had turned into someone different. Before emotion strummed my heart and left me vibrating in unreciprocated desire. All anybody wanted was to be understood, and Eliot didn’t understand me. I thought he had, I thought that maybe he could see past the surface and into the deepest cracks, the hidden and imperfect parts of me. Now I fled his gaze. I couldn’t replace the perfect memory of his dead wife.
I stumbled across the field, my feet leaving darkened tracks behind me in the light dusting of snow. Low branches brushed my face, and the wind whistled high above in the trees, promising a storm. My feet brought me closer to the place Eliot had showed me before, the rocks by the stream.
I did not see the doe until I was upon her. Her hind legs kicked as she jumped over the copse and then stopped in her tracks. We had both been running from something and now we stood facing each other across the small clearing. It was only a split second that we stood there, but every interval of time contains within it infinities, and now I felt the world slow down as the doe’s black eyes locked on mine.
The snow was beginning to fall, or had it been falling already? Her tail flickered out and brushed off a dusting of snowflakes from her pelt, the crystals hovering for a moment in the air as though they were weightless.
A high ringing tone pierced my ears, and before I could recognize the sound the arrow shot through the clearing and into the neck of the doe. The shot was true, piercing her pelt cleanly. She took one step forward and stumbled on the next, falling forward on to one knee as though kneeling before me. The sound that escaped her mouth into my ears resembled nothing so closely as a baby's cry. She stumbled and fell, shock in her eyes.
Blood pooled underneath the deer, the snow melting into a bright red pool. Her chest still rose and fell, but her breathing was shallow. Her hind leg kicked in a short spasm.
I stood, frozen in place. Steam rose from the hot pool of blood in the cold air. A chill ran down my spine. I heard the hunter’s footsteps before I could see him, and then he tramped into the clearing, his bow held to one side. His figure loomed large before me, his dark features hidden behind bushy eyebrows and a beard, but it was his eyes that made my blood run cold. For when his gaze fell upon me, it was full of a hard, mean want that I had never seen before. A realization that I was there, and alone, and there was no one around to protect me. It was a hunter's gaze, and he had his sights on new prey.
I did not stop to think. If I had I might have been lost. But there was something in this man’s eyes that drove me back as surely as Eliot's kindness had drawn me toward him. I turned and ran, my feet sliding on the slick carpet of snow just covering the grass.
I heard him behind me, and for one horrible second I thought that he might nock another arrow to his bow and shoot me down like he had the deer. I had desperation on my side, and was gaining ground, but my foot slipped just as I was crossing the small stream and a sharp pain shot up from my ankle, tearing through my entire leg and thigh muscles. I let out a shout and fell, my hands bracing my impact onto the snowy bank. My hands slipped on the icy rock and I tumbled into the shallow stream. My dress soaked through instantly with icy water and I cried out in shock as much as in pain. The chill pierced me through my skin and muscle and my lungs seized up with cold. Blood ran from several cuts on my hands as I tried to scramble up the other side of the riverbank.
He was upon me before I could scream, and as I drew a breath to do so he flipped me face up and cupped one hand roughly over my mouth, his body shoving mine down into the cold earth. I beat at his chest with my fists, and tried to claw his face with my fingers, but with his free hand he blocked my attempts easily. Blood ran down my palms and wrists and I slipped wit
h slick red fingers as I tried to push him away.
My screams were muffled by his palm. He was suffocating me, his weight pressing on my chest. His free hand moved to unbuckle his belt, leaning forward. I reached out to get at his eyes but he grabbed my wrists and wrenched them above my head, pinning them brutally against the snow. He leaned forward, his eyes like black coals flecked with burning white embers at the edges. I closed my eyes to hide myself from his expression: he was smiling.
Above us in the trees, the wind howled. I thrashed underneath him, my legs sweeping the snow, but I was no match for his size. His breath was hot, the steam filling the air white above my face. It smelled sour, like old coffee, and my heart raced.
I felt something then, something I have never been able to fully explain. The sense that Eliot was watching me came over me. It felt like the sun’s rays bursting through the snowy branches in the morning, the warmth of the day now starting to creep into my chilled skin. I knew he could tell that I was in danger, and I knew he would be there to save me.
This strange feeling of trust that flooded my body made me relax, and the man above me pulled my wrists up tighter, but I did not feel the pain. Drawn back into myself, drawn further away from agony, I felt at peace, like I was hovering above myself, watching a terrible scene unfold that involved some other person. Watching terrible things happen to some character from a legend, and not me at all.
Eliot flew over me in a blur. The heavy shock of his impact made a resounding thud as it knocked the hunter off, and when the two men crashed into the tree next to me snow tumbled down from the shaken branches. I pushed myself sideways, out of the man’s reach. One of my shoes had been knocked off and the toes were white with cold.
Fists flew, and I saw the hunter reach back with one large hairy fist. Before I could scream, Eliot had butted his head into the man’s chin with a sharp crack that might have been tooth or bone or both. I felt dizzy at the sound, faint. It was as though my entire body had been drained of blood.
A large stone, a bit bigger than my fist, lay near me on the stream bank. I reached for it as a weapon. My hand pulled on the stone, loosening it from the frozen earth. When I tried to grab hold of it, though, my fingers were too slick with blood to grab on. The cold was too much. My fingers tensed, hard and clumsy, unable to lock around the stone, and my teeth chattered like machine gun rapid fire. My hand slipped on the surface and I tried again to get purchase, but it fell from my grip once more.
Come on, Brynn. I reached again for the stone and grasped it in both of my hands, lifting it up carefully. A shadow fell on me from behind and I twisted around, holding the stone up in defense. My eyes blurred with snow and tears, and for a second I did not know who stood before me. Then I blinked away the fog and saw that it was Eliot.
“My god, Brynn, you’re soaked,” he said, kneeling down. I clutched the stone to my chest and sobbed as he balanced me with his arms.
“It’s alright,” I heard him say as though from a distance. “It’s going to be alright.” The hunter lay a few meters away, not moving. I let the stone tumble from my hand and back into the icy water. A ringing in my ears made his words unintelligible. As his hands moved over me to check for injuries, I let myself lean into his strong body, looking down at the ground to keep my balance steady. I saw something strange, and my addled mind seized onto it as my body began to shut itself down.
“Eliot,” I said. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”
Those were the last words I said before passing into darkness.
I saw the world going back to the house in slow, distinct flashes. The white of the snow on the branches above me, the scarlet drops on the snow—blood? From the deer?—and the tightness of Eliot’s arms around me, carrying me as though I were the most precious thing in the world. My dress was hard, frozen to my skin, and I heard the ice crack in the seams as Eliot clutched me closer. I lay my head against his chest. A terrible thunder made my eyes rise to the sky to look for clouds, but it was Eliot’s heart I heard, the heavy beating as he stumbled through the trail toward the house.
“Brynn,” I heard him say. “Brynn, my Brynn.”
Dark again, and I woke to blankets surrounding me. My body felt heavy, numbed. Eliot stood not far from the couch where I lay, his ear pressed to his phone.
“Yes,” he said in Hungarian, and then his words lost themselves, floating upward in the air and out of my hearing.
Dark again. Complete darkness and complete peace. I heard singing, the soft notes of Satie’s Gymnopedies, and then Eliot’s voice in my ear.
“Brynn, wake up,” he said. “Wake up.” My eyes opened to his worried face. He pulled off my blankets and picked me up as though I weighed nothing, walking down the hall to a stairway I had never seen. It led downward, lit dimly by a soft orange glow that reminded me of candles.
“Where are we going?” I murmured. My head lolled against his arm.
“We have to get you in warm water,” he said, stepping down carefully to avoid knocking my head against the wall. “We have to get you into the baths.”
“I’m not cold,” I said, and I wasn’t.
“You’re nearly frozen,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”
As he said the word, we stepped out of the stairwell and down onto a platform. My breath caught in my throat, and the air, hot and wet, burned my lungs. I gasped at the sensation, and at the sight before me.
The room was huge, five times as large as the bedroom I had stayed in on my first night here. The walls shimmered gold, and at first I thought they were made out of gold itself. The dimmed lanterns hanging over the room reflected golden light, and marble columns and statues lined the walls, leading the way down to the center of the room, where the floor seemed to be made entirely out of mirrors.
Eliot walked down the stairs, still holding me. When he stepped down I realized that what I had thought were mirrors was actually water, and his steps sent ripples across the entire golden floor. He stepped down the submerged stairs until his pants were soaked, and then lowered his arms slowly until my body touched the water. I cried out in pain and clutched at Eliot’s arms. My feet and arms felt as though they were being stabbed with sharp needles, the pain wrenching my body. Eliot let me grip him but stepped down further so that my whole body was under water, and only my head above.
The pain sent tears to my eyes even as I began to shiver in Eliot’s arms. My dress loosened and flowed in the hot water, and steam rose from the glassy surface. My lungs struggled to breathe in the humid air and everything hurt all at once. My toes and fingers burned with the heat. Molten, I thought, with the golden light bouncing off of shined surfaces all around me. Molten like the sun. Too close to the sun. My head spun.
“Brynn,” Eliot said. His hand held my neck above the surface, his other arm encircling my waist. My hand reached out as if of its own accord and touched his cheek, traced his scar.
“I love you.” I heard myself say, the words mere whispers floating over the steam of the water. My eyes were closing, the fuzziness in my mind threatening to take over.
“I love you too,” Eliot said. His fingers slid through my hair, but I could barely feel their touch. He loved me.
“Brynn?” He loved me. He loved me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and let myself fall back into darkness.
I remember the way my mother washed my hair in the tub when I was little, rinsing the soap out with tepid water as I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried not to shiver. She sat behind me, and I remember most of all the large rust crack that ran down the side of the tub from the top, marring the old white porcelain with an ugly streak of red. Sometimes I scraped at the rust with my thumbnail to try to get it off, but it always came back worse. Some cracks can’t be fixed easily, I guess.
Evil things happen, and good things happen, and in neither physics nor religion is there an explanation that makes any kind of sense. When the world decides to hurt, there’s no way around it, no magical word
s that will save the day or turn back time and bring the dead to life. There’s no such thing as fate, or wickedness, or girls who can be princesses and girls who can’t. There’s only people, and we all do the best we can.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. She has to be okay.
Eliot fielded questions from the policemen while his private doctor examined Brynn in the other room. Her breathing had returned to normal, but she slipped in and out of consciousness, whispering words that he could not understand. Once she cried out for her mother, and then fell into a sleep. He trusted the family doctor with his own life, but he couldn’t help but glance over nervously through the doorway as the police asked him for the hundredth time to explain the order of events. The hunter he had knocked out was not dead but close to it; Eliot frowned upon hearing the news. The policemen were suspicious, but Eliot’s surname and his family’s reputation were enough to grant him some amount of protection from overly enthusiastic officials. Once the police left Eliot hurried back to Brynn’s bedside. Her lips were a pale, pale pink and she was breathing shallowly.
“How is she?”
Dr. Toth took off the warm cloth from her forehead. His old hands still were steadier than Eliot’s, and Eliot waited in rapt attention for his verdict.
“She’ll be fine with proper rest. We’ll pay close attention to her extremities to make sure nothing is permanently damaged. It looks like you got her into a warm bath in time.”
“But she’s unconscious.” Eliot bent down to Brynn, watching her chest rise and fall under the covers.
“Not unconscious, just sleeping. She’s had a hard time and when she wakes up she’ll probably need to speak with another doctor.”
“What doctor?”
“A therapist, Dr. Herceg.” The old physician looked up at him over his spectacles. “The girl’s been through a hard time. She should talk to someone about it.”
