Angel of Ash

by Law, Josephine

  “So no one has ever told you, what skill you lack?” He asked snidely. “To entranced with visions of your large tits, perhaps.”

  She bit her lip and kept her gaze averted from his, her heart thumping heavily in her chest, her palms sweaty, clutching her gray gown tightly. Please, escape, she thought to herself. I just want to escape.

  “Don’t you agree?” He asked her softly, a smile in his voice, twirling the wine in his hand. She did not answer. Slamming his glass down and grabbing her hand he yelled at her, “Do you not agree?”

  She couldn’t answer, her cheeks red, mottled, heat rising to her head. He squeezed her hand tighter.

  “Please,” she managed to drag out of her throat. “Stop-”

  “Stop what? I speak the truth.” She shook her head. He smiled bitterly.

  “Come.” He clenched her hand tighter.

  “Please, no, I’m sorry, please, yes, I agree, I have no talent, yes, I agree, I have no talent,” she whispered horribly, berating herself.

  His hand lifted from hers. He smiled, pleased. Standing without another word, he left her alone, abandoned, demoralized with the servants for her company.

  She wouldn’t fight back, even when he entered her room at night and tenderly made love to her, she could think of nothing except the words which he demeaned her with. She hated his words, such horrid ones they were. He lay asleep next to her and she slowly got out of bed, hoping for escape.

  “Where are you going?” He asked.

  She froze, turning around; his eyes were wide, bright upon hers.

  “To-to my room, sir.” She hesitantly stated.

  He smiled, she hated that smile, it would bode her no good. She wished that she had never moved. “Come here,” he commanded.

  Fear froze her to the floor; a chill crept over her body. She tried to speak, but nothing would come out. He stared at her, anticipating, waiting.

  He did not repeat his command, he would not have to. She slowly fearfully walked towards him, her breathing heavy and ragged.

  “Why so frightened?” He delighted in asking, hating himself so much, hating her. “Why so frightened?”

  She couldn’t speak, shaking her head mutely, naked before him. “So quick to run away, such a little child. So weak. I knew a woman like you once. A very…sad woman. A whore, she was pregnant like you once.” He quietly stated because he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to, his heart was hurting, and he hated this life! He hated himself so much, hated the pain in which he lived with every day of his life. For the past years it had eaten away at him, eaten away at his soul, torn him apart and now, now he was seeking his revenge, turning someone else into the horror in which he’d been turned into. “A great whore, a liar, an adulterer. Everything debased and evil, Babylon in female form. Such a weak woman she was, constantly whoring herself. She could not help herself. It is a woman’s nature. I think she has been reincarnated into you.”

  Angel shook her head numbly, her eyes wide and frightened.

  Asher half smiled, one side of his lips cocking up, his dimples deep, flashing in and out as he spoke softly. “Yes, the more I look at you I see her. She’s dead, cold, food for maggots and worms now, burning in hell as well as she should.” He paused. “A hell of her own choosing. I see you in her.” He stated more forcefully.

  “I’m not her,” Angel whispered horrified. “Please, sir, I am not her.”

  “Silence!” He cried. “Your music! Like your tears! It sickens me!” He sat up, grabbing her arms, shaking her. “You are her, aren’t you? You are my death! I hate you!” He yelled at her, shaking her, standing. “I hate you! I wish myself death, as that whore is dead, to get away from your eyes, your face, your everything. I wish myself death; you have no place in my life!”

  Her body shook, her tears fled down her face, sobs wrenched from her body, she dropped her eyes, terrified, bewildered as he continued yelling at her, hating her.

  “You are my death! You have come back to haunt me, torture me. I have known no peace since the first I saw you. You wish for me to call you by name, but you are no angel! No, you are death, an evil whore! Nothing more!”

  She stood and accepted his abuse and let the tears fall upon her bare chest and squeezed her eyes tightly, hoping for peace, for forgiveness.

  Finally, finally he lamented, wearily dropping to the edge of the bed disentangling his hands from her arms, as she hid her face and tears from his view, broken, tears upon his face also. “I hate you so much,” he lied in a soft whisper, his face bowed and hands hanging loosely between his legs. “So very much. If you had never come here, if you had never known Hunter. You haunt me.”

  She did not speak.

  “If only it were different,” he said quietly. “It all went wrong, so many years ago. Say something,” he commanded her. “Say something. Make me realize you are not her, you are not that whore I once knew.”

  She did not speak, shaking her head fiercely, her hands balled in tight fists pressed against her lips.

  “Say something!” He screamed.

  She jumped, backed away. “I am Angel…I am Angel. I am your Angel. Please, look at me, I am your angel….please, stop, please stop hurting me. I have done you no wrong, husband. I have never betrayed you, I am Angel. I am your wife, I am angel.”

  “Why, why did they give you such a name?” He asked miserably.

  “Because they saw something in me that you do not.”

  “I see blackness, nothing but blackness. My blackness. My blackness.”

  “Look at me, please, please, just once, look at me and just see me. Just see me. Please, don’t see her, don’t see her, every time you look at me, you see her and you never see me. Just once, just once, look at me, not her.”

  “I cannot,” he said, “I have tried, I have tried and I cannot, I cannot see you. I am sorry, I cannot see you.”

  She fell to her knees on the floor in front of him, they nude, alone, humbled, hurting, in so much pain and agony. She touched his legs, opened them wider and knelt between them, holding his hands; she lifted his face, cupping his strong jaw. His eyes were red in the dim light of the fire.

  “It is me, Asher,” she softly spoke. “God gives only one life to each person born. I have never known you before my birth but I have known you in my soul since my birth. I love you as I will never love another. And yet, you kill me with your words, your thoughts, your actions, your deeds. You hate me as I have never been hated and still I do not care. I would only wish for tonight, that you look at me and you see me. Just for tonight.”

  He stared at her, stared at her so hard as if memorizing every line and curve on her face. “Demons have haunted me all the days of my life. I have fought them every single day. I am not whole. There is a grave sickness within me that has no cure. My soul is missing; my heart beats but lies vacant. You know this madness which I tell you. I am sickened with it. It is a cancer, it is my death. But at this moment, this moment, I see you.”

  He paused, studying her face, his hands touching it lightly, embedding it into his memory. “I see you.” All the dreams he had once had, the innocence he had once been which had been killed for him at the young age of six, everything that he had once been came crashing upon him and in this stillness of time he dreamed of a future, he dreamed of normalcy, he dreamed of love. The ache within him was whole and excruciating. Terror.

  Finally wearily after long moments, he dropped his hands away from her face, he blinked, and the shadow came down upon them again.

  “Go, now, my lady,” he commanded. “Go and never speak of this night again.”

  She did as he commanded.

  That night had been a turning point in their relationship. Angel did as he bid her, she made no mention of the demons which haunted him, no mention of the woman he’d given his soul to, no mention of betrayal or pain. Being his wife was a torture, mentally exhausting. He did not trust her, did not love her, and condemned her at nearly every turn. He abused her trust and love and fought
himself at every turn, fearing a growing madness. He kept Angel isolated and alone, in which he became her only lifeline to the outside world. He made her need him, abusing her so.

  The only person that was allowed inside the home was Anthony, Asher’s closest cousin. Asher had not made amends with the rest of his family and ignored his mother’s letters at reconciliation. He’d ignored his brother’s calls ordering the butler to turn them away at the door. Angel hadn’t seen her best friend Hunter, in months and had not once received reply to her numerous letters she sent out.

  They both equally yet differently felt the isolation that was imposed upon the two. Asher’s out of anger and hatred, Angel’s because it was condemned of her so. She made the best of the lot in life, still aptly and humbly trying to be a loving and understanding wife. Still trying to ease the burden’s within Asher and at every turn she was met with an impenetrable wall. And even though, to her, Asher did not seem as angry and as hateful after the night of his shocking revelations, still, still he found small ways to hurt her and to keep her humbled to his side.

  Anthony called for a visit, often coming to the house two to three times a week, he did so more to check up on Angel, and then keep Asher in his company. He found himself empathetic to his favored cousin and his new cousin in law, and secretly he fell for her, for few could withstand her beauty, her still sweet innocence, her smiles and thoughtful words, the enhancement which were her eyes.

  At the door at the same time as the postman, who was also his, since he lived less than a mile away, he took the many envelopes from the man, knocking at Asher’s door smartly, and a favored and only family guest.

  The butler answered, while Anthony allowed him to take his coat. “I’ll take these to the lord, where is he?” Anthony asked.

  “Not here, my lord, he shall return momentarily, the lady is in the library, however, shall I make yourself known to her?” He asked.

  “No, I’ll go, send a spot of tea, please, Dobbs,” he commented, his mood light, as near as it always was. Of course, of course that mood was enhanced by the fact that Angel was up.

  He studied her briefly as she stood next to an elegant French window, a book in her hands, the early morning sun bright, casting her in glorious golden color and light. His breath caught in his throat and he captured his full of her, damning Asher, damning him.

  “My lady,” Anthony said, hiding his feelings, jovial, his deep dimple deepened as he swaggered in cheekily.

  Turning, Angel smiled, she had a large fondness for Anthony, he had become a dear friend to her in this imposed isolation and the only person in which Asher trusted. “Cousin,” she returned, as he greeted her with a kiss upon her cheek.

  She would have taken his hand, however, but they were filled with letters and she smiled. “What is this?”

  “Oh,” Anthony returned, handing her the envelopes. “From the postmaster, I intercepted him at the door.” He said, thrusting the envelopes in her hand while turning away, the housekeeper and a maid bringing refreshments. “I hope you don’t mind my company, Asher and I were to take a ride through the parks but I have must of just missed him.”

  “Oh, of course not,” she returned, settling herself upon the settee across from his placing the letters down upon the table in front of her. “You are much welcomed, Anthony. I believe the lord shall return momentarily, he forgot papers at his office.”

  “Splendid, for I do favor your company more than that boor’s. A nice pot of tea, a beautiful day and a wonderful hostess, my day has started off upon the right cheek.”

  “You’re a flirter, Anthony,” Angel could not help but smile. “How many women are your ‘favorite hostess”?

  “Too many to name,” he returned, his smile deep, watching her smile, something tightened inside of him. “But that is neither here nor there, come, pour me a cup if you please, even though it is sunny it is also a mite cold, there is a chill in the air. The summer I have fear is quickly dwindling.

  “Yes, that it is,” Angel began, pouring the tea. After pouring his, she poured her own, adding milk and lemon juice. Anthony dumped two spoonfuls of sugar in his as they spoke about the weather, topics of politics.

  “And the family,” Angel began. “Have you spoken to them recently?”

  Anthony paused. “Yes,” he began. “The brothers are in attendance in London.”

  “I know, Caleb dropped by not two days past, yet, Asher would not seek him entry.”

  “Stubborn boy,” Anthony paused. “That’s Asher for you; he’ll hold a grudge til his death.”

  Angel knew that for a fact. They were interrupted by Asher, striding in, smelling of the outside, windswept and in a reasonable mild manner.

  “Anthony,” he said as greeting, he looked at his wife, nodding in her general direction. Anthony studied the two, he knew without asking how they felt, Angel lovesick, Asher cold and callous.

  “Asher,” Anthony greeted. “My most favorite cousin,” he said, laughing slightly, Asher studied him darkly. “Oh, make cheer, it is a beautiful day, you have a wonderful wife and a child on the way. Little should darken your brow.”

  “Much darkens my brow, cousin,” Asher began, as Angel poured him a cup of tea. “But that is neither here nor there,” he said. “Come, are you ready for our ride.” He questioned taking the cup from Angel without touching her hand, without glancing at her, taking a short sip before placing it back down on the table.

  His hands stopped short, the tea hit the table heavily. Letters were stacked neatly in front of her. “What are these?” He asked, his blood running cold.

  “Today’s letters from the postmaster, Anthony collected them,” she said, lifting the letters, not noticing how his eyes darkened.

  “Did I tell you to touch them?” He barked at her, reaching to grab the letters.

  Shocked she dropped them from her hands, embarrassment at how he berated her in front of Anthony flooding her cheeks as she shook her head numbly. “No, no, forgive me sir,” she whispered, reaching to hurriedly restack them, her hands trembling.

  “There is no call for anger, Asher, the fault lays with me, I simply placed the envelopes in your lady’s hands when I entered the library.”

  It was too late, Asher wanted to say.

  Angel paused, her hand trembling over four fallen envelopes, only two had been addressed to Asher. The four were for her. Two from her father, one from Hunter and one from her aunt. “These letters are mine sir,” she said excitedly. “My father!” She exclaimed, smiling widely.

  Asher looked and could do nothing. Not now, not in front of Anthony. His fists tightened at his sides. No, it was unraveling, it all was coming undone. He watched as she excitedly opened the envelope from her father, reading through it hurriedly, a smile upon her lips, until she frowned, a deeper frown.

  Anthony and Asher watched.

  The same frown marred her face after she read the letters from Hunter and her aunt. She looked up with questioning eyes towards Asher who watched her broodingly.

  “They say,” she began. “They say they have sent numerous letters and have worried over me. They say they have not received word from me. Yet, how can this be so? I have sent letter after letter. Nearly a dozen to each of them. They say I have not replied to any of their letters, but how can this be so?”

  Asher did not speak.

  Anthony stood, staring at Asher, he knew guilt, and he knew fear. “Asher, the lady has asked a question of you.”

  Asher still did not speak.

  “Asher!”

  “Leave my home, Anthony,” he said slowly, coldly. “I sicken of your face mooning around my wife’s.”

  “You sicken of your own blackened heart, you bastard.” Anthony returned. “Tell her; tell her why she has not received their letters! Tell her why her family and friends have received nothing from her!”

  “Leave!” Asher yelled.

  Anthony would not be stopped. He ignored Asher, turning towards Angel. “You see don’t you, you kno
w why, don’t you. He’s kept them away from you, intercepted your letters. Don’t you see?”

  Angel felt a rush of lightness blind her momentarily. She slowly as if under water turned her head slowly back towards Asher, who still stood tensely, angrily, daring her to question him. “Is this true?” She asked softly.

  He did not answer.

  She stayed seated upon the settee, the many letters in her hands, wondering how many she’d received, wondering so many things. She’d never get answers.

  “Anthony, if you would kindly excuse me,” she said, standing up, the letters tightly clenched in her hands. She did not spare a glance at her husband, leaving the room and the intense silence.

  “What is your problem?” Anthony asked as soon as Angel was out of ear shot. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  But Asher would not answer him. He picked up his two letters, one from his mother, and another from a man of business. He sat upon a chair, opening the letters, ignoring Anthony, who marched towards a window, looking outward.

  It was long moments before Asher would speak. “It was only a matter of time,” he said.

  “What? That she found out what you were doing?”

  Shrugging, he smiled bitterly. “Only a matter of time. I do not fault you, Anthony.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? You have left your senses? You should fault yourself. Why do you treat her as you do? What evil has she done upon you?” He asked bewildered.

  “If you do not mind, I do not feel like riding, you may excuse yourself.”

  Anthony left angrily.

  Angel did not come down from her room for dinner, nor did she come down for breakfast the next morning. Asher knew she pouted, upset with him, he thought of going to her, but decided not to. She’d get over her anger, he told himself. He wouldn’t utter that he missed viewing her face next to him, could not admit such things even to himself. He took out his anger out the servants, seeing they could do no right in his eyes. On the third day of her isolation, he’d had enough, stomping from the breakfast room where he’d dined alone and to her room, turning the doorknob.