The Other Side Of Midnight

by Georgia Le Carre

  Now she is gone. I will never speak to her again.

  I think of her laughing, I think of her staring enraptured at that Professor, I think of her saying, “I love you,” when we were hanging on the edge of the mountain. So many images flash into my head. Then suddenly, an image floats into my head. Zelena saying I will suffer a terrible loss. I stand and rush out of my caravan. I can see her light is on. I dash to her caravan and bang on her door urgently.

  She opens it, stands back, and silently allows me to enter.

  “The terrible loss has happened,” I hiss.

  She closes the door and nods sadly. “Yes, I can see.”

  “Did you know? Did you know my best friend was going to die?”

  “No, I only knew it would be a great loss.”

  “She didn’t even get to finish her sentence,” I gasp brokenly.

  She opens her arms out to me. Something snaps inside me and I rush into them. My broken heart understands that here is sanctuary, a soft place where I can grieve. Hot tears pour down my cheeks, and I sob until my body heaves, and I feel as if I will break.

  “That’s it child, you’ll make yourself ill. Let’s us have a cup of tea,” she says gently.

  Weak with sorrow and sobbing, I let her lead me to the table. She pulls out a chair and I slump on it with my face buried in my hands. The hurt is terrible. I close my eyes and rock my body. I am aware of her boiling water, opening containers, spooning tea, pouring the boiled water into cups, and moving towards me. She puts a cup in front of me and the other on the opposite end. Then I hear her sit down opposite me.

  I raise my head and look at her. “I’ll never know what she wanted to say to me.”

  “What she wanted to say to you is unimportant, the only important thing is, her soul wanted you to be the last voice she heard before she went.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We make contracts before we come to earth. We agree to certain things, certain indignities and certain sufferings, because we know it will advance our evolution. One of the things she agreed to was a short life, but she wanted that brief life to end with one last time hearing your voice.”

  I stare at her through tears. Hope trembles in my voice as I ask, “Can you do a séance? Can I speak to her?”

  She shakes her head regretfully. “I’m sorry, I don’t do séances, but I can tell you this. She lived an honest, blameless life, so she has nothing to regret, and the place she goes to will reflect the clean life she lived.”

  I press my lips together tightly to stop my chin from quivering. “Why did she agree to such a short life?”

  “Perhaps her job is done.”

  “How can her job be done?” I demand almost angrily. “She was so young and she had so many dreams. She never got to fall in love, have children, be a grandmother, and she never got to have the career she wanted.”

  “Those are earthly things. You think they are important, but they are not. She has done what she came to do and now she is gone.”

  “You don’t understand, she wanted to live. She lived such a healthy lifestyle, she was worried she would outlive me and be alone for too long.”

  “The mind is not the soul. Those were not the things her soul wanted to experience in this incarnation. She has done what she was supposed to do,” she insists quietly.

  “What has she done?”

  “It is not for you or me to judge. She’s the lightning before the thunder. There is a storm coming, Autumn. I warned you, remember?”

  My mouth opens. “You didn’t tell me it would involve her.”

  “I didn’t know, but she has done what she came to do. One day you will understand.”

  “I will never, ever understand why she was taken away from me,” I cry bitterly.

  “The day you will understand is coming sooner than you think.”

  I’m in such a distressed state I do not think to question her mysterious words. “Oh, Zelena, I miss her so much. I don’t know if I can bear it.”

  “I know. I know you’re hurting now. Drink your tea, child, before it gets cold. It will do you good.”

  I lift the cup and drink the brew. It tastes of nothing. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands. “What do I do now?”

  “Now you sleep, but tomorrow you will go back up the mountain and continue your painting.”

  I frown. “How did you know I was painting him?”

  “You are an artist and he is a marvelous subject. Of course, you are painting him.”

  I sigh deeply. “I have no desire to paint.”

  “Work will heal your heart.”

  There are other questions gnawing at my brain, but I feel too exhausted to deal with them. My eyelids start to feel heavy. I glance at her bed. It looks orderly and neat. My caravan is full of memories of Sam. Even the bed will smell of her.

  “Why don’t you go to sleep on my bed?” she offers kindly.

  “What about you?” I mumble half-heartedly. I’m so sleepy and drained I can hardly keep my eyes open.

  “I never sleep at night. I make my potions and only snatch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon. Go on. I will wake you early in the morning so you won’t be late to work.”

  I walk to the bed and as soon as my head touches the pillow I am gone to a place where there is no pain.

  Zelena

  I pull the duvet over her sleeping form and for a long time, stand looking down at her innocent face. This is a tragedy she will never get over. The way I never got over the death of my daughter. Always, she will mourn for this senseless loss.

  I think of her trusting eyes filling with horror at what I must do. I wish with all my heart there was a different way, but there isn’t. I harden my heart.

  Betrayal, I must see in her eyes.

  Chapter 50

  Rocco

  I see Zelena’s door open, but it is not Autumn that comes out. It is Zelena. She walks to the edge of the field and makes a beckoning motion in the general direction of the forest. Immediately, I start walking quickly towards her.

  From the moment Raoul reported that she was not at the gallery, I knew something was wrong. Pure instinct alone had lead me to the bar. I had waited in the dark for her and followed her home, keeping enough distance that she never felt my presence. I knew she was devastated, but I didn’t know why. And I knew not to approach her. If she had wanted me, she would have called me, she would have come to me. I bled for her as she walked barefoot on the road. Her gait swaying and unsteady.

  It did not surprise me when she went into Zelena’s, but it did surprise me when she didn’t come out.

  “What’s going on?” I ask urgently as I reach Zelena.

  “I put her to sleep. They killed her friend today. Hit and run,” she says quietly.

  “Sam?” I breathe incredulously. I never expected that.

  She nods stiffly. There is some strong emotion inside her, but she makes a great effort to hide it from me. I am too furious to wonder what it is.

  “How can you be sure it is them and not a coincidence?”

  “Because I am Zelena and I know things others do not.”

  “Why would they do that?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “I can think of no reason to do that. Ask your sister.”

  “Take care of her,” I say and begin to run. I run back to the parking lot of the bar and get into my car, then I drive so fast to the city, the scenery outside my windows blur. My hands grip the steering wheel so hard, they hurt when I eventually arrive at my destination, and release the steering wheel.

  Her housekeeper opens the door. She takes one look at my face and cowers away. I don’t need her to tell me where Isadora is. I stride through the ostentatiously luxurious house and kick down her living room door.

  She makes a great show of looking unconcerned.

  She was flicking through a magazine and she looks up and smiles. She is wearing a white silk trouser suit and gold high-heeled sandals. There is something undeniably and heartbreakin
gly beautiful about her, and she may even possess the loveliest eyes of any living creature, but this is a complete mirage. The truth is rotten.

  I stride up to her, grab her wig, pull it off her head, and fling it across the room.

  There. This is the truth. She is not beautiful at all. In reality, she is ugly beyond description. Every atom in my body recoils from the sight of her. The skin on her head has become even more revolting. It is red, with brown boils that weep with liquid and pus. Not like a skin disease, but like something evil. The disgusting smell of rotting and death rising from her exposed sores fills my nostrils. It is so overpowering it actually makes me want to retch.

  “Why?” I snarl.

  She shrugs nonchalantly, stands and walks towards her wig. Bending down she picks it up and fits it back on her head. Then she faces me. Her eyes glitter wickedly, daring me to hurt her. Yes, she’d like that. She’d like to push me into making a mistake and give her a reason to trap me into her malevolent plans.

  “Sometimes I think mother must have dropped you on your head when you were a baby, little brother. Isn’t it obvious? Losing her best friend will only push her closer to you. You should be thanking me. I just made it easy for you.”

  “She had nothing to do with any of this.”

  “I care less for her life than I do for a bug I squash under my shoe. You will see for yourself in the coming days what I have done for you.”

  I am so furious I want to destroy her, but I know I can’t. Anyway, it won’t solve anything. My parents will take her place. If I destroy them, others will take their place. I have to find a way to defeat them all. I take a deep breath, and holding myself tightly in rein, I take one last look at her. The corruption in her cunning eyes, her cruel mouth, her smooth skin… then I start to walk away.

  “You think you can survive everything?” she flings at my back. “She might be important to you, but is she all that matters? Don’t we matter? We are your blood.”

  I turn back slowly. Her hands are clenched at her sides, and her eyes are hard and cold. I feel nothing for her. I feel nothing for any of them. My words are slow and measured. “You know I have never believed in the greater good. See where it got the Incas. All those hearts sacrificed, that river of spilled blood flowing down the temple steps, and their civilization was still obliterated, gone without a trace.” I turn away and carry on walking towards the door.

  “We are in the same boat as them, Rocco. We, you won’t survive this unless you give her up.”

  I don’t turn back. I don’t break my stride. I don’t care if I don’t survive. I will never sacrifice Autumn to her.

  Some kind of shudder rises from inside me, or perhaps it is a long-suppressed piece of knowledge. I know now Autumn is no longer safe. I am dealing with a mad woman. A woman who will stop at nothing, and do anything to survive.

  I have to tell Autumn everything as soon as possible, and if her answer is what I think it will be, then I have to be prepared to fight all of them.

  They cannot win. I won’t fucking let them. I’ll perish before they hurt a single hair on her head.

  Chapter 51

  Autumn

  By the time I am gently shaken awake, the sun is already streaming in through the windows. I look into Zelena’s wrinkled face and blink with confusion. Then I remember coming here last night, and why I came, and pain is instant, and like a dagger in my heart. With a cry of sorrow, I sit up, and swing my legs to the floor.

  “Thanks for letting me sleep here. I was so tired last night.”

  “It was the tea. A sedative concoction I made. You needed it.”

  I nod blankly. “Yes. I suppose I kinda lost it last night.”

  “Go to work now, child, then go up the mountain to paint. Work will occupy your mind and keep the pain away.”

  I stand and look at her. “Thanks again, Zelena. I feel a bit better this morning. It was the shock. It made me go crazy.” I scratch my head. “I was in such a state I think I even kneed Joe last night.”

  She smiles. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m off.”

  “Take care of yourself, little one.”

  I go back to my caravan. The first thing I see is the box of organic cereal. I swallow hard and rush to the shower. I get ready as fast as I can and walk to work. When I get to work Larry is already there. He is actually moving the vacuum cleaner around. I stare at him with astonishment. It is immediately clear he has never vacuumed anything in his life, and he looks ill at ease and to be honest quite ridiculous.

  “What are you doing here?” I shout above the noise.

  He starts and tries to switch off the vacuum, but fails to find the button. I walk up to him and turn it off. The room falls strangely silent.

  “Uh, I didn’t know if you would be coming in today in light of…” he trails off uncomfortably.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’m here now. Work will do me good.”

  He steps back awkwardly. “I’ll be… er… upstairs if you need me.” He takes a few steps away from me, then turns back. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Autumn.”

  I bite my lower lip so hard it hurts, and I nod. No words are possible. I realize then that pity is the worst thing for me. Zelena is right. I’ve got to work, keep my hands and mind occupied at all times. I walk to the vacuum cleaner and switch it on. I see the box with the green dress in the backroom and it hurts, but I deliberately walk towards it and carefully put it away into the backroom cupboard where my painting of the castle is.

  Then I carry on cleaning. I clean and clean, stopping only to call Rocco’s number at about ten thirty. He doesn’t answer so I leave a message that I will be driving up to see him after work to paint him. Then I find other things to do right through lunch. The afternoon is easier. Two customers and an artist comes in and it keeps me busy.

  As I am closing up, Raoul walks in. He nods silently, and I nod back. I follow him out silently, and he drives me up the mountain. At the place where Sam and I hung over the edge, I feel a terrible sense of loss. I squeeze my eyes shut and think of something different.

  William opens the door for me. “Good evening, Miss Delaney.”

  “Good evening, William.”

  “The Count is waiting for you.”

  He takes me to the room where Isadora had offered me wine. Rocco looks at me, and it is unbearable to see pity shining in his beautiful eyes. I guess Larry must have told him when Raoul found me gone from the gallery yesterday.

  “I’m so sorry, Autumn,” he says softly.

  “Yes, I’m sorry too.” My voice breaks, and I have to swallow the hard ball of pain in my throat. I want to run to him and let him hold me, but I’m afraid. I know I can’t use him as my crutch. I know he doesn’t belong to me. “Can we… can we… get on with the painting?”

  “Autumn, I know you’re grieving, but we really need to talk. It’s important. You need to know.”

  I run to him and throw my palm across his mouth. “Please, Rocco. Don’t. Not yet. I’m already so broken, I just couldn’t take another blow. Not yet. Just let me finish my painting, and then I promise, I’ll hear what you have to say.”

  “Oh, Autumn, I would have given everything I own to protect you from this pain.”

  “Don’t pity me, Rocco. Please. Just let me paint you. I need to occupy my hands and mind. Otherwise, I fear I will go mad with fury and sorrow.”

  “Would you like some food first?” he asks gently.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  I realize I haven’t eaten all day. The last thing I ate was yesterday, part of a burger. And yet I do not feel hungry.

  “You must eat something,” Rocco insists.

  “I’m not hungry,” I protest.

  Gently, his fingers touch the thin skin under my eyes. “Either you eat or you do not paint.”

  I nod. The whole world seems alien to me. All day I have been waiting for her to call m
e. Tears fill my eyes and run down his fingers. A look of terrible sadness crosses his eyes.

  “You are mine, Autumn. No matter what happens, you are mine.” Then he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the sofa where Isadora had sat. He lays me on it. The tears roll down my face. I want to stop crying, but I can’t. “I loved her,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  “I feel so hurt, so devastated. Nothing makes sense anymore. I just want her to come back.”

  “She’s not coming back, Autumn.”

  I beat his chest. “It’s unfair. It’s unfair,” I sob.

  He pulls me towards him and holds me tight. I don’t know how long I stay like that, but eventually, he pulls away. “It’s time for you to eat. It’s just soup and bread.”

  I don’t remember him calling anyone, but almost as if he had, someone comes in with a tray bearing soup and a hunk of bread. The soup is yellow with a circular pattern of cream in it. I take a spoonful. It tastes of nothing.

  “Keep eating,” he instructs.

  I take another. And another. He tears a bit of bread, dips it in the soup, and holds it to my mouth. I let him feed me, as if I am a baby. To my surprise the bowl becomes empty, and the bread is reduced to crumbs.

  “Feel like painting now?”

  I nod.

  We move to the library. He takes up position and I start to paint, and to my great surprise Zelena was right. For the first time since Sam was snatched away from me, I forget to mourn and yearn for her. In fact, I forget everything. There is nothing but my painting, the thick viscous paint, the right brush, the rag, the turpentine, and the subject… that I must now confess I am in love with.

  Chapter 52