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WRITING Gone from place and time
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K
Kitti
Guest
Truth and Treason
It was the first full moon after her sixteenth birthday. She was sure of it because she kept track of it every year in a little journal under her pillow after her old nursemaid had told her that the first full moon after your birthday would be an auspicious day. Even though she knew she was right, she still slipped her hand underneath the pillow to pull out the leatherbound object. Before she could, however, she was startled by the sound of the door opening to her room. She turned with a guilty countenance, expecting it to be one of the maids who would chide her for still sitting in bed at this hour (that was how one's breasts became droopy, they told her matter-of-factly). Instead, she caught sight of her mother at the doorway.
The exasperated look on the older woman's face suggested that she expected her daughter to be dressed or at least out of bed already. That was obvious before the woman had even opened her mouth. However, aside from her lessons in dancing in preparation for her coming of age celebration, there hadn't been anything scheduled to be done that day, as far as the young girl was aware and her expression shifted to confusion.
"You'll have to get dressed as soon as possible, Aisone. Word has come that an important gentleman is visiting nearby for his cousin's wedding. One of the girls in his cousin's house is our cook's sister and she told him that you were having your coming of age celebration soon and that you've become such a lovely young lady and..." she frowned at the widening of her daughter's eyes as the young girl realized what she was being dragged into doing.
"We don't have time for you to sit around gaping, anyway. This is a marvelous opportunity!" Seeming to disregard the fact that it was her own rambling speech that had been the holdup, the older woman tugged her daughter toward the girlish vanity sitting against the bedroom wall. Aisone dreaded the days when her mother thought to take styling her daughter's hair into her own hands, for her hands were not especially gentle when she did it.
"Oh, never mind, I have to prepare. I'll have to have Lottie brush those knots out- LOTTIE!" The sudden frenzy of her mother broke the peaceful morning's stillness and Aisone wondered if she hadn't counted the days wrong after all. Without waiting for the girl in question, Aisone's mother bustled out of the room but her voice could still be heard down the hall.
"Where is Brigit? There's a gentleman coming by to meet Aisone today and someone needs to try to teach the girl how to charm a man before supper!" The only thing that brightened her morning was the sight of Lottie hurrying in, her cheeks pink from running up the stairs and a few wild curls bouncing free from her braid. She had a conspiratorial smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye as she picked up the brush.
"You look like you ate a whole plate of stewed collard" she informed the girl brightly, setting to work on the messy blonde bedhead. "Maybe you don't want to heard my newwws" she drew out the last syllable and Aisone knew that she was grinning even if she couldn't see her face. Fidgeting, the girl tried to turn around to look but was pushed back into place firmly but not unkindly. "Na' now, missus says we're in a hurry. I'll tell you though if you promise to sit still. Marnie told me that she saw this gentleman in his carriage when she was out buying eggs. Said it was fine as anything and he'd a handsome face about him."
Not knowing what to say, Aisone kept her eyes on her hands while Lottie twisted her hair into an elegant style and pinned it into place. She only glanced into the mirror when she heard a satisfied huff behind her and realized that no one was tugging at her scalp any longer. "It'll be all right, birdy. Marrying for money is better than marrying for love, you can't tuck love away for a rainy day."
With that, Lottie began to pull dresses out of the closet and look them over critically. Quickly plucking out an airy gown in dove grey, she worked on preparing the stockings and corset next. Her work in dressing Aisone was further complicated by the arrival of Brigit who droned over everyone else with her endless lecturing on how to play coy and act demure in front of a suitor. At one point, Aisone thought she might have been strangled to death by her own corset when Lottie couldn't hear her whining that it was too tight. Eventually, though, she was dressed and already tuning out the plump woman's lecture.
Before she knew it, it was time to head downstairs. Lottie had come up to get her, a broad smirk lighting her cheeks. "He's handsome after all," she giggled, taking Aisone's hand and leading her toward the staircase. Every footstep felt like she was walking into the gallows and the voices coming from the parlor seemed an eternity away from her. And yet, all at once, she was standing in front of the door. She gripped the handle tightly and entered.
The man seated on one of the fine chairs next to her father had an agreeable face, that's what Aisone noticed first. He turned to the door and he smiled all the way to his eyes. She let out the breath that she had been holding and smiled back at him. Her mother practically dragged her over to curtsy as she'd been taught and introduce herself - things that only came out properly because she'd had to practice doing it so many times. The man stood and kissed her hand, making Aisone's cheeks flush red.
"My name is Arnault Reyer and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aisone."
He helped her to sit on the settee and then asked if he could take the other seat. She shot a look to her father and then to her mother who nodded impatiently. With a gulp, Aisone realized that she couldn't get the words to come out right and just nodded at him in return. Despite sitting next to her, Arnault continued to talk with her father, something about acquiring a promising pup from a recent litter belonging to his uncle.
The talk of puppies made Aisone think of the kittens and she opened her mouth without thinking. In a tumble of words she began a stream of details about the mouser in the kitchens who had just given birth and how enchanting the little kittens were now that they could finally open their eyes. She would have told him more about how she wanted the one with the grey and white fur except that she caught sight of her mother's horrified expression and shut her mouth at once. Her mother looked as though Aisone had just confessed to dancing nude on the lawn and Aisone froze again in shame, feeling the heat rising in her face.
If he had seen her mother's expression, Arnault didn't say anything about it. Instead, he turned his full attention to Aisone and smiled again. "I had a kitten when I was a little boy; she was all white with blue eyes and I named her Daisy."
That night after dinner when Aisone was curling underneath the blankets of her bed, she remembered what Lottie had said about marrying someone for money rather than love. She wasn't sure exactly how much money Arnault had inherited or invested but she pulled the blankets up over her face and wished that she could marry him anyway and keep a great many kittens around the kitchens.
The exasperated look on the older woman's face suggested that she expected her daughter to be dressed or at least out of bed already. That was obvious before the woman had even opened her mouth. However, aside from her lessons in dancing in preparation for her coming of age celebration, there hadn't been anything scheduled to be done that day, as far as the young girl was aware and her expression shifted to confusion.
"You'll have to get dressed as soon as possible, Aisone. Word has come that an important gentleman is visiting nearby for his cousin's wedding. One of the girls in his cousin's house is our cook's sister and she told him that you were having your coming of age celebration soon and that you've become such a lovely young lady and..." she frowned at the widening of her daughter's eyes as the young girl realized what she was being dragged into doing.
"We don't have time for you to sit around gaping, anyway. This is a marvelous opportunity!" Seeming to disregard the fact that it was her own rambling speech that had been the holdup, the older woman tugged her daughter toward the girlish vanity sitting against the bedroom wall. Aisone dreaded the days when her mother thought to take styling her daughter's hair into her own hands, for her hands were not especially gentle when she did it.
"Oh, never mind, I have to prepare. I'll have to have Lottie brush those knots out- LOTTIE!" The sudden frenzy of her mother broke the peaceful morning's stillness and Aisone wondered if she hadn't counted the days wrong after all. Without waiting for the girl in question, Aisone's mother bustled out of the room but her voice could still be heard down the hall.
"Where is Brigit? There's a gentleman coming by to meet Aisone today and someone needs to try to teach the girl how to charm a man before supper!" The only thing that brightened her morning was the sight of Lottie hurrying in, her cheeks pink from running up the stairs and a few wild curls bouncing free from her braid. She had a conspiratorial smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye as she picked up the brush.
"You look like you ate a whole plate of stewed collard" she informed the girl brightly, setting to work on the messy blonde bedhead. "Maybe you don't want to heard my newwws" she drew out the last syllable and Aisone knew that she was grinning even if she couldn't see her face. Fidgeting, the girl tried to turn around to look but was pushed back into place firmly but not unkindly. "Na' now, missus says we're in a hurry. I'll tell you though if you promise to sit still. Marnie told me that she saw this gentleman in his carriage when she was out buying eggs. Said it was fine as anything and he'd a handsome face about him."
Not knowing what to say, Aisone kept her eyes on her hands while Lottie twisted her hair into an elegant style and pinned it into place. She only glanced into the mirror when she heard a satisfied huff behind her and realized that no one was tugging at her scalp any longer. "It'll be all right, birdy. Marrying for money is better than marrying for love, you can't tuck love away for a rainy day."
With that, Lottie began to pull dresses out of the closet and look them over critically. Quickly plucking out an airy gown in dove grey, she worked on preparing the stockings and corset next. Her work in dressing Aisone was further complicated by the arrival of Brigit who droned over everyone else with her endless lecturing on how to play coy and act demure in front of a suitor. At one point, Aisone thought she might have been strangled to death by her own corset when Lottie couldn't hear her whining that it was too tight. Eventually, though, she was dressed and already tuning out the plump woman's lecture.
Before she knew it, it was time to head downstairs. Lottie had come up to get her, a broad smirk lighting her cheeks. "He's handsome after all," she giggled, taking Aisone's hand and leading her toward the staircase. Every footstep felt like she was walking into the gallows and the voices coming from the parlor seemed an eternity away from her. And yet, all at once, she was standing in front of the door. She gripped the handle tightly and entered.
The man seated on one of the fine chairs next to her father had an agreeable face, that's what Aisone noticed first. He turned to the door and he smiled all the way to his eyes. She let out the breath that she had been holding and smiled back at him. Her mother practically dragged her over to curtsy as she'd been taught and introduce herself - things that only came out properly because she'd had to practice doing it so many times. The man stood and kissed her hand, making Aisone's cheeks flush red.
"My name is Arnault Reyer and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aisone."
He helped her to sit on the settee and then asked if he could take the other seat. She shot a look to her father and then to her mother who nodded impatiently. With a gulp, Aisone realized that she couldn't get the words to come out right and just nodded at him in return. Despite sitting next to her, Arnault continued to talk with her father, something about acquiring a promising pup from a recent litter belonging to his uncle.
The talk of puppies made Aisone think of the kittens and she opened her mouth without thinking. In a tumble of words she began a stream of details about the mouser in the kitchens who had just given birth and how enchanting the little kittens were now that they could finally open their eyes. She would have told him more about how she wanted the one with the grey and white fur except that she caught sight of her mother's horrified expression and shut her mouth at once. Her mother looked as though Aisone had just confessed to dancing nude on the lawn and Aisone froze again in shame, feeling the heat rising in her face.
If he had seen her mother's expression, Arnault didn't say anything about it. Instead, he turned his full attention to Aisone and smiled again. "I had a kitten when I was a little boy; she was all white with blue eyes and I named her Daisy."
That night after dinner when Aisone was curling underneath the blankets of her bed, she remembered what Lottie had said about marrying someone for money rather than love. She wasn't sure exactly how much money Arnault had inherited or invested but she pulled the blankets up over her face and wished that she could marry him anyway and keep a great many kittens around the kitchens.
K
Kitti
Guest
Coriander and Honey
The first time that Bojan laid eyes on the girl, his immediate impression was that there had been a mistake. She was so pallid and weak that she reminded him strongly of a freshly molted crab and the dark circles beneath her eyes gave him little confidence that she had gotten enough sleep to do as much as focus on anything he said. Still, orders were orders and he wasn't about to take the heat for not doing what he was told, even if it was an utter waste of time. They were paying for the time, not him.
"I was told you want to become a murderer" his smiled down at her, baring his teeth in an expression superficially like a smile but much too menacing to fit the term. If she didn't know what she was getting into from the start, it would not be better for anyone. They told him once that the road does not become softer only because you did not prepare to walk on stones. She seemed to recoil a little at his words but after a moment's pause, she nodded. Maybe the story that they told him about her was true after all.
"Stand up straight. Slouching is for layabouts and drunks." He watched her eyes for defiance but she lifted her chin and her shoulders fell back. She swept away ash blond hair plastered to her cheeks by sweat. Already, she looked more like someone that he could train than she had when he walked in the room. He spared the dingy cupboard a glance, from the peeling white paint on the walls to the slipshod polishing of the concrete floor and landing on the cot damp with sweat next to a bucket of vomit.
"How long have you been clean?" He growled, guessing it could be little more than a day from her appearance and the state of the bed. She was just a scrap of a thing and how she'd ended up in this festering hovel was anyone's guess. He'd seen worse but he did admire the fact that she was still standing as if at attention. Her eyes met his with surprising determination when she replied.
"Just since yesterday. I think it was yesterday." Her voice trembled a little at the end, trying to recall how long she'd been writhing beneath the sheets in between sessions of vomiting. She wasn't in a state to learn anything, let alone be taught how to handle a weapon. Bojan squinted down at her with his one good eye. He made his decision.
"Your name?"
"Corinne."
Bojan rolled the word around on his tongue and made a sour face.
"No."
She opened her mouth as if to protest but thought better of it. He watched her close it again quickly and was impressed with how well she was taking to this already.
"Corinne is a name for princess or fairy. You took a wrong turn somewhere. But Corie, Corie is the name of a killer." Longer, more complex sentences drew his accent out more and he avoided them when possible. She didn't answer him but he saw her nod.
"Drink more water. You look like shit. I cannot work with shit."
He turned away without so much as a proper goodbye and exited the room. He would be back again in a few days to see if she looked like she could be taught anything worth knowing yet. He made a mental note to bring a pair of scissors to cut off her hair but realized that she'd stand out like an ugly thumb. Perhaps a ribbon, then, instead.
"I was told you want to become a murderer" his smiled down at her, baring his teeth in an expression superficially like a smile but much too menacing to fit the term. If she didn't know what she was getting into from the start, it would not be better for anyone. They told him once that the road does not become softer only because you did not prepare to walk on stones. She seemed to recoil a little at his words but after a moment's pause, she nodded. Maybe the story that they told him about her was true after all.
"Stand up straight. Slouching is for layabouts and drunks." He watched her eyes for defiance but she lifted her chin and her shoulders fell back. She swept away ash blond hair plastered to her cheeks by sweat. Already, she looked more like someone that he could train than she had when he walked in the room. He spared the dingy cupboard a glance, from the peeling white paint on the walls to the slipshod polishing of the concrete floor and landing on the cot damp with sweat next to a bucket of vomit.
"How long have you been clean?" He growled, guessing it could be little more than a day from her appearance and the state of the bed. She was just a scrap of a thing and how she'd ended up in this festering hovel was anyone's guess. He'd seen worse but he did admire the fact that she was still standing as if at attention. Her eyes met his with surprising determination when she replied.
"Just since yesterday. I think it was yesterday." Her voice trembled a little at the end, trying to recall how long she'd been writhing beneath the sheets in between sessions of vomiting. She wasn't in a state to learn anything, let alone be taught how to handle a weapon. Bojan squinted down at her with his one good eye. He made his decision.
"Your name?"
"Corinne."
Bojan rolled the word around on his tongue and made a sour face.
"No."
She opened her mouth as if to protest but thought better of it. He watched her close it again quickly and was impressed with how well she was taking to this already.
"Corinne is a name for princess or fairy. You took a wrong turn somewhere. But Corie, Corie is the name of a killer." Longer, more complex sentences drew his accent out more and he avoided them when possible. She didn't answer him but he saw her nod.
"Drink more water. You look like shit. I cannot work with shit."
He turned away without so much as a proper goodbye and exited the room. He would be back again in a few days to see if she looked like she could be taught anything worth knowing yet. He made a mental note to bring a pair of scissors to cut off her hair but realized that she'd stand out like an ugly thumb. Perhaps a ribbon, then, instead.
K
Kitti
Guest
Coriander and Honey
The door was still closed.
If she had not known, by now so well that she could have found it in a moonless night, which door to approach then it might have been lost in the row of identical doors lining the wall. There was nothing to suggest that anything was out of the ordinary and indeed everything looked just as uniformly poor and uninspired as it had for as long as anyone could remember. Yet there was something, something that she couldn't put her finger on. The hairs at the back of her neck pulled as the strands tried to stand on end. She stiffened in response, felt the muscles in her shoulders pulling taut.
Incongruous with the strained atmosphere, the weight on her hip squirmed impatiently. She knew he eager to be back inside. She lowered the little boy to the ground and bent down in front of him, pressing her finger to her lips to shush him. Obediently, he puckered lips that had already begun to part with a question but his surly expression conveyed perfectly his displeasure.
Corie gestured toward a door further down the hall in the direction that they had come, mouthing "Joey" as she did it. For less than a second, the boy's eyes lit up at the prospect of getting to go and play with the other boy. Almost at once, however, he remembered that he'd been out playing with Corie already and wanted to see his momma now.
Corie shushed him again, more urgently. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him near to whisper "soon" so quietly into his ear that any breeze might have stolen the it away. Perhaps even Isaac could feel the wrongness in the air, the oppressive stillness, because he easily relented and turned back in the direction that they had just come.
Straightening, Corie turned all her attention to surveying the area. It was quiet, uncomfortably so, like a blanket had been draped over the apartment building to muffle outside noise. It wasn't time for everyone who worked normal jobs to be off work yet, she reminded herself. It was usually pretty quiet during the day with children either carefully sequestered indoors or playing where ill-tempered adults wouldn't box their ears for shouting.
Even as she tried to reassure herself, Corie felt a growing pressure in her abdomen that she couldn't reasonably explain. She padded slowly to the door, untying the ribbon from her braid as she did so. With her other hand, she reached for the doorknob. The cool metal under her fingertips moved easily under her touch - unlocked.
Creaking open the door broke the suffocating silence and opened into hell.
Uncharacteristic disarray was the first thing to catch her eye, bedsheets pulled half off of the bed and the blanket hanging over the edge where a corner of it just grazed the floor. From there, Corie's eyes traveled across the room, following dark smears across the bare wood. They ended in a puddle beneath a body, crumpled against the wall. Standing over her, a dark silhouette of a man whose hands were dripping red.
Crashing waves of red flooded over her vision, cascading over everything. Distant words drowned out by the cascade that overtook her
"I didn't mean to kill her."
His last words, echoing over and over again. Nonstop. Everything else faded into dark red except words playing on repeat.
With a jolt, Corie opened her eyes in bed.
If she had not known, by now so well that she could have found it in a moonless night, which door to approach then it might have been lost in the row of identical doors lining the wall. There was nothing to suggest that anything was out of the ordinary and indeed everything looked just as uniformly poor and uninspired as it had for as long as anyone could remember. Yet there was something, something that she couldn't put her finger on. The hairs at the back of her neck pulled as the strands tried to stand on end. She stiffened in response, felt the muscles in her shoulders pulling taut.
Incongruous with the strained atmosphere, the weight on her hip squirmed impatiently. She knew he eager to be back inside. She lowered the little boy to the ground and bent down in front of him, pressing her finger to her lips to shush him. Obediently, he puckered lips that had already begun to part with a question but his surly expression conveyed perfectly his displeasure.
Corie gestured toward a door further down the hall in the direction that they had come, mouthing "Joey" as she did it. For less than a second, the boy's eyes lit up at the prospect of getting to go and play with the other boy. Almost at once, however, he remembered that he'd been out playing with Corie already and wanted to see his momma now.
Corie shushed him again, more urgently. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him near to whisper "soon" so quietly into his ear that any breeze might have stolen the it away. Perhaps even Isaac could feel the wrongness in the air, the oppressive stillness, because he easily relented and turned back in the direction that they had just come.
Straightening, Corie turned all her attention to surveying the area. It was quiet, uncomfortably so, like a blanket had been draped over the apartment building to muffle outside noise. It wasn't time for everyone who worked normal jobs to be off work yet, she reminded herself. It was usually pretty quiet during the day with children either carefully sequestered indoors or playing where ill-tempered adults wouldn't box their ears for shouting.
Even as she tried to reassure herself, Corie felt a growing pressure in her abdomen that she couldn't reasonably explain. She padded slowly to the door, untying the ribbon from her braid as she did so. With her other hand, she reached for the doorknob. The cool metal under her fingertips moved easily under her touch - unlocked.
Creaking open the door broke the suffocating silence and opened into hell.
Uncharacteristic disarray was the first thing to catch her eye, bedsheets pulled half off of the bed and the blanket hanging over the edge where a corner of it just grazed the floor. From there, Corie's eyes traveled across the room, following dark smears across the bare wood. They ended in a puddle beneath a body, crumpled against the wall. Standing over her, a dark silhouette of a man whose hands were dripping red.
Crashing waves of red flooded over her vision, cascading over everything. Distant words drowned out by the cascade that overtook her
"I didn't mean to kill her."
His last words, echoing over and over again. Nonstop. Everything else faded into dark red except words playing on repeat.
With a jolt, Corie opened her eyes in bed.
K
Kitti
Guest
Coriander and Honey
The first rays of bleak grey morning fought to illuminate and awaken a small, dark room. Though the few furnishings were old and noticeably worn, they were also obviously well-cared for and clean. At the center of the room, a bed still draped in shadows began to receive a dusting of the weak sunshine. Beneath blankets whose color was indiscernible in the low lighting, a woman stirred.
Not yet opening her eyes, she peeled the covers away from herself and shivered when the chill air rushed to devour the warm pocket she had been nestled in. Her movements were deliberate but careful and she slid out of the bed without jostling the other side in the slightest. Sleepy fingers combed through the pale hair spilling over her shoulders and she opened her mouth to speak before her expression dimmed. As though in confirmation, her eyes gave the empty bed a cursory once over before she pulled her gaze away.
Touching her feet to the floor with the caution of a swimmer dipping their foot into icy water, she recoiled a little at first from the cold and unyielding surface. After a small pause, she pressed the pads of her feet fully down with determination and thoughts of freshly brewed coffee. Before leaving the room, she shrugged on a thin navy bathrobe to warm her gooseflesh arms and then continued out into a short hall.
A quick left turn took her into the impersonal off-white of the bathroom where she began to liven up and get ready for her day. Her fingers brushed across the pair of dry toothbrushes left sitting in the plastic cup on the sink as she returned her damp one to its place and she fought the stinging at the corners of her eyes with a splash of cold water over her face. She prayed that the rest of the day would be smoother but she was sentimental in the mornings, tired and alone.
The hall opened into the kitchen, the next stop that beckoned her with coffee and the morning bustle to distract her thoughts. The clock above the stove confirmed that the day was still barely begun and her world was still sleeping. She opened up cupboards and prepared a pot of coffee - such practiced movements that she could probably have done them still asleep. The sputtering of the machine was familiar but it didn't calm her like she had hoped it would.
Today, she felt on edge. Her chest was tight and the prickling sensation every time she closed her eyes threatened to spill over. This same scene had played out for more mornings than she could count, like tiny figurines in a perfectly wound cuckoo clock, but today the pain felt raw again. Every reminder seemed to rip more sutures out of the wound.
Crumpling into a chair, Corie braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her cupped hands. The flood broke down the feeble gates of yesterday and the day before to stream down her cheeks in rivulets. She had thought that time had begun to mend the aching inside of her but the empty rooms seemed to whisper his name. It echoed in the chambers of her heart and she repeated in a low, choking sob
"Graham..."
A patter quieter than butterfly wings gave her a start and her head whipped around instinctively to see the boy standing in the hallway, his copper curls catching the rising sun and throwing it around his head in a halo. Corie stood at once, drying her cheeks with a wipe of the bathrobe sleeve in the same motion. A second later, she had wrapped him in her arms and laid her cheek against his hair. It was no longer an easy feat and one day soon, she was certain he would be too tall for her to hold like this but for now she held a little boy in her arms.
She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the catch that warned of his tears too. She rubbed his back in comforting circles, whispering shh as she listened to his breathing become more even. She didn't know why he was crying, whether he felt the same way that she did today or if her tears had caused the stopper on them to wiggle free but she calmed him all the same.
"How about we go get something to eat, kiddo? I know we don't go out much but you love those bagels at McDonald's, right? Get dressed and get your shoes on, ok?"
She didn't have the energy to pretend that she was fine today but at least it would be easier somewhere that wasn't full of memories. With any luck, a special treat would cheer Isaac up too and take his mind off things.
Not yet opening her eyes, she peeled the covers away from herself and shivered when the chill air rushed to devour the warm pocket she had been nestled in. Her movements were deliberate but careful and she slid out of the bed without jostling the other side in the slightest. Sleepy fingers combed through the pale hair spilling over her shoulders and she opened her mouth to speak before her expression dimmed. As though in confirmation, her eyes gave the empty bed a cursory once over before she pulled her gaze away.
Touching her feet to the floor with the caution of a swimmer dipping their foot into icy water, she recoiled a little at first from the cold and unyielding surface. After a small pause, she pressed the pads of her feet fully down with determination and thoughts of freshly brewed coffee. Before leaving the room, she shrugged on a thin navy bathrobe to warm her gooseflesh arms and then continued out into a short hall.
A quick left turn took her into the impersonal off-white of the bathroom where she began to liven up and get ready for her day. Her fingers brushed across the pair of dry toothbrushes left sitting in the plastic cup on the sink as she returned her damp one to its place and she fought the stinging at the corners of her eyes with a splash of cold water over her face. She prayed that the rest of the day would be smoother but she was sentimental in the mornings, tired and alone.
The hall opened into the kitchen, the next stop that beckoned her with coffee and the morning bustle to distract her thoughts. The clock above the stove confirmed that the day was still barely begun and her world was still sleeping. She opened up cupboards and prepared a pot of coffee - such practiced movements that she could probably have done them still asleep. The sputtering of the machine was familiar but it didn't calm her like she had hoped it would.
Today, she felt on edge. Her chest was tight and the prickling sensation every time she closed her eyes threatened to spill over. This same scene had played out for more mornings than she could count, like tiny figurines in a perfectly wound cuckoo clock, but today the pain felt raw again. Every reminder seemed to rip more sutures out of the wound.
Crumpling into a chair, Corie braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her cupped hands. The flood broke down the feeble gates of yesterday and the day before to stream down her cheeks in rivulets. She had thought that time had begun to mend the aching inside of her but the empty rooms seemed to whisper his name. It echoed in the chambers of her heart and she repeated in a low, choking sob
"Graham..."
A patter quieter than butterfly wings gave her a start and her head whipped around instinctively to see the boy standing in the hallway, his copper curls catching the rising sun and throwing it around his head in a halo. Corie stood at once, drying her cheeks with a wipe of the bathrobe sleeve in the same motion. A second later, she had wrapped him in her arms and laid her cheek against his hair. It was no longer an easy feat and one day soon, she was certain he would be too tall for her to hold like this but for now she held a little boy in her arms.
She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the catch that warned of his tears too. She rubbed his back in comforting circles, whispering shh as she listened to his breathing become more even. She didn't know why he was crying, whether he felt the same way that she did today or if her tears had caused the stopper on them to wiggle free but she calmed him all the same.
"How about we go get something to eat, kiddo? I know we don't go out much but you love those bagels at McDonald's, right? Get dressed and get your shoes on, ok?"
She didn't have the energy to pretend that she was fine today but at least it would be easier somewhere that wasn't full of memories. With any luck, a special treat would cheer Isaac up too and take his mind off things.
K
Kitti
Guest
Unaffiliated
The rattling of the train car had become such a constant background noise that those sitting inside hardly noticed it anymore unless there was a bump in the tracks to cause a particularly violent shake. Any such eventual upsets were quickly forgotten as the serpentine engine wound its way through the woody New England landscape and the attention of its passengers returned to either the handsome foliage streaking past the windows or whatever preocupation they had been engaged in prior to pass the time.
With his head resting against the cool glass, Lowell Reese was in the former category of occupants. His gaze was fixed on the great puffs of smoke that was whipped away on the wind as fast as it was belched forth but his thoughts were elsewhere. Beside him lay a newspaper, its date over a fortnight past but still in freshly printed condition without so much as a wrinkle or coffee strain upon its paper.
The cover was dominated by a large portrait of a disapproving older gentleman staring challengingly out from wire-framed eyeglasses, the hint of a sneer playing over his lips beneath a bushy mustache. The headline was so brusque in nature that there could be no mistaking its meaning but Lowell had been forced to read it over and again to try to make sense of it.
Horace St. John, Distinguished Businessman, Dead.
A small article beneath meandered through a summary of the man's life, making a small note of a surviving wife and son. Neither were named, but the audience of the local journal needn't be told.
A weathered sign alongside the tracks managed to break into Lowell's thoughts and prompted him to draw a lightly scuffed pocketwatch from the pocket of his coat. The train was due to arrive in the station in approximately ten minutes. With this information, Lowell abandoned the view in favor of sprucing himself up in meantime.
The tobacco serge suit was smart, a modish style befitting a man of his age, but he seemed ill at ease in it. Despite being obviously tailored to his frame, his posturing gave the impression that it was restrictive and his movement hindered as he stood to brush off nonexistent dust from the pant legs and adjust the featureless sunstone cufflinks who were objectively impossible to determine if they were upside right or not. The train eased itself into the station and the cars heaved a collective sigh, swaying gentling into a stop.
Without much inclination to make haste, Lowell found himself and his nondescript trunk among the last to descend onto the platform. Much of the crowd formed by the train's arrival had dissipated already, leaving a few groups here and there embracing and chattering happily about the trip. Despite the thinning numbers, he had yet to spot the man whom he was expecting.
So slowly as to seem almost aimless, Lowell made his way inward to the station. Some distance away from the edge of the platform, Lowell spotted a gaggle of tittering women and moved toward them on a hunch. Sure enough, standing at the center in a tailcoat and striped pants was precisely the rogue he'd expected. Spotting Lowell at the same time, the man parted his admiring sea with little more than a gesture, extending a hand that Lowell shook.
"Mr. Reese, I am pleased to see you looking so well. Welcome back." The man's tone was polite, neither emotive nor hinting at the reason for Lowell's visit but the lines beginning at the corner of his eyes and deepening underneath told Lowell plenty.
"Thank you, William. I only wish that I could be here under better circumstances." Lowell had little patience mirroring formalities back knowing that they were only serving to create a polite distance between them and make nice for the company. He hadn't come to exchange pleasantries.
"If you'll excuse us, ladies? My friend here has had a long day's travel and I have no doubt that he is nearly asleep on his feet." William's words were met with a range of noises from sympathetic to disappointed but after a minute the brightly bouncing skirts and curls had vanished. The two men were left alone with one another and the mantle of societal graces seemed to be slipping from William's shoulders, which was just as Lowell wanted.
"I made arrangements to depart as soon as I got your letter. I wish it could have been sooner but you know how such matters loathe haste..." Lowell for his part was softer with no eyes on them, rigid shoulders sagging a little now. In front of him, William seemed to be crumbling by the minute. It was, Lowell realised with a sudden pang of regret, quite likely that the man's affable veneer had not been manufactured to keep anyone at a dsitance but to keep his own mask in place. Lowell hastily scanned the nearby street for waiting carriages, arm in arm for support.
"Let's get you back home and then we'll talk, Bill."
With his head resting against the cool glass, Lowell Reese was in the former category of occupants. His gaze was fixed on the great puffs of smoke that was whipped away on the wind as fast as it was belched forth but his thoughts were elsewhere. Beside him lay a newspaper, its date over a fortnight past but still in freshly printed condition without so much as a wrinkle or coffee strain upon its paper.
The cover was dominated by a large portrait of a disapproving older gentleman staring challengingly out from wire-framed eyeglasses, the hint of a sneer playing over his lips beneath a bushy mustache. The headline was so brusque in nature that there could be no mistaking its meaning but Lowell had been forced to read it over and again to try to make sense of it.
Horace St. John, Distinguished Businessman, Dead.
A small article beneath meandered through a summary of the man's life, making a small note of a surviving wife and son. Neither were named, but the audience of the local journal needn't be told.
A weathered sign alongside the tracks managed to break into Lowell's thoughts and prompted him to draw a lightly scuffed pocketwatch from the pocket of his coat. The train was due to arrive in the station in approximately ten minutes. With this information, Lowell abandoned the view in favor of sprucing himself up in meantime.
The tobacco serge suit was smart, a modish style befitting a man of his age, but he seemed ill at ease in it. Despite being obviously tailored to his frame, his posturing gave the impression that it was restrictive and his movement hindered as he stood to brush off nonexistent dust from the pant legs and adjust the featureless sunstone cufflinks who were objectively impossible to determine if they were upside right or not. The train eased itself into the station and the cars heaved a collective sigh, swaying gentling into a stop.
Without much inclination to make haste, Lowell found himself and his nondescript trunk among the last to descend onto the platform. Much of the crowd formed by the train's arrival had dissipated already, leaving a few groups here and there embracing and chattering happily about the trip. Despite the thinning numbers, he had yet to spot the man whom he was expecting.
So slowly as to seem almost aimless, Lowell made his way inward to the station. Some distance away from the edge of the platform, Lowell spotted a gaggle of tittering women and moved toward them on a hunch. Sure enough, standing at the center in a tailcoat and striped pants was precisely the rogue he'd expected. Spotting Lowell at the same time, the man parted his admiring sea with little more than a gesture, extending a hand that Lowell shook.
"Mr. Reese, I am pleased to see you looking so well. Welcome back." The man's tone was polite, neither emotive nor hinting at the reason for Lowell's visit but the lines beginning at the corner of his eyes and deepening underneath told Lowell plenty.
"Thank you, William. I only wish that I could be here under better circumstances." Lowell had little patience mirroring formalities back knowing that they were only serving to create a polite distance between them and make nice for the company. He hadn't come to exchange pleasantries.
"If you'll excuse us, ladies? My friend here has had a long day's travel and I have no doubt that he is nearly asleep on his feet." William's words were met with a range of noises from sympathetic to disappointed but after a minute the brightly bouncing skirts and curls had vanished. The two men were left alone with one another and the mantle of societal graces seemed to be slipping from William's shoulders, which was just as Lowell wanted.
"I made arrangements to depart as soon as I got your letter. I wish it could have been sooner but you know how such matters loathe haste..." Lowell for his part was softer with no eyes on them, rigid shoulders sagging a little now. In front of him, William seemed to be crumbling by the minute. It was, Lowell realised with a sudden pang of regret, quite likely that the man's affable veneer had not been manufactured to keep anyone at a dsitance but to keep his own mask in place. Lowell hastily scanned the nearby street for waiting carriages, arm in arm for support.
"Let's get you back home and then we'll talk, Bill."