For shopping, my mother and I were in the street markets of London early the next morning. Early snow had come. Attire had changed; not in thin dresses but in heavy coats, the Brits chatted amongst themselves, eagerly fingering their wallets to pay for the damnedest of things. I smiled when mother only bought a lovely furnished basket and a Baroque panting.
"Sir, oh, sir. Mother said she would read me a story tonight."
She grabbed my hand.
"She's going to read me all the books I want."
She hurried me along.
"Because today is my birthday."
I turned and saw Ciel. A man in mid step at his side, listening to the tale. A woman with hair of spun gold took his shoulders and apologized.
"No need to be sorry, ma'am, your boy is very handsome..."
Birthday.
December 14th.
Today was his birthday.
Ciel, I'm right here.
Tell me all about it.
Tell me.
In the evening I waited until mother and father were cosy in the downstairs of the vacation home, curled up by the fire, humming and clicking in the dull night. Wordless. I found the phone. I trotted back into my room and sat at the foot my bed.
Tonight is his birthday.
I dialed the number.
His mother is probably reading to him right now.
Ring.
Sitting up in the sheets, his hair cradled in her bosom.
Ring.
That sweet voice, speaking.
Ring.
Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a pail of water,
Ring.
Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.
Ring.
Up Jack got, and home did trot, as fast as he could caper.
Ring.
To Old Dame Dob who patched his nob,
Click.
With vinegar and brown paper.
Soft, low breathing. A whimper or two.
"Happy birthday, Ciel!" these words, a grin that curled at both ends. Small teeth of ivory and rosy cheeks. Pink lips. Small hands and feet. These are the makings of a happy, healthy child.
"...Sofia, help me."
And they are all stolen away in an instant.
"How old are you turning, Ciel?"
Louder whimpering. A cough. Sniffles.
"Ciel? How old are you turning?"
"Sofia, help me. Please help me."
"...Ciel, what is it?"
'They're coming. Please help. They're coming. Save me. Oh, god, save me."
Violent coughing. A thud. It was probably the phone. Splash. Choking. Crying.
"Ciel! Ciel, are you sick?"
I found 'im.
He's in here, you fuckers.
Get 'im and throw 'im in the cart.
Weeks past, and no one knew the whereabouts of the young Phantomhive. They all figured his tiny body had been converted to ash.
Three graves were furnished on the plot. Two accompanied by large, charred bodies 6 feet under, and a small headstone with nothing but dirt as it's occupant.
Only I knew what had really happened.
That my poor betrothed was stolen away.
That he was taken this way and that, alone.
Most likely frozen in his nightshirt, bound and raped.
On the day of the funeral, I wore the darkest dress I owned, which was a deep blue. It was a bit on the long side with a black bow on the collar and a second tied at the waist. The sleeves were silky and cool, giving me goosebumps as the wind chill swirled in the dull, thick air. The grass was damp with dew and crowds had formed small groups that dotted the ground. My father and mother were there was well.
I stood back in the distance half-lidded. Elizabeth knelt in the mud wearing a midnight black gown. She sobbed uncontrollably, throwing away that sense of elegance and grace we all had labeled her with. The lace of her gloves was burdened with holes as it tore while she wrapped her unsteady arms around the smallest gravestone. It was a horror to watch. I went home.
The guilt of it all began to hit me at first when we arrived back at the construction of the Basilica.
I had that deep feeling in my gut long before his birthday. A sense of danger yet unsettling peace.
The calm before the storm.
"Thats quite a shame," my father said, itching the back of his head. "I had in mind great things to expand the Abadie name, oh yes, big things. I guess we'll just have to find you a new fiance, Sofia. Maybe someone your age, this time. How does that sound?" he squeezed my small hand.
Again, the fire clicking echoed down the hall as I sat in my room. I took the phone off the wall and unwillingly dialed the number.
A small glint in the back of my mind knew that Ciel would pick up on the other line.
After three rings, there were two clicks, and then it was done.
It's always darkest before the dawn.