Introduction: Hellen
I have discovered some things, belatedly. One of them was that not only my husband had been a twit and an embezzler, he also gave asylum to a murderer. In our basement, for God's sake. An ungodly place to live, if you ask me, with so much humidity you could almost swim in the air. And he lost through gambling all the money he had earned with this unorthodox business, as always. He managed to make me and his son go bankrupt just before he got himself killed in a duel.
It's almost sad, the way some people fall straight to disaster. I would be a lot more pitying about his fate had our son not been so sick that he could barely walk by the time Etien died. Gosh, I know I sound bitter. And that's me all over, a thirty-something widow that worried about her son, her livelihood and her critical lack of money. It used to send me into despair every time yet another debt showed up and every little penny I had managed to save was lost.
My name is Hellen, by the way.
I am not into romance anymore, not now, not ever. I have endured a marriage and I don't think I have the strength to face another relationship with...anyone. Provided that anyone would think of me that way, of course; something very unlikely given that I am of a certain age, and it shows. I have been caring very much for my son William, so the stress and long nights without sleep are clearly marked on my face. I'm not as pretty and rounded as I used to be. With time, all of my freshness, my only beauty, has gone.
I don't recall being in love with Etienne. He was gorgeous—handsome and bright as a spark. Maybe he stole my heart away at a glance. Maybe I was young, and flattered, and thought that a man of noble upbringing and stance would bring me my "happily ever after." He did not. He may have loved me, and it looks like he was faithful to me. He never raised a hand to me. So, why is it that, when I think of my marriage, I only remember feeling empty, and used, and tired? He wasted both our fortunes. He liked to play around. He was so full of himself. He was magnetic. I know some people asked themselves why so handsome a man was with so worn-out a woman. I could not bring myself to care about it. All I did all of the time was worry about our son.
That was my situation, until I found a killer downstairs. He likes to play the mystery and is as bitter as I am. He scares me to death, truth be told. He plays with my feelings, but... Sometimes I think he feels just as lonely as I, and his torturing me is a twisted way of showing affection. It startles me more than comforts me.
Please understand, for me it's very unsettling to have Erik in my house. Not only is he a man—think of all the gossip that would start, a widow letting a man live in her basement—but a criminal one. And sometimes when we talk, he goes and says something that makes me sympathetic of his ways. All I can do then is lower my head and pretend there wasn't a sparkle of understanding between us. I'm afraid of anyone touching my little bubble of misery.
All my foolishness and impulsiveness is lost. So is my son William: kidnapped. By a supernatural being, it seems.
I am so scared that I have even asked Erik for help.
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AN: Thanks to Erin G.A. for beta reading this chapter. You're the best!