I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
But this story is mine, all mine I say!
In the Absence of Light, Darkness Prevails
In the Absence of Light
He floated in and out of her vision. Like a guardian angel, if she'd ever believed in such things.
She didn't.
But she did believe in his voice.
She drifted with it, his voice. Speaking in German, in Italian, in American English, as he muttered quietly to himself as he worked.
As he talked to her, encouraging, reassuring her of her continued existence, of her recovery.
But I don't want to live. I want to die. Let me die. I am hideous, worthless, useless. A freak. Let me die.
He wouldn't.
He numbed her pain as much as he was able. And then he cleaned the bloody, ragged stumps of her severed legs with a liquid fire that she dimly felt through the makeshift anesthesia he had given her.
When she passed out, his melodic susurruses accompanied her through her nightmare hallucinations and remembrances of her grand and final performance.
The men, their faces blurred. The chainsaw, its biting, tearing, grinding teeth. The camera, filming her torture.
The harsh laughter in her ears.
And the pain. So much pain.
All the pain.
She woke in the midst of her agony, her vision blurred and wavering, to find him there. A large needle protruding from one hand.
"It wouldn't do to have you suffer an infection and never share your beauty again, would it?" he murmured comfortingly.
She tried to say, yes, yes, that was exactly what she wanted. To die and be released from this hideous, pain-riddled, shameful existence.
But before she could form a single syllable, she lost consciousness again.
And when she awoke, he was there with a glass of water to soothe her parched throat.
Dark, warm eyes behind small, round framed glasses. A gentle smile that revealed neat, white teeth.
Always there, always reassuring. Always by her side.
Feeding her, spoonful by tiny spoonful, as though she were a baby.
"We must give your body fuel, eh? To heal and beat those bastards at their own game, yes?"
When the fever took her firmly in its cruel, sickening grip and her entire body turned against her, he was there.
Never leaving her, never uttering a word of discontent or frustration. Never furrowing his frown, except in concern for her welfare.
And she knew then, with absolute certainty, that she would survive and live.
Whether she wished to or not.
Because he was simply stronger, more determined, more willful, than her injuries ever could be.
And with this newfound knowledge wrapping itself around her like a warm, soothing, suffocating blanket of defenselessness and tentative hope, she fell asleep once more.
And her body, under the watchful care of Massimo Dolcefino, began to heal itself.
Elsa opened her eyes.
She lay on her back in a narrow bed in a small, cluttered apartment room. Bright sunshine filtered into the space through the clouded, milky window panes.
A handmade quilt covered her body, held her safe and secure.
So that, for just a moment, she might pretend that she was whole and able and well.
And not a legless freak.
"You are awake, cara mia. That is good."
She knew his voice well by now, his dulcet tones a part of the rhythm of her being, humming pleasantly with all the inner workings and strummings that made her live and breathe.
He was there, seated in a chair next to her supine form limp on the bed.
She did not speak to him, only stared.
"Your fever is left you and your legs seem to be beginning to heal cleanly now."
He spoke to her in her native German, save for the 'cara mia'.
"So it appears that you are going to live."
His expression as always was gentle. Tender.
She reached out and slapped his face with all her feeble, trembling strength, feeling the rough stubble of his unshaven cheek beneath her fingers.
A knife of pain shot through her as her wounded stumps twitched, pulling at the stitches in the tender flesh.
"I did not want to live, you bastard! I wanted to die! You should have let me die!"
What was meant as a shout of defiant rage emitted only as barely an exhalation of breath by one still very ill and weak.
His cheek barely reddened by the force of her weak blow and his eyes did not lose their gentility. But they did gain a touch of steel that frightened her, if only for a moment.
When he spoke, his rumbling voice was unchanged by her violent outburst.
And his eyes riveted upon hers.
"If you tax yourself so again, you may tear the stitches. And I will have to resew them. Which will cause you more pain."
She glared at him, defiant even in her misery.
He ignored her glowering hate that she intended to sear his skull with.
And spoke again, his tone gentle and even.
The constant in her now adrift and unstable life.
"I am going to pick you up now, cara mia. I am going to carry you across this room and out that door."
He gestured vaguely. She did not look away from his hypnotizing gaze.
"If you resist or fight, it will only cause you unnecessary pain and I will still carry you where I want you to go. Do you understand?"
She said nothing, still attempting to challenge him with her eyes and her pursed lips.
He held his station and finally her resolve crumpled.
She nodded just a little.
He bent down, and pulled back the quilt, careful to keep her dignity covered with the robe in which he had draped her when she had first been bought to him by her soldier rescuer. Working his hands carefully under the limp remnants of her legs and around her back, just below her shoulder blades. She wrapped her trembling arms around his neck and laid her weak head on his chest near his collarbone.
He carried her bridal style, walking lightly so as to jar her tender body as little as possible.
Out the open door and onto a small balcony. For an anxiety riddled moment, she caught a fleeting vision of him simply tossing her over the edge and disappearing back inside without a single glance back.
The thought exhilarated her with the freedom of death and the rising fear of never experiencing anything beautiful again.
Instead, he set her down gently onto a lounge chair, placing her amputated legs on a pillow for comfort and covering her robed form with a light blanket.
The day was warm and mild, the perfect temperature for an afternoon tea.
If such was the preferred refreshment.
Which it was most definitely not for her.
No, her preferred drink was a kickback of whatever the hardest thing was lying around.
Anything to make her forget the blackness of her life.
He left her alone in the warm embrace of the sun for a moment, then returned with a glass of yellow liquid and a straw.
He offered it to her silently and she took a tentative sip to appease him.
"Lemonade?"
She was aghast. This was a child's drink at a silly tea time party with teddy bears and cuddle up dolls.
It was ridiculous.
And refreshing.
"Yes. You do not need anything stronger for the time being. Your body is still very weak."
She sat motionless, stubbornly despising everything and everyone around her.
Which was not very hard to do.
Massimo seemed unaffected by it.
He knelt down beside her chair, slightly behind so as not to obscure her view.
"You need sunshine and a taste of bright within you as well, cara mia. To remember that there is a reason to survive. And thrive."
His voice was in her ear, quiet and convincing. And though he no longer touched her, she could feel his breath lightly tickling her ear, her neck.
"If you die, if you lay there and waste away, they will have won completely."
She watched the sun. And the lazily moving, puffy clouds in the bright blue sky.
She listened to him.
"But if you choose to live, if you choose to succeed, then you beat them all."
He left her there for awhile to her own thoughts and returned by himself to the room within.
She remained, feeling the breeze upon her face and the sun on her skin, watching the clouds go by.
"In the absence of light, darkness prevails."
As far as I can surmise, this is a quote derived from various Buddhist sayings. It is also a quote from 'Hellboy', one of my favorite movies for the humanity exhibited by its 'monsters' Hellboy and Abraham Sapien. And, of course, my professor Broom.
Anyway, here's this new story from within the depths of my brain. Don't know how long it will be, but I'm sure Massimo and Elsa will let me know.
Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like. :)