Quick note: Thank you endlessly for your reviews and encouragement! It makes me SO HAPPY to see your responses! Thank you for investing in me and this story! In this uncertain time, I hope this story provides you some sort of escape or comfort. I'm sending all my love to you all.
This chapter is again from Dorothy's perspective. While I do love writing Dorothy, she has just absolutely come into her own and her story has developed far beyond what I initially imagined so I think I might have to make another story for her as a sequel/ spin off. I really wanted Rosalie and Emmett's love story to be the primary focus of this fic, but this chapter, Dorothy just kind of took over and as much as I tried to edit her story down to a side character, she's just becoming deeper and deeper to me. I tried to make her finding out about the connections between Vivien and Rosalie and Emmett feel rushed only because I wanted to keep Dorothy a side character and this complication being a side story, but she's not going down without a fight and there are more layers and characters added in this chapter that I fell in love with and want their own stories told.
We're back to RxEm next chapter, but I don't think this is the last we'll see of Dorothy. Honestly, I'm really happy on how this chapter is developing another side to Rosalie, so we'll see...
Side note: PLEASE BE STAYING HEALTHY AND TAKING CARE OF YOURSELVES!
Please consider leaving a review! Every word means the world to me! Thank you immensely for your words thus far.
TW/CW: fighting, historical racism/ classism touched on here, reference to abortion, torture
Dog Days Are Over
Happiness, hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink
The dog days are over
The horses are coming so you better run
Run fast for your mother run fast for your father
Run for your children for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind you
Can't carry it with you if you want to survive
Dorothy
February, 1935
I remember when we were young my mother once said to me while she braided my hair and my father was beating the shit out of Emmett in the yard that while some kids need discipline, Emmett needed an exorcist.
She marveled that as much good as he had in him, he was absolutely possessed with the need to rebel against anyone and anything. He couldn't shake the devil on his shoulder that told him to push the limits.
I didn't see it then, thinking he was more than justified in most everything he did, but these past few weeks, I saw it plain as day.
He rebelled just for the hell of it.
Blood stained Emmett's teeth as he laughed devilishly, flat on his back in the center of the fighting pit.
I saw what my mother meant then about the exorcist in the wildness of Emmett's eyes… He had to be utterly deranged.
It sent a shiver down my spine as the man standing over him gave him a quick hard kick to the gut.
"You're s'posed to be the best fighter this side'a the state line." The man growled.
Emmett gasped at the impact, but coughed out another crazed laugh.
I pushed forward, desperate to get to him, but it was no use. Strong arms held me back from the edges of the ring.
"Em." I whispered, feeling his pain through some sort of cosmic connection.
I hoped he couldn't feel mine.
It'd be too much to bear.
I'd seen him fight before. I'd watched him bleed…
But, things were different now.
Caroline had just died. Elizabeth followed shortly after, and this blow to Emmett's heart had seemed fatal.
He hadn't been the same since the day he lowered Beth's coffin into the ground.
We all hadn't. Beth was the best of us.
She was beautiful, and kind… and smart. She was so smart. She'd even saved up to go to college… And, she was so in love. She was happy, and full of so much promise.
But on what was supposed to be her wedding day, we buried her.
The light was completely gone out of Emmett's eyes after that. It'd been the last straw for him it seemed. Beth had represented hope of getting out of here… Being something more…
When she died it was a suffocating reminder that this was all we'd ever be.
"My reputation precedes me." Emmett was pleased.
"It exceeds you, boy." The man standing over Emmett was tired, blood pouring out of his nose and his bruises were already red on his sweaty skin.
He looked awful.
Emmett may have been knocked down, but he was far from out as he pushed to his hands and knees still choking on his bloody laughter in amusement.
Emmett struggled to his feet, a wide humorless grin on his battered face. Blood flowed out of his mouth in a terrible stream, rushing down the front of his chin and down his chest.
The man exhaled, dreading the fact that Emmett didn't quit.
"And you're shorter than I expected." Em gave him a cocky shrug, standing a head taller than him.
"You, stupid, arrogant boy." The other man growled. "The only reason you aren't as dead as your good for nothin' trash family is 'cause God doesn't have any use for you."
Emmett's eyes shifted then into something unimaginably dark…
I could see in his face he genuinely believed in their berating, letting the words resonate in his ego.
I saw in his eyes…
Emmett wanted to die.
It broke my heart to acknowledge, but there was a darkness in him now that hadn't been there before.
He was heavy with hopelessness.
The other man reared back to strike him in what he hoped would be the final blow.
I prepared for the worst, wincing and closing my eyes, but when I opened them it was the other man flat on his back - not Emmett.
Emmett was on top of him then, striking him with punches to the face again and again and again.
I couldn't look away.
Something about it was magnetic.
No one acted on impulses the way Emmett did. There was a filter between most people's emotions and their physical expressions of them, but with Emmett…
There was no filter with him.
I'd never seen such raw, untamed hatred in my life.
"McCarty!" One of the fight leaders yelled at him after a chaotic moment.
It vibrated in my soul.
Emmett was far from his eyes, and even as awful as it was, I couldn't look away.
"Stop it!" Another leader yelled.
"You're going to kill him!" Another.
"Emmett! Get the hell off!"
Onlookers began to scream then, and some people to moderate and diffuse the situation jumped the fence and latched on to Emmett. They pulled him, kicking and screaming off of the other man, whose face was beaten to an unrecognizable pulp.
He was unconscious.
I felt sick.
"I'm… not… finished!" Emmett shrieked angrily, pure hatred roughening his voice as fighting brought out a side of him not easily re-tamed.
Like a wild animal, Emmett panted, fighting ruthlessly to get back to his unfinished business, thirst in his bones for destruction.
"Stop it! Damn kid, calm down." One of the leaders slapped him on the cheek, back to reality while he was being held back. "You're done."
Emmett clenched his blood dripping teeth, an awful growl wracking through his body.
I shivered.
"Listen! You're finished." The apparent leader of this fight club ordered him strongly as Emmett hungered for more suffering.
But finally, they let him go, trusting him not to lunge again.
I couldn't do this.
Sam put his hand on my shoulder briefly, just brushing by since we were in public.
I thought I sensed fear in him and it made me panic.
I tried not to stare too long, but I searched his face.
Sam looked away from me.
I was terrified.
"Maybe this isn't a good idea. Not right now." Sam mumbled as if he wasn't even talking to me, but I knew he was.
I heard intimidation in his voice after seeing Emmett all but rip a person limb from limb. We both knew what Emmett was capable of, we just never would imagine being on the receiving end of it.
Now, I wasn't so sure…
The club owner looked deep into Emmett's eyes then, putting his hand behind his neck to pull his head down so he could whisper something in Emmett's good ear.
Emmett clenched his jaw and retreated then, but smiled back at him humorlessly. The owner then started counting bills while someone else was trying to pick up the destroyed man from the muddy ground.
I hated these transactions, knowing what Emmett had to do to get that money, knowing what parts of himself he was destroying.
But, the money…
"Emmett!" I called to him, starting to weave my way through the crowd. "Emmett!"
I desperately pursued him, until I was on the edge of the area.
"Ladies aren't allowed up here." A man looked me up and down. "Neither are your kind, boy."
"I'm escorting her safely on behalf of her father, sir." Sam responded, keeping his eyes down.
"Then you can stay back there with the others." The man challenged, his breath foul with alcohol as he stood up trying to press us.
Emmett noticed us then, shoving the man back with enough power to intimidate him from pursuing the matter further.
"You got somethin' to say?" Emmett snarled, grabbing onto the man's shirt collar.
The man let up, though of course, under the man's breath Emmett got called a name he'd been called ever since he'd walked Bonnie Sanders home from school. He was used to it.
It still stung in my ears though, and it absolutely ripped my soul apart for Sam.
I loved him, and I hated how difficult it was…
It seemed to only get more difficult.
"Did he touch you?" Emmett asked, his eyes immediately darting over me to make sure I wasn't hurt.
I shook my head, loving him with every corner of my heart.
"What are you doing here?" Emmett asked, blood still staining his teeth, but his eyes lightening at the sight of us.
He came back into them… Partly.
"We came for you." I breathed, offering Emmett the canteen of water.
One of the leaders of this hell pit offered him a flask and Emmett took that instead, wincing in pain at the alcohol's burn against the gashes in his mouth.
Emmett already smelled like alcohol, and drunkenness clouded his irises.
I worried.
"Are you okay?" I asked him quietly.
"If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy." He joked with a smile that showed his dimples.
It reminded me of who he was under all this, but I knew he was using humor to deflect.
Trauma filled his eyes.
"We did." Sam joked back lightly.
"Oh, well, shit." Emmett laughed, then gasped at the pain in his ribs, coughing a little strangled cough.
He'd broken a rib.
Again.
One of these days he was going to puncture a lung.
I never didn't worry about him.
"Em, let's go home." I tried to convince him.
"I'm not goin home." He said, his eyes dancing to a red head in the corner, heavily rouged and dressed scandalously.
Her eyes were already drinking him in and she sultrily bit her lip.
"That'd break Dolly's heart." I said, thinking he'd care about that.
His eyes darted over to me.
"She won't know unless you tell her." Emmett raised an eyebrow in challenge, proving me wrong. "So she won't be hurt."
I clenched my jaw.
"Then it'll break mine." I told him strongly, looking up to his eyes and meeting his challenge. "Come home with me, just for tonight."
He was still a little boy that jumped under sheets when he couldn't face what was outside. Now, he was doing something more than just hiding in those sheets, but the metaphoric principle remained.
I saw through his fascination with women.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Dorothy…" He protested, but I still knew he'd choose me every time.
"Please." I looked into his eyes, pleading with him.
"Fine." He mumbled.
He clenched his jaw, openly listening now.
"I really have to talk to you about something." I breathed. "It's important."
"We have to talk to you about something." Sam abridged, standing by me.
Emmett's eyes darted between us and underneath those bruises and gashes, I saw he was puzzled and vulnerable.
"All right." He groaned exasperatedly.
"Just gimme a second," Emmett nodded, grabbing his jacket from another girl in the front and giving her a kiss that made me have to look away.
She grabbed onto his arm, starting to whisper something in his ear. She didn't know he was deaf in that ear.
She didn't know him…
She didn't know him at all…
He didn't care. He just smiled like he heard her.
I narrowed my eyes.
I recognized her, and my stomach knotted.
Emmett was so careless…
"She's got a family, Emmett. A husband." I scolded him lightly, not even able to look at him.
"I know." He responded easily.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
He was going to get himself in trouble one of these days…
Well…
"If you came here to scold me, save it." Emmett lashed out, but not in his entirety, just a little snap. "I know it's easy to look down on me from how high your horse is."
I could handle it.
"I just don't want you to make any trouble, Em." I tried to explain.
But, he really didn't make trouble. He was trouble.
"I'm just tryna make my way in the world, Dorothy." He shrugged. "Have a little fun in this misery."
"You could get outta here, you know?" I suggested, a pit in my stomach.
"Where would I go?" Emmett shrugged.
"Somewhere…" I muttered.
He wouldn't get out of here… Ever…
That crushing reality seemed to weigh heavily on him more and more every day.
He was under the impression he was stuck…
He was going to die here…
"I'm sorry, Emmett." I breathed, and Sam took my hand in the impossible darkness since no one could see us.
I squeezed Sam's fingers tight and felt more confident.
"Me too." Emmett responded sweetly, melted instantly by my apology. "Now, what is it?"
"We need to be somewhere private." I told him, nervousness a heavy burden on my chest.
I couldn't put it off any longer.
"What's more private than the middle of nowhere, Dotty?" He snickered, again forgetting the pain at his ribs.
"You might want to be sitting down." Sam mumbled.
"What?!" Emmett panicked, sensing our reticence. "What's going on?"
We'd gotten so comfortable talking about death that I didn't even imagine that Emmett was worried about me telling him another one of our family members died.
"Shhh… Shhh listen." I mumbled, taking his hand to turn off the path into the old Frasier pasture. I made a decision to try their old barn as a shelter from the cold and the outside world. No one'd been living there for at least a decade.
"You're scaring me." Emmett mumbled. "Sam? Tell me."
Sam avoided his eyes.
"Em, you got some matches?" I asked, once we climbed into the barn.
"Do I got matches?" He snorted in jest, producing some. He was a chain smoker. Of course he had matches.
"Hang on." He lit the end of his cigarette first, before I lit an old lantern in the corner, illuminating our space.
Priorities.
Rats ran out of our way as Emmett sat down on a hay bale in the corner and Sam and I stood in front of him presentationally.
"Well?" Emmett raised an eyebrow, blowing his question into a cloud of smoke.
"Can I bum a cigarette off you?" I asked him and he rolled his eyes as he gave me one, lighting the end of it.
I needed it for my nerves.
I looked over at Sam, whose eyes were wide, but willed calmness into me.
He centered me in so many ways.
"Emmett… I…" I swallowed, then took a long drag.
"We need your help." Sam admitted, keeping his eyes down. "We wouldn't ask if we weren't desperate, but… but we are…"
Emmett softened, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees.
He looked over at me in devotion.
"Anything." Emmett nodded.
I swallowed nervously, looking over at Sam again.
I squeezed his hand then went over to Emmett, sitting in front of him on my knees and taking his broken hands in mine.
Our hands vibrated in one another's so we couldn't tell which one of us was trembling.
We both were.
I looked down at Emmett's knuckles that were beaten and bloody, then back into his broken face.
Dark circles under both his eyes seemed to deepen as the blood collected under the bright red bruise along his cheek bone.
We took a deep breath in unison, his air filling my lungs in preparation for what I was going to have to tell him.
"What is it?" Emmett whispered to just me, his eyes darting over my face.
I longed for the light that used to be in them, and I hated desperately that I was going to hurt him again…
"Em… I…." I started, my voice shaking with uncertainty.
"It's okay." Emmett didn't know what I was going to tell him, yet he swore his allegiance to me and traced his fingers across my face, full of love as he cradled my cheek.
He wiped the tears that were streaming down my face, concern painting his eyes.
"Dorothy…" He whispered, urging me on.
"We didn't… mean for this to happen." Sam started, but Emmett kept his eyes locked on me.
"Emmett, I'm…" I could barely say the words out loud.
"The most… wonderful thing has happened." I breathed. "But… I… need help… and… I…"
Emmett was growing confused, sensing my anxiety.
"I obviously didn't plan… on… But, we…"
"Dorothy." He urged me on calmly, but I thought I saw it start to register on his face.
"I'm pregnant."
He swallowed, sitting back, shock evident in his face as he ripped his hands out of mine.
I saw nothing but blank processing in his face before he stood to his feet, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He paced, his eyes wide and down at his feet. It was silent for a long time which was never the case around Emmett.
"Say something." I begged in a breath.
Sam put his hand on my shoulder and helped me up from the ground. It relaxed me, even for a fraction of a second.
Emmett stood with his back to us, obviously not wanting me to see his face. I worried, my heart in my throat and pounding relentlessly.
Emmett looked to the sky, closing his eyes.
I worried he was angry with me… or worse, disappointed in me.
Immediately, for the first time since I knew for sure…
I started to cry, and I cried hard.
I sobbed, feeling awful shame as my body betrayed me, but I was also crying because I'd never loved something so much, this little bean in my belly and I hadn't even met them.
It was an odd collection of emotions that sloshed around in my center like I was full on liquid.
"Tell me what you need me to do." Emmett finally said, his voice strong and even, but he didn't turn around to look at me.
Sam put his arm around me, trying to comfort me.
It helped a little as I caught my breath.
"Em, I…" I choked out, not knowing what to say.
"Dorothy…" Sam said, stroking my face in comfort of my irrational release of emotions.
"I don't know what to do…" I tried again, but still couldn't form coherent thoughts.
"Goddammit Dorothy…" Emmett pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes.
"Goddammit what?" I asked, hating my shaking voice.
"How could you be so stupid?…" He groaned.
Immediately, anger bubbled within me and I shook out of Sam's arm to step forward to Emmett in challenge.
"The only reason you think I'm stupid is because you can't get pregnant." I lashed out. "You've been fucking around with God knows who and…"
"Oh save it." Emmett snapped, but he knew I had a point and wouldn't admit it.
"Don't you understand what this means?!" Emmett's voice rose to my level, still not looking at me and it made me so angry I could spit. "Dorothy, this is… Oh my God."
Both his hands came to the sides of his head like he couldn't begin to process.
"I understand what it means, Emmett." I said strongly.
"I don't think you do." He argued.
"And Sam, I could kick your ass." Emmett groaned.
"Emmett… I…" Sam began, and protectively, I worried.
"Stop." Emmett tried to silence him. "Dorothy, I'm sorry. I just… God, I… I love you and, I don't want anything to ever hurt you and…"
I love you was not something he ever said and I knew how hard it was for him to admit so it took my breath clean out of my chest.
We all seemed to take a deep breath in unison to center ourselves then.
"If you need it… taken care of, I know somebody…" Emmett said in a dark, serious tone obviously not sure how to talk about this.
I wasn't shocked he knew an abortionist, but it made my heart sink to the soles of my shoes.
I irrationally wondered if he'd ever needed one.
"Not 'cause I needed to." He answered my prying twin questions. "But…"
"No… I wanna have the baby, Em." I breathed, and Sam grabbed my hand. "We wanna do this."
Emmett put his hands over his face then, and I half expected him to tell me that was irresponsible and stupid.
Maybe it was…
"Then you have to get out of here. Far. Far away." Emmett finally turned around, determination in his eyes to fix things.
He'd always been so good at fixing things…
His eyes still avoided mine, but I nodded.
"We know." Sam exhaled, and tightened his arm around my shoulders.
"Europe or something." Emmett entertained the thought in his mind, still ultimately detached.
Sam nodded and I realized I was still crying as tears dripped off my face.
I needed Emmett to tell me he wasn't disappointed in me.
I needed Emmett to tell me I could do this.
"You need money." Emmett rationalized in a moment of clarity as if his processing was starting to kick in.
He started cleaning out his pockets and handing all the contents to Sam.
We'd both seen what Emmett had to do to get that money. It was blood money, and it seemed to weight the both of us down as Sam put it in his pocket.
"But Em…" I began to protest.
"It's not like I'm ever going to actually get out of here, Dorothy." Emmett's eyes finally met mine, a melancholy sadness to them. "And you can. You can get the chance… to really be happy."
The words did more than enough to heal my soul as I looked at him with love. He gave me a little smile that touched the dimples on his cheeks.
"You can be happy." He repeated.
"I am happy." I finally returned his smile, collecting myself as his eyes met mine.
He took a deep breath.
"Then I'm happy." Emmett said sincerely.
He offered his hand to me and I took it as he brought me in to his chest, kissing my forehead.
I closed my eyes, melting into him and exhaling the weight.
"Emmett… I'm… I'm so sorry." Sam said, his voice heavy and deep as he fought for Emmett's gaze.
As their eyes locked, more was communicated than I could comprehend.
"No. But, you will be sorry if you don't take care of my sister. She's still my girl, Sam, and so help me God, if you hurt her…" Emmett turned and stepped back, speaking with fire in his voice.
"I won't. Em, I love her." Sam said just as strongly and it made my heart flutter in my chest.
"I know." He nodded. "I know…"
Present
I sat up straight, ironing out the kinks in my neck and the aches in my spine. I'd lost track of time at the library, bent over old newspapers…
My head spun with crossing information, thinking I must be crazy imagining all of these fanciful notions of Rosalie Hale…
Then… I saw her picture on the front page of a missing person's report and my soul seemed to leave my body.
Chills ran down my spine and raised the hair on my arms in a ghostly awfulness staring into her eyes… Vivien's eyes… were so different.
It took the breath clean out of my chest.
Then, I pushed on.
I had to know.
I drank in the words thirstily, hating each one of them.
The words… suicide… crazy… jealousy… tragedy… a waste… tumbled over the pages and confused me.
They found a body… Identified a body…
I flipped through pages upon pages… searching…
Rosalie Hale was dead.
I sat back, taking a deep breath.
No.
I was looking at the wrong information…
The wrong puzzle pieces…
I dug and dug and dug, finding myself running in circles and frustrated. I imagined this would bring me more clarity, but it was just confusing me even more.
It'd been a month already and I hadn't gotten a letter back from Rosalie Hale. I wrote her every couple of days and I worried every moment that she'd never respond, that I'd never get the answers I so desperately was seeking.
My heart couldn't handle the rejection. I couldn't handle the not knowing…
I felt Emmett's life force in my very essence and I had to know if I was right.
I had to know… But what would help me figure this out?…
My eyes glassed over, dancing in and out of the details of the stories of May 1933. All mention of Rosalie Hale had died out almost abruptly, and the search for a young girl from outside of town became a little more than a disturbing footnote as I recognized the resemblance to Rosalie. She was far from as beautiful, but she had the same golden hair and statuesque figure… I recognized a name in the engagement announcement section, then that shook my trance… Royce King…
I zeroed in on this information seeing he'd gotten engaged again just a month after Rosalie's death, and then in June at the Plaza in New York City, he was married to Florence Huntingdon, an heiress from Georgia that'd just been visiting town…
They were the kind of beautiful couple you'd only see in the movies or in paintings hung in museums. She had long blonde hair, curled perfectly around her heart shaped face. Her eyes were kind and light, and her features were dainty and sweet on her porcelain skin.
Florence was stunning…
But, it was quite peculiar that Royce was just as beautiful.
However, in examining his eyes I saw something in them that made me shiver, and something sinister seemed to brew around him.
It was quite unexplainable. I mean, he was… perfect. But still, I was full of unease.
I decided to check then…
I eventually found the report on his death two years later, this past summer…
My stomach was sickened then, entertaining the the atrocity of his death. The omission of details seemed to make it even worse, and my imagination ran wild.
I took a deep breath.
And just as Vera had said, there'd been a wedding dress left at the scene.
Rosalie Hale's name came up a few times in the next few weeks in the gossip column, connecting her to his death, and for the first time connecting the deaths of the other sons of rich men to one another.
There was wild speculation, but nothing like what I'd created in my mind.
I went back into the reports of their deaths, each filled with the allusion to gruesome details that were too explicit for the newspaper…
Nothing was remotely confirmed for me, all my suspicions… And all of this information just seemed to make my head spin even more.
I frustratedly hung my head into my hands with a groan.
What piece was I missing that could connect her to Emmett… to Tennessee… to anything…
What missing piece confirmed what Royce King and his friends did to Rosalie Hale?
What information sewed this story together with Vivien's?
I wracked my brain for details trying to sift between truths and lies that Vivien told me…
Then, something in me decided to check police reports to see if Royce King or his friends had left any patterns of violence behind them.
I finally stood from my spot, collecting the newspapers and filing them back accordingly. My passion for truth-seeking was starting to show in my unrest, and Vera was beginning to worry about the secrets I kept.
It was my day off now, and she was busy enough with her own depression though that she became ultimately distracted from what I was up to, but she did encourage me to apply to college…
I had never imagined even going to college, but Vera told me something about journalism…
It was a good enough excuse to use as a front to why I spent so much time in the library and looking through newspapers though, so I did… I applied…
And a part of my heart knew I was doing it for my sister Beth as much as I did it for myself.
Archives had become a familiar home to me, but the second I showed up at the police station and asked for records, I was laughed away by all the men there.
I frowned, insisting on access to police reports of rape in April of 1933.
The officer at the counter rolled his eyes, insisting I was troubling my pretty head too much.
I told him I was a journalist then… My voice was shaky and unsure, but this seemed to claim a little power as one of the other officers looked up and sighed.
"They're letting women in the news room?" One of the men remarked to another.
I stood taller, trying to look confident.
Eventually, and wordlessly he slapped a small file folder down on the table in front of me.
I read through the 2 reports but none were of Royce's description and none were connected to anyone that could've been Rosalie Hale.
I exhaled, feeling defeated once again, then a thought came to my brain that seemed enough to follow.
"Do you mind sharing with me any crimes reported in April of 1933 regarding violence to women, domestic abuse, or stalking?" I asked, feeling more confident now.
The men took a deep breath, but they didn't intimidate me any longer.
"Knock yourself out." He mumbled, putting a stack of papers up to my eyes in front of me.
I sat in the corner, sifting through them all, waiting for something to stick. But really, it was all just making me sick to my stomach.
Eventually though something seemed interesting. A young woman reported being stalked by a man with light hair and light eyes…
A week later… She was dead.
The missing girl… from outside of town. It was cross listed as a case in the next town over's jurisdiction and ultimately it was fuzzy on who was supposed to take care of it, so no one helped her…
The girl who could've passed as Rosalie Hale if Royce King had needed a body…
I dropped the paper into my lap, taking a deep breath.
I was being ridiculous.
"Looks like you found what you needed." One of the men remarked.
I just shook my head, feeling like a ghost was watching me so I turned over my shoulder but nothing was there but a whisper.
I shivered.
"I'm just more squeamish than I'd thought." I dismissed, loving that I could use feminine delicacy as a distraction. "Thank you for your time."
"Sure thing, doll." The man winked, and I could barely stomach it.
I just gave him a little smile in case I needed another look at some files one day, and turned on my heel.
I knew exactly where I was going next.
I picked up a pie from an old lady down the street that owed me a favor, then I went on…
My feet hit the pavement with purpose as I soldiered on to the biggest house in Rochester. It was towering, like a foreboding, cursed castle…
It took my breath.
I smoothed my dress and pinched my cheeks to look presentable as I knocked on the door.
I remembered then how my mother would talk to women in town that had more money than we did and tried to absorb the behaviors before the door opened.
Of course, she wouldn't answer the door. One of her servants would.
"Yes ma'am?" The woman at the door said.
She had kind, dark eyes and a pleasant, round face.
"I'm looking to call on Mrs. Florence Huntingdon King?" I began, offering up the pie as some sort of gesture of good faith.
"Who is it, Sue?" A woman's voice like nothing I'd ever heard seemed to breeze past my ears like a light summer wind, twirling aerodynamically through the air with grace.
Her photograph didn't do her justice. Around the corner came an angel of myth, with long strawberry blonde hair, curled like a waterfall down her back. She was dainty like a ballerina and she floated on her feet as she entered the room with a fair haired little boy of around two holding onto her skirt.
He was his father's son.
A spitting image…
I was momentarily enchanted by Florence's emerald green eyes and perfect rosy lips.
"I'm new to town and I wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm Rosalie." I omitted my last name.
Florence clenched her perfect heart-shaped jaw, seeming to wince at the name. It wasn't common enough not to remind her of the one and only Rosalie Hale.
I was curious.
"Take the pie to the kitchen, Sue." Florence said without even looking in her servant's or her child's direction. "And have Linda give the baby a bath."
She kept her gaze hard on me.
"I brought you and your family a blueberry pie." I smiled pleasantly, feeling irrationally nervous as Florence's emerald green eyes darted over my face. "Best in the county."
"Your accent." Florence noticed familiarly, but still removedly.
"Alabama." I omitted the full truth. "And you've got one of your own."
"I grew up in Atlanta." Florence told me plainly, and I hoped this commonality was warming her up to me. "I miss the warmth of a familiar Southern drawl."
This brought a light smile to her perfect mouth.
It was working.
"Me too." I returned her pleasantry.
"Do you drink?" She asked me very bluntly, which sounded odd in her voice.
Her voice was almost like a child's, breathy and high pitched but in a way that tickled my ears.
"I…"
Before I responded though, she'd already turned on her toes like a ballerina.
I followed the light click of her heels into a sitting room out of a magazine.
It was immaculately decorated and incredibly fashionable.
A painted portrait of her hung over a fire place with a low burning fire crackling inside.
She was the lady of this house.
"Tell me about yourself, Rosalie." My name seemed heavy on her mouth, and I might have just imagined the pained way she swallowed afterward.
Florence began a ritual of making a gin martini then, misting the lemon on the edges in a way that resembled art.
I watched her perfect, porcelain hands.
"Oh, there's not much to tell, I just moved here to visit some family, after I applied to college."
"You're a college girl?" She said this with a sort of impressed air to her breathy voice.
"Still hoping to be." I gave her a smile as she handed me a martini glass.
It was almost alarming how easy it was to sit down and talk with her, but her essence made it natural. I just wondered why she was so open to me.
Maybe the name Rosalie really did just carry a magic ticket around here.
"I was visiting family before I was going to start college at Vassar when I met my husband…" Florence smiled bitterly, and I recalled he'd been killed just a few months ago…
It wasn't another lifetime for her like it was for me.
"I never got to go to my first class." Florence finished making her own drink. "Cheers."
I tilted my glass up as she sat down next to me, her posture absolutely balletic.
"What are you hoping to study?"
"Journalism I think." I suggested.
"A woman in a newsroom." Florence smiled as if this rebellious thought pleased her.
"I suppose things are really advancing for our gender these days." I offered, taking a sip of the martini.
My insides tingled at the taste of alcohol.
Florence sighed, her beautiful eyes looking at me as if she was trying to find something.
"Something like that." Florence seemed amused with me.
I sensed a melancholy loneliness in her eyes, and she had the faintest of dark circles on the pale translucent skin around her eyes that suggested she hadn't been sleeping well.
I wondered if she'd ever been without a man in her life to take care of her.
First her father, then her husband…
I hated myself for thinking something so rude about her, especially as I continued to get to know her.
She was truly… a gem. A rare gem…
There was something… something in her no one else I'd ever known had ever possessed.
But, after some time, she shook me out of my entrancement and reminded me what I'd come here for.
"It's nice to actually talk with someone again." Florence said, sighing with a bittersweet happiness as she looked over at me, then did something I didn't expect.
She reached to take my hand.
There was a desperate pain in her eyes.
"It has certainly been a pleasure meeting you-" I said, but she cut me off.
"No, and… the person I was before all this… I would have apologized for being so vulgar and blunt, but I'm not sorry. I'm going to tell you what I think. Most people in this town don't step within a hundred feet of me anymore, thinking I'm cursed or something, or… They pity me so much they don't know what to say…" Florence exhaled, finishing her second martini just as she stood to prepare another.
My skin burned under my gloves from where she'd put her gloved fingers on top of mine.
She was so strange…
Her husband wasn't coming home, but her eyes darted to the door regardless, almost glassy as she imagined.
"I was recently widowed…" She said, as if it were easier to say with her back to me. "If you've been in this town for five minutes, I'm sure you already know that."
I'd been caught.
I just nodded lightly, but she didn't acknowledge it. She didn't turn around
"Everyone brought pies in the beginning." Florence said. "Then, when they stopped coming, so did everyone else. I'm a pariah in this town."
"No…" I started to protest.
"It's true." Florence insisted, turning around now, a power to her baby voice that hadn't been there before. "Even before all this…"
It made me curious.
"Would you like another drink?" Florence offered, her eyes strong and piercing.
"Oh no th-"
"I insist." Florence said strongly, something about her gaze on me making me shiver so I nodded and took the glass, though I wasn't even done with my last one.
It was like she saw through me…
"I'm sorry." I told her, hoping she felt that in this I was sincere.
She just shrugged.
"What about you, Rosalie? Have you a husband?"
"Oh, no I don't have a husband." I blushed wildly.
"Someone's got your heart though. You're blushing." Florence insisted, bringing her lips to her glass as she sat forward, seeming interested in gossiping.
"He died a long time ago." I don't know why I admitted this to her, and I bit my tongue after the words tumbled out.
"Oh, dear, I'm sorry." Florence said sincerely, her eyes melting onto me like hot candle wax.
I saw her start to feel a deep kinship with me, and in an odd way I felt a kinship with her too.
Death connected people in very odd ways…
I took a deep breath, gaining the confidence to start my questions.
"If you don't mind me asking…" I lead in, hoping this wouldn't trigger a negative chain reaction.
Looking into her eyes though I saw what I imagined was in my eyes months ago - a dull denial.
"I don't mind, but I also don't know what to tell you…" Florence said evenly. "No one knows what really happened to my husband."
"Oh, that's dreadful." I said, playing into it.
"Mmhm." Florence responded over her glass.
I sensed her drunkenness and I was encouraging it… I felt awful as I watched her descend.
"So was he sick for a long while, and doctors just weren't able to?…" I hated myself.
"He wasn't sick. He was murdered." Florence cut me off, narrowing her eyes like she couldn't believe I didn't know that.
"Oh… I…."
"Don't worry… Rochester's perfectly safe." Florence slurred her words a bit, but her thoughts were clear. "Everyone thought it was for his money anyway. They eventually pinned it on the Mafia, and I suppose that's what makes the most sense. My brother was killed too… Back in Georgia… And the details were similar… It had to be the Mafia and some sort of money deals these men do…"
Florence seemed to be talking herself into it.
"Royce knew he was going to die." Florence whispered.
This made my heart race. I waited for her to reveal something important.
"He took out a five million dollar life insurance policy the week before he died." Florence said, trailing her fingers across the rim of the glass before taking another drink. "No one got much money… They stole just a few tens of thousands from the safe that day. Nothing substantial."
She liked her martinis strong.
I wondered about a life like hers, one of such luxury.
Maybe that's why I was doing this to her.
I resented her…
I clenched my jaw.
I almost choked on my own drink, unable to even imagine that much money.
"It takes care of me… and our son." Florence admitted. "But… But, it's not… it's not him."
I could see she genuinely loved him.
I couldn't do this.
I shouldn't have done this…
I was wrong to come here.
I took swift, shallow breaths, trying to lengthen and deepen them to calm myself.
"You loved him?" I prodded, wondering if she'd reveal anything about his true character.
That's what I was looking for. I had hoped she would tell me he was a monster, but… but it was the opposite.
He was far from it in her eyes.
He'd been an immortalized saint to her.
"Of course I loved him. He was my husband. The father of my child…" Florence wiped her tear off her cheek.
Shit shit shit shit shit
I had a pit in my stomach. Why did I have to be so cruel?
"I'd give every cent back to have him walk through that door." Florence nodded to the front door with wistfulness and started to cry even harder, finishing her drink now.
God… I hated that I'd hoped she would've told me he was abusive. It would make the story make sense…
But now, it seemed like Rosalie Hale… Vivien… had lied to me.
Maybe she really was overcome with jealousy… Maybe she'd killed him because he married and it wasn't her…
I didn't know what any of the truth was anymore.
My mind was a tangle and I tried to get back to the present.
"Let's have some of that pie." I tried to encourage Florence, reaching to wipe some of her tears for her with my handkerchief embroidered with a rose that Vivien had left in the pocket of the dress she'd switched with mine… I imagined the rose was for Rosalie…
She cried, and I kept my hand on her shoulder in support for her as she sobbed.
I hated myself that I still wanted more answers and needed her to calm down so I could get them.
Who was I becoming?
She nodded though, and as she reached for a bell to ring for her servants, she stopped herself.
"Follow me." She whispered as I trailed behind, my stomach tight and nervous.
She pushed into a kitchen she didn't cook in, noticing the pie on a cake stand in the center of the room.
After trying a few drawers, she found where they kept her silverware and produced two forks.
"I can grab the plates." I suggested, but she had already taken the pie off of the stand and stuck her fork straight into it.
For someone so proper, she was so undone…
It was exceptionally odd to see her take a mouthful of pie straight from the dish without serving herself.
"You weren't kidding." She sighed with her mouth full, lost in the decadence of the food as she took another bite. "Best pie I've had in a while."
It was so odd.
She was so odd.
"I'm glad." I gave her a little smile, before she offered the dish to me.
I took a small bite, but she didn't protest, taking it back so she could take another bite.
She kicked off her shoes and sat straight down in the middle of the floor, her back against the counter.
"I can…"
"No. Sit with me." She insisted, reaching her hand up for mine.
"Rosalie." She said my name like she masochistically wanted to say it.
I slowly descended to sit next to her, feeling strange as she pulled me down by my wrist.
"No one ever wants to sit with me anymore." Florence's voice was full of loneliness and pain.
"They never wanted to sit with me." She sighed, filling her mouth with another bite of pie.
"What do you mean?…" I pushed.
"I didn't know about her… When I met him… I didn't know…" Florence said, and her voice was breathier and softer than usual.
Bingo.
"Who?" I pretended to puzzle.
I hated myself for the pain I saw in her eyes then, knowing good and well that I had caused it.
"Rosalie Hale…" She said her name with reverence, like it was something holy and untouchable.
Something distant.
I had to make it look like she had to explain herself.
"Royce was engaged before me. And God… She might as well have been a saint. I didn't know Royce and I had gotten engaged just a month after her death… I didn't know people were saying I was the reason Rosalie had killed herself, that I was the other woman this whole time… I didn't know they'd all made me some kind of villain. I had so many friends in Georgia and my life was perfect and…" Florence stuffed her mouth with pie again. "My brother John had introduced me to him and…"
"I just… I loved Royce." Florence cried. "But, everybody but me seemed to know he didn't love me."
Here it was.
I hated the pain she was in and the drunkenness I'd encouraged her into, but here it was.
"When I got up the courage to ask him about Rosalie, he got so mad at me." Florence darkly chuckled. "I'd never seen him angry before. He was… so cool."
I remembered that was exactly how Vera had described him…
"But then, when he trusted me, he described her as… as a ghost. A beautiful ghost, that you could never quite reach." Florence exhaled, keeping her eyes down.
"Try competing with that." She hiccuped with a little giggle. "A fucking enigma…"
Something about this side of her was magnetizing, but so destructive and awful.
"He talked about her in his sleep… Said her name…" Florence whispered. "Your name."
She pointed the fork into my face and my stomach dropped knowing she was drunkenly connecting me to this Rosalie Hale…
"Right before he died, he barely slept, but when he did…" Florence took another bite. "He called to her…"
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"Exactly what I said." Florence nodded. "He practically went mad with her in his head. He talked about her coming back… Even awake, he told me she was coming back… I thought he was insane… He'd talk to her like she was in the room, ask her to go away, to stop watching him, to stay away from me… from the baby…"
I shivered, the ghost story seeming more and more real.
"Once, I told him my diamond earrings were missing… I think I actually just left them out on the sink and dropped them down the drain… It's possible, but I… I don't know. But… He ran through the house yelling at Rosalie to give them back and to leave me alone. It was like she was… here. He punched through a wall, in a one sided screaming match with her… It terrified me."
I could throw up.
"But nothing compared to the day he walked in and saw bouquets of roses and violets all over our house… Every room was filled with them. Even the nursery... I thought… I thought he'd sent them to me… I'd just found out I was pregnant again… I thought he… But, it… it was her. She'd been in my house... She'd touched my son... All those flowers... One in the bassinett... I know that was her…"
I realized Florence only had one child and this realization haunted me…
"What you said before… about him knowing he was going to die…" I probed, knowing I was taking advantage of her drunkenness. "Do you think?…"
"That it was her ghost that killed him?" Florence rolled her eyes, like it was far fetched because it was, but it seemed like she believed it. "Oh sure. Wanted to be together forever I'm guessing. Would've been nice for them to let me and my child in on that little plan."
"My son is never going to know his father." Florence sobbed into the blueberries.
"Oh Florence…" I broke then, knowing I'd gone too far, but a part of me wanted to push further…
"And I know that's why… why my baby died… She knew she'd never have a father…" Florence sobbed, binge eating this stupid pie and I couldn't do a thing to stop her heartache.
She descended into her grief now. I recognized it.
And once the dish was empty, only then did she duck her head into her hands.
I sat there, watching her cry in silence until she had no more tears to cry.
I was heartbroken and empty and I couldn't help but cry a few silent tears with her.
"It's okay." I breathed, wiping her mouth with my handkerchief in a maternal way that was mightily familiar to me.
My throat was tight.
"Now he's dead he gets to be with that damned beautiful ghost he always wanted." Florence drunkenly slurred her words.
"Fuck Rosalie Hale." Florence's heartache shifted into a terrifying anger as she grinned.
She said this word that I'd only heard men say like it was second nature.
Something in me responded to Florence's anger and the irrational belief that Rosalie had actually killed Royce…
Rosalie Hale knew what had happened to my brother.
She was withholding information from me.
Somehow she knew where Emmett was…
And she wasn't telling me anything…
"She's the jealous, husband-stealing bitch, here." Florence irrationally went on, but in the truth of her drunken mind, she clearly believed in her heart…
Rosalie had killed her husband.
This is what I'd come for.
"Fuck. Rosalie. Hale." Florence closed her eyes, tilting to tap the back of her head on the cabinet behind her then drooped her head so it was lying on my shoulder.
After a long moment, she spoke.
"I'm so… lonely." Florence said softly, her eyes darting over the depths of mine as we sat together.
"Me too." I agreed with her authentically and for the first time didn't have to lie in the slightest since I'd been here.
That was the most honest thing I'd said in so long that it made my chest hurt.
We sat there, just staring at each other for a long while, wallowing in our shared despair. From my perspective, we were also sharing a hatred for this girl called Rosalie Hale…
I stared at Florence's face, knowing she was also an unwilling participant in a supernatural game we didn't understand. We were at the will of something beyond explanation and our lives would never be the same.
Florence took a little inhale, and I felt it in the air around me.
"Will I ever stop feeling like this?" She asked, and my eyes darted down to her perfect red lips that even without lipstick were the envy of roses.
I just nodded.
"How do you know?" Florence asked.
"Because it has to get better." I told her.
Then, the most peculiar thing happened as Florence traced her fingers over my bottom lip, then braided her fingers into the back of my hair.
She looked down at my mouth then, up into my eyes back and forth for a second, testing.
My heart pounded in my chest and I was frozen unable to think clearly.
I felt her nervous, shaking breath on mine too, something making my reactions and my thoughts hazy…
Then, she touched her perfect, rosy lips to mine.
An electric current jolted through my body in a sort of shock, and I was paralyzed under her kiss.
What was happening?
I didn't understand.
She was… a girl…
I was… a girl… and….
My brain shut off as she parted her lips, deepening her kiss with me and braiding her hands through my hair.
She was tender, and gentle, and soft….
And she smelled so good…
I'd never kissed a woman before…
That's when I realized I was kissing her back. My hands twitched by my side. I didn't know where to put them.
But Florence did, and she traced her fingers down my neck.
I shivered and pulled away.
"I'm sorry." I dropped my focus and put my fingers to my lips tangibly reminding myself of my mouth and what had just happened.
But, I didn't know what had just happened.
It was desperate and sad and awful and…
Florence didn't say a word, but I felt her eyes heavy on me.
"I um…" I started to get up from the floor, but then I looked over at her.
"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Florence asked breathily and easily, like nothing, but everything had transpired.
Before I could think, I nodded.
We sat across from one another silently, and mostly we kept our eyes on our plates.
She'd gotten sick even before dinner was ready and the paleness and sheer sheen of sweat from drunkenness and regurgitation after eating an entire pie weighed on her, but it didn't make her any less beautiful and it made me feel so… odd.
I hated it.
Maybe I hated her.
But, as I went to leave as it got dark, she walked me to the front door, her eyes desperately heavy on me.
"Will you call on me again some time, Rosalie?" She asked, a vulnerable softness to her as she looked up at me. "I would… enjoy your company again. Maybe tea tomorrow?"
She nervously bit her bottom lip and my eyes lingered on her mouth.
I don't know why I did it, but I did, and I ducked my head to touch my lips to hers once more.
She pushed me away then, a panicked look in her eyes.
I felt vulnerable and exposed then, hating that I did that and hating that I was rejected and hating her and hating myself and hating…
She'd been drunk before. I'd been too upset before… It wasn't…
"I'm not…" Florence told me with a nod of finality.
I shook my head.
"Me neither." I denied fervently, knowing how much I loved Sam and how attracted to him I'd been. He was a man, and…
I turned my back, to open the door, but she grabbed my hand.
"Tea tomorrow?" She suggested, again, keeping her hand in mine.
I was so confused.
I just nodded.
She gave me a little smile.
That night I wrote to Rosalie but this time my letter was different not praising her courage or telling her about my progress and thanking her for it. I didn't swear to find out the truth and I didn't ask about Emmett.
I felt like I was baiting her.
I know who you are and the games you've played. You've toyed with an innocent woman… A child. You're a monster.
Two weeks later… I got a response from Rosalie Hale: a date and a location.