4. Jocelyn's Garden
The night was gloomy and quiet. The sights and sounds I was so used to weren't there. The things I had grown up with. There was no faint light coming from the hallway or buzzing of the computer or furious typing of my brother or noisy scribbling of my mother. The night was hollow. I was hollow. I lay in the centre of my huge bed and stared at the ceiling. My room was murky and gave off scary shadows I wasn't used to. My mind was blank. And I'm not really sure how that happened. You know as a kid, when you play that game and try to completely empty your mind and not think about anything. It was so hard because you kept thinking about everything and anything. You would think about not thinking. I thought it was impossible to just be blank. To not think. To be void. Apparently not, because I achieved it. I don't remember or understand how, I just know that I was blank. I was nothing. Sometimes a face would flash up in my mind. My brother. Mix. Tom, one of my sleazy ex-boyfriends who was really hot and a great kisser, even though he was jerk. And then River's face would flash in my mind and I would shudder, slipping back into the depression I had made for myself within a night.
When I woke, it took me a moment to realise I'd fallen asleep. And when I'd come to that startling conclusion, I didn't understand why I was awake. I sat up slowly, letting the blankets fall around me. It was light in my room because I hadn't drawn the curtains shut last night. I stood up, my feet landing softly on the rug that covered the marble floor. And then I was unsure. Unsure of what to do. What did I usually do when I woke? My mind didn't understand.
What now? I kept thinking. My eyes scanned the room, brushing over the vanity with all my things neatly – so unlike me – arranged, the huge wardrobe with my clothes all ready packed away, the desk that I hadn't noticed before, with a few of my books and miscellaneous gadgets scattered over it. Then I saw the door River had mentioned led to my own bathroom. Bathroom. That made some kind of sense to my shocked brain. I made my way to the door and opened it warily. It was brighter than I had expected and I squinted my eyes until they had adjusted. The walls were again washed with white marble, in contrast to the blue colour of my room, with a large window on the sidewall. The glass looked like it had been blown, or something similar, because it was thick, with tiny little bubbles strewn all over it, making it impossible to see in or out of. I ran my hand over the glass. It was cool to touch and ridged with the bubbles, but strangely smooth. At first I thought, why would anyone put in opaque glass when the view is so pretty? And then I remember this was a bathroom, and while you wanted light, you didn't want people to be able to see in.
The whole room was huge, with a massive double basin – made of marble – and full mirror that covered the whole wall above the sinks. On the other wall there was a considerable marble bathtub – more like a spa – with feet and beautiful golden taps. Next to that was a recently installed shower with matching glass and faucets. Again I wondered how anyone would have been able to install such intricate and detailed plumbing in a house like this. Especially considering it was all made of marble. I just didn't understand how anyone would be able to install a hot and cold water system.
I slowly removed my clothes, noticing that I hadn't changed into pyjamas to sleep and I was still wearing my jeans. I let the clothes fall around my feet and I reached into the shower to turn on the hot water. The shower was ten times bigger than anything we had at home and much more luxurious. In fact, the whole house would be lovely to stay in – if it weren't for the fact I was being held hostage by an evil monster. I turned on the hot water and watched the needles of water hit the marble of the shower wall as I waited for the water to heat up. When I saw steam I stepped under the showerhead and soaked my hair. I noticed that even my shampoo and conditioner had been placed in the shower with my body wash and soap.
For a moment, anger consumed me so suddenly and completely. The thought that River had been though my whole life, made me think very seriously about slamming my fist into the glass surrounding the shower. Then I remembered that would probably hurt me, so I decided against the notion. Instead, I concentrated on the shower. The water felt nice against my skin. I turned the hot water tap up to full so the water was scalding. The sharp needles stung and burnt, leaving my skin red and blotchy. But I liked it. The pain felt good. Numbing.
I wasn't sure how long I stayed in the shower, but it was long enough for my fingers to wrinkle. I finally stepped out from under the water, into the steamed room and searched for a towel. There was one hanging on a rack near the door. I wrapped it around me and moved to the mirror. It took a moment for me to realise that, like everything else, this towel was mine, from my house.
Again, anger ripped through me, and anger I was completely surprised and unprepared for. It was just a towel, but the thought that River had been into my bathroom and touched everything, everything, sent angry pulses through me. And this time I did punch something. I slammed my fist into the marble wall without hesitation. Luckily I'd had enough sense to use my left hand, because as soon as I made contact with the wall, pain exploded through my hand. I cried out as I brought my hand back into me. I turned it carefully to inspect the damage. All the skin around my knuckles was broken and bleeding, but that wasn't the worst of it. The swelling of my middle knuckle was astounding. As was the pain. I was surprised that swelling could happen that fast.
With my right hand scrunched into a fist I took a breath through my teeth. I left the bathroom, still dripping, trying to find anything I could fix my hand with. In the end I used a pen and some cloth to act as a makeshift splint for my broken knuckle. I dressed as well as I could with one hand and throbbing pain, before leaving my room and trying to find the kitchen for some ice. I wandered around the halls of that stupid mansion for way too long, looking for any room that resembled a kitchen. I held my hand in front of me, trying desperately to ignore the aching hot pain that was radiating from my hand. It felt like the blood of the broken vessels was being boiled.
As I walked past one door, I heard my name.
"Giselle?" River inquired. I cringed, but backtracked anyway. I found the door he had called from and peeked my head in. It was obviously the library (the walls of books were a bit of a give away). Of course, it was all made of marble, shelves placed at even intervals all the way to the high ceiling with sliding ladders placed at intervals. The room itself was huge – almost as big as the ballroom – with intricate masonry on each shelf, extending to the roof. On the right hand wall were huge wall sized windows that had a beautiful view of the garden outside. There were several granite tables with mounds of books placed haphazardly on them.
River was standing near the back of the huge library, voice echoing of the white walls. His body was facing away but he had his head turned over his shoulder. I caught sight of the scaled eyebrows casting shadows over the marble blue eyes and my jaw clenched together. But I realised something. This wasn't out of fear or panic, this was out of anger. Hot blistering anger. His ashen skin marked with blue veins and calluses made me want to hurt him. It made me want to really hurt him. The pain in my hand disappeared as my hatred for River boiled within me.
"Yes," I answered, seething. River seemed surprised by the venom in my voice.
"What happened to your hand?" he asked.
"Let's just say I don't recommend marble to be used as a punching bag."
"You punched the wall?"
"No. The wall just got in the way of my fist. Please, can you tell me where the kitchen is?"
"Why do you need the kitchen?"
"Ice."
"I will help you," River answered, putting his book down and making his way to me.
"No." The spite in my voice was hatred vaporised. River stopped moving and stared at me. "Just tell me how to get to the kitchen."
"I can help you," River said, showing me his pointed teeth and black tongue, only reinforcing how much I didn't want his help.
"I don't need your help." I turned and left the doorway, quickly making my way away from River.
I finally managed to find the kitchen, but only after wandering around for over half an hour with no more anger to keep the pain from my mind. I moved straight to the freezer and found some ice. I unwound my makeshift bandage and put the ice, inside a tea towel, on my broken knuckle. I leant against a bench, closing my eyes and letting the coolness seep into my hand. When I opened my eyes again I noticed something sitting in the centre of a bench opposite me. There was a black hand brace sitting there, ready for me, with some pain killers. Again my teeth gritted in frustration and anger, but I kept myself from kicking something. Instead I threw the ice to the ground with my good hand, watching as it shattered on impact. Then I picked up the hand brace and slid my arm into it, securing the laces and Velcro that held it together. It restricted movement of my fingers and had supports along each knuckle and down the back of my hand. When I'd done that, hating myself for succumbing to River, I threw down two painkillers and made my way back to my room.
By the time I had actually found my room again, the painkillers had kicked in, making my hand feel numb and heavy. I checked the antique clock on my bedside table and sighed. It was only ten o'clock. I decided I needed to get out. Get out of this stupid house and away from that monster. All the fear and sadness had gone from yesterday and now I was only angry. Angry and frustrated. Frustrated that I couldn't get out of this place, and if I tried to fight, River would just kill Adam. I was going down without a fight, and I hated it. I tried to let it go.
What had River said about shopping? I needed to buy stuff for dinner. Brilliant. I'd never been a master chef, but I prided myself on being able to cook something other than scrambled eggs (like my brother). I felt that if I moved out I would actually be able to fend for myself. If my brother moved out I think he might starve simply because he couldn't turn on the oven. The thought of my brother made my eyes sting and my throat feel dry. Remembering the blank look on his face when he opened the door. I shut my eyes and took a few breaths. Yes, I definitely needed to get out.
Out of spite of River I decided to find something cheap, horrible and simple to make for dinner. He'd left some money on the small table beside the front door I was able to use. Going to the local supermarket hadn't been a problem – I'd been going there with Mum for years – I just hoped with all my heart I wouldn't see anyone I knew. It was winter holidays so I just prayed that none of my school friends would pass me by without a second glance. I couldn't deal with that.
I walked down the aisles with my head down, careful not to look at anyone for too long. I ended up finding the perfect thing for dinner. You know those 'count your calorie' meals that come in snap-off plastic microwave-able packs? Well, let's just say I found a whole aisle of them. And I bought enough to last the whole week. I knew they tasted awful – undercooked, dry and gluggy – and thought they would do well to tie over River for the week. I bought six different flavours: Italian Risotto, Creamy Pasta, Chinese stir-fry, Indian curry, Vietnamese noodles and Garden Vegetables. With those in my basket I also decided I needed real food for me to eat. I did a usual shop, as I would've with my mother. The burning in my lungs and stinging in my eyes I felt at the thought of my mother surprised me. My chest hurt and I struggled to breathe for a moment. It took a few minutes to get myself under control, and once I had, I continued buying things I needed, keeping all thoughts away from my family. Fruit, vegetables, some meat, breakfast food, some canned stuff, bread, milk, spreads, butter and other small things (including more painkillers).
When I got to the register and started putting everything on the belt, the cashier noticed my hand, and in the usual awkward cashier-customer conversation, asked,
"That looked like it hurt. How'd you do that?"
"Nothing spectacular," I shrugged as I handed her my cash. She counted out my change and dropped it in my palm, handing over the receipt. "Just punched a marble wall."
"Oh," the cashier said looking embarrassed. I collected my bags and walked away without looking back.
When I got home I dumped everything in the kitchen and began putting it all away. It was large (like everything else in the house) and looked more like a restaurant kitchen than a household one. The floor and walls were marble (surprise) with granite benches surrounding the edges of the room and two separate island benches in the centre. In random places in the benches, pieces had been cut out to put in a stove, oven, range hood, dishwasher, fridge and sinks. Under the centre benches were cupboards where all the plates, bowls and utensils were placed. Hanging from the roof were large pots, pans and what I thought to be oversized spoons and forks. There were a couple of knife blocks around the place too. They seemed so… dangerous. I'd handled knives before, sure, no problem. But I'd never been suicidal before. And being masochistic was dangerous. More dangerous for my family than for myself, I felt. I'd have to watch myself. I almost laughed aloud. I had to watch myself with knives. I felt like a child.
After eating something (I hadn't realised how hungry I was until I actually ate) I decided to try and find this garden River had talked about. I'd seen it from the library so I decided that heading in that direction might be a good start to find a back door. The only thing I didn't want, was to run into River. The library just happened to be very near the ballroom and I just happened to end up there, via one of the side doors. And I found the stairs that led to the balconies jutting out of the walls, no more than an extension of the marble and incredible stonework.
I took each stair slowly, looking out at the beautiful ballroom as I ascended. Each step changed the room. Changed the way the coloured shapes of the stain glass windows hit the floor. Changed the size of everything. Changed the position. I could imagine a grand ball happening. I could imagine the Victorian dresses and suits. I could imagine the upright stance and stiff dancing. I could imagine the music and voices. It stayed in my mind like a dream. I let it go and kept walking.
At the top of the balcony and pressed myself against the rail and fantasised about how easily it would be to fall. Just to lean over and keep going. I quickly backed away, breathing hard. I shook the morbid thoughts away. The balcony was as long at the wall with one end ending in the stairs and the other ending with chestnut double doors. I was immediately intrigued. Another balcony? I walked to the doors and opened them easily, showing me a beautiful view of the garden. I took a deep breath of the fresh air and let the cool wind and warm sun fall on my face. There was a small landing that led to stairs down to the garden. The only difference to these stairs was that instead of being marble they were made of black stone to match the outside of the house. At the bottom of the stairs was a stone paved path that wound around the other side of the stained glass windows, which sat near the ground (I'd been right about the ballroom being partially underground), and made its way to stairs that came from the balcony on the other side of the ballroom. The path met in the middle and turned away at a ninety-degree angle that lead to a garden that was breathtakingly spectacular. The path keep going in a straight line with huge elm trees on either side placed and even intervals. Every now and then there was another path the led off the side of the main one, working its way into the greenery of the garden. There were so many beautiful trees, plants and flowers within the garden that is was more of a maze or rainforest than a garden. I didn't doubt that it would be too easy to get lost within those trees.
I began to make my way down the path, only mildly surprised when the canopy blocked the sun. I kept walking, staring in awe at the beautiful trees or flowers and stopping every so often to sit on the stone benches placed randomly along the side of the path. I was beginning to think there was no end to the path when the light burst through and the rainforest of trees ended. Suddenly the path turned perpendicular and ran along either side in a straight line. There were stone benches with backs placed at constant gaps along the side of the path, facing out, looking at a grass field that ended with the black stonewall of the house's land. I frowned, unsure of what this was meant to be. There was obviously some sort of viewing, but there was no stage or sports field. Just a few hundred metres or so of grass and a stonewall.
I sat in one of the benches and tried to imagine what I could be watching. I stood and walked onto the grass. Maybe some sort of battle field for sparring or something. I kept walking and noticed something etched into the wall. Intrigued, I jogged up to the black stone. That was when I realised what this was used for. It was an archery field. Etched into the wall was an outline of a target. I assumed they'd hang something on the walls considering it is pretty hard to pierce stone (as I'd learnt this morning). I wondered if River was an archer. I thought how cool it would be to learn. Then I frowned and walked away, keeping my mind blank. Having use of a weapon might not be the best thing to do at the moment. Not with this unstable desire to kill River. And myself.
That's when I stopped. Could River die? It was plainly obvious that he was old – too old. Maybe he was immortal. Maybe I could… no. Hurting River would be a sure-fire way of him hurting my family. I walked back to the path, wandering slowly, unsure of the time. When I could see the house again, I took one of the paths that turned off into the mass of forest. Again, I was walking for a long time, this time the path winding, sometimes meeting up with other paths or winding around a water feature or stone figure. Eventually, the path ended with sunlight almost blinding me, and a view of the house. There was a creek. I was so surprised I actually smiled. Further up I could see more trees and more ends of paths sometimes leading into bridges over the creek. The creek led to a small waterfall and fell down to a pond that ended where I was standing. It wasn't overly flooded, but it was a long creek – longer than a kilometre. Some parts were deep, others shallow. On the other side of the river there was a grassy field with a few more paths, water features, sculptures, pretty shrubbery and flowers – but nothing like the small forest I had just walked through – with the house looming over it.
Though, there was something that did intrigue me. I followed the creek, careful not to slip on the rocks, and found the closest bridge, crossing it and following the path that lead to a large flat rock. I climbed it carefully and lay myself over it, looking at the sky, the sun, feeling its warmth run over me. I closed my eyes for a second before opening them again.
I caught movement out the corner of my eye as I turned my head. River was at a window watching me carefully. We made eye contact and he pursed his corpse-like lips together before turning away from the window so I could no longer see him. Anger overwhelmed me, leaving me breathing hard, jaw clenched and aching. I pushed myself up on my hands, forgetting about my broken knuckle until I felt the searing pain in my left hand, and felt something else beneath my right hand. I turned around, relieved to take the weight off my left hand and looked at what was beneath my right. It was a carving. I traced my fingers over it, reading the letters carved there.
JocelynThat was it. Just the name, Jocelyn, carved in beautiful script no bigger than my hand. I got off the rock quickly, feeling as if I were violating something, which seemed strange, even to me. But what if it were a gravestone of… one of the other maids. I shuddered and turned away, pushing the thought out of my mind.
Gravestones weren't something I needed to worry about. Not yet, anyway.