Chapter 7: The Apple
"Now, now, Beatrice, just calm down," my stepmother suddenly whispered, reassuringly; her voice a calm comfort in a storm-- or at least the eye of it. I could not be sure; everything seemed to be going way too fast; I was getting a headache-- a migraine, and the woman I had hated so was somehow-- oddly enough-- right, "Yes," I whispered, closing my eyes, and trying to get the image of my father out of my head; although I could not, for I remained seeing it; his head-- the blood, "I must calm down," I whispered, as she put a comforting arm around my trembling shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Shh... that's right. We'll get help... you just need to calm down-- we can't panic. It will only make matters worse, all right? It was an accident, Beatrice-- a horrible accident."
I nodded once again.
An accident-- my father's death had to have been an accident. She was right-- hadn't she always been…? Wait a minute… What was I thinking…? This was the woman who had been cruel to me-- had stabbed me in the back countless times; the woman who had tried to kill my spirit, and--
She turned me away from the staircase, and began leading me down the hall, "Shh," she repeated, soothingly; her voice beginning to resemble that of my mother's; I nodded, glad for the first time in my life that this woman was my stepmother, Dead... DEAD-- Just like Mom... He's dead, and there's nothing I can do to bring him back... Why me...? Why me...?
I wanted to scream-- I wanted the emptiness of my soul to be felt throughout the world-- the universe. But I remained silent. I remained silent as we walked down the empty hallway, and as Jacqueline continued to whisper comforting words to me; her once extremely annoying voice was now beautiful, and meaningful. Each word she whispered made me want to forget what had happened even more. Had I not been so crazy with loss, I would have realized what her voice really was; manipulative.
But it was then-- not now. Not today years before in the past; when I had been so much more naïve.
The tears now began to fall freely from my eyes, without stopping, and onto my bare feet; each tiny droplet of water that made up the tear trickling down my toes; tickling them. I actually wanted to giggle to get rid of some of the anxiety I was feeling
Everything was beginning to slow down now, and as the dreamlike qualities of the evening suddenly returned to reality and I felt Jacqueline slipping her hand around my arm, and then dragging me back towards my bedroom. I was still lost; not myself. Her spell, if you can call it that was still continuing when she pushed the door open, and it made a tiny creak, as I had left it open ajar. I opened my eyes, and as they adjusted to the darkness, I looked up; seeing for the first time that she too had tears in her eyes. Maybe she DID have feelings for my father, I thought, as she promptly sat me down on my bed; I faced the white walls, and closed my eyes once again; trying to shut out everything... Everything...
I traced a trembling finger along the walls; the paint job was still as white as paper; I sniffled, remembering the day when my father had painted it for me... He was gone now.
Just like my mother.
Grief is a strange thing; it befalls the worst possible circumstances in life, and while it can make us stronger in the long run, at the time, there is a feeling of complete hopelessness that comes along with it. A feeling that life will never be the same again, and that the world has completely stopped.
I had lost someone before, but during this first experience with death, I had, at least, kept a shard of hope. When my mother had died, I still had had my father, but now-- now--
My thoughts were interrupted by Jacqueline's strange voice, "Here, Beatrice, maybe this will cheer you up."
I quickly turned around; my stepmother clutched a ruby-red apple in her hand; it looked absolutely delicious.
The peel was a dark, deep read, and such a lovely smell was wafting from the inside of the tender peal, that my mouth actually began to water with anticipation at the thought of actually being able to eat the lovely piece of fruit. And it was so ripe; it was larger than most apples, in a way, it was strange, and magical, and beautiful, and gorgeous, all at the same time. One thing was certain; I wanted it.
What does it matter if Dad is dead? A voice hissed inside my head, What does it matter?
I returned my intent gaze upon the apple, and held out my hand, "Do you want it?" she asked, holding it up; high; just out of my reach, but right there, all the same.
I nodded, greedily, and snatched the large apple from out of her grasp.
"I'm going to call the police," she whispered, wiping the tears out of her almond shaped eyes with a black pajama sleeve.
I nodded, indifferently, and turned towards the wall once again. I stared at the apple in my hands for less than a moment's time, before breaking into its sweet flesh-- its deliciousness with my teeth. It WAS delicious! I hungered for more. I swallowed. But, just as I was taking a second bite, a strong, hard blow came to the back of my head, and I was knocked unconscious.
