Amidst the seemingly endless piano melodies, Erik returned to the bedroom several times to change her bandages and gently feed her some broth. He executed these tasks with skill and tenderness, leaving Hanna resenting the profound gentleness with which he welcomed her ever since she had agreed to marry him.
He often spoke of the wedding, describing the tear-inducing music, her wedding gown, and a church - the Madeleine. He embellished every detail with radiant eyes, causing Hanna to feel nauseous at the mere mention of marriage.
Once he left her alone again, she curled up in her bed and wept. When no more tears came, she lay awake and drained, thinking about her family. Her family, who she would probably never see again. No more familiar faces. Instead, she would marry a stranger and likely spend the rest of her life with him in this secluded place.
At the thought of having to marry this man, whose emotions were in utter chaos, a soft sob escaped her lips. This was not how she had envisioned marriage. No wedding dress shopping with Marie and her mother. No father to walk her down the aisle.
Hanna buried her face in the pillow. And then there were the marital duties. The thought of them made Hanna gag, and she vigorously shook her head to dispel those thoughts. She sat up in bed and listened. The faint playing of music crept under the door. She got up and locked the door.
She picked out some clothing and entered the bathroom with cautious steps, locking it as well. She filled a small tub with water and bathed before donning the clothing. The garments felt pleasant against her skin, but an uncomfortable sensation washed over her. She was wearing another woman's clothes. She was washing herself with someone else's soap. And she was sleeping in a femininely decorated room intended for someone else.
She felt like a substitute, and perhaps that's precisely what she was.
With a sigh, she retreated to her room, heading for the dresser where she had stowed her own clothes. They were the only reminder that she didn't belong to this time, that she wasn't insane, and that all of this wasn't a figment of her imagination. Her fingers caressed the fabric and clenched as they encountered the empty pockets.
She could vividly recall that her wallet and keys had been in those pockets. But they were gone. And there was no trace of her smartphone either. Naturally, she had confronted Erik about it.
"Erik?" she implored, her voice soft, as he meticulously attended to her head wound, his touch featherlight.
"Yes, my dear?" he replied in a sing-song tone.
"I was wondering where you put my items from my pocket," she inquired, wincing as he touched her wound.
"Forgive me, my dear, I'll be more careful," he apologized. With caution, he applied some ointment to her wound and retrieved bandages from the nightstand. His long fingers skillfully wound them around her head.
Hanna was still waiting for an answer from him. "I'm looking for my belongings. Where did you put them, Erik?" she pressed.
"What items?"
She huffed. Unbelievable!
"You know precisely what I'm talking about. Don't pretend ignorance!"
"Perhaps you lost them during your time outside, my dear," he replied calmly while securing her bandage.
Lost! Her smartphone, perhaps, but not the contents of her pockets. Her pants had a zipper, and she was absolutely certain that everything had been there before she ventured into the dark tunnels.
"You're lying!" she cried out, her voice betraying her frustration. "Why are you lying?"
"I am not lying," he retorted, looking down at her.
"Yes, you are! I know for a fact that I had my things with me. Why are you lying? I'm soon to be your wife. I thought I could trust you!"
He gripped her shoulders roughly, causing her to whimper. "You will be Erik's wife!"
"I haven't claimed otherwise," she whimpered in response. He released her and took two steps back, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You are not a good wife! You don't trust your Erik!"
Hanna audibly gasped, her anger flaring at the accusation. He was attempting to turn the tables and make her doubt herself! She thought, Two can play this game.
She looked at him in shock, her eyes wide, and then buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders quivered as she wept. "I... I just wanted... I have nothing else. This is all I have left. Please, Erik, please."
For a few moments, nothing happened, and Hanna feared that he had seen through her ruse. She could hear him audibly sigh and breathe heavily, then a cold hand settled on her shoulder, causing an involuntary shudder to ripple through her. Erik immediately withdrew his hand upon sensing her reaction.
"I will try my best," he said, and Hanna looked up. What did he mean, try his best? In not being a thief?, she thought sourly.
He had turned away from her and, within seconds, vanished from the room. Shortly after, the piano resumed its melody. Hanna scoffed.
She closed the drawer and approached the door to unlock it. As she did so, she noticed the absence of sound. No music, which had always accompanied her to sleep and greeted her upon waking. Absolute silence.
Carefully, Hanna cracked the door open and peered into the room that Erik referred to as the drawing room. Her eyes roved across the space, from the flickering firelight to the vacant sofa. The wilted flowers had been replaced, and fragrant roses adorned the vases. She gently pushed the door further ajar and stepped into the room. She traversed the space, listening intently. Silence.
Was she alone?
She hurriedly entered the adjacent room where the piano stood. Sheet music was scattered across the piano and crumpled on the floor. Red scribbles adorned the pages, and if Hanna thought her own handwriting was illegible in times of stress - oh, it was nothing compared to the cryptic words scrawled across these sheets.
Hanna spun around on her heels. "Erik?" she called out softly. There was no response.
To test her theory, she rushed back past the drawing room and reached the shore. The boat was missing. She almost laughed with joy. With a light step, she returned to the house. She was so relieved to finally be alone, in complete silence, free from the echoes of her Wedding Mass, which would forever remind her of her future with him.
She remembered her missing belongings, and she was fairly certain that Erik possessed them and had confiscated them. Although the items were useless to Hanna, she was convinced that Erik had taken an interest in them. After all, she had been openly carrying her smartphone through the tunnel.
Hanna furrowed her brow and hurried through the rooms. She opened various cabinets and dressers, rummaging through their contents. In vain. Annoyed, Hanna let out a sigh. She sifted through random odds and ends: pins, buttons, anecdotes in an unknown language, fabric scraps, but nowhere could she find her familiar smartphone or wallet.
Eventually, she halted in front of his room. Her hand reached for the doorknob, but it refused to turn. "Damn!" she hissed. He had locked the door. Defeated, she let out a sigh of frustration. Taking a seat on a chair, she traced circles with her finger on the wooden table, resting her head on her hand. Lost in thought, she sifted through the paperwork spread across the table.
Her eyes danced over the written words, her limited French only allowing her to decipher a few familiar phrases. Curious and willing to pass the time by attempting to make sense of the papers's content, she leaned back in her chair. However, no matter how hard she focused on the words, they simply refused to form a coherent meaning.
She reached for another piece of paper disinterestedly. It was an older issue of the newspaper Le Petit Journal from March.
She flipped through the newspaper, studying the caricature for a few moments and avidly reading the contents of the feuilleton. A story caught her interest; it was titled La Fille du Vampire. She read the short story with great concentration and was delighted to find that the other issues of Le Petit Journal contained the subsequent parts of the tale.
She picked up the newspapers and returned to the drawing room, where she reclined on the chaise longue, completely forgetting about her search for her belongings. Carefully, she sorted the newspapers by date and began to read. She had just started on the third chapter when she heard a bell ringing.
She looked up in surprise. She had never heard a bell ring down here before.
Before she could get up to rush to her room, the front door opened, and Erik entered. He was wearing his coat and hat, holding several bags and boxes in his hands. He muttered something under his breath that Hanna couldn't make out as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the house.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, his eyes sparkling. Hanna remained frozen on the sofa, her gaze fixated on his nose! He was wearing an artificial nose and a mustache. No mask. It was an unusual sight, and Hanna had to admit that the artificial nose and mustache made his appearance somewhat more bearable.
Feeling caught, Hanna quickly folded the newspapers and hid them behind her back. She looked up at him. "Hello," she said hesitantly. He was still by the door, his eyes tracking her movements, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. Hanna swallowed nervously. "I've been reading something," she admitted. "Well, trying to."
He still didn't say anything as he approached her. He placed the boxes and bags on a small chair and reached behind Hanna's back to retrieve a Le Petit Journal. Hanna watched him nervously and heard him sigh as his eyes fell on the page.
"Ah," he said. "La Fille du Vampire."
Nervously, she clenched her hands and felt her face turning red as he held the newspaper with the series in his bony hands. She felt a bit embarrassed, thinking of the weighty literature in his bookshelves that he probably knew inside and out. Compared to that, what she was reading was trash.
"It's interesting," she defended herself, looking at his face. His lips twisted into an ugly grin. She felt uncomfortable at the sight, tearing her eyes away from him. She couldn't suppress a shiver as she gestured toward the boxes. "What is this?" she asked, trying to divert the conversation from the newspapers.
Erik went to the boxes and picked one up. "I've brought you something," he said, handing her a box.
Surprised, she raised an eyebrow. "For me?" she echoed, looking at him skeptically and giving the box a little shake. It rustled. Uneasiness spread in her belly, and she sat up straight. She carefully untied the ribbon from the box and opened the lid.
Her fingers delicately broke the seal on the paper, and with a sense of curiosity mixed with apprehension, she reached for the fabric inside the box. It was a rich, deep blue material, and as she lifted the garment from its confines, she couldn't help but admire its fine quality. Slowly, she unfolded it, revealing a pair of trousers. Hanna's initial surprise gave way to a soft, almost amused chuckle as she stood up, holding the trousers against her legs. The fabric was exquisite, and the color exuded elegance.
"Thank you," she said, offering Erik a nervous yet appreciative smile.
She couldn't quite fathom the reason behind this unexpected gift of trousers. With a sense of careful consideration, she meticulously refolded the pants and gently placed them back into the box. Returning to her comfortable spot on the chaise longue, she couldn't resist the urge to inquire further. "But why?" she asked.
"I thought you preferred men's attire," Erik replied, his eyes wandering down her form. Hanna felt herself sinking deeper into the plush cushions under the intensity of his gaze. Her face flushed as she contemplated her own clothing – the garments she had initially arrived in and the dress she was currently wearing.
She had chosen dresses from the wardrobe, skillfully sidestepping the corsets and petticoats. The white dress she now donned concealed all the body parts that might be deemed scandalous in this era, yet she wouldn't be surprised if she were indeed wearing two undergarments simultaneously.
"Ummm…," she squeaked out, "…not necessarily. I'm just not accustomed to wearing this type of clothing." It wasn't even a lie. She cleared her throat and, with a gesture toward the bags, asked, "Dinner?"
"Lunch," he replied as he removed his hat and coat. Turning away from her, he executed a swift maneuver, donning a mask over his face, replacing the fake nose.
Hanna, her arms now folded protectively in front of her chest, stood her ground. Even though fear still gripped her in his presence, she wouldn't yield on this particular issue, especially when it came to the matter of time.
Not knowing the day or time left her with an unsettling sensation. How long might it have been since she had voluntarily returned to Erik? Four days? Five?
"Erik?" she ventured.
He sighed, his demeanor softening slightly. "What is it, my dear?" He picked up two bags from the table, casting a fleeting glance at her, before heading into the kitchen. She also took one of the bags and followed him, her anxiety still lingering.
She had observed him when he had brought her soup to her room as he checked the time on his pocket watch. It felt inherently unfair that he held this knowledge close to him while keeping her in the dark.
She placed the bag on the kitchen counter. "Could you possibly put a clock down here? In my room, perhaps?" she ventured hopefully as Erik began methodically stowing away the items in the cabinets.
Her request hung in the air for a moment before Erik questioned, "Why do you need a clock?"
Hanna instinctively tensed her shoulders, a sinking feeling of frustration and helplessness creeping in. She loathed when he exhibited such stubbornness towards her requests. First, it had been the issue with her belongings, and now, the subject of clocks!
She clenched her jaw, pondering whether pressing further with her questions might elicit his anger. Nevertheless, she desperately yearned to know the time before she felt further estranged from the outside world.
"To tell the time," she responded, her voice carrying a note of hesitation. Erik simply waved a dismissive hand. "You don't need a clock down here," he declared.
"But you have one!" she exclaimed, surprising herself with the newfound courage to challenge his stance. Despite this newfound assertiveness, her body began to tremble under the weight of his intense gaze, magnified by the mask he wore.
"I have matters to attend to, you don't," he stated firmly. "Be a good wife and listen." And with that, the topic was dismissed, leaving Hanna feeling both frustrated and helpless in her quest to regain a sense of time and normalcy.
Desperation clawed at Hanna's throat, and she briefly considered retorting that she was not yet his wife. After all, she wore no ring, and she hadn't signed any documents. However, a single glance into his piercing eyes silenced any potential rebuttal. It was as if he held her voice captive with his gaze.
Turning back to the groceries, he ignored her completely. Anger and despair swirled within her, and with grim determination, Hanna snatched a piece of baguette and an apple. Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and exited the kitchen. Picking up the newspapers from the chaise longue, she slammed the door behind her as she retreated into the bedroom.
Hastily, she locked the door behind her. The stack of newspapers became projectiles in her fit of frustration, as she hurled them into the air. Anger welled up inside her, his words echoing in her ears. She was a prisoner! A pawn in his perverse fantasy of what constituted "normal!"
Heavens, it was about a clock! She wasn't asking for her freedom — she was asking for the time!
Suddenly, she felt small and lost once more. Tears welled up in her eyes as she placed the food on the bedside table and crawled into bed. Pulling the covers over her head, she began to cry. It wasn't difficult for her to let the tears flow; they offered a welcome distraction and a form of solace from his behavior and the fact that she was a captive in this time.
Erik never once came to check on her, and the haunting silence of the house only deepened her sense of isolation.
After calming down somewhat, Hanna washed her face in the bathroom. Her complexion was flushed, her nose and eyes were swollen, and she couldn't help but chuckle at her disheveled appearance. Her hair was greasy, having gone unwashed for days since she sustained the head wound.
Gently, she removed the bandage, her fingers probing the wound. Up until now, Erik had always been the one to change the bandage and had forbidden her from removing it herself. She felt a thin scab and stubble. Hanna gasped and turned her head from side to side in front of the mirror, desperate to see something.
Her fingertips moved restlessly over the hair stubble. He had shaved her hair! In a diameter of about 3 centimeters, he had carefully shaved her hair to attend to the wound.
She gazed at her reflection and burst into laughter. Oh, what a sight! It hadn't even been a month, and she already bore a striking resemblance to him. What a perfect fit we both make, she thought sourly.
Leaving the bandage in the bathroom, with the intention of letting the wound breathe and heal better, Hanna's eyes fell on the scattered newspapers on the floor. She carefully gathered them up and began sorting through the contents that had been disrupted in her fit of anger.
Hanna diligently replaced the candles, ensuring the soft, flickering light remained steady in the room. Settling back into the comfortable bed, she gathered the scattered newspapers around her, determined to resume her reading. Occasionally, she would take a bite from the apple, its juicy sweetness providing a welcome respite from her hunger.
However, her stomach continued to grumble, protesting the meager sustenance. The dry baguette offered little relief, leaving her with a parched tongue and unsatisfied cravings. She couldn't help but wonder how long she had been confined to this bedroom. It was frustrating to realize that she could estimate the passing days but had no way to determine the precise time. Since their argument, only two hours might have elapsed, but it's also possible that it's already in the middle of the night.
With a resigned sigh, she lowered the newspaper, carefully folding it at the spot where she had left off in the story. Her curiosity about the outside world remained unquenched, but the nagging uncertainty about the time tugged at her thoughts.
Slowly, she rose from the bed, her bare feet making almost no sound as they met the wooden floor. She approached the bedroom door with caution, every sense heightened. She listened intently for any signs of movement or activity beyond the door, ensuring that her exit would not be met with any unforeseen surprises. Finally, she unlocked the door and stepped into the room beyond, casting a wary glance around to assess her surroundings.
The drawing room was eerily quiet, and the candles had been extinguished. Hanna reached for a candle from her own room and cautiously ventured into the empty space. It was utterly silent, and she couldn't help but wonder if Erik had returned to the surface.
Still, she moved with utmost care, making sure not to create any loud noises. Hanna tiptoed into the kitchen, rummaging for some cheese, smoked meat, and bread. She let a trickle of water fill a glass and downed it in a single gulp. With the candle and her food in hand, she left the kitchen.
As she passed by the door to Erik's bedroom, she practically held her breath and moved on tiptoes. A faint sobbing sound emanated from behind the door, causing Hanna to freeze in her tracks. She leaned slightly in the direction of his bedroom, listening intently, hoping she had imagined the sobbing.
But there it was again—a soft, choked weeping.
Hanna's heart constricted at the sound. She approached the door to Erik's bedroom with caution and pressed an ear against the wooden surface.
It was a heart-wrenching weeping. She heard him breathing heavily and struggling for breath as the unspeakably sorrowful sounds escaped his lips. Sometimes he sniffled, and at other times, he seemed to gasp for air so violently that Hanna feared he might hyperventilate.
Hanna's breath caught in her throat, and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she strained to listen further.
"Oh... Christine," he sighed.
Her face twisted with a mix of emotions, and Hanna couldn't bear to hear any more. She abruptly withdrew from the door, her footsteps echoing loudly in her haste.
Without any thought of being discreet, she stormed back into her own room and locked the door behind her with trembling hands. Seated on her bed, she mechanically bit into her meal, the flavors oddly blending as a salty taste mixed with the baguette. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she cried, though the reason remained elusive, buried beneath layers of confusion and frustration.