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In the Shadows II
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Sophie:The broken Mistress The Reality of Imaginations
It has been four hours since Alice disappeared. Well, it has been four hours since I noticed and went in search of her. My aunt has since noticed too and has not stopped to yammer on about my carelessness and the need to look after my sister more. I was tempted to tell my aunt that technically, I was not her daughter’s sister, but I thought better of it. My aunt is not someone who knows how to take a joke, especially when she is upset about something. They had begun a search for her, but that was two hours ago, and they are not close to finding her yet. As for me, I have settled myself in my uncle’s study. Don’t think I am not worried; I am. Alice never plays pranks such as these, and there is no reason why she would run away from home without telling me. I hate it when she goes on adventures like these without taking me along; you must know how upset I am. When they find her—eventually they will—or when she finally decides to return and after her aunt has given her an earful an
Sophie:The broken Mistress Death Stings
“I think he blames me. I see it in his eyes. He barely looks at me these days; he’s just always up there in his study; he never comes down and barely touches the food I send to him. When Katrina brings it back, it’s just the same.” “I am really sorry.” Rhys sighed. He knew the pain of loss himself and how close it could drive you to the edge. The woman closed her eyes and squeezed Sophie’s hand, which she had been holding tight. Rhys’ eyes did not miss the action. She stood to her feet. “Please excuse me. I feel like a mess.” Sophie looked at him pointedly, and he shrugged. *** Jack had seen the visitors approach his house before he went into his study and heard his wife invite them in. Then he had begun to hear his wife’s voice, but not the words; he could tell from the way she sniffled in between words that she was crying. Again. Perhaps she was telling them of the animal attack. The story that he had created. He hated to see his wife cry; it clawed at his insides, and s
Sophie:The broken Mistress In the name of death
Rosa watched as the doctor declared her husband dead. She heard no words, just the sound of her heart beating in her chest. Thump thump, thump thump’. Thoughts failed her too. Her mind, body, and soul were numb. Once she saw the doctor raise the white cloth over her husband’s face, she turned on her heels and left the hospital. She saw the pitiful look on their faces, mouths pursed, and eyes following her retreating figure. She had not known that she would have to go through all this again in such a short time. She stepped into their old car. It reminded her too much of Jack. A tear grazed her cheek and landed on her thighs. She tightened her hand on the steering, pressed down on the pedestal, and zoomed off. Once she got to their house, she stepped out of the car, opened her door, ignored the maid who waited patiently at the door, and disappeared into her husband’s study. She was shocked at the mess he had left it in, but perhaps this was the perfect environment to let out al
Sophie:The broken Mistress Reminiscing
Angrily, she tore down the office. I crashed through the desk until it was only wood and lumber. He wiped all his books from the bookcase and brought the bookcase down. In their room, she picked up all his clothes and tore out every photo that had his face on it—anything that would bring back a memory of him. She packed them all and dumped them on his grave, then lit a matchstick and watched it burn. It was better this way, she decided. His memory had no place in her heart, in her life, or in this world. She returned inside as the last of his memories burned and called on her maid. “My husband died from a fall.” She told her. “I will not tolerate hearing otherwise from the women in this village. And from now on, we will receive no guests. Barr the doors and windows, lock up the study, and bring the keys to my room. It is now a prohibited area.” The maid would have asked Madame a simple question, but she knew better. She nodded her head obediently and went to do as her Madame had
Sophie:The broken Mistress Voices in our head
Voices in our heads The night was warm and quiet. The perfect night for murder. When death came, it was silent. Always, it made no noise as it went up the stairs or as it stepped on the wooden floor; it made no noise when it opened a door slowly or when it chose whose hand to use as a working tool. The tools, on the other hand, were what made the noise. They were the ones that shattered the sacred silence of the night and, most times, drew attention to themselves just as it was on this night. Death had come; she may have felt it because she was suddenly awake, and that was when she noticed that her husband was not by her side. Then she had climbed down from the bed and went to check on the kids, and she smiled when she found them both sleeping and hurdled together. Silently: no. As she could (no one can be as silent as death), she tiptoed into their room and pried them apart, and just as she made to carry Alice into her own bed, she saw death. She jumped and looked around; it
Sophie:The broken Mistress It was all a dream
The moon bathed her in its light. He saw her now and thought she was an angel with the way she glowed. Her red hair fell over her shoulders, and the small nightgown she wore did nothing to hide the curves and the beauty of her perfect figure. He stood there mystified, memorized by her, and could not help but feel the feeling of longing that had begun to grow inside him, yearning only for her. He wanted, with everything in him, to go out into the light and sit with her beside the meadow. They would watch the water and talk, and then they would kiss. After that night, it was most of the things that filled his thoughts. Cradling her soft body in his hands, he ran his hands over her smooth skin. Often times he thought of the meadow—her favourite spot—and it was here that he imagined them making passionate love. Under the moonlight, on the moist ground, each of them did not mind the mud that would get in their hair or stain their bodies. They would only care about getting the most fr
Sophie:The broken Mistress In the moment of death
The voice was all that was on his mind. Her voice. The clarity and peculiarity. It had been as though he were submerged in an ocean, and her voice was what led him to the shore. He wanted to hear it again. His body longed for it, and his heart ached for it. It was still black outside, but he had heard Sophie climb up some moments ago. He thought about meeting her but thought against it. Still, his body could not lie still. He had tossed and turned and turned and tossed, but no position or angle was good enough for him. Alice's story was compelling, yet he did not want it to finish. It scared him to think of what he was going to find there. What happened to Alice? Did she die then or later? Did they ever find her body? How does it all connect to Sophie? He longed to know, and he knew he had all the answers in his hand, yet he could not bring himself to finish it. Sophie’s voice, too, was in the corner of his mind. Playing and replaying. He was sure of what he had heard and the
Sophie:The broken Mistress Had i know
Veronica seemed careless. She had put the child in the cot with Eliana’s child and turned to smile at her sister. Eliana hated the smile. Now, though, it was all she wanted to see. “Calm down, sister.” Veronica had said, pushing Eliana into a seat by the fire. She moved to the kitchen and began to prepare tea. Eliana remembered detesting how she moved around the house like it belonged to her. “Why are you here?” she had asked once Veronica brought the tea to her. The answer was there; she should not have asked. But the question had already left her lips, and it hung in the air until Veronica plucked it. “Like you do not already know. You know whose child that is.” Veronica responded, lowering herself into the recliner and looking into the fire. Eliana would have loved to be in that recliner. She eyed her sister contemptuously. She would like everything that her sister had—her face, her body, her beauty, Andre’s love—but the child. She did not want the child. What was she to
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