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She walked, tormented byfaces. They were all she saw: faces solemn and split with hunger; brows knitted like a surgeon’s thread; lips tight as the barren land she trod, grumbling, spitting; and eyes riveted on her—eyes without luster, hard and relentless. Valerie tried to hold her head high as she swept the narrow alleys, arm in arm with her husband.
The fading, brittle joy of autumn had slipped by into the heavy frost of November. The golden leaves were piled, rotting in corners, and Valerie breathed fumes of burnt coal. Soon, the white breath of winter would blanket the peaks with snow, catching the naked trees and surrounding the thatched roofs and chimneys.
She peeked at her husband. He was a slim, short man, and he leaned forward when he walked. Instead of a mouth, he had a thick, black mustache that bristled the hair on the back of Valerie’s head. His face was still now, though a ghost of a smile creased his cheeks and somehow, it filled Valerie with dread.
Even though she had not seen many places before, Valerie knew that this town was not a sight to behold. Poverty and famine took over what was once a merchants’ hub. Children were pulling on their mothers’ skirts with grizzled, moth-eaten sweaters and hats, some even barefoot, crying for a bigger piece of bread. Mothers stroked their unkempt hair, sighed, and turned to meet their colorless faces. Valerie suspected they did not want her husband to feel bereft as they pinched the children’s hollow cheeks to bring them color as Valerie and her husband passed them by. She thought of her uncle’s cottage, her own calloused hands and swollen legs, exhausted by the day’s work, and she felt tired again, unmoored by her sadness. But she recovered quickly when her husband—the infamous Ethan Vertigo—harshly tugged her back.
“Stop staring at them, you’ll scare them off. Just smile and wave like I do,” he whispered in her ear. “Yes, my dear,” she said quietly and turned to her side. His eyes were vacant, and Valerie stumbled on the rough, stony ground when he released her arm. A few giggles and sneers erupted from the crowd, and some shook their heads in protest immediately, punctuating the couple’s little trip to make amends.
A few weeks ago, when Valerie had just been married and left her uncle’s cottage behind, her marriage felt less like a blessing than a crime against the people she walked amongst now, shoving everything politely hidden behind the hills. She peered back through the crowd and saw, in the lurid glare of the oil lamps, its pointed roof piercing the gray sky like a cathedral’s spire—Vertigo Peaks. The manor-house stood tall and proud in the middle of the forest, overlooking the little town and its meandering, gravel road. Yet, its glistening, paned windows and dark, stone walls felt like an imposition, and Valerie had the impression it wasn’t right to look at it.
After that lurid night, it was not right at all.
“You tricked us, then you took this harlot to bed, the seed of our misery, of silence, that turned you away from us.”
Valerie felt the tension growing inside of her and knew something had to happen soon. A man snatched her arm and spat in her face. “Ethan!” she squeaked. The crowd burst into laughter. They began to gawk at her as if she were the devil incarnate. Before she could run away, another woman, who had broken away from the crowd, appeared by her side with a grin, and dug her nails into her shoulders. Valerie screamed at the sudden pain, trying to push the woman away.
“You turned away from our tradition.” She tipped Valerie’s chin. Then, raising her voice, she continued, “You fed us to the curse of that damned manor! You wed the perfect resemblance of that poor soul, lost because of you!”
She was flushed, eyes crazed and delirious at having so blatantly endured this insult. Valerie had just taken notice of her polished boots and fine, long dress when Ethan flung her across the crowd and the shouting dwindled. The rush disappeared. The swarming crowd stood still with a ring of sweat on their sullen faces as Ethan danced between her and the woman with his hands in the air.
“Cecilia—Mrs. Harker—please, put a stop to this. I apologize for the inconvenience and grievances we’ve caused. But my wife is rather exhausted and perplexed by the wedding.”
The woman—who Valerie now assumed to be one of her husband’s acquaintances—scoffed.
“Do you think this starts and ends with your wedding night, Ethan? Mrs. Vertigo? A bout of plague is upon us because of your family! They found another girl by the docks this morning and it’s all because you cannot get your cunt in line. You’ll ruin us like you ruined your family!”
People resumed cursing and flailing. She blinked as their crazed laughter filled the air while Mrs. Harker, pulling on her husband’s coat, was swinging her long arms at Valerie breathlessly. She was left standing inside a circle of an angry mob, dragging their feet around her, ready to attack, shoulders hunched in anticipation. Valerie did not know what they were talking about. She cast a gloomy look at her husband, who did not take notice of her at all.
Eventually, the doctor was the one who saved them. Valerie remembered his squirmish face from that horrid wedding night. His hands replaced her husband’s in a matter of seconds, and every time Valerie tried to squirm away from his touch, his grip tightened.
“Please, Mrs. Vertigo,” he said in a raspy voice. “Come with me.”
Meanwhile, her husband tried to free himself. “Cecilia, please do not make a scene,” he begged. “Let us go.”
The words were like blood in water. Ethan Vertigo committed the cardinal sin of pleading. He could be defeated; he could be replaced. In the blink of an eye, the masses surrounded them, and more people flooded the narrow alley than Valerie could see. Their steps echoed on the cobblestones, and she listened to their angry voices which raged around her like a battering ram.
“Call the police immediately!” Ethan yelled in his flight, slowly making his way toward her and the doctor. Her husband's face took on a look of sternness as his eyes were set on the people, bearing the sound of fierce groans and dangerous calls with a contracted brow when the first stone hit his chest.
Then he came, looked up at them and realized they were trapped in the middle of this pandemonium, carried away by the throng of men and women—who had been voiceless and breathless before—like a weed before the wind. The look of defiance disappeared from his face.
Ethan Vertigo was white with fear. Valerie felt her teeth clattering as the two men squeezed her. Retreat was not possible. It became increasingly difficult to draw a breath and her chest started to hurt from all the pressure. Suddenly, her eyes began to well up with tears and her throat felt scorched, as if she had been thrown into fire.
Her mouth formed a “No!” but the deep growl in the sea of people was more dreadful than before. A rock whizzed through the air. She watched its descent in amazement, feeling like a coward still, as it hit her forehead. It drew a veil of light in her vision and blinded her for a moment. She fell on her knees, lying breathless on the cold ground. The dull thump of feet filled the silence in her head. The thread of dark blood trickling down her face kept her dimly conscious as the doctor folded his arms around her.
“Push them away!” he exclaimed. His voice quivered with rage. Then, he gently lifted her off the ground and put her head on his shoulder. “Strike them if you must!”
Her husband’s voice called out from a distance. “But they won’t stop! They’re yelling, they won’t draw back!”
“Damn, let them yell!” the doctor shouted. “Make way for us. I’ll carry her to my office, and you follow me!”
She cried without restraint when she opened her eyes in the doctor’s office. She clung to the door frame to steady herself while her blood dripped on the brass knob. Pain throbbed in her head. Her sobs became uncontrollable, for her mind was quelled by the thought of the unfaltering, spiteful mob lurching toward them, open-eyed and open-mouthed, arms folded and hands holding stones, the trance of their malice too unfathomable to reason with. She did not know how they had moved past their bodies and their terrible anger, but the relief was heavier.
Ethan bore her into the small kitchen while the doctor mixed some liquids in a vial. “You must rest,” he said. “And you must clean your apartment,” she replied, holding a piece of shredded rag in one hand, before she blushed to her hairline. “I apologize,” she quickly added. “I’m quite shaken.” But the doctor was unbothered.
“Your senses must have returned then, which is good,” he chuckled. “And you’re right. I must make an occasion to call for a maid.”
