AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I cannot be quite so sure,” Valerie replied, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “They might just fall apart from sheer boredom in the absence of their favorite subject. Their tongue might have grown brittle already.”
Miss Karnstein chuckled, a sound so childlike and reverberating, her sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I am afraid you might be right. Let’s not keep them waiting, shall we? Imagine the disappointment if they discovered their evening’s entertainment ran off to a moonlight rendezvous!”
She winked and Valerie could not help but laugh. And then she heard the sound of her husband calling her name.
“I guess this is my cue,” Valerie said, unable to hide her disappointment. “Good night, Miss Karnstein.”
Valerie thought Miss Karnstein seemed more effervescent and mischievous, not a trace of urgency in her voice, not gripped by a solemn farewell.
“Good night, Mrs. Vertigo.”
9
When Valerie heard thepanting and sniffling down the dark hall, she was looking at the portrait of her husband’s dead sister. The candlelight undulated, flickering precariously, and she was not so sure of what to make of last night when Ethan came into view. It was as if she aged overnight, seeing everything through a lens of unobscured hatred and pain. But on the other side, there was Miss Karnstein and their brief talk and the lines around her eyes when she laughed and the brush of her fingers on the small of her back. Valerie could not explain it. She found herself imagining the arc of Miss Karnstein’s lips, dreaming about the way she comforted her, just standing there in the wind with her, listening and speaking with that soothing voice of hers, even as she called to her with sharp-edged teeth.
“I suppose I expected you to be here.” Ethan said. Valerie shrugged her shoulders. Looking up at the portrait—lethargic, distant, beyond pain and fear—, she felt like fate played before her. The numbered days of her short life became more obvious, like a body of water one might pass through, bursting up like a spring. It did not matter if she wanted to mend her relationship with the townspeople. It did not matter if she dragged herself up and down the peaks for forgiveness. It did not matter if her husband did not love her anymore.
“Do you remember the day when you proposed to me?” She asked. The calmness in her voice surprised even herself, entirely lulled by the unchanging absurdity of her situation. She had escaped the bear but fallen into the lion’s den. Bloody, treacherous, complacent.
Ethan cleared his throat and Valerie could tell by his frown that she had reservations about talking about this particular topic. If hers was a path of guilt, biting at the core of her existence with a greater force she had never encountered before, then that would be her husband’s path too. She was tired of bearing the burden thrown at her feet alone. If she was guilty, her husband was guilty too.
“I remember,” she replied to the question herself, giving a sharp edge to her voice, playing with her ring. “You asked me if I could bear children. I said, ‘Yes’. Then you asked me if I minded living far from home and I said, ‘No’. I did not find it strange then. You only ask questions, digging the sole of your boot in the dirt, the white of your eyes obscured from view. It leaves me in shivers now. Were you frightened? You did not seem so. And perhaps that’s the reason why I am thus broken. You chose me on purpose. The gullible, poor Valerie who always had an air of placid demeanor, who kept quiet when it mattered the most, who needed to get out of the falling apart cottage of her uncle, who would not dare refuse a sparkling stone on her finger and a high roof over her head. That’s what you wanted all along: another portrait on your wall.”
“Valerie—” he began, but his voice cut off in a piercing sound. He coughed into his fist, or so Valerie thought, but then he straightened up. Valerie noticed the pearl white handkerchief crumpled in his hand. She did not need to ask what the stain was. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth as he tried to wipe it again as best as he could, but there were already stains of dark crimson. Valerie stared at it, eyes widened, and he stared at her, his face sunken and blanched.
“What are you hiding from me? Why don’t you tell me what happened to your sister? What is this curse everyone has been talking about?” she said, her voice a tremulous whisper.
“You don’t know anything,” he replied with a turn of his hand. He was bent over his stomach, groaning in pain, yet Valerie stood where she was, arms folded. “I can save us. I can saveyou. I can make it right this time. I didn’t have a choice—I did what I had to do, even though he knew—why don’t you just listen? If I lose this, her death will be for nothing. I’ll lose everything.” He threw his hands in exasperation.
“I’ve been listening to you ever since I set foot in this house! And all I’ve gotten in return, my dear, is riddles and abasement!”
“You don’t know what it’s like to spend your entire life trapped in this house! I have to live the rest of my days haunted by her, watch her as she turns blue. Over and over again, over and over… I never meant to do it… You have to believe me.”
His gaze met hers, raw and desperate. A wild tangle of hair framed his contorted face, the guttering flames of his candles dancing on his figure. He raked his fingers through his hair, as if debating saying something else, yet thought better of it. He exhaled violently, a stricken sound, and a deep chill settled into Valerie’s bones. What had he done?
“I don’t want to be a part of this anymore,” she said, bringing her hands to her chest, as if waiting for an attack. She did not know whether she was clinging to a shattered fragment of her marriage, or chased phantasms alongside her husband. Ethan’s voice echoed through the hall, delirious as he slid down the wall, rocking back and forth, the back of his palms pressed against his eyes. Valerie did not hear the sobs at first, stunned by the nightmarish sight, yet they became louder and uncontrollable.
Suddenly he yelled from his corner like a caged animal, still deranged and convulsing with anguish. “No! You’ll do as I say! I will not tolerate such insolence under my roof or so help me God, I’ll send you back! Do you hear me?”
Valerie’s stomach lurched. She did not want to look at him and see his eyes darting across her face, his scrawny neck slick with a halo of sweat.
“Till death do us part, husband.” Valerie murmured with a bitter smile and stepped over him. And in the darkness, she made a vow: to confront the truth, whatever it may be, even if it meant staring into the abyss of Vertigo Peaks alone. The house quaked under her feet in response.
10
Ethan hitched his shoulders,the worn leather of his glove creaking in protest. Valerie saw his jaw clench and his lips twitch. He raised his hand to knock, but then hesitated. She could almost hear the gears in his mind turning—drawing a plan that would turn the tide and put him on the top again. It had been weeks since her husband’s breakdown. It was the dead of winter, a perpetual sense of horror loomed in the air. It was almost January. The frost was thicker, the nights longer. It was not noon yet, but the sky was dark already, more snow looming on the horizon. Work was scarce, the growers were complaining about their winter crops, and all trade almost came to a halt like a frozen river. The doctor stopped by Vertigo Peaks every few days to report a case of plague or consulted with Ethan on how to proceed with the increasing number of deaths. It was possible to find a door marked with scarlet in every alley and a person wailing in front of it. With the hopes of mending what had happened in the Harker estate, Ethan had been working harder than ever before, visiting every destitute, spending hours and even days away from home.
The rasping coughs turned into a dry wheeze, and he rapped on the door. A moment passed then the door creaked open. A woman, her face etched with fatigue, stood before them. Valerie tightened her grip on Ethan’s elbow. The doctor stepped forward, speaking in an unwavering voice.
“Good evening, Mrs. Harris.”
She blinked slowly, as though she was trying to remember who they were, then a deep furrow appeared between her eyes. “Good evening,” she replied tersely.
“May we come in?” The doctor raised his brows expectantly. The woman opened the door without a word, her lips pursed.
Valerie stepped inside, a wave of warmth washing over her, but it couldn’t completely erase the chill that settled inside her bones. More disturbing than the cold, though, was the pungent, rancid smell that hung in the air. It reminded her of a butcher’s shop, the kind that kept the rotting fat and offal and blood, leaving behind a sickly stench. It triggered a memory of damp linen and fevered brows, of nights spent fighting back nausea at her uncle’s bedside.
She pressed on, following the woman down the narrow hall, the smell growing stronger with each step. It clung to the walls, seeped into the floorboards, a constant, unsettling reminder of what awaited them ahead. When they reached the room at the end, the source of the odor became clear. It swirled around a bed of straws like a cloud, emanating from the bowl of tissues discolored by pus. Ethan paused. Valerie shot a furtive glance at him, seeing his mustache bristle in the dim light of the room, then entered.
