Story and other stuff
For the past few weeks I haven't been writing because I've been trying to write a script that just turned out to be crap. So I've scrapped the idea and went back to working on my stories. Seeing "Evita" and "Whistle Down the Wind" have given me ideas for stories. Unfortunately, they will have to wait until I finish either "Interviewing Immortality" or "Bloody Mary," which ever I finish first. Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, here is "Bloody Mary," which I promised Jen and Karen. Just to warn everyone, only the first half has been edited/betaed.
Time does not change the alleyways and street corners of the city after dark. Every year, every decade, every century they stayed the same. Full of the homeless, the less fortunate with no food or shelter. On Boylston Street sat a group of ragged people, many of whom had lived on the street their whole lives. They all gathered around a trash can that contained a roaring fire inside. The fire was constantly fed by different hands, tasting all sorts of delicacies such as old newspaper or rotten vegetables. It gobbled each up with an increased hunger.
One of the group that stood around the fire was new. He had once been from a rich family, or at least served one. This was evident from the clothes he wore which at one point must have been made by one of the finest tailors in the city. He wore a black top hat and when he removed it all could see that his head was completely bald. On his throat was a fresh pink scar, barely healed more than a year.
The younger boys were laughing and joking. It was common for those teens to tell stories to one another in hopes of frightening each other out of their wits. And tonight it was no different. Often their stories would feature a deranged maniac killer escaped from the local insane asylum. As with all stories, there was some truth to every one they told. That truth usually was about someone that escaped from the asylum, but never had they been a killer. More like harmless folk just out of their minds.
“Her name’s Mary.” The oldest said. “And she killed about a hundred people.”
The younger boys oohed and ahhed.
“Tell us the story,” one of them demanded.
“Alright, but are you sure, it’s really, really scary.” The older boy was egging them on, already starting the spooky delivery.
“Yeah!” All of the boys chorused. “Tell us.”
When Mary was only four years old she was one of the happiest children in the entire city. Her father was a well off barber while her mother would often embroider for wealthy families. Often young Mary would accompany her mother when she went to the households to do consultations. There was one man that she saw, a judge. He was always staring at her mother, but not like any of the other women did or even like her father did from time to time. Instead this look was something more. Like a dog in the yard protecting its meal.
“Come along Mary.” Her mother tugged the little girl’s hand as she walked. “We mustn’t be late to meet your father.”
“I’m hurrying Mother.” She said, her little feet working hard to keep up with her mother’s long strides.
Her mother smiled down at her. Long brown hair was tucked up into a low bun which was covered in a covering that she had designed herself. Her face was warm and red, her teeth straight and white. It was known around the city that Isabel Price was the most beautiful woman in the entire city. Often men would watch as she walked by. Sometimes even women stared, though there was more jealousy in their stares than anything else.
Little Mary took more after her father than anything else. Her hair was long and blond, tied back with a single red ribbon that her mother had bought for her at the market. The little hand that her mother held was as pale as a white sheet that had just been bleached. Her speech and way of moving were her father’s exactly. All that she had inherited from her mother were two large, hazel eyes.
The young woman and her young daughter kept walking. Night was falling fast. The young woman picked up her pace, causing her daughter to run. When night fell in the city, it was the most dangerous time of all. Especially for women and children. They turned down an alleyway not a block from their home when a figure stood in their path. Both stopped. It was a tall man dressed in a finely pressed black suit. He wore no hat so the little daughter could see his wild black hair and pale complexion. Her mother’s free hand went to clutch her heart.
“Oh Mr. Gregory, you startled me.” She gasped.
“My apologies” He bowed. “I am so glad that I have found you.”
“Oh? Is it that your master wishes his handkerchiefs done sooner? Well, please tell him that Monday is the earliest-”
“I am afraid that the matter is not so trivial. The judge wishes that you be informed that your husband was stabbed in an alleyway about thirty minutes ago. He wishes for you to come directly to his home as it would be much safer than going out to the hospital alone.”
“My God.” She staggered but regained her balance. “I must go to the hospital.”
“There will be a coach waiting to take you and your daughter. If you would be so kind as to follow me.”
He led them through the dark and winding streets of the city. The little girl’s heart was racing from more than just the running. Her father couldn’t die, he just couldn’t. And who would want to stab him? He was a really nice man. He always gave money to the church and helped out those that needed his help. This was all a dream to her. Reality had left when she stood in the alley with her mother, just stopped by Mr. Gregory.
The judge’s house was a lot farther than she remembered. The little girl was so tired that she wanted to collapse on the front step. But her mother dragged her inside and planted her on a chair.
“Now just stay right here while I go in and talk to the judge.” She ordered her daughter before kissing her on the forehead.
She nodded. While her mother went into the other room to see the judge, Mr. Gregory waited outside for a moment. From what seemed like nowhere, he pulled out a stuffed teddy bear.
“Now you be a good girl.” He said, handing her the bear which she clutched tight to her chest. “Don’t bother anyone in the room, no matter what you hear. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
She nodded yes and he smiled. Then he went into the room her mother had just entered. Behind him he shut the door tight. For the first few minutes all she heard were muffled voices. Suddenly her mother screamed. She went to get up, but then she remembered what Mr. Gregory had said. So she sat still. But the screaming only got louder. To block it out she put her hands over her ears and began to rock back and forth.
“Rock a by baby in the tree tops, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come baby, cradle and all.”
The screaming continued, though it soon became fainter. Finally it sounded like a hoarse shriek. This continued for a long time, so long that the clock outside in the city square chimed seven. As she had walked with her mother, the little girl had counted the chimes: six. As the final chime sounded, everything went quiet in the room. She took her hands off of her ears and looked over curiously. There was some shuffling and muttered voices again. The door suddenly opened and out walked the judge. Unconsciously, the little girl hugged the bear tight. He kneeled down to look in your eyes.
“Oh little Mary,” He reached out and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Your mother missed your father so much that she just went up to Heaven to meet him.”
“Mommy? Daddy?” Tears welled up in those big hazel eyes.
“You’re going to be staying with me for a while now little one.”
Thirteen years later…
Dear Mother,
Life has become quite dull, more so than usual. My Guardian’s assistant keeps looking at me in the most odd of fashions, as does my Guardian. I do believe that something is amiss. Otherwise why would they both go through so much trouble as to check up on me every hour on the hour? I do not trust them, but that goes without saying, for I have never trusted them.
The butler was loitering around my Guardian’s study again. He has taken up that habit recently. Though it is not as though he is waiting to see as if he is needed. I know this because he flees every time that my Guardian exits the study. I am sure that he has not seen me in my hiding place.
Things are changing quickly Mother, and I believe that things will be changing even more quickly soon. Please Mother, may you and Father guide me as I fear this will be a far greater obstacle than I have ever faced before.
Your Beloved Daughter,
Mary
Mary gently smoothed out her red dress and looked up to the birds in the garden. All around here stood the four garden walls, much taller than she. No way in and no way out. Only the birds could visit her. And the insects too, but she didn’t often think of them. Only the birds. Each with their colorful feathers and wings. How she wished that she could fly like them. Then maybe she would finally get to see some of the city she had not set foot in for nearly ten years. Doctors, dress makers, anyone that she needed to see would come to the house. Upon order of her guardian, Judge Collins. He did not want her to be victimized by those in the outside world.
She sighed and slapped a mosquito on her arm. The little creatures were out in full force this time of the year. She should go in as to avoid being bitten by anymore. Over her shoulder she looked towards the garden door. But then again, hadn’t she come out to get away from that claustrophobic house? It was a difficult decision. However she knew the answer quickly. No, she’d stay out. She would spend no more time in that house than she needed to.
A little robin landed on the branch nearest her. Two hazel eyes watched it intently, following every flicker of its wings, every twitch of its beak. Behind her there was a noise as someone opened the door to the house and walked out. There was the crunch of the fallen, dried leaves under their shoes. But she didn’t look back. Whoever it was stopped just behind her. She ignored them; the bird suited her fancies much more.
“Miss Collins.” A proper voice, not using the familiar even though they had known each other ever since she could remember.
She sighed. The butler. Victor.
“What is it?”
“Your father wishes to see you in the main study.”
A quick glare thrown over her shoulder at him. But he simply smiled pleasantly. This man befuddled her. Often she would find him in the strangest places. True she probably shouldn’t be in the attic or in her father’s study without his permission, but neither should he. With a courteous bow, he held the door open for her then disappeared as she walked down the hallway. She turned a corner, counted the doors: one, two, three, four, five, six and then stopped at the sixth. That was his study. Inside she could hear two male voices. Her ears strained to hear what they were saying but nothing was clear. Giving up, she gently knocked on the door. Immediately both voices ceased and someone got up. Footsteps and then the door opened.
“Miss Collins.” Earle Gregory stood aside so that she may walk in.
Her Guardian sat at his desk, though he chair was turned so that it faced another one. Obviously that was where Gregory had been sitting. One of the men motioned for her to sit in that chair, so she did as gracefully as possible. Both of her hands went to her lap while her ankles crossed. Those two hazel eyes looked up though modestly.
“You wished to see me Father?” Her voice was so sweet that it could have melted even the coldest hearts.
“Yes my dear Mary.” He smiled a warm smile even though it could hardly be called that. “I have been discussing with Mr. Gregory arrangements for your marriage.”
“My marriage Father?”
“Yes.”
He stood up and began to walk around the room. From behind her she could feel Gregory’s eyes on her back. They were studying her but she did not allow him to know that she could tell. Her Guardian would take a couple of steps then pause to look at something on a shelf. After a few minutes of this he finally spoke.
“It is high time that you marry.” He picked up a stack of papers before quickly putting them back. “You are now seventeen and a woman. And I do not see why you should have to stay in this house forever.”
“And who is to be my intended Father?” Her voice was smooth, betraying none of the anger and rage she felt inside.
Her Guardian stood in front of her and smiled. “Mr. Gregory and I have gone over all of the eligible suitors and have come up with only one that would be suitable.” With a wave of his hand Gregory was beside him. “You are to marry Mr. Gregory.”
Her heart jumped off of a five story building.
“It is an honor.” Gregory smiled but she could tell there was no honesty in it. “Not only to have such a kind father-in-law, but also such a beautiful bride.”
She smiled because there was nothing that she could say. All words escaped her. So after excusing herself, blaming a mild headache, she retired to her room, her prison.
Any young lady would be thrilled to have such a room as she. All four walls were covered in pink with some of the finest paintings in all of the city hanging on those walls. A four poster bed sat against one wall, with pink curtains that had flowers stitched into them. The floor beneath her bare feet was covered from wall to wall with the most luxurious carpet that money could buy. To her right the closet was filled with dresses in every color of the rainbow and many more than she could ever hope to wear in her lifetime. The amount of shoes that her Guardian had had made for her too was also staggering. At last count there were fifty pairs. And he had just had a cobbler in to take measurements for another pair.
There was a balcony overlooking the garden. As she stepped onto it she felt a cold wind blow her hair and ruffle the red dress. Night had fallen early today. Up above the sky was dark, clouds covering up the light from the stars and the bright light that the moon tried to shine. But all was for nothing and she had to rely on the light from the garden light. Everything was peaceful in the garden. The only movement was that caused by the gentle wind.
To oppose that peace, everything inside of her was afire. Throughout the thirteen years that she had been forced to live under the house of Judge Collins, she had had to live knowing that she shared a home with the men that killed her mother. Day in and day out that was her only thought. She dined with murderers, spoke to murderers and allowed them to control her life. But no more, no more. She would not marry a murderer. No, that was too much. Gregory was much too old, much too evil. But how the thwart the plan? Her eyes darted around the garden madly. Then they landed on the railing.
But when the bow breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come baby, cradle and all. Her foot went to top rail and her hand grasped the white metal tightly. Feet first wouldn’t kill her, but a head first would. Just think of the headlines: Judge Collins’s ward dies after falling from balcony. But what they won’t print was that the fall was not accidental, but intentional. That Judge Collins’s daughter had committed suicide. Not to save herself from anymore tortured nights, but to get back at the men that had murdered her mother.
Her other hand grabbed the railing as well. Just as she pushed off to go over, she stopped. Judge Collins and Gregory would cover it up. They would say that the railing had broken. Then both would feign mourning for the required amount of time before going about with their murderous lives. Before she knew it both feet were again planted on the balcony. Two hands went up to grasp handfuls of hair.
“To destroy the hearts of those with wickedness inside their soul.” She muttered. “But how can one destroy hearts that do not exist?”
Then it hit her. “Kill them.”
Thousands of times she had plotted, even planned out how she would do it. Shoot Judge Collins while he slept and then poison Gregory. Or maybe shoot Gregory and poison Judge Collins. She had even spent hours researching poisons under the false pretense of researching garden plants. But no, this would have to be different, it would have to be much more elaborate then she had ever planned before. And little by little a plan began to form in her little blond head. Step by step how to kill the most evil men in all of the world. Her heart skipped with joy at the idea of seeing them on the ground, their blood soaking the white rug of Judge Collins’s study. Their dead eyes staring up at her, asking her why she had done what she had done. Then she would answer.
“Because you robbed me of everything.” She whispered. “My mother, my father, my childhood, my life. That is why you must die.”
She smiled as she stared up and the dark sky. Oh yes, this was going to be great fun.
She turned on her heel and purposely walked out of the room. Down the stairs, down the hall, the last door was to the kitchen. Inside, she pulled a butcher’s knife from the drawer. Dark clouds finally moved at the moon’s persistent glare. A single beam of light entered a window. Her eyes watched as moonlight reflected off the steel blade. Then the knife went by her side and she walked to Judge Collins’ study. Neither light nor shadow phased her, her eyes focused only on the study door. Voices came from inside; they became louder as she got nearer and nearer. The knife was raised. Movement inside the study caused her step to quicken. As the doorknob turned, a smile crept onto her face. And now my-
Suddenly she was shoved into the shadows as the door opened. The voices continued and footsteps moved towards her. Hazel eyes held an empty stare, seeing but not really seeing a pair of neatly pressed legs and a pair of polished shoes.
“What do you want Victor?” Judge Collins’ voice.
“I came to see if the judge needed anything before I retire.”
“No.”
“Very well.”
The legs moved closer as they let the judge and Mr. Gregory pass. And they stayed there until the sound of footsteps disappeared. She made no move to stand, or to pick up the knife that lay on the other side of the hall. Yet despite this lack of movement, her mind raced. Slowly, two eyes moved up the neatly pressed legs, to a suit jacket, and finally up to a face. A shaven head, pale skin, and a kindly look.
“Good night Miss Collins.” He smiled down at her before turning and walking away.
Hazel eyes watched as he disappeared into the shadows.
That girl may be just what I need. He quietly closed the door behind him. Outside the walls of the estate, the bell tower had just rung eight p.m. Though quite early for him to retire, he could not stand to stay awake much longer. Yet it was a given that Judge Collins would call for him again in a few hours. The man could not seem to sleep until four in the morning, which meant he couldn’t sleep either. Maybe now he could get a few hours sleep though.
Tired fingers undid his tie, pulling it from his neck before laying it neatly on the dresser. Black laces were untied then the polished shoes carefully slipped off. It seemed as if the buttons on his shirt did not want to be undone. And it took several minutes to finally slip off the suit jacket and pressed white shirt. Everything was hung up neatly. There was no telling when he would need to slip them on in a hurry.
As he sat down on the bed, he winced. His shoulder was hurting again. Yesterday he had run out of the medication the doctor had prescribed. He would have to sneak away some time soon to get more. Judge Collins did not approve of him being absent, even if it was for medical reasons. It was a cruel, twisted game that the judge played; forcing him into slavery to keep him quiet. Many years ago he had been a well respected barber with a family. Then the judge had taken a fancy to his wife. The next thing he knew, his wife was dead and his child off in France with relatives of the judge. Of course he could not reveal the truth either. Judge Collins had promised to send him to Australia with the rest of the criminals if he uttered a single word about the incident.
Yet this position so close to the judge proved to be helpful. Over the years he had learned much; his wife was not the first raped and murdered by the judge, only a single incident of over a hundred. Seemed as if Mr. Gregory was bringing home another woman every other week. And then he would be called in to dispose of the body. He burned most of them in the oven in the cellar. The others were taken out into the country to be buried.
Above his bed, the ceiling creaked. Judge Collins and Mr. Gregory must be working late in the study. Suddenly a woman’s voice; pleading, begging. He could not hear words, only the shrieking. A knot formed in his stomach and twisted every which way. In a few hours they would call for him. But not before they had their fun. With a groan, he rolled onto his side. What would happen to the Judge’s ward, Mary, once she married Mr. Gregory? Would they continue their antics or would they subside? Then again, the girl might give them both something else to think about.
His thoughts went back to their meeting only a few minutes ago. There could only be one explanation for the girl being outside the judge’s study with a knife. It was an obvious explanation, though still unexpected. She had been in the Judge’s custody longer than he had been in his employ. Though obvious she was not his by birth, she would have been too young to remember her other family. So where did all of this anger come from?
Screaming from above ended suddenly. What was left to be heard was simply footsteps. Even though he had lost count of the bodies he had disposed of long ago, his stomach churned at the thought of going into the study. Nearly every time he slept after “cleaning up,” he would dream of his wife. Just the thought was enough to bring up his latest meal. But he couldn’t’ thing about that now, no. Now he had to plan.
From the judge’s study he had heard plans for an engagement party. If he planned correctly, then maybe the past decade of slaving under the cruel gaze of the judge would not be in vain. At last, at last his beautiful, his young, his innocent wife will have justice. Though first he must find a way to make the judge feel the pain he has endured. But first, before he died, he would tell him where his little girl was. And then, he would die.
“Victor!”
With a groan, he sat up and rubbed his face to wake himself up. Muscles ached as he stood up before moving over to redress.
“Victor!”
The final button was done up; the tie straightened. He took a last glance in the mirror. A pair of eyes met their reflection for a moment. Emotion was erased from the entire body. One last glance, then he walked out, closing the door behind him.
Okay, other than that not much is going on writing wise. In the real world there is a ton of stuff though. I've got a ton of scholarships I'm working on, the Greece/Italy trip is coming up fast, and "Our Town"/Hamlet need to be memorized. So basicly I'm going to be really busy for the next few weeks. Hopefully I won't go crazy.
Until next time.