The day you meet your Villain

Claudia sat up in bed. Her eyes were red and wide. Her lips worked, moving soundlessly as she thought. She was attractive without being beautiful with large brown eyes and long lashes. Her lips were slightly fuller than normal and her nose was narrow and pointed. Her hair hung just below her shoulders. They were bouncy golden curls, one of her most remarkable features. She was slim, small with a small bosom and hips but with her grace, flair and impeccable character, she stood out as quite an outstanding woman. Suddenly, her small hands flew to her mouth and she began to bite her nails. Biting frantically like that gave her the looks of a frightened animal. Tears formed in her big brown eyes, gathered into a pool, then slid down her white cheeks unto the bedclothes. Just then, the door came open and Bertha stepped in. Closing the door softly behind her, she walked up to the bed her hands at her back. “Madam,” she called and Claudia turned to look. It took a moment before became conscious of the round large woman standing beside her. “Bertha” Claudia exclaimed then throwing over the bedclothes she jumped out of bed and hurried over to the housekeeper in alarm. “My baby, Where is my baby?!” she clutched to the older woman’s arms, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes hysterical. “Cassie has been taken to the sister of your husband, Helene.” “So she’s in safe hands, far away from mother?” “Very much so,” the house keeper replied. Claudia heaved a sigh of relief then sank back dejectedly tears streaming down her cheeks. Bertha regarded her with pitiful eyes for a moment then spoke: “If you will madam, I’ll get you dinner. You look rather pale and you’ve obviously lost a lot of weight.” That was an understatement. Claudia was gaunt and white, a mere shadow of her former self. Her large eyes dominated her bony face and her lips were chapped. “Never mind Bertha.” “You’ve hardly had anything to eat.” Bertha persisted. Though she was only a housekeeper, she’d served Claudia for many years and had slowly assumed the role of a mother, friend and confidant in her life. Claudia looked warmly at her. “I’m fine,” she said then managed a dreary smile that hardly reached her eyes. Moving like a ghost, she went very to the other side of the bed and slipped in again. Bertha waited till she’d tucked herself in, hesitated before saying: “Mother sends her best wishes hoping you have a speedy recovery.” Claudia stiffened. “She is very hurt that you never let her come around,” Bertha continued “but as Cassie had to go… she’s taking it very badly. However, she hopes you’d be better soon.” Claudia’s shoulders slackened and she raised her hands in despair. “Mother said?” she asked almost in a whisper “Mother sends? More than anyone I knew my mother and the mother I knew lost her speech and had been dumb for sixteen years. She remained that way till she met her death in 1863. I can say nothing more. I does puzzle me anyhow…” she looked up at Bertha “...that you don’t remember. That no one remembers. The same was no one remembers Albert. Therefore, keep that woman away from me. Oh Bertha, Please! ... I can be called anything, evil… wicked… mad… deranged, I don’t mind but please never leave me alone with that woman.” Bertha swallowed in hurt. The woman she had been referring to would cry her eyes out every day rocking herself in her armchair and praying fervently for her daughter to get well. It was quite a painful sight to see the misery the frail, wrinkled old lady was going through. Bertha sighed deeply. She nodded and walked back towards the door. “Bertha,” Claudia called and the other turned to look at her. “The day of death,” she stabbed her finger in the air for emphasis “You must find it! Find the day of death. That is all I know- The day of death.” Claudia drew her knees to her chin, wrapped her hands around them and sobbed quietly. ‘The day of death?’ Bertha frowned. She had no idea on how to go about that. Not that it was necessary anyway. “If that’s all, madam,” Bertha said aloud “Then I’ll be taking my leave.” “That’s all,” Claudia whimpered so Bertha pushed open the door. As she stepped out, she glanced back at the lady. “Insanity,” she thought “What a dreadful thing.” She closed the door behind her and turned the key. When Claudia heard the soft click, she quieted to hear the receding footfalls of her housekeeper. Then hastily, she started out of bed. Using one of the embroidered sleeves of her nightgown, she wiped her eyes then hurried to the closet. The double doors swung open and with searching eyes, Claudia found a large billowy cloak with a hood folded up on the floor. She grabbed it and flung it over her body looking frenetically at the door while she pushed her hands into the sleeves then quickly locked up the closet. From inside the billows of her gown, strapped in a stocking, she produced a small table knife which she’d slipped from the breakfast tray one of the nurses had wheeled in earlier. A breakfast she had no appetite for and had to be taken away later in the day. Working with precision, she was able to pen the locks of one of the windows. The night was cold and the streets were empty but she looked around just to make sure. After that, it was no trouble getting out. When she finally found herself on the streets, she cast one last look around then flinging the hood over her head she hurried off into the night. *** Dinette managed to lift herself from her chair, all her bones squeaking in protest. Her granddaughter had just enough time twice a week to pop in, do chores, share stories then return back to her family so Dinette always waited at home alone. She’d lived terribly long on earth, had seen all there was and heard all there was in all her lonesome years of hushed solitude and was now completely tired. She prayed for death. Walking with a stick to aid her, and a bent back, Dinette got to the door just as another hasty knock was repeated. Too low to look through the peephole, she tried to peer warily through the keyhole. “Who is it?” she demanded with a husky but very sharp voice furious that with how bad her eyes were she could hardly make out anything. “Please open up Mrs. Copeland,” a feminine voice replied. “I mean no harm” Dinette looked at the clock at the far end on the wall. Her granddaughter had replaced the previous one with a huger replica so she had no problem ascertaining the time by squinting at the large numerals. It was past midnight. “Who’d be calling at such an hour?” she thought to herself. However, as the knock came again, she quickly drew back the bolt. It didn’t matter if it was danger to her anymore. She was a woman who wanted to die. The door opened and she found a small, pale woman in a large gray cloak standing uneasily on the porch, a hood over her head. The moon was behind her so she could see little of her features in the dim light. Claudia on the other hand, realized that this woman standing with the light of the moon illuminating her looked quite different than she had earlier supposed. Claudia, who had a small build, was only taller than the lady a few inches and she was bent double. In her youth, she must have been quite tall. For one hundred and twenty-one years, she thought she really did well for the age. Every strand of hair on her head was white and her eyes were grey and bleary. She supported herself with a stick and looked very fragile, creased over with wrinkles. Nonetheless, she looked quite beautiful and in her weak eyes, Claudia beheld shrewdness. She stood in the doorway looking her over quizzically and suspiciously. “May I come in?” Claudia asked wringing her hands, and weary. Dinette eased the door open until there was enough space for Claudia to enter. Once inside the well-furnished sitting room, Claudia flipped back the hood and waited while Dinette closed the door and pushed the bolt back in place. Then turning around, she stared at the pale, frightened yet determined face of Claudia. “Mrs. Copeland…” Claudia began “Call me Dinette” the old lady interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Who are you? She asked “My name is Claudia Hollander.” she paused noticing the surprise that had jumped into those weary eyes. Then they screwed up curiously, filled with questions. On the roof above them, rain began to patter. “Yes,” Claudia continued “I am wife to Albert Hollander, the famous writer.” Dinette heaved a sigh watching this young woman with golden curls and was apprehensive. “Last week’s papers has it that you’re in a special institution being treated for madness,” Dinette told her “I know that. That’s why I’ve come to you.” “Everyone says that something is really wrong with you. The talk goes that you’re unbalanced.” “Well everyone’s wrong. But I’m not the only one that something like that has been said of, Am i?” Dinette stared at her. “I’m not the only who has been in this situation. I know I’m not insane yet what else can it be...?” as Claudia spoke the rain became violent. The candles flickering picked up the tears running down her face in their golden light. She walked up to the older woman and met her probing gaze. “…Sometime, long ago, a woman saw something happen. But nature and history seemed to stand against her. No one remembered any incident as such and in her bid to prove she was right, she was termed mad…” the eyes that probed had begun to water. Nevertheless, it was steady and watching. “She was moved into a home where she had to spend four years before she was let out, clarified by the doctors to be of normal health again… she got married, had children and led a normal life…” Claudia reached out and held Dinette by the shoulders. “One hundred years had to pass for her to realize that she had not been wrong…” her tears as well as Dinette’s slipped down their cheeks and fell to the wooden floor “ My husband is Albert Hollander, a famous writer and poet. History says he died three years ago in a storm but I remember that storm, and Albert and I had survived it, lived through the damages and had built our lives all over again. My mother was Christine Parker. She was mute till she died in 1663. I must put these pieces together. I need you to tell me about Peter Harcourt. I need you to tell me about June 30.”