Episode 8
2140 Words
He fell to the ground with a thud. My mind went blank. I breathed heavily, trying to find a way to gather my thoughts. He…fainted. He was bleeding from the nose. Had I hit him so hard? Panicked, I crouched down beside him, brushing away his dark hair. His breathing was shallow and he appeared paler than before. I shot up and opened my mouth to yell for help, but my words died in my throat as a cold hand wrapped around my ankle. I looked down; he coughed and his eyes opened a little.
“Don’t.” He sounded weak, but his hold tightened around my ankle. Goosebumps rose over my skin.
“We should call for a doctor,” I said, stepping back and crouching down beside him, unwrapping his hand from my ankle. He took a deep breath.
“No healer of your kind can help me,” he said, every word seeming to be a struggle. I opened my mouth and closed it. My hands hovered over his chest.
“What do you mean?” I couldn’t help but touch his face. He was so cold; this wasn't normal. “Look, I don’t know what is going on with you. But, we need to get you—,”
He clasped his hand over where I was touching his face; dread squeezed my heart.
“I know what is happening—” He took another struggling breath. “I need… I need…” He tried to get up, and instinctively I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
“You are concerned about me,” the words brushed against my chin as he rested his head on my shoulder. I looked at him, meeting his eyes; I couldn’t find the words to refute it.
“Your heart is racing, but it is not fear,” he said, sounding more surprised than I, who realized he was telling the truth.
I felt a little torn and flushed, feeling his lips brushing softly against my chin.
“Stop it!” I said, sounding breathless. “Of course, I am worried. You are family.”
“Liar,” he whispered. I felt the heat travel up to my ear.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” I ignored him and tried to pull him. The moment he got to his feet, he slammed against me with his full body weight and my breath was trapped in my lungs. I ignored the tender ache that started to build in my chest. He felt cold and vulnerable in my arms.
I helped him lie down in bed and got a wet towel to wipe the blood under his nose softly. While I felt his gaze on me with every movement I made, something kept tugging at the back of my head. The undercurrent of his focus unsettled something. The ache in my chest felt somewhat familiar, which made it difficult to breathe. I ignored his gaze and put away the towel, filling a glass of water.
“I will tell Mom and—”
“Shhh.” He put a finger on my lips and I froze; he took the water from my hand. His gaze fell on my lips, and his lips—still pale and dry from his fainting spell—curled at the corner. “Why don't you listen at once? I don’t need a healer,” he said quietly, “I need you.”
I frowned; the feeling of frustration snapped the spell and I slapped away his hand. He looked down at his own hand and smiled ruefully.
“I never knew it felt like this.” He studied his hand nonchalantly. I got up and stepped back.
“Whatever. You can stay here and faint again if you like; I am going.” I marched towards the door with determination.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
His words made my steps falter. I turned back, and no matter how frail he looked, the dangerous glint in his eyes froze my heart for a beat. I wanted to ask what he meant, but it was clear and I was afraid to ask why, or to what end he would go.
“What are you going to do?” I whispered, more to myself than to him, but he answered anyway.
“You can guess, or you will see.”
The threat was clear, but I could not betray my mother’s trust for whatever this was. I felt my knees weaken with the implication. My hand shook as I opened the door and walked out. I heard the click as the door shut behind me.
I sagged against the wall, my knees finally giving out. My head felt like it was filled with cotton. I couldn’t grab any thread of thought to rationalize my own reaction to him. The tender ache I felt holding him pressed harder in a cold, dizzying sensation. I stumbled my way to my room; in the bathroom, nausea took over and I threw up.
Tears fell from my eyes as I dry-heaved. A sob left me without realizing it. A part of me that turned cold the moment sought the warmth of his presence, but the memory of the cold touch made me recoil.
I curled myself on the ground in a fetal position.
Something was wrong and I couldn’t see what it was. I couldn’t tell anyone or ask about it. How would I even begin to explain what I was feeling or what Edward was doing? Why was he doing this?
“I need you,” his words echoed in my mind. But what did that mean except what he was obviously trying to do? The feeling of his lips on my skin was like a hot brand despite the cold.
That feeling startled me back to my senses. I looked around, running my hand through my hair. I got up, cleaned myself, and got rid of the awful taste in my mouth. By the time I got into comfortable loungewear, I suppressed all the oddness of the past few days and decided that I would tell Mom that something was wrong and I would leave.
“You can guess, or you will see,” his words echoed again and what he implied about the doctor. What was true? Or was he playing with me? Did I want the answer?
I had warned Mom; she would contact someone professional. Or it would put everyone in danger. Yes, I took a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror. This was the logical decision; what could he possibly do when he could faint so easily?
The doctor thing must have been a lie.
The knock on the door made me jump out of my skin, almost.
“What?” I gasped.
“The dinner is ready, miss,” the maid called out.
“Yes, thank you,” I sighed in relief. “I will be there in a minute.”
It was already dinner time; I looked outside the window and the garden lights were lit. Now I looked back, and everything seemed a blur. I shook my head to clear my mind.
The clinking of the utensils was the only thing echoing from the room. Mom tried to start a few small talks, but Edward only gave monosyllabic answers.
I clutched my knife so hard that it might leave a mark in my hands when Edward kept looking at me. I had no choice but to look down, feeling the heat rise to my neck. After all, dinner ended in awkward silence.
When Mom offered to take Edward to his room, “No need,” he said coolly. I glared behind his back.
“Don’t look at him like that.”
I averted my gaze as Mom scolded me.
“It's not his fault; he doesn’t remember,” Mom said.
“I would still expect some decency,” I said, looking at her, and she sighed. “Mom, this is not just him being silent, I…” I hesitated.
“What is it?” Mom stepped closer, concerned. The worry lines on her forehead seemed to be etched permanently.
“There is a coldness about him, completely opposite to how he was…” I tried, but couldn’t find the words without explicitly stating what happened. The guilt of how I felt in those moments dug deeper.
“The doctor said it is not unusual; he will take time to adjust—”
“No, Mom,” I interrupted, chewing on my bottom lip. “It feels wrong. He sometimes sounds like another person; what if it is not…”
“What if it is not….”
“What if it is not…?”
“Safe.”
“You think he is dangerous?” The disbelief in her voice was clear.
“No,” I protested, “I mean it could be. They say in cases like this—”
“You see too many TV shows, Mira.” She shook her head a little exasperated.
“Mom—”
“Enough. We have a therapist appointment in two days; we will figure it out,” Mom said and walked out without hearing another word.
I let out a frustrated huff.
All night I tossed and turned, the cold in my chest only deepened as night turned darker, and a dull ache remained by the time dawn broke. I got out of bed feeling more tired than when I got in.
When I went down for breakfast and asked after Mom, the maid working in the kitchen said she went for an early appointment she had with Edward’s Estate Manager. Of course, until he recovered, Mom had to take care of it all.
When I saw Edward entering the dining hall, I quickly made my escape, avoiding eye contact. I tried to call David, but he didn’t pick up. I rubbed my temple in annoyance. I tried to get some work done and checked up on emails. I didn’t realize I skipped lunch until I saw the sky turning orange outside.
I frowned; why had no one come to ask for me? Has Mom returned? My stomach growled loudly. I put aside my laptop and rushed downstairs only to see the head of the staff and the butler pacing the entrance hall with frowns on their already aged faces.
“Mrs. Vane, Mr. Greg,” I called for their attention.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Vane looked at me with a worried sigh. “Miss, Ah…”
“Mom is back?”
“No, that's what I was about to tell you. Mrs. Harrington had a meeting with Mr. Morris tonight. She didn’t arrive until the afternoon just like she said, so I called her and she didn’t pick up.”
I held my breath, nodding for her, trying not to think of anything bad.
“I called Mr. Morris…” Seeing Mrs. Vane hesitating, I looked at Mr. Greg.
“Mr. Morris said she left four hours ago.”
“It's seven; she might be caught up or something, with friends—or doesn’t she have friends in the reading club?”
It was down to me, how little I knew about my mother’s life.
“She usually calls,” Mrs. Vane said, her tone polite and kind.
“Do you have any idea?”
“We tried everything; we don’t know where she is and her phone appears to be out of range…”
“Oh…okay,” I looked around, thinking, trying not to panic. “Uh… Is there any other appoint—,”
My voice was cut off by the phone ringing loudly. It was coming from Mr. Greg; he picked it up quickly.
He looked down and then at us. “This is Mr. Harrington’s phone; she gave it to me to handle anyone who called.”
I nodded for him to pick it up. I tried to breathe in and out through my dreadful thoughts.
“Hello,”
Then whatever was said, he put it on speaker.
“—if you want your wife alive, Edward, you should come and meet with the boss.”
I met Mr. Greg’s eyes, whose light grey eyes only widened in fear.
“Who is this? Sir?” Mr. Greg interrupted.
“Who is talking?!” comes the rough voice from the other side. I want to talk with Edward Harrington. Tell him we have his wife and Mr. Kang sends him his regards.”
“Wait—”
The phone was cut off. I didn’t let anyone speak. I ran to Edward’s room. I burst through his door; he was standing at the window side and he turned.
“Where is Mom?”
- Writer
