Ghost

A high-pitched whistling from an old-fashioned tea kettle could be heard down the hall over the raging winds outside. The storm was turning out to be a formidable one, trees and branches creaking and cracking under the strain.

How fitting, the woman thought.

She allowed it to whistle a little longer than she needed to as she contemplated what she was about to do.

Nerves rattled inside her bones in anticipation and dread.

Am I really going to go through with this?

Yes.

Yes, she was committed. She had tried every other option, exhausted every possible avenue she could possibly think of. There was no other way.

It was time.

Making her way to the kitchen, she pulled out the specially made tea bag she had crafted for her husband. It contained the usual tea blend that he enjoyed in his evenings, but with a small flavorless addition. An addition that he wouldn’t be able to detect until it was far, far too late.

She made it the way she always did. The same plain white mug on the same white porcelain dish presented on the same wooden tray. No sugar. A spoon of honey stirred in gently. Picking up the tray, she navigated her way through the large home to the door of her husband’s study, her deep navy skirt swishing delicately around her legs as her heels clicked along the hardwood floors. He was always pleased when she dressed overly feminine. He preferred the traditional housewife look, which she did her best to always emulate. Her life was a little bit easier if she just did as he wanted.

The pearls around her neck might as well have been a collar. The cuffs of her pearlescent satin blouse, the shackles. Beneath her carefully put together exterior, the bruises ached and her skin stretched uneasily in spots where he she had bled.

He must’ve really done some damage, she thought. I’m not usually this uncomfortable.

All the more reason to keep going.

She raised her hand to the door.

“Dear?” She knocked gently so as not to startle him. She’d done that once before and learned that lesson quickly when he had come barreling out like an angry bull at a red flag. “I have your evening tea for you.”

“Come in, my love,” he commanded softly, but just loud enough to be heard.

Sitting in his high wingback chair by the fire, her husband didn’t look up from his book as she made her way to the small table next to him with her load. She remembered a time when she used to look at him and think how regal and handsome he was. His hair, once jet black, now showed strands of grey throughout. He had removed his jacket and sat in only the two pieces of his signature three-piece suit; his tie still tightly knotted. His eyes glowing warmly in the fire she had once thought so inviting, now only brought her memories of terror.

“Here you are, dear.” Placing the tray next to him gently, she didn’t look up at him. He usually never looked away from his books at this time anyway, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at her tormenter. Not right now.

Rubbing her hands over her skirt nervously, she asked, “I’ll be going to bed now if you don’t need anything else?”

“Actually, I wanted to speak with you,” he replied, surprising her. He never wanted to engage with anyone at this time. This was his alone time. He insisted in never being disturbed at this time and in fact preferred for her to retire at this time.

Does he suspect…?

No, there was no way he could suspect anything was amiss. She had been so careful.

“Come sit.” He indicated to a pillow on the floor at his feet that she had sat on more than once throughout their marriage. He took a sick pleasure in making her feel less, subjugated by sitting at his feet.

It’s almost over, she reminded herself. Just get through this.

Without replying, she moved quietly to the pillow. Tucking her knees beneath her and leaning her shoulder against his chair between his legs, she took up the position she knew he liked best and looked up at him through her lashes. The perfect vision of a submissive wife with her hands resting elegantly one over the other, palms facing skyward.

“So beautiful,” he muttered, one hand moving slowly to cup her cheek.

Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch. Don’t flinchdon’tflinchdon’tflinchdon’tflinch…

“You’re still so beautiful it almost hurts to look at you.” He leaned forward and placed a deceptively tender kiss on her forehead. “And you’re all mine,” he whispered.

On the outside, she smiled warmly, playing the pleased wife.

On the inside?

Don’t flinch. Don’t throw up. Don’t panic. Can’t panic now. Don’t panic. You’re fine. Almost there. Don’tpanicdon’tpanicdon’tpanic…

She felt like the walls were closing in on her. The pearls around her neck embodying the collar she dreaded, feeling like they may choke her. His hand on her cheek causing the little beads of sweat forming on her back.

“I know I am not an easy man to please, my love,” he began. “Our marriage did not start in the most conventional of ways, but I am not the most conventional of men. I saw you when you were just a budding young woman at the age of sixteen and I had to have you for myself, whatever it took.” Using his thumb, he tipped her face up and stared deeply into her eyes. “I am quite single-minded in my pursuits, as you well know. You know your parents were well compensated for the betrothal contract.”

Nodding, she simply stared.

What is going on with him…

“We’ve been trying to have a child for some time now and despite my best efforts,” he smirked knowingly, “we have not been successful. We’ve both been to see the best doctors money can buy and still we haven’t been able to conceive. Although quite enjoyable, it has been frustrating for me.”

His best efforts… She couldn’t contain her shiver. That is what he thought of his depraved, perverted antics? His sick, twisted mind torturing her and twisting her into his perfect little toy? Restraining her for his abusive pleasure? He forced her into this marriage because he was obsessed with her. He forced himself on her because that was how he got off. And he thought she enjoyed it! It had been quite some time ago in their marriage that she had learned to not resist his advances. She would never forget the first evening he had bound and gagged her in their marriage bed, holding her still for his wicked whims and tools.

“Erotic discipline, my love,” he had said to her. “I’ll teach you to enjoy my tastes as much as I do, beginning now. Soon enough, you’ll crave it.”

Yes, crave it like a hole in my head, she thought sarcastically, thinking of how she tried to resist that night and only ended up bleeding even more.

There was once a time when she had looked forward to spending her life with her arranged match. Her parents had every intention at one time of finding her a suitable one, but they had planned to wait to start looking until she had a chance to finish her studies. Instead of accepting that answer, her now husband had relentlessly pursued her in every conceivable way until her father had agreed to the match. She believed he had resorted to some unsavory tactics, but at this point she had no proof and her father refused to speak of it.

When her father had come to her saying that she was promised to this man, she hadn’t been too surprised or worried. She had always known that the day would come for her. Being from the upper echelon of society—although on the lower end of that—it was expected in their circles that she would enter an arranged marriage. Her parents had done it and they were happily in love. He was a little older than she had expected, but still very handsome and intelligent, it seemed.

If only her father hadn’t decided to have the business meeting at their home that day. If only he had insisting on waiting to have their meeting when he could get to the office in town. The day her now husband saw her in her family’s small garden, her life had been carefully planned from then on. At the age of eighteen, she had been married. Barely a day had passed after her birthday and suddenly she was a missus.

He wasn’t always cruel, her husband. He’d waited to take her to bed so she could get to know him even. When they had first been wed, he had doted on her, buying her extravagant gifts and taking her on elaborate trips around the globe. So he could enjoy her smile, he had said, comparing it to sunshine. Even now, he still had his moments. She believed that he believed he loved her. There might’ve even been a point when she loved him too.

Now?

His hands on her were what made up most of her nightmares. A few happy times couldn’t make up for all the bruises, both inside and out.

This couldn’t be love.

“I just wanted to assure you,” her husband continued, pulling her from her thoughts, “that if we are unable to have a child naturally, I will not forsake you. Although our marriage was arranged, it was arranged because I fell for you the moment I saw you. I love you. We can look into other options.” His other hand came up to cup her other cheek, cradling her face in both hands. “I will never let you go.”

With his half-crazed eyes staring so intensely into hers, she was reminded of the beginning of their marriage once again. When she had hope that they could be happy like her parents. When she had wanted to give this arrangement a chance, considered falling in love with this man who was her husband. Looking at his features, she had even once been attracted to him. He had always been the possessive sort and it hadn’t bothered her. In fact, in the beginning, she actually liked it. But in this moment, all she could hear were the bars of a cage clattering shut all around her. All she could think about were the chains keeping her in this place and what her future would hold if she didn’t get out.

Their future, she thought, remembering the little spark of life that even now grew inside her.

Her baby.

Her hand twitched with the urge to cover her stomach protectively, but she couldn’t. He would notice something like that and ask questions.

I have to do this. For you, baby. I’m doing this for us to have a future. We can’t live like this.

“I—I love you too,” she croaked in return. “Thank you. I—I’ve also been stressed about it. I hate to be a disappointment to you.” Feigning subservience and submissiveness was always the best move.

The biggest smile broke out on his face.

“And that is why you are so perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He pulled her forward slightly and pressed his lips softly to hers. “I knew you would be perfect the moment I laid eyes on you.”

She allowed him to kiss her again and somehow held back her revulsion. It was always the worst for her when he was gentle. His twisted games always hurt more when he was in one of these ‘affectionate’ moods.

He just kept on smiling like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

One of his hands drifted lower to gently cup her neck. “Now leave me to my book and tea. I’ll join you in the bedroom soon. Go prepare yourself for me.”

She was really struggling to hold back her disgust now. Thankfully he had dismissed her with an imperious ‘go prepare yourself for me’ like he always did when he wanted her. She knew what he was referring to. He enjoyed his perverted games that left scars all over her body but taught her all his ‘lessons’ as he affectionately referred to them. Reminders in her very skin so she would never forget the atrocities.

But she couldn’t think of that now.

Rising from the floor, she made her way out of the ostentatious study and fled to the bedroom. In the closet, she pulled a midsized bag from the top shelf. Not wanting to risk her husband finding a packed bag in the days before she executed her plan, she knew she would have to pack quickly this evening to make the best use of her time. Hopefully in his excitement, he had drunk the tea quickly.

A few changes of clothes, shoes and basic toiletries later, her bag was assembled. She only wanted to take the necessities with her, most of the things in the closet having been purchased for her by her husband. As soon as she walked out that door, she would do her best to forget this house and everything that happened to her upon entering.

Checking the clock on the way, she thought, It’s been enough time. It should be starting to take by now…

She took a deep breath. Guarded, she moved quietly down the hallway. She didn’t risk changing her clothes yet in case any of the house staff lingered. It would cause too many questions that she just didn’t want to answer, whether with the truth or lies if she had to. Whatever it took.

She poked her head slowly into the study. Looking about the familiar pretentiousness to the chair, her husband sat with his head thrown back, seemingly sleeping.

Anyone who knew him knew that he never fell asleep in his chair.

Hands shaking with nerves, she pulled her bag close to her and made it to the front door. Glancing around at the place that should have been her home—a home for her and the family she wanted to have—she took a deep breath and stole into the night like bloodthirsty hounds were nipping at her heels.

If she didn’t put as much distance as possible between her and this place, her husband’s metaphorical hounds would catch her.

One day, he’ll give up, she thought. There’s only so long that he’ll look for me. It’s not like he’s a very patient man. He’ll get bored without his little games to play.

That was the night Mrs. Amelia Carrolton ceased to exist.