The Lady in Red

What is it that makes the beatings of the heart raise? Emptiness. One way or another it frightens you. It alarms you what may hinder in the void as much as it terrifies you to realize you are alone and slowly going mad. Perhaps that is why we dread the idea of death. Being buried in the darkness of rotting wood around you while death eats your skin for all eternity. It compels you to fabricate a world beyond with ghosts and souls.

He used to be my favourite child, Arthur. He was kind, in the blossoming youth with seventeen years of age. I miss him. I did not used to be the sentimentalist type of man, especially with the children always coming and going, but he was different. There was something captivating in the blazing blue of his eyes, fine face, his blond hair, and his distinctive manner of speaking that charmed my ears. It was both entincing and disturbing the adoration this boy caused with his mere presence. 

When he asked me to listen to his story I was enchanted and gladly complied with his wishes. He was terribly ill at this time though, he was hysterical, with nervous shivers and picking into the skin of his lovely hands. Desperately wanting to escape and attempting to persuade me to allow him leave. But I couldn't possibly do that, what if I never saw him again? I did not have the strength in me to let him go. I also did not have the authorization to let a patient out of the sanitarium without being penalized. Not that would have mattered being fined, I would have risked it all for Arthur to grant him anything his heart desired, anything but giving him up.

My heart ached everytime I contemplated his appearance of yellowish skin, eyes on the verge of tears, anxiously looking outside the window. I delayed multiple times his tale because I did not consider it proper to demand a dialogue until his health improved but I could not resist the flash of happiness he showed everytime he feigned recovery and proposed to start his story. I yielded at last.

It all aroused with Vincent, he began, my brother you know of. We came to the city together, to study. My father before bidding us farewell made me promise to take care of Vincent. I took that duty to my heart.

Everything was very different in the broad city of London. I took a while to get accustomed to the crowds and unbearable noise. Vincent, however, grew fond of this place rather quickly. He was in fact amused by every detail the city got to offer.

The opera became Vincent's favorite place to go, he would attend almost everyday and forbid me to accompany him. I asked him a couple of times for the reason but when he kept avoiding the answer I knew better than to keep insisting. One time, however, he asked me to come along. I was, of course, happy to follow him in whatever he found so pleasing in the opera.

Once placed and comfortably seated in an upper box I could see Vincent had no interest in the actual play. Instead he had his gaze fixed in a lower box where two women were seated. It was not necessary to follow his eyes to which of the two women he was admiring. There was a hypnotizing beauty in one of them. The lady was wearing a conspicuous red dress that went beautifully with her hazel eyes and naturally wavy black hair.

He immediately sensed my awareness and went into an endless talk about his obsession. He told me every detail of how he came to fall in love with her. How he never had never been acquainted. The woman's name was unknown to him, he just sat there and admired the perception of her for the entire evening, he told me. He brought me here with the intention of gaining the courage of asking for an introduction

I failed to understand Vincent's fascination and nervousness to meet someone he had only known by sight. We wandered through the theatre towards the box of the lady in red. Vincent walked with an accelerated step, as if he wanted to get over it before he regretted it. About 5 steps behind the doors Vincent came to a sudden halt and there he beckoned me to go first. I laughed at this absurdity to which he responded with a reproachful look. I immediately repented from my mockery, he sought my support and I just found the whole affair laughable.

When we entered the box the lady in red was even more radiant from up close, I was astonished from her grace. I instantly realized my brother had been taken aback so much he stopped dead behind me. It was favourable that I had gone first, since my introduction allowed him some time to recover.

She was called Elizabeth, only she was worthy of the name of a queen. Her dark eyelashes that stood prominently out of her pale countenance with delicately painted cheeks. Those curvaceous lips tinted crimson colour mesmerized one's sight with her smile. And her big eyes, those shone out the most with their brown shade paired with honey yellow fused with olive green. They enchanted you.

She looked directly at both of us and offered a lovely smile. My cheeks started to burn. Vincent had blushed to the point of turning scarlet. Elizabeth leaned into her friend's ear whispering some words that responded with a vast deal of mirth from both of them. No doubt we were the cause of this hilarity. I had never felt so insulted and ashamed. Now thinking back on the occurrence I know it bothered because I did not cause an attractive first impression as I desired it.

Their amusement became something I was unable to endure. I quickly took the opportunity to leave. I was ready to show Vincent my sympathy in such disappointment, he however, seemed delighted and determined to stay to seek a word alone with Elizabeth.  As I was set on leaving that dreadful scene I did not resolve on considering waiting for my brother. I walked home alone.

After that Vincent became her lover, it was no secret to me. He used to tell me all about it, about their love, and conversations, even a key she had given him to enter her bedroom through a secret door. I tried to explain how that only meant she was interested in our fortune and would be embarrassed to let their affair be exposed.

After noticing my opposition to their relationship he became reserved. He seldom came home. Despite his silence I  came to know about his expenses. That lady was a kept woman and disgusted me. I felt repulsed by that scoundrel and by my brother falling for her.

On many occasions I found myself begging him to take notice of the situation and end the affair between them to no avail. I became desperate and secluded to write letters to Elizabeth with no reply. Vincent was helplessly in love with her and she was completely fond of our money.

We were slowly going bankrupt and even then he would not recapacitate. He began considering giving her our difunted mother's inheritance just to keep his lover satisfied. Seeing him in such a shameful state left me devastated. The way he smiled carelessly checking our finances claiming he owed her everything she craved because of how much she loved him. I knew that woman was incapable of love. I had promised my father to protect Vincent and I was failing.

That is when I resolved to pay her a visit. What I could possibly gain from this rendezvous I did not know but in these circumstances I was willing to attempt anything in my power. I knew she would not receive me. So I stole my brother's key to her chamber.

I waited some time outside the garden until her present visitor, her public lover, De Loughrey, left. Once this happened I sneaked in and spied behind the door. She was wearing a voluminous golden dress. I had forgotten how beautiful she was. When I let myself be known she jumped backwards with her hand in her heart. She remained flustered but composed herself when she recognized me. I understood she would not risk it to call a servant that found me with her and discovered her secret passage for lovers.

"I presume this is about your brother," she began at once without a greeting. I clenched my fists.

"Yes," was the only word I could utter

"Arthur, darling," she said, sending shivers to my body, "nor your dozens of letters nor your presence will change a thing of what I feel for your brother," she added with such a sweet smile. I felt my nails thrusting deep in my palm. I said nothing. I could not.

"If you will allow me to be honest, I feel quite offended at you, meddling in our private affairs," my nails pierced my skin, "attempting to convince your brother to leave me. Depriving us from our mutual affection,"

"YOU DON'T LOVE HIM!" I cried out "We are going bankrupt because of you! You don't care about him and he doesn't either! He is in love only with the image of you, but he could never learn to treasure who you really are!" I was unaware of my senses, I realized too late tears rolling down my cheeks. Her awestruck eyes were a stab to my heart and I could not help two more tears from escaping. I had overwhelmed her and wished I had not. Her eyes spoke without the need of words and she knew. I had let out my love with my behavior.

"You are not jealous of me, you are jealous of him," she said and I was only able to nod in response. It was impossible not to love her, admire every bit of her as a divine being. I knew I loved her unlike everyone else, I adored her whole and I grew to unknowingly despise my brother for being her lover. I would have given her the world right there in change of a gentle smile, I would have died at her feet for granting me a kiss.

I would have tolerated any response, anything at all except what she did. Fall into a crude pit of laughter. I launched myself towards her. At this point... you understand I had no control of my actions anymore. I could not bear the fact of someone else having her for her beauty alone while she was heaven on earth.

My hands grasped her deliciously tender skin. Her neck was so delightfully fragile it did not take long to break. Her eyes were moist and reddened. She was as pale as ever but lacking of her natural blushed cheeks. And her lips seemed to have turned a pretty lavender colour.

My heart beat with a sense of serenity I had never felt. The peace was so marvelous. I could assure myself she would not be a possession to anyone else but me. Her life was mine and therefore I seized it. She would no longer be mistreated and unappreciated.

I left the same way I entered and waited to hear of the murder. I was anxious to see my brother's response when he realized he had lost and was unable to own Elizabeth as I did.

Beautifully arranged, they charged her previous visitor with the murder as he was the last one seen with her. She was buried, her properties sold. And Vincent spent all his time weeping seeking my comfort I just wanted to avoid. I could not undergo his mislead idea of imagining Elizabeth as his.

He became a drunkard. He had unbearable grief he could only ease with drink and gambling. He came home everyday telling me how he ought to see her again. I thought his pain would afflict me but I just could not stand it. When he came home with sorrowful red eyes, I only thought they were pathetic. They did not compare with the gracefully astonished eyes of Elizabeth that night.

Whereas me, the harmony I felt that night had banished. I was out of my mind. I thought that taking her life would give me peace with her and my obsession. That I would stop having to confront her and idolize her. Anything remaining of her had to cease existing. But I kept feeling her.

I felt her dead cold skin against my own every night. I heard her sweet voice calling after mine. Her unloving giggles. Her spectral sobs. I knew her lifeless eyes were upon me wherever I went. It was a bitter pleasure driving me mad.

My ignorance and stubborn defiance forbid me to believe in preposterous ideas as spirits, but I was in a desperate insanity. Almost everyday I would visit her grave, no matter the weather. I went there to ask her to stop following me but it would not help.

I came to conclude it was my conscience. In fact I knew it was. I was happy to have killed her for love but Vincent did not know that. My little brother deserved to understand the situation so I could stop hearing the unstoppable wailing from the both of them. 

When I got home I was notably received with an unwelcome presence. It was de Loughrey. His head mingled in his bloody chest. Sitting by the table almost as if his dead body was looking forward to a conversation his blood dripped on the floor. I was oblivious to how I should react, I do not know how much time I was left there standing over the deceased.

Vincent came to my thoughts at last. The miserable kid seeking his vengeance. Why would he leave his crime so on the open like this? Where should I find him? I came to consider he went to the cemetery to relate his tale of revenge. I quickly took an improvisation to hide the body in a closet for the time being and parted to the grave I had so many times visited before.

Under a rainy night Vincent stood over the grave digging. His hair dripped over his mad eyes. The sight was frightening. He came to an insane cheering when he touched the wooden casket. Unaware of my company he started to open the coffin. I came closer to which he noticed me but barely gave me a second glance. 

The top opened, revealing the corpse threw a mortifying smell that made me sick. I turned back and vomited everything my stomach held. Vincent hardly moved his head slightly. Elizabeth’s once pale face had turned gray. Her lips that had become a lovely lavender shade were now nonexistent in her skull. Her heavenly eyes were empty sockets. Her skin was eaten and putrid, absorbed so much to her bones you could not differentiate the two.

“She follows me everywhere, Arthur,” he screamed over the thundering rain, “She’s so lonely down here all by herself,” I could not speak. I just stood watching over him with a perturbed look. It was hard to believe I had caused all this commotion over my little brother. I had promised to take care of him and horribly failed.

“I can’t leave her there,” He continued, “I tried to resist her but she’s just always talking to me, Arthur. Asking me to avenge her, to join her, accompany her in her terrible solitude.”

At this whole tragedy I let out a laugh, I was so confused I found the whole thing hilarious. “What do you mean?” I could only ask. His look explained it all. How he tilted his head with sorrowful eyes, changed his direction from me to her. Great mirth overcame my body out of that ridiculous determination.

His eyes hurt me more than anything. I asked him to come home, I would force him and carry him if necessary. To my surprise he nodded, came to his senses and followed me. However, I was mistaken, as I turned around to leave, he struck me with a painful hit on my head with his shovel. I was completely lucid but unable to move. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him return to the dug out grave, jump to the hole and close the coffin door with him inside. And I could not do anything about it.

My mind began to wander and my eyes closed to some darkness I could not evade. The last thing I sensed was Elizabeth's eerie phantom rising from her death to the gruesome chaos I provoked. I felt an icy wind lead the dirt back to his excavation.

Then, you know the rest. I was found presumably digging the grave myself, had killed de Loughrey as my own revenge, and brought here as mentally unstable. I wanted to let you know the real tale, not to convince you of my innocence as I did kill someone, but assure you of my sanity. All I did for the reason of love, it was my brother who lost his mind and buried himself with Elizabeth… Do you understand why I must leave? He is there alone astray with my love, I must dig him out and explain my possession over Elizabeth, how he may not claim her. 

Arthur begged me more after this to let him go. It broke my heart to learn his tale and the reason for telling it to me. Just another desire of escape. I refused to bitter tears in his eyes.

Next morning he was gone. I do not know how but he was never found. I’m almost sure he is sleeping tenderly along with his love and his brother, embracing her red dress.