while she devoured her meal. When she was done, he took her plate. “Was it
good?”
“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t think anyone’s ever said those two
words as often in this amount of time. She felt like a broken record, her vocabulary
reduced to thank you, please, I swear, I don’t know … the last part made her
eyes water.
No one spoke for a while. She was tracing circles on the counter
with the tip of her fingers. He was leaning back against the closet where he just
put away the broom, openly watching her with an amused smile. She could feel his
stare, but refused to look at him unless specifically told to do so. The felt
silence was marked by the incessant ticking of the metal-plated clock on the
opposing wall. Laura thought an eternity passed between each swipe of the pendulum,
its ticking sound increasingly louder in her ears. Unable to bear the heavy silence
any longer, she finally spoke up. “May I be excused?” She felt pathetic, like a
child requesting permission.
His smirk broke into a full grin. “Yes, Laura, you may be excused.”
He had barely finished uttering the words and found her already up on her feet,
rushing out of the kitchen. He watched her leave, almost breaking into a run. He’d
let her run and hide, for now .
Day-2
T
hat night Laura dreamt of Peter again, but
not the Peter she remembered. He didn’t resemble himself, though she knew it was
him. They were alone, surrounded by darkness as violent winds roared all around
them. Nothing but empty black space except for a bright light illuminating their
faces, as if a spotlight shone on them, its source, invisible. Peter was calling out
to her, his face distorted in pain as he was being sucked into some kind of black
hole. She couldn’t see the lower half of his body anymore. She was gripping his hand
with both of hers and pulling with all her might. Her entire body hurt, but she
refused to let go. She could feel him slipping away, his hold loosening. She kept
screaming for him to hang on, but she could barely hear herself through the howling
winds. He looked up at her, looking like himself again. He seemed serene, his face
relaxed and his eyes kind. He smiled at her, tender and comforting, mouthed sorry , and let go. He was immediately sucked into nothingness. The force
threw her back to the floor. She called for him, screamed his name, over and over
again, breaking down into sobs.
Her tears were still fresh on her face when she woke up. She opened
her eyes, long enough to confirm the nightmare was still real, and cried herself
back to sleep.
The next morning, Laura rebuffed Olga’s few initiatives to get her
out of bed. Not even the appetizing trolley lured her out of the sheets. Olga
graciously gave her space but emphasized that Master Kayne had specifically
requested she join him for supper, which would be served at seven. Laura dismissed
her concerned efforts. She had no intention of leaving her bedroom, come what
may.
At six fifty sharp, just as the day before, Olga knocked at her
door. When Laura didn’t respond, she opened it partially, her alarm apparent at
finding Laura the way she had left her.
“Miss Spencer… Please, you must get ready. You must
eat something.” She tried to reason with her.
Laura didn’t even move a muscle.
“Master will not be happy…”
For some reason, the words made Laura snap, with a fury that
betrayed her previous apathy. “Master will not be happy! Master will not be happy?”
In one movement, she was up on her feet, almost screaming.
“Miss Spencer, please, I beg you, calm yourself…” Olga was beyond
nervous.
“No! I will not calm myself! Do you even know why I’m here? Do you
even know who you work for? Who you’re asking me to have supper with?” Her voice
faltered, as a lump rose in her throat.
“Oooh, Miss Spencer… please…” Olga appeared to be on the verge of
tears, her eyes
Stefan Zweig, Anthea Bell