Chapter 25 - The Mercy Cage

The twenty-fifth chapter of our novel, will Emily reveal to her husband the horrors of the garden?

Emily- 1945, New York City

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Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 // Chapter 13// Chapter 14 // Chapter 15 // Chapter 16 // Chapter 17 // Chapter 18 // Chapter 19 // Chapter 20 // Chapter 21 // Chapter 22 // Chapter 23 // Chapter 24

I breach the surface of the tub and hungrily gasp for air. The force of pushing myself up against that thing that held me down launches my body forward and I throw my arms over the side of the tub, desperate to hang on before something else pulls me back under. I sputter and cough, sliding over the side and crumpling onto the tile next to the tub. The cool tile soothes the surface of my skin while my breath works to regulate. My heart flutters rapidly while I stutter inhales of air like rations. I have no idea how long I lay on the floor. The ear not pressed into the porcelain listens for disturbance or whispers or- God forbid- digging. But there is none. My breath begins to slow. I gingerly rise, wary of the wet floor, and pull my towel from the hook and let it console me. My feet carry me towards the sink and I glimpse myself in the mirror, almost frightened to look. Besides my soaked chemise and hair, the woman I see staring back seems…normal. I look like myself, only shivering. I exhale a limp laugh, unsure of what I expected to see looking back at me. It has been a long and exhausting day. A branch- I’m certain it was a branch just now- shifts in the window behind my reflection. My head turns before I can stop it, but there is nothing affronting before me, just the branch softly waving in the breeze outside the tall windows. I stare blankly forward, and turn myself stiffly back to the mirror to lock eyes once more with myself. Pull yourself together, Emily. Take yourself to bed.

Obediently, I pull on my robe and make my way down the hall. My fingers trace and drag along the wallpaper, the sensation beneath my fingertips oddly soothing. Like holding a baby blanket. I feel as if our house is walking me to the bedroom, I chuckle limply though my eyes stay glazed and my face unmoving. Once to the door of our main bedroom, I quickly tuck in and press my back firmly against it, twisting the lock. If George is confused, I’ll say I became frightened being at the new house without him for the first night. He should not question that. I can hear him now, chuckling “My sweet Emmy, how did you ever last while I was away overseas if you can’t handle one evening of my being away from you!” I allow myself to laugh at his charm and my eyes soften. My head rests back against the door, my body still trembling, though my breathing has certainly slowed now that I feel I am back safe in our room. A soft sigh releases and I glance around. Nothing but the lamp to extinguish. I trepidatiously walk over to our bed and climb in once more. I think for a brief moment of leaving the lamp lit, but my stubbornness rears and instead I reach over and twist off the lamp. I pull the quilt up to my chin and stare at the ceiling, listening for silence. When I am convinced it is all I am left with, my lids fall heavy and I suppose I fall asleep. 

*     *       *

     My glassy eyes burn as the tears from my yawn hit them. I blink heavily and rub them. George lands a kiss atop my head and I hear him lay down a coffee for me on the table. I smile up at him and beckon for another kiss.  “You weren’t joking, Em, you don’t look like you slept well at all,” he says as he inspects my face after obliging. He rubs my cheek with his thumb and kisses my swollen eyes. “I’m going to pour myself a cup and join you, my love,” he announces as he swiftly heads to the kitchen. I would normally wait for him to return to enjoy our cups together, but I pull my cup in and gulp down my first sip of the hot brew. Once I am more awake I must be able to make better sense of my night. I take another gulp and sigh an “Ah” aloud. “Just what the Doctor ordered?” George quips from the kitchen. I almost laugh with my mouth full and force myself to patiently swallow before responding. “Even better, darling!” He laughs and I can hear him puttering with dishes. He has a habit of squirreling things away when out of place, or while he waits for something to be ready. He can hardly sit still while dinner is being prepared, he almost always must have his hands chopping or assisting in some way. I take another, slower sip and place my cup down. “Now, don’t forget your coffee, George!” “Ah! Yes, dear, coming!” The sound of dishes halts and he briskly walks into the sitting room with the coffee tray. He has brought the carafe, thankfully, as I am already halfway through my cup. He’s also brought his own cup and a plate of biscuits for us to share. I smile and bring one to my mouth.

One of my favorite things about being with George is our ability to sit in silence together. There is never a sense of needing to answer to one another, or keep the other occupied. I chew my biscuit and wash it down with my newly refreshed cup. I look over at George and smile- he is chewing happily and staring off into the distance, his eyes bright. He often drifts off in thought or curiosity, and I adore the way his eyes light while his mind works. When his fits hit him, he can become distant as well, but his eyes then are not so bright. His breathing becomes labored and athletic, his brow breaks in sweat. Hopefully now that is all past us, now that we are away from the clamor of the city. Hopefully now, he may rest. A pang hits my stomach- last night. I was quite unable to rest. What happened to me, what I experienced, I cannot fully comprehend. Last night I wanted nothing more than for George to arrive home and to save me from the events of the evening, but now I cannot even decide how to describe it to him. Must I? Does he need to be worried? A deeper pang, one of guilt hits me. How can I possibly tell him of my- of last night. We have moved mountains to leave our apartment and make our way up to this promising property. This is our safe-haven, his new start. Our new start, for our family (should we be so lucky). How can I sully it? Nothing happened. The garden is roses. The bath, nothing more than a tub. I look up at him once more and see he has been staring at me quizzically. I smile back and shake my head to release my worry. “Alright?” He asks, with such care my guilt rebuilds. “Perfect, darling. Just daydreaming.” I feel another slighter twang of guilt for the fib, but nothing compared to the other. He smiles in relief and takes a sip from his own cup and pretends to burn his mouth. An earnest laugh leaves me and he and I talk the rest of the morning, all thoughts of last night’s events far gone.