Downfall by S.D. Wasley
****
It took almost the full week to comprehend what I’d done by leaving. Until then I functioned okay, focused on effecting a credible disappearance. I mostly felt angry. I had a brooding fury for Vanessa and barely managed to hold back from shouting at Albion whenever I caught his inquisitive stare. Then, on that seventh day after Cain’s visit, the magnitude of my actions hit me. I woke up with the truth before me like a crevasse, huge and shocking. My heart suddenly understand what it meant that I would never see Cain again. No more kissing his lips, no more crushing embrace. The night before I’d worried about a homework assignment and tried not to snap at Albion as I helped prepare dinner. Now there was nothing. No concern, no interest, no everyday life. Nothing but this enormous, yawning reality.
I buried my face in the bedcovers, trying to make things smaller and easier to take. Then I jumped out of bed to check myself in the mirror. I must look messed up, right? Pale skin and white hair, maybe―or bloodshot eyes. What a relief it would be to see physical symptoms ... but there I was, a healthy tan; dark curls and clear eyes. I dragged myself outside and slumped onto the back lawn where Albion was pegging washing, including my clothes. I couldn’t even feel grateful. If anything, I loathed him for doing my washing.
Albion raised an eyebrow. “Like that, is it? Where’s my old Frankie gone?”
“Shut up.”
The wound inside me burned and I settled in to nurse it. There was something almost luxurious about my wretchedness, something very physical and indulgent. I gave in to it. My heart shot raw pain up through my chest and neck, leaving it as an ache in the back of my throat. Albion clattered around the house while I hid the pain behind my bedroom door, muffling dry, silent sobs with my pillow. It was like having a psychotic episode within a padded cell. Sharp, super-real aching inside while I kept the outer world muffled and distant.
I spent the next week with this acute pain, like I was staging my grieving process in logical seven-day intervals. During the day I went to college on autopilot, and when I got home I slid in with the pain. It was my new lover. I never shed any tears, just those horrible dry sobs, silent so Albion couldn’t hear. Every time distractions threatened, or the pain slipped away, I gripped onto it greedily. In my English class we were studying poetry and I found special resonance in the poems of Sylvia Plath. I read them over and over again until I could quote whole pieces. It was like pouring vinegar into my wounds, both agonizing and weirdly exhilarating.
Albion backed off. He didn’t ask me anything more intimate than my opinion of his new cologne, wisely leaving me to wander inside my overgrown misery without rattling at the gates. Sympathy just made me impatient, anyway. If I was sick it was how I wanted to be. The week of pain was followed by my college study break, so I commenced week three: sleep. The pain slipped away as I dozed through large chunks of each day. I slept like someone who’d been tossed on a stormy sea in a dinghy, battered and weak; fragile and wasted. Albion and I maintained our nightly ritual of listening to the messages from Liz, Owen, or Jude on the answering machine. I even got a surly text message from Nadine, as well as a note tucked into our screen door, written in Jude’s boyish scrawl: Frankie, we need to talk to you. Can you give me a call? Nothing from Cain.
On family pasta night Albion and I walked up to the Main House. Uncle Max commented on my demeanor.
“You’ve lost your sparkle, bella, and you look thin. You’re not working too hard at college, are you?”
I tried harder to fake it, ignoring Vanessa’s stare, but excused myself early. I blamed homework. Albion stayed at the Main House to drink red wine and swap travel stories with Vanessa, and I headed home in the cool night air, the old trees on Uncle Max’s property rustling and whipping in the wind. Albion had lit the fire at the Old House so it was warm inside, but a draught ghosted unpleasantly around my bedroom. Odd. My room wasn’t normally this cold. I checked my window wasn’t open, lifting the blind―and saw the source of the draught. There was a small, jagged hole in my window. I pictured a hand snaking in to unhook the latch, and stuffed a towel into the hole, shuddering.
A break in? Or ... one of the Gaunt House group? I examined my room. Although my clothes and lecture notes were where I’d left them, my computer display was lit up, open on my Sent Items folder. The last email I’d sent―to Starr, just that afternoon―was in plain view. And a frame that had held a photo of me and Dad lay dismantled on the bed, the picture missing. There was a chance―a slim one―that we’d been burgled. But really I knew it was Cain. I could almost smell him in the room.
I locked everything, drew every curtain, and sat shivering on a kitchen chair. Eventually Albion wandered back from the Main House with my sister, both of them carrying glasses of wine.
Vanessa started when she saw me. “Frankie! What’s wrong?”
I pointed at my bedroom. They investigated, exclaiming in horror.
“Why didn’t they take her computer?” That was Vanessa. “Or her purse?”
“I’d better call the cops,” was Albion’s reply.
“Please don’t.” I raised my voice so they could hear me from the kitchen.
They came back out. “You don’t think this was an everyday break-in, Frankie?” Albion asked.
I took a breath. “Alby, Ness, I’m in trouble. I can’t let them find me. It’s not a game and it’s not just a bad break up or anything like that. I need your help.”
“He’s toxic to you, isn’t he?” Albion said. “Dangerous to you?”
Actually it was the reverse but I didn’t think he’d buy that. “It’s a toxic relationship,” I confirmed obliquely.
“We thought it must be that.” Vanessa sat next to me, putting her hand on mine. She looked almost grateful that I’d asked for her help, despite the horrible things I’d said to her. “What would he do if he found you?”
“He wouldn’t hurt me,” I said. “I just ... I need to not go back to him. We’re not a good match. And I’m not good at controlling myself.” I couldn’t meet their eyes while I admitted this. “If he comes near me, or talks to me, I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist.” I didn’t look up during the long silence that followed.
“Are you sure he won’t hurt you?” Albion asked.
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Okay, so how can we help?” Vanessa asked.
“I’m not sure ... keep fielding the calls, I guess. Alby could pretend he lives here alone. Or I could take off for a while. Go visit Mum or something.”
“Don’t do that,” said Vanessa. “It’ll just be more stress. We can make it look like you’ve disappeared.”
Albion nodded. “We’ll make you invisible, Frankie. When I tell Dad about the break in he’ll increase the security. We’ll get screens on the windows and deadbolts. An alarm. No one will be able to get in.”
“Make sure you check the street before she goes out anywhere,” Vanessa told him.
“Yeah. But what about college?” He grimaced.
“I’m on study break for another week or so,” I said. “Then I just have five exams to show up for before another break. They won’t be regular times like my classes so it’s not likely I’ll be seen.”
“Is Jude in touch with this guy?” he asked. “Jude knows a lot of people. If anyone sees you around, he could find out you’re still here.”
He was right. I sighed. “Maybe I should go visit Mum for a while.”
“Alby, has Uncle Max still got the Darbon beach house?” Vanessa asked.
He looked at her quickly. “Yeah ... yes! That’s perfect, Nessa. We can disappear for the next two weeks. All three of us.”
“But you should come back here early,” Vanessa told him. “To give the impression you’ve settled in by yourself; that Frankie and you aren’t hanging out together.”
“Yeah. I will. I’ll come back after one week.” Albion looked at me doubtfully. “Will two weeks be enough time away for you?”
“I don’t know ... he can’t keep tryin
“Okay, it’s a plan.” He whipped out his phone and messaged Uncle Max as he spoke. “We’ll leave early. Antonia won’t make a big deal, will she?” he asked Vanessa.
“Antonia thinks Dad’s way too heavy-handed with the daughterly protection thing,” she said with a shrug. “She cares about me and Frankie. She won’t rat us out.” Vanessa laughed unexpectedly. “Dad would have a fit if he knew how slack Uncle Max has been with keeping Frankie’s virtue in check.”
“Dad’s the great optimist,” Albion said. “He always believes whatever I tell him, so why would he treat his niece any differently?”
Despite their bravado I was antsy. “Uh, when you get back from Darbon they might ... approach you,” I told Albion. “To try to find out where I went.”
He was clearly taken aback but covered any nervousness with a shrug. “That’s okay. I’ve already got my story straight. You’ve vamoosed and you owe me rent. I’m even going to chuck out your gear this week.” He shot me a grin. “You know, since I’ve given up hope you might come back and pay me what you owe. I’ve left your gear in your room up to this point, but I’m fed up now.” He nudged me to inspire confidence.
“All right.” My voice shook. “That might work.”
“Of course it will.” Vanessa put an arm around my shoulders.
“I think it’s all going to go swimmingly,” was Albion’s declaration. “The only danger is that you’ll go a bit stir crazy in Darbon. And when you get back we’ll have some disguises ready. You can go back to college as a glamorous blonde with big celebrity sunglasses, okay?” He tipped his head hopefully and I managed a half-smile in response.