Midnight Whispers by V. C. Andrews
"Try not to miss lunch," she shouted through the locked door. I pulled on the handle.
"Let me out of here," I demanded. I pounded the door. "Aunt Bet, open this door. I have to find out about Jefferson. Aunt Bet!" I pounded again and again, but she didn't respond. Furious, I kicked at the door, but only hurt my foot. I paused, seething, and then I heard Richard's whisper. He had his lips up against the opening between the jamb and the door.
"Why don't you crawl out your window," he said and laughed.
"You little bastard. When I get out of here . . ." I pulled and pulled on the handle until my arms ached.
"Aunt Bet! Please. Open the door!" I waited, but it was silent. "Uncle Philip!" I cried. "Let me out!" No one came even though I pounded and cried for hours. When Aunt Bet's scheduled lunch hour began, she climbed the stairs and came to my room. She unlocked the door and stood there gazing down at me. I was sprawled on the floor where I had stopped pounding and calling.
"How dare you lock me in like this?" I said, rising slowly.
"Maybe now you'll understand the importance of schedules," she said. "Our lives are very organized now and we don't want anything to disrupt them."
"Don't you ever, ever lock me in here again," I said. She held her cold smile.
"What will you do?" she asked. "Run away again?"
It was as if a cold knife had been dragged down my back along my spine. I suddenly realized she had been happy Jefferson and I had run off. She didn't care; she didn't want us to return. She was hoping we had gone to live with someone else. Revenge, no matter how self-destructive it might be, was suddenly worth it.
"Why do you think I ran away? What do you think was the real reason?"
"I wouldn't know," she said, but she had an anxious look in her eyes. I folded my arms across my chest and stepped toward her, my own eyes firmly fixed on hers.
"You never asked Uncle Philip, did you? You must have been awake that night. You must have known when he left your bed and came into my room," I fired at her with a tone of meanness that amazed even me.
"What?" She stepped back. "What are you saying, you horrible child?"
"He came into my room. He came into my bed," I told her. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. She shook her head and started to speak, but her lips moved without producing a sound. "He forced himself on me; it was horrible, horrible. He kept telling me he couldn't stand being near you, touching you."
She shook her head vehemently.
"I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong and too determined. In the end . . . he raped me."
She brought her hands to her ears and uttered the ugliest, most twisted scream. Then she reached out to slap me, but I caught her hand in midair.
"Don't touch me!" I told her, "and don't ever lock me in my room again. Don't even think of it!"
She pulled her hand free and fled from me. She retreated to her own bedroom and slammed the door.
"Good riddance," I cried and then I took a deep breath. It felt like a small fire had started in my chest. I hadn't realized how rigidly I had been holding myself. My ribs ached. Although I had driven her off, I didn't feel proud of myself. Even now that it was over and my fury had subsided, I could easily imagine how hateful and ugly I had appeared. It was a side of myself I didn't want to make visible, for I knew it left scars afterward. Maybe no one else could see the scars, but I could. The worst thing vile and repulsive people like Aunt Bet could do to you was make you like them. That was what she had succeeded in doing right now.
I went downstairs to have some lunch. Melanie and Richard were already seated at the table, he with his napkin tucked in his collar and she with hers on her lap. Both of them sat up perfectly straight, their soup spoons gripped correctly and poised over their steaming bowls of chowder. They looked more like mannequins than real people.
"I found all the terrible things you did in my room while I was away," I told them. "You won't get away with it. Believe me."
My fiery gaze made them both shift their eyes to their soup. Then Richard recuperated and fired back.
"Jefferson's going to die," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Mother told us so this morning."
"That's a lie. He's getting better. He's being brought to the hospital back here the moment he can travel," I said. He smiled slyly.
"My father just told you that to get you to come home," he said confidently. I looked at Melanie who was staring at me like some coldly analytical scientist anxious to see what my reaction to this news would be.
"You're horrible . . . two monsters!" I cried and in one swift move, I dumped their bowls of soup on their laps. They both screamed and jumped up and away from the table as the liquid quickly went through their clothes and scalded them. Without waiting for Aunt Bet's arrival, I turned and fled.
I ran out of the house, down the steps and toward the hotel. All of the debris had been cleared and the new walls had been started. As I approached, the workers on this side turned and a moment later, Uncle Philip emerged from the group to greet me.
"You have a family of monsters," I began. "I hate them!"
"Now, everyone has to learn how to readjust." He held up his hands. "In time . . ."
"I'll never adjust to them . . . or you!" I said, my chest heaving with each breath. For a moment I simply glared at him. He looked confused, hurt. "The twins told me you lied about Jefferson. They said he's not coming to a hospital here," I said. He smiled.
"That's nonsense. They're just teasing you. Matter of fact, I received the phone call this morning and I was on my way to see you. Jefferson's out of the coma and he will arrive at the hospital at eight tonight. You and I will be there when he comes."
"Really? This isn't another lie?"
"Would I lie about such a thing?" He put his hand on my shoulder and I pulled back as if his hand was on fire. "Christie, please . . ."
"Don't touch me. I don't want you to ever touch me again."
"Christie. We love you. We. . ."
"Love me? Do you know she locked me in my room?"
"She's still a little upset."
"And you let her. You let her do everything she wants," I accused.
"Betty Ann runs the house now and I . . ."
"She runs everything and everyone around her. But not me. I told her what you did. I told her!" I screamed, turned and stormed off. I didn't return to the house until late in the day. In the interim, I went downtown and bought myself some lunch. I walked on the beach for a while and then sat behind the hotel and watched them work on the building. When I did reenter the house, I found it deathly quiet. I marched up to my room. The door to Melanie's room was open so I looked in as I passed and saw the two of them sitting on the floor, a game of Chinese checkers between them. They glared up at me hatefully. When I paused, they both looked terrified and shifted their eyes to their game.
The door to Aunt Bet and Uncle Philip's bed-room remained closed. I wondered if she had shut herself in there all day. I didn't feel sorry for her; I was just curious. At exactly six-fifteen, however, she came to my doorway and knocked gently. She looked like she had been crying for hours. Now her face had that dry, quiet look, the look of someone moving through the paces without thinking or feeling.
"Dinner is being served," she said and turned away before I could speak. I wasn't very hungry, nor did I look forward to sitting at the table with any of them, but I went downstairs. The twins glanced at me quickly and then looked down at their plates and settings. Uncle Philip was the most animated, but even he looked like a puppet waiting for his strings to be tugged. The new maid served the food without uttering a sound. She was a young girl, but one who had a prematurely aged face. The way she moved about the table indicated she was terrified of Aunt Bet, frightened of making a mistake. I was the only one who thanked her. Her eyes lightened, but she did no more than, nod slightly and retreat to the kitchen.
Because they were all so quiet and withdrawn, I was able to pretend and to imagine myself sitting at the
"She's not to receive any phone calls," I heard Aunt Bet say. "Tell whoever it is . . ."
"The operator says it's long distance," the maid explained.
"Long distance?" I shot up out of my seat.
"No one talks on the phone during dinner," Aunt Bet declared. "It's not polite; it's . . ."
I glared at her. She glanced at Uncle Philip, who looked down at his food, and then she shook herself as if she had just had a terrible chill and went back to her own meal. I went to the phone. It was Gavin.
"I tried to call you all day," he said, "but someone kept telling me you were out or asleep."
"It's horrible here, more horrible than ever," I told him. "As soon as Jefferson is well again, I'm leaving."
"Has Philip . . ."
"He hasn't come near me. Gavin, I told her; I told Aunt- Bet. She drove me to it," I said. "Really? What did she say?"
"She ran away from me, screaming, and now they're all like zombies, but I don't care."
"I've told my mother and she's talking to Daddy. They're going to discuss what to do," he said.
"Tell them not to do anything until Jefferson is well. I don't want any new problems until then," I said.
"I'm worried about you, Christie. All I do is lie around and think about you," he told me.
"I'll be all right, Gavin. I'm not letting them abuse me anymore. Jefferson's being flown in tonight. We're going to the hospital to be with him when he arrives," I said.
"Call me as soon as you know anything, okay? Promise?"
"You don't need me to promise, Gavin. I'll call 'you. You and Jefferson are the only two people I care about right now."
"I love you, Christie. I loved all of our tender moments at The Meadows," he said softly.
"Me too."
"I'll wait for your phone call," he said. "Bye."
"Bye."
I cradled the phone and returned to the dinner table. They all looked up in anticipation when I arrived.
"I'm not hungry anymore," I announced. "I'll wait upstairs, Uncle Philip. Call me when you're ready."
"Ready for what?" Aunt Bet demanded.
"We're going to the hospital," he said. "Jefferson's on his way."
"You didn't tell me that," she said.
"Didn't I? Oh. Well, it must have just slipped my mind. We had a busy day working on the hotel today," he said quickly and looked down at his food. Aunt Bet scowled at him and then shifted her eyes at me.
"I told you what she did to the twins today. You were going to speak to her about it, Philip. Well?" He looked up at me.
"Now's not the time," he told her.
"It certainly is the time. Why . . ."
"It's not the time!" he declared with more firm-ness in his voice than he had shown since I had returned.
Aunt Bet turned crimson and pressed her lips together. She nodded, her head bobbing as if her neck were a spring on which it rested.
"I'll wait upstairs," I repeated and left them sitting and eating in their morgue-like atmosphere.
A little more than a half-hour later, Uncle Philip knocked on my door. He had changed his clothes and wore the strangest things—a pair of jeans, sneakers, a black sweatshirt and a black and gold jacket that had his name embroidered above the breast pocket.
"Ready?" he asked, smiling. He saw how I was staring. "Oh, this is my high school jacket with my varsity letter," he explained and turned around to show me the Emerson Peabody patch sewn on the back of the jacket. "Still fits pretty good, eh?"
I rose slowly and put on my own light cotton jacket. Something frightened me about his wearing his high school clothes. I didn't know why it should, but it did. He stepped back as I walked out of my room.
"You look very nice," he said. "Very nice."
I wondered if Aunt Bet was coming along with us at least to pretend some interest in Jefferson, but she sat downstairs reading and listening to the twins tinker on the piano. None of them even looked our way as we proceeded to the front door. Uncle Philip opened it for me. I was expecting Julius and the limousine, but Uncle Philip had brought his own, rarely used car up front instead.
"Where's Julius?" I asked.
"It's his night off," Uncle Philip said.
"I'm sure he would have wanted to come."
"Oh, Julius has a girlfriend, a widow he sees over in Hadleyville. He even hints about getting married," Uncle Philip said, smiling. He opened the door for me and I got into the car. Then he moved around quickly to get in the front seat and drive us off.
The night sky was overcast so that even the sliver of moon was hidden. The darkness seemed thicker to me, especially when we left Cutler's Cove and headed toward Virginia Beach. Uncle Philip was oddly silent. I had been expecting him to babble just the way he had on our plane trip back, but all he did was drive and stare out at the road. When I gazed at him, I saw a strange, soft smile form on his lips.
"What a night, what a night," he finally said. I didn't think anything of it, although I wouldn't have called this night very remarkable. The ocean on our right looked inky. I didn't even see one small boat light. It was as if the stormy sky had joined with the sea and one ran into the other. A night sky without any stars or moon was just a vast empty wasteland of bleak darkness to me.
"You were wonderful," he added a few moments later.
"Pardon me?"
"The faces on the people in the audience . . ." He looked at me. "You couldn't see them like I could, not with the lights in your eyes. I know. I've been on a stage, too."
"Stage? What are you talking about, Uncle Philip?" My heart began to pound.
"You've got the prettiest voice I've ever heard. And I'm not just saying that," he said quickly.
"What?"
"I'm so proud of you, proud you're my girl-friend," he said and suddenly he slowed down and turned the car onto a beach road.
"Uncle Philip!" I sat up. "Where are you going?"
"To the top of the world, remember? I promised I would show it to you. Well, here it is," he said, coming to a stop. He sat back and looked out the window at the pitch-dark night. "Ever see so many lights?"
"What lights? What are you talking about? Uncle Philip, we're on our way to the hospital . . . to Jefferson."
"I told you," he said, not hearing me. "I told you I would teach you things; I would show you things." He slid over to my side and put his arm around my shoulders.
"Stop!" I cried. "Uncle Philip."
He clutched my shoulder firmly and started to bring me toward him, his lips moving toward mine. "Dawn . . . oh Dawn," he said.
I screamed and pushed my hand into his face, digging my nails into his cheeks to push him back. Then I spun around and grabbed hold of the door handle. He seized the collar of my jacket, but I opened the door and pulled myself forward. My jacket came off in his hands. I felt his fingernails tear down the back of my neck in the process, but I wasn't concerned with the pain; I was only thinking of escape.
As soon as I was out of the car, I ran down the beach.
"DAWN!"
I heard him coming after me. The ocean roared to my right and there seemed to be miles of sand to my left. I charged forward, tripping and falling on the beach and then pulling myself up and running again. Just when I thought I was away from him, however, I felt his arms wrap around my waist and we both went down on the sand.
"I want . . . to show . . . to teach you . . . things," he gasped. His hands were over my breasts and his fingers began to fumble with the buttons on my blouse. I kicked up and twisted myself wildly to get out from under him, but he was too heavy and too strong. His fingernails tore down the side of my neck and onto my chest. I screamed and
I clutched a handful of sand and turned to him.
Even in the pitch darkness, I could see his eyes gleaming, his skin moist with perspiration. "Dawn . . ."
"I'm not Dawn! I'm not!" I screamed and tossed the sand into his face.
He cried out and when he brought his hands to his eyes, I spun over, slipped out from under him and scampered to my feet. Then I charged away again, this time running to my left. I ran and ran until I heard the sound of a car and realized I had reached the highway. I broke out onto the road, into the headlights of the oncoming vehicle. I heard the brakes squeal and saw the car veer to the left, but the driver never stopped. He kept going, his tail lights becoming smaller and smaller in the darkness, like the eyes of a retreating wolf.
I walked on and on, afraid now that one of the oncoming cars might be Uncle Philip. Finally, I saw the outskirts of Cutler's Cove. But I didn't go into the village. I turned up the road that led to Bronson Alcott's house instead. It took me nearly an hour more to reach his home on the hill. My clothes torn, my legs aching, dirty and sweaty, I rapped on the door and waited. He opened it himself.
"Christie!" he said in shock, and I fell forward into his arms.
Still in a daze, I lay on the sofa in the living room. Bronson had Mrs. Berme bring a wet cloth to put on my forehead and then went himself to fetch me a glass of water. He returned with it quickly and then he helped me sit up so I could drink.
"Now begin slowly," he said when I lay back against the pillow on the sofa, "and tell me everything. I didn't even know you had returned. I'm surprised and very upset that no one told me. Your uncle and aunt knew how concerned I've been."
"It doesn't surprise me that he never called you," I said and took a deep breath before starting. Even now, even after this frightening and horrible episode with Uncle Philip, it was difficult for me to seek Bronson's help. It embarrassed me, and even though I was sure everyone would tell me I had no reason to feel guilty and ashamed, I couldn't help but have those feelings.
Bronson listened attentively, his eyebrows lifting when I began to describe my reason for first running away. He gazed at Mrs. Berme and she left the room, assuming he wanted us to be alone to discuss such personal matters.