- "Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us lost and confused"-
~ Paulo Coelho
The bed cried under his weight as he turned on his side.
"Come in, Elizabeth," he said flatly.
The wisps of tobacco dancing in the atmosphere in his room assaulted her nostrils and left her confined to the last breath of fresh air she managed to steal from the world on the other side of the door, the world she was about to shut herself out of. Easing the door on its hinges, nervousness fixed its eyes on the beast. He didn't notice her enter, thankfully. Maybe it was because he was too busy admiring the woman fixed between his fingers.
The old, gaunt man, with an unusually long skeleton, lay on his side in the middle of the bed with a woman from the past. One of his legs was stretched to its full length and the other, bent at just the right angle to support his posture. The woman wore one of the purest smiles Emma believed to exist, a smile similar to the woman who sat on her nightstand every day. Desiderium filled his eyes, leaving them almost foggy-looking as he held the photograph at the corners in an effort not to hurt her. A yellow-brown hue crept up the paper and reminded her of just how old the photo must have been.
"Liz, put the medicine on the stand and I'll-"
His eyes flew up from the picture and abruptly landed on hers. The moment they did, an electric shock jolted them both into the reality of what was really going on: Emma was in the room of the devil himself; Emma had verified his secret.
The ardent desire that flooded his eyes before, doused and swirls of silver rose from the bellows of his iris, blooming vigorously like a sudden avalanche. The smile on his face was quickly replaced with a deep scowl. There was a hint of shame somewhere in his disposition that she was sure of but was too skillfully masked to be very certain. The temperature of the room dropped to several degrees and a jolt of electricity that zoomed through her body made the slightest gasp escape her lips.
Tension weaved its way through the room, connecting all the gaps among them and bringing with it icy draughts that covered her leg with small beads. There was a sudden strange feeling arising in her chest. Why am I here, she thought to herself. "Since when have you allowed the emotions to take control; it's never been this bad," her conscience chimed in response.
Berty's breathing added a mysterious feel to being in his presence. It was something that she was still getting used to. After all, that was the bronchitis' voice coming through, not him, the bronchitis of which she was the perpetrator. It was like a hard drive starting up, whistle-like and shallow. Bits of air squeezed through the labyrinth of his congested and inflamed respiratory system and struggled to find their way out.
The shadows about the room made his skin appear grayer than usual and his eyes sparkled with disdain as they surveyed her from limb to limb. The skin that sagged under his eyes added ten additional years to his current age along with the silver needles peering from his mop of blond hair. Under his gaze, she could feel the world contort into different dimensions. Her skin scorched each time his eyes met hers.
"Oh..." his voice dropped, the stark indifference heard through every word, "How did you get in here? Where is Elizabeth?"
"Y-your medication-" she said quickly and involuntarily, dipped into a small bow as if she had just performed and was consummating it.
Bundles of jet black slipped off her shoulder and spilled into the tray, hiding its contents like theatre drapes.
Berty's frown deepened. "And who asked you to bring it?" he further interrogated.
She swallowed hard, tightening her grip on the tray. For a moment, she was frozen with her back arched, her vision barred by the black drapes and her fingers holding on to the tray. Her mind was overflowing with thoughts. The figure looming behind her was feeding off her energy and doubling in size by the second. It wanted a chance to speak but she wasn't sure what would happen if she let it. She recalled the one time she did allow it to and the repercussions were not pleasant. However, she was curious to see what it could do for her this time. Berty was playing a game that was unfair for far too long and just maybe, she could make it stop. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head slowly and was face to face with the haggard devil. The dismal, stormy eyes remained fixed on the ones observing her .
"Dad..." she paused briefly to think her words through.
His ears perked at the unusual drop in her voice.
"I thought that I was the one making you sick. You never mentioned that you've been smoking."
Two hearts skipped a beat at the same time and surprise was etched in the faces of both opponents. The figure started off hot and raw with his words, not in the way she would have liked but delivered the intended impact.
There was a sudden shift in the energy in the room. Berty's blood ran cold and he remained silent for quite a while. His body was tense and his left hand hid somewhere she couldn't see it. She could feel his eyes burning into her, searching for any sign of deception or mockery or even possession and she returned a defiant look of her own. She could feel the guilt expelling from his body with every delayed breath he took. A surge of power rushed through her veins and she straightened her back, lifted her chin, tightened her lips and made two bold, faltering steps toward the lung-ridden failure of a man.
"I suspected for a long time, dad, but you tried to make me believe that it was me. You made me work so hard when it was really all you. You liar!"
A haughty chuckle escaped Berty's lips. She knew he was mocking her, ridiculing her efforts to demand a voice. He dug the heel of his hands into the mattress and adjusted his position in the bed, occasionally wincing. Then, running a hand down his face, he looked away, cradled his chin and guffawed at her expense again.
"Ah... you're truly my puppet. Just the other day the doctor advised that I should take it easy yet I still worry about you. I guess I care a little too much," a wry smile played off his lips.
Annoyance crippled her insides and she drew her eyes into slits. He was playing her at her own game now. He was proving that he really was the monster he was perceived to be.
"Okay, so I smoke!" his two shaky arms rose in defense, "What a discovery, aye? Just wonderful. I bet you've never taken the moment to ask why. Why... Is it really like me to smoke? Or... was it because of stress, all that's happening, overworking myself - was it because of... you? Did you ever ask yourself that or did you just believe that you could just kill me in my own house and then blame me for it, huh?" he raised his voice, sending a fist into the wall.
It reverberated through the room. A jolt of fear suffused her heart and she almost dropped the tray. He wished to come across as intimidating but his voice failed him. It was raspy, broken and weak. He sounded more like a hoarse toddler with a recovery period of three days than a maniacal devil without remorse.