Few individuals have made me feel so small, insignificant, and scared. My father makes me feel uncomfortable, and so do some other members of my family, but for completely different reasons. This woman was something else. Her presence was something else.
She was standing behind Lazarus. She was tall, much taller than the men in the hall who were eyeing me both cautiously and hungrily. My eyes were trained on her. I had forgotten about the others in the room, because, by then I had understood a fact— the woman was more dangerous and lethal than these men.
When she spoke, it sounded like a hiss in my head. "I knew you would need me sooner or later, Francesca."
I darted my eyes over their faces. It seemed none of them had heard her. Felix followed my gaze and had a quick check of the hall. His sight then settled on Art, who looked back at him with a hidden message in his expression.
"Is it them?"
I turned my focus back to her. She was watching me with a smirk on her face. "Are you antagonized by them?"
Her lips were not moving at all. Every word she said, every bit of sarcasm dripping from her words, was in my head. The realization turned my hands cold. I started to discern the oddity in her. She was bigger than any usual woman, or man I have encountered. She had long hair, but it looked more like thick black smoke engulfing her beautiful face.
Yes, she was beautiful, but it was not the kind of beauty that charmed the beholders. It was the beauty that left the beholders frozen in their places out of fear. It was the beauty that alarmed me to my core. I couldn't take my eyes off her face, and I knew I should look away. The prospect of danger, the apprehension, and the anticipation, it was all very addictive.
"Such a shame. I would enjoy the company of these men. You do realize that they are not ordinary men, yes?"
And with that, she started the game of destruction. I watched Lazarus flying in the air with a shriek, and a spray of blood turned the wall crimson. Splashes of red painted the carpet on the floor. Felix was thrown away at the foot of the staircase. Art followed him closely, with a broken nose. There were shrieks in the air, and whispers... thousands of people were whispering alien words. Men were whispering in scared voices, women whispered in chorus, they all chanted and their words overlapped each other.
Alert, Alp looked around. He was alert like a beast in the presence of a hunter, all his features were suddenly highly sharpened. He glanced at me, observed me from head to toe, and an unreadable expression passed through his face. He had realized something, but right after that, he turned his face towards Lazarus, who was moaning in pain.
"What the fuck did just happen?" Art yelled loudly, a little too loudly. Poor Art, he shouldn't have done that. The woman tilted her head as she had found a new prey. Her naked body glided towards him, and the next moment his throat was slashed. In a shock, I looked at her. She gave me a devious smile, her nails still dripping blood.
"Is it you?" The man standing at the far end of the hall came to me rushing. He was so fast that I almost missed him. His hands grabbed my throat, and suddenly I was hanging, squirming like a fish out of water. The more I tried to free myself from his grasp, his fingers tightened around my throat. "Are you doing this, you little bitch?"
I would have answered him. I would have said 'NO', yelled even, if I could. At that moment, I felt my last breath leaving my body.
It did not last for long, because he was next. She had crept behind him, like a shadow, and her long, slender hands were advancing toward his throat. I felt a shock wave running through my body. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor. He was moved from his place violently, and my dress had stains of his blood.
As I said, I had never experienced the stench of blood before that night. I knew it was the blood, their blood to be precise, and I knew, this stench would never leave me alone again. I would never be able to wash this stench away. It would follow my existence as long as I breathed, and after this mortal life ended, this stench would follow me to the darkness beyond the light named life.
"Francesca?"
Startled, I look up at the mirror. I am still naked and wet after the shower. The towel was still hanging awkwardly from my left hand, while my right hand rested on my throat. Unconsciously, my fingers started the caressing bruises he had left on my pale skin. Aunt Josette's eyes roam all over my body, resting momentarily on each of the bruises I have in my arms, stomach and knees. I don't try to cover myself anymore. Somehow, I feel like I have nothing else to hide from her.
"How are you?" she asks.
I managed to give her a small smile, which looked very similar to a sarcastic grin. "Bruised body, bruised ego." I wanted to ask who had let her in, but I stopped myself. She does not need anyone to allow her in. This fucking house belongs to her, if not legally, definitely in essence.
She came closer, took the towel from my hand, and started drying me up. "You will catch a cold," she mumbles. Her hands gently dried my body and then wrapped the towel over my head bringing my hair together.
"The last time I saw you, you had shorter hair." She stared at my face, her lower lip quivering as she said, "Have you done something?"
"You mean, to my hair?" I say bitterly, "As you can see, I am not in a state of doing anything."
What did she mean have I done something?
She grabbed a pink bathrobe and covered me with it. "Come, we need to talk," she said.
A gasp left my throat. Aunt Josette has not come alone.
"Why is he here?" I ask her tersely. "Who has let him in?"
He turns his head slightly and nods once, then turns again to the view the open window offers him. Outside lies our family estate, acres and acres of fertile land where ancient trees still stand witnessing the changes and the ups and downs of my family.
"You should tell her everything, Josette. The longer you take, the more mess you make."
I look at Aunt Josette questioning his words. I also question the way he said it. I have been seeing Aunt Josette since my pigtails days, and if my calculation is not wrong, she should be over fifty by now. Even though she looks as if she has stopped ageing somewhere around twenty-seven, we show her the reverence an elderly should get.
"Let her get dressed, Orion," she says softly. She pushes me toward my walk-in closet.
"No, I want to talk right now. What is going on?"
"We should be the ones asking questions," he says turning from the window. Orion, that is his name. He says in a cold voice, "What did you do to my family?"