Doubt And Desperation (3) Behold our hollow hearts my dear behold! Our hearts are objects seldom to have shook! The heart has no desire to sob for death. The King of Terrors holds the right of breath! It must be stated that Louisa had, in a way, appreciated her sister’s talents. Her thoughts resumed… The secrets her death will reveal! Her child! The identity of her parents! She wished not the entire country to meddle. Her parents’ innocent souls are not to be disrespected. They had raised her, after all, with little prejudice. Be that as it may, her mother’s love of her sister was superior to that of Louisa, but the difference, as she saw it now, was scarcely a difference. Although she had never dreamt such a thought to have come to her while in her childhood, she had a strong persuasion that her mother had love for her. Inferiority, if it had even existed, was cared little. Any drop of care and devotion was treasured by her. But she felt as though she had never deserved it, as always. Had awareness been available, she would have been gratified to an extreme to find herself out. The thoughts had been hypnotically somnolent, and she was soon fast asleep. When she woke up again, she was astounded to catch sight of the clock in her living room. The longer hand pointed to four and the shorter pointed to between six and seven. She found it impossible that such a miracle would occur! She did not recall when she had fallen asleep; notwithstanding, she assumed that she had dozed for fourteen hours. Fourteen hours! She delighted to realise this. Fourteen hours, free of emotions! Her spirits, however, dropped from one peak to another. A look of horror and disbelief spread over her face and invaded her heart. Her eyes widened in a manner that could be considered repulsive. Her face was white as snow. She was scarified to an extreme. I shall not allow this to happen! This shall not happen! It is a dream, but a dream! This shall not be possible! The cold blade had slid through the delicate flesh. Louisa Emily Daniels had no one to love, no one to care for. She could be heard murmuring, ‘Those whom the gods love die young. Oh, how dearly god must have loved Benjamin!’ She felt she was about to slump back into unconsciousness again. Perhaps, she decided, perhaps, all shall return to normal. Unfortunately, what she truly felt was that she was nearly passing out. She had to faint. She had to faint. She had to remain unconscious… The lost of the consciousness was not achieved. She felt hopeless and desperate. There had been no light now. She was trapped inside a never-ending tunnel. ‘Had I not told you to obey?’ her father’s voice cried out. ‘For what reason had you refused to defend yourself? Is it not possible to protect your child throughout the night, and avoid the murder? There are no words to describe you, my dear, but rebellious! Have you not betrayed my orders? They were not advice, Louisa. They were your only chance of survival. You have lost a life. You may be sure that your wish not to lose another, your own?’ Louisa could not help but speak for herself. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it shall be appropriate if I lose the remaining life with illness. I shall be treated as nothing. My parent’s secret – your secret – would most likely not to be revealed, and I shall go as I wish. Am I not correct?’ ‘Perhaps you are,’ said her father’s voice as it softened; ‘but, as usual, only perhaps.’ She sat, glancing at the corpse of her child. ‘Cruel, oh cruel!’ she muttered in a soft voice. She wondered if Mary had done it. After all, she had failed to leave Benjamin in the rubbish. Perhaps this was the consequence she had to face, or one of the consequences. The writer of the post-it could have been on her side. She, or he, could have known the consequences. She, or he, could have saved the baby. She, or he, could be Mary. Suddenly, a thought struck him. She remembered that she had a cousin called Emma, who was a great friend of Mary’s. Perhaps Mary had planned to eliminate Louisa and Benjamin, and told Emma. Emma wrote the notes to Louisa in order to protect Benjamin from Mary’s harm. When Emma saw not the baby in the refuse room, she knew that Louisa was hopeless. She was convinced that it was Emma, only she had not seen Emma for a decade – the last time she saw her was at Louisa’s parents’ funeral – could she have pitied her as a loving sibling would have? And ‘loving sibling’ does not refer to an indifferent one like Mary. ‘It’s over now,’ she decided. ‘Whatever is to happen next, it’s over.’ She realised that her father’s voice had faded away from her hearing. ‘I guess I just have to die, and worry no more.’ She went on her life as usual, colouring it with thoughts somewhat resembling, or actually being, self-criticism, but allowing thoughts of her future death, of Benjamin, of her sister, of Emma, and even occasionally of Jay, slip into her mind. She cared even less for her own comfort and security than before. She wished to die of disease, for she understood that there was no other way of attracting little attention except by disease; suicide, murder and execution being too much magnetic to the public eye. She was obviously no celebrity, although she knew the public would be thrilled by the news of any such death, and as she had thought, would eventually lead to the revelation of her parents’ identity, making it seemingly disrespectful to her parents, even though all three would be dead. Mary would not have been aflame of it, but her heart was concrete, unlike her sister. She sighed. She was then having her humble evening meal. I may have been dead from suicide now had it not been these sessions of thought, thought she. She felt like she was in a confusion of decision. The options were there, but it was unclear how to select them. She could not perceive it but, as it was, she felt that life had been unfair to her. Unbelievably, Louisa Emily Daniels wished for a character similar to her sister, Dame Mary Christine Daniels! The subconscious thought let her loose of her fork, and she bent down and picked it up. Benjamin’s body had stayed in his place all day. All day, Louisa had been considering what to do with her. Perhaps it would be sensible to seek advice from Emma, but she may not favour her. She did not have an internet connexion, orscarcely even a computer that worked properly, so seeking advice from the internet was out of the question. Maybe, she thought. Maybe I should simply wait for my death, and none else. I would need not care for him once I am dead. What shock, what horror! She could ill afford to betray her parents, let alone her own son! How astonishing that the thought had come to her. She tried to conceal to herself the fact that she had put this into consideration, by right of her desire to make herself appear to be the supreme character one could imagine of. Yet desire! She decided that she could not afford to deceive herself, and bore in her mind that she had made such a mistake, for she was not Mary Daniels. Benjamin had been young and ignorant, but she had to respect him in the light of the connexion as mother and child. If only she had some knowledge of the world! To be honest, her knowledge of the world had little difference from Benjamin. And more the reason to treat him as an equal! She did not care to wash the fork, for washing required water, and the abuse of water was waste. Experience told her that she would not be infected for the lack of washing any less than too many times, defining too many times as ten or so. She continued her meal, and was finished in no time. She had barely completed her careful washing up when the telephone broke into a series of beeps. She had never received a phone call before this month, and there were two in this short month. Astounded that she was to realise that the number had been identical to that of the previous. ‘You airhead! Dare you deceive me! You shall be drowned in regret, oh that you shall! Fie your feats of derring-do! I had been under the spell of phantasm. Your character is not more commendable against mine; it does not compare to mine! I take pride; you take advantage. I pretend; you cheat. You shall lie in sorrow, you shall; I shall force you!’ Louisa noticed that Mary’s voice was becoming shakier. ‘I shall dr-drag you to the land of s-so-orrow, yes I will… will, and…’ Mary shrieked in horror, and the line went dead. Louisa passed out at the same time. When she regained her consciousness, she did not rejoice as she did before. She sat in confusion. In her consternation, she discerned the clock. The longer hand pointed at around seven, while the shorter was pointing near, around eight. She had fainted for twelve hours, and she could be sure of that. Upon the perception of a small looking-glass, she was taken aback at the sight of her hair. The blackness had left her; the sign of age had taken over. Her dazed mind was unable to make sense of surprise she had the night before. What had she heard from the telephone that had startled her? She knew not. Her sensibility obliged her not to care, and she began to consider her death again. Perhaps she had to make herself less healthy, and allow diseases to come to their eager customer. Should she? Or should she do none, and wait? Nay, that would extend the waste of her parents’ money. She urged herself to attempt the first option. Wishing not to be shut out so near the final moment of her life, she pressed her finger against the wireless. She knew her memory would serve her well and, as a result, she was able to predict that the latest news had just started on her favourite channel. It is not a surprise that our Louisa should have a favourite channel; no matter how poor, trust me, we all turn on the wireless to hear a bit every day. Her envisage was surprisingly accurate; she recognised the soft music they played at the beginning of the news report. She had missed no more than several negligible words. It was the words she could hear that was of greater value. ‘Ary Daniels,’ the wireless barked out as the button was pressed. ‘The death happened at Springfield Cottage…’ The information provided alerted Louisa. She was almost doubtless that her sister had died. ‘Ary’ – Mary – Daniels was Louisa’s sister, and Springfield Estate was her sister’s residence. Notwithstanding her hatred of her sister, she felt little joy, for she had a truly humane heart. However, the little sprout of relieve was present in a far corner of her heart, nourished by the fact the Mary could have murdered, or caused the murder, of her child, and her death would reduce the possibility of Louisa’s being murdered, thereby allowing Louisa to expire in her desired manner. An itch in her hair interrupted her thoughts, and after scratching it, she opened her ears towards the radio. ‘Apparently, Daniels may have taken some poison, possibly potassium, or she may have died of overdose of medicine. It is also suggested that the dame had died of food poisoning, although none of the food in her kitchen is found to be of bad quality. The police continue to search her house for footprints, fingerprints, and other evidence.’ After a short pause, the newsreader started on a new piece of news. She switched off the wireless, and slumped into her sofa. The words ‘poison’ and ‘phosphorus’ reminded her of two people: Josephine March in Little Women, and Jay. The former had hunted for information related to poison during her time at the Volcano; the latter was a graduate of Birmingham University for Chemistry. She refused the thoughts to deepen in her. Plain absurdity! There is no point referring to dead or fictional people; it is a complete waste of thoughts! How may I become so unwise as to be prodigal of thoughts as well as of money! It is unwise, it is! She remained in her position, and the voices were slowly back. Her own voice was absent, although the others were joined by a fourth, Emma’s, which spoke little, but when it did speak, it was merely a correction to the other’s arguments. She let them debate, thinking her own thoughts and almost – only almost, it must be stated – ignoring them although they were really venturing into her own thoughts, thus making them impossible to be disregarded. Reader, please do not be under the fantasy that she had been the agent of the voices; the voices had come to her, and she had no ability to control them. Or perhaps, her mind may have had the ability had it not have chilled out. Perhaps. Forget all these perhapses, she thought to herself. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Waste of time! She decided to be tuned in to the BBC, excusing herself for the satellite fee, for she knew her knowledge of the sister was valuable, and her parents would – perhaps – admire such knowledge. Who, on this world, has the evil to prohibit one daughter from the knowledge of the death of another? Few, you may well be convinced; definitely not possible to be Louisa’s father or mother. One must deplore all beings on earth to succeed in such an act of viciousness, nay barbarism. The news was, in general, a repetition of what she had learnt; although at this stage the police reported to have detected footprints. They were clearly made from the sole of sport shoes of size 32. Mary’s maid was on holiday, and she wore size 30. Otherwise, Mary was the only person in the house, wearing size twenty-five. It meant that either she had invited someone into her house, or someone broke in in order to poison her. Louisa realised that she felt sympathetic for her sister. It was as astounding as what had happened around her. She had her respect for her sister, but sympathy! It was impossible! Louisa felt a headache rushing up upon her forehead. She headed for her bedroom. The bed was there; she let the slippers drop as she knelt at the edge of her bed, her hands supporting her. She lay down, her head hitting the pillow, and sighed. Pulling her blanket up so that it covered her entire body, another thought struck her like lightning. Jay also wore sport shoes of size thirty-two. Louisa scolded at her thought silently, then drifted into a restless slumber. It scarce took long to awaken; she had slept less than an hour when a cold breeze knocked her from the unconsciousness of mind. It was nine. She remained in her position, where she stayed until lunch. Oh, she thought. I guess I should care about Benjamin, then die. I may as well die of starvation; few ever enter the door of this flat. They should have no knowledge of my death. Yes, I may not pay my fees, but they may assume that I have not been able to afford it. Little by little, the caretaker had learnt a clear picture of Louisa. He understood her struggles, and knew perfectly well that one day she would be unable to afford the rent. Louisa knew that this was a perfect excuse not to pay for her fees. So to conclude, her death will be hard to be found; when it is found, the secret of her parents would be made into a puzzle, possibly even Louisa’s own identity. Louisa’s connexion with a dame may be forgotten, and she may be allowed to rest alongside her parents beyond the veil. The possibility of the betrayal of her parents would be reduced to the least. For a while, Louisa cared not but thinking. She thought thoughts of Benjamin; she thought thoughts of Jay; she thought thoughts of her parents; she thought thoughts of Mary; she thought thoughts of Emma; she thought thoughts of herself. She gulped down a mouthful of saliva, and scratched her head. Near the conclusion of my life, she thought. I shall make even less annoyance than before. I may stay here in my bed; Benjamin’s body may be left to rot, but he shall understand my difficulties, notwithstanding his age, and know that I love and respect him still. She decided that she had to stay with her child, even at the end of her life. Forcing herself out of her bed, she tiptoed out to the living room and was not the least surprised at the sight of the body of Benjamin. She eyed the deceased tot for a while, staring into his eyes, and finally sat at the sofa. She pictured Benjamin crying. She wished she could be able to hear to kind voice once more, just once more. She yearned for the voice she used to despise. She knew this was common; too common a feeling to be worthy for sympathy, and she knew it and was much gratified it to be so, for a reason all too obvious for one who had known her well; and yes, my dear reader, you qualify for this understanding. She sat there, with no intention of leaving the seat, as if Benjamin had been a rare corpse, as if he were an Egyptian mummy, a great cultural symbol, and it was lucky even to have a glimpse. Her face showed no expression, although she was buried in thoughts, the thoughts being the thickness of the radius of the earth. She was buried deep, and apparently only the most advanced technology could yank her out. There was, however, a method of extreme primitiveness that was able to achieve the same result. Her own thoughts made way, and the new thoughts negated the original and she ceased staring at the body. The child was still in his carriage, and the cold blade remained its prominent position through his chest. Louisa grabbed the handles of the baby carriage and pushed the body, along with the carriage and Benjamin’s toys, into her room. Carefully, she released the handles and hesitated. She attempted to reach the handle, but the hand shrank. She was paralysed in fear. She froze, allowing herself to calm down. It is no problem, she convinced herself. This is helping Benjamin, not harming him. Should you bring any harm, he should know that you had done so in good faith and shall forgive you in heaven. She closed her eyes, crouching down and facing the floor. Her hand slowly emerged from her hips, so much alike a germinating seed, and attempted to reach the baby’s chest. As she felt around the little body, she knew that she had reached out to his hand. Her hand slowly crept up the forearm. As it passed the baby’s wrist, she could almost sense a pulse. How much she longed to revive it! And how much beyond her ability that was! As she reached the armpits, covered by the garments that had belonged to Benjamin, her hand slowly crawled nearer to the chest, when she stopped. She felt the area surrounding the weapon until she could determine the location of the knife. She reached for the handle. As if it had been a lever, she pulled out the knife with much haste, and she immediately understood how much harm he had done to Benjamin’s body. As she picked herself up, she opened her eyes to perceive the flooded carriage. It was flooded in red paint; a paint that had painted life. Now that precious bucket was broken and the paint was spilt! ‘Oh Benjamin!’ she said, nearly whispering. ‘Oh Benjamin! How much I loved you indeed. And how much harm I had brought you! I shall love you till my dying day; that I shall! I believe your supreme kindness shall permit me to avoid a harsh penalty. I love you, I do!’ Indeed, Louisa had done much damage. The wound on his chest was extended to his navel. Her kindness had simply attracted the devils. She was an unfortunate woman, she was, she was! Louisa gripped the knife and gently set it on her table. Within seconds, she resumed the grip and was ready to plunge it towards her heart. Oh, do go! This sort of suicide has the same effects as starvation. Shriek not – plunge it directly into the heart, and let go – it shall not be a problem! It shall not attract attention; it shall not be a nuisance to the others; it shall be silent. Make haste, and I shall be awarded with quiet death. She swung the knife with care, as if she had been experienced at such murder. She swung it… And she missed a bloody inch from her body! She snatched the knife and nearly tried to break it. ‘I am useless! Useless! I wished to marry and I couldn’t; I wished to live and I couldn’t; I wished to died, and wished I could, and couldn’t! Oh, God have mercy on me, and allow me – condone me, if it suits – to perish! I wish not to continue my life. It is useless, it is!’ Her whines were very much unheard, even by an immortal, for it was scarcely a sound at all. Time passed, with few being aware of it, for few felt as bitter as our Louisa. She cried; the knife ignored; the baby remained silent; the world went as it would, with no care for Louisa. Miles away, the Tower of Westminster struck ten. The bell struck, at approximately the same time. Louisa, obviously startled by the sudden sound, a sound she had not heard for ten years, remained stationary lest the sound had been imagined. It repeated itself. Louisa dared not open the door, and as if by magic, the door opened itself. She heard the key sliding through the hole and coming out again. She was once again startled at the sight of a person she knew well. He carried a pistol on his left hand and a book named Poisons: Potassium and Arsenic on his right. His feet were sneakers of size 32. She stared, thinking. She pictured him breaking into her house, stealing the necklace he himself had bought, and handing it to her sister. She pictured him coming back with a baby, with a grin on his face, and living with her till eternity. She pictured him coming to the garbage and, upon the absence of a baby, broke into her apartment and murdered the targeted soul. She pictured the same person finding her sister, secretly poisoning her sister’s food, and speaking ill of her while speaking to her sister. ‘Jay the ripper!’ squeaked Louisa. Silently begging her parents’ pardon, she sighed and shook her head. ‘Do,’ she whispered. The figure in black, with a cold look in his face, aimed at the same place Louisa had aimed at not long before. Within moments, Louisa’s breathing ceased.
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