 
Rosella

It was very late in the evening and I had awoken from a troubling dream. I could not remember the contents of the dream itself, but I felt afraid when I had gained consciousness. Perhaps I had not dreamed at all and it was the nothingness of a dreamless sleep that scared me. I always feared that death was going to be much like this state. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this constant nothingness already surrounded me in my waking life. The fact I had nothing or no one to hold onto, made me feel as though I were constantly falling into the empty, eternal blackness. I lay there in the darkness for a long while, listening to the snores of the other girls as they all slept restlessly. I heard the soft echoes made by passing nuns as they patrolled the dimly lit hallways. It was a somewhat comforting feeling to know at least that they too were awake, while everyone else around me was fast asleep, experiencing the fancy of their dreams, before waking and joining me in the almost unbearable reality of our dull existence.

My eyes were staring up at the pale, iron ceiling above me and I was made to suffer all the troubling thoughts that sank into my brain like ink spilled onto a valuable rug. I was used to this, however, for the time I spent in my bed before falling asleep was always a somewhat difficult process for me. It seemed as though I went through most of my day in a somewhat lazy and exhausted state, but at soon as my head rested against my pillow, I was filled with a certain type of energy that made me wonder and worry about many foolish things that kept me up, late into the night.

I always thought about my parents. My mother died of typhus when I was only a year old. My father abandoned me in the middle of the night a year later. Eventually, the neighbours heard my cries and rescued me. They brought me to an orphanage and I stayed there for three years until a man named Mr. Helfer, rescued me and brought me here to Bronte Academy. He was a close friend of my mother and tried to track me down as soon as he had heard about my father's sudden disappearance.

Bronte Academy was an all-girls Christian school and at the time of this story, I had been a student for thirteen, long miserable years. I had always dreamed of leaving and joining the rest of society; however, I was educated enough to know that life outside Bronte was a tough, cruel place, especially for women. I was in my last year of classes, so I had the choice of either giving up my life and fleeing to a church to live out the rest of my days or stay where I was and taught.

I lay there thinking about all these things and noticed the soft footsteps of a patrolling nun passing the dormitory door. I listened as they faded away. My heart was racing fiercely. Suddenly, I heard a soft cry. I listened for a little while longer before getting up to see who it was that was crying. My naked feet kissed the cold stone floor as I walked and navigated my way between the many beds that filled the dormitory. My eyes glanced on each sleeping body nestled in their bed and soon, I came to the girl who was crying.

Her name was Lizzie May. She was one of the younger girls. I had seen her around the school, but we never had any classes together, for she was in a lower grade than me. When I approached Lizzie's bed she was sitting up with her head between her knees. Her cries nearly made my heart break. I stood there and watched for a short while and wondered what was causing her so much despair. I rested my hand on the top of her head and she quickly looked up at me.

"What is it?" I whispered to her.

The girl wiped her cheeks.

"Just a bad dream."

I went to take a seat beside her, but poor Lizzie put her head between her knees again and said, "no, please don't. Go away."

"What is it?" I asked her. "You can tell me."

The girl continued to weep and I inspected the part of the bed beside her. It seemed as though she were concealing something.

"Please," Lizzie said. "You can't tell anyone."

"I promise," I whispered to her.

The girl got up and I saw that Lizzie had been sitting in a pool of blood. I now understood what was happening.

"Is this the first time?" I asked her.

Lizzie nodded.

"I'll help you clean it up."

The poor girl was crying because she was afraid of what was going to happen to her. Every student's first monthly bleeding at Bronte resulted in a severe punishment. Menstruation was resembled in our Faith as a reminder to women that Eve brought sin into this world. As I looked at poor, helpless Lizzie, I became determined to help her. Together we gathered her blood-soaked blankets and brought them to a small room, where laundry was stored. After hiding the blankets beneath a dirty pile of linen, I told Lizzie to undress, for her white night gown was also covered in blood. I found a clean one for her to wear and after she was finished dressing, we turned to leave.

And then we heard footsteps.

The two of us silently walked back to our beds. When the footsteps had disappeared, I brought a blanket over to Lizzie and kissed her cheek. The girl smiled at me and then dug her face into her pillow and went back to sleep. I returned to my bed and did the same.

It seemed as though only a few moments had passed by, when I was awoken by voices. The voices belonged to Sister Melanie, Sister Belle and Sister Cassie. Each nun was eagerly going around our beds and waking us all. When I arose, I found myself among all the other girls who were busy yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes. When each of us were out of our beds, I and the other forty girls' sharing this dormitory, began washing our faces and changing into our school uniform.

When I was finished getting dressed and tying my hair up, I heard a loud voice call from behind.

"Girls!" the voice came.

It belonged to Sister Melanie. She was a very tall, slim woman who never laughed or smiled. When I turned to face her, she was staring at the floor, inspecting it. As I got closer to her, my stomach dropped, for I knew what the nun was looking at.

"What is going on here?" she asked.

"What is it, Sister Melanie?" Sister Belle asked, approaching her.

"Look," Sister Melanie said, pointing to the floor.

I and all the other girls formed a circle around the two nuns and we were each looking at the trail of blood that led into the laundry room.

"Where did this come from?" Sister Melanie asked, looking at us. We were all afraid, for the nuns were harsh women who got a thrill from beating us poor, defenseless girls.

"One of you must speak," Sister Melanie said. "Where did this blood come from?"

I scanned the girls in front of me and soon found Lizzie among them. She was shaking and keeping her head down.

"It leads into the laundry room," Sister Cassie said from across the dormitory. She then entered the room and disappeared from our sight. A few moments later we heard her scream. The two other nuns then ran for the laundry room and entered as well. I and the other girls were each exchanging looks. All but me and Lizzie looked confused. Finally, the nuns walked out and began approaching. Sister Melanie was leading, holding a white night gown covered in blood.

"One of you must confess" she said. "Who does this belong to?"

My eyes were fixed on Lizzie. She was on the brink of bursting into tears. When I saw this, I realized how much the poor girl was suffering. How careless we had been!

I stepped forward.

"It's mine," I said. "I didn't want anyone to see."

"Rosella!" Sister Melanie said, shocked. "Why did you try to hide it? Your first bleeding was years ago."

"I was ashamed,"

"Ashamed?" she asked. "Well, you should be even more ashamed now from this mess you've made."

"It was wrong of me to try and deceive you. I am sorry."

"Stupid girl. Come with me."

Sister Melanie then walked over to me, grabbed me by the arm and began to lead me out the dormitory, when suddenly I heard Lizzie`s voice.

"Stop!" she said. "It was me."

"Lizzie, no!" I said.

"You?" Sister Melanie asked, alarmed.

"Yes," said Lizzie May. "It's my blood. I was scared and Rosella came to me in the night and helped me clean it up."

"Then you shall both be punished," Sister Melanie said.

Sister Cassie grabbed Lizzie and the two of us were led through the hallway and towards the courtyard. When we were outside and standing on the cold pavement, Sister Melanie and Sister Cassie removed our clothes. We were then told to stand with our backs against a brick wall. My eyes went from the faces of the two sisters and looked out towards our bleak surroundings. I noticed that the sky was covered in dark clouds. Before I knew it, I felt a sudden rush of cold-water splash into my face. Sister Melanie and Sister Cassie were holding pails full of cold water and covering both Lizzie and I in them. Lizzie was crying as Sister Cassie filled up another and dumped it all over her. I soon received my second pail and shivered as the cold water rushed over my naked body. We stood there for a long while. I thought I was going to die from being so cold. Then, Sister Melanie left and came back holding the night gown that was covered in blood. Both Lizzie and I were made to dry ourselves with it. Afterwards, I was given my school uniform and poor Lizzie was made to wear her ruined nightgown for the rest of the day; displaying her shame to the other students.

The following evening, both Lizzie and I caught a fever. No doubt it was from standing outside in the chill of the morning, naked and wet. The fever took us out for days. I nearly did not recover from it, but thankfully one night, the fever broke. The next morning, I was told that poor Lizzie May had not been so lucky.

She was buried the same day.

I always felt guilty for the poor girls death. If I had not helped her that one night, she would still be alive. What makes this so much worse, was that no one was held responsible. Sister Melanie and Sister Cassie took no blame. After Lizzie was buried, no one was allowed to talk about her again. No one came to see her body either. Lizzie, like the rest of us girls seemed to have no relation to the outside world. The poor girl was simply removed from existence without any thought.

The next day I went to class and everything went on in its usual routine.

Six months went by and I barely spoke to anyone. The nuns were now very stern with me and I was punished more often than before. I was labeled a trouble maker. Each girl who was deemed a trouble maker at this school was thought to be conspiring with Satan himself. Many girls with this label mysteriously vanished and were never spoken of again. Since each of us neither had family or friends who came to see us, we could easily be erased. I lived those days in constant torment, for I felt I was close to becoming one of the forgotten.

One rainy day in April, I found myself sitting in class and staring out the window. I was close to graduating and I wondered what I was going to do with my life afterwards. I most desperately wanted to leave this god forsaken place, but I also did not wish to become a nun. Although I was devoted to my Faith, I did not think I could live a life being a slave to it. I wanted to see the world and become stitched into the fabric of society. I felt horribly alone and dreamed of finding someone to marry. I was taught about a woman's place in the world and knew it was especially hard for us to become established. But I knew I had to at least try.

"Rosella!"

I nearly jumped in my seat. Sister Erin was standing at the front of the classroom with her arms crossed. She was staring at me with a most triumphant scowl across her pale, scaly face.

"Please pay attention," the nun said. "If you look out that window once more, you shall suffer the consequences. Is that understood?"

"Yes," I said, softly. "I apologize."

"Now," Sister Erin said. "Where was I?"

Just then, the classroom door opened. Everyone's head, including mine, turned to stare at the visitor. To my joy, it was Sister Emily.

Sister Emily was a charming, kind and generous young nun who stood out among all the others. She had returned from her years at a monastery in the country and came back to become a teacher when I was only eleven years of age. Not only was she a teacher here, she was also a personal consultant to the headmaster, Father Arnold. Sister Emily had been a very good student and was well liked by all her teachers and peers. She was extremely devoted to our Faith and tried to find the good in everyone and everything. I had been in her class twice over the years and enjoyed them the most. She was the only nun as well who seemed to take no pleasure in punishing her students.

On this morning, Sister Emily stood in the doorway, dressed in her robes and smiled at all of us.

"Sister Emily," said Sister Erin, coldly. "What brings you here?"

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your class," said Sister Emily. "But I have been instructed to take Rosella to the headmaster."

My stomach dropped the moment I heard those words leave Sister Emily's lips. What had I done? My mind quickly went over all that had happened the past couple of months. Had I stepped out of line? No, I hadn't done anything wrong. My grades were good. Why did the headmaster want to see me? Was it now my time to become like all the other girls who had suddenly disappeared from this place? As I thought about all these things, I gathered my papers, stood up and walked over to Sister Emily. I wouldn't have dared hesitating in front of all those eyes. I wanted no one to think that it looked as though I were guilty of something.

"Very well," said Sister Erin, looking as though she were happy about my sudden departure. "Take the girl."

"Thank you," said Sister Emily, giving a slight bow. "My apologies again. Come now, Rosella."

I felt somewhat safe with Sister Emily. She radiated a sense of love and understanding that filled me with inspiration and security, which was strange to feel in such a place as this. As the two of us left the classroom and walked down the hall, I basked in the holy woman's presence.

"You must be wondering," said Sister Emily. "As to why I have come for you, Rosella."

"Yes," I said, softly.

"We are not going to the headmaster's office."

"We aren't?"

"No. Follow me."

My heart was suddenly racing very fast as both Sister Emily and I paced down the hallway. Finally, we got to a small room filled with broken chairs and desks, which were stored and used as fire wood in the long, winter months. Sister Emily lit a match and put it in a lantern hanging from the ceiling.

"What I'm about to tell you," Sister Emily whispered. "Is very important and no doubt will come as a shock to you, dear girl."

"Oh my," I said, on the verge of tears. "What is it?"

"Here," said Sister Emily, taking out a folded piece of parchment and handing it to me.

I cannot write the exact words that were written in that letter, for it was many years ago and my memory fails me now. But I can tell you the information it contained and once I was finished, I had to read it over again. It was a letter from Mr. Helfer. The letter dated back nearly three months ago. He wrote to the headmaster telling him that my father had been found. Mr. Helfer had gained knowledge that my father had returned from across seas and now lived in a large manor in Burberry, the city I had been born in. Mr. Helfer had written the address in case Father Arnold wanted to write to this man before letting me go to him. At the letters end, Mr. Helfer had written that perhaps it would be a better idea for him to come here himself and explain this to me. He asked Father Arnold how they should treat this matter.

After my second read, I looked up at Sister Emily and asked her, "well, what was Father Arnold's reply?"

I could see that Sister Emily was on the verge of breaking into tears.

"Oh, poor Rosella," she said, embracing me. "Father Arnold wrote to him the most horrible of lies. After reading it, he took the letter and almost threw it into the fire. But I stopped him before he could do so. He gave it to me so that I could have a chance to look it over. I then persuaded him to keep the letter and think things over. Father Arnold does not like you, Rosella. Ever since that business you had with poor Lizzie May, he thinks you are a very troubled girl. He thinks that you conspire with the devil and that it would be wrong of him as a holy man, to release you out into the world. Father Arnold wrote to Mr. Helfer and told him that you had taken a fever and died."

"God have mercy," I said. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Father Arnold told me to never repeat any of this to anyone. He thought that by keeping you locked in this school for the rest of your life he was doing God and all His people a great service."

"But I am free to leave this place once I finish my studies."

"That may be so," said Sister Emily. "But you can only leave if you swear yourself to nun hood. If you were to reside in a church somewhere for the rest of your life than that would be fine with Father Arnold, for then God could take care of you and have others make sure you never leave. But if he let you go to your father, then you would be exposed to the rest of the world and be capable of bringing evil to a great number of people."

"So Father Arnold lied and told Mr. Helfer that I was dead in order to save the world from my evil?"

"Yes," said Sister Emily. "And to save his own soul from damnation; for he was responsible for your fate."

"So why are you telling me this, sister?"

"Because I can no longer stand to have this weighing on my conscious, dear child. I know it in my heart that you are good and pure."

I stared at the nun in disbelief. Other than the two classes I had with her, the nun knew very little about me. I was feeling many things at that moment. No doubt I was feeling a tremedous amount of frustration towards the headmaster for trying to keep such news from me. I had every right to know that my father had been found. But what I felt even more than frustration, was sympathy towards Sister Emily for having confided in me all this and trusting me.

"Thank you," I said to her. Tears were running down my cheeks. "I cannot tell you how much this means to me. But I don't know what to do now. I need guidance, sister."

"You must decide for yourself what to do, Rosella."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. My head was full of questions. Finally, I said to her, "I'm not sure what to do. How can I go on with this knowledge?"

"Do you want to see your father?"

I thought about it for a moment.

"Yes."

"OK," said Sister Emily. "Then we must get you out of this place."

"But how?" I asked the sweet nun.

She then told me her plan.

That night I lay in my bed motionless. I was guessing that it had to be at least one or two in the morning. Finally, I heard footsteps approaching. Knowing it was Sister Emily, I removed the covers. It was all arranged. Sister Emily would be the one patrolling the halls that night and when it seemed like the right opportunity, she would come into the dormitory and steal me away. And that was exactly what happened. She came in quietly and the two of us strolled through the empty, dark halls. Sister Emily held a small lantern and pushed me along as we came to a flight of stairs and after having descended them, we came to a steel door.

"You can go out this way," Sister Emily said, pushing them open.

The two of us were standing in the doorway looking out towards the dark, mysterious world. There was a heavy breeze that shook the leaves of each tree surrounding us. The moonlight and the endless number of stars lit up the land below. As I looked at the moon, I thought about my future and where I would be the next time, I had a chance to look at it again.

"Right," said Sister Emily. "Do you know where the stables are from here?"

"Yes, of course"

"Well, I guess you should be off now. Remember, follow the road until you get to town."

"Yes."

"Don't talk to anyone until you get there. The amount of money I've given you should be enough for at least one night of lodging. The rest you must save for a hansom cab that can take you into the city, where your father lives."

"Thank you, Sister Emily," I said to her, kissing her cold cheeks. "I must ask you one last thing before I go."

"Ask away," she said.

"What will happen to the other girls when they discover I have left? I couldn't bear to think of them getting punished for my disappearance. I am sure they will each be questioned."

"Do not worry," said Sister Emily. "I will confess what I have done."

"What?" I asked her, shocked.

"I must."

"But Father Arnold will be very upset with you."

"This is a school," said Sister Emily. "Not a prison. It was wrong of Father Arnold to do what he had done. You are not a conspirator to the devil; you are a sweet girl who deserves a chance in this world. I would not think that our God would ever wish a charming lady like yourself to be locked away forever. Not when she was given a chance to leave. It's a miracle that your father has been discovered and you should be very grateful for it, Rosella. Oh, dear girl, I know this is very dangerous. I thought about writing to this Mr. Helfer myself and telling him the truth, but it was too much of a risk. You must be brave now."

I stood there, motionless, looking up at Sister Emily with my heart full of compassion. There weren't words that could explain how much I loved this woman. She was the first person in my life to show me any gratitude. Since I had been coming to this school, I hadn't made much friends. I was somewhat of a loner, but it seemed as though everyone else here was one as well. Over the years, Bronte sucked the life out of its students, almost to a point where everyone acted in a lifeless way. It wasn't like other schools where the children formed groups and friendly circles. Bronte Academy was a place where it kept its students lonely, miserable and afraid.

Sister Emily kissed my cheek and I knew it was time to go. She had given me a thick shawl to wrap around my body. I was dressed in my garden clothes and wore boots.

"Please be careful," she said to me, before I went to go. "I don't want this to have been all for nothing. Just take the road, and don't stop to talk to anyone. If you ride quickly you can get to town within the hour. Use the lantern to help your horse see its way."

"I will be fine," I told her. "Thank you again and god bless you, Sister Emily."

"And may God bless you, dear Rosella."

As I turned to go, I thought about all that Sister Emily had blessed me with. She had given me the chance to escape my fate of becoming a teacher or nun. My heart was full of ambition at that time. With my back turned to Sister Emily, I turned left and followed the walls of the school until it took me to the front entrance. I then went right and crossed the school grounds until I got to the stables. I peered inside and saw nothing but pure blackness. Thankfully, I had the lantern that Sister Emily had given me. I went inside and found a horse.

Over the years, I had been taught how to saddle and ride. After hanging the lantern on a hook, I then began to prepare the large animal. It didn't take me long. After I was finished, I grabbed it by the reins and led it outside. As I got onto the horse, I began to lead it down a gravel path, leading to the front gates. As the horse clip-clopped down the path, I realized how much noise we were making. I never thought how loud a horse's trot was until now. I turned in my saddle to look towards the school and imagined a group of nuns coming after me. I then thought about all the horrible things they would do to me if I were caught. My body shuddered at the image. After this, a series of other horrible fears and anxieties crept into my mind. This sudden feeling of immense dread weighed me down, as I turned back to stare at the black road in front of me.

I soon reached the gates and jumped from my horse. No matter what happened now, I knew that I must go forward. Of course, I was having second thoughts, but what was left for me now at Bronte other than a slow death? This was my only chance to escape into the real world and I would not let my fears and doubts hold me back from doing so. As well, I wanted to meet my father, even though I resented him for having left me for dead as an infant. I never knew the exact circumstances, however. Perhaps he wasn't such a bad man and he would be glad that I was still alive.

I was a very naive girl at the time.

I opened the gate and it creaked very loudly. After pausing for a moment to hear if anyone was coming, I pushed it completely forward and let my horse through. I then closed the gate behind me and locked it and began my way down the black road. We traveled on for a long while and the entire time I was in tears. I could not explain to you how scared I was. Just imagine a young girl, all alone on a horse, traveling down a road in the pitch blackness, surrounded by forest and barely knowing where she was going. It was pure torture. I imagined a various number of things going wrong. If, for some reason I came across someone else on this road, there was no telling what they would have done to me. The dark also played tricks on my young eyes and I imagined seeing phantoms and ghouls approaching me from this dark world in which they inhabited.

All of this went on for what seemed like hours. The last time I had been this far from school was when I was a child and being brought to it. I had been riding in the blackness for a very long while before lights appeared in the distance. It was a great relief to had seen them. I was very worried about my lantern going out on the journey, for if it did, I would have to stop and begin again at dawn and I was getting very cold. When I saw the lights, I knew I was getting close and I could hardly contain my excitement. I then kicked my horse into a slow gallop and we arrived at our destination soon after.

I am sure I had been to the small town of Plymouth at some point in my childhood. As I approached the many buildings and streets that made up this humble place, I couldn't help but smile. Having spent most of my life within the gray walls of Bronte Academy, this place looked like heaven. Again, I was a very naive girl and didn't realize that it was a very poor town, but at the time, these desolate streets seemed to be filled with opportunity and freedom.

I got off my horse and led it through the eerie silence. It was very late in the evening and all the residents were in their homes sleeping. This realization made me wonder where I was to go. It took the better part of an hour for me to explore the town and find an inn. After tying my horses' reins to the railing of the stairs, I walked up to the door and opened it. Inside, I saw an old man sweeping the floors. Other than him, the place was completely empty of people. The room was filled with tables and stools and the air smelt of liquor and sweat. The man with the broom didn't hear me come in. He wore a white shirt and black baggy pants with a red apron tied tightly around his slim waist. I slowly approached him.

"Hello," I said.

There was no answer. I stood there watching him, confused. Was he perhaps deaf? I then went to stand in front of him and he made no response. He didn't even look up at me. Was he blind too? I tapped his shoulder lightly and he did nothing. Finally, I stepped back in fear. My eyes filled with tears for I was very troubled by what was happening.

"What is this?" I asked him. "Who are you? Please, I need help. Do you not see or hear me?"

The man remained unaware of my existence for a couple more moments and then suddenly, he burst out laughing.

"Soo'ry," he said, looking up at me and staring into my eyes. I noticed that his left eye was completely white, as though it were backwards in his head. He was missing teeth as well and gave off a horrible scent. "I alway' do that."

I stood there perplexed, unable to speak for a couple of moments. I then asked him, "Always do what?"

"Wheneve'r a late visit'or comes in I preten' that ey aren't ther'. It always gives em a good scare, you know?"

I noticed the man had a very thick English accent and was quite illiterate.

"My," he said. "You ar' a pretty one. What's yer name?"

"Rosella."

"Rosella, eh? Well, pleased to mee't ya, Rosella. Me name is Chap."

"Hello, Chap," I said. "That is a very strange thing you do with people. I was very scared."

"That's thee idea, miss."

"This is an inn then?"

"Yes, miss. This hurr is The Dandelion In Thur Grass."

"The Dandelion In The Grass?"

"Yes indeedy, I came up with the name meself. It's a good name for an inn, ain't it?"

"I think so. Would I be able to get a room for the evening?"

"It'll be dawn in a coup'le o' hours. Waste a money don't ye think?"

"I am very tired, sir. I came a long way to get here."

In truth, Bronte Academy was only a couple of miles from Plymouth and it wasn't too long of a journey, even though it had felt like one.

"Oh, a'right," said Chap.

"You are the innkeeper, aren't you?"

"Yes indeedy! Who else would it be?"

"Can I get a room, then? I have money."

"Yea, I can give ya a room miss, follow me."

The strange little man then threw down his broom and led me to a rickety old staircase that we climbed together in silence. When we reached the top, Chap led me across the hallway and to a door that he opened with a key. When he opened the door I had to plug my nose for I was suddenly overcome by a horrible scent.

"Yer lucky miss that we still got a room available. A man shot himself in 'ere awhile back and no one ever stays in here."

I looked around the room and felt a chill go up my spine.

"Is there another room I can sleep in?"

"What's wrong with this one, miss? It's got a bed and a fireplace."

"It just doesn't feel right in here. Also, it has a horrid smell."

"I don' smell nothin'."

"Please, any other room."

"A'right then. Tis way, miss. My, you are hard ter please."

He then led me to another room further down the hall. This one had a smaller bed and no fireplace, but the smell wasn't too bad and I knew it would have to do. I thanked the man and then he gave me a key and said, "lock it behind ye. I've had people break into other guests' rooms and steal from em'."

"Yes, I shall lock it. Thank you." I then paid the short, strange innkeeper for the room and closed the door. After locking it, I realized I had forgotten about the horse that was still tied up on the front porch. I hurried out of my room and ran down the hall when suddenly, I heard a man choking. I turned around and I saw a large man in the shadows who had Chap pressed against the wall with his hand gripped around his throat. I screamed very loudly, hoping to wake someone who could help.

While I was screaming, I noticed that the large man who was strangling Chap, didn't even turn to stare at me. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that the man had his eyes closed. Chap then looked at me and tried to say something, but couldn't with the man's hands clasped around his throat. I then heard a door open from behind me.

"What's the meaning of this?" a voice came.

I turned to find who the voice belonged to. It was a tall gentleman dressed in striped pajamas, standing in the doorway of his room. He then saw me and approached.

"Please, mister. "I said to him. "There is a man over here who is strangling the innkeeper."

As the man in striped pajamas looked up and saw Chap being strangled, he rushed over and pulled the large man away from the innkeeper.

"It's a'rigt," Chap said, trying to catch his breath.

The man in striped pajamas then wrestled the large man to the ground and held him there.

"Go and get the authorities!" he said. "I've got the miscreant."

It looked as though the large man who had been strangling Chap was not putting up any kind of a fight. Instead, he lay flat on the floor with his eyes still closed.

"What is wrong with him?" the man in the striped pajamas asked, holding the sleeping man down effortlessly.

When Chap had caught his breath he said, "leav'e thee poor fellow alone. It's only Mr. Diavolo. He's a sleepwalk'er, he is."

"A what?" I asked.

"A sleepwalk'er."

Suddenly another door opened and an old woman came pacing down the hall.

"What is happening?" she asked. "Where is my master?"

When she approached us and saw the large man on the ground being held down by the man in the striped pajamas, she screamed.

"Mr. Diavolo! What has happened to him?"

"Don' worry," said Chap, to the old woman who was now kneeling beside the large man. "Caught him on ano'ther sleepwalk. When I saw him comin' down ther' hall, I tried to tell em ter go back ter his room. I forgot that it was bad ter touch sleepwalk'er's and he grabbed me by tha throat. This girl here, saw what was happening n' screamed."

"And when I heard the poor girls' screams," said the man in striped pajamas. "I came out of my room and saw what was happening, then tried to help the innkeeper."

"Oh, my poor master!" said the old woman.

Just then, the large man on the ground opened his eyes and looked up at us.

"What is happening?" he asked.

The old woman explained to him all that had happened.

"Oh, my," Mr. Diavolo said. "I am so sorry, dear Chap. I should have had my door locked. My condition can be quite dangerous, as you have seen before."

"It was my fault," the old woman said. "I got up to use the washroom and forgot to lock the door!"

"Miss Fay," said Mr. Diavolo. He now got to his feet. "That was quite careless of you. Look what has happened here. I could have really hurt poor old Chap here."

"Oh, it's a'right," said Chap. "You are a dear customer to me, Mr. Diavolo and your grip was not that strong anyway. I didn't pull away because I didn't want to wake yer. I've heard that it can be dangerous waking a sleepwalk'er."

"And who are you?" asked Mr. Diavolo, to the man in the striped pajamas.

"I am Timothy Payer," the man answered proudly. "And you should be more careful with a condition like that. Especially in an inn where there are innocent people wandering about. Look at this poor girl here. Heavens knows what you could have done to her."

Mr. Diavolo then turned to stare at me. As his big black eyes stared into mine, a chill crept down my spine. The hallway was very dark, for it was still late in the evening and there was only one candle lit, which was in a sconce beside us all. Even in that dim light, however, Mr. Diavolo seemed very taken by my appearance. He stared at me in silence for a long while. I could feel his eyes inspecting every inch of me as I stared back into his. There was something very wrong about this man and I wished for nothing more than to be out of his presence.

"And who is this?" he asked me, softly.

"My name is Rosella," I said to him.

The mans faced changed dramatically. After he had heard my name, he looked away and towards the empty hall in front of us.

"Mr. Diavolo?" said Miss Fay. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Mr. Diavolo said, looking bewildered. "Nothing at all."

"And who are you to this man?" the man called Timothy Payer asked Miss Fay.

"I am his caretaker," she answered. "It is my fault for what has happened here this night. I know that my master, when he is not on his medication, is prone to waking in the night and sleepwalking."

"Then why wasn't he on his medication?" asked Mr. Payer.

"I can answer that myself," said Mr. Diavolo. "I misplaced my medication a few days ago while we were staying with an old admirer of mine who lives close to here. She became impatient with me this morning and sent us on our way. I did not want to travel in the night so we decided to stay in this inn. My doctor is Dr. Piedmouth on Glenns avenue in Burberry, for we live in the city. I shall be visiting him tomorrow to stock up on my medication."

I was surprised when I heard that this man was from Burberry. While the adults around me talked some more, I pondered on the idea of asking Mr. Diavolo, if he could bring me along with him to the city. But as I thought on it some more, I decided that after everything I had seen this night, the strange man could be dangerous and I remained silent. Finally, the short, ugly innkeeper Chap realized that we had better stop chatting and go to our rooms before we woke up any more of his guests. As everyone was beginning to head back to their rooms, I told Chap about my horse. He then told me that he would put her into the stable himself and that I should go and get some rest. After giving the innkeeper another silver coin for his trouble, I headed into my room, but as I was just about to enter, I peered down the hallway and found that Mr. Diavolo was staring at me. He gave me a nod and a haunting smile. I shut my door and locked it. I then collapsed onto my bed and fell asleep immediately.

I dreamed of fire and Mr. Diavolo's black, demon eyes.

Thomas

I sat at my desk and stared at the wall. In front of me was an empty page and a quill dipped in ink. It was about midday and I was low on both energy and spirit. I had awoken early that morning in preparation to get some writing done, but it seemed as though I could not get any of my ideas onto parchment. The night before, I had laid awake for hours, thinking on numerous things for me to write on. But, to my dismay, I was now sitting at my desk, looking aimlessly into space and wondering why at this time, I could not think of anything. It usually took me no time at all to pick up my quill and dive into a topic or begin some fictitious story.

As I looked around my gloomy study, I began to feel incredibly lonely. The thoughts of my past soon drifted into my mind. For a moment, I saw the face of my wife, who had passed away many years ago. I quickly shook myself out of this daze, for I knew that it would bring me into a deep melancholic state. I stood up and left my study, for I knew that it was hopeless for me to get any work done on this cold, April afternoon.

I walked slowly through the hallways and reflected on how I had come to own such a large house as this. There was a gold rush in Australia a few years back and I went there to try my luck at becoming wealthy. I was successful and returned to this crowded city of Burberry, a rich man and bought this house to live out the rest of my days. I had been living in this large, desolate manor for almost three years now. When I had bought the place, it came with the old housekeeper that used to reside here with the previous owners. Miss Fisch was her name and she died about a year ago.

I barely ever left my home. I ate very little and only had to leave when I ran out of food. Most of my days were spent writing. What I wrote on was difficult to say. Some days I would philosophize and on others' I would begin a short story, which I usually never finished. My past was something I never wanted to think about again, but sometimes I wrote letters to my wife, as if she were still alive. It had been about seventeen years since my dear Anna died. Poor thing. There were many horrible things that happened in my past which I did not like to think about.

I looked along the empty hallways and rooms that made up my home. It was dreadfully quiet here. I went downstairs into my living room and poured myself a strong drink. I then nestled down with a book and got lost between its pages. Soon enough, when the alcohol began to take its effect, I threw down the book and got to my feet. I realized that I could not go on living in a house that was completely empty. Before I knew it, I was fully dressed and putting on my best walking shoes. After putting on my best hat as well, I headed out the door and stood on my front porch. The day was cold and cloudy. I took a deep breath and headed down the steps.

I lived on the quieter side of town. Near my apartment were many others like it. I never really got to know my neighbors, for I lived in seclusion. Today, the streets seemed empty enough as I walked into the heart of the city. The roads had the occasional carriage come by and the side streets were beginning to get busier with people. No one looked at me as I walked by. It was easy to feel invisible on these streets, for everyone was too busy with their daily affairs to give anyone else any notice.

By the look of the dark clouds above, it seemed as though it were just about to rain. I walked quickly, for I did not want to get caught out here when it did. I must admit that I did not know where I was going, but I knew what I wanted to do. I walked along the busy streets of Burberry and eventually came to a post office. I decided that this would be the place to start. I entered and found a man sitting behind a desk, looking through a stack of papers. The door closed behind me as I stood and looked at the man. I then removed my hat and cleared my throat.

"Good day," I said to the postman.

The old man looked up from his papers and removed his spectacles.

"Hello," he replied, staring into my eyes. "How can I help you?"

"I am looking for anyone who may want to start work as a housekeeper in my home," I said. "Do you know where I'd be able to find such a person?"

"Well," said the postman. "There are plenty of girls that come in here, giving me their information in hopes of finding someone to give them work."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Most of these girls are very young though, but educated enough. I'd say that most of them are looking to be governesses, not housekeepers. Do you have any children?"

I swallowed hard and replied, "no."

"Hmm, let me think."

The thought of having a young woman in my home excited me. I realized how most housekeepers would be older, like Miss Fisch. Perhaps, having a woman in her youth would make my home more interesting to live in. But then I soon realized that she would not want to clean up after a middle-aged man such as myself and live with him too. What use would a governess be to me?

"Housekeepers are hard to come by," the postman said.

"Yes," I said gloomily. "I suppose they are. I apologize for having disturbed you."

I then turned to leave, when I heard the postman's voice call from behind.

"Now, wait a second," he said. "You should leave me your name and address before you go. I am sure someone will come around looking for work. These girls that come in here, looking for employment, are desperate enough to take any sort of position."

"That is true," I said, cheerfully.

"Give me your information then," said the postman, taking out a pen.

"My name is Thomas Herring and my address is 276350 Randall Street."

The old man wrote down what I had said to him. He then wished me good day and I was out of the small building soon after. When I walked out onto the street, I felt raindrops. I began to walk quickly, heading towards my home.

I couldn't stop thinking about having a younger woman as my housekeeper. Hopefully, she would be beautiful. I almost forgot what a pretty face looked like, for I had not seen a beautiful woman in a very long while. As I walked down the busy streets, I scanned the faces of all those who walked by me in hopes of finding myself an attractive woman to feast my eyes on. To my dismay however, all I saw were a blur of faceless strangers, as everyone was beginning to file out of the streets to get out of the rain.

As I continued walking, I heard a voice call my name from behind me. My stomach dropped and I turned to see who it was. I was now facing a very tall man who was looking deep into my eyes, with a smile upon his face.

"Thomas Herring, my God," he said. "I can't believe it's you."

I stood there for a moment, perplexed.

"Deann Diavolo," I said. "It's been a long time."

"Indeed, it has been," he said, giving me a hug. "How long now?"

"Three years since I got back," I said to him. "You?"

"Almost two," Deann said. "I was sad to see you leave so soon."

"Well, once I found enough gold, I decided it was time to head back. How did you do?"

"Quite well,' he said. "But I lost a lot of my wealth gambling."

"I thought you lived in London? Why didn't you go back there?"

"I needed to escape some creditors," Deann said, laughing. "So, I came here. After you told me so much about Burberry, I thought it would be a nice place to settle down. But it's such a small city. Why haven't I seen you?"

"I rarely leave my home," I told him, truthfully.

Deann laughed again.

"You told me in Australia that you were not coming back to Burberry."

"Yes," I told him. "It seems I wasn't ready to put this place behind me. When I lived here before, I was poor and working in the coal mines. I thought by being rich here, I'd be able to live comfortably and put the past behind me."

"And how is that going for you?"

I made no reply.

"You're not about to leave I hope?" Deann said, grabbing my shoulder as I turned to go.

"I want to get out of this rain," I told him.

"Well then, let's go get a bite to eat. It's been so long since we've seen one another."

I hesitated on a reply, for there was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to be out of this man's company. The two of us had shared living quarters together in Australia. We were the only two in those living quarters that were both English and from that we formed a bond with one another. But to be honest, Mr. Diavolo was a very strange man. He had many psychological problems, which I had learned about over the years I spent with him. Each morning, he was given medication by a nurse to treat this unbalanced brain of his. Some nights, I'd find Deann walking about our sleeping quarters with his eyes closed. One morning, a search party had found poor Deann sleeping in the bushes. He had no recollection of how he got there. Other times, when Deann refused to take his medication for reasons I did not know, he went into rages that nearly got him deported back to England. Alas, I felt bad for wanting to leave the poor man as soon as I saw him, so I decided to go with him to a nearby restaurant called The Shallow Gallery.

Inside, were a series of tables and chairs nearly all occupied by other guests. Deann led me through this rank place towards a table in the far back. We sat down and waited to be tended to. Soon enough, a young woman came to us and asked us what we would like. Deann ordered a pork chop with potatoes and a mug of ale and I ordered salmon and a glass of whiskey. The two of us talked about the city and soon the young woman returned with our food and drinks and disappeared.

"She's one to look at eh, Tom?" Deann said to me.

"Yes," I said, hesitantly. The young waitress had reawakened those feelings from before and I was once again excited to find myself a woman to employ in my home.

"Have you got yourself a wife since you've been back?" Deann asked me.

"No," I said. "Again, I don't leave my house too often. I never see women. I can't even remember the last time I spent time with one, besides my old housekeeper who passed away about a year ago."

"Interesting."

"What about yourself?"

"Well, I search. But I have not found a charming young lady just yet. Tomorrow I leave to go visit an old admirer of mine, but she's only for fun. Nothing serious. The only woman I have truly in my life, is my caretaker, Miss Fay."

"I am actually looking for a new housekeeper," I said to him.

"Is that so, Tom? Well, good luck finding one. A proper housekeeper is hard to find."

"Governesses are not though."

"Governess?" Deann asked, taking a sip of ale. "What do you need a governess for? You don't have a family."

"True," I said. "But if too many governesses are looking for work and not finding it, then perhaps I could find one to employ as a housekeeper."

I watched as Deann leaned back in his chair and thought on that.

"That's not a bad idea, Thomas. I too like the idea of having a young governess walking about the house, tending to my needs. Much better than that old hag Miss Fay."

"But Deann," I told him, concerned. "Miss Fay is also your nurse, isn't she? You can't expect a young woman to deal with your condition. If you miss your medication, you are capable of causing great harm."

Mr. Diavolo slammed his fist on the table and looked deep into my eyes.

"Listen," he said, threateningly. "Do not proceed to remind me of my illness. I know bloody well enough about it. You sound like Miss Fay herself, always telling me to not get mixed up with a woman. But it's not fair. I need a wife. I used to be married, you know? I had both a wife and a child. But that was long ago. Days are so long and so lonely, Tom. I thought by making enough money in Australia things would be different for me. But they're not. Life is just as bleak as before."

I looked down at the table and thought on the mad man's words. I made no reply, but I felt the same as he. The two of us finished our meals and ordered more drinks. Our conversation soon switched to our time spent over seas. About two hours passed by and we were now both very intoxicated. I sat there and listened to Deann speak as my head swirled. The young waitress then came over to us and asked if we wanted another drink. I declined, but Deann Diavolo, insisted that I get another.

"Come on, Tom," he said. "This is a special occasion."

"I've had enough," I persisted. "And I think you have as well, Deann."

"I know my limit," said Deann, angrily.

"I'll come back later," said the waitress, awkwardly.

She turned to leave but Deann grabbed her by the arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, pulling the poor girl closer to him.

"Deann," I said. "Release her at once."

By this time, other customers were looking at us.

"Please, sir," the waitress said. "You are hurting me."

"Let her go," I said again, rising to my feet.

Deann looked at me with a demonic smile on his face and released the waitress from his grasp.

"I'm just having a little fun," he said.

"I think we should leave," I said, looking at the disturbed faces surrounding us. I went for my wallet and threw some cash on the table.

Deann put his coat on and the two of us began walking by the many tables. Before we were out the door, I found the young waitress and apologized to her. She looked at me and said nothing. Once we were outside, the cool evening air rushed up against my body and sent a chill down my spine. When I heard the sounds of the busy streets and saw the many people around us, I realized how drunk I was. I looked to Deann and saw that he could hardly stand.

"What now, ol boy?" he asked me, putting his arm around my shoulder.

"I am going home," I told him.

"Home?" he asked me. "Nonsense. Let's go get another drink."

"I've had enough to drink, Deann," I said. "I think it would be best if we parted."

"I can't go home like this," Deann said, removing his arm from my shoulder. "That waitress got me all excited. I've got an idea!"

"What?" I asked him, interested.

"Let's go to the Cat!"

The Cat was a local brothel and well known in these parts. I've heard it was often filled with married men looking for a night of quick, secretive pleasure. I had never been there myself. I often thought of going, but never did. Tonight, however, I felt a certain restlessness inside of me that needed to be tamed. I had not lain with a woman for many years. Not since my wife had passed away. Perhaps, feeling the tender touch of a woman would clear my mind and get me back to my usual thought process, so I could return to my writing. Who knew, maybe after lying with another woman, I wouldn't feel the need to get myself a governess and I could return to my life of solitude.

I looked into Deann's eyes and told him I would accompany him to the Cat. Soon enough, the two of us caught a passing carriage and headed towards the rougher part of the city. It took us about twenty minutes or so to arrive. When we did, I tipped the coachman and both Deann and I found ourselves alone on the edge of a street. The buildings around us looked old and run down. In the air, was a foul scent.

"I am glad we are here," said Deann. "There is a pub close by that I think we should go to before we enter the Cat."

"But Deann, if we drink too much, we may not be able to perform."

Deann thought about that for a moment and then smiled and padded me on the back.

"You're right," he said. "Let's go have us some fun."

The two of us headed down the road and came to a building painted black. The paint itself was peeling away and giving it the appearance of an abandoned shack. The wooden steps leading to the front door were rotting away, giving me second thoughts about entering.

"My, this brothel needs some reconstruction," I said, while carefully walking up the steps.

"What do you mean?" asked Deann. "This is the best one around. Just wait till you get inside."

He opened the front door and the two of us walked in. A bell rung as the door opened and shut behind us. We found ourselves standing in a large room that was nearly empty. I was expecting to find many men waiting to be tended to, however, all I could see was an older woman sitting behind a desk with a cigar in her hand. I took her for the madam of this place and when she saw us, she began to walk over. The room was filled with scattered chairs and a couple tables with empty glasses upon them. On the walls hung old paintings of nude women with expressionless faces. It was a sad place and I wanted nothing more than to leave. But as the madam got closer to us, I found she was wearing a night gown, which exposed most of her breasts and suddenly I felt delighted.

"Good evening," she said, smiling.

I noticed the old woman's teeth were yellow and rotten.

"Just the two of you?" she asked.

"Yes," said Deann Diavolo. "I want the youngest girl you've got. I'm willing to pay anything if you show me to her room this instant."

"You've got it," said the old woman. "And you?"

She was looking at me. I felt at a loss for words.

"It's his first time in a place like this," said Deann. "He's a bit nervous."

The madam got closer to me and said, "well, if you want someone with a bit of experience, then I've got just the girl. Unless you want me, honey. I'm quite experienced as well."

"He doesn't want an old, dried up hag like you," Deann said, aggressively. "Get him a younger girl with some talent, why don't you?"

The madam sighed and crossed her arms. She then yelled the names of two girls. Before long, two figures emerged from the shadows of the upper floor. These two figures then made their way down the staircase and walked over to us.

"Tess," said the old woman. "You will accompany the man on the right."

Deann approached the young girl and smiled. I saw the poor girls' eyes were lifeless, much like the eyes of the women in the paintings. She wore a brown, stained nightgown. Her hair was jet black that ran well passed her slim shoulders. I guessed she was no older than sixteen years of age.

Mr. Diavolo reached into his pocket and gave a couple coins to the madam.

"Thank you, sir," she said, biting each coin with her yellow teeth to make sure they were real. "Go on, Tess. Show the man to your room."

The young girl mechanically grabbed the hand of Deann and led him up the stairs, where they disappeared behind a door.

"And you, Ruth," said the madam. "Shall entertain this gentleman here."

The girl turned to me and made a feeble attempt to stare into my eyes. She looked quite young as well, most likely the same age as Tess. She was dressed in a purple night gown and had blue slippers on her feet. Her skin was quite dark and her hair a light brown. She grabbed my hand and began to lead me towards the stairs. Almost forgetting myself, I reached into my pocket and paid the madam.

"Thank you, sir," she said, biting this one as well. "Enjoy yourself. Ruth is very popular here."

The girl led me up the stairs and across a hallway. As we passed Deann's room, I heard not a sound. I wondered what the two of them were doing in there. Finally, Ruth led me into a room and shut the door. When I was alone with her in the dim candlelight, my stomach dropped. As I began to asses my situation, I felt a tremendous amount of anxiety. I turned away from the young girl and sat on the edge of the bed. I sat there for a long while with my head in my hands.

Ruth lit some more candles and removed her slippers. I watched her as she did this. Her face looked very sad and around her eyes were dark bags, as if she had not slept for days. Soon, she came over to me, sat on my lap and rested her head on my shoulder. There was nothing sensual about this. I began to pet her as if she were a dog. The girl then tried to kiss me, but I could not kiss her back. Finally, she pulled her lips away from mine and stared into my eyes.

"Sir?" her soft voice came.

"I am sorry," I said to her. "It's been quite a while since I had last been with a woman."

The girl grabbed my hand and put it on one of her breasts. I squeezed it lightly to try and get myself aroused, but it was no use. A few minutes passed by and she got off my lap and began undressing herself. When she was completely naked, I looked up and examined her body as though I were a doctor and she a patient. Ruth then walked over to me and pushed me gently, so that I was laying down. She got on top of me and kissed my neck. I grabbed her buttocks and squeezed, but I only did this so she would not get offended. Slowly, Ruth began to take my shirt and pants off. I was now only dressed in my underwear. Before she could take those off, I grabbed her hand forcefully and pulled it away.

"I can't do this," I said to her.

There came silence. A kind of silence of which I could never hope to describe. Her large brown eyes starred into mine as her lip quivered. I felt her body begin to shake on top of mine. Ruth got off me and sat on the bed and cried softly.

I lay there and listened to her sobs for a short while. Soon, I sat up and put a hand on the girls' back.

"I am sorry," I said. "I have not lain with a woman since my wife died."

"We all have our problems, sir," said she.

I smiled at that. Her words put some life into this small, desolate room.

"Why don't you put your clothes back on," I told her. "I must be old enough to be your father."

"I never knew my father," Ruth said.

"Of course, you didn't."

I watched the girl as she put on her nightgown. As she did this, I drank in her nakedness, for she was quite beautiful. It didn't matter that I was double her age. I would have slept with her had I felt anything for her.

Ruth then came back to the bed and lay beside me.

"Do you mind if I get underneath the covers, sir?" she asked me.

"Please do," I said. "It's quite cold."

The young girl put herself underneath the covers and lay there with her head on the pillow next to mine.

"How did you end up here?" I asked.

"You're not the first man to ask me that you know," she said.

"No?"

"No. About once or twice a month, a man will come in here and breakdown in front of me. There's many like you sir, who come in here and realize that I am just a young helpless girl that deserves better. You're nothing special."

I began to laugh.

"Do you want me to cuddle you?" she asked. "So, you can remember being cuddled by your dead wife?"

I made no reply. Suddenly, I felt like strangling the girl.

"You men are much sadder than we girls," Ruth said. "What we do is a profession just like any other. I don't mind it."

"Are you sure about that?" I asked her.

"Quite," she said. "I know the world outside these doors is no place for a woman. It's hard for us. It's better we stay in here and sell our bodies rather than starve in the streets."

"You never thought about getting yourself an education or becoming someone's wife?"

"What's the point of getting an education in a world already run by men?" Ruth asked. "And why would I want to become someone's wife? You know how many husbands come in here looking for us girls to satisfy their needs? Half our patrons are married men. It makes marriage look quite unsatisfying; don't you think? Why should I aspire to be the wife of a man who runs off to places like these? Plus, the money here is good. I know my fate, sir. And it pleases me enough to know that I will keep doing it until my time comes."

"Are you worried about the afterlife?" I asked her. "This is sinful work, you know."

"And adultery is not?" asked Ruth. "I know my fate sir. God abandoned me long ago."

We then lay there in silence for a long while, before she asked me if I was sure that I did not want to have intercourse.

"No," I said to her.

"Fine then," she said. "Goodnight, sir."

Ruth then turned her back to me. After what seemed like hours of lying there in an awkward silence, my eyes began to grow heavy and I was thrown into an uneasy sleep. A couple of hours went by and I was awoken by a woman's scream. My eyes scanned the desolate room and I realized it was very late in the evening. I wanted nothing more than to be in my own bed. Before long, I heard the scream again. Ruth awoke and asked me what was going on. I told her what I had heard. We then heard shuffling and some muddled voices coming from the hallway.

The two of us arose from the bed and went for the door. I dressed myself quickly and then followed Ruth down the hall. We found a crowd of women who worked at the establishment, huddled around the same room Deann had been led into earlier. The madam came running up the stairs and headed into the same room. I gently pushed aside the mob of girls and went in myself. What I saw was quite alarming. Deann was on top of Tess and had his hands gripped around her throat. Both his eyes were closed and his mouth was wide open, allowing drool to drip onto the poor girls' face.

"Let go of her!" screamed the madam.

"Wait," I yelled, going after her.

I grabbed the madam by one of her arms and tried to pull her away, but she swung at me with her other arm and punched me in the side of the head. Judging from the sheer power of the old woman's blow, I knew she had done this sort of thing before. I fell to the ground and watched as the madam now swung her fists at Deann. She struck him in the jaw and the man fell off the bed. I got up off the ground and rushed towards my old friend, who lay there clutching at his jaw in shock.

The madam began caressing Tess, who was now in tears. The other girls now stormed into the room and soon enough, both Deann and I were surrounded by the mob of women. I noticed, looking up at the girls, that most of them were quite pretty and suddenly I felt those sensual feelings creep back into me. I saw Ruth standing with her fists clenched and staring at me with hatred in her eyes, as I held my friend in my arms.

"Get out!" said the madam. "The both of you!"

"What happened?" Deann asked, slowly.

"Oh, you know damn well what happened," said the madam. "You nearly strangled this poor girl to death!"

"What?" Deann asked, looking at me. "Tom, what are you doing in here?"

"You must understand," I said, looking up at the madam and all the other girls. "This man is not well."

I was not lying of course. Having spent many years sharing a room with Deann, I learned that when he did not take his medication, he was prone to sleepwalking in the middle of the night. On rare occasions, when someone tried to wake him, Deann would turn violent, but not violent enough that you could not protect yourself against him. I explained this to the women in the room. Of course, they did not believe me.

"How tight was his grip around your throat?" I then asked Tess, examining her neck. I saw no marks or redness, implying that Deann in fact, barely had his hands around her at all.

"Don't talk to her," snapped the madam. "Whether this man meant to cause her harm or not is irrelevant. He is not right in the head and I want him and yourself out of this place."

"Fine by me," said Deann, rising to his feet.

I noticed that Deann was fully clothed, which I found odd, given that he was sharing a bed with a prostitute.

"Crazy bastard," the madam said, cradling the whore Tess.

"Insult me once more," Deann said, pointing a finger in the old woman's face. "And I'll strike you in that old, ugly face of yours."

"Let's get out of here, Deann," I said.

I grabbed him by the shoulder and softly pushed him through the crowd of frightened whores.

"Do you have all your things?" I asked him. We were now standing in the hallway.

"I think so," he answered, looking very frustrated and confused. "Why am I dressed?"

"You must have dressed yourself while sleepwalking," I answered. "Did you take your medication today?"

"I took the last of it three days ago," he mumbled. "I'll pick up some more before I leave tomorrow. Let's get out of here, my head hurts."

Mine hurt as well. Deann began walking down the hallway and down the flight of stairs. I then heard him open the front door and exit. I turned myself towards the girls.

"What do you want?" the madam asked, caressing the young woman who was attacked. "Didn't you hear me? Leave!"

"I just want to ask her something," I said looking at Tess. "Why did he attack you?"

The frightened girl swallowed hard and looked up at me.

"I found him dressing himself," she said softly. "He was making so much noise. I told him to come back to bed. He didn't answer me, so I got up and touched his hand. He still didn't answer, so I put a candle on and I noticed that both his eyes were shut. I then began shaking his arm, trying to get a response from him, for I was now very frightened and before I knew it, he lunged at me and began strangling me. I must admit that his grip was not very tight. But I still screamed, for I was very frightened. It was quite horrible."

"Yes, I imagine so," I said. "Again, the man is not well."

I then grabbed a couple of coins from my pocket and laid it on a dresser near me.

"For your trouble," I said, and bowed.

"Wait," came a voice.

I discovered the voice belonged to Ruth. She walked up to me and kissed me on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I asked her.

"Nothing," she said, smiling. "Never come here again."

I nodded, exited the room and headed down the staircase and to the front door. Outside, I found Deann waiting for me on the street corner.

"What took you so long?" he asked me.

"I had to explain your actions" I said to him.

"That was nothing."

"You could have murdered that poor girl."

"Murder?" he mocked. "No, she was fine. And besides, even if I did, would anyone care?"

"You're quite despicable," I said to him, truthfully.

Deann laughed.

"Well," he said. "How was she?"

"Who?"

"The one you were with."

"Oh, right," I said. "She was charming, actually."

"Charming? You spoke to her?"

"Well, yes. You didn't speak to Tess?"

"What's there to say to a prostitute?" he asked. "Well, we better start walking. We are far from home."

I realized how cold I was. I looked to the sky and found that dawn was approaching.

"You don't think we can get a carriage at this hour?" I asked.

"No," said Deann. "It's far too late. Or too early. Whichever. All I know is that no driver is up at this hour. Let's start walking."

So, the two of us began our long walk back into the heart of Burberry. When we arrived, the sky began to light up and the first lively sounds of the city began to echo through the streets. Deann gave me a firm handshake and asked me my address. After giving it to him, we went our separate ways. I was glad to be out of the madman's' company.

When I finally arrived at my home, I shut the door and locked it. I then leaned against a wall and thought how glad I was to be back. By the time I got into my bed, the sun was rising. As I lay there, I thought on how terrible of an evening I had just experienced. I knew then that I wanted to remain in solitude. All my feelings of loneliness had dried up and now, I knew, I was ready to begin writing and detach myself once again from humanity. I thought about all this before going to sleep and when I awoke, I felt incredibly miserable, once again. My head also ached from where the madam had struck me.

Rosella

When my eyes opened, I found myself in a tremendous amount of pain. The bed I had slept on was hard as stone and many of the feathers in the pillow were sticking out and poking me in the face. I lay there for a while, too sore to move. Once my awareness of my physical pain began to wear off, I felt the cold grip of anxiety and dread take hold of me and suddenly I felt it hard to breathe. The sudden realization of where I was and what I had to do was almost enough to make me sick. I was so full of fear, worry and doubt that I thought it impossible for me to get out of this bed. But once I heard footsteps and voices outside my door, I knew it was time to get up and leave this place.

It took me almost no time to get dressed. When I was finished, I quickly brushed my hair with my fingers and wiped my face with my shirt. Thinking myself presentable enough, I opened the door and quietly headed down the hallway. As I did so, I heard many voices coming from downstairs. I peered my head over the railing to have a look at what was happening on the bottom floor. There I could see many guests sitting down at tables and enjoying themselves a cup of coffee with breakfast. I then thought how hungry I was myself. I scanned each of the faces of the guests below before heading down, for I did not want to run into that strange man, Mr. Diavolo.

When I had scanned each of the guests without seeing him, I decided to walk down and make my way across the large room. I then approached the bar and found an older woman behind it serving guests some refreshments. When she had finished pouring a man a large mug of ale, she turned to me and said, "hello, how can I help yer? Lookin for poppy?"

"Poppy?" I asked, confused.

"Ye," she said, smiling and showing me her missing teeth. "Or mummy? You's too young ter be here on your lonsome, aren't yer?"

"Actually, I'm looking for Chap, have you seen him?"

"Course I've seen him," the woman said. "I'm his wife. Ol Chap is sleeping at ter moment."

"I need to get my horse," I told her. "Where are the stables?"

"The stables are out back. Just go out the front door, turn left and follow the building until you find em. It would be impossible for you ter miss em."

"Thank you," I said.

I then turned to go when I heard the woman call after me.

"But who you leaving with, dear?"

"My business is my own, thank you."

"I've got children of me own, you know," she said. "Let me get my son, he can help ya with yer horse and then you can be on yer way."

I thought on that and realized that the old woman's son could be of use and help direct me towards the city of Burberry.

"Very well," I said to her. "Thank you."

The woman turned and disappeared behind a door. Soon enough, she emerged with a young man who looked no older than I. He had short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

"This here is my son, Able," she said. "Able, be a good lad and help this young lady with her horse."

The young man approached me and nervously introduced himself. He then began to lead me towards the front door of the inn. To my dismay I found that it was raining heavily. The two of us walked quickly towards the stables and when we were inside, I found my horse among many others.

"What's a pretty girl like yerself doing here on yer lonesome?" he asked me, in the same thick English accent that he shared with his mother and father.

"I'd like to keep that to myself, thanks," I said.

"What's yer name?" he asked, reaching for my saddle that was hanging on a hook.

"Rosella."

"Rosella," he repeated. "Rosella what?"

It was strange for me to hear this question, for I had never been asked it before. Truth was, I did not know my last name. I was taken to Bronte Academy when I was very young and over the years, I forgot what my family name was. In fact, I didn't even know the first names of my father and mother. Everything I knew was told to me by Mr. Helfer, who at this time, I had not seen since he brought me to Bronte. On the letter that was given to me by Sister Emily, my father's name was not mentioned, only the address of his residence. The more I thought about this, the more uneasy I felt. My father was a complete stranger to me and I was about to arrive at his doorstep to tell him I was his daughter. It seemed very strange to me that not too long ago, this plan seemed somewhat logical. Now, as I stood watching this young man saddle my horse, the sudden realness of my position began to sink into my exhausted brain.

"Yer an odd girl," Able said to me.

I gave him a scowl.

"Odd, but pretty if I says so meself," he added.

"I can saddle my own horse," I told him.

"I am sure yous can. But mama told me to do it, so I shall."

After a couple more moments, the young man was finished with my horse.

"She's all good ter go," he said. "Where's you headin'?"

"Burberry," I said. "Do you know how I could get there?"

"Burberry?" Able asked. "You's live there in the city?"

"No," I said, getting impatient. "If I did, I'd know how to get there."

The boy laughed.

"Alright," he said. "No need ter get hostile. I can take you there, if yous like."

"I'd really like to go there on my own, thank you."

"But it's not proper for a lady ter travel on her own," Able said. "You could get into trouble.

Since I did not live in society, I did not know its customs. I was taught, however, that women were treated unfairly.

"I'll take my chances," I told him.

"Do you know anyone in the city?"

"Just a relative of mine."

"A relative eh? Where yer parents? It seems strange they let yous travel without an escort. A lady should always be escorted."

"I'm not a lady," I told him.

"Then what are ya?"

"Never you mind," I said to him, annoyed. "Thank you for your help, Able. I shall be on my way now."

I then grabbed the reins of my horse and went to exit the stables. Able followed me out onto the streets.

"Wait," he said. "Sure, you don't want me to escort you?"

"No," I said. "But if you could give me directions that would be helpful."

"Alright, alright," Able said.

I stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"Burberry ain't too far from here. Just head south and you'll get to a road that will lead you right there."

"Thank you," I said to him, turning back around. "Give your father my thanks as well for letting me stay the night at his inn."

"Please, miss, let me escort ya. You could get into big trouble."

"It's morning. No one would dare cause me trouble now."

"You don't know that," Able said. "Besides, you shouldn't be traveling in rain like this. Yer going ter catch a cold or maybe even a fever and yous could die."

I thought on the young man's words and knew that he could be right. However, I was too determined at this point to take his advice. I then got onto my horse and kicked her into a slow trot.

"Goodbye," I called to the young man.

"My, I suppose I can't make a girl like you see reason, eh?" he said, looking up at me and scratching his head. "I have half o' mind ter keep following you until you safely arrive at yer destination. Well, goodbye to you then, Rosella."

I nodded my head to Able and headed down the street. As I headed south and away from the young man, I felt desperately alone in the world once again. I began to wonder if using my real name was the best thing for me to do, for if Father Arnold sent someone to investigate my disappearance, then these people at the inn could lead them towards Burberry. But, alas, I would be far ahead of them by now and once I reached my father's house, I would be safe.

At least that's what I told myself.

It was a miserable, cold and rainy afternoon and I was very low on spirit. The rain was falling hard, making the road muddy and slippery for my horse to walk on. Many other horses, most who were tied up and pulling carriages full of people, went by as I continued on, heading south. As I rode on, I observed the many shops, restaurants and apartments that made up this small town. Soon enough, I reached the road that Able had mentioned and I was on my way to Burberry. It didn't take long until I reached the city.

At first, it was overwhelming. There were large buildings and wide streets packed with people. I watched the people closely as I rode on. They were all holding umbrellas and walking frantically in a mad hustle and bustle. It made me wonder what they were all so occupied with. Everyone looked so focused and yet so confused, as they scurried around like busy ants.

I soon noticed that many were looking at me with puzzled expressions upon their faces. At first, I wondered why I was drawing so much attention and then a man approached me and told me to stop my horse. I was reluctant to do so at first, but then, not wanting to cause any more of a disruption, I obliged.

"What is it, sir?" I asked him.

"Get down from that horse, girl," the man told me. "What's a lady like yourself doing out here unaccompanied?"

"That's none of your business," I told him.

"As an officer of the law I think it is my business," the man said. "You are disturbing the natural order of things. As an authority of this community it is my right to tell you to stop."

"What is it I am doing that is wrong, officer?"

"A young lady should not be alone on the streets," he said. "It's not right. And you should not be riding this beast among so many people. And don't you own an umbrella? You're going to catch a cold, or worse."

I looked around and found that many others were passing by and giving me a disproving look. My hair and my clothes were soaked. I then jumped down from my horse and stared into the officer's eyes.

"Why is it so wrong for me to be out here alone? Do I need a guardian with me to roam freely?"

"Yes, of course," the officer said. "It's not proper for a woman to be unattended, especially one so young like yourself. Where are you from girl?"

I felt a tremble of fear then. Suddenly, I realized that I was in a bad situation. This man could very well find out that I was a runaway and take me back to Bronte Academy. I had to be careful here if I was going to be allowed to continue my journey.

"Well," I said, slowly. "My place of residence is on Randall Street; I live there with my father. He sent me into town to pick up his medication."

As I said this, I wondered if perhaps Sister Emily had made up the letter herself just to get me out of the school. The address on the letter stated that my father's house was on this Randall Street and if the officer then told me that there was no such place, then I would know for sure that it had all been a plot and I would be doomed.

"Where are you picking up his medication exactly?" the officer asked me, suspiciously.

I was relieved that the officer did not question the existence of this street. All I needed to do now was to get away from this man and find it. I thought for a moment and then remembered the name of the doctor that that strange man, Mr. Diavolo had named.

"Dr. Piedmouth on Glenns avenue," I told him.

The officer scowled at me some more and asked, "well, don't you realize that you are on Glenns avenue? You've already passed Dr. Piedmouth's office."

I then turned to look behind me and said, "oh, dear. Well, thank you. I am so very worried about my fathers' health that I must have not been paying attention to where I was going. Good day now, officer."

"Wait one second, miss." the officer said. "I will escort you to Dr. Piedmouth's. You have already disturbed enough people today with your recklessness. And here, get underneath my umbrella before you get sick."

Seeing that it would be risky of me to argue with the man any longer, I complied and let him walk me down the street in the direction to which I had already traveled from. I kept a hold of my horses' reins as she trotted along with us. Soon enough, we turned down a narrow road and came to a small building. It looked nothing more than a humble little home. On the yard was a wooden sign that read Dr. Piedmouth's Place of Residence and Care.

"Well then," I said to the officer. "Thank you very much. I shall be on my way then."

"You're not losing me that easily, miss," he said. "I'll come in with you and see that you get your fathers' medication. Then when you have got it, I will escort you home."

My stomach dropped and I knew that I was in an enormous amount of trouble. Any minute now, I'd have to confess to this man that I was not picking up my father's medication and he would insist that I told him the truth of my intentions. I was a young girl looking for her father and if anything, telling this to an officer may have been the best solution. However, I did not want to risk the fact of him knowing that I was a runaway. If he found that out, then perhaps he would take me back and all would be lost.

"Fine, then," I said to him, slowly.

I tied my horse to a post and presumed to walk towards the doctor's office with the officer following closely behind me. When I reached the door, I opened it and found a small, damp room with four chairs. Occupying one of these chairs was a young boy whose face was very red and who was coughing relentlessly into a handkerchief. The other chair was occupied, to my displeasure, by the same woman who was with the strange and dangerous man, Mr. Diavolo.

She looked up at me as I entered and said nothing. The officer walked in behind me.

"Where is the doctor?" he asked. "I don't have all day."

"I'm not sure," I said truthfully.

Just then, I heard voices and saw two figures emerging from a hallway. When the figures had come close enough, I saw that it was an old man, who must have been the doctor, and with him was Mr. Diavolo.

"Try not to lose this batch," the doctor said.

"Thank you, doctor," Mr. Diavolo said. "Good day."

Mr. Diavolo turned from the doctor to stare at his caretaker.

"Take this, Miss Fay," he said, handing her a small bottle. "Be sure you don't lose it."

The man turned from his caretaker and caught sight of me. His facial expression changed dramatically. I could tell that he was both astonished and relieved to see me again.

"Rosella, is it?" he said. "What in god's name are you doing here?"

"You know this man?" the officer asked me.

"Yes," I said, slowly. "He is a friend of my fathers."

"What is this girl saying?" Miss Fay interjected, rising to her feet.

"Quiet," Mr. Diavolo snapped at her.

"Sir," said the officer. "Is this true?"

Mr. Diavolo stared at me and I knew that the next thing he had to say would determine my fate.

"Yes," he lied. "I know the girl's father. Now what are you doing with her?"

"I found her alone wandering the streets," the officer said.

"Shameless," Miss Fay spat.

"Quiet," Mr. Diavolo snapped at her again.

"She said she was sent by her father to pick up his medication," the officer went on. "The girl seemed to be lost, for she had no idea where she was going when I found her. She then told me the name of the doctor she wished to find and I led her here. I was going to escort her home as well, seeing how unnatural it is for a lady to be out on her own."

"I'm not a lady," I told him.

"Are you a beggar then?" the officer asked me in a mocking tone. "Because you don't look or speak like a beggar."

"Well I am glad that you found her," Mr. Diavolo said. "I shall take her home at once."

"Good to hear it," said the officer. "Well, if that's all then. I shall be leaving. Good day to you."

With that the officer tipped his hat, turned and left out the front door.

I was relieved at first to be out of the officer's presence, but then I realized I was now in the company of that terrifying man. My eyes traveled from the door to Mr. Diavolo and I found that he was staring into my eyes and smiling. Just then I heard the voice of the doctor call to us.

"What was that all about then?"

"The girl says she's picking up medication for her father," Miss Fay said, looking over to me with hatred in her eyes.

"Is that true girl?" Mr. Diavolo asked me.

My eyes turned to the floor and I found I had nothing to say.

"What is your father's name dear girl?" the old doctor asked me.

Seeing now that I was cornered, I decided to confess.

"It was a lie," I said.

"A lie?" Mr. Diavolo asked.

"This girl is a trouble maker," said Miss Fay.

"Quiet woman," Mr. Diavolo said.

"You mean to tell me you lied to that officer?" the doctor asked.

The boy sitting on the seat began coughing up a storm.

"I'll be with you in a moment," the doctor said to him, handing him another handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Honestly, I am."

"It's not my place to stick my nose where it shouldn't be," said the doctor. "So, if you aren't here for my business, then get out. I am in no need of troublemakers. And look, you are getting water all over my floor. Don't you own an umbrella, girl?"

"Sorry," I said, again. "I'll leave at once."

I turned towards the door, opened it and found myself standing on the front porch, staring out into the busy city streets. I began walking towards my horse. As I got closer, I heard the door open from behind me. Mr. Diavolo and his caretaker Miss Fay began to follow me.

"Wait, Rosella," I heard Mr. Diavolo's voice call.

I tried to untie my horse as quickly as I could, but it was no use. Soon enough, the two of them were standing right next to me.

"Are you trying to escape us, girl?" he asked, pulling out an umbrella and covering my head with it.

"Please," I told him. "I need to get going."

"After all I did for you in front of that officer, you are planning to be rid of me?" Mr. Diavolo asked. "I'd be happy to find him again and tell him the truth."

"Oh, please," I begged. "Do not do such a thing. I am sorry."

"Where are you going in such a rush?" he asked me.

"That's my business, sir. And not yours."

"Just listen to her," Miss Fay said. "The wretched girl insults you."

"If you don't want to tell me," said Mr. Diavolo. "Then that is fine, but at least let me escort you to where you are going. I can't imagine that officer being too happy to see you walking freely through the streets again."

I thought about it and found that he was right. I didn't want to draw any more attention to myself.

"Fine," I said to him, defeated.

"Good," he said. "Now where are you trying to get to?"

"Randall Street," I said.

"Randall Street?" he repeated, interested. "I have a good friend that lives around there. Well, I am afraid that my caretaker and I have not brought our own horse."

"Really?" I asked. "Then perhaps..."

"Not to worry though," Mr. Diavolo said. "You and I can take your horse and my caretaker can take a cab home."

"Sir," said Miss Fay. "I must object to this. This girl here is..."

"You will be quiet woman!" Mr. Diavolo, violently shouted.

I witnessed this strange man suddenly transform into a horrible creature. His face twisted and his eyes shot back into their sockets as though he were possessed by some demon. It happened for only a moment and soon enough, he was back to normal.

"Sorry," he said, wiping spit from his mouth. "I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't proper of me."

I wanted nothing more than to jump onto my horse and get as far away from this man as possible. But I knew I was trapped.

"Very well," Miss Fay said softly. "At least take your medicine, sir."

"I'll take it when I get home," he said, angrily. "Now be off."

The old caretaker looked very troubled. Her eyes went from mine back to her masters and soon she walked towards the street and hopped into a carriage and was gone.

"Now then," Mr. Diavolo said, smiling at me. "I shall take you to where you need to go. After you, my dear."

He gestured towards my horse. I hesitated at first and then jumped on. Mr. Diavolo came up right after me. My back was resting against his chest and his arms were wrapped around my shoulders as he grabbed the reins. He handed me the umbrella and I held it over both our heads. I was extremely uncomfortable being so close to a man such as he, but I was determined to get to where I was going and if Mr. Diavolo was going to get me there, then so be it.

We rode slowly through the streets. I watched the people below as they paid no attention to us. As we got deeper into the city, Mr. Diavolo began to ask me questions.

"Why are you so mysterious, Rosella? You can tell me your secrets. I'll tell you mine."

"You're a stranger, sir," I said to him. "What right do you have to know my secrets?"

"You are quite the young woman, I must say. I've never met one with a tongue as sharp as yours. Now tell me, Rosella, are you married?"

"No, sir."

"You don't have a lover, then?"

"No."

"Why were you at that inn last night?"

"I prefer not to tell you."

"Where do you live?"

"You are taking me to my home."

"Really? Why have I never seen you before?"

"This city is a large place, sir, filled with many people you have never seen before."

"You sound very educated. Where did you go to school?"

"I was taught by my father."

"Who is your father?"

"His name is Albus Moore," I lied.

"Moore? I am not familiar with that name. Well, if you live on Randall Street then your father must be quite wealthy."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Well," Mr. Diavolo said. "You must know that Randall Street is a wealthy area of this city. I live around the area myself, for I am also very rich and for quite some time now I have been looking for a spouse to share my wealth."

"I'm sure you will find a wife soon enough."

"You are a very lovely little creature, Rosella. Are you looking for a husband?"

"No," I said, slowly.

Mr. Diavolo turned the horse down an alleyway. I was now completely alone with the man. My eyes stared at the two brick buildings that surrounded us and I felt as though I had entered through the gates of hell.

"We should return to the road, shouldn't we?" I asked him.

"It's a short cut."

"I want to go back," I said quickly. "I don't like it here."

Suddenly, a black cat ran in front of us and disappeared behind a pile of garbage. Black cats were always represented as evil omens in the books I had read. I did not like being away from the streets and all the people.

"Please, Mr. Diavolo," I pleaded. "This is a foul place."

"Call me Deann," he said, whispering into my ear. The man then brushed my wet hair aside and smelt my exposed neck.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Such a pretty girl you are," said he, ignoring my question. "Why don't you want to be my wife? I can give you everything you desire."

"I'd rather marry this horse than marry you," I told him.

That was wrong of me to say in such a situation, for I knew this man was capable of turning violent in an instant. And that's exactly what happened.

"You are a stupid girl," Mr. Diavolo spat. "All girls are stupid. Am I incapable of being loved by you pathetic, charming creatures? Ah, this world is against me. I must make you love me, Rosella, if you cannot do so on your own."

At this point, Mr. Diavolo was slurring his words and sounding as though he were talking to himself more than to me. I knew the man was not right in the head and had not been taking his medication. I then tried to break free of his grip, but his arms were tightly wrapped around mine, making it impossible for me to move.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting off this horse," I said. "You're mad."

He then laughed a monstrous laugh.

"You cannot leave me," he said. "I will not let you"

Mr. Diavolo pressed his lips against my neck and began kissing me there. I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping that someone would hear me, but we were now too far from the road and the noise of the city would drown out my frail voice. The madman then put his right hand over my mouth to silence me.

"One more peep and I'll strangle the life out of you," he hissed at me.

At this moment, I would have given anything to be out of this man's presence. I started to regret ever leaving Bronte Academy. The world outside those dimly lit hallways and classrooms was no place for me. I was safer in the company of those horrible nuns than out here. Mr. Diavolo slipped his hand up my shirt and groped my breasts, kissing my neck as he did so. I dared not scream, for I knew my life was now in jeopardy. He then jumped from the horse and took hold of my wrists, pulling me to the ground. I fell hard to the pavement, splitting my lip open. I tried laying still, but Mr. Diavolo grabbed me by the waist and pulled me to my feet. I saw the horse standing there, looking at nothing in particular. I wished the beast could somehow save me from what was happening.

The madman dragged me to one of the buildings and pushed me hard against it so that my face was pressed against the cold bricks. I could feel his body close to mine. His hands grabbed at my dress and he began to pull it up. I screamed one last time. Mr. Diavolo answered that by punching me in the side of the head. The blow nearly made me unconscious. My ears began to ring and I could hardly stand. I had no choice but to let this man hold me up. But when Mr. Diavolo was just about to get what he wanted; I heard a voice call from above.

At first, I thought it was the Almighty, saving me from this terrible fate, but as I looked up, I saw the faces of two men instead.

"Eh," the voice called. "Was you doin' to that girl?"

Mr. Diavolo let go of my dress and looked up. He then swore and let me go.

"Are you alright missy?" the voice asked.

"Help!" I cried, desperately.

Mr. Diavolo ran for my horse, mounted it and took off. I watched as he disappeared down the alley and into the busy street.

"Wait right there, will ya?" I heard the voice say.

I then collapsed onto the cold pavement and saw and heard no more.

When my eyes opened, I found myself laying on a hard mattress in a corner of a room. The room itself looked very untidy and the air stunk of something foul. There was garbage and broken cups and plates scattered about the place. Wherever I was, I knew that it was home to someone very poor. I sat up slowly and found that I was alone. I then got to my feet and crept to a closed door. I tried opening it and found that it was locked. There were no windows as well and I knew I was now imprisoned. I then banged my fist hard against the door.

After three loud knocks, it opened, revealing a tall slender man, wearing baggy brown pants and a ripped shirt. His face was smeared with dirt and grime and he grinned a toothless smile. I stepped back in revolt.

"Looky here," he said. "Eh, Paul. The pretty girl is awake!"

Another man, this one short and fat and also wearing torn clothes covered in dirt, came walking up behind the tall man. He was looking at me very strangely, also smiling.

"Oh, look at her, Ron," he said. "She's a beauty."

"Sit down will ya?" the man named Ron suggested to me. "You've had quite the day."

"Please," I said. "I need to go."

"You can go soon enough," he said. "Just sit down, yer head is all bloody."

I took a seat in a chair that the fat man named Paul pulled up for me.

"Did you know the man we saved ya from?" Ron asked me.

"No," I said, slowly. "Not really."

"Aren't ya going ter' thank us?" Paul asked. "If it weren't for us than that man would have 'ad you all for himself."

"What?" I asked, startled.

"Darn it, Paul," said Ron. "Don't be scaring her like that."

"She's a beauty," the fat man said, licking his lips.

"She's mine," said Ron. "I found her."

"We both found her," Paul said.

The two men began bickering to each other and while they were doing so, I found a broken plate on the table beside me. The edge was very sharp and I grabbed it while they weren't looking.

"We can both have a turn with her," Ron whispered. "But let's be nice to her first."

Paul then nodded and looked at me, licking his lips once again.

"Why don't you make yerself comfortable, miss?" Ron said. "There's no rush. It's not every day we 'ave such pretty guests."

I made no reply.

"I don't have all day!" Paul suddenly said, rushing at me. "Let me have her."

When the fat man was close enough, I slashed at his face with the sharp edge of the plate. It buried deep into his skin and ripped through his right eye and down to his mouth. Blood gushed out and sprayed all over the floor. The man screamed, clutching his ruined face as he fell.

"Paul!" Ron yelled, kneeling to the floor to help his wounded friend.

I then sprang from the chair and made for the open door. There, I ran down a hallway, nearly tripping over boxes and frames that were resting against the walls. I then made it to a stairwell and ran down the steps as fast as I could. When I got to the bottom, I heard footsteps and voices. The men were chasing after me. I ran down another hallway. I could hardly see anything for there was barely any light. Thankfully, I reached another door, opened it and was now outside.

I was standing in the same alley as before. It seemed as though I were in the slums of this city, for all the buildings and everything else around me looked very run down and was covered in filth. I slammed the door shut and began running. It was now very dark out and raining heavily. Thankfully it was raining so hard, that it covered the sound of my footsteps as I ran.

I ran for a long while until I came to a large pile of garbage and decided to hide behind it. I grabbed at one of the bags and threw it over myself so that it would be impossible for anyone to see me. It smelt of rotten fish and decay but I didn't care, I just wanted to be out of sight. My clothes were now soaked to the bone and I was extremely cold and began to shiver violently. I cried for what felt like hours. I may have fallen asleep there, I am not sure, but I knew that I did not move from that pile of garbage for a very long time.

At last, after feeling sure that those men were long gone, I decided to stand and leave this foul place. I walked for a long while in a dream-like state. I felt somewhat disconnected from both my mind and my body. I had no thoughts. I felt as though I were some shadow existing between reality and fantasy. Eventually, I turned a corner that brought me from the alleyway and into the streets. I was suddenly pulled out from my daze as I looked upon the pretty street lights and buildings. I realized that I must have been at a wealthier side of the city now, for everything around me was well kept and the architecture was impressive. I was so cold and so wet that I knew that I was surely to die on these streets and I remembered thinking then how glad I was that my body would be found by someone soon, rather than in the slums, left for days unnoticed.

As I walked on, the thought of everything that had happened to me earlier suddenly weighed me down to the point of nearly causing me to collapse. How could the world be so cruel? Were all men truly this vile and disgusting? Was I only seen by them as some object of sexual desire? What had become of humanity? To do such a thing to a girl such as I, surely people of the world had gone mad. Or perhaps people had always been like this. It was taught that women had brought sin into this world, but surely men kept it there by doing such terrible and unforgivable things. I no longer felt as though I wanted to continue living. I prayed for death to take me then and there, for I did not want to continue living a life surrounded by those who would do such horrible things. Surely life among those horrible nuns at Bronte was better than this. I then thought that if I ever did find my father, that I would not tell him who I was. Not at first anyway. I would want to see what kind of man he was before I told him I was his daughter. Even though I knew the man was already of low morals, for he had after-all, abandoned me as an infant. But perhaps he was sorry he had done such a thing. Nevertheless, if I found him, I would want to know for sure that he was better than all these other men, whose hearts were so corrupt with evil.

As I was thinking about this, I suddenly looked up from the wet pavement and saw a sign on a street corner. On this sign were the words RANDALL ST.

I had arrived.

Suddenly, I was filled with excitement. I began to run. It must have been very late in the evening, for there was no one but me occupying the streets. Not even a horse or carriage I could see. I scanned each building around me, looking for the correct address. To my dismay, most of the buildings seemed to be places of business and not apartments designed to live in. I kept running until I came to a sharp right turn which led to the end the road. Around me now, was a district that seemed quite unlike the rest of the city. There were now, standing before me, a row of large estates. Smoke rose from the chimneys and disappeared into the starless sky. I walked straight, crossing a road and coming close to one of the houses. I read its address and knew I was close. I kept walking up a sidewalk and passed a dozen more houses till I stopped and realized that I was now standing in front of the very house I was looking for. Even though I had that address now memorized, I still pulled out the letter, which was now soaked. I read the address three times and then lifted my head to gaze at the structure.

It was a nicely built home. Very large, with two windows covered by black curtains. In front of the door was a wooden porch with steps leading up to it. I now climbed those steps and stood for a long while, thinking about the man who lived in there. It was at this moment that I felt a feeling of immense dread sink into me. Doubts plagued my mind and caused my body to tremble even more. Perhaps, the letter was mistaken and my father did not live here. Perhaps, he was dead and everything I had done these past two days was all in vain.

I thought about the men I had met so far and wondered if my father, if he did live here, would be a monster as well and that I was about to enter into his den and become his prey. It didn't matter anymore though. A large part of me was ready to die. My expectations of the world beyond Bronte Academy had already been dashed. I knew that the vision I had of my father would most likely turn out to be the same. My life was nothing but disappointment and suffering and only that would forever be my fate.

I raised my hand to the door to knock upon it but I found I had no strength left in me. My body was so numb from the cold that I felt as though I were already a corpse. My hair and clothes were soaked from the rain and I could barely stand. I was also covered in garbage and filth and grime. Surely, if the man behind this door saw me, he would turn me away in disgust and think of me as just another beggar. I had shown up unannounced at a stranger's door to tell him that I was his long-lost daughter. If I didn't appear to him as a beggar, then surely, he'd see me as a lunatic. Even if I could somehow manage to convince him that I was his daughter, would he even want me? Perhaps he'd send me away or worse, bring me back to Bronte. The man had abandoned me when I was a young child, surely, he didn't expect to ever see me again.

I thought about it more and agreed that I would wait to tell him the truth. I wanted to know what kind of man he was before I would reveal such a thing. If I found him to be despicable than I would escape and he would never know that his daughter had come to him. But if I wasn't going to tell him that I was his daughter, then why would he bring me into his home? Oh, it didn't matter anymore! My mind was an endless chasm of doubts and anxieties. I already knew that this plan was hopeless. I banged my fist hard against the door. I pounded three times. I then felt my body seize from the cold and as I fell, I remembered thinking at that moment, how I had come so far, just to die at my father's doorstep.

Thomas

There I was, in the middle of the night, sitting at my desk in my humble study, staring at an empty page. Inspiration had fled my mind as though it were a man inside a burning building. As I looked at the empty page in front of me, I thought about the emptiness of my own life. I no longer cared about writing. I knew it was a waste of my time and it couldn't fill the void that was felt in my existence. I could not stop thinking about the prostitute from three nights ago. It had been so long since I had last lain with a woman. It was all I could think about. That warm, soft skin pressed up tightly against my body. Who was I trying to fool? I desperately needed a woman in my life again.

I was forty years old and being alone made me feel as though all the time I had spent on Earth had been wasted. What good is life if you're not in love? Not to say I had never been in love before. I loved my wife dearly, before fate had its way and took her from me. Poor woman. I wondered what my life would be like if she were still alive today. Realistically, I'd still be a poor man, as I was before. If she had not died, I would have never left for Australia. My wife and I would be struggling to make ends meet, fending for ourselves and our children and yet, it would all have been worth it. I was happy then. And now I was a miserable wretch who had all the money in the world and no one to share it with.

I arose from my chair and headed towards a table that had on its surface a bottle of rum and a stack of glasses. After I poured myself a strong drink, I returned to my desk and pondered on what I could write about. I finished the drink in one large gulp and then found myself pouring another. This time I grabbed the bottle and brought it back with me as I sat at my desk once again. I drank three more glasses, nearly finishing half the bottle and found myself now quite intoxicated. My mind felt somewhat clear and I was beginning to feel inspired again. My hand reached for a pen and just when I was about to bring it to the blank piece of parchment, I heard a knock echo down the hall. My stomach dropped, for I wondered who would be at my home at such an hour. Getting up from my chair, I slowly walked out of my study and peered my head down the hallway. My eyes were focused on my front door and I waited for another knock, but one did not come. I waited a couple moments and realized that whoever was there had probably gone. I returned to my study. While staring at the empty page on my desk, I then turned back and headed down the hallway.

I was now very curious about that knock. Who would come for me so late? Perhaps, it was a gang of hooligans playing tricks on my neighbors and I. I stood at the door and unlocked it. As I opened it, I felt a strong gust of wind blow against my face and body. I looked out at the street and found it being pelted hard by rain. My eyes peered down to my feet and to my astonishment, I found a body lying there. The body was draped in wet clothes. After I stared at it a little while longer, I realized that it was a young girl. I dared not touch her, for she could have been dead and I did not want to touch a corpse. I knelt down to take a look at her. After brushing away her wet hair, I stared at the girl's pale face and found it to be quite beautiful. I then rolled her over and found that her chest was moving up and down. She was alive! After taking a quick scan of the street to make sure that no one was watching me, I picked up the young girl and brought her inside. I closed the door behind me and locked it. I then leaned against a wall to try and process what was happening. Was she a beggar? It would appear so, for she smelt like garbage and was also covered in it.

I knelt down once more and yelled in her ear. She did not stir. The poor thing was unconscious. I pressed my hand against her forehead and found her skin to be deathly cold. If she did not warm up soon, she would surely die. I picked her up and carried her down the hallway and into my living room which had a large fireplace.

I kept shelves of books and an assortment of couches and chairs in this room. It was in here I did most of my reading. I placed the girl in front of the fire, after I had put a log on. Soon enough, the fire was roaring and I stood and watched the girl. I remarked at how pretty her face looked in the firelight, despite her lip being split open. I thought for a moment, that I had better remove her wet clothes. But then I realized that doing such a thing would be risky. The poor thing had probably been through so much already. I did not want her to wake and find that she had been undressed by a complete stranger.

As I waited for the poor creature to break out of unconsciousness, I took a seat and wondered what made her come to my door at so late an hour. Perhaps she had been driven out of her own home by some unfortunate circumstance and was seeking shelter. Or maybe she was a governess in search of work and had read my advertisement that I posted in the post office a few days ago. That would have been a good thing, for she was very beautiful and I would be glad to have her live here with me. But why did she smell like garbage? Surely, she was just a beggar looking for some food and a place to get out of the rain.

Some time passed and I was beginning to grow tired. I eventually went to my study to fetch my bottle of rum. When I returned, I found the girl was stirring. I took a seat on the couch in front of her and drank from my bottle. Soon, she sat up and looked around the room. When she saw me, she let out a small shriek. I put the bottle down and stood up.

"No need to be scared," I said to her. "Please, take a seat beside me, if you will."

The girl did not move. She just sat there in front of the fire and looked into my eyes. As I looked into hers, I noticed how big and bright and beautiful they were. But there was something else about her eyes that struck me. They seemed as though they were eyes I had looked into before. But I knew that this was just a trick, for I had never seen this charming girl ever in my life. She sat there for a long while, gazing up at me. It seemed as though she were studying my eyes as well and thinking the same thing. Could this be love? She looked no older than twenty years and no younger than seventeen. Perhaps this was the girl I had been looking for. If only I could have stopped my heart then and somehow learned the truth of who she really was. That way I could have saved her and myself, from a tragic fate.

"What is your name?" I asked her.

Her pale, expressionless face continued to stare at me. Finally, she opened her mouth and muttered the name Cassandra.

"Cassandra?" I repeated. "That is a nice name. What is your sir name?"

"I don't have one," she said after a pause.

"What?" I asked. "Do you have a family?"

She shook her head.

"Where do you come from?"

The girl sat there in silence. It seemed as though she were thinking very hard about what she was going to say next. Finally, she said, "I am an orphan. I never knew my parents. "

"I see," I said. "Well, for an orphan, you seem very well spoken."

"I was given to a family when I was a child," she said, her eyes on the floor now. "The father educated me. When I grew up, I was given to another family as a governess. But then the children whom I cared for grew older and the family no longer needed me."

"Aha!" I exclaimed. "So, you did see my advertisement. I knew you were not a beggar. You came here looking for work."

The girls' face looked somewhat distraught and confused by my words. But soon enough she nodded and said, "yes, I suppose I did."

"Good," I said. "But, Cassandra, why did you come here at this time? You could have died out there in this rain."

"I had nowhere else to go, sir," she said.

"Even so, it was quite the risk," I told her. "If I had not been awake and did not hear your knock, I'm afraid I would have found your corpse at my door in the morning. It was a very foolish thing of you to do to come here now."

The girl dropped her head and said, "yes, sir."

"Well, no matter," I said. "What is done is done. I think it would be best if we continued this interview in the morning, for I am quite tired and I'm sure you are as well. Goodness, I almost forgot! Wait here."

I then arose from the couch, made my way up the stairs and into my bedroom. I had forgotten to bring a candle with me and I was now in the pitch blackness of the night. I felt my way around and came to a dresser. I opened the bottom drawer where I kept my wife's old clothes. After grabbing what I could, I headed back down the stairs and returned to Cassandra. I found her huddled around the fire, clutching at her knees. She looked very deep in thought and I did not want to disturb her, for she looked very beautiful while sitting there, deep inside her own troubled mind.

"Cassandra," I said.

She turned her head to stare at me. I could see tears welling in her eyes. I slowly walked over to her and gave her the dress.

"Put this on dear. You must get out of those wet clothes."

She wiped her eyes.

"Thank you, sir," she said, grabbing them.

I exited the room once more and waited for her to get changed. Suddenly, my own deranged thoughts began to take hold of me. As I stood there, I began to wonder what the beautiful creatures body looked like when naked. I began to desire her deeply. I potentially had a young mistress and I envisioned myself getting close with her over the next few days. Perhaps, I would even marry this girl. Was there a god after-all? Had he heard my prayers and sent me this poor, pretty thing? It had been so long since I had a woman. Now I could be with one so young and ripe with life. It was just what I needed after so many years of crippling loneliness.

"I am finished, sir," I heard her soft voice call.

I reentered the room and found Cassandra stranding in front of the fire; dressed in my deceased wife's' clothes. I nearly dropped to the ground in shock, for this strange girl was not only wearing my wife's' old clothes, but she looked almost identical to her when she was a young woman. Cassandra had the same auburn hair and slim body type as Anna had, and the dress fit almost perfectly on her; for both women were around the same height. I walked up close and leaned against the couch in bewilderment. Was I perhaps too drunk? Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Before I knew it, my eyes were wet with tears, as I gazed at this girl and silently reflected on how much she looked like my dear, Anna.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Cassandra asked me.

I broke from my spell and took a seat on the couch.

"No, dear child," I said. "Please, come sit next to me."

She did as I told her.

It felt good sitting next to this pretty girl, even if she smelt like garbage. I turned to stare at her and studied her face. It was strange how identical her features were to my wife's. Suddenly, she opened her mouth and asked me, "what is your name?"

I was confused by the question.

"Well, surely, my name was in the advertisement, was is not?"

That seemed to have troubled her.

"Sorry," she said. "I forgot it. I only wrote down your address."

"Not to worry," I told her. "My name is Thomas Herring."

"Herring," she repeated to herself. It looked as though my last name gave her some sort of comfort.

We sat there in silence for a long while. Finally, I stood up and said, "my, you must be very hungry. Can I prepare you something to eat, Cassandra?"

"No, thank you," she said. "I am not hungry at this moment. Just very tired."

"Of course," I said. "It is very late. I suspect dawn will be approaching soon. Let me show you to a room where you can sleep."

I stood up and led the girl through the main floor of my home and up the stairs. This time I brought a candle with me so that I was not walking blindly. When we had reached the top of the stairs, I led her passed my bedroom and into a large room at the very end of the hall. In all my years I had lived in that manor, I had never stayed in this room for too long. It was a very strange room. Inside, was a large bed and a tall wardrobe in the far-right corner. The walls were painted red and the bed itself had red sheets and the curtains that draped over the large window were also red. I'm not sure why this room had so much red in it, but it always fascinated me. I chose this particular room for Cassandra to sleep in because it was the only room upstairs that was as large as mine.

As I set the candle down on a table next to the door, I lit a dozen of others. I found Cassandra walking about the red room and observing its strange, red details. I watched her as she did so, not saying a thing for quite some time. Finally, I broke the silence.

"There is a room with a tub down the hall when you want to wash yourself."

Cassandra turned to stare at me and smiled.

"Could I wash myself now?"

"Yes, of course," I told her. "I'll warm some water for you. I won't be long."

I then grabbed a candle and exited the red room. About twenty or so minutes later, I had a tub filled with hot water. Inside, I lit plenty of more candles. I put a bar of soap on a stool next to the tub as well and folded a clean towel. When all was prepared, I entered the red room and found Cassandra sitting on the edge of the bed. Her head was in her hands and she was softly weeping. I asked her if she was alright. When she heard my voice, the girl looked up in surprise.

"Sorry," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. I've had a very long day."

I could tell this poor, helpless creature had been through some hard trials in her life, but it was too late in the evening to talk of such things.

"I understand," I told her. "The tub is now ready for you. Be sure to clean that lip of yours as well, it looks like it hurt."

I wanted to ask what had happened but I felt as though it were not my place just yet.

She stood up and followed me down the hallway and into the washroom. When we entered, Cassandra's face lit up as she stared at the tub.

"It looks lovely," she said.

I smiled at her and quickly looked away. I could feel my heart pound in my chest, for the girl looked even more beautiful when she looked happy.

"There's some soap on the stool there and a towel right next to it," I told her. "If you need anything else, I'll be in the room down the hall closest to the stairs."

She gazed into my eyes and said, "thank you."

My heart throbbed once more, as I gazed back into hers. I was reminded on how familiar her eyes were. Perhaps, this was a sign that I was falling in love. I bowed to her and left the room. I walked down the hall and entered my bedchamber. I did not close the door, for I wanted to hear the girl in case she called for anything. As I took off my house coat and lay on my bed, I thought on everything that had happened this night. So strange the situation I was in now. I was not a godly man, but for a moment, as I lay there in the pitch black of night, I thought on how quickly my empty prayers were answered. It was almost impossible for me to imagine that there was a beautiful young girl bathing in the room next to mine now. The more I thought about it, the more I desired her. I imagined her nakedness again. How her smooth, pale skin, was soaking in the hot water I had prepared for her. It had been so long since I had last been truly aroused. The feeling itself felt almost foreign to me. I lay there longer, pondering on my naughty, natural thoughts, when suddenly, I heard the sweet voice of Cassandra echo through the hall. She was singing. The sound was gentle and sweet and yet full of despair. Cassandra sang with grace and could undeniably break a thousand hearts at a time. I listened closely and wondered what song she was singing.

Many moments passed by and the girl continued singing. I arose from my bed, grabbed my housecoat and quietly walked down the hall. I was heading towards the washroom where Cassandra was bathing in. When I was close to it, I leaned my back against the wall and listened. Apart from her beautiful voice, I heard the splashing of water. My mind envisioned Cassandra washing herself. After a few minutes, I peered my head and found that the door was not fully closed. In fact, it was half open. I quietly edged myself nearer so I could look inside. My eyes saw the back of Cassandra's head as she sat up in the tub. Her long, auburn hair was tied up in a bun and she had one arm straight up in the air, as she rubbed soap in her armpit. How badly I wanted to join her in the tub. She continued singing and suddenly, she pulled her hair out of its bun. The girl then ducked underneath the water.

Cassandra was now completely submerged. The silence was eerie, as I waited for her to return to the surface. It seemed like a very long time since she had gone under. Was the girl perhaps drowning herself? Would I have to go in there and rescue her? My heart began to race and just before I was about to go in, she came up and took a deep breath. I sighed with relief. No longer was she singing. Instead, she sat completely still and silent. Cassandra then turned to stare towards the door and I was close to being caught, as I quickly pulled my head away. Had she perhaps heard my breathing? I stood still as a statue. Before long, she began singing again and I sneaked back to my room and threw myself underneath the covers. After a couple minutes passed, I heard Cassandra get out of the water. I lay there longer and eventually heard the girl walk to her room and shut the door. Soon enough, I fell into a deep sleep.

I dreamed of my dead wife and her long, auburn hair.

Rosella

It is hard for me to describe what I was feeling when I had awoken on that strangers' floor. I was conscious of the fact that I should have been dead. I was dreadfully cold and very tired. I found myself opening my eyes and at first, I thought I were in heaven. But soon, I felt all my pain and worries return to me and knew I was still on this horrible Earth.

After realizing I could move my fingers, I sat up straight and looked around. I was near a fire. I then turned my head and saw a man sitting on a couch, staring at me. He held a glass full of a dark substance. His face seemed unfamiliar and yet it was not a stranger's face. His eyes stared into mine and for a moment we were lost together in a world beyond our senses. The man was dressed in a black house coat and he looked somewhere between the age of thirty and forty-five. Was this my father? It seemed like ages before any of us spoke and yet somehow, I knew it was only a matter of seconds before the man opened his mouth to address me.

"No need to be scared," he said. "Please, take a seat beside me, if you will."

I did not respond. Instead, I gazed into his eyes, hoping I could somehow tell whether or not this man was truly my father. Perhaps he had been expecting me and knew exactly who I was. How badly I wanted to confess. But I held back. I wanted to know what sort of man he was first. He continued to stare at me and after a while, he took a small sip from his glass and asked for my name.

Both my eyes and my stomach dropped at that moment. I looked to the ground and thought about what I was going to say. If, for the time being, I was going to keep my true identity from him then this would be my only chance. I then told him my name was Cassandra.

"Cassandra," he repeated. "That is a nice name. What is your surname?"

I took a moment to respond and answered him honestly.

"I don't have one."

I could tell he found that strange. The man went on to ask me about my family and I told him I was an orphan and that I never knew my parents, which was hardly a lie. I then made up a story about being adopted and getting home-schooled and then going on to become a governess, but was let go after the children no longer needed me.

All of this I could tell was very amusing to the stranger. After explaining this to him, he interjected by stating that I must have been here on account of my answering his advertisement. It turned out; he was looking for a governess himself. I went along with it, for it saved me from making up my own reason for being here. Of course, the man found it odd that I had traveled in the pouring rain and so late in the evening. He was shocked that I risked my life for employment. How desperate I must have seen to him!

Suddenly, the man I presumed to be my father, got up and left the room. I was then left alone, sitting in front of the fire. My lip hurt very much and I inspected the wound with the tip of my finger. How could I explain this to him? I was still very cold and very wet, but I was relieved that the man was being so understanding and not being too suspicious of me. It was clear that he was not expecting his daughter after-all and I was very relieved that he thought me a simple woman looking for a job. But it was also very odd to me that the man was in need of a governess, for he did not have any children. At least, I did not think he did. Was it possible he had re-married? Was I disrupting this poor man as his new family lay upstairs, asleep? I felt as though I were a tremendous burden. I knew now that it would be unwise of me to tell him of my true intentions, for if he did have a family, did I want to force myself into his life? It seemed quite rude of me to do such a thing to a person. Tears began to well in my eyes, as I reflected on how absurd my position was. I thought about getting up to leave and exit this man's life forever, when suddenly, he returned.

In his arms he carried a rouge colored dress. It was very pretty. As he handed it to me, I wondered who it belonged to. If the man had re-married then the dress would most likely belong to his new wife. But if he hadn't, was it possible the dress once belonged to my mother?

"Put this on, dear," he said. "You must get out of those wet clothes."

After wiping tears from my eyes, I grabbed the dress and watched as the man again exited the room. The dress was very worn in and fit me perfectly. I tried looking for a mirror but could not find one. I then stared into the fire and wondered what he was going to think when he saw me in it. A couple moments passed by and I called for him.

The man entered the room and stared at me. The look on his face showed he was quite taken by my appearance. For quite some time neither of us spoke. The stranger, who I suspected to be my father, looked at me as though he were seeing a ghost. But he did not look frightened, instead he looked bewildered and amused. If he was truly my father and this dress used to be my mothers, then he could have been taken by the resemblance of I to her. All of this I suspected as I gazed into his eyes and part of me was hoping that the man would see that I was indeed his daughter and that he would embrace me as such. However, the moment passed by and the man's expression turned into sadness. I asked him if something was wrong.

"No dear child," he said. "Please, come sit next to me."

I did as he told me and soon enough the two of us sat face to face with one another. I could smell liquor on his breath. I myself had never tried liquor and I never was sure of the effect it had on people. Sister Mareth, an old, grumpy nun at Bronte Academy, used to drink rum in her office and one night I visited her and marveled at how strong the scent was. I wondered if this man was going to offer me any. If he did, I knew I'd decline, for it smelt as though it were poison. Surely, those who drank poison must have something wrong with them. I was foolish of course to think such a thing, for even great men and women in the Bible drank wine. But I was not in a right state of mind then and I was looking for something to find wrong with the man whom I assumed to be my father. I wanted desperately to notice a flaw in him, in case he was anything like Mr. Diavolo and those other men who treated me so horribly, earlier that day.

Suddenly, I realized that I did not know the man's name and asked him what it was. He was confused by this, for he was sure I would know his name from the advertisement he had put out. After-all, he thought I was there on account of my answering this advertisement. I was quick to say that I had forgotten his name and only had a chance to write down his address. He gave me a quizzical look, but nonetheless gave me his name. It was Thomas Herring. I repeated the name dozens of times in my head. It was strange that his name had not appeared on the letter that was given to me by Sister Emily

After a couple more silent and awkward moments, Thomas offered me some supper. I declined, for I had no appetite. Thomas finished his glass and decided to show me to a room I could spend the night in. As he led me through the various hallways, I marveled at how large his home was. We passed by so many doors on the way that I wondered what was behind them all. I wanted to explore this home and see for myself all the rooms and nooks that made up this wonderful place. Of course, I had never been in such a residence before. Bronte was an ugly world. Its walls and floors were all old and rusting away. Thinking back to it now, everything was gray and lifeless there.

Soon, we came to a winding staircase and at its top, we traveled down another hallway with doors on either side of us, each leading to different, mysterious rooms. Finally, we came to a room at the very end of the hall. Thomas opened the door and led me inside. I was half expecting the man to tell me to be quiet because his family was fast asleep, but he did not say a word. This made me feel more confident that Thomas lived here alone. Why he was in need a of a governess, however, was still a mystery.

Inside, Thomas lit some more candles. There was a large bed in the center of the room and judging by the condition of the blankets and pillows, it had not been slept in for years. On the left of the bed was a large window hidden behind thick curtains and in the very back corner was a wardrobe which was large enough for me to sleep in. The room was perfect except for one detail that I found to be quite odd. Everything in here was red. From the bed, to the curtains, to the walls and the rugs, everything was colored a deep red. I wondered why this was so, but I did not ask, for I did not want to seem ungrateful to him for letting me stay in such a marvelous place. Thomas was watching me closely as I studied the room. Finally, he broke the silence by telling me there was a tub next door.

"Could I wash myself now?" I asked him, excitingly. It had been so long since I had bathed myself and I was worried if I was giving off a foul odor. My hair was a matted mess and even though it had been quite some time since I had caught a reflection of my appearance, I was sure that there was dirt all over my face. It was a wonder that this man had let such a woman in my state into his home.

"Yes, of course," Thomas said to me. "I'll warm some water for you. I won't be long."

When he had left the room, I took a seat on the bed and put my head into my hands. At that point, all of my anxieties and doubts poured into my brain as though a dam had broken. I wondered how long I could keep my true identity from Thomas. If he were truly my father, surely, he would understand and would welcome me with open arms? I then thought about Mr. Diavolo and those two other men and how they had treated me. I began to shake and become sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe how horrible those experiences had been. When I thought about what could have happened to me, I nearly vomited. My head began to pound and the room began to spin. What if this man was planning to do the same to me? Perhaps he was no different.

Of course, these were the kinds of thoughts that plagued my mind at the time. I felt disgusted by what had happened to me earlier and I feared that I would never be able to get over it. How would Thomas react after I told him I was his daughter? Of course, I should have just told him the truth right there and then. But I didn't. I was still too shaken by what had happened to me earlier. I kept acting as this woman named Cassandra. Little did I know then, how destructive this choice of mine would turn out to be.

Eventually, I heard footsteps and looked up and saw Thomas staring at me. He looked troubled, for he had come in and seen me weeping. I expected he wanted to be rid of me as soon as possible. Who would let such a burden into their home? I was ready to hear Thomas tell me to leave, but instead he asked me if everything was alright. I apologized to him and wiped the tears from my eyes. I then told him that I had had a very long day, which was true of course. If only he knew the half of it. Thomas told me the tub was ready, so I got up and followed him into the hallway. He also advised that I clean my lip. I was relieved that he didn't ask me what happened.

Thomas showed me into a room that was filled with candlelight. In the middle of the room I saw a tub full of steaming water. Next to it was a stool with a white towel on it and a bar of soap. My heart throbbed at this scene for it was very beautiful. I remembered back to my days at Bronte and the disgusting bathtubs we were made to wash ourselves in. The water was usually very cold and we poor girls had to share the tubs together. Two at a time we went in and never got to relax in the water, for there was always a nun supervising us. I remember one time, Lilly Allen, a girl that was a year younger than me, was seen cleaning her private parts for far too long. She was pulled out of the tub by Sister Karen, who was watching us at that time and beat the poor girl senseless. From then on, the rest of us girls were always sure to never put our hands beneath the water for more than a couple seconds.

I stood in the doorway in a daze thinking back to these times and appreciated what I had now in front of me. I turned to Thomas and thanked him. He looked very handsome and distinguished in the candlelight. I very much hoped that this man was my father, for at that moment, he seemed very kind and incapable of evil. Surely, I would tell Thomas the truth soon enough. Maybe even tomorrow morning. He seemed very kind and I was perhaps being too suspicious of him. It seemed I had settled the matter right there in my mind. He left me to it and I closed the door, but not fully.

I then took off the rouge colored dress and dipped my toes into the water. Soon enough, I climbed in and lay with my head rested on the edge of the tub. I then closed my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so comfortable. I tried to erase everything from my mind and just focus on what was happening now. A smile appeared on my face and I began to softly hum a tune that I learned at Bronte. The humming soon changed into singing and before I could think of stopping myself, the words drifted into the night air and echoed in that tiny bathroom.

The song I sung was Ave Maria. The words were sung in Latin, but I knew what each word meant and in this moment, for the first time in my life, the song truly spoke to me. I sung the whole thing twice through, as I washed my body and brushed my hair. I then went underneath the water and stayed there, submerged for as long as I could. I imagined myself being baptized again and becoming a new woman in a completely new world. After returning to the surface, I felt somewhat transformed and yet, my anxieties still felt just as strong, if not stronger. I wish I could have stayed underneath the water forever, for there the outside world seemed to no longer exist and I was far away from all my troubles. I sat there still and silent, trying to clear my restless mind. Soon, I heard a sound come from behind me and I turned to look at the doorway. I saw nothing, turned back around and silently resumed washing myself.

The water was beginning to get cold and tears began to run down my cheeks, as I realized that it was now time to leave the bath. To me, the bath signified security and now I was about to leave that security and enter back into the world of the uncertain. I was all too familiar with the uncertain, for the uncertain was my life and where all my suffering existed. I was glad to spend time in a place where I felt secure for once, even if it was for a short while. I got out of that tub, dried myself and crept quietly towards the red room. I blew out the candles in there and went underneath the covers of the big, red bed and fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, I found an unusual painting nailed to the ceiling right above me. I had seen this painting before, for it was hung at Bronte in a back corner of the library. The painting was called The Beheading of Saint Dymphna. I had been taught about the saint and recalled her tragic story as I stared into the painting underneath those warm, red covers. I thought deeply about the poor woman and all she had suffered. What I could recall about St. Dymphna was that she had a father named Damon, who was a pagan king. Her mother was a devout Christian and died when Dymphna was only fourteen years old. After her death, Damon was pressured to re-marry and he agreed to do so only if he could find a bride that was equally beautiful as his deceased wife. After a long search, Dymphana's father began to desire his own daughter, for she was the only one as beautiful as her mother. After Dymphana learned this, she fled her father and her country. When she thought she was safe, she opened up a hospice and treated the sick. But eventually, King Damon found where she had fled to and tried to take her back. But poor Dymphana refused to marry him and for this, her own father cut off her head.

I got lost in this painting and recalled all my own sufferings and sure enough, this saint gave me strength and I no longer felt so alone. I rose out of the bed and made for the window. I pulled back the red curtains and saw a little garden beneath me with a wooden fence all around it. The garden seemed as though it had been unattended for years and I wondered why that was so. Perhaps, Thomas cared very little for it. That made me feel uncomfortable. If he could not care for a garden maybe he could not care for anything. I then wondered if I would ever get the chance to go to that garden and tend to it myself. That would make me happy. At Bronte Academy, I loved gardening. It gave me a chance to forget everything in my life and just focus on the beauty of nature and the miracle of life and growth. I stared at that garden for a long while, until I heard a tap on the door.

I turned to find Thomas standing in the doorway and staring at me. In his hands he held a tray with tea cups, a kettle and a small plate with some bread on it. He stared at me for a long while without saying anything. I wondered what he was thinking about. Whenever his eyes were on me, it was as though he were studying me and thinking about something that gave him both joy and displeasure.

"Good morning Cassandra," he said. "I thought you would like some tea. I've got some bread here as well, for you must be very hungry."

I thought about it and found I was not hungry in the least. Which was strange for I had not eaten anything in a very long time. Thomas then walked towards the bed and put the tray down. I wanted to ask him about the painting on the ceiling and why he had it in his possession, but I thought against it. I was very careful not to say anything that would upset him, for I was still weary of men, after what I had encountered the day before.

"I see you slept in that dress," he said. "I should have found you a nightgown."

"I was very comfortable," I told him. "Thank you."

He nodded and then asked me how my bath was. I told him I had never enjoyed a bath like that in all my life. Thomas smiled. We then stood in silence for a short while when suddenly I asked him something that had been on my mind all evening.

"Who did this dress belong to?"

His eyes traveled to the window.

"I'll tell you some other time," he said, slowly. "I don't want to dive too deeply into my personal life just yet, Cassandra. We barely know one another. First, we must get to business. I'll find you some clothes and then after you are dressed, I'll meet you downstairs in my study and we can talk about your employment."

I had nearly forgotten that I was pretending to be an applicant. I still did not understand why a man who lived on his own was in need of a governess. I was much too young to be entrusted as a caretaker, so why he needed a young woman in his home was beyond me. But I put this all aside as I remembered I had made up my mind last night to tell this man today, my true reason for being here.

"I have some matters to attend to," Thomas said. "If you look in the closet here, I'm sure you will find some clothes."

He then bowed slightly and left the room.

I watched him leave and wondered what he was thinking about. He must have found it very odd that I showed up to his home without so much as a handbag. I had nothing from Bronte that I could have brought with me. The sooner I told this man the truth, the better. Thomas must have been very suspicious of me and yet he did not seem so. He looked at me in a rather strange way. There was no hint of judgment in his eyes. It almost seemed as though he had been waiting for me and was glad that I had finally arrived.

I ate a small amount of bread and took a few sips of tea. I then made my way to the closet and looked for some clothes. Inside, there was a stacked pile of garments and I sorted through them and found a wrinkled red dress. I put it on and found it fit me quite well. I wondered once more who these clothes had belonged to. After tying my hair up, I made for the door. Suddenly, I felt a shiver run up my spine and began to feel very cold. I convinced myself I was cold because the house was. Making my way down the spiral staircase, I came to the hall and realized that I did not know where Thomas's study was. I searched three or four rooms and finally came to it. I found Thomas sitting as a desk. He had in front of himself a piece of parchment with some writing on it. In his hand he held a cup of tea and was taking a sip when he heard me come in.

"Cassandra," he said. "That was fast. Come in, please. Take a seat."

Thomas pulled a chair from beside himself and I walked over to take a seat in it. After we were both seated, he pulled out a blank piece of parchment.

"Well," he said. "You told me enough about yourself last night, so I'll just get on with it. Now, the reason I am looking for someone at the moment, is because I am in the process of writing a novel and I cannot be bothered by daily tasks that require my attention. My previous caretaker was an older woman and she died about a year ago. Ever since, I have been looking for someone to replace her. The reason I stated in my advertisement that I was in need of a governess instead of a caretaker, was because I wanted to get the attention of a young woman. The reason being that older women are rather sickly and cannot perform as well as a younger woman can. As you can tell, I do not have any children, so of course you would not be a governess. But I shall pay you the same as if you were one."

I sat there in silence and stared at my hands.

"So, Cassandra," Thomas said, nervously. "What do you think?"

I thought about it and knew that once I told him I was his daughter; everything would change.

I felt incredibly nauseous, suddenly. Another shiver went up my spine and I felt light headed. I knew then that something was wrong.

"You're a writer?" I asked him, trying to take my mind off my sudden sickness. "Have you gotten anything published?"

He leaned back in his chair and said, "no. Not yet anyway."

"What do you write?"

"Well," he said. "Sometimes I write stories and sometimes I write poetry. Often times I write about my dreams and once or twice I've written a suicide note."

I stared at him in shock.

"Come now," Thomas said. "It was a joke. If you're going to work for me you must get used to my morose sense of humor. Anyways, what I am writing now is a novel. I'll tell you all about it some other time. Getting back to my offer though Cassandra, what do you think?"

I realized that it was about time that I told this man why I was truly there. No longer did I want to hold this truth from him. I was about to begin my tale when I felt another shiver crawl up my spine. I felt very cold once more and my head began to feel as though it were being crushed.

"Cassandra?" I heard Thomas say. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine," I said, slowly. "It's very cold in here, don't you think?"

"That's odd," he said. "I feel quite warm myself."

I then clutched at my chest, for my breathing became very heavy. I could no longer see straight and felt incredibly dizzy. I heard Thomas rise from his chair and rush over to me. He pressed the back of his hand against my cheeks and forehead and announced that I felt very warm. I thought of poor Lizzie May and the fever that had taken her life. Nothing more could I remember, for at that moment, I fainted and did not wake until many days later.

End of Part One 
