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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 4, 2008 18:21:23 GMT -5
“But that time will come eventually,” Esmé sobbed. “So why not get a head start?”
“Because it isn’t the best way to go about things,” Jerome said gently, stroking his wife’s hair in the hope that it would comfort her somewhat. “Because it’s just—”
“Esmé?”
The sudden voice with its unintentionally booming tone was enough to force a loud scream from the financial advisor, and she buried her face in her husband’s chest without looking up to see who it might be.
Holding Esmé tightly, Jerome turned toward the sound of the voice. He smiled at the sight of Carmelita and Nero standing in the entrance to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Nero said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s alright,” Jerome assured him. “Esmé’s just a little jumpy right now.”
As far as Carmelita was concerned, the word term “a little jumpy” was an understatement if ever she’d heard one. Judging by the look on Esmé’s face and the way she was trembling in her husband’s arms, she looked likely to keel over into a dead faint at any moment.
“I… I heard a noise,” she said shakily, “from the next room.”
Nero cleared his throat. “That would’ve been me,” he said. “It’s starting to rain lightly outside. I noticed there was a window open, so I closed it.”
“Well, that was very considerate of you, Nero,” Jerome said. “Why don’t you and Carmelita come in and sit with us a moment until dinner’s ready?”
“Nero told me all about what that horrible Colette Widdershins said to you, Esmé,” Carmelita said as she took a seat next to her mother. “Are you alright?”
Esmé nodded, her cheek pressed against her husband’s chest while her fingers clung desperately to his shirt. “Colette had every right to say what she did,” Esmé said, as more tears slid down her cheeks and stained Jerome’s shirt.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 5, 2008 8:20:27 GMT -5
Carmelita could feel herself becoming angrier and angrier as the seconds passed. She had no idea why Esmé and Jerome had agreed to have Colette and her husband stay in the penthouse again after all the trouble they had caused the night before, and she was finding that she liked Colette even less than she had the first time she had become acquainted with the contortionist.
'No, Esmé,' she eventually said in response. 'She had no right to make you so upset. The fire wasn't your fault, and Colette cannot just walk in here and blame you for eveything--'
'But if I'd never--' Esmé sniffed.
'--No,' her adopted daughter repeated, more insistently than before. 'You have to stop thinking like this, Esmé! What good will it do?'
Before Esmé was able to answer a cough sounded from the doorway, and both Colette and Fernald stood in the doorway, looking particularly embarrassed.
Esmé instanly turned away and wiped away her tears, but Carmelita stared straight ahead at the blonde former circus performer.
'What?' she snapped unpleasantly, and Jerome and Nero both jumped at her tone.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 5, 2008 11:47:44 GMT -5
“We thought we’d come and find you,” Fernald said, his eyes scanning over the faces of everyone at the table. “After the display in the hall, we thought an apology was in order.”
“Funny you should say that,” Carmelita said indignantly, “when it was your wife and not you who caused all the trouble earlier.”
Fernald glanced briefly at Nero, who the hook-handed man supposed must have informed his wife of the events that had unfolded between the Squalors and the Widdershins. Fernald couldn’t blame Nero, considering that he had played a significant part in ending the entire ordeal. Fernald just wished that he wasn’t being made to feel so damn awkward. He received enough of that at work when he was trying to pick up a can to set on the shelf, only to have it slip from his grasp seconds later.
“I’d like to apologize for my previous words,” Colette said, her eyes focused on her feet rather than on the face of the person she was supposedly apologizing to. “It was a terrible implication to make, and I’m sorry.”
Esmé herself had to wonder if any of what the retired circus performer had just said was true, taking into account that Colette was refusing to meet her eyes. Esmé knew that Fernald had most likely forced his wife to apologize, and the financial advisor smiled slightly at her former accomplice to let him know that his effort was appreciated.
“It’s alright, Colette,” Esmé said, wiping away what remained of her tears. She was still very upset, and she hoped not to spend anymore time with the contortionist that evening. “What’s done is done.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 5, 2008 15:40:37 GMT -5
Colette looked up at her husband with slightly raised eyebrows, and Jerome shook his head slightly. It was worse somehow that the former circus performer had apologized without meaning it than not apologizing at all. Had he not been so worried for the safety of everyone in the penthouse he would have requested that the Widdershins return home at once regardless of the friendship between their daughters.
'Nero, Carmelita,' he said. 'Why don't you show Mr and Mrs Widdershins to the dining room, while I plate up the food.' He waited until his fiery-haired adopted daughter had swept out of the room, followed by her husband and the Widdershins'--Fernald offering an apologetic smile on his way out--to turn to his wife.
'Would you mind fetching the girls, Andrew and Cora for me, darling?' he asked pleasantly. 'I would, but it's just--'
'Not at all,' she replied, standing and sniffing one last time. She was very upset, but she had always enjoyed talking to Andrew and Cora, and she felt it might make her feel a little better.
However, the moment she turned the corner into the corridor, she could hear voices behind one of the doors leading into the parlour.
'So you don't think it's even a little suspect then, Andrew?' asked the slightly trembling voice of Cora Squalor, and as much as Esmé didn't want to listen she still pressed her ear against the door curiously. 'You don't think it's even slightly strange that he's turned up again just the same as last time? It's only a matter if time before she's run off with him again, and we're all back where we were fourteen years ago!
Esmé felt tears rising to her eyes again after that. She had grown to almos love Cora over the years since she had returned to the city, and to hear her talk so similarly to Maxwell Squalor was very distressing indeed.
'No, Mother,' Andrew spoke softly, similarly to his elder brother, but he had always been a little more outspoken, and a little more willing to argue. 'That simply isn't true. Esmé's so upset about what has happened--'
'--Oh, of course!' she laughed. 'Because that's proof, after all. She's probably pretending to cry to fool poor Jerome, and then one day we'll wake up and she'll be gone, and we'll all have been fooled all over again!'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 5, 2008 16:37:20 GMT -5
That was all it took before an idea began to brew itself thickly in Esmé’s mind. With tears literally streaming down her face, she fled down the hallway to the bedroom, doing so quickly so that no one would spot her.
How could Cora say that about her? Did Jerome’s mother actually believe that Esmé’s post-partum depression, clinical depression, and panic attacks were all part of some elaborate, desperate act? Cora’s allegations managed to override the honest words of her son, who had never doubted Esmé’s nobility for even a moment.
The instant she arrived at the master bedroom, she shut the door, too upset to remember to lock it. She raced over to the dresser and began sifting through her husband’s sock drawer until she found what she was looking for. Rolling down the sleeve of her dress, she held up her arm in front of the mirror. Holding the razor blade against her milk-white skin, she closed her eyes and pressed down just below her wrist at the front of her arm. She trailed several inches down, stopping directly above her elbow. She wanted desperately to punish herself, but her self-loathing wasn’t strong enough to make her want to end her life.
The pain was all it took for Esmé’s eyes to flash open, and when she saw what she had done, she let out a little sob. It had never occurred to her that Jerome was going to eventually notice, and that Jerome was going to be tremendously upset, and that Jerome was going to demand what had driven her to do such a thing. He was probably wondering what was keeping her, not to mention Cora and Andrew. Sobbing, Esmé dropped the razor blade down on the dresser and rushed into the attached bathroom.
Switching on the faucet, she thrust her arm underneath the water, watching the blood as it mixed and flowed down the drain.
“Esmé? Are you in here?”
Esmé’s heart leaped into her throat at the sound of the voice, and she threw her hand over the cut on her arm.
But it was no use. A few moments later, Jerome appeared in the open doorway. His eyes traveled from Esmé’s face to her arm and back again.
“Esmé,” he gasped. “What have you done?”
Esmé opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a frantic, high-pitched cry.
Rather than ask questions, Jerome rushed into the bathroom and began rummaging through the lower cabinet until he came across a roll of gauze and some antibiotic ointment. Switching off the sink’s tap, he grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around Esmé’s arm before sitting her down on the toilet seat. Even through her tears, she was still able to make out the ones in her husband’s own eyes.
“I’m sorry, Jerome,” Esmé said. “But I… I couldn’t help it.”
“What did you do it with?” Jerome asked shakily as he unwrapped the towel from around her arm to examine her wound.
“One of your razor blades.”
Jerome could have kicked himself for not hiding those items more carefully, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he carefully applied a generous amount of antibiotic ointment to his wife’s injury and then bandaged her arm in the gauze.
“Darling, why?” he asked. “Why did you do this?”
Esmé sniffled, watching as Jerome began to stroke the area of her arm through the bandage where she had cut it. “I heard your mother and brother talking,” she began. “Cora believes that I plan to run off with Olaf, and leave you and Emma behind, and—”
“What?!” Jerome exclaimed, accidentally jerking her arm forward in the process and causing her to let out a little cry of pain. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. My mother actually said that?”
Esmé nodded. “She thinks that my being upset is all an act!” she cried. “She honestly believes I’m going to leave you for that horrible man, and I’m not going to, Jerome! I won’t!”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 6, 2008 15:43:57 GMT -5
Rather than show his incredib;e level of anger towards his mother for speaking about his beloved wife that way, Jerome simply leant forwards and wrapped Esmé in his arms, patting her back comfortingly. 'I know, darling,' he said quietly, looking ahead at the wall and wondering if Andrew had agreed. 'I know you wouldn't.'
After she had sobbed into his shoulder for a minute, she seemed about ready to calm down, and he kissed her gently on the lips before helping her stand.
'You don't have to come to dinner if you don't want to, sweetheart,' he said caringly. What was the use making her eat when she was already feeling so obviously awful? It was better she went for a lie down somewhere she couldn't find the razors--he pledged to hide them all over again later on, and felt like throwing them out on the spot--rather than upsetting herself further. 'How does your arm feel?' he asked, stroking back her dark hair from her face.
'Not great,' she sniffed. 'But bearable. Thank you for dressing it for me, darling.'
He smiled softly, no matter how badly he felt. He led her back to the master bedroom and set her up in the bed with a few pillows and an extra blanket over her. 'I'll bring you some fish later on, sweetheart,' he said. 'Try and get some sleep for now.'
'I'm sorry, Jerome,' his wife said rather abruptly. 'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I know how much it upsets you---'
He placed a finger over her lips and then kissed away the tears that had begun to gather on her cheeks. 'Where did you say my mother was?'
~
Just as Cora had come to the end of her speech about Esmé and her reasons for being so upset and finally settled down, her eldest son appeared in the doorway.
Andrew could tell something was wrong by the shadows that had gathered under his eyes and the way his lips had thinned into a frown.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 6, 2008 18:39:53 GMT -5
“Mother,” Jerome said, his voice low and harsh. “We need to talk.”
“What a coincidence!” Cora Squalor exclaimed. Her tone was a little too cheerful for Jerome’s taste, and he quickly found himself growing incredibly annoyed with her for it. “I was just talking to your brother.”
“Yes,” replied Jerome as he strode into the parlor. “And isn’t it funny, Mother, that that just so happens to be the exact topic of discussion that I’ve come to have with you.”
“Jerome,” Andrew asked, “is everything alright?”
Jerome saw no reason for keeping what had happened to Esmé a secret, seeing as everyone under the penthouse roof (excluding the Widdershins) were family. He had no idea how he was going to explain the circumstances to Emma, as both she and Carmelita were bound to be just as upset about what had happened to Esmé as he was.
“No, Andrew,” Jerome said. “Everything is not alright. Not in the least.”
“Why, whatever is the matter, Jerome?” Cora asked, bewildered.
“Either you’re an incredible liar, Mother, or you’re incredibly careless.”
“Jerome! I’m shocked! What is the meaning of—”
“I’ll tell you exactly what the meaning of my shocking behavior is,” Jerome finished snappishly, and both Cora and Andrew stared at him in astonishment. “Esmé was on her way to retrieve you for dinner, when she overheard yours and Andrew’s conversation. What you said affected her so deeply that she saw fit to punish herself by taking a razor blade to her arm.”
Andrew inhaled sharply through his mouth, before covering it with one hand. He knew that his sister-in-law suffered from an extensive amount of clinical depression and had self-harming tendencies. But he had never imagined in any of the fourteen years he had known her that she was capable of mutilating herself.
Cora, on the other hand, was less sympathetic. And it was to the disgust of her two sons when she shook her head and chuckled, as if Jerome had just told a very humorous joke.
“Honestly, Jerome,” Cora said. “Are you really so set in your loyalty to that woman that you would allow her to control you in such a way?”
“How dare you say such a thing!” Jerome hissed, and even in his anger managed to keep his voice low for fear Esmé might overhear. “My wife bled because of you!”
“Self-mutilators very often do,” replied Cora calmly. “They do it as a way to control those around them. They’re no different from bulimics.” She paused, and smiled a bit. “If I’m not mistaken, wasn’t it you who once told me that Esmé suffered from an eating disorder as a teenager?”
Jerome clenched his teeth together, grinding them silently. He had been angry plenty of times in his life, but never to this extent, and never at his mother. “I fail to see the relevance in that statement,” he answered in a voice coated with fury.
“Then you’re blind, Jerome. All you can see is your love for that narcissistic temptress, when what you need to see are the facts. If you would just open your eyes and—”
“No!” Jerome shouted, forgetting to keep his voice low. He swung out his left arm with the intention of emphasizing his point, when his hand accidentally struck a vase sitting on the edge of a nearby table. The vase toppled off and shattered across the wooden floor.
Jerome took one look at what he had done, then turned back to his mother.
“This discussion is over, Mother,” he said. “You can stay in the penthouse until the business with Olaf has been sorted out. But after that, I think it would be best if we didn’t contact each other anymore. If you can’t accept my wife, then you obviously can’t accept me, either.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 7, 2008 9:17:00 GMT -5
Andrew silently placed his head into his hands and wished for a moment that his mother had seen before now how the situation was going to work out. Cora had always liked Emma, and adored Carmelita and the twins whenever she got the chance to see them, and he knew too well what it would do to her to stop all contact with her grandchildren and one year old great-grandchildren because of this.
'Don't be silly,' she replied after a moment's hesitation. 'What about Emma?'
'I doubt Emma will care much when she finds out your opinion of her mother,' Jerome said, and it hurt him to act so coldly towards his mother, especially knowing how much she cared for his adopted children. 'You're very welcome to see her on your own time if she so wishes, but I don't think it's wise that you and I see each other anymore.'
'No matter how blind you are, Jerome, you're still my son and--'
'--Well, perhaps,' Jerome replied, and stooped to pick up the largest pieces of the broken vase. 'But unless you learn to accept my wife and apologize for everything you've said about her, or you can leave us all alone.'
He sniffed lightly, and Cora seemed to have run out of things to say. 'Dinner's ready,' he added eventually, and he promptly turned and exited from the room, followed swiftly by his younger brother, who grasped his shoulder on their way into the kitchen.
'Jerome,' he said, following him and being decidedly ignored. 'Jerome, are you sure--'
'Yes, Andrew,' his brother eventually replied. 'What she said was unforgivable, and until she learns to accept Esmé I have no intention of associating with her. She has no right to use Esmé's past against her, and she has no right to talk about my wife like--'
He took a breath, and closed his eyes for a second. 'She has no idea,' he said quietly. 'She has no idea how it feels to watch someone you love become so upset that they'll find the razor blades--which I have to hide--and hurt themselves because they blame themselves for what has happened. She has no idea--'
'--Jerome?'
Both of the brothers turned to see Emma and Faust in the doorway. Faust had obviously missed some of the conversation and looked a little uninterested, but Emma stared up at her stepfather with wide, questioning eyes.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 7, 2008 13:00:16 GMT -5
“What happened?” Emma demanded, and stepped forward. “What did Mother do?”
Jerome and Andrew shared a look before turning their eyes on the inquiring face of the teenager standing in front of them.
“Jerome, what—” Emma began again, and Jerome held up a hand.
“Everything’s quite alright now,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t, and that it would be only a matter of time before Esmé tried something like that again. He only hoped he would be close by the next time so that he could stop her, and he was determined to watch her every moment from now on. He would have stayed with her before, had he not been so established in his decision to confront his mother. “She’s in our bedroom resting.”
“Did she really—”
“I’m afraid so, sweetheart,” Jerome replied, and Emma could see the fear and sadness reflected in her stepfather’s bright green eyes at that. “You can go see her if you want. But if she’s asleep, don’t wake her.”
Emma nodded, and then fled down the hallway in the direction of the master bedroom. Faust seemed to struggle between the decision of staying behind with the two adults or following her friend, and then finally settled on the latter. She wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but judging by the graveness in Jerome’s voice and the worry in Emma’s, it wasn’t good.
“What happened?” Faust asked finally, not taking into account that whatever it was really wasn’t any of her business.
“Nothing serious,” Jerome said, and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Mrs. Squalor just isn’t feeling well.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“A headache. Come along, Faust. Your parents are waiting for you in the dining room.”
Faust allowed kindly Mr. Squalor and his equally kind younger brother to escort her back to her parents. Even as Jerome and Andrew smiled at her, Faust could tell immediately that something was dreadfully wrong.
She just had no idea what it could be.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 7, 2008 13:27:41 GMT -5
Emma was grateful that her stepfather and uncle had stopped Faust from following her, and on her way back to the master bedroom she felt tears gathering at the backs of her eyes. She didn't know the details of what her mother had done, but it was not going to be a good thing particularly considering the faces of Jerome and Andrew. What had caused her to become so upset?
Emma knocked quietly on the door of the master bedroom, and walked in before she knew whether her mother was awake or not. She had to know now, and she got the feeling Jerome had no intenion of telling her anything.
Luckily, her mother smiled up at her when she entered, though she tried unsucessfully to hide her left arm under the covers.
'Hello, darling,' she said quietly, and Emma rushed over to give her a hug before explaining why she was there.
'Are you OK?' her daughter enquired softly, already knowing the true answer.
'Of course I am, darling,' her mother replied, though Emma noticed her left arm was no completely hidden. 'I'm just feeling a little tired.'
'Jerome was talking to Andrew,' Emma finally admitted. 'And I overheard. They said something about razor blades, and I was worried.'
'You're a dear to worry for me,' her mother said cheerfully, but the smile she offered was half-hearted. 'But I'm quite alright.'
'So, what's up with your arm?' Emma asked, gesturing to the arm Esmé had tried so hard to bury unnoticeably under the blankets.
'I just--' Esmé scolded herself for not thinking up an excuse earlier. 'Ah, that! It's--it's just--'
Emma had buried her face in her mother's shoulder in the false pretence of a hug, but in fact it was only to shield from Esmé her tears that she couldn't stop from falling. She had figured out what had happened by now, and the last thing she ever could have wanted to do was make her mother any more upset--or any more guilty--than she already surely was.
~
'I must say,' Fernald Widdershins said cheerfully while everyone else picked miserably at their food. 'Jerome, you are an abolutely excellent chef!'
Unfortunately, the mood in the grand dining room was not a positive one. Jerome and Andrew had sunk into a deep state of worry for Esmé's condition, and Cora was looking quite ashamed and crestfallen at the apparent end of her relationship with her son. Faust was rather confused by the turn of events, Carmelita seemed to have figured out by now that something had gone terribly wrong since the last time she had seen her adoptive mother, and Colette was still smarting from the several arguments she had been involved in since entering the penthouse. Only Nero and Fernald were in a state of blissful ignorance, and unfortunately their attempts at lightening the mood had gone down like a lead baloon.
'Where's Esmé?' Colette asked, picking at her fish delicately (in fact she was merely seperating it and pushing it under the salad so she wouldn't be forced to eat). 'I was under the impression she would be joining us.'
Jerome looked mildly furious for a second, but then regained his usual composure. 'She's feeling unwell,' he lied. 'And I for one don't see how indulging in undoubtedly another argument will make her feel any better.'
Andrew nudged him, and he ran a hand tiredly over his eyes, and muttered half sincere apology, even though he wasn't sorry in the least.
'And Emma?' Colette bravely continued.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 7, 2008 14:59:44 GMT -5
“With her mother,” Jerome said.
Carmelita desperately wanted to ask what had happened to prevent Esmé from joining everyone at the dinner table, and knew there had to be more to it than not wanting to associate with the Widdershins (or at least Colette). However, Carmelita was hesitant to bring up the question, in case the reason was particularly dire. Judging by the looks on the faces of Jerome, Andrew, and Cora Squalor, it had to be.
“Jerome,” Carmelita began carefully, “if you like, I’d be happy to take Esmé a plate.”
Jerome smiled appreciatively at his adopted daughter. “That’s very considerate of you, Carmy,” he said. “But you needn’t put yourself to any trouble. I’ll do so myself in a little while.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Carmelita said, and began to rise. Having lived with the Squalors for five years, she had grown accustomed to the fact that Esmé was an incredibly finicky eater. She would eat only when her husband requested, pleaded with, and bribed her. Most of the time, Emma would have to be present before her mother would even consider picking up a piece of food from her plate. But Carmelita was willing to take any excuse she could to find out exactly what had occurred back in the sitting room.
“Esmé might be sleeping,” Jerome said patiently. “Why don’t you wait until Emma gets back?”
Carmelita was in the process of lowering herself back into her chair, when Emma appeared in the entranceway of the dining room. Everyone could see that her pallid face was sticky with tears, and her shiny eyes shone even brighter because of them.
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Carmelita asked.
Emma said nothing as she walked silently into the room. Seating herself in the empty chair between her sister and brother-in-law, she stared down at her plate.
“Did you see to Esmé?”
Emma nodded.
“What did she say?”
Emma lifted her head, and stared across the table at her stepfather. She was wasn’t surprised to see that his own plate was still full, as was the plate of his brother beside him. Her grandmother also appeared to be greatly withdrawn, though Emma had to wonder why she had chosen to sit beside Colette Widdershins of all people.
Back in the bedroom, Esmé had failed to disclose any of the details of how her arm had come to be bandaged, and Emma hadn’t pushed the issue. She knew there had to be a reason why Esmé would injure herself purposely, and she had a feeling that it had something to do with the sudden reappearance of her biological father.
Turning to Carmelita, Emma replied, “Nothing, Carmy. Mother didn’t say anything. She was asleep when I went in.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 7, 2008 15:21:31 GMT -5
'Well, there we are,' Jerome said quickly, even though nobody believed that Emma's tears had arisen without Esmé even being awake. 'Sit down Carmy, or your own fish will go cold. I promise I'll wake your mother later and bring her something to eat.'
Carmelita frowned, but had now become too concerned with how upset her little sister--who wasn't so little, but Carmy would never stop thinking of her that way--had become since she last saw her. Emma avoided taking the seat next to Faust, which seemed to upset the younger girl a little, and instead sat next to Jerome, whyo put an arm around her and kissed her forhead before encouraging her to eat something.
'I know you aren't hungry,' he said, without even having to be told. 'But just eat a little, Emma, just for my sake.'
Knowing the situation, she wasn't able to refuse, and set into her fish, even though it had turned a little cold. Nero raised his eyebrows: Emma, doing as she was told? Miracles will never cease, he supposed.
Even Fernald and Nero, who had been decidedly clueless, had now realized that something had gone wrong before dinner, and turned silent. The atmosphere around the table was incredibly awkward as everyone ate silently, though Colette and Cora--the only two blonde-haired women, who seemed to have formed an odd alliance at the end of the table--shared a look that Carmelita would have picked up on, had Andrew's cell phone not rang just at that moment.
Just as he answered it, Jerome's rang from inside his jcket pocket, and then Emma's and Esmé's could be heard from somewhere within the penthouse.
Andrew was the only person who thought to hold his to his ear, even though he didn't recognize the number.
'Hello?' he asked politely, and someone chuckled.
'This is just a test, Squalor.' the voice replied, and then all of the phones stopped.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 7, 2008 16:20:06 GMT -5
“Hello?” Andrew spoke into the receiver. “Who is this?” “I am known as O,” continued the sinister voice on the other line. “And that is all you need to know about me for now. But there is much I know about you. For instance, you work on Wall Street as the head of your late father’s company. I am watching you now— though not from inside the same apartment —and can see you are dressed in a dark blue Armani suit. You are sitting in the dining room of your brother’s penthouse apartment, surrounded by him and the rest of your family. Joining you are the couple and their daughter, whom you and your mother met on the elevator earlier. If I were you, Squalor, I’d stay put. If you want to guarantee the safety of everyone there with you, then I suggest making sure that you all remain within the confines of the building.”“How do you—” But before Andrew could finish what he was saying, the person on the other line hung up. “Hello? Hello?”His voice and hands trembling, Andrew turned off his cell and set it carefully down on the table. “Andrew,” Jerome asked, “who was that?” “The caller referred to themselves as ‘O’,” Andrew replied softly, and Jerome had no trouble recognizing the absolute terror laced in his brother’s voice. “And there is only one person I know of whose name begins with that letter.” *** Jerome ran as fast as he could to the master bedroom, ignoring the fact that his legs still ached from his long climb up the stairs the night before. To his great relief, the door had been left ajar, and when he stepped inside he found his wife lying peacefully in bed. Her face was to him, her eyes closed while just a hint of her bandaged arm peeked out from beneath the comforter. “Darling,” Jerome said as he crossed the room over to his wife’s side. “Are you alright?” “Hmm?” Esmé asked sleepily, and opened her eyes. “Yes, honey. I’m fine. Who was that on the phone before?” Jerome forced himself to smile as he knelt down beside his wife. He reached up to take her hand and draw her arm a little ways out from beneath the blankets, rubbing it lovingly with his other hand. “It was just someone from the Orphan’s Affairs Bureau,” he said. “What did they want?” Esmé asked. “They just wanted to ask if we were interested in making a donation.” “Did you make one?” “Yes, sweetheart,” Jerome replied, and leaned down to kiss her hand. “Well, good. How much did you give them?” “Five-hundred.” “I see. Next time, why not make it a thousand?” Jerome could feel tears beginning to sting the backs of his eyes, so he nuzzled Esmé’s hand with his forehead so that she wouldn’t see him crying.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 8, 2008 11:56:21 GMT -5
She said nothing, even though she could feel the heat of a few etars on the back of her hand. She hated to think that she had made him upset because of her actions, and wished more than anything that she could be able to take them back somehow. It hadn't been his intention, but she loathed herself even more having upset her husband than she had before.
'How did dinner go?' she asked quietly, but didn't encourage him to look at her. She ran a hand over the hair at the back of his head carefully, wondering how she would be expected to get along with Cora ever again after what had happened. She felt terribly guilty, because Jerome had been fairly close to his mother, and she had a feeling he had no intention of forgiving her for the things she said. However, Esmé knew what it was like to lose two parents through death and separation, and didn't want to watch her husband go through the same process of silent grief.
'Fine,' he lied, sniffing. 'My mother and Mrs Widdershins seemed to have formed an alliance though, I'm afraid.'
He didn't mention Olaf's phone call, or that it had thrown Colette into a panic attack he rather recognized, and he wasn't sure if she'd unlocked the door to her temporary bedroom yet. He hoped Fernald wasn't planning to tear into the door with one of those hooks--he looked like a very strong man, and Esmé would undoubtedly wonder. He didn't mention either the way Andrew had looked around and closed the blinds, and how he now sat as white as a sheet in his brother's study. What was the point in worrying his wife further?
He did, howver, have to wonder if keeping the truth from her was wise. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, she knew Olaf better than anyone else in the penthouse did, and she was the only person who would be likely to know his next move. However, the risk was too great; after the panic he'd faced earlier with her arm, he couldn't take any more chances with her state of mind for now. They would just have to sort things out without her.
Hopefully.
~
'Do you think we're making a mistake?' Andrew asked, adjusting the blinds with one idle hand. 'Olaf said we had to stay here, in the apartment. All of us, or we would be unsafe.'
'That's exactly what we're doing, Andrew,' his older brother replied, and handed him a much needed cup of cocoa to soothe his nerves somewhat. 'You have no need to worry.'
'But then aren't we playing into his hands?' the younger Squalor asked, and turned away from the blinds. 'What if he knows how to get into the penthouse somehow, and he's going to come in and get us, because we're all in one place? Wouldn't we be safer all split up in different continents?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 8, 2008 13:12:51 GMT -5
Shaking his head, Jerome set his own cup of cocoa down on a small end table beside his chair. “Don’t you see, Andrew?” he asked. “Out of what few choices we do have, that would be the worst of all to make. It’s best for everyone if we just stay where we are. As long as we keep the blinds closed and the doors locked, then there is no way Olaf will be able to get to us.” “Does Esmé know about any of what’s happened?” Andrew asked. Jerome sighed sadly. “Only that Olaf has returned to the city,” he replied. “She has no idea that it was he who called before.” “But she knows him. She knows what he’s capable of. Wouldn’t it be in everyone’s best interests if—” “No. Esmé has been through enough over the last twenty-four hours. Anymore would put a terrible strain on her condition, and I won’t risk it. I love her far too much to stand by and watch any more harm come to her.” “What about that couple on the elevator?” inquired Andrew. “The Widdershins? Would they be able to predict what Olaf’s next move might be?” “Perhaps,” Jerome said. “But I’m willing to bet that Fernald would be able to tell us a lot more than Colette. She wasn’t associated with Olaf for as long as her husband was. Besides, she and Esmé don’t exactly get along.” “Colette and Mother seemed to have hit it off at dinner, didn’t they? I wonder what it was they were whispering?” “After hearing their opinions on Esmé, I really have no desire to find out.” Andrew nodded understandably. “I’m so sorry for what Mother said,” he replied. “I honestly had no idea that Esmé was standing by to hear it, or that it would be enough to drive her to what she did.” “It’s alright, Andrew,” Jerome said. “It wasn’t your fault, and I suppose it wasn’t entirely Mother’s, either. Still, she should’ve realized that Esmé’s psychological state is extremely fragile, and that the slightest slip can cause her to do things to herself that I shudder to think about.” “I always used to think you were the lucky one in this relationship,” Andrew said. “But now I see that Esmé is every bit as lucky to have you as you are to have her.”*** “There,” Emma said, as she finished pulling out the hideaway bed from beneath hers. “Come sit down and tell me if it’s comfortable enough.” Faust walked over and plopped herself down on the hideaway bed. “It’s nice,” she said. “It isn’t lumpy and there aren’t any loose springs like my mattress at home.” Emma was just about to excuse herself to go retrieve some clean linen from the hall closet, when the sound of the window shattering behind her echoed throughout the room. The girls screamed, and Emma turned just in time to see what appeared to be a dart heading straight toward them. “Faust, get down!” Emma ordered, and threw both herself and Faust down on the floor. They spent the next five minutes facedown on the carpet until the feeling of terror had passed. When they were finally calm enough to sit up, they saw that the dart was sticking out of the wall by the door. Rising slowly, they approached it carefully. As they drew closer, they saw that someone had tied a note around the dart. Faust was just about to yank the dart out of the wall when Emma stopped her. “Don’t touch it!” Emma cried, and snatched Faust’s hand away. “Sometimes darts are poisonous.” “But the note—” Faust started. “We’ll get one of our parents to do it. Come on.” With Faust’s hand still held firmly in her grip, Emma grabbed her and raced out of the room.
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