The sweetest sounds to mortals given

Are heard in Mother, Home, and Heaven.

~William Goldsmith Brown

 {Part Two}

Viciously tearing herself from his grip, Mrs. Hawkins shuffled back, her movements swift. Without a sliver of emotion, she branded Nathaniel with her glare, breathing, “Yes, You are a fool,” her acidic words shattering the silence. And then, with fury glinting in her eyes, to his utter shock she added, “A fool, just like your father.”

The words hit Nathaniel like lightning, draining all air from his lungs. Winded, he scowled at her. He was an honorable man but this—this threatened all virtues! Pressing clenched fists to his temples, Nathaniel struggled; he struggled because finally there was no doubting his mother’s wickedness. He strained because fury caused control to waver and she didn’t deny it! Dammit, she—his own mother—didn’t renounce that was the shrouded figure, the unmentionable devil of all misery!

His breaths becoming more labored, Nathaniel shivered, seeking words but white wrath tightened his throat, leaving him wordless, breathless; millions of questions flooding his brain; Why did she do it? How could she do it? What was her cause, her reason? Was it madness? Was it something he did?  Dammit all, was he not her own son? Her own blood?!

But in the outbreak of erratic thoughts, an inner voice whispered painfully,

Did it matter anymore?

Yes! Because was the bond between mother and child not sanctified? Was blood not most sacred in life? But then in meeting his mother’s icy yet withdrawn glare, his conscience rebutted,

Was it too sacred in madness?

Nathaniel cursed and cursed again. Banishing the confusing convictions, he forced himself to focus on the deranged woman whose face he once knew yet stood before him as—who the hell was she anymore?

Silent, she paced from him; her demeanor unnaturally collected despite the matter at hand. Remorse evaded her face, as did guilt elude her manner. No, she felt nothing, of that Nathaniel was sure as he watched her in nauseating fury. Noting his glare, she spun wildly, “Don’t you dare look at me that way! You have no right!” She muttered lowly through clenched teeth, “You dare cast your judgment on me--I am still your mother and everything I have done has been for you!”

What the hell did she just say?

She raged on angrily; Disturbed, “Yet you stand ready to cast me aside for her—after all I’ve done for you!” she shivered, “Like your father, just like your father.”

With fists tightly clenched, Nathaniel stared on, delayed by disbelief as her voice reduced to a whisper; fingers gathering hungrily at her mouth “He thought I didn’t know,” she nodded frantically, “but I knew...I knew.”

Her expressionless eyes misted into memory; a haunting look of despise and vulnerability surfacing. Suddenly Nathaniel watched in horror as his mother lowered slowly onto the floor, the scattered letters surrounding her like dead flowers. Settling back on her knees, she fell into an eerie rocking, slowly, back and forth, her eyes cast aside in distant memory. Nathaniel went cold all over. Right before his eyes, the woman whom he’d once regarded as mother lost herself into her mind, becoming childlike in demeanor and mannerisms. God help him…

A shudder afflicted Nathaniel. The intentions to rip her from the floor and drag her to the magistrate were all there. As were the constant offerings of his doubtful half whispering,

Perhaps she fakes it…

But in beholding his mother, Nathaniel’s blood congealed. No, she did not forge her madness. The woman who existed before with the flawless performance of sanity was the true farce but this one; the one rocked back and forth, stroking her curls while humming a gentle tune was his real mother. The sight shattered him, all but ridding anger from his bones replacing it with profound ache…

Casting her glance all around at everything and nothing at all, she said, her voice that of a young girl, “My mother warned me, told me he was dangerous—but I loved him….I loved him.” Her willowy shoulders shrugged shyly in regret with words, “I gave my all, sacrificed everything for him.”

Her face then transformed, deep lines claiming her brow as she delved deeper into memory; her fingers trickling as if marking each haunted thought on a piano forte,

“Every Wednesday,” she nodded once more, a more feverish agreeing, “after he would kiss me goodbye in the morning, I would follow in his shadows as he strode into the forest, under the shelter of the trees….to meet her. I shielded my eyes but the sounds; I could hear the damned sounds,” trembling hands flew over her ears as she rocked faster, “cries of passion, promises of love—a love that was mine! No, no,” her head shook fanatically, black curls tumbling down her back.

Her erratic rant continued, “He would bring home lilies, displaying them all around the house,” she sucked in a deep breath, tears flooding her eyes as her voice broke with emotion, “I loved carnations and never understood why, why he insisted on those dreaded lilies, only lilies. But that very first day, that first cursed Wednesday, I understood…” And then, in a low voice barely audible, she whispered, “They made love on a bed of lilies.”

Suddenly, she paused, “But you,” her eyes lifted with an innocent helplessness as she smiled, “Only you would ever bring me carnations, from the meadow…remember?”  Nausea churned within Nathaniel as he recalled his small hands granting his mother weeded flowers from the meadow; she would always cry. Nathaniel shuddered. God, he always thought they were tears of joy.  Had he known they caused her such pain he never would have…

She went on, “Once she married Paul, she no longer wanted him—”

Paul? Nathaniel’s eyes widened in sudden realization—Annabelle’s mother and his father?  Good God! She couldn’t be serious. His father was a good man. He wouldn’t ever have been so cruel….would he?

Shocked and utterly bemused, Nathaniel looked down at his mother as she gripped her black mane, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks; her rocking intensifying, back and forth, faster and faster,

“He missed her so much. He refused to eat, to smile, to share our bed. All he wanted was her, but she belonged to Paul. When he learned she was with child, that she carried the child of another, sorrow drained the life from his bones, taking away his very existence.  He left us all alone and it was all her fault! Her and her damned daughter’s fault!”

She shook her head once more, Nathaniel no longer sure whether she spoke to him or had finally succumbed entirely to madness, “He was my husband, but she took his love from me! But she can’t have you! Because you are mine, my son, my son….my son….” She echoed; the incessant drumming beginning once more upon her lips.

Frozen by confusion at the revelation, Nathaniel watched in horror as his mother shed the final layers of sanity, a violent shivering overtaking her, “What I wouldn’t do for another chance, to show him that it was me he should have loved, me—Not her. She didn’t stroke his pillow when he wasn’t there,” her voice lowered as she caressed the scattered letters around her, “Press her lips against his shirts when he was away…inhale his scent for sanity’s sake….I loved him.”

Her bright blue eyes lifted hastily, glancing about the empty room—what on earth? Rising quickly, Nathaniel flinched as she scuffled toward him, pausing “Can’t you hear them laughing?” she cupped her ear, the other hand pressed against her mouth as her sights continued its dance around the chamber, “They laugh at me. Even in death they mock me!”

A scornful smile curled at her lips, “But I laughed too!” she began to giggle, “She wrote me, telling of her imminent death. She pleaded—begged for me to look after Annabelle because I was her friend,” laughter further afflicting her, “She asked me to be Annabelle’s guardian! Oh but the look in her eyes when in those final breaths of life, I told her how deeply I hated her and of what I intended to do. That her darling daughter would spend the rest of her days with no name, no possessions! That she would suffer the way her damned mother made my life hell!”

Dammit all!  Hearing the words, Nathaniel’s blood roiled violently. If there had been doubt before, it no longer remained. Hearing the confession from her very lips tore at him savagely burning his control. Unable to stifle the fury and consumed by maddening confusion he swiped all from the vanity, shards of glass scattered as bottles crashed on the floor. Dash it all to hell! Gripping the desk, he squeezed until his colorless knuckles begged for release to which he squeezed tighter!

“Damn you mother, damn you!” he shook the table seeking control but in losing restraint, thrust it to the floor, “What had Annabelle to do with your sick obsession!” he growled, “What did I—“he gripped his hair to keep his hands from an abomination, “What did I? I was your son! What of me! I loved her mother. You watched me rot in despair and pain all on account of your blasted grudge! Did you never once think of me! What had I to do with your insanity?” he forced the tears back pacing in place aimlessly because though he expected her confession, he didn’t expect this. No, this was much worse.

His mother canted her head; a childlike confusion swirling in her eyes. And then, as if it were the most normal of answers, to Nathaniel’s horror, she uttered “Everything.”  

He could hardly breathe as she went on, “You were mine, since that moment you moved within me,” she stroked her flat abdomen, “Since that moment our eyes met, you were mine.” She cradled her arms, rocking them gently, smiling down at the remembrance of a child that was now a grieving man.

“But then,” her rocking coming to a slow eerie stop, “Just as her mother had done, her damned daughter sought to take you from me…so I took you away. But still, they conspired! How dare she die and pass her cursed daughter onto me? It was their plan! In death they plotted to take you from me,” her blue eyes glittered in the reflective fire as a triumphant grin spread across her lips, “So I hired the Melbourne’s and sent Annabelle away!”  

Nathaniel shut his eyes—this was much, far too much, but before fury could overtake him, a feather light caress stroked his cheek, his mother’s beautiful blue eyes piercing his “I kept your letters, never giving them to the post. She didn’t deserve your words, your love.” Her eyes darkened, “But her letters, full of blasphemous declarations of love, I burned,” Nathaniel stiffened as she gripped his waistcoat, lowering her head onto his chest like a sleeping child, “I burned them.” She spoke softly, caressing the black lapels of his coat, “She didn’t deserve you. No one does.”

And then as she fell into silent tears,  his mother uttered the words that hurt Nathaniel more than all her confessions combined, “Not even me…”

The world no longer spun….it just….stood.  He could hate her, all the intentions were there. But why didn’t it translate? Nathaniel could feel his spirit standing beside him, watching on as his mind debated,

Is it all an act?

But sadly, Nathaniel soul offered a ready answer,

It is not.

Because as Nathaniel knew her false tears, he did not know these who while similar in appearance were all together genuine in nature. It was not a loud cry, but a low grieving hymn of the soul. These were not the wet lashes batted when in want, they were the saturated lashes of tears cried when alone, in the dark, when haunted by  memories of betrayals, of unrequited love, of unreciprocated affections, but most of all, of pain. They were tears long bound to her soul, her spirit heaving, trembling with each sob until her knees gave way beneath her.  Instincts flaring, Nathaniel reached for her, easing her crumbling figure to the floor where he held her as her life mourned.

The world was silent.

How was he to respond to that? She was not justified! No! Never! But God--

He had been ready to lash out at her, curse her, shake her into confessing but what good would that do anymore? Who was this creature curled in his arms, whose mind had long ago lost all reason? If he yelled, swore and cursed her existence…would she even notice? It simply tore at his heart. He wasn’t supposed to care…but God, it hurt. What was he supposed to do when it came to this? Heaven help him, because he wanted to roar, he wanted to scream; to shake her and tell her that she was his mother dammit and there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for her! Whether as Nathaniel or as William or as whomever he had to be to help her, he would have done so! Why, why had that not been enough?

Hot tears streamed down his face as he held her tighter, his eyes shut tightly. Her betrayal was worse, much more worse. It burned in his very blood, in the blood that ran through his veins but also in hers.

Feeling at odds with himself, Nathaniel held her tighter because as much as he wanted to, he could not for the love of God, bring himself to hate her. She deserved his hate dammit! Her blood deserved to be on his hands because she was guilty, there was no doubt; not anymore.

But there, in the spaces between her soul stirring sobs as Nathaniel closed his eyes against her ravaged hair, he acknowledged that sadly, he knew of the desperation claiming his mother; driving her to madness. Because, under God he admitted that the desperation plaguing his mother was the same which haunted his very own existence since the moment he learned of Annabelle’s disappearance. Had not every day after that been spent in brandied obsessions, panic fits and raging despairs? — Did not every day in which he did not find Annabelle drink from his sanity?

And as a singular testament to the madness, did not the night before receiving Melbourne’s letter, Nathaniel not himself stand on a ledge ready to resign to life when, in the darkness of night, the sweet scent of honeysuckle whispered past, easing him back from the window and into the patient hands of hope?

Yes, Nathaniel held his mother because unlike her, he had the promise of Annabelle’s love, of her words to ease him from the ledge. But what had his mother but broken vows and unreturned love….Had anyone eased her back from her cursed windowsill? No, there had been no one. And in the lonely darkness, she had long taken the plunge…alone.

Though it in no manner, shape or form justify her atrocious and evil actions, Nathaniel let her cry in his arms still, with sentiments not of his own, but sentiments of what if? What if he hadn’t found Annabelle? What if she had been married to another? And dare he think it, what if without him, she was happy?  What if God’s infinite mercy had not whispered past him that night? He held his mother that much more tightly as his own tears claimed him because Nathaniel instantly realized, had that been the case, he might have found himself on the ledge once more with no promise to bring him back…

Yes the line between love and madness was dangerously thin. Much too dangerous…And in looking down at his mother, Nathaniel wondered if in reality, love and madness were simply and tragically two and the same.

Her head lifted, “Do not cry my son; I expected this from a woman of her kind. I told you she kept secrets. But now,” she nodded, her dilated eyes shining, “But now we have proof. We have the letters!”

And sadly, Nathaniel became conscious that his mother not only created her own truths…but she also believed them. Because somehow, in a sickening way, it all made sense; that in the deranged world within her mind, all she had done had been out of devotion. In her universe, her actions were those of love…

Numb, Nathaniel nodded, stroking her raven black hair lightly, “You need to rest mother,” he regarded her softly and in retrieving a single letter, he then lifted her; carrying her trembling frame to her chambers. Walking into the shadows of her room, he laid her down as she had done countless times to him as a child. Setting her back against the pillows, Nathaniel found he did not immediately release her instead held her for a moment longer, his heart and mind; body and soul; conscience and reason all silent, as for the last time a son held his mother. Because once his arms released her, he would be an orphan…

Without another breath, Nathaniel let her go—just like that. Tucking her in with a soft kiss upon her forehead, her head turned toward the window, her eyes glazing over with yesterdays. Nathaniel stood carefully as to not disturb her reverie, and walked to the fireplace. It was almost over. He was to go downstairs and summon for the magistrate to take her away; her insanity would perhaps spare her death but if not, then God have mercy on her soul.

But though the magistrate would be called, there was no reason she should wait in the cold…

Bending, Nathaniel lit the firebox when—

A soft clicking permeated the silence as the flames grew to life before him.  Nathaniel went still. There was no need to turn. The sound was singular and the vicious truth of it all was that he expected it. Had that not after all been the reason he sent Annabelle and Logan to the park? The reason he’d sent Richard to them? The motive with without as much as a reason, he dismissed the entire staff in haste? The singular purpose why on his way to his mother’s chamber, he blessed each room and corridor with a dose of brandy thus draining the cellar of his favorite liquor? Yes, he sensed it. He sensed death looming closely the very moment he found the letters.

Straightening, Nathaniel stared down at the dancing flames. In those slight moments of soundless pause, flashbacks drifted past like a raging hurricane; the first time he held Logan, a small bundle in his arms; so innocent and so very vulnerable; His very first stumbles, his sweet laugh; his stubbornness and loose mouth. Nathaniel smiled, his chest clenching. He did this for Logan…

The fire crackled, memories of Annabelle swirling into focus. Her sweet smile welcoming a new day, her flushed face at their childhood arguments; her whispers of love in the darkness; the sound of his name, his real name, leaving her lips; yes, he did this for Annabelle…

And clutching onto those sweet memories, he turned to face his mother.

Quiet, she stood with extended arms, a silver pistol clutched in her trembling fingers, “You mean to leave me….” She slanted her head, her eyes glowing in the light of the fire.

Nathaniel could have nodded. He could have lied,

Would it have made a difference?

No.  Because before asking the question, she knew his answer. And so tired of it all, Nathaniel simply remained still, wordless.

Paled, his mother’s eyes widened like those of a lost child, “But…but I will die without you….” The rest of her words falling into silence. But then, for a brief instant, their eyes met in understanding and though she said nothing, a little voice whispered past; Nathaniel hearing the last of her unfinished sentence,

…And you will die without me.

Then so be it.

And with one last silently pledge of his love for his wife and child, Nathaniel consigned his life to the hands of God, and charged.  A loud pop instantly resounded but he lunged forth! Reaching for the pistol, he seized her wrists in a ruthless grip, savagely wrestling her arms between them. Enraged and with a surge of manic force, his mother pulled back but Nathaniel pinned her hands down when suddenly a muffled shot resonated; their bodies respectively tensing.

Silence hung over them for a moment in which eyes wide, they gazed at each other reminiscent of a mother and child beholding the other for the first time.  And slowly, the world spun to deathly slow as Nathaniel’s fingers released, his mother’s body tumbling at his feet.

Lord…help him…

Numb, Nathaniel’s knees vanished from under him, as he fell broken beside his wounded mother. Pushing the cursed pistol away, a grieving moan stole from his lips as he gathered her in his arms, rocking her slowly as warmth flowed from her body.

Holding her close, Nathaniel finally asked the one question that while needing to be asked, changed nothing at all—

“Why?”

His mother swallowed deeply, a genuine tear streaming from her eyes.  Employing her last breath, she lifted a crimson stained palm to his cheek,

“Because I loved you.” And exhaling, her life departed.

Nathaniel held her. For long moments he rocked his mother’s body slowly, tears no longer being shed. It was almost over. The lies, the deceit, the nightmare was drawing to a close. Dragging in a breath, Nathaniel lifted the lifeless body from the pool of blood surrounding them…though not only of her blood…

Lowering his gaze to his own body, blood slowly saturated his white shirt, the first shot truly having claimed him. But ignoring the blistering soreness overtaking his body, Nathaniel laid his mother upon the white pillows, stroking rogue hairs from her face before pressing his lips lightly to her forehead,

“Goodbye, Mother.”

And shattered, he stumbled from the room, floating solely on memories; each step, a whispered name; Annabelle, Logan, Annabelle, Logan….

Weakly drifting through the brandy stained corridors, he cast a look about; to his darkening sight, everything that was familiar looked so damned and strange, poisonous and toxic, but then again, weren’t all lies?  But it would soon be cleansed…

Attempting to reach the ground floor with the last of his fleeting strength, Nathaniel fell bitterly into the empty corridor. But he couldn’t stop then. There was a plan and It was almost over… Dragging his weakened body to the library, the fireplace flickered in wait.  Yes, almost over. Falling then before the flames, Nathaniel reached into his breast pocket, retrieving the single salvaged letter. And in holding it out to the fire he watched its edges curl, solemnly remembering each of the written words. Employing the last of his energies, Nathaniel stumbled to the library door as the parchment slowly dissolved in his bloodied hands. It was almost over...

Finally reaching the blasted door, he stretched out his hand, suddenly realizing he had been right; whether with him or without him…

He shut his eyes, dropping the letters to the brandy saturated floor,

…Annabelle was free…

And in closing the door on the warmth of the confessionary and cleansing flames, Nathaniel  found his freedom all the while knowing that if there was but one truth, it was that he loved Annabelle. And he would always love her. In this life...and the next.

**

Thoughts?

Some of you will hate it, others will understand it...and those that know me will ask for another chapter :) Either way, enjoy and let me know what you think.

I cannot begin to explain how tough this chapter was to write because getting into someone's sick mind is a bit daunting. And then trying to have Nathaniel deal with his anger but too realizing that she was just deranged...very tough.  I do hope it translated though.  

But the story is completely finished, epilogue and all so the last chapter will be up...tomorrow.

Not much to say today, I think I'm just really exhausted but please vote and comment.  And if you haven't yet, go on and  fan!

<3Thanks for reading