The Horrifying Tale of Mrs. Trollope -- Chapter Three

    With melancholy eyes, Giselle watched her father push his dinner from one side of his plate to the other. She had gone to some trouble preparing his favorite dish and still he hadn’t taken a bite. How many years had it been, she thought musedly to herself, since last it had been so bad as this?—and realized that even during those bleak times, so prevalent throughout her childhood, it hadn’t been so bad as this. For something new and evil had been added to the mix.
    Quietly she said, “What’s wrong, Dad? You haven’t even tasted your food.”
    He took his time putting down his fork. A moment’s reflection was needed to address his eldest daughter’s concerns in order that a lie not pass his lips.
    “I’ve been struck by a sudden urge to speak to your sister. I need to hear her voice—to make sure everything’s all right.”
    “Jack’s with her. I pity anything that tried to do her any mischief with him standing nearby.”
    “If I could just talk to her. Damned cell phones.”
    “Don’t blame the cell phones. Need I remind you that’s one of the reasons you’re so in love with that cabin hideout of yours. No phones—land, cell, or otherwise.”
    Jonathan made no reply. His mind was elsewhere, on matters greater by far than even life and death.
    “Sweetheart,” he said, standing up. “I’ve got to go. And I beg you not to ask me why. Because all I can offer is an apology. I’m sorry; and more than you can imagine.”
    “Okay,” was her soft reply. “Call me later . . . if you feel like it.”
    Just as always had been done, they hugged each other at the door. And also, just as always, his eldest daughter said, “I’ll love you forever.” But not just as always, and even for the first time, the smile he gave her back was a most bitter one.

    Giselle scraped the dishes clean. And after putting them in the dishwasher and pouring a cup of coffee for herself, she sat down to try and figure out what was going on.
    It had been years, even decades—though just a few as she had barely entered her mid-thirties—since Giselle had last seen that tortured look upon her father’s face. Times so awful it hurt to think about them. But why now, after so many years, would memories of her mother’s mysterious death so suddenly have cropped up again?
    The cup of coffee to her lips; in the midst of a long and pensive sip; lo and behold there came a fleeting picture—a memory of so long ago that time had taken it upon itself to sweep it out of reach and underneath the rug—of two little girls sitting in a corner. And with its appearance came a feeling of despair such as she had never known she’d known, or even that she could have known. But as abruptly as it came, it went; and though she tried with all her might and main, she couldn’t bring it back again. And so she gave it up, at least for now, and took another sip.

    Far from New York City and a goodly ways across the world, a man answered a telephone for which few people had the number.
    “Hello,” he said, in a tongue other than English.
    What he heard was, simply, “She’s here.”
    The man, five thousand miles away, tightened his grasp on the telephone threatening to crush the space-age plastic like so many helpless kittens.
    “You’ve seen her?” His voice was soft thunder; a lifetime of unfulfilled vengeance. “With your own eyes?”
    “No. But it matters little. Were she breakfasting across my kitchen table, I couldn’t feel her presence more.”
    “Then rest assured, Jonathan, that I’ll be wasting no time in getting to your side.”

    After some minutes, and the conversation having ended, the man in the foreign land again put the phone to his ear. Dialed; rung; answered. At the usual silent greeting, the man said, “Hello Nicholas, it’s me.”
    Silence, still.
    “I’m leaving the country; I’ll be needing the cameo.”
    At this, Nicholas couldn’t help but speak. “Am I to believe my ears? You’ve found her?”
    “You’d better sit down for this. It’s not I who’ve found her; it’s Jonathan.”
    A gasp, a knotted throat, and a single, wracking sob broke through. But that was all. Because at that moment, spoken words for Nicholas would have been impossible.
    “I’ll be by to pick it up shortly. I’ll leave straight from there for the airport.”
    Nicholas, having gathered himself somewhat said, “The pass is flooded.”
    “I know. But I’ll get through somehow.”
    “Then go; take all our prayers with you. And mine, most fervent of them all.”
    “Prayers or no, my friend,” said the man with the voice of thunder. “This time we’ve got her.”

Comments

[RuneRuin]

huh, looks like your DraculasDoll Twitter account got suspended? how comes? coming back?

[emma doran]

Hey hi,5:50am in uk im full of cold ,thought i would drop by and read chapter3, which i am glad i have again very well writen and all u sometimes find your self becoming one of the people or feel that you are living this book that u are there some how:). Sorry if don't make sence im just so full of cold i can't make sence of my self:(BUT SO GLAD i droped by :)take care all,emy lou

[Courtney Odell]

Your English skills never cease to amaze me. I am even more fascinated to find out what happens next. The newly introduced characters are intriguing and I can't wait to see what role they are going to play. I can already see that the plot is about to get very intricate; truly a sign of a good author. I can tell that this book will not disappoint. Looking forward to reading the rest.