Irene, My dead best friend [Wattys 2015]

Chapter 22: Whiplash

Chapter 22: Whiplash

“People have an annoying habit of remembering things they shouldn't.” 
― Christopher Paolini, Eragon

Darn it, Irene!

I was falling down. Falling so fast at a speed my eyes and mind could not comprehend. Everything around me was black; an empty abyss that had no beginning or no end. I could feel my heart beat so wildly, causing an aching sensation to pass through my chest. Clutching to it as tightly as I could, I shut my eyes and waited for my fall to end. Parts of me wanted to open my eyes lest I fell straight onto the ground and hurt myself, but the ferocity with which I was falling and the now unbearable pain in my chest just wouldn’t allow me to do so.

And then all of a sudden, just like how it started, I felt my clothes stop flapping from the wind, causing me to realise that perhaps I might have stopped. With fear and pain still pounding in my mind and chest, I opened my eyes as slowly as I could. I gently let down my hands which I realized were still frozen on my chest, and with a small popping sound from my elbow, I straightened them. It was then that I realized I wasn’t in the woods anymore. I was in front of a large house, those large, two story Victorian houses surrounded by old trees and huge rose bushes. It was near these flower bushes that I stood now, transfixed and unable to move.

I looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anything, anyone hoping that they’d be able to snap me out of this frozen state but all I could see was the Victorian house, with its elegant blue rooftop and brown brick walls. It was just then that the blue, main door to the house flew open with a bang and out came running two girls, one slightly taller than the other. The taller one was chasing the shorter one, both wearing white, long Victorian dresses/gowns and both running in my direction.

As they got closer, if I could freeze any further I would, because what I saw shocked me. It was Irene, a slightly younger Irene, perhaps a couple of years ago, running after a little girl who looked very much like her. The only difference between the two was that Irene had raven hair while the young girls’ hair was a sharp blonde. My heart hammered in my chest as I realized what was happening. I was sharing one of Irene’s visions/memories again and instead of seeing something from her view point, I was now watching from the outside. Count on Irene to make things interesting for me.

I held my breath, afraid that the girls might be scared off by me but on an elemental level I knew, that they could neither hear nor see me. I watched as Irene, clearly the prettier one of the two, ran behind who I assumed was Rosalyn, with an incredibly worried expression on her face. Her eyes were transfixed on something in Rosalyn’s hand. I followed her gaze and noticed that the younger sibling held a glass doll in her hand. It looked like something expensive, something precious but the way Rosalyn held it, I was pretty sure the glass doll would land itself a huge crack any second.

“Please, Rose, be careful! If something happens to Cynthia, mommy and daddy would get so mad!” Irene all but pleaded out to her. I assumed the doll was called Cynthia considering no one else was around.

“Stop being silly, Irene, you never let me play with her. You always take her for yourself, you KNOW daddy got her for the both of us!” Rose was shrieking at her at decibel’s I didn’t even know existed. Her voice was haughty and filled with anger for someone so young and she stomped her foot on the ground.

“Don’t say that, Rose. You know I could never take her for myself. You had her for most of the day yesterday, anyway. I just wanted to play with her for a few minutes, promise,” Irene looked down at her feet as though ashamed of wanting to play with the doll in the first place.

“No, I don’t care how long you get her for, I want to play NOW,” and with that, she turned around and without realizing it, ran smack into the tree trunk she had been standing close to. The little collision between Rosalyn, the tree and her hand, knocked Cynthia’s head right off, effectively cracking the rest of the glass doll’s body as well.

“NO, Rosalyn!” screamed Irene and grabbed the broken body from Rosalyn’s hands who now stood frozen in shock (it was freeze day, today). Tears escaped Irene’s eyes as she bent down to pick up Cynthia’s detached head from the grassy ground below.  She caressed the head and the body to her chest as tears fell onto her hands in droplets. Before Rosalyn could respond, however, the front door opened up and out came a short, stubby old man wearing black slacks, a crisp white shirt and blonde hair oiled back. He headed straight for the girls and bellowed out loud,

“What is with all this screaming?! How many times have I warned you both about your fighting? Huh? How many times? I have told you time and time again that proper ladies do NOT behave in such fashion but do you both listen to your father?! You very well don’t….what is that you have in your hand, Irene?” His voice had gone from loud bellowing to a strict tone that made me shiver to my bones.

I noticed as Irene cowered in fear and shrunk back to the tree. I had no time to react at all noticing the sudden changes in the environment, Irene shrinking back, her father (I assumed) taking on this menacing stance and Rosalyn taking advantage of the moment and speaking up,

“Father, I warned Irene, over and over but she didn’t listen to me. She kept playing with little Cynthia doll and wouldn’t be careful with her. I only just ran after Irene to tell her to put the doll back in the house but she didn’t listen. She ran out here into the yard and slammed the doll into the tree. She said she’d rather not have the doll at all than have to share it with me!” she wailed, adding a sniff here and there for her own benefit.

The change in her stance had me reeling and Irene in absolute shock. I saw as she recovered from it but it might just have been too late. Irene opened her mouth to probably defend herself but her father quickly shut her up with his loud bellowing,

“I have had it up to here with you, Irene! No, you keep silent and listen to me! Why can you not be more like Rosalyn? She’s a perfect little girl and she listens to her mother and father and here you are, an utter disappointment to the both of us. I will not stand for your insolent behavior again and again. You’ve broken this expensive gift I got for both you and Rosalyn all the way from Willow Brooke so now you MUST be punished!” and with that, he grabbed Irene by the shoulders on her dress and dragged her to the house. Irene wailed and screamed for her father to stop and listen to her but the man would have none of it.

Hearing Irene cry broke me out of my frozen state and I ran after the two of them but I noticed that I might have been too late as her father pushed her into the house and followed in after her while removing his belt and striking it in the air like a whiplash. The door closed as I reached it and I heard a locking click. Before I had the chance to try and see if the door would budge open, I heard a whipping sound cracking the air, followed by shrill, painful screams of a young girl.

Her voice had my blood curling. That insolent f%&$ was beating her up with his belt?! My only need at that time was to run in and save her but I soon grasped that this was only just a memory because I could neither beat down the door, let alone touch it. Whip after whip flowed from inside, followed by loud crying and screams of agony. Utterly devastated and unable to help Irene, I turned around to look for Rosalyn but as soon as I turned, everything turned to darkness again.

©Hafsa T.M (aka HTMwrites)