Revenants & Remains | ONC 2021

9: Darkness

I dreamt that I was underwater. My hair floated loose around me. I couldn't move my limbs to swim, but a hazy light pulled me gently toward it.

I awoke to a similar cool gray light and the sound of rain pattering against a window. 

I felt a calm, soothing presence. As I sat up and blinked to clear my vision, the light shrank into a far corner and faded away.

"Nurse?" I whispered.

"It's me. How are you feeling?" I heard Elisa say, and felt her hand on my shoulder. "You had a bit of a spell."

"Elisa," I said. The only light was from a dim lamp on the table next to me.

I slowly swung my legs over and sat on the edge of the bed. I felt my hair loose around my shoulders. She handed me one of my hair pins. "I'm sorry," she said, "I read once that loosening one's hair could help light-headedness."

I looked around the room as I pinned my hair back into its proper place. I felt uncomfortable and highly unprofessional.

"This is my room," Elisa explained. The walls were papered with a cornflower blue and silver floral design. A few of her framed paintings hung on the walls, adding splashes of color.

"How long have I—"

"Oh, only about twenty minutes," she said.

"And Thomas?"

She frowned. "In his room, calmed down."

"That wasn't him, you know," I said.

"I know."

There was a tentative knock at the door and it opened slightly. Pendelton said, "I hate to intrude, but..."

"Oh, do come in. I'm perfectly all right," I said briskly.

"In that case, would you ladies mind joining me downstairs?" His demeanor was once again calm and assured. "We have some matters to discuss."

Elisa turned off the lamp and we followed him.

In the doorway, I turned back once to look in the corner for that cool soothing light, but all I saw was darkness.

***

Pendelton carried in a pot of coffee, for I learned the staff was minimal at the orphanage, and we served ourselves before taking seats in the drawing room. I sat next to Elisa on the sofa. A low fire burned in the grate, casting flickering shadows into the gray room. It was a dismal day, outdoors and in.

"In light of the events of this afternoon..." he began, leaning forward in his chair, "I feel compelled to speak frankly."

"Sir," I interrupted, perhaps a bit too forcefully, "while I understand your reluctance to keep me on this case after my abysmal showing and subsequent burden upon your hospitality, I must insist that you at least consider obtaining the services of another investigator from our firm. This is much too serious to handle on your own and Thomas—" 

Pendelton had stood up abruptly. "Miss Holte! Whatever makes you say that? It's I who must apologize to you for putting you in this situation and implore you to stay on at all costs," he said earnestly. He walked the few feet to the fire and stared into it for a moment, holding his cup. I exchanged glances with Elisa, who seemed a bit uncomfortable to be included in this conversation.

He turned to face us and the firelight cast an uncanny shadow about him. "It's time I tell you both the truth." He paused for a long moment. "You see, it's my fault—all of this. My brother is back for me... he wants his revenge... because I caused his death. I killed him."

The rain and the crackling fire produced a steady rhythm to dull my spinning thoughts.

"That's impossible!" Elisa exclaimed. "You were just a child!"

"Children are capable of many things, and of many deep, dark feelings and thoughts," he said quietly. "As I'm sure you know." He looked directly at me. "Perhaps more so than adults, since children rarely know to fight against them."

In this moment, I realized that I'd become fond of this kind, older gentleman. "Thoughts and feelings do not kill someone," I said. 

He sniffed. "Don't they? Dark feelings were at the root of it all. If my brother hadn't been such a selfish, domineering bully," he said severely, "and if I hadn't feared and hated him so, perhaps he'd still be alive."

I could take this cryptic, philosophical monologue no more. "Sir, please speak plainly." I said bluntly, "Did you, a small nine year old child, push him off that cliff?" Elisa gasped.

Pendelton remained silent for several moments. Shadows slid about the room.

At last he spoke, in a tired voice. "I was always the weak one, always afraid. He was older and bigger and he lorded it over me and the other children at every opportunity. When I heard the children arguing this afternoon, and I heard Thomas say—" He stopped and shook his head. "It wasn't Thomas speaking."

He ran his free hand through his greying hair.

"It was like the past was replaying before my eyes. My brother was forever fond of saying, 'I do as I like' in that officious tone. He said it when he tore Maureen's favorite doll from her and she fell down the stairs. She broke her arm, in fact.

"And 'I do as I like,' is what he said to me on that cliff out there, holding that same doll and threatening to throw it over the edge."

He held up his hand, mimicking the gesture.

"It was pouring rain. I grabbed at his coat and wrested it from his grip. But he slipped, and.... So no, I didn't push him off that cliff." He looked at me gravely. "But I wished that I had."