Decorum | ONC 2023 Shortlister

Chapter Eight

Within two days, the phones had been restored, and Abigail was called down to the kitchens to receive a call from Dr. Whitlock. With barely an introduction as to who he was, he told her in a deep, raspy voice that he would be making his way up to the manor within two weeks to check on Victor. He would arrive early on Tuesday morning and depart that same Thursday if there were no complications. Then, without giving Abigail a chance to ask any further questions, the doctor coughed loudly into the phone and hung up.

When Abigail impressed this news upon Victor, he became solemn and passed the remainder of the day by staring out the window. Once or twice he attempted to return to his book, but after a fruitless hour of staring uncomprehendingly at it, he swept it aside and resigned himself to the corner where the bookshelf met the lofty window. He sat there, silhouetted by the overcast sun, cross legged and then with his knees pulled into his chest, and he would neither eat nor drink. It was only when Abigail stretched a hand out to him to take him to bed that he left his corner, but even then he seemed hesitant to follow her. When she dropped him off at his room, he stood in its center, looking at his surroundings as if they were a complete stranger to him. Gently, Abigail reminded him that she was just down the hall should he need anything, and then she left him as he stared disorientedly at the wall behind his bed.

For the next few days, Victor remained like this, lost in whatever thoughts or imaginings plagued him, oblivious to Abigail's company or attempts to draw him out of himself. So once again she was left wandering the manor and reading old books which didn't interest her. One day, she attempted to play the piano that had been collecting a soft layer of dust in the music room, but without any music to play, or any knowledge of how to play, she quickly grew bored. Instead, she found herself outside, walking about the gardens. It didn't seem to matter what hour of the day she went out, she always found the pitter patter of rain droplets thudding down against her borrowed umbrella.

Somehow though, the rain made the gardens eerily beautiful, and Abigail found herself staring up at the mildew choked marble statues that posed sorrowfully amongst the overgrown gladiolus and forget-me-nots. One of these statues was the naked, thoughtful woman that Abigail had spotted from her bedroom window on the first day of her arrival. The statue was even more beautiful up close with her deep, mournful eyes and perfectly smooth shoulders. Abigail stared at the woman who was slowly, ever so slowly, beginning to drown beneath the moss and vining tendrils that climbed her ankles and wrists.

Beyond these few activities, however, Abigail struggled to ward off the unbearable boredom that came with roaming endlessly, soundlessly about Blackwell Manor. With every day that passed, she found herself missing that ever illusive version of Victor that she had spoken to the day of Arthur's visit. Any effort she made to engage Victor in conversation, however, fell on absent ears. Occasionally, he would remark about the weather or whatever book Abigail had picked up for the time being, but each of his comments fell flat, vacant of any true interest or emotion. It wasn't until the end of the week when another storm began blowing across the manor that she would get another chance to speak with him.

The downpour began late in the night, punctuated by rolling lows of thunder and the rhythmic thud of fat raindrops as they broke against the windows. Restless, Abigail laid in bed, staring into the darkness. With not much to occupy her energy, it had become increasingly difficult to fall asleep. Out of boredom, she often napped during the day, lulled asleep by the constant drizzle and the papery turns of Victor's pages. At night, however, she felt jittery, her capacity for sleep having been filled during the day. It was because of this that when she heard a soft rapping at her door that she had little to do but turn on the light.

Upon opening her door, she was unsurprised to find Victor standing there, his hands moving anxiously at his sides.

"Good evening." Abigail greeted him.