Mandrake

╰• 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3 •╯

Frederick Fettes stumbled down from the small and modest carriage, sweat beading on his pale forehead and his heart pounding frantically. He tossed his belongings onto the plush sofa and began packing the saddlebag he had just taken from the coat rack with all the tools he would need to start everything.

He felt euphoric. His body trembled with excitement, like a frightened sparrow in the hands of darkness. His eyes moistened, trying to expel the tears that fought to escape them, which he brushed away with abrupt movements of his arm.

He was a bundle of nerves, and rightfully so. Finally, after so much time, he would be able to set in motion his cherished and extraordinary plan. He could defeat death and tear apart that fine veil that he had believed impassable for far too long. He could once again receive that long-awaited kiss on the forehead, the tight embrace enveloping his entire body, and the caress on his jet-black hair. It was an experience he couldn't let pass, not after his revelation eight years ago.

When that happened, Frederick was returning home in his usual state of intoxication. For the whole town, it was no surprise that this lawyer, despite his extensive knowledge, was nothing more than a lonely drunkard who enjoyed bar fights and women. He had no friends or family who would sympathize with him and help him find the right path. His father had passed away when he was just a child, and Frederick grew up with the immaculate image of that good man, which everyone, with respectful tones of death, described whenever they had the chance to bring up the subject. His mother had also died when he was seventeen, a victim of a strange illness that no doctor managed to diagnose in time.

Every time someone mentioned the topic to the young lawyer, he would fly into a rage and immediately resort to violence. The mere mention of his burdensome mother drove him crazy with anger and contempt.

Since her mysterious death, the lawyer didn't let a single day pass without standing at the foot of the hallway, carefully gazing at the wide corridor where the worn-out Patsy Fettes had been found dead years ago. At that moment, before heading to his long-awaited rendezvous with Mrs. Dalburick, Frederick couldn't resist the opportunity to do so. It was a habit too deeply rooted and pleasurable to forget.

He leaned against the entryway frame and fixed his gaze on the dark corridor. Then, the vision of what had happened years ago struck him with all its delicious essence. The young man could see Patsy, calmly cleaning the small paintings she had insisted on hanging in a spot where no one would see them. He saw her with perfect clarity, as if she were a very palpable ghost.

The frail woman coughed and struggled to breathe while pressing her hand to her stomach, as if trying to contain the sharp pain she felt in that part of her body. Frederick watched her from that spot, furrowing his brow and clenching his fists with fury at his sides.

"You have no idea how much I have hated you, dear mother," he whispered. Of course, the woman couldn't hear him, just as she couldn't hear the swift footsteps approaching her before she could even react in any way. She felt her son's hands gripping her neck and shaking her vigorously. Frederick could see in her eyes the painful flame of confusion insisting that it wasn't her own son inflicting such harm upon her.

Panic and despair set in later, at the dawn of what was happening. Thin lips attempted to utter a single question, which Frederick could understand with absolute clarity.

Why?

The young lawyer smiled as he recalled his final words to the woman who had given him life and who, alone and widowed, had to work tirelessly day and night so that he could have a worthy career to boast about.