The Don's Wife

48 | A Lesson Taught

Within the span of two years, Dorothy Williams has been exposed to various scales of torture. From harmless taunts to the cruelest form a woman can go through. Or any beings for that matter.

With each passing day, each passing assault, a portion of Dorothy's life was sucked out of her. Leaving her cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, skin shriveled, flesh thinned, hair greyed. When looking at her, nobody would've depicted her as a woman in her early fifties. As far as they can see, she's a decaying old dame. Seventy at best.

At a certain stage, Dorothy eventually gave up on tending to herself altogether. For what's the point in washing when you can't ever be clean? As much as mending things that are beyond repair? No matter what she does, it will be an effort wasted on nurturing what's already dead.

And without any left to care for, her visual perception of the surroundings somehow became more limpid. Particularly on people.

Their mannerisms, their gestures, the language of their eyes. Through brief observations, she's able to interpret the unspoken better than before. Call it a newfound talent of hers.

The looks of disgust, of lust, anger, hate and everything wretched. She's seen it all. Knows it well.

Especially anger and hate. She knows it best.
Has known it her whole life, in fact.
At least she thought she had.
That is, until she's experienced the man in front of her.

Peering her down as if she's a speck of stain that needs to be removed. Basking in the sight of her wailing, twisting in pain, as stream of blood came spilling out of her mouth, soiling the tattered rags she called clothes.

Pointing his cane at her face, the man was still.
Spite whetted his gaze, flexed every muscles on him.
Not a word was said, yet a thousand was told at the same time.

Dorothy has never witnessed a wrath so murderous. One that comes second (for a similar reason), was her former employer, Lucas Alderidge. But even him was still a league behind.

And the moment she heard James used her exact words against her, was the moment it dawned on her.

"Now, where was I?" James cracked his neck. "Right,– questions." Jabbed his cane right between Dorothy's eyes, instinctively stopping her from squirming in her seat.

The man that stood before her is not Jameson Salvatore.–

"Do you know who I am now?"
Asked the man again.

–But a husband who's meting out vengeance for his wife.

The pain Dorothy bore was too intense for her to even move her mouth, let alone speak. But something told her, there would be consequences to pay for another second of silence.

So through the raging pain, through the blood and fractured teeth, she forced an answer out of her.

"Yo- you're– Ro- shalind– Alderidge h- hush- band." Although with her mouth stuck halfway between open and close, added with several missing teeth, her speech was barely coherent.

Despaired at her own helplessness, she finally broke into unruly sobs. Micah looked the other away, quietly wishing time would pass quicker by doing so, while, in contrast, James has already come up with ways to prolong Dorothy's suffering.

"Are you crying?" Asked James, eyes narrowed.

More sobbing.

"Now, now.. Can't have that.–" He tapped her tears drenched cheek with his cane. She flinched.

"–'Tears are weakness', Dorothy."

Even harder sobbing.

"But since you've answered correctly, I'm willing to let it slide." James retracted his cane, thrusted it to the floor. "Next question."