Eliza, Dearest - Prologue

Eliza, Dearest

 “Elizabeth, dear?”

That was all that was needed for Elizabeth to turn to her mother. “...Yes, Mama?”

Elizabeth was 8 at the time. She was an obedient child, good grades, polite, good manners… she never seemed to cause any trouble. She took time on her appearance, and always thought highly of making a good impression. There was only one, slight problem with our dear Eliza.

“Come here.” Elizabeth's mother spoke softly, sitting in front of an open bonfire as she watched her husband tend to the fire. It was a nice night out, with the warmth and crackle of the fire, the crickets chirping and the stars visible and clear. It seemed perfect.

Elizabeth walked over to her mother, sitting beside her on the log laid out as a bench. A perfect night, what could ruin it now?

“Yes, Mama?” She asked again, softly. Her mother smiled in reply.

“I know…” Her mother paused with a small sigh. “I know you see things, and hear things… that aren’t very pleasant.” 

Elizabeth nodded slowly. This was a talk that she was given often, after compulsively stabbing her sister, due to the “voices” telling her they would hurt her if she didn't. Her whole 6 years of living were filled with constant nagging at the back of her mind. And every time this talk was given, she recalled the event. Every time, in great detail, like a frame burned into the films of her mind.

Elizabeth stood over her sister’s bed. Her sister, Madeline… She was sleeping so peacefully. Elizabeth gripped the steak knife with a trembling hand, her nails digging into her skin leaving crescent shaped indents in her palm. She raised the knife with teary eyes, holding it now with both hands as she drove it straight into her sister’s upper arm. Madeline screamed. The parents rushed in. Elizabeth was pushed away as they tended to their poor eldest child.

Elizabeth sat on the floor. Her father had pushed her out of the way, landing on her back with the wind knocked out of her as she sat up. She had dropped the now bloodied knife, and it slid to the side across the floor. As she began to get her bearings straight again, she felt her father grab her wrist tightly and hold it above her head.

“What did you do!?” He yelled, squeezing her wrist. Her mother said something, but she couldn’t process what it was. Her vision was blurred with tears as they streamed down her face, staring at her father as she began to make out his angered expression. She could hear Madeline crying as her mother ushered her out of the room to look at her wounds.

“I-I’m so s-sorry-” Elizabeth made out small words through her sobs. Without a word, her father dropped her to the floor, but didn't let go of her wrist. Instead, he dragged her, screaming and crying as she beat against his arm in a futile attempt to get free of his grasp. “P-papa! I-Im sorry!” She yelled, as he dragged her to the basement door. Opening it, he let her go once inside, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Elizabeth seemed to realize she wasn’t going to get out for a while. She muffled her sobs into her jacket sleeve, pressing her back against the wall and sliding to a sitting position. She drew her knees to her chest, burying her face into her arms as she cried. She knew she deserved this, but she didn’t want to stab her sister. They told her to.

Elizabeth was pulled out of her little flashback. “...Yes, Mama. I know.” She whispered. Her mother gently put a hand on her back and rubbed it. She knew that this wasn’t a pleasant discussion for either of them.

“Me and your father, we had a chat…” Her mother said, a hint of hesitance in her soft voice. “We’re gonna get you fixed, okay?”

Elizabeth looked at her, tilting her head. “What do you mean…?” She asked, whispering loud enough to be heard over the fire.