A Little Friend

Chapter Seven

The day of the contest left Harriet profoundly changed. She had been hanging on by a thread for so long that I couldn't blame her for finally breaking down. After school, we continued our usual routine—going to her place, where she would paint while I sat quietly. But she didn't seem to enjoy our little activities anymore. The passion and energy she once had had drained away, leaving her work and our time together tinged with a somber atmosphere.

One day, for the first time since I had been at Harriet's side, our space was disrupted by an unexpected presence. I heard the rustle of a page-turning and looked up to see her father sitting in a chair, reading the newspaper. I recognized him from the framed photos hanged on the walls, but he looked different now; he looked older. His dark hair had turned completely white, and he had a beard that made him look like a Christian priest. His eyes, once sharp and lively, were now cold and empty, and his hands trembled as he held the paper. Despite this, he was very well dressed—expensive suit, polished leather shoes—still exuding wealth and authority.

It took him a moment to raise his head and glance in our direction. His eyes met Harriet's in an uncomfortable attempt to say something, but he didn't manage to phrase his thoughts. He looked back at the newspaper, then raised his gaze once more, but seemed at a loss for how to express whatever he wanted to say.

"Good afternoon, Papa," Harriet said, with her voice shaking. "Meet my friend, we're studying together. I thought it would be a good idea for her to help me with my... English." "Did you get rid of the other one? What was her name—Moira? Lucia?" her father sneered, not even bothering to look in my direction. He barely glanced at Harriet as he spoke. She visibly flinched and her body was shaking as she quickly headed toward the stairs. Just before going up, she paused, looked back at me, and signaled with a nod to follow. In his presence, I felt like I needed his permission to even breathe. I stayed close behind her, too scared to be left alone with him. We reached her room without any issues. Once we were inside, Harriet was fighting back tears but held herself together with quiet strength. She wiped her eyes and said:

"I need to show you something. But we need to be quick and silent"

I followed her down the hallway, trying to stay as calm as possible. My heart was racing with every soft creak of the floor. Harriet opened a door that protested with a groan and pulled me inside. She turned on the light, and the room was revealed in a dusty, neglected state—a large portrait on the wall, a dresser shoved against the far side, and a heavy layer of dust everywhere. It was clear this was her mother's room.

Harriet went straight to a big chest and started rifling through it, pulling out some old papers. Before I could realize what she was showing me, the door creaked open again. We both turned, and there was her father, standing in the doorway, with a looming and cold presence.

"You never mentioned your friend's name, Harriet," he said, his smile thin and chilling. Harriet stood up, her voice cracking as she replied, "It's Anne". The smile faded from his face. "Don't make her go, please!" Harriet's voice cracked into a desperate scream as he moved closer. She took a few steps back, her eyes pleading, while I stood petrified in terror. "Please, papa!". Mr. Woolridge advanced even more towards Harriet, having his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that ignored my presence entirely. With a scowl, he raised his clenched fist before her face. "Take it, Harriet!" he commanded, opening his hand that revealed a pill.

"Never!" Harriet's scream echoed as Mr. Woolridge seized and dragged her from the room, leaving me behind in a haze of fear and helplessness. Though paralyzed by the situation, my instinct drove me to the old chest. I hurried to it, determined to see the papers Harriet had wanted to show me, even in the midst of my despair.