Take Heart

Fear

The laboratory was getting chilly. Worried that Percy would catch a cold, Emelie went to fetch an extra quilt from the linen closet. Hope and Etha passed by her, their arms full of dirty laundry. Their conversation came to a halt as soon as they saw her, and they held their noses high in the air as they made their way into the scullery. Emelie shook her head and continued to the closet.

She had been spending more late nights in the laboratory with Mr. Godwin. They were worried that if any of the household staff noticed that she was up late on the same nights that the Organ Harvester struck, someone may mention it to the police. However, the more time she spent with the doctor, the more the other servants resented her.

Opening the closet, Emelie sorted through the blankets and quilts to find one suitable for Percy. It didn't matter what people said. Even if she and Mr. Godwin were growing closer as they devoted more time to Percy, she wouldn't let anything develop. She couldn't. She absolutely couldn't.

A shadow loomed over her, and as she was about to turn to see who it was, something pushed her. She lost her footing and stumbled into the small closet. Before she could right herself, the door slammed shut and the lock turned.

She lunged for the doorknob, pulling at it and rattling it loudly. She could hear snickering on the other side. Pounding on the door, she begged for them to let her out. But no one responded. She stopped and laid an ear against the door. Nothing. No laughter, no voices, no footsteps.

She was trapped.

Sitting down, she pulled her knees to her chest and tried to steady her breathing. Slow, even breaths. Everything was fine. Someone would find her. The linen closet was used often. She wouldn't be left inside forever.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Since she was a child, Emelie had been terrified of small, dark spaces. An old fortune teller once told her it was because she had been buried alive in a previous life. But Emelie knew the fear stemmed from the time some of the older children in the slums locked her in a trunk as a cruel trick. They left her there alone for hours. Her mother, busy with work, did not notice she was missing until night had fallen. She searched the streets for her and finally learned of what the children had done. She found Emelie passed out in the trunk, her fingers bleeding from trying to claw her way out.

Ever since then, the thought of being trapped terrified her. Even being in small, locked rooms caused her to panic. She had worked hard to control her fear, and for the most part, she had succeeded in hiding it from those around her. However, during her first week working for Mr. Godwin, she had accidentally locked herself in the wet larder. Despite her attempts to calm herself, the cook later found her curled up on the floor in a pool of tears. It wasn't long before everyone in the house knew of her fear of small spaces.

Now she was desperately trying to keep herself from falling into another episode. She continued to take steady breaths and to repeat over and over that she would be all right. But the closet was getting smaller. Even in the dark, she could feel the walls pressing in on her. Was the air getting thinner? Was she breathing too much? Was she going to suffocate?

Her heart pounded in her ears, and she clutched her legs tighter to keep her hands from shaking. But it was no use. Her entire body was wracked by violent tremors. Her stomach churned, and she was certain she was about to vomit. No, she couldn't vomit. If she vomited, it would poison the air, and then she really would die.

Death. She was going to die. This was it. This was how she was going to go. Not at the hands of a victim who fought back, not at the gallows when the police caught her. She was going to die in a linen closet. She was going to suffocate or be crushed or perhaps even both.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she began to babble, unable to hold back her terror. "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Oh God, please not like this, please help me, save me, someone, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for being bad, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't want to die like this, please, please, please, please—"

The door opened, and light spilled into the dark closet. Gasping, Emelie looked up to see the silhouette of a man standing before her. As her blurred vision corrected itself, she realized it was Mr. Godwin. His expression was filled with concern, but it melted into relief when he saw her. But not as much relief as she felt at that very moment.

"Mr. Godwin," she cried, throwing herself at him. He caught her as her legs gave out, and he held her tightly against him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He gently stroked her hair. "You're not the one who needs to be sorry, Emelie. It's all right. You're safe."

"I don't want to die in a closet. Please, don't let me die in a closet."

"Shh, it's all right. Come on, let's get you downstairs."

Emelie pulled away, her eyes wide with terror. "No!"

She could not handle the laboratory right now. It had taken some time before she could descend those stairs without breaking into a cold sweat. When Mr. Godwin gave her a key, it became a bit easier knowing she had the power to free herself. But after being trapped in the linen closet, she knew she could not step foot in that sequestered basement.

Mr. Godwin nodded quickly and pulled her close once more. "It's fine, I understand. Then let's go up to Percy's room."

Still shaken by her time in the closet, Emelie allowed Mr. Godwin to lead her up the stairs and into his son's room. She was relieved to not be returning to the servant's quarters. She knew who had pushed her into the closet, and she didn't want them to see her in such a state. It would give them too much pleasure.

Easing her onto the bed, Mr. Godwin took a seat beside her and put a protective arm around her shoulders. She was concentrating on her breathing, trying to keep from breaking down again. The fear and panic still lingered, and she was sure even the smallest thing could send her into hysterics.

"Emelie."

Her heart clenched and her throat ached from holding back a sob. The tenderness in Mr. Godwin's voice was enough to set her off. Bursting into tears, she did not resist when he wrapped her up in his arms. Rather, she buried her face into his chest, drawing comfort from his strong and warm embrace. The harder she cried, the tighter he held her.

"I'm sorry," she hiccuped, unable to control herself. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

What was she even apologizing for? For causing a scene? For letting Hope and Etha bully her? Or for allowing him to hold her like this? For giving him hope for something that could not be? For letting him fall in love with her? For not telling him the truth?

"It's all right Emelie," he whispered. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

Oh, but it was.

And yet she still selfishly allowed him to hold and comfort her, drinking in every ounce of affection he so willingly gave her.