Madness

chapter 7- dreary days

Elena had a strong, unfocused sense that what she had said was like trespassing in a silently unbidden place. Father was dead. The utter stillness and numbness of the loss was a hooded vale above them. Every expelled breath that Frank wheezed was surged with despair and grief. His chin quivered as if he was holding back sounds of distress. Regret was a moral residue. It clung to her and she could already tell it would be hard to remove.

Death wasn't kind. It was cruel. She knew that yet didn't find sadness in her father's death. Did she? His memory was only a fingerprint in her mind.

Death snatched at what it could, blind to hardship. It didn't care. It didn't even pretend to care. Instead it chose to rupture and hurt. The hooded vale of death hunger over the two, it's presence enough to damage souls.

"I'm so, so sorry," she rasped, the words sank into the quietude limply.

He shook his head in a dismissive tone. It didn't get rid of his sombre, melancholy expression or glassy eyes. Holding her breath, Elena waited. She wasn't sure for what but in her mind, it seemed necessary.

How did father die? What if the nightmare was true? What if it wasn't a nightmare? No! It can't be! It’s just lying to turn me into a monster. Her thoughts were panic ridden and barely a whole.

"So, you really don't remember?" He asked, his words quivering slightly.

"No," she whispered, her voice delicately soft and fragile like a silent hush.

"Well..."

"Frank! Elena! Lunch is ready,"her mother called.

Glancing towards the slightly ajar door, Frank then focused back at Elena. We'll get through this. If it worsens tell me and we'll sort it out. He stuttered on his words as if making broken promises. It'll be alright."

It won't be! She screamed in her mind. I'm falling apart! I see things! My reflection changes! You don't know half of it. I'm not ill, I'm losing my sanity.

Elena wanted to feel thankful, she wanted to feel loved, but the increasing emptiness left her hollow as the wind. Darkness fledged her mind leaving her emotionless. She was scared. She was scared enough to feel her body cripple and her mind disorder.

"You can't," she began, stiffly. "It followed me here. I have to leave."

"I know it did,"  Frank muttered underneath the creaks and groans as their mother thumped up the battered the staircase. "I saw it."

She gave a cry of alarm, something in between a guttural cry and a shriek. Edward's dingy, dark gaze silenced her, but it left a ringing hum which grated against her nerves. Soon enough, Elena heard the door steadily creak open. Spinning around, mouth dry, she watched her mother scan the room.

Smouldering underneath her mother's creased, unreadable expression was a look of agitated fear. It was thin and spidery but made her look years older.

"Can't you hear me? Lunch is ready," she paused, eyeing Frank. "Why do you look so scared? I'm not a monster."

I am, though.

Grunting, Frank shifted his gaze towards Elena. She had pulled her hands around her knees, so they dug into her chest. The crisp, dreary fear was filling her lungs, robbing her of oxygen. Her throat tightened as she let out short, harsh wheezes.

It was back. It had returned like an echo of a sighing spirit.

The mirror reflected the back of her mother, but she wasn't alone. Beneath the dusted mirror, Elena could make out a watery figure. Fake-Elena. Fake-Elena's narrowed eyes and wicked smile casted the darkest of shadows; so dark they weren't a colour but a seeping pool of nothingness.