Inheritance

Part 2 Chapter 40: Dead-Woman-Walking

Pollyanna was hauled back to the manor. Kline dragged her up the stairs and into her quarters where he threw her on the bed.

Pollyanna stayed limp where she lay.

Her face was blank and dirty. She had barely said a word for the entire week they had been traveling back to town. She felt as if she were a dead-woman-walking. She had no emotions, no hungers, and no passions left for the world.

She was a body without a soul.

"The only reason why I keep you as my wife—why I keep you alive—is because you might be carrying my child. If it turns out to be that monster's—that mockery of a human being's—then I will be sure to kill both you and it when it comes out. Do you understand me?" His voice was as sharp and cold as steel.

Pollyanna didn't reply. She couldn't even move. She couldn't even think.

If she allowed herself to think, her thoughts would only lead her to Rory's bloody demise. If her thoughts led her there, she feared she would be unable to move for the rest of her life.

"Do you understand!" Kline rose his voice as he turned her on her back. "Answer me!"

Tears parted the dirt on her cheeks; she avoided his fierce gaze. She nodded numbly.

Kline looked upon her in contempt as silence resumed between them.

"I'll have the servants draw you a bath." He broke the silence in a moment.

Kline opened the door and locked it behind him.

Pollyanna did not move for minutes; she hardly even breathed.

Dust began to settle upon her because she was so still.

Silence reigned in the room for a time.

Eventually, within the dark room, convulsive gasps began to echo.

They started low and soft at the bottom of her throat, but eventually, they became pained howls which filled the entire room.

I have nothing left. Was her only thought.

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Pollyanna was locked in her room day and night for what felt like days.

She was given plenty of food and water and a chamber pot to relieve herself but was otherwise treated like a caged dog.

She couldn't muster the strength to do anything but mourn Rory and her last, lost chance at freedom.

She found herself lying on the dusty floor on her side. Her long, unkempt hair was sprawled out beside her; deep craters were burrowing beneath her eyes. Her skin was rough and burnt from the sun.

All she could think of were sad things; the night her father died, the night of her marriage, and Rory's death...

Doesn't it sound sweet and resilient? Rory's adoration of her name echoed in her mind.

She tried her best not to cry. She feared if she kept crying that her eyes would turn permanently red.

But she could not help her own emotions which overpowered everything else; including reason.

Her emotions led to rash actions.

Pollyanna dragged herself to her feet and looked around the room. She rubbed the side of her head—it still hurt from where Kline had punched it a week earlier.

She found a small, glass figurine of an owl sitting on the shelf.

Without hesitation, she smashed it on the floor. It shattered into multiple fragments.