Atlas

Twenty

October, 1999
East Abhingham

"Miss Clara, slow down!"

But Clara Rogers twirled around the winter study, in her flowy white gown that seemed to dance along with the breeze coming from the open window.

Her servants giggled. There was no way this woman had just given birth two weeks ago. The baby was born small and sickly at first but had grown considerably healthier, and so had Clara.

Dancing along the study, she resembled a ghost. Pale skin, thinning brown hair and the body of a skeleton, she was no stranger to second glances of surprise, and then admiration. Because as frail and eccentric as she was, Clara Rogers was beautiful.

At that moment, she heard footsteps. It was her husband, who had just come downstairs with his brother.

"But this doesn't make sense, James!" Joseph said. "She doesn't belong here. Even the doctor—"

"The doctor's official report says no, brother." James argued. "I'm not putting my wife in an asylum."

Clara didn't like that word. A home for mentally sick people. Sounded like a prison. And she liked to think that there was nothing wrong with her, and even if there was, her mind was her own prison.

"I'm getting her the best treatment at home. What's everyone going to think if the governess herself is put away?"

Joseph muttered something, and then Clara heard receding footsteps.

"MUM!" A small child cried. "DILIA ... TOY."

Clara turned around. A little boy was running towards her, followed by an older girl.

She frowned and looked down upon the children. They looked so familiar, but Clara had no idea who they were.

"Dilia," she heard James enter the room. "Give Adrian back his toy, please."

"Yes, father." Both of them ran off into the nursery room, and James sat down on the sofa.

"Really, Clara." He sighed, putting a cigar in his mouth. "At least try to remember your own children."

Maybe that was something normal mothers did, Clara thought.

Dr. Brown entered the room, accompanied by a servant. He also, had overheard the conversation.

"It's okay, James." He said. Dr. Brown was one of the few people allowed to call James by his first name. For years, the two had been close friends.

"She keeps getting worse." James shook his head. "Joseph argued we should put her in an asylum today. But Atlas is only two weeks old... I can't."

"I understand, James. She hasn't been okay since her accident. But we're trying our hardest to reverse the damage, and to some extent, we've exceeded."

"But not enough." James sighed and got up. He leaned into kiss Clara, hesitated a bit, but planted a kiss on her forehead anyways.

Clara looked at him innocently, with big brown eyes, and wondered why he looked so upset.

That night, when Clara went to bed, she dreamed she was a fairy, just like the one her nanny had told her about when she was a child. She would fly amongst the flowers, above trees and rooftops and the mountains. She would even fly above the stars and the planets and the universe, and she would discover hidden secrets no one knew about...

When Clara opened her eyes, she was standing in the study. She frowned. It was dark. She must have been sleep-walking.

The cold breeze from the window made her shiver. James usually locked their bedroom door, but tonight he must have forgotten.

She was still shivering when she heard footsteps coming towards her. It was too dark to tell who it was, but all she saw was the shining metal of a gun.

A bang, then it was over.

Clara fell to the ground. Her brown hair splayed all over the carpet.

When she closed her eyes, she dreamt of heaven.