The Other Sister

8

Charles POV

I read every word that was written in "The National View" magazine not even letting it process through my head. I tried to focus on the small things to get my mind off of what Beatrice wrote. Focusing on the little things, I picked up my razor, turning it in my hand; looking at all of the edges. Sharp, sharp edges. One wrong move on someones neck and you have their blood on your hands. Blood. A liquid so thick, you could almost drink it as wine.

A sound from outside of the washroom caught my attention. It sounded like footsteps. I got out of the bath and wrapped a towel around my waist. It must have been one that was there that Beatrice hadn't seen. I walked towards the door, still hearing the little shuffled of someones feet. Opening the door, and stepping out of the bathroom, I am met with the eyes of Beatrice. Her eyes widen as she notices my state in only a towel. She looked to her left, and pointed. I followed her finger to more towels, and a note. She smiled and walked backwards with every step I took forward. She backed out of the room, and I slowly shut the door. It was a little awkward if I say the least.

I walked back to the desk that the extra materials sat on. Drying off my hands with the towel around my waist, I look at the piece of paper. It read

'Charles,

Im so very sorry to have confused you. There was an incident involving a man in the village. A man by the name of Jim Donnell. He hurt me, Constance and Merricat. Not only mentally but also in a small way, physically. One day, when I can talk, I will explain everything.
And that watch, it was their fathers. Merricat believes that if she buries something of some one who hurt her or Constance, it will protect them. Their father was not the best person. There is only one thing I ask of you. I ask that you do your best to protect us. If not me, then please protect Constance and Merricat. Family is the one thing that is most important to me and I want to keep them safe. I will tell you everything else when I can speak. Something has to help me. Jim, I fear he will always be listening. He will never leave me alone. At dusk, before dinner meet me by the pond. I will be there with an explanation. An explanation for everything. If you need me now, I will be resting on the couch just downstairs. Don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything.

Yours,
Beatrice'

I sighed and folded the paper. I pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk, and put the paper inside. I dried off, got dressed and put on the watch. I walked downstairs with a book in hand, and went into the living room. I smiled when I saw Beatrice sleeping peacefully on the love seat. I saw her chest rise and fall as she breathes softly. Her hair is perfectly fallen down off of the couch. It looks so soft. It looks so easy to brush through, and to run my fingers through.

Ok. Enough of looking at her while she is sleeping like some creep. I sat down on the chair across from the couch. I opened the book and began reading. I got nearly half way through before I felt myself dozing off. I looked over to see Beatrice still fast asleep on the soft cushions, and finally, I let my eyes close, and began absent mindedly smoking the pipe beside me. Not long after I began to rest, I heard approaching footsteps. I kept my eyes closed hoping that is was Constance just coming to check on Beatrice. Or me. "Cousin Charles." Again. I opened my eyes, blinking a few times, not wanting to engage myself in a conversation with Mary Cathrine right now. "Cousin Charles." She repeats. I clear my throat, and look behind me. "Well?" I say giving her a smile. She ignored my kind gesture as to smile at her and blankly said "I've decided to ask you, nicely, to please go away."

I looked at her for a second, thinking about what to say next. "All right." I paused. "You asked me." I chuckled a little bit and went back to reading my book. She sternly said "Please, will you go away?"

"Cousin Mary doesn't like me. Here I've come to... see my two dear cousins and my old uncle who I haven't seen in years. Along with having the pleasure of meeting your new sister, who is peacefully sleeping right next to us... Cousin Mary won't even be polite to me." I could feel her stare in the back of my head. She is angry and I can acknowledge her feelings towards me. I smiled to myself and laid back closing my eyes once again. "Well... Beatrice likes me. That's all that matters." She walks away and I am left in my thoughts. I could use a little bit of music. Beatrice looks like she could play a song or two on the piano. Then again, she looks so peaceful. Maybe I should take her to her bed? No. Im going to leave her there to rest properly, and maybe Constance can play.

Beatrice POV

I wake up to the sun shining into the room, and the sound of piano filling my ears. Constance is playing again! I love to hear her play. I slowly sit up on the couch, and run my fingers through my hair to make sure there are no snarls, or knots. I stand up stretching as I go, popping joints, and yawning the access grogginess out of my system. Following the sound of the beautiful music playing, I feel the cold, hardwood floors on my bare feet. It sends shivers up my legs, my spine, and back down bringing good bumps to the surface of my skin. I make my way down the hall, just passed Uncle Julians room, and into the entry way of the stairs. I see Constance playing the song she has practiced, and Charles enjoying the sound just as much as I am.

Charles noticed my presence, and smiled up at me as he sat in the chair next to the baby grand piano that was placed at the bottom of the staircase. I close my eyes and softly sway to the sweet sound of the G minor tune. I love how Constance's fingers just dance so gracefully along the keys. It makes me feel so at home. Charles looks at me again. He catches me swaying to Constances song. This song makes me want to slow dance with my father again. It's what we would do for my birthday, and for Christmas! We would put on "The Ink Spots", "The Heartbeats" , "The Chantels" , and many other Jazz bands. We would dance and dance until our feet would be numb. I loved dancing. And singing. Of course when I had the confidence to use my voice. I would sing along with songs playing on the record player, and I would sing along with the songs in the car on our long road trips across the country.

I smiled once again to Charles and made my way to my bed room. I looked in the mirror of the vanity sitting in the corner of the room and stared. I stared hard, trying, but failing to find the little girl I left behind with my parents, and looking at the young woman I have come to be. I walked closer to the mirror. With every step, another thought came into my head. Another thought of my parents. Another thought of my appearance. I sat down on the cushioned chair, and picked up my hair brush. I ran my fingers across the rough, yet soft bristles. I brought the brush to my hair and pulled it down from the top of my head, down through my long brown hair, and to the ends, undoing all the knots, and tangles within the strands of hair. I sat the brush down and looked all around my room. It feels as though I am in a trance at the moment. Looking for the things that are not seen, listening to the things that can not be heard, feeling the things that are not able to be felt though contact.

Physical contact. An embrace into the arms of another person is greatly needed right now. I would love one of Constance's hugs. They are so warm, and welcoming. She has the hidden ability to force out all the negative thoughts in my mind with one simple squeeze. It is truly magical how physical, human contact can change a persons way of thinking, and change the way they feel. I feel so cold and alone. But when I am in Constance's arms, I feel so safe. I feel at ease, and I can finally let my guard down. It's the trust that Constance and I have. We trust each other with everything. She will be the first person I talk to when I find my voice. Im just lost at the moment. She will be able to help me find my sound. We are all going to be so happy the day it finally comes.