The Truth Beneath The Rose

Mercy’s heart throbbed uncontrollably in her chest, tightening and making it so hard to breath. She couldn’t cry any more.

The mud on her face and arms had cracked, and her hair dripped onto the leather seats. Her uneven breaths were the only sound she could hear, along with her thumping heart. She shivered, rubbing her muddy arms.

“Here, Sweetie, take this.” The male driver, maybe sixty, handed her a towel, and she took it from his hand, and wrapped it around her. She tried to wipe away the mud, but it stuck to her skin like thick, sweet n’ sticky blood.

“Th—thank you.” She stammered, leaning back in her seat. She closed her eyes, wishing she could sleep, but her heart wouldn’t cooperate. It kept telling her not to.

“We’re almost there, okay? Listen, I’m real sorry about your father…”

Her face hardened. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She muttered, a fierce anger to her voice. The driver caught the idea, held his hands up in surrender, and went back to road, but as he did, a mansion came into view.

It was a gothic mansion, completely black. The detail was exquisite, the architecture was absolutely brilliant. Her heart leapt, realizing she would be living her. But why here, daddy? Why can’t I live with someone I know?

Mercy’s throat ached, and she put a hand to it, massaging it from the outside. I shouldn’t have screamed so much, she thought. It’s hurts so much…

The driver took her out of the car, a hand under her arm, but she yanked away and walked herself, though her legs were weak.

Why, daddy? Of all places. This was your death wish? For me to come here?

They passed a dead garden that seemed to not have been tended to in years. Fall leaved crunched under her feet, and the wind groaned painfully, as if telling her to turn. To leave and never come back.

Walking through the main doors, it was not what she had expected at all. The place seemed barren, like with cobwebs hanging from the chandelier above, and candles flickered. She had the feeling they could glow forever.

“Hello, miss.” A voice sounded from the staircase. A small, chubby woman speed-walked down the stairs, clutched her dress that skimmed the floor in her plump hands. Her cheeks were very red, and grey hair tumbled out of her bun and chopsticks. “Over here, miss!” She called, though she already had Mercy’s attention. “Upstairs, Darling, and we’ll get you all clean!” Her voice was just as cute as her. She was so short, Mercy looked down at her to keep eye contact.

The woman stopped in front of her, bowing slightly, and then grabbing her hand and dragging her up the stairs. “Come along, come along. Are you tired?”

“Well…well yes, but—“

“Ah! Well then I’ll wipe you down and you can bathe tomorrow. Saving water, right?” She laughed hysterically at her own joke, Mercy trying to keep up with the woman as she pulled her down the halls.

“Here’s your room, Missy—“

“Mercy.” She corrected.

“Oh, Mercy, right…I knew that. Yes! I knew that!” The little old woman pushed open the doors and took her into the room. She pulled her to the bathroom, barely giving her enough time to even glance around to see her new bedroom.

“I can take a bath right now, uh…Miss…”

“Miss Collingsworth. Call me Colly!” She chuckled. “I’ll get your bathe ready, darling, you just relax. Bubbles?”

“Bubbles.” Mercy stated firmly.

“Good, I like bubbles…” The old woman might’ve seemed crazy, but she was incredibly kind. Mercy’s heart stopped. No, she thought. I’m going to be as stubborn as ever and maybe they’ll get rid of me.

Colly fixed her bath, and left the room, telling her to hurry because it was very late. Mercy did bathe quickly, but taking about five minutes to relax. She cleaned off the mud, scrubbing her skin raw, and then did her hair. It felt so good to be warm…to be clean again…

Mercy looked at the silk pajamas that sat by the sink, and slipped them on. Walking out, she saw Colly had fixed up her bed. “Have a good sleep, darling. Be ready for breakfast in the morning.”

And with that, she left.

Mercy gazed around the room, but her eyes soon drooped and she felt sleep hitting her ikea a bomb. She jumped on the bed, pulled the covers over her, and fell into a dreamy haze.

But just before she fell asleep, she thought she heard a bloodthirsty cry in the night.