Fragility

splintered.

Sleep came fitfully, painfully, still feeling as if I’ve been hit by a train, all puffy, red eyes, and an empty stomach, sloshing with the acid like that of a heavy battery. After the blood was washed off and I stepped into a new nightgown, my mind would not quiet. In the dark, curled into myself, I should've cried, I wanted to, wanted to feel something else than the pain that remained, pulsing like a dying star -- between my legs, my right hip, down my back, my left breast, the bite mark on my shoulder, the hitching of my breath when I swore I heard another footfall. When sleep finally came to me, I embraced it like a lover. We went down, together, into the depths, where pain did not exist.

Morning came, anyways, and the gray sun streamed a tunnel of light into the room, waking me, even though I'd prayed that I wouldn't wake and face the day. But even as these thoughts continued to assault my psyche, I couldn't bring myself to lay in bed and wallow about something I couldn't otherwise change; the air here, full of smoke and power, was suffocating. I wanted -- needed -- to dance. I needed to act like a real girl for a while, to laugh and giggle about stupid matters that didn't mean anything.

I rose -- attempting to ignore the pain between my legs -- and after brushing my teeth and hair, fixing the unruly locks into a bun in the back of my head, quietly donned my usual uniform. I made sure everything was perfect before slipping out, my bag slung over my shoulder.

The hallway leading toward the bedrooms was teeming with maids, in their respective black and white uniforms. Some flew past me, greeting me good morning, while the others ran in the other direction, cleaning supplies in tow, toward the drawing rooms and libraries and ballrooms. I moved past the melee and made my way toward the dining room.

My aunt was already seated when I entered, skimming through a freshly ironed newspaper. Uncle was not present.

"Good morning," I said, rather meekly as I took my place by the head of the table. In reply, she flipped the top of the newspaper over to look at me. Her gaze was ice-cold.

"Morning," she said and flipped the paper back up.

"Where's Uncle?" I said, feeling like I should act like I cared about his whereabouts. As long as he was far, far away from me at the moment, I would worry less.

"God knows," she said dryly.

I did wish she'd throw me a bone occasionally; perhaps we'd feel more familial. She wasn't like this when we first met when I was eleven at a costume gathering that my grandparents hosted; our words were clipped and short, until Uncle sent me off, but she was nice enough back then. As she and Uncle got closer, she held onto Uncle in public parties and I frequently saw them kissing when I shouldn't have been looking. All the while, he seemed wildly besotted with her, even after a particularly ugly incident involving my grandparents, when Papa accused Uncle of giving everything up for a nobody.

"His stupid friends made quite a--" she began but was quickly cut off by the sound of glass breaking. I looked toward the sound, finding a glass bottle with a lit rag stuffed into its narrow neck sailing toward the table. It hit the mahogany with a crack and promptly broke, the liquid inside the bottle splashing out, coating the top of the table with flames.

I shrieked and toppled back to the floor, the chair coming down with me. My aunt jumped from her seat, dropping the paper into flames, and screamed for help.

It felt like ages before help came and the fire continued to rage on, quickly filling the room with suffocating smoke. My aunt continued to scream as I pressed myself back against the wall, hand over my mouth as the room blackened. The lit oil began dripping to the floor, making awful little hissing sounds as it hit the carpet.

Through the fog, I heard a door slamming open and the cook barreled into the room with a large pot of water and quickly extinguished the flames, spilling water over the edges of the table. As the broken window was quickly opened to let out the smoke, the only sounds heard were my aunt and mine's heavy breathing, the phantom-sizzle of the flames, and residual water dripping on the carpet . Before the cook could even ask my aunt if she was alright, she sent him back to the kitchen.

I remained on the floor in a seated position, back against the wall, my heart pounding so hard against my sternum that I was sure it was audible. My whole body shook like a leaf, my eyes burned and watered. As I tried -- and failed -- to regain my normal breathing pattern, my eyes watering and burning from the smoke and anxiety, I looked under the table; my aunt had taken her place in her seat, for I could see her feet. I could hear her sniffling. The head housekeeper came in through the door now, the sound of her shoes the only evidence that she was there.

"Ma'am, are you--," she said, but my aunt cut her off, saying tightly, "Get-me-my-husband."

"Ma'am--"

"Now!"

The woman scuttled out and came back with my uncle in tow a few minutes later. He asked quietly, "What happened? Where's Vee?"

I felt invisible hands around my neck, cutting off my precious oxygen supply.

My aunt began to wail. It was an ugly, woeful sound, and it dug deep, deep into my bones. Uncle seemed undeterred by it as he rounded the table and, face pale, picked me up off the floor, crushed me to him, despite my resisting. His breath was in my ear, heavy and hard.

"Are you alright? Huh? Vee, say something..." he said as he pulled me to my feet, his hands patting my face and my arms.

Don't touch me, don't touch me, don'ttouchme. "I'm fine," I said thickly, feeling like vomiting. Just get your hands off me.

He had the power to love and to torture. That hand was on me only six hours ago, a gesture of power, I own you; now it was on me again, in a loving manner. I felt my flesh searing under his.

"David, David," my aunt sobbed as she shoved me away -- thank God -- and pushed herself into his arms. He didn't move for a few moments and then put his arms around her, his hand on her raven hair.

"They h-hate us. Ne-next time, it'll be a bomb!" she sobbed against his form, voice full of hysteria. Her shoulders shook violently.

"No, no, darling, I won't allow that," he said softly. He turned his eyes to me and I swore that gaze bore into my soul. I wanted to faint. "I'll keep you safe."

"Safe..." my aunt moaned. "I don't know what that means anymore."

"I promise to keep you safe, sweetheart," he replied. "I promise."

I watched as she grit her teeth and shoved him away with both hands; he stumbled back, looking as if she struck him. "'Keep me safe'?! Then do something!" she screamed. "Instead of fucking around with those Krauts, do something for your wife!"

Uncle held his hands up. "I'll get Bertie--"

"That stupid, stuttering fuck better send some more guards over here," she said, and her voice sent a chill crawling down my spine. "Or I'm gone."

"Alright, I'll speak to him," Uncle said easily, and he strode forward to hold her again. I turned and was out of the room, dizziness assaulting my head, clipping past all the doors and the people and I swore I heard footsteps behind me. Then my name, once, hard as stone -- I kept walking. When I made it outside, gasping for air, a pair of arms wound around my shoulders.

"I said, stop," Uncle said in my ear. He still held me -- I, wanting to faint; I hated his hands on me -- as he called for every single one of his cars searched; the trunks, the underside, under the hoods. The guards immediately went into action, paying careful attention to the Bentley, Uncle's primary love.

Given the all-clear, he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I wretched his arm off and turned around and pointed a finger toward the door. "Go to her. She needs you."

More than I. Love can be split equally down the middle.

There was no expression, where there probably should've been. As I walked to the car, I heard him say, "But I need you."

--

Paul dutifully left me on the curb and the world was finally quiet.

Today would be long, I realized as a headache began to pound behind my eyes, as I went to sit on the grass in front of Miss Clara's home. I'd have the greatest of honors of being around Annabelle and her friends. Perhaps staying in bed would've been an ideal option.

"Vee!" For a moment, I thought it was Lily, but when I looked up, Annabelle was standing before me in all her glory. I found it odd that she even called me by my name -- "mouse" was what I was usually called.

"Good morning," I said cordially.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "How are you?"

"I'm...alright. You?"

"Brilliant!" she said, still absolutely chipper for a reason I desperately wanted to know. "Can I sit here?"

Aren't you worried about catching an airborne parasite from me? "Absolutely," I said, and she plopped down next to me almost immediately.

"Your hair is so pretty, Vee," she said, scooting closer to me. "What's your secret?"

"Water," I said, and she was silent for a moment before bursting into laughter -- it sounded forced. Humor wasn't a strong suit of mine.

"Oh!" she gasped when she was calmer, a hand on her breast. "You are the funniest girl I've ever met!"

I humored her, but I knew this wasn't the end of this. "What's this really about, Annabelle?"

"Nothing!" she said, feigning innocence. "I just want us all to be friends. Friends are hard to find these days, and it would be extremely unchristian of me not--"

"Calling Lily 'The Bear Jew' is a fine example of a token of friendship, don't you think?" I said sarcastically.

Annabelle sighed heavily. I noticed her cheeks turning pink. Her voice was lowered when she told me, "Tell me the truth: why are you friends with her anyway? She's a bull in a china shop. She can't dance for the life of her -- we all know it."

"You haven't the faintest about her," I snapped. "And she is not a bull in a china shop."

"She's a show-off," Annabelle said.

"So what if she's a show-off?" I replied. "Let her show off -- she's got the talent for it."

Annabelle grimaced. "You call that flitting thing that she does talent?"

I rose to my feet, worried that I'd snap at her if she continued running her mouth. I told her tightly, "This conversation is over."

Annabelle shot up, too, and grabbed my arm, pointing a slender finger in my face. "It's not over until I say so."

I snatched my arm back and grabbed my things from the grass. "Please think long and hard before you approach me again with your silly accusations. I have no time for it." With that, I pushed past her and started walking up the small hill toward the house. Moments later, I felt a hand on my elbow again.

"Hold it, eager," Annabelle huffed and she let go of my arm when I turned to face her. "All that stupid stuff -- about Lily -- I really think we should all attempt to be friends."

"What makes you think Lily and I would want to be friends with you?"

Annabelle sighed again and didn't say anything for a few moments. Then: "Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday. It was wrong to laugh and poke fun at the b--" Here, she paused and looked as if in pain. "Lily."

"Don't apologize to me," I said. "You need to apologize to Lily."

"Ugh.” Annabelle pursed her mouth. "You have my word."

"Thank you, Annabelle," I said. "I'm sure Lily will appreciate it."

Annabelle then gave me a Cheshire Cat smile. "Wonderful. Now that we have that lousy business out of the way, there's something else of a pressing matter here..." She leaned in close. "Assuming we're friends and all now, how about you tell me who you are?"

"Excuse me?" I had a thought of where this was going to go.

"I know nearly everyone in this town -- except for you," she said. "You haven't been here for very long, have you?"

I decided to indulge her a bit. I shrugged. "A year."

"But you were born here."

"Yes."

"You're obviously rich, too -- you have a driver! Daddy won't let me a driver," she said, pouting and sounding as if a driver was a pet. "He says it's a waste." I couldn't help but agree with her father.

"It's rather wasteful," I said, matching her snobbish air. "His wages could go toward war bonds."

"Damn the war bonds," she spat. "They're useless, y'know."

"Do you not realize that we're in quite an ugly situation at present, that the war bonds help our boys?" I said, on the very edge of losing my cool.

"Well, all that ugly stuff won't affect any of us," she shrugged. "Not here, at least."

"We've been blitzed to smithereens six times over the last month. Men are putting down their lives for our safety," I said. "Do you care?"

She sighed and didn't say anything. I told her, "Pray tell, dear Annabelle, what'll happen to your clothes and your dream driver and your pretty little life if the Germans come marching in here?"

She paled. "They won't."

"Why do you think they're bombing every last place on the map? Bristol was just hit a few days ago; Cardiff, Swansea, and Hull, too." Though I'd pray this never happened, it would only seem to be a matter of time before the Germans settled within the town, wrecking businesses and tormenting its citizens. I still shuddered when I thought of the heartbreaking decision Papa had to make in the spring, when the Germans invaded Denmark, to allow them to remain there.

"That's why we have the army," she said easily, waving a hand. "Emmerson Sandford -- you know him, don't you? -- told me at this father's last gathering that we have the upper hand--"

"I'm afraid Mr. Sandford doesn't know what the bloody hell he'a talking about,” I said.

“She’s right,” someone said behind Annabelle and, shocked, we turned to face Lily, her arms crossed over her chest. She was dressed in the same uniform as Annabelle and I; Lily’s bore a red stain on the hem.

“I’ll have you know, Lily,” Annabelle huffed. “Mr. Sandford is an old family friend and I do believe he knows what he’s talking about."

“Congratulations,” Lily said dryly.

“As if you’d know of having such friends,” Annabelle retorted.

Lily sighed heavily as if she were about to heave a boulder off her chest. She looked rather proud as she said, “My family has served the House of Glücksburg for years and I have the decency to tell them that, sometimes, whatever comes out of their mouths is utterly stupid. But that makes you a rather awful friend, doesn’t it, Annabelle?”

“House of what now?” Annabelle said.

"I do worry about your well-being," Lily said. "Being so pretty, yet so abysmally dense and in such close proximity to us weirdos. Aren't you concerned you'll catch some sickness?"

Annabelle side-eyed Lily and gave me a rather fake smile. "See you inside!" She went on her merry way up the small hill toward the house.

"What in God's green earth was that about?" Lily asked when we were alone.

"I'm not quite sure," I replied.

"That girl is a freak," Lily said, looking up the hill as if it would be a stretch for her to get up there.

"Funny that she calls us freaks," I said, slinging her small appendage across my shoulders. Lily snorted as we made our way up the hill together.

--


Ballet ended five hours later and I was positively exhausted. I'd often forgotten -- as I was deep into the dance, the arabesques, dégagé -- the pain; afterward, it would come with no mercy.

I helped Lily down the hill and we both laid on the lawn, awaiting our relatives. I attempted to breathe as the pain between my legs dulled to an ache. My hips and thighs screamed. Under my coat and dress, a thin, cold sweat stuck to my skin. I'd pushed myself far too hard today.

Lily intertwined her hand with mine. "You okay?"

"Just tired," I replied.

"Mm. Me, too," she said, and suddenly brought herself to a sitting position. "So, you never told me!"

I, too, sat up and brought my knees under my chin -- seeing stars form before my eyes. "Never told you what?"

"What your uncle said about my invitation, of course!"

I breathed out, "He said yes."

She squealed behind her hands, and then fell against me, her arms around my shoulders briefly. "What did I tell you?! Of course he'd say yes! We'll have great fun, I promise!"

At a cost. I did try to think of the fun we'd have -- twirling around in pretty dresses, dancing with men, taking forbidden sips of drinks; that seemed to outweigh quite a bit. "Have you found a dress yet?"

"It's too early, silly," she said, slapping the back of her hand against my shoulder. “I'm going to tear the town apart to find the perfect one when the time calls for it."

"I'm sure you'll have luck," I said, suddenly worried about not finding a proper dress for the occasion. Uncle was always leery of gifting me new clothes, claiming I'd always get them filthy with grass stains and mud -- he was half right. And besides, the only nicer clothes I did have reeked of cigarettes from his German friends.

"So will you!" she said easily. "Don't fret about it -- that's no fun now, is it?"

I laughed. "Is fun the only thing on your mind?"

"So it is!" she declared, and we dissolved into giggles just as Annabelle and her friends walked by.

"See you, Vee!" Annabelle said, flipping a hand up in my direction. I watched her gaze move to Lily. She sounded strained as she said, "Ciao, Lily."

Lily saluted them with the opposite hand. We didn't say anything as the girls made their way up the street, where a car was waiting; they slid in and were off down the road.

"And then there were two," I said.

"Thank God for that," Lily said, and just then, my uncle's favored Bentley pulled up to the curb in front of us.

"One," I said, giving Lily the tightest hug I could muster. "I'll see you in a few days."

"You okay?" she asked, both her hands on my shoulders.

"Fine," I said, smiling, even though the last place I wanted to be was home. "We'll need to look for dresses next time."

Her face lit up as she let me go. "Dresses. Sure."

Paul was stationed by the door, holding it open as I made my way down to the car. He shut it behind me and I gasped when I looked up and found my uncle sitting in the seat opposite me, clad in a grey coat.

"Uncle," I said, putting a hand to my chest as if it would calm my racing heart. "You frightened me."

He didn't say anything -- just stared at me coldly.

"Is everything alright?" I asked quietly as Paul gunned the engine and began driving down the road. I watched as Uncle reached into the breast pocket of his coat and produced a newspaper. He threw it at me so it landed on my lap.

"Page there," he said and I took up the paper and flipped it to the third page. On top of the page, it read, BROADLAND GIRL MISSING -- CONNECTION TO PREVIOUS KIDNAPPINGS SUSPECTED.

My blood turned to ice. Over the last few months, girls in every county, it seems, have simply vanished. They -- and the number of them, I did not remember -- were seen once and not again, until about a week later, when said girl would show up miles and miles away from home, shaken, but unhurt.

Each girl that was taken had been returned in the same condition; however, none of the girls have ever been able to give a definitive description of who took them and where they were taken, which gave way to inclination that these girls had been drugged. At first, the police had reason to suspect that none of the kidnappings were connected, but due to the frequency of the kidnappings, which were three weeks apart, they now had a good reason to suspect that this was perpetrated by the same person.

"Broadland..." I said. "That's not far from there."

"No," Uncle said. "And it's only a matter of time before that sick fu--" He stopped himself and sighed. "That sick man, or people, whomever, will come here, to Lynn." He sighed again and ran a hand down his face. "God forbid they'll get their hands on you. I shudder to think of what will happen."

"I don't want to think of that either," I said thickly, and I knew exactly what he was going to say next -- I'd be on indefinite lockdown. The newspaper suddenly felt very hot in my hands.

"Things are going to change around here, Vee," he said, and in return, I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

"I will not have you walking around the gardens by yourself," he said, as a form of an introduction to -- it seemed -- the new rules around the chateau. "You will not go for walks in the forest. Paul will have you home promptly after ballet, and if I so much as hear a rumor of a detour, there'll be hell to pay. I will not have you going into town alone..."

To think of it was better, but to actually hear this decree from his own mouth was a thousand times worse. To be home all the time, every waking moment, second, hour...I'll go mad; but even so, even though I wanted to scream and be an awful child, I couldn't find it in my heart to open my mouth and object.

"I am to know where you are at all times," he said, looking the smallest bit proud of himself -- he made it show with a tiny crook of his mouth. "If the need be, you won't leave my side, until whomever this person or people are, are caught."

I nodded again, even though I'd rather drop dead than give him any further reason to be next to me. But whatever I'd say, he'd eventually use against me. My silence seemed to make him suspicious. He leaned forward and asked, "I'm surprised by your lack of...argument, Vee."

"I have nothing to argue against," I said, sounding painfully diplomatic, when I should've been trampling his rules to the dust. The air in the car grew too hot.

"Is there anything you feel that should be added?"

"Yes," I said, shoving down my will to object down to the depths of my soul. I felt like he was testing me, to see if I actually would counter in some manner. "I suggest that we have stronger windows installed."

As if my answer was some sort of a joke, Uncle laughed.

--


True to his word, Uncle would not let me out of his sight. Over the few hours since we'd been home, my surroundings had changed very little -- from laying on the couch, counting the cracks on the ceiling, to reading books on the construction of a violin, and finally, to the window seat, where I stared out the window, nose nearly pressed to the glass as the sky darkened almost instantaneously.

Something caught my eye, then: flashing lights in the sky. They were very far into the horizon, but slowly approaching underneath the light veil of clouds. Planes. Six of them, formed into a V, slowly creeping closer like a plague. I thought they were British, until--

The sirens begun to scream and the shattered peace splintered and fell like glass rain as I began to count slowly in my head, back from thirty.

The planes wailed.

Twenty-seven...

I felt myself being pulled back and away from the window and there was so much going on suddenly. A hand on my arm, being led away from the room. The walls began to shake; a painting fell off the wall, the framing shattering as we ran past it, dodging corridors and hallways. Someone crying.

Nineteen...

The door to the shelter is right there, so close to us, in the empty hallway, devoid of anything, even light. A few painful seconds, the door won't open, thedoorwon'topen! -- over more whirring of plane propellors above us, above the chateau, faster than my heart -- and we're in there, in the cold and darkness and uncertainty again.

Ten...

There's a cot in the corner and I'm lifted onto it. More crying. It's so dark, I can't see. Someone yanks on the cord of the lightbulb above us. The room is blinded with light, but the edges of my vision are black. I can hear crying and shaking breaths; all around, bouncing off the steel walls that are supposed to keep us safe. The last maid in closes the metal door behind her, leaning against it.

I push my coat up to my ears.

Eight...

A whistle. The crying stops.

Six...

The world silences.

Four--

The whistle is engulfed by the dropped bomb. Too close. The steel walls shudder violently against the weight of the blast. The shelter is filled with screams as maids are knocked over, falling into valets. The lightbulb flickers and dies. In the darkness, the screaming doesn't stop.
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