A Woman Scorned

 So maybe we didn’t have the perfect marriage. Maybe I spent too much time at work. Maybe I came home irritated too much. Maybe we hadn’t had a date in over six months. Maybe that was my fault. No matter what I did wrong I did not deserve this. My husband John stood in front of me with his head bowed. He didn’t look sorry, or at least not sorry enough. I had just gotten home from the office to see him loading his stuff into the back of his red truck. He wasn’t expecting me home for another hour, but I wanted to surprise him with pizza. Instead we were having a silent face off while our dinner cooled on the grass.

“You’re leaving me?” I was enraged, as I was expected to be. My nails dug into my palms as my fists clenched. Quickly I folded me arms, not wanting to lose my cool.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Why?” My eyes burned with unshed rears. “Why are you leaving?”

“I found someone else,” He paused for a long moment before adding, “and she’s pregnant.”

I want to say that the first thing I felt was rage. Instead I only felt disbelief. It washed over me like a river, then there was a numbness that settled in the aftermath. He said something else but I couldn’t hear him. I just watched him finish packing and drive away. When his truck disappeared I felt large hot tears roll down my face. Slowly I turned, planning on going back into the house. Instead I saw what was supposed to be our dinner. I picked it up slowly before throwing it as hard as I could against the trunk of a tree.

A half an hour later I was sitting on the floor in the middle of the hallway, not really sure how I got there. To my right smashed picture frames littered the floor. The glass shone on the dark carpet like little stars. The photos inside were torn to pieces. When I looked at my fingers I found them bloody with little bits of glass stuck inside. The adrenaline that had been fueling my body was wearing off and I was just starting to feel the pain in my hands. I got up slowly, thankful I was wearing shoes, and stepped gingerly over the glass. I wanted to get to the bathroom so I could clean my hands and take something for my pounding headache.

As I entered my dining room/kitchen I stumbled over something. When I looked down I could see the splintered leg of one of my dining room chairs. As I looked up I saw that one was, thankfully, unharmed except that it was knocked over. The other was just broken pieces of wood on the floor. When I looked at the wall next to the pile I saw three big holes. In my anger I must have slammed the chair against the wall over and over again until it looked how I felt… broken. Deciding I could clean up after my hands were blood free, I got rid of this headache and after a nap I turned the corner into the living room. I should have expected what I found there.

My mother had given us a pillow with our names embroidered on it for our wedding. The pillow was now strips of fabric and a couple piles of stuffing. Other things were knocked over but nothing else looked brutally mutilated. I decided that was a good thing and walked down another short hallway, that looked tranquil compared to the carnage of the other rooms, and opened the door to the bathroom. This room was not as lucky. The glass from the mirror was littering the floor and one of the cabinet doors was hanging on by one of its hinges. As I was pouring two of some knock off brand of some pain medication I took a closer look at the side of the cabinet. I found little splatters of blood. I must have punched and tore at the mirror until my fingertips started to rip apart. I looked back down at the two pills before sighing and pouring two more into the palm of my hand. Slowly I made my way out into the living room again and laid down on the couch. It didn’t take me long to fall asleep.

Of course with the way my day was going I couldn’t stay asleep very long. I woke feeling worse than when I went to sleep. When I looked to my left at the clock on the TV set I could see that I was only out for half an hour. Sighing I looked down at the bandages wrapped tightly around my fingers. I thought briefly about taking them off but that would leave my wounds open to infection. Instead, I swung my feet off of the couch and walked into the dining room. The mess was still there. It didn’t magically clean itself up. Deciding I still didn’t want to pick up the broken pieces littering the house I shuffled back down the hallway and into the study.

It wasn’t actually used as a study, more as a glorified storage room. After my grandmother had passed away I packed everything she left me into boxes and left them in the study. Of course this angered John. He wanted me to go through it or throw it out. He didn’t understand of course. I knew what was in the boxes. I knew everything that was in her house. It just hurt too much to look at anything.

My grandmother was more of a mother to me then my mother ever was. I was born to a single woman, with my father nowhere in sight. She wasn’t ready for a child. She didn’t want a child. She kept me anyway. She was a fickle woman who flitted from man to man and from dream to dream. She would come home every now-and-again and say that we were going to be a family. I stopped believing her at the age of twelve. My grandmother kept me though. She put me through school and made sure I got into college. She never complained about having to raise another child that she didn’t give birth to. She was there at every softball game and at every performance. She held me through every heartbreak and continued to love me even when I yelled at her.

She was taken very suddenly from me. It was a heart attack. Now I needed her and she wasn’t here. Instead I opened a little box and started to spread her things onto the floor. Small pieces of jewelry and clothes soon littered every surface. Knick-knacks were next. I had forgotten how many turtle statues she had. Then I got to her books. There were some of my old favorites but there was also some I had never seen before. The book called Cupiditas caught my eye. I pulled it onto my lap and opened the cover. There I had found a letter that had my name written on the front.

My darling June,

If you are reading this then that means that I have passed on. Know that me passing does not mean that I am gone from you. I still walk beside you. I am still proud of you. Of course you already know that. What you don’t know is why the letter is shoved so carelessly into a book you have never seen. The word on the front, Cupiditas, means greed. It is exactly what the book is. It makes promises and, while it will always deliver, they are often promises you want when you are upset. I wish I could tell you that I had never fallen for it promises. There were several times when I needed this book to get us through to the next spring.

I don’t know if it is wrong to give this to you now but I know that even if I didn’t it would get to you at some point. It has been in our family for generations. Some have tried to sell it but it always ends up with the new generation, no matter how hard they try to send it away. Don’t fall prey to promises that you may regret. The book has a handy way of making you regret many things. Be careful my love. Watch yourself. And remember, I love you very much.

                Blessed Be…

Slowly I put the letter to the side of me and opened the book to the next page. There I saw pages explaining what the book was. Farther in it also explained about a woman named Elizabeth Stone. Elizabeth was an ancestor of mine the came from a long time ago. She wrote much of the book. She was also hanged and burned for heresy. Her daughter had managed to escape and so the book continued and did not perish along with it author. I flipped through many of the pages. Some were for good fortune. Other were made to hurt someone. I stopped on a page that said at the top “For A Woman Scorned”. Someone had thought to translate the book.

I looked through a few of the words before I could see Kill the Baby sticking out to me. I pushed the book out of my arms and cried, running to the kitchen. I grabbed my keys and got in the car. I didn’t know where I was going, I just knew it had to be far away. After an hour of going in circles and down dead-end roads I found my way to my best friend’s place. Lynn would know what to do. She always knew what to do. I only had to knock on her door a few times before she opened it.

She was dressed in a pair of sweats with holes in them and a really nice work shirt. I threw myself into her arms the moment the door opened far enough for me to. She just drug me into the house and led me to the couch. She held me for a while before leaving to get me a drink of water. When she came back I was calmed down enough for my mumbles to form actual words. I told her my story, leaving out the book, briefly. She held me for a long time before I drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke I was still on her couch, wrapped in a warm grey blanket. The smell of eggs tickled my nose. Lynn had been a morning person since we were girls. I, on the other hand, was definitely not. She had learned a long time ago that I was much more pleasant after I had eaten. I should have gone into the kitchen. I should have helped her. I just didn’t want to move. From my warm spot on the couch I could pretend that yesterday was a rotten dream. When I got to my feet, I would no longer be able to escape reality. I kept my hands firmly under the blanket. I didn’t want the bandages to destroy my world of momentary make-believe.

Of course I had to face it when Lynn brought my plate out. She set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in my lap and a cup of hot black coffee on the little table. She didn’t speak to me for a while. It was an unspoken rule that we would not talk outside of necessity until I had finished half of my cup. She was patient, as usual, and let me take my time. When my cup was dry and my food was gone she turned to me and took hold of my hands.

“Are you okay?” She asked as she started to peal the bandages off.

“As well as could be expected.”

“I wish I could say something that would make it better.” She whispered, putting the bloody bandages on the little table in front of us.

“Me too.”

We spent the day watching old movies and eating junk. She didn’t complain about the lack of conversation. She knew I needed this. I needed to pull myself together on the inside before I could even begin to address the problem. It took me a few hours of thinking and rethinking before I finally started to speak.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, honey. You weren’t the problem.” She took one of my hands in hers and held onto it tightly.

“Then why did he leave me? Why did he love another?”

“Sometimes people fall out of love.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No one ever promised ‘fair’ when it comes to love.” She took a deep breath. “Just remember that forgiveness we bring you greater joy than revenge.”

Days passed before I would finally let her take me out. We went to the local bar. It was a Friday night so the place was pretty packed. The smell of smoke and vomit wafted toward me in waves. She led me through the crowd and bought me a beer. It was slightly warm and a little stale but I was sure that wouldn’t matter soon. I was halfway through with that drink when I saw them. John had a whiskey in his hand and his arm around his blonde whore. She was beautiful. Her face was slender and her short blonde hair framed it nicely. She was just starting to look pregnant. There was only a little bump but i could still tell it was there. It was then I realized that he had been cheating on me for a while.

Part of me wanted to hit them both. I wanted to yell and scream that they hurt me. I wanted to slap her for coming in a bar. I wanted to make him hurt. I wanted to take everything away from him. Of course I also just wanted to cry. I looked for Lynn in the crowd of people. She wouldn’t have strayed too far from my side. When I finally caught sight of her I rushed into her arms. She held me tightly and nodded when I asked her to take me home.

“Do you want me to stay the night?” She asked.

“No. Tonight I want to be alone.”

I listened to her old rusty car drive off down the road before I hurried back to the study. The house was clean, except for the study. I didn’t take me long to find the book once more. In my haste to get away from it after I had seen the spell I had just flipped it over onto the floor. When I turned it right side up I found the spell I had seen before. I was going to regret this. I was going to hurt someone worse than I ever imagined. I just didn’t care. I had to wait nearly a week for the moon to become new. During that week I tried my best to act normal. I went to work and laughed at all my coworker’s stupid jokes. I ate and I slept.

In the kitchen I found all of the ingredients for the spell. I threw them all together in a big pot and set it to boil. Next the brew called for something from the mother or the father. It took me awhile but I finally found a piece of his hair on his pillow. With excited movement that frightened even me I tossed it into the pot. A puff of smoke shot up like in the movies and the brew turned a dull green.

“El maledicam mulier, tolle puerum, et hominem nocere” I read confidently off the page. I could do this. I needed to get every syllable right. I couldn’t wait until the next full moon.

“And I will curse the woman, lift up the lad, and no man to do.”

“El maledicam muiler, tolle puerum, et hominem nocere.”

“Immolabitque ad infantem. Immolabitque ad infantem.” I repeated this several more times before switching to whispering “Kill the baby” over and over again.

Another puff of smoke and the liquid turned into a mirror like substance. Instead of seeing myself, like I would expect, I saw the blonde haired woman. She was in what I was guessing was her home. She had a dust rag in one hand and was rubbing it on a bookshelf. I watched her hum for a moment before she dropped the rag and grabbed at her stomach. Her mouth opened, like she was screaming, and I could see little drops of blood pooling at her feet. Tears raced down her face and I watched her stumble to the bathroom.

For a moment I felt confused. Miscarriages usually took a couple weeks. Surely she shouldn’t have that much blood or that much pain. Looking at the bottom of the spell page I could see a small paragraph that I hadn’t bothered to read. I explained that the miscarriage happens very suddenly and the spell is designed to cause a lot of pain to the mother.

I wish I could tell you that in that moment I felt sorrow. That I had felt regret. I only felt justice. Of course sitting at home and feeling somewhat satisfied isn’t enough. Gleefully I grabbed the keys and drove to her door. Sitting in the passenger’s seat was a box full of John’s old CDs and movies. I carried them to the door and started to knock. No one answered. I wasn’t really surprised. I couldn’t see John’s truck but I was sure he would be here soon. She would have called him right away. After knocking a couple more times I opened the unlocked door. Setting the box on a table I started to call John’s name.

Sobbing was heard from the bathroom and I could hear her shuffle around, like she was trying to get up. I rushed to the bathroom door. My heart of ice was starting to melt, leaving an empty hole in its place. Yanking the door open I began to feel what my grandmother said that I would; regret. She didn’t know me and I didn’t know her but when I fell to my knees beside her she nearly crawled into my lap. I held her and rocked her and I felt ashamed. I didn’t think about it hurting her. She didn’t do anything to me. I only wanted to hurt John. Now I had a crying woman in my arms and regret gnawing on my chest like a dog.

It took almost half an hour before she could ask me my name. Her name was Lilliana and she was 25.

“What are you doing here?” She asked quietly, the tears were slowing down.

“I was looking for John.” The lie made me feel queasy, or perhaps that was just the smell of blood. “He left his CDs at my place.”

“Oh. He isn’t here.” She wiped her eyes but only succeeded in leaving a smear of dark blood. “He’s with some other girl now. I think her name is Penelope.”

“Do you want to me to call him and tell him about the baby?”

“No.” The breath she took in was ragged and I feared it would bring on another round of tears. “He didn’t want the baby.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it meant he would have to settle down.” I rose to my feet as she spoke and turned on the water in the shower.  Placing the plug into the bottom I started to fill it. When I got back I started to peal her top off. It didn’t feel awkward. I knew that I needed to take care of her. She had gotten her pants off before I had arrived. When the water was high enough I shut it off and helped her to stand. Before she stepped in I dipped a washcloth into the water and washed most of the blood off of her.

When she was comfortable in the bath I set to work cleaning the floor. Her clothes went into a bag that was headed for the trash bin. Before I put her shirt in I used it to mop up most of the blood before searching in the cupboard under the sink. I found some brand name floor cleaner that I never heard of and poured three times the recommended amount on the tile. The way I saw it was the recommendations were for nasty spills or some other accident, not for miscarriages. Not for the kind of mess that was on the floor now. Part of me wanted to use bleach but with her sitting only feet away I didn’t want the stink.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She whispered. She looked like she was going to fall asleep… or maybe she was going to cry again. I couldn’t be sure.

“You were in no state to do it. Besides, you shouldn’t have to clean this up. I don’t want to put you through any more pain then you already have been through.” Translation: I did have to. You didn’t make this mess, I did. No one else should have to clean it up. I know I hurt you badly. I am so sorry.

I sat down near her and gently washed her hair. I couldn’t make it better. I couldn’t change what I had done. Washing her hair or her floor wouldn’t make me feel any better and it certainly wouldn’t make her feel any better. I had to try though. I had to try to make this easier for her.

After an hour I had her tucked in bed and I was at work scrubbing her carpet. Blood made a trail all the way to the bathroom. She cried when she saw it. As I scrubbed I could feel my emotions bubbling up inside me. I wouldn’t let myself cry until I was sitting outside the bathroom door. Guilt had me by the throat and wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. There was a hollowness in my chest and I wished for the heart made of ice instead I was gifted a new heart. This one bled.

That night I fell asleep on her couch, ready to get her if she was to call out. In the morning I surprised myself by rising extra early and making her breakfast. I avoided eggs. I felt like they would be a bad idea. Instead I stuck to my ‘I’m a sucky cook’ habits and made her a waffle with syrup. In her cupboard I found a box of chamomile tea and set a pot to brew.

When I entered her room I saw her looking at the wall. There were tear tracts running down her face. He hand was settled on her lower belly. I had given her a maxi pad before she had gone to bed but from the look of it she had bled through. I set the food and tea next to her and she looked at me sadly.

“I was hoping it was just a dream. Tell me it was just a dream.”

“I am so sorry, Lilliana.” The sobs were ripping through her throat again. “Come on. You need to sit up and eat something.” She allowed me to help her sit up and took the plate and fork when I offered them to her but she made no move to eat. “Don’t make me feed you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Try a bite.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You still have to eat, honey.”

Slowly she complied and picked bite up with her fork. She stared at it for about a minute before deciding that I wasn’t giving up and shoving it into her mouth. Bit by bit I had her finish half of the toaster waffle but I would consider it a victory for the moment.  After I put her plate in the sink I trudged around the house, looking for a heating pad. It took me ten minutes to find one. I set it up under her back and told her I needed to go get something from my home.

“Do you need me to call someone for you? You mother or a sibling?” She only shook her head and explained how her mother and brother had perished in a car accident almost ten years ago. Her father had disowned her when she moved out. She had no one. I asked about a friend and learned that she had moved to this town only six months ago. She didn’t know anyone well enough to take care of her.

“You don’t need to take care of me. I will manage.” She told me, taking my hand. From her grip I could tell that she didn’t want to be alone. She was just too proud to say it.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two.” Reaching over I punched my number into her phone and left it on the screen. “You call me if you need anything and I will come right back.” After she nodded I left the house with a constant tug telling me to go back. It only took fifteen minutes to get to my house, twenty if you were going the speed limit. Inside a large overnight bag I stuffed a week’s worth of clothes and other supplies. Slinking back through the kitchen I picked up the book again.  Two pages behind the spell I found another one that said ‘Punishment for the Unfaithful’. This one would castrate the male and make him an eunuch. I cursed myself. If I had just turned two more pages I would have hurt him and not her. I was angry and hurt but that is no excuse. I would live my life carrying that heavy burden.  I was an ass, an ignorant ass.

When I got back to her place I found her still in bed. She hadn’t moved an inch. She just stared at me as I came in and whispered that she was in pain. In the medicine cabinet I found brand name pain meds and threw five of them in my hand. She took them all gladly with the tea.

“I don’t know what to do.” She whispered.

“You just get better.”

For two weeks I stayed with her. When I was at work she was to call me if she needed anything and I made sure to get out as early as possible. She slowly got better and would walk around the house. Most of the time I would come home to her watching Disney movies. When I came back that night it was the same. I plopped down on the couch and started watching with her. She was wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and had her feet pulled in tight.

“It isn’t fair. What he did to us.” She whispered, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“No, it isn’t.”

“We didn’t deserve it.” She turned to look at me then with a small smile. “I wish there was something we could do to repay him.” It was then that my mind flashed back to the book. Part of my mind was shouting that I shouldn’t even think about it. It went wrong the last time I tried to take revenge. Of course I ignored the little voice and bullied it into a corner.

“There is something” I took a deep breath. I didn’t know how she would react to me suggesting black magic but I thought it was worth a try. “but it is cruel.”

“Whatever it is I am sure it isn’t cruel enough.” She had her hand on her belly again.

“It would turn him into an eunuch.”

“I’m okay with that. Just as long as we won’t get caught.”

“Oh I promise. We won’t even be near him.” She flipped off the TV and we both got into my car and went to my house. There I showed her the book, careful not to show her ‘The Page’. She just set about gathering ingredients and piling them on the counter.

It took us an hour to prepare and only two minutes to say the spell. The same thing happened as before, the liquid turned into a mirror like substance. On that day we castrated the one who wronged us. I knew my grandmother would be angry. She would tell me that this is what she warned me about in the letter. I just couldn’t find it in myself to care enough.

“How about we go out to eat tonight?” She asked with a big goofy smile. She was happy. That made me happy. I nodded in approval and told her that I would just need ten minutes to get a shower and change.

When I entered the kitchen Lilliana was putting the book on the kitchen counter. At first I panicked but when she smiled I just told myself I was being silly. We made our way slowly to my car and started to head for the city.

“Where do you wanna get a bite?” I asked when we were about ten minutes away from my home.

“How about we go through a drive through and I will show you my favorite spot? It is the perfect place for a picnic.”

The request seemed a little weird but I was happy to give her anything at that point. We stopped and got burgers and a case of beer. When everything was packed safely in the car she directed me to an overhang by the ocean. It was beautiful. There was no one around for a good two miles and from the edge you could see the waves crashing against the side of the cliff. The wind was a little nippy but I wasn’t going to complain. Instead I laid out the blanket that I always kept in my trunk. We would use it to eat on.

Soon we had all the food laid out and the beer close by. Our meal was eaten in silence since Lilly scarfed down her meal. She walked over to the edge of the cliff with her bottle and dribbled a little down to the watery prison. She explained that she was offering it to some god of the sea for luck. When I finished I trudged my way over to her.

“Aren’t you ever afraid that you’re going to fall?” I asked, staring at the foamy blue-grey torrent.

“No.” She put one of her arms on my shoulder in a reassuring way before she leaned down to speak in my ear. “But I am glad that you are, murderer.” Before my mind could register what she had said a hard tug was given to my shoulder and I was diving down. My body twisted so that I could see the world above me. Lilliana poured the rest of her beer down with me and dropped the bottle.

My body connected with the rock and my head cracked open like an egg. My soul drained from my body like the beer from her bottle, but not quickly enough that I couldn’t feel the cold fingers of my salty grave. The sea god had his sacrifice. Some beer and a killer.

The police would never find anything that would connect Lilliana to my murder. Just an abandoned car, an old blanket, and a dozen empty beer bottles to fabricate my story into one of a drunk broken hearted woman who threw herself into the waters cold unforgiving embrace. One of us got away with murder, and it wasn’t me.

The End