Page 17 of Fragile Wicked Things

I pulled myself away, telling Thomas I was thirsty and smiled so that he wouldn't sense the truth.

It wasn't long after we returned to our table that some friends came and spoke to Thomas, but I couldn't hear above the loud music. Thomas hadn’t been in New Orleans long but making friends came easy to him.

He introduced them by their nicknames—Easy, Sly and just plain Alan, then their girlfriends joined us and we crowded around the small table, pulling chairs up from all around.

Sly managed to light the cigarette dangling from his dry lips and open a whiskey bottle at the same time.

The bottle passed around, from Sly to Alan to his girlfriend, who then gave it to me.

It was automatic for me to reach for it, but she didn't let go, her lips formed into an "o" when she realized her mistake.

There was a shift in atmosphere, and Sly said I didn't have to drink from it.

I brought the bottle to my lips and drank.

* * *

Thomas dropped me off past midnight. I hummed a tune as I turned the key in the door and entered the dark entranceway with a little twirl; the exuberance of the evening possessed me.

Never had I experienced such freedom, and it had been a while since I felt joy, the true kind that comes with learning something new about yourself.

"Jane." Rochester's voice startled me. He called me into the drawing room where he sat in a wing chair, his back to me so I couldn't see his face. The fireplace before him blazed and crackled, its glow illuminated the drink in his hand. "You're home late. It's not an appropriate hour for a lady."

Tempted to say something clever about the nights he kept and the women he kept them with, I bit my tongue and said nothing instead.

"Were you with Thomas?"

Oh, how the tables have turned. "Yes. Catherine gave me the evening off."

"What were you doing at this late hour?"

"Dancing."

"Dancing?" He stood to face me, and a shudder jolted through my body. On his face, he wore a black horned mask with a nefarious smile permanently etched on it. He swayed a little from the drink. "With Thomas?"

I nodded my head.

"Oh, that's grand."

I turned away. "Please take that off. It's hideous in the dark."

He moved close to me, and I looked at him, staring at that wicked smile taunting me.

"I'm a demon in human form. I don't belong in your world," Rochester said, his voice low yet powerful.

"Please, stop," I said.

"Is it the mask you fear or me?"

"I'm not afraid of you."

He leaned in, took a gentle sniff, and whispered into my ear. "I can smell your fear. How do you think I found you in the maze that night?"

"I can smell your drink, Mr. Rochester."

He pulled back. "I've had plenty. Plenty of scotch. Plenty of time in which to drink it. Waiting for you to return home so that I could give you this."

Rochester gestured with his hand to the sofa. A red satin ballgown was haphazardly discarded atop the remnants of a gift box, the cardboard ripped to shreds in anger. Rochester lifted the mask, unveiling his face, twisted in agony. "I waited, but you were with him tonight."

"He was teaching me to dance, for you, for the ball tomorrow."

"Show me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Do you mean to embarrass me like some circus monkey for your amusement?"

Rochester's face softened and his demeanor lost its aggression. "No," he said.

The clock struck one, and Rochester grew quiet. He looked around, confused by his surroundings, then sat down at the piano, and hummed along as he played a few keys. He stopped midway, struggling to strike the correct key, and continued with a melancholic melody.

"Will you sit next to me? I could teach you to play. Every woman should be accomplished. Catherine played every day since the age of five. For seventy-five years, I heard her, and now there's silence."

I had grown accustomed to the inaccuracies Catherine made from time to time, but this I considered strange. Surely, he meant he’d been listening to Catherine play since he was a child and not the duration of her life.

I sat on the bench next to him. "You're heartbroken, Mr. Rochester. Her playing used to comfort you when you were a child and now..."

"I'm losing her, Jane. I'm losing my Catherine."

I understood his torment, that when Catherine passed away, he would become orphaned like me. It wasn't right to be alone, and although Rochester's motivations weren't always clear, I knew his greatest burden was watching someone he loved die.

"Teach me to play," I said to lift him from the despair I found him in.

"Now?"

"Just a few notes. The night is young."

"The night is always young. Lesson the first."

Rochester took my hand into his and spread my fingers across a number of keys. He was cold to the touch but gentle. Playing alongside me, he showed me the correct fingering, and how to count and while I fumbled and laughed, an unexpected thing happened. Rochester laughed too.

When the clock struck two, I said, "I should go."

Rochester jumped up, folded the dress, and handed it to me. "Good night," he said.

"Good night."

He leaned forward, his face inches from mine, his thumb stroking my lips, turned his head and kissed my cheek. "Thank you for entertaining a drunken fool."

I turned away, unable to suppress the flush to my cheeks and the smile on my lips.

By the time I reached my bedroom, I was exhausted and fumbled with the door handle until it gave.

In the darkness, I placed the dress on my bed and tossed my coat next to it.

Something stirred—a figure sat on the chair by the foot of my bed.

I gasped and, in a flash, turned on the switch, hoping that the ghostly image would disappear at the first sign of light.

"Auntie! You gave me such a fright."

She sat there motionless, quiet, too quiet that I thought for a moment her dead. A strange sound came from her. She had been crying.

"I’ve been caring for the Rochesters going on forty-five years since my own baby girl was small.

It was just me taking care of my baby. Mr. Rochester offered me a job, so I took it.

The money was good, but I didn't know. I didn't know it was the devil I made a deal with.

He wore a mask to hide his true face. No, I didn't know. I was planning to leave, but Mr. Rochester...It was too late, I sold my soul, but it wasn’t too late for my baby girl.

I sent her away to my sister in Chicago, so she raised her and kept her away from this place.

And oh, Lord, then he shows up here." She turned her face upwards, pleading with the Lord above and then looked down, shaking her head from side to side.

"Lord. Oh Lord, Jesus." Auntie stopped crying, took a deep breath and looked straight at me, penetrating me.

"My grandbaby stays here because of you.

Leave this place, and reason with my boy to go back to Chicago.

Save his soul. It isn't safe here. For neither of you. "