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Helixi -> [Untitled] Suggestions welcome! [Untitled] (10/15/2009 17:06:02)
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Comments appreciated.
Prologue Part One
Samantha clutched her young daughter’s hand and bit her bottom lip as she watched Aidan’s body lowered into the grave. His mother stood opposite her over the gaping, greedy hole, her eyes glinting malevolently at her daughter-in-law. Beside her, Aidan’s father, Paul, scowled at his well-polished shoes. Behind them, the assembled ranks of Aidan’s close family stood shoulder to shoulder, presenting a united front of angry black to Samantha.
Beside Samatha, Niamh began to sniffle. Her untameable ginger hair stood out around her head in stark contrast to her mourning black.
Samantha herself was terrified. She was terrified of the black rancour she faced across the grave. She was terrified of what would become of herself and Niamh now her husband, her rock, was dead. The priest’s solemn words jerked her back to reality. She allowed his Latin chant to wash over her, feeling oddly at peace. Finally, after what seemed like years, the priest closed his Bible with a dull thud and bowed his head, though whether in prayer or respect, Samantha could not tell.
After several moments of silence, Aidan’s mother, Rhoswen-Veronica, touched the priest’s arm. He nodded gravely and left; his white habit looked ghost like as he strode away through broken or toppled headstones. Samantha watched him leave, reflecting that the stones looked like the broken teeth of a predator. She turned back to see the members of Aidan’s family leaving the cemetery. They filtered quickly away. Soon only Samantha, her daughter Niamh, Rhoswen, Paul and two of Aidan’s siblings Caitlin and Peter, were left.
“You killed him.” Rhoswen’s voice cracked like a whip in the still Summer evening air. She spat in Samantha’s direction and turned away in disgust, hobbling away with the help of a thick oak cane. Her husband followed, stiff backed and unsmiling. Samantha felt a single tear trace down her pale cheek as she gazed at the stony faces of Caitlin and Peter.
“Cait…” She began, taking a step forward then thinking better of it.
“He died in that fire, because of you.” Peter’s gravelly Irish twang cut Samantha to the quick. He too turned and silently left.
When Caitlin spoke, her voice was soft as oil on silk, but as deadly as a viper’s hiss. “You should leave, Samantha. For a long time. Mum and I can take care of Niamh. Maybe even adopt her. But you’re not welcome in our house.”
Samantha turned to gaze into her daughter’s bright purple uncomprehending eyes. Fire will take Niamh from me too. She almost laughed out loud and turned to Caitlin, whose flaming orange hair lifted in a slight breeze.
“No.” The word was simple, definite, final. A look of grudging respect came into Caitlin’s eyes before she turned to leave. Samantha watched her one time sister depart and silently bent to lift Niamh into her arms. Her large violet eyes closed as she lay her head on her mother’s shoulder. Samantha looked at her own typically Swedish white hair mingle with her daughter’s shocking ginger. Glancing at the oval frame inset into the headstone, she bid Aidan his last farewell and left the silent churchyard.
Prologue Part Two
Miriam stood across the table from John, her full lips set into a hard line, her dove grey eyes steely. Without uttering a word, she removed the simple silver engagement band from her finger and placed it on the oak table. Still silent, she turned and paced out at a sedate pace, her thick black ringlets cascading magnificently across her back.
For a few minutes, John stood as if stone. He stirred when his manservant and his closest friend touched his shoulder. Sighing, he reached for the ring, remembering how it had been a perfect match for Miriam Merryweather’s eyes, and slipped it into a pocket.
On the road back to John’s London townhouse, Thomas the manservant stayed wisely silent. He stole furtive glances at his friend from time to time, but throughout the journey he kept to himself.
John stared out of the carriage window, his blue eyes emotionless. Occasionally he moved to scratch at his stubble or brush a lock of ash grey hair from his eyes, but other than that, he was motionless.
As John and Thomas entered John’s house, a small blonde haired girl came hurtling at them. She wrapped her arms around John’s legs, grinning at him. He smiled and stroked his daughter’s golden hair, fervently wishing she had never been born.
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