Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 6 You’ll Bear Charlene’s Crime

herself before answering, “Hi, M-Mom. I’m, uh, at home with Brendan right now. Why are you calling me all of a sudden? Where’s Aunt Engel?” Ophelia sounded lost. “Aunt Engel? She went away.” “Went… away?!” Deirdre parroted, feeling stunned. Her mother’s nurse, Mrs. Engel, had never left her mother’s side. “Where did she go?” “I don’t know…” Ophelia’s loss evolved into audible confusion. “Dee Dee, is this house someone else’s? There were people over here. They broke things and pushed me and said they wanted me to get-the-fak-out. Then, they said they would make me spend my time in an asylum until I die. What did they really mean?” What?! Deirdre was stupefied. Before she could react, though, she suddenly heard Ophelia’s shriek. “Arrghhh! Get away! Why are you grabbing me?!” “Mom?! Mom!” The call was cut short, leaving only Deirdre’s futile cries echoing into the void. She felt her heart palpitating and leaped into action despite her dizzy head. She immediately stopped a cab.  She reached Ophelia’s residence and yet found only a stranger locking the front door. There was no sight of her mother. Deirdre lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve, and demanded, “Who are you?! Where is my mother?! What have you people done to her?!” The stranger swung her hand away without showing a tinge of sympathy. “That nutcase was your mother?! God, crazy does run in the family! Those people should have taken you to the cuckoo’s nest, too!” “The cuckoo’s nest?!” Deirdre’s eyes widened in rage. “You people sent my mother to an institution and claimed this house as your own?! Who the hell gave you the authority?!” “Who gave us the authority?” the man repeated her words mockingly. “The property owner, big-fat-duh! This house belongs to the Brighthalls, nutty. And now, Mr. Brighthall wants the house back and wants your mother hopping merrily away, okay? By the way, I know you’re thankful for us sending your mom to a nuthouse. I mean, have you ever looked at her? She can’t live another day without care. Yeah, you’re welcome.” Just like that, the man got in his car smugly and drove away. Deirdre felt her blood freeze. Her mind had begun to reconstruct scenes of her mother—scared, alone, confused—being manhandled and dragged to a mental institution of unknown reputation. Was this her punishment for refusing to bear Charlene’s crime? Something popped on the notification interface of the phone she had been holding. It was a video. Deirdre opened it and saw a middle-aged woman shivering in a corner. It was her mother! “Open wide, looney!” said a disembodied voice. Whoever was speaking was standing outside of the frame. The camera turned to a bucket before zooming into its content. It was some kind of mushy chum so minced and gooey that no one could tell what kind of food it was supposed to be made of. There were even flies hovering above it. The men scooped a bowl of it and flung it at Ophelia. “Food, looney! You were whining about being hungry, right?” Ophelia shrank into her corner disobediently. She shot a look at the food and pinched her nose. “It stinks!’ “Stinks? That’s your lunch, looney! You should be grateful to even have a meal! Stop being a picky sh*t and eat up!” Ophelia clearly jerked away from the man’s bark. Still, she shook her head. “B-B-But I don’t wanna! It stinks! It’ll give me a bad tummy—” The cameraman did not let her finish. He stepped forward and swung a kick at the middle-aged woman, stomping her hard enough that she spread herself on the floor. Then, he yanked her head up by her hair before slapping her across the cheeks over and over again. “When I say eat, you f*cking eat! You’re a f*cking looney, yet you dare call your food bad?! Sh*t, make her eat this! Down it into her and show it to Mr. Brighthall!” A few more people appeared. They pulled back her lips and dumped everything in the bowl into Ophelia’s mouth. Deirdre screamed, “No! Nooooo!” There was no use. She was out here, given the cruel position of a helpless observer outside the camera. All she could do was break down and cry. The video ended, and an unknown number followed it up with a text: ‘This is what you get for refusing to cooperate!’ Deirdre’s face was tear-stricken. Nausea caused by her pregnancy welled out of her in vomiting spasms. Her vision blurred, and her mind returned to six years ago—when before a sea of flames, Brendan had sworn he would grant her a life with no pain. But now, he was the one behind every single pang of pain she felt. He was cold. He saw her not as human, but as a literal b*tch he could summon anytime he felt the need. His words were acrimonious, but she at least understood why. He did not love her. But to give such an inhuman order against her mother? To make her eat food fit for livestock and little else just so Deirdre would agree to bear Charlene’s sin?! Deirdre knew exactly when it happened. The moment the last ember of hope—long held out for him—died in her. Brendan Brighthall was no human. He was too cruel.