The child that Casey and Derek had once looked upon as a curse was, in fact, a blessing, as they came to learn in the weeks fo

A/N: It would seem that I have much to apologize for. Not only is this chapter a long time coming (a fact that I blame entirely on a very busy past few weeks), but it is somewhat short and will warrant a serious warning before reading (please, see below). That said, I want to thank everybody for their wonderful reviews…who would have thought that killing off a character-a somewhat minor one at that-would elicit such a response? Thank you, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter as well.

Emily

WARNING: Please note that there are serious religious issues discussed in the following chapter that I feel may offend some readers. Please, keep in mind that any views expressed are not necessarily my own views, and I have merely tried to write the characters as I believe they would be. I am deeply sorry if I offend anybody, for again, I do not agree with all that is said below. It was, however, necessary that this be written, and for that, I will not apologize.

Disclaimer: It isn’t mine. Damn.

O, woe is me! Who am neither a dweller among men nor shades, the living nor the dead.

-Sophocles, Antigone

0o0o0o0o0

The child that Casey and Derek had once looked upon as a curse was, in fact, a blessing, as they came to learn in the weeks following her death. Charlotte had been their reason for marriage, and, to an extent, Casey’s reason for perpetuating her fantasies of a good life. Along with Charlotte, any hopes Casey might have once held were buried as well.

To hear her on that day that they buried her daughter was to hear pain in its rawest form. Indeed, there is nothing so haunting as the cry of the broken mother, to whom life has been nothing but cruel, and who must live to see all that she has ever loved destroyed. Such a mother, such a woman, rather, for no more was she a mother, is the true epitome of anguish, for she has no one to turn to, no lover to comfort her, no friend to sooth her as she cries. She alone must deal with all that has been given, and alone, she finds that she is too weak to carry such a heavy burden.

Had there ever been any doubt as to some dark secret hidden in the Venturi’s past, none now remained. It was whispered throughout town, from the darkest of taverns to the most eloquent parties, that yes, most certainly Mr. and Mrs. Venturi had done some awful deed, for how could such tragedy hit a good Christian family? Oh, yes, Mrs. Facet’s young daughter had died last year, and yes, she was a good woman. But she wasn’t so miserable as those two are! Thus went the gossip, altogether cruel and unreasonable.

To say, then, that Casey survived the days following the funeral would not be entirely true. Yes, in some ways, she was alive; that is to say, she breathed, as she had always done, and, although she ate and slept little, she nevertheless performed these mundane tasks. And yet, she did so with such passivity, with such listlessness, that it was as though she were dead herself.

“If you ask me,” Mrs. James commented one day to Sam, “her soul was buried along with her baby.”

It was a sad sight, to see a woman so fallen. After her shameful marriage, Casey had held two things dear: her pride, and her child. Now, however, she had lost both.

Derek too had been affected by the tragedy. He drank, just as he had before, and yet, unlike the times before, he drank, it seemed, to escape his own reality. He was a sullen man in the weeks following Charlotte’s death; his jovial façade had given way to a more morose one, although even that was difficult to tell, for indeed, he did not reveal his feelings. He had, it seemed, turned to some refuge in the depths of his mind, and what he felt was something that nobody could quite figure out.

It is said that the eyes give away feelings. For Casey, this was unnecessary; her feelings were clear. Her misery was tangible to anyone who cared to stand near her (although people seldom did), and her guilt was, at times, overbearing. Derek, on the other hand, was a mystery. His frozen gaze revealed nothing; it was as though he were incapable of feeling any sort of emotion. Joy, anger, pain, he lacked even the most basic of expressions. He smiled, and yet his countenance was that of a statue, forever unreadable.

Their relationship had changed, too. If they had lived, for a time, as though they were in separate homes before, then now, they lived as though they were in entirely separate worlds. It was easy enough, for she had not spoken since Charlotte’s death. She had merely walked around with a vacant expression upon her swallowed face, her eyes receding into her head, her cheeks hollowing out, for she had eaten and slept little since the death.

To be certain, they were not uncivil to one another; in fact, they were, perhaps, more cordial to each other than they had ever been in their marriage. They did not mind one another, barely taking notice of each others actions. At night, when he could hear her sobbing alone, he did not move to comfort her. It became apparent that in their relationship, this unnatural formality was worse than any harsh words that they could ever say.

And so life went on. Nothing changed, nothing stopped. In short, nobody cared about the pair, save for those interested in them solely for gossip fodder. But, as time moved forward, as life continued on, people stopped taking interest in the broken family. The malicious rumors ceased, the sly glances and forced sympathy melted into utter indifference. In time, people scarcely remembered the incident.

Thus was the day to day routine for a month. Daily, Derek would awake, and leave early, trying to escape the stifling confines of his home. Sometimes, Casey would be awake as well. She would sit stiffly in her rocking chair, gazing intently at some invisible sight. She wouldn’t speak, couldn’t speak. Perhaps that was, in part, the reason for their cordiality: neither spoke to one another. It became commonplace to see her wandering aimlessly throughout town, cloaked in sorrow, a silent, floating figure, hardly human, it seemed. She would not answer any sort of questions pertaining to her life, or to anything, for that matter.

It was not until almost a month later that they deviated from this solemn routine, and that Derek seemed to notice his wife. One night, however, rather than retiring to his room. He arose from his bed that night, and walked to the doorway of her room, pushing it open, and standing like a silent sentinel as she cried mournfully into her daughters bedding. She eventually looked up at him, sensing his watchful gaze. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, her heavy breathing the only sound between them. For that moment, they seemed to be together, seemed to be one person, sharing a moment only they could understand. Yet, a moment later, she looked away, and turned her back to him. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps as he walked away.

Come morning, nothing was said in regards to the incident. Still, that night, it was repeated once again, and then the next night, again. This continued on for a fortnight. He would watch her for a few minutes, sometimes longer, sometimes less, and then he would leave as inconspicuously as he had come. Sometimes, she would look at him. Often, she did not. His presence did not cause her discomfort, however. To say that it was a comfort, that it offered her support, would not be entirely accurate either. In truth, neither understood the meaning of the ritual. Derek did not know why he watched her every night, and could offer no possible explanation, just as she could offer no explanation as to how she felt about it. They knew only that they relied on this, whatever it was, to help them.

Things changed, quite suddenly, a fortnight after Derek’s nightly visits began. He awoke one morning to find his wife modestly attired to go out, waiting for him.

“I am going to church,” she said suddenly, her voice raspy, for she had not spoken in a month and a half. For a brief moment, he lost his aloof façade, looking at her in astonishment. Ever the master, however, he quickly regained his composure.

“Why should I care?”

“I thought perhaps we ought to go together. It has been some time since either of us has worshipped, and I’m sure you can get away from work to do so,” she answered softly.

“Why would I do something like that?”

“Well, God…”

“What do I care about God? He and I parted ways long ago, and I suggest that you give consideration to the idea that he has abandoned you as well, as I believe he has.”

“I do not wish to argue, my husband. I thought only to tell you where I was going, for I thought…well, never mind my thoughts; they are of no interest to you,” she replied quietly, her voice bereft of any mockery or anger that should have laced such a statement. Derek silently appraised her.

“You have changed,” he said at length.

“Yes, I believe I have,” she agreed. She did not wait for him to say anything else, for she knew him well enough to know that all that could be said had been said.

0o0o0o0o0

The whispers arose from their stagnant state when Mrs. Venturi took a seat in church that day. Conjecture as to what she could possibly want (for many agreed, however unknowingly, with her husband), and then, when she showed no signs of leaving, what God could possibly do for her. Yet, as always, she noticed nothing of this, locked, as she was, inside herself.

“My God,” exclaimed Sam Jenkins as he entered, “it is Mrs. Venturi!”

His companion, Mrs. James, put a hand on his arm as he moved to approach her. “I don’t think it would be wise to be seen in her company,” she advised.

“You can’t possibly think that she is cursed, as they say. No, not you. I simply can’t believe that you would think such a low and common thing.”

“Mind your tongue, you zany fool” she admonished. “Defending her still makes ye no smarter than any of those people. We are all of the same sort, and had she remembered that, perhaps she would not have such a nervous nature.”

“How can I simply ignore her? Her husband…”

“Have I not told ye before that her relationship with her husband is her own, and that it is not our place to speculate in regards to it?”

“All the same, it’s still the right thing to speak to her, I believe. She needs somebody, for certainly, that foolish husband of hers offers no help.”

“Do as you wish, then. I only warn you to be careful; she is fragile still, and I don’t think her the same as she was before,” advised the older woman. Still, she took her own seat, allowing Sam to do as he wished.

Several sets of eyes followed him with curiosity as he approached the grieving woman.

“Mrs. Venturi, it has been some time since I last saw you,” he greeted. She raised her dull eyes in recognition.

“Mr. Jenkins,” she acknowledged, “how nice it is to see you again. As I recall, the last time we met was… under dark circumstances.”

“Yes, it was,” he admitted. “How are you now?”

“I am faring quite well, thank you,” she answered with distant formality.

“May I offer you a seat next to me?”

“Oh, no, I don’t believe that would be right,” she quickly said. “I should very much prefer to sit here alone, if you don’t mind. Besides, I am hoping that my husband will show up here soon enough.”

Her face held such innocence, such distance, even, that it was impossible, or, at the very least, nearly so, to tell that she was lying. Still, knowing her husband as he did, Sam knew quite well that her wait, if, indeed, she truly meant to wait for him, would be in vain. Derek was not a religious man; he had, in fact, made his distaste for religion quite clear in the time since he had arrived, his mockeries of it becoming a trademark of sorts for him.

“Well, then, I suppose I ought to take my seat.”

“Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea, Mr. Jenkins,” she replied.

“Good day, then, Mrs. Venturi. Perhaps I may have reason to hope that I’ll see you around soon.”

“Good day, Mr. Jenkins.”

It was not until a week later that she spoke to him again.

0o0o0o0o0

That night, Derek did not visit her as he had been doing for the past few weeks. To say that he knew it would be a futile effort, that he knew he would find it empty, at least initially, through some uncanny prediction was not entirely untrue. Indeed, something had changed, and, although he knew not what it was, he knew well enough that the precarious life that they had been living since Charlotte’s death, stuck, as they had been, on some vague line, knowing that one motion would shatter their silence, was over.

Outside his bedroom, he could hear her, pacing back and forth, the flicker of her candle streaming in through the cracks in his door. She was muttering something, a prayer, he thought, but she did not enter. Eventually, she left. This continued for another night or two, and then, she stopped pacing, stopped praying, one night, and, with hesitancy, reached to open the door.

The candle shook, the flames flickering unsteadily, undulating with the movement of her hands. She walked softly with uncertain movement, pausing frequently, trying to catch her shuddering breath.

“Derek,” she called nervously.

“What is it that you want?” he said in reply, his voice, as was usual, holding no pretense. He was confused, and somewhat disturbed, by her sudden presence.

“I…I’ve been thinking, a lot, lately, about us…our…marriage, and Ch…the girl,” she stumbled, unable to say her daughters name aloud.

“Yes, yes, what of it?”

“I…our marriage vows, I…I haven’t fulfilled them very well,” she said at length, “I’ve not been a true and good wife to you. I belong to only you, and yet, I have not become your true wife, not under the eyes of God, nor of the law.”

“Casey, what is this nonsense of yours? Stop your babble, and say what you wish to say,” he demanded, unnerved by her words. She now stood by his bed, and he could see that she was trembling violently, her face whiter than he had ever seen it, her eyes sunken in with lack of sleep and excess of worry.

“I…I think that maybe, what we have gone through, our loss, is punishment. I have been a terrible wife to you; I have been willful, disobedient, and oh! how I wish I wasn’t so awful. I have been punished, you see, and now I know the way, and I can be good now, I can.” Her eyes shone now with feverish madness, pleading with him, looking for some way to atone for the impossible.

Slowly, now, and with no small amount of tears, she started to take off her dressing robe, moving to enter his bed. Derek shook his head, abruptly sitting up, and moving out of the bed.

“No,” he said. She stopped, and looked at him, perplexed.

“What are you doing? Please, don’t do this, allow me my penance!” she beseeched. “You loved me once in sin, so why will you not have me now, when it is a sin not to have me?”

“When I loved you before, I did not force you. I have done many things to you, things that I am not proud of. Yet, I have never forced myself upon you. To take you now would be as good as rape, for your religious madness has rendered you unable to act upon your own will.”

“Derek, no, you must…”

“You wish to be a good wife? Then leave, leave my room immediately. I forbid you to enter this room unless I wish it. Am I to be understood, my dear wife,” he sneered.

“Derek…”

“Leave! Leave me now, leave with your religion and your guilt. I do not wish to see you again,” Derek shouted, his face dark with anger. Wordlessly, she nodded, and with a low cry, she swiftly ran out of the room.

Her sobs haunted him throughout the night.

0o0o0o0o0

From the time he daughter had died, Derek had been exceptionally sullen, if not all together unreachable. However, just as Casey had suddenly changed, so did Derek. That night, following Casey’s sudden desire to be a true wife, Derek had renewed his interest in boisterous taverns.

Sam found him, therefore, immerged amongst the noise and sin, just as he had done in the early days of his marriage.

“Derek, why are you here?” he asked, reluctantly taking a seat next to Derek. “I have seen your wife entering church daily, as of late, and yet you have been markedly absent. Should you not try to be with you wife, considering all that she has been through?” With a scoff, Sam added, “and maybe, religion could do you some good.”

“Religion, do me some good? I suppose you mean to say, do me some good, just as it has done Casey. Ha! Have you seen what your precious God-your precious religion-has done? No, of course not; how could you know? Tell me, Sam, do you believe that Casey was always as she is now? Do you believe that she was always so nervous, so defeated? You never knew her as I did, never saw her laugh as I once did. No, you only have seen the product of society and its expectations, a product of your religious teachings,” he spat.

“Perhaps, Derek, you ought to take some responsibility for what has happened to her. Her child is dead; do you not care at all?”

“She was my daughter too!”

Sam was taken aback momentarily by the ferocity in Derek’s voice. They glared at one another for a moment, until Derek spoke again, his anger evident even as he tried to subdue it. “Yes, I know that I am, in part, responsible for making her as she is. Yet, even after we married, after she had stopped smiling, given up all her happiness, she was alive. Now that she has decided to turn herself over to God, now that she has given herself up to religion, I cannot say even that for her. You don’t know-can’t know-what such beliefs have done to her. She is not the woman I married, not the woman whom I once loved (if, in fact, we are to assume that I did once love her). I hate what she has become.”

Sam laughed bitterly. “You are far too adept at placing your guilt on others, Mr. Venturi. I’ve no doubt that you are guilty; I suppose that makes up for something. Still, I cannot think that you are possibly denying the existence of God. How can you think such a thing?”

“No, not at all. I believe it him. But, if God exists, then Satan too must be present. And if God has his chosen, then likewise, so must Satan. Casey and I are chosen, to be certain, but we are the chosen of the latter. What we have done warrants nothing less. But, yes, I forget that you know nothing of the crimes of which I speak of. That is none of your concern, at any rate. Casey and I are not fit for redemption, and the death of our child certainly is proof of this. That is all that you need to know,” Derek bit back bitterly.

That Casey, a girl who seemed far too good for anything earthly, could be thought of on the same level as the intoxicated man before him seemed utterly blasphemous to Sam. “Do not speak of her like that,” he growled. Derek laughed again.

“I forget, then, that you seem to love her as well. Foolish, you are. But, ah, that is not my concern. Don’t look at me like that; you know nothing of our relationship. You do not know her as I do, nor could you. And I think that I am glad that you don’t.” Derek’s face turned uncommonly serious. “Yes, I am glad. She needs somebody to believe in her, to believe that she is something other than what she is. She must have that, especially now. How can I begrudge her that?”

0o0o0o0o0

A/N: I cannot promise a speedy update; it may take a couple of weeks. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do. However, I still hope you liked this. If, by chance, anyone feels the need to debate/discuss anything said in this chapter, feel free to review, message me, or email me. I am always happy to hear from you all about this sort of thing.

Review!

Emily