Hello one and all! This is my first Jane Eyre fan fiction so bare with me. I've always loved this story so I thought 'Hey lets do a modern adaptation. I will listen to all criticism good and bad, although I apologize in advance for grammar and spelling mistakes I may have made. I wrote this chapter pretty quickly. So tell me what you think guys!
"So, your back then." a voice croaked from the armchair situated in front of the blazing fire as the man dropped his bags at the doorway. The maid, aware of the ill-disguised contempt in the woman's voice, placed the ordered bottle of scotch beside her before begging her leave. Mrs. Rochester waved her hand dismissively, hardly paying attention to the woman's existence. She had more important things to worry about. Emily couldn't believe it, he was finally home again. Memories played in her mind like a wonderful summer montage. Their walks in the gardens, the first time he had kissed her, the first time he had knocked on her bedroom door.
"And you, Sir?" she asked, attempting to conceal the blush spreading across her pale features "Will you be wanting anything else?" The young man smiled in a cold manner leaving Emily dazed and confused. He had never looked at her like that before. Was this a bad time? Had he heard some dreadful news? Oh, if only she could comfort him.
"I see your still hiring staff, Mother. Has anyone told you lately that it's the twenty-first century?" He asked snidely, removing his jacket and scarf handing them to the maid without a second glance. Emily looked at him, obviously distressed. Did he not remember her? Why was he treating her like an inferior? Was he doing it for his mother's benefit? She stood dumbstruck in front of the man who had once been the thought of her every waking moment four years ago, praying that he would look at her with ease. It never happened.
"Thank you, Emily. You may leave." The woman barked in a sharp tone, fully aware of the situation. He was his father's son alright. Emily fighting back tears bowed her head, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. As she headed towards her room, a strong sob erupted from her. How many fine days she had wasted on that hateful man. And yet she knew deep down she would be forever longing after the one thing he probably couldn't give her, his love. Edward tried his best to pretend he hadn't heard her. Even if she wasn't just a distraction, if he cared for her more what could he possibly give her? He wasn't some hero from the 1800's sweeping her away from a life of service. He had learned the hard way a long time ago that fairy tales weren't real. Now it was Emily's turn to discover that.
"Another one bites the dust." Mrs. Rochester murmured to herself, pouring herself a tall glass. Heaven knew she needed it with her 'prodigal' son's sudden appearance. Edward was still reeling over her last comment that he had not noticed her hands shaking violently. "So, what brings you back? Suddenly remembered you had obligations?"
"Oh Mother, only obligations you and father threw on me." he retorted. He advanced toward the alcohol, his throat burning with need. Nothing solved anything like a good bottle of whiskey. As he rounded the armchair he stole a glance at the woman he had not seen for four years. He almost dropped the bottle in fright. The woman he had left all those years ago was different to the one staring back at him now. Her skin now clung to her bones making her look gaunt and weak. Weak was never an adjective he would have used to describe his mother before now. Her once raven black hair hung down in thin tendrils while those eyes that use to strike fear in him as a child were tired and bloodshot. "What happened?" he asked, trying his best to sound indifferent.
"Age." was all she replied reaching for her cane resting beside her knee. She lifted herself up off from the cushions, reluctant to let out a groan of pain. "You're not getting any younger yourself, Edward." She rasped, limping towards the desk at the back of the dark room. This had always been her room, even before the late Mr. Rochester died. Neither he or his son had ever been allowed to enter this room without her permission. Just how she liked it. "It's actually perfect that you've arrived, she was asking for you again." She voiced, rummaging throughout her papers while Edward's face settled into a mask of fury. She was the reason he had left this god forsaken house in the first place. The old woman continued unaware of her son's rage. "She had a momentary lapse of judgement a while back. Asking for your whereabouts. It seemed she wanted to apologize... Aha." she murmured, holding up the page in front of her advancing son. "It's all she's been drawing lately." she explained as her son examined the picture in his mothers hands. The picture was of him, a few years younger perhaps but the likeness was uncanny. And the skill was incredible. The shading of his dark eyes, the way his mouth was always curved in a disapproving grimace, his hair coming down just above his shoulders. This artist had gotten him to a tee. He had forgotten how talented she was. He held back the tears threatening to expose the secret he had desperately hid from his mother all these years, that he did truly have a heart. Before he could feel a moments regret, he snatched the picture and threw it into the roaring fire. Mrs. Rochester looked at her son with a disappointment no son but him could ever bare.
"Why should I be the only one to show that poor creature kindness? After all she is your-"
"It's your fault!" He shouted abruptly, leaving the woman speechless "You burdened yourself when you thrust me into this living nightmare." he growled, running both palms through his inherited dark hair. "It's your fault I'm still stuck in this hell. If you had only stood up to that wretched man you called your husband. I had dreams. I had a future. What's the point of having all this money if you can't share it with someone you love?" He walked closer to his mother, hatred clear in his eyes. "That's all this was about, wasn't it? Money. You ruined my life for it. How does it make you feel that your only son is chained to a life he was better than?" Before she could answer his outburst a loud wailing echoed throughout the house as if the banshee herself was walking the corridors. Worry etched across Mrs. Rochester's face making her son even angrier. She was obviously more fond of her than he realised. She made a move toward the door but Edward quickly raised his hands in surrender.
"As you said, she's my obligation. One you kindly bestowed on me all those years ago." He quickly left the room leaving his mother with a heavy heart. The screaming grew louder as he entered deeper into the house. The scream was enough to set anyone's teeth on edge. He walked slower and slower as the dreaded room came nearer into view. It was a new door. That fact alone had struck terror within him. What had happened to the old door? This room was the couse for most of his nightmares. Wherever he ran, whenever he closed his eyes he was transported back to this room. Had it changed much? Or would it be worse than what he remembered?
"Oh, Mr. Rochester it's so good to see you again." Edward was brought out of his disturbing thoughts by a middle aged woman trying her best to match his long strides. Grace had arrived with an expression of horror. Poor Grace, what a life of dread she must lead. She had been in this house for nine years now. Nine years of misery, in his opinion. It was why she was paid the most out of all the staff. "I need help, she's...she...she just had a moment of pure rage. I couldn't stop her. I n-need someone to hold her down while I dress the wounds and while I..." Edward noticed a large syringe in the woman's hand. It looked like they had doubled the amount of sedative they use to use. He made no attempt to hide his expression of disgust but agreed to help her. Home sweet home, he thought as the bedroom door swung open to show the terror within.