Chapter 2

For what seemed an eternity, I gazed at the door, unable to fathom how I might make anyone inside understand I was here. All the while, I believed the carriage woman informed them of my arrival. Despite nothing to indicate I was correct.

“This is a fine kettle,” I said, despite the fact no one might hear the words. Frightening cries of wild animals outside the walls rose in unison, sending a new prickling deep into my bones, and I struggled to preserve my composure once more. Would they come into the castle’s courtyard? Would they devour me? All the while, safety was only a few feet and an immense, heavy door away from me.

“This talking to yourself must stop, Jane,” I scolded. “They shall think you a lunatic.” A thought dawned in my mind, how I referred to myself in the third person. “This does not bode well for you, old girl.”

Attempting to quell the fear in my heart, I allowed my thoughts to slip back to when this all initiated and the fateful letter in April the previous year, arriving out of the blue.

The envelope contained Countess Valarie Drago’s invitation to come and study under her and assist her in the new field of psychotherapy. Together we would probe the mysteries of the psyche, peel back the enigma of the human mind, layer by layer.

I had phoned Doctor Cantor, we discussed this job opportunity at length. Doctor Cornelius Cantor stopped short of wholehearted approval, stating how difficult the journey was. He believed her home and sanitarium would be far too primitive for me to be comfortable. I had resented his condescending attitude. Coupled with anger, despite his enlightenment, Doctor Cantor still did not view me as an equal. Realizing hurt my feelings, he fell silent, excused himself, and hung up the phone.

The Countess and I exchanged letters at regular intervals. After each exchange, I called Cornelius, and each time his enthusiasm for my traveling to the sanatorium increased. And yet, inexplicably, he would retreat from his support toward the end of our conversation, recommending I not go to Castle Drago.

The odd behavior of my mentor cast doubts in my mind, and I suspected something darker in his reservations. Something sinister and ugly might have reared its head, and I had grown concerned. After all, chauvinism and jealousy might be at the heart of the matter. Was he worried his student’s light might shine brighter than his own? I mused if the idea of a female student, reaping more praise than him, might not be more than his brittle male ego might bear.

Those guarded fears found relief as the 20th century dawned. For early this year, Cornelius’s attitude turned 180 degrees. He reassured me the move was the correct one. Though, to speak with exactitude, I had determined to take the position without either his blessing or encouragement.

The old man’s blessings aside, to refuse this opportunity was imprudent. I would learn much, garner respect and admiration among my peers. Few men in the field were willing to admire a woman doctor lest she proves herself with some measure of frequency. For my own self-esteem, I required a degree of respect to advance my career beyond the mundane and ordinary. The fact was, I realized I was extraordinary, and I would allow nothing to stand between me and my goals. This is not vanity; it was, and is, a fact, for I possess a superior intellect.

In March of this year, I contacted the Countess again and agreed to become her research assistant. The money exceeded my expectations for any position available in my own country by an immense sum. An adventure deep into this far-flung land appeared as a fairy tale, where perhaps some handsome prince would sweep off my feet.

But no, this would not happen, for I have a beloved fiancé, and I’ll not allow a dalliance, be a pebble which bruises my heel. A whole year away from Michael, from the man whom I hold so dear in my heart. This is, indeed, a burden to bear but not an intolerable one. Truth be told, I worry more for Micheal in my absence than for myself being detached from him. Michael needs me fare more than I require him.

The Countess’s offered a proposal I could not resist. Being a doctor specializing in the fledgling field of psychiatry, learning under the tutelage of a pioneer in the discipline, how would any woman, of ambition, turn down such a proposition?

This woman regard held as high as Sigmund Freud’s himself, or so Cornelius insinuated. I would not miss such an opportunity. A woman’s chances in this male-dominated world are scarce. Sadly, we do not have the luxury of being the chosen sex.

Men, those precious darlings, are always so eager to protect us. This is why they call us the fairer sex, the weaker sex, as though these words are flattering’s to our nature. Words designed to hold women fast in our place, barefoot and pregnant, as they say. All the while, stirring a pot of gruel for our man. Whereas, the man is out and about, attending to critical things in the world.

We, women, must earn our respect, which is much harder for us than men. For women have this stereotype, which we must break free of, and precious few of us appear to have the desire or strength to do so. An independent woman is a rarefied creature. If for no other reason, a man garners respect for carrying the equipment, which makes him a man.

A woman must grab hold of opportunities, clutch them with a tight fist, preventing some man from snatching her future from her. After she has earned respect, she must still demand appreciation and refuse to allow men to deny them their due.

Understand me, I am not a man-hating female. Despite this, the truth is ugly — women’s oppression by men stretched back centuries, indeed, millennia. This, too, shall pass; I must believe, else, all is in vain.

Poor Michael stood no a chance against my will in this matter. This took convincing, however, but in the end, I forced Michael to understand. While he acquiesced to my wishes with some anxiety, he did, in the end, yielded. Michael always let me have my way.

I’m not saying he is weak, far from helpless. He understands which of our intellects is more logical, whose will is stronger. He, possessing his own type of wisdom, yields to my position as superior to his own emotion-based aspirations. Michael’s most significant weaknesses are a need to be accepted, a willingness to surrender to others for acceptance, and a desire to be well-liked.

After the battle was over, a struggle we had, make no mistake, we agreed to exchange letters daily. Once approved, this condition, his final one, set my journey in stone, and I had no difficulty acceding to daily communications. For my part, I would write detailed accounts to him. Michael, being no less committed to our relationship, would do the same. The deal brokered between us; I had concluded my arrangements down to the last detail. Had we not made the bargain, he still would’ve yielded to my desire.

However, none of this mattered a hoot if I didn’t gain admittance to this castle to begin my studies. My thoughts returned to the present. As if on cue, a clanking beyond the door made me jump. The door moaned, creaked and groaned, as the massive structure pulled free of the stout jam and swung.

With somewhat shaky feet, I took a hesitant step back from the looming opening, my heart pounded, and shock turned to fearful trepidation. A shaft of yellow light fell from the doorway, piercing a bright ray of hope through the black of the courtyard. As though the radiance reached out to me. Casting my eyes upward into the beam of light, the figure of a woman standing a few feet inside the door demanded my attention.

As my eyes adjusted, I scrutinized her more closely. Tall and shapely, she held a steady gaze in my direction, gazing upon me contemplatively. She wore a long black dress, which clung to her every curve. Not a spot of color about her attire, save a blood-red rose pinned on her left breast, above her heart.

Her eyes caught my attention, for they were a brilliant, pale blue, captivating me, drawing my consideration to her face. Her long, silken, black hair held copious streaks of silvery-gray. Possessing an elegant nose, with a slight break at the top, lent a beak-like appearance, adding to her regal presence. Surrounding the woman’s eyes were a multitude of fine wrinkles.

My first impression, semi-blinded by the light shining into the darkness of the black night, had been what a magnificent creature. With her standing before me, my eyes now accustomed to the illumination, I perceived my observation was quite correct. She was beautiful.

Transforming her serene features, a friendly smile spread across her face, deepening the deep crinkles of laugh lines around her mouth. Placing her hands together, on her chest, as though she prayed, she spoke to me, a warm and hearty invention.

“This is my humble home,” she said. “Freely enter here, for your presence shall brighten this place. And when you depart from us — oh, my dear, you must leave something of your happiness behind to remind us of you. Welcome, I am Countess Drago, and Doctor Jane Hanson, make yourself at home in my ancestral abode.”

Her speech had a lyrical cadence, while her accent was distinctive, but placing where she came from would be impossible by listening to her voice alone. Her teeth were pearl white, her incisors long and pointed, and her lips were a full, deep red, with a luscious sheen.

I stood, rooted to my spot, lost in her loveliness. I attempted to move, but my feet refused the order. An excitement gnawed amid a rush of conflicting emotions, which inundated me. I was enthusiastic about entering the dwelling, yet, unable to do so, my disquiet lingered. My agitation held me fixed to the spot where I stood. Was her beauty, or my fear, the reason for steadfastness. For whatever reason, my eyes widened, my heart ran wild whilst my mouth filled with a thick layer of cottony slickness.

The woman held out a hand and motioned for me to join her. Everything changed with this straightforward, friendly gesture. My legs relaxed, the muscles let go of their obstinate refusal, and I moved forward. With ease, I swept inside, gliding to my hostess, my symptoms of fear and anxiety eradicated at the wave of her hand. I enjoyed this lightness to my steps. As if drawn inside by an unseen hand, a force pulled me to her; I did not fear this woman.

The Countess still held her hand to me. Pressing my hand to her, I took her hand, we shook, the Countess dropped my hand, put her arms around me, and drew me to her, holding me against her for the briefest of moments.

When the woman’s cheek grazed mine, I realized her touch was as cold as the night’s frostiness I had left moments before; despite this, a thrilling sensation from her flesh rushed to my own.

I dare not abandon her welcome, first, for fear of offending her. My heart raced as my breathing threatened to become ragged. An unexpected flash of excitement rushed through every nerve. I wanted, desperately, to withdraw from her embrace. With this said, in truth, I did not wish to break our hug at all.

We broke apart. Quick as our caress was, my stomach tied in knots, cheeks flushed, embarrassed at the Countess’s attention.

A warmth of longing I had not thought possible for another woman stunned me. I was aware the imaginings, which careened through my brain, regarding the Countess, were abnormal. I forced myself to concentrate on the image of my needy, sweet, loving Michael. He had yielded to my wishes to study here, and I shan’t betray his trust.

The thought of Michael was all I required to quell the unnatural fancy, which pulsed hard and fast through my veins. Torrid and at odds with my nature, the sentiments fled in a single beat of my heart as I beheld Michael in my mind’s eye.

Once, the Countess broke our embrace, backed from me one or two steps, still bearing her amicable smile. If she sensed my rakish yearnings, the woman showed no sign. Had she any idea what her touch inspired inside me? The heat on my cheeks told me I had become flush from embarrassment. I constrained my thoughts, still thinking of my beloved Michael, and stifled my blushing childishness. Though they were not childish thoughts, which overtook me at her embrace. My breathing slowed as I regained my composure.

At this point, I realized the outer door had shut. Who had shut the thing? Where were they? In a moment, I shook the questions from my mind and returned my attention to her.

What little light occupied the room danced in her crystal, blue eyes. For the briefest moment, through a trick of candlelight, her eyes shone red. As red as the rose pinned to her dress. The same red eyes I had seen twice before this same evening.

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

By the book at Bookapy

Written in Blood: A Dark Awakening

Millie Dynamite

$3.24

If you enjoyed this story, try Baptism in Blood

Baptism in Blood

Millie Dynamite

$2.99