Serenity (Watty finalist 2013)

The Equivalent

Serenity stared at the frightened boy at the top of the stairs. The light from the door reached far enough for him to see Mr. Thorne’s immobile body yet he was still concerned with a grave danger. She could not process what could possible terrify him more than Mr. Thorne or how he had gotten in the house. Her answer followed shortly after.

“Faber!” a voice called. Faber closed the door.

“Yes, Mistress,” his muffled voice said through the door.

“Did you find him?”

“Yes, Mistress. In the basement.” Serenity back away from the stairs until she had completely faded into the darkness. The door opened and a smartly dressed woman stood in the doorway. She was surprisingly average, beautiful yes, but not terribly outstanding. Her her brown hair was short and snuggled underneath a small tan hat that matched her fur lined outfit. There was a very dignified and regal look to her, similar to Mr. Thorne’s only hers was more intense and demanding.

“How far the mighty has fallen,” the Mistress said. She walked leisurely down the stairs while her gloved hand skimmed across the surface of the wooden rail. Faber stayed in the safety of the doorway. The woman sat on the step in front of Mr. Thorne and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her clothes. She reached out and lifted Mr. Thorne’s face up so she could examine it fully. “Who’s in control now?” she asked an unconscious Mr. Thorne.

She ungloved her hand and probed his wound. Something akin to anger flashed across her face, though it was hard to tell from the distance. Her fingers snapped loudly at Faber.

“Faber, fetch the first aid kit. Second floor bathroom, third door to your right, underneath the sink.” She knew the house Serenity realized with a start. “Try and find that woman also,” the Mistress said with malice. Why she disliked Serenity was a mystery to her; Serenity had never seen her before in her life. Faber threw a worried glance in Serenity’s general direction and ran off, eager for a reason to leave his two tormentors.

The woman examined Mr. Thorne with a small smile on her face. She ran her fingers over his face and ran her hands down his arms. It was disturbing. The equivalent of watching a child play with a snake carcass after killing it for fun. The very fact that someone so normal, albeit more regal and respectable looking, could get pleasure from grabbing a murder in the dark made Serenity’s stomach twist.

There was something familiar about her. It was her meticulously perfect dress style, graceful posture, and painted on expressions that hid darker emotions. She literally felt like Mr. Thorne, they had the same presence, the same style, the same everything. She was his female equivalent. Only she was less controlled and seemed manufactured. While Mr. Thorne was smooth and natural, she was rigid and cold; her eyes couldn’t portray the warmth that he could and her smile was frigid.

Despite all this there was no doubt in Serenity’s mind that she could easily fool those around her. It would be easier since she was a woman. People were programmed since birth to believe the gentler sex could retained more innocence in their delicately feminine bodies. No one liked to be wrong or have their beliefs prove to be false so they would believe that the plastic smile and dead eyes were infact sweet and inviting; lies were always easier to swallow because they’re slimy. In the light of day Serenity was sure that the woman was much brighter and cheerful but in the cold dark basement her smile was anything but and she oozed psychopathic thoughts.

Faber returned with the first aid kit and the woman took it from him.

“Fetch a chair.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He ran back up the stairs and was gone. The Mistress opened up the kit and propped Mr. Thorne up to bandage him. She worked with precision and stopped the bleeding quickly, faster than even Serenity could have. Faber came back shortly with a sturdy oak chair that caused him to struggle under the weight.