The Loving Silence

Chapter 17

No, it couldn't be. How did he...? One minute he was at the lawyer's office and the next...

Rue was actually there, there in the hell house that he swore he would never return to, if but to see it demolished and rebuilt one day. Rue was barely keeping it together and the only way to get through this was to put his feelings aside. There was a time and a place for them, but it wasn't now and here. He had to figure out what was going on.

He traced his fingers over an old photo of his grandparents. His movements left traces in the thick layer of dust that covered every inch of the old house. There was no love lost, no feelings of loss as he gazed upon their faces. They weren't his family nor his mother's. They simply shared blood. To some that may count for something, but not to him.

His grandfather had been a man of few words, and he had let his wife call the shots and speak for him. They'd been married for so long that they were practically the same person anyway, so whatever she said, he agreed with. He was of average height, but next to his grandmother he actually looked to be a little shorter than her. He tended to hunch in her prescence. He had been much wider than her though. He had always had a large frame but from a young age he had lead an active life, so he was built strong, like a brick.

Rue could still remember how big his grandfather's hands had been. To his childhood self, they had seemed like they were big enough to wrap his fingers around his waist with one hand. He had been a small child, and that had made his grandfather even more intimidating.  He wore a thin moustache that he'd twist up on the sides and he had no eyebrows. Apparently he had burned them off during his service and they never grew back. His hair was short and he combed it over the bald spot that covered most of his head. His comb over always shone as he used some thick hair wax to put the dark strands in place. It looked like stripes of shoe polish that had been smeared across his scalp.

The dark-haired woman in the photograph stared back at him with her cold gaze, unsmiling. He knew it was just a picture, but the involuntary step back and shiver came anyway. The last time Rue had met her and his grandfather, she had been fifty-six, but she had looked to be in her early forties at the time. The photograph must have been taken many years after that, as she was older than he'd ever seen her. Yet her skin barely had a crease, let alone any crow's feet. Though perhaps that was because she never used to smile. She could've been pretty, if not for the condescending grimace that her taut, pale face had been set in since the day she was born.

Rue felt some pity for his great-grandmother, even though they had never met. He couldn't imagine having a child that had come into the world looking like she was judging everyone, and who made it clear that she was, from the moment she could speak. His grandmother had been cruel all her life and the only thing he could say in her defence was that she directed her hatred toward everyone and everything, not just her unfortunate immediate family.

She'd been a meticulous and obsessive woman. Every second of her life had been organised and planned down to the smallest detail, and always had been. If something didn't go according to The Plan, she either had a fit, forced it to bend to her will or cut it out of her life forever. Both her own mother, her daughter and Rue had been subjected to the latter.

Her appearance reflected her immense need for control and order. She had a few grey hairs around her temples and hairline, but they were mostly visible when she wore her elaborate pulled back hairdo. Rue wouldn't put it past her to have slept in it. There was no way it could be comfortable having your hair pulled back so tight, and it made her skin stretch and strain even further over her sharp cheekbones. It looked like one day they'd pierce through. Perhaps that contributed to her permanent foul mood.

To her, however, her appearance was a sign of her discipline, and she would firmly deny any discomfort it brought her, as that would mean admitting to a weakness. Weakness was not allowed. She was a firm believer that acts of weakness would attract the devil and soon enough the person in question would lose themselves to sin. In fact, to her it was a sin to give in to desires or do anything simply because it was enjoyable. Sugar was not allowed in her household, and she even saw fruit as solid blocks of sugar. She didn't allow any kind of cooking fat either. That too was seen as an indulgence.