Galatea

Chapter 5

"Felicity, you're safe now," Derek continued to say. I wasn't safe. The house we built for new happiness in another country turned out to be hell, slowly driving me crazy.

My breathing was still rapid, my face burned from the rush of blood, and my lips were bitten. I was overcome with fear. I no longer control myself.

"Felicity," it was another voice. I slowly looked up, noticing how an older woman carefully approached me. It was the same lady who bandaged my arm. Mary. Her name was Mary,

"Darling, how are you?"

They don't care how I feel at the moment. All these people around. They are looking for an excuse to discuss something new to spread rumours about the recently moved family. Even if they are sincerely interested in my condition, they will not understand me. There was a stranger in my house.

"Listen, we'll spend the night at the hotel, and tomorrow we'll go to the police station," my husband's soft voice sounded in my ear.

"You don't have to go anywhere," Mary said, "you can stay at my house."

"Thanks for your help, ma'am," the man replied immediately, "I think we should get away tonight."

I shook my head, which made Derek frown. I didn't want to be alone with him.

"Felicity, honey," Mary smiled softly and took my hand, "do you want to stay at my house tonight? I have enough room for you and your husband."

I didn't have any other alternative. I nodded.

The guest room Mary gave us was small. I did not peer into the details of the interior, it was difficult for me to realize where I was.

Sitting slowly on the edge of the bed, I stared at the picture frame: the sea in the centre and tall trees with bright green leaves on the left side. Perhaps Mary herself took this photo, I did not know. I didn't know anything about the neighbour who stayed overnight. The bed sagged and Derek sat down next to me. He didn't try to get words out of me, but she didn't leave one either. Like my shadow, the man followed my every move.

"How are you?"

I am empty.

I couldn't tell if Derek was irritated or frightened by my silence.

"Can you tell me what happened today?" his voice was soft and calm, but one look at his clenched fists was enough to understand his tension. My husband was scared for me. I thought for a long time about whether I should start talking. I didn't want this, I didn't want to remember again those oddities that happened to me. But Derek was my husband. He was afraid, just like me. He deserved to know the details.

"I heard footsteps this morning," I said softly, almost inaudibly. The man's body tensed, but he continued to sit silently, waiting for the continuation, "I thought it was you and shouted that you might be late for work."

"What time was it?" Derek asked.

"About nine in the morning."

"When was the next time these steps?"

"At night. I called you because I didn't want to go downstairs," my eyes filled with tears again, which made it impossible for me to continue speaking. The words mingled with sobs.

"Have you noticed anything strange lately? Maybe some strange rustles, noise around you?"

"Something strange is happening in this house," I said very quietly, "spots appeared on my picture, strokes," I gave an example.

"Are you sure you couldn't leave them on your own and then forget?" Derek asked, to which I shook my head.

"No, no," I answered quickly, "I remember painting. I didn't add leaves, there were leaves, on the bust," my words were fragmentary, incomprehensible.