The Moon on a String

.one.

It was the sound of screaming that tore her from her sleep, but such a noise had not come from the lips of any stranger. It was a terrible sound that belonged to no one but herself.

This was not the first occurrence in which Lucy had been startled awake by vivid visions of the past, her writhing tossing the sheets to the floor, and she knew this surely would not be the last. As much as she wished to admit such a thing weren't true, seven years did nothing to quell the nightmares that continued to plague her every night. They would never truly leave her, would they?

She struggled to bring air into the hollow of her lungs, bent over at the waist as she fought for just the tiniest breath, having shot up from where she laid upon the mattress in a fit of panic and confusion. With each desperate attempt she made her throat only seemed to tighten further, strangled sounds of agony replacing the scream that had ripped from her only moments earlier. She was still trying to decipher just where she was, her vision swimming with spots and stars at the lack of oxygen. Had the judge stolen her away while she slept that night? Was she even in her own home?

Then came the familiar hurried click of heels against the tarnished wood and the creak of rapidly aging floor boards, followed by the soft pitter-patter of someone's feet who did not adorn the heels Mrs. Lovett cherished so.

"Mama, mama!" The door to the woman's bedroom was flung open at a wild speed, the door knob clanging loudly against the wall.

She instantly recognized the voice as belonging to her daughter, Johanna's shrill screams coated in fear at what she had awoken to, running over to where Lucy sat with tears filling her eyes. Despite the child's fright, suddenly Lucy found herself somewhat at ease. She was at her own home, not the judge's.

"Are you alright?" Johanna pulled on her mother's arm, hiccuping. What she was trying to do was beyond anything Lucy could comprehend.

She couldn't bring herself to deliver any kind of verbal response, only more of those pained sounds meeting the air as the woman struggled to breathe, simply residing to shaking her head as the only viable response to the child. Slowly but surely she managed to gather up the strength to lift her head from where it rested over her bent knees, fighting back the convulsions of sickness that rippled through her as she struggled to process her surroundings.

The darkness that swarmed her vision cleared eventually, leaving her with a dull pounding in her head. Now she could see that beside the ajar door stood Mrs. Lovett, half-dressed and holding a steadily dying candle that sent dark shadows dancing across her pale flesh. Lucy could see the concern that clouded her eyes from a mile away.

"Are you alright, dearie?" The older woman inquired, her tone mellow as though if she dare speak a word any differently she could cause the screams to break lose for a second time.

"No," came the hoarse reply as Lucy finally managed to spit out a single word, a violent cough erupting from her to follow such a trying task.

She couldn't tell if the pain that coursed through her was still the aftermath of the amount of arsenic she had taken all those years ago, or the nightmare that had consumed her mind. It wouldn't go away, that pain, and the longer she tried to uphold her balance and remain sitting upright the more the room would spin, her vision growing redder by the second. Lucy let out a string of groans, allowing her head to fall forward slightly as the throbbing turned into a more intense pressure.

"Mama," Johanna whined again, now bursting into a fit of loud, wheezing sobs.

Only eight years of age, the girl was far too naive to understand what her mother's past had consisted of, causing her to have outbursts like today's, but she knew it was something very, very bad. A sensitive and fragile child, the slightest hint of discomfort her mother gave could risk her bursting into tears, sobbing and screaming for hours on end.