Please don't think of this as a continuation of another story. I think it deserves to be classified as its own. While the previous story set up characters and events, this is its own thing and my most beautifully crafted tale so far. Don't judge it because it's fanfic.
Part 1: Overflowing Emotions
Her dreams were shattered into a kaleidoscope of tears. The dark room, once safe and warm, had demented into a hostile place. She looked around the room, as she had done each morning for the past seven months, searching for something. Of course, she knew she wouldn’t find it, wouldn’t see his comforting face. Comforting; that was the wrong word. Comforting meant that it was safe, that there was warmth about it that made her feel invincible and protected. It meant that her fears were false, that everything was normal, and that he lay beside her. No, this face was different. The hurt eyes, the stiff jaw, the quivering lip; none of it belonged to him. None of it belonged to John.
Yet it was John, at least physically. It was John that visited her every night, John that watched her in her sleep. It was his face, his tangled beard. Everything that was there belonged to him. From the understanding, loving eyes to the dark undertones of disappointment, John had been there. Those eyes, how she hated them. If he had been angry, shown some sign of blame or fury, Ann might have been able to move on. Perhaps she could have found a new husband, or returned to the comfort her parent’s house had always given her. But John wasn’t angry, and Ann was forced to wallow in the sands of guilt.
It wasn’t fair of him to torture her this way. He was the one who left her that night, left her alone to await his return. He was the one who ignored her; put the curse of isolation on her head. He was even the one who had invited the Devil into their home and stole her sanity. Everything was John’s fault. Why should Ann have to shoulder the blame? He claimed he loved her, claimed that he was devoted and caring, yet he never showed it. Maybe all the work he did was really a ploy to separate himself from her. Maybe John wanted Steven and her to be together.
Steven; the name pulsed through her veins. At first, the passion set in, the lust and agony grew within her. It was almost as if she had traveled back, and for a few seconds, perhaps due to still being half asleep or some other reason, she thought she had. She could see him again, feel him. It was a moment fiercer than a raging fire or threatening hurricane. Then, almost as quickly as the emotion poured over her, it was drained from her soul. The guilt was back and so was the image of John’s stern face.
Ann wondered how Steven was doing. Since that horrible night, Ann had only seen him once. It was at a dance nearly two months ago. Ann had been sitting alone at a table wearing the same depressed look she had worn for ages. Steven had come to her with a satisfied, inevitable smile; a smile that was all too familiar. It was like he believed that because he had penetrated her defences once that he had permanent access to her. When he asked her to dance, Ann declined. She remembered feeling rather odd about it. When John was alive, she would have given anything to dance, but in that moment, all she wanted to do was die.
Ann also remembered how quickly the smile on Steven’s face had faded. As she stood to walk away, Steven had seen it protruding from her. She hadn’t told him, and judging by his reaction, she knew she had done the right thing. Steven was mortified by the belly Ann had worn that night, the belly which had grown considerably since. That was the last time Ann saw him. There’s nothing like an unborn child to decimate any kind of romantic passion. Of course, John would have felt differently about it. Not once in their seven years of marriage had they been able to conceive, nor had they wanted too.
Ann threw the covers to the other side of the bed. There were chores to do and moping wasn’t one of them. She struggled to her swollen feet and waddled out of the haunting room. By the door, she paused. The door was an ugly kind of brown full of splinters and scars. Just days after discovering him out in the cold, Ann had tried to scratch away the paint and peel away her agony. If only she had never painted it, she would have never known the truth, never found the paint on John’s hand and never felt the way she did now. Reluctantly, she pulled away and left her soul in the doorway once again.
Outside, Ann examined the measly crop of wheat she had planted. It was all brittle and discoloured, none of it of use. It would be fall soon and this crop was her only chance at a livelihood. New furniture was the least of her problems now. At first, she thought that she might be able to run the place, she had watched John do it through the window so many times, but she soon realized that she was a farmer’s wife and not a farmer.
John was supposed to take care of it. He was supposed to plant and harvest the grain. But he had left her, alone and unequipped to deal with the farm. She had even had to sell nearly all of the livestock just to survive. Now, she had nothing. At one point, she had hoped Steven would come along to help out, but that was only a dream. Ann had lost all desire to live on the farm, to work where John had lived and died. She didn’t care what happened, didn’t care about anything.
Maybe John would come to fix this farm. Ann mused at the idea that he was still alive, still at his father’s farm. Maybe the storm existed, somehow, in that place and John had to keep his father safe. Maybe he was heading back to the farm to deliver her from her sorry life. He loved her and if that were true, Ann knew he would never leave her. But the wilted crop proved otherwise. He didn’t love her, didn’t want her. The baby kicked, emphasizing the welling emotions about to break free. John wasn’t coming.
If John really didn’t love her, as she had slowly believed over the many lonely days, then why did she feel guilty? Her encounter with Steven was natural. It wasn’t right for a married woman to feel so alone, so abandoned. Agony soared through her veins and out of her eyes in waterfalls of pity. John didn’t love her; perhaps he never had. So why did she carry on in this place. This was John’s farm, not hers. She was letting herself suffer for nothing. Besides, she had a baby to think about; Steven’s baby.
So many times she had tried to convince herself that the baby was John’s. She had forced thoughts down her throat, thoughts that this baby was a product of their love. Ann imagined John standing beside her, imagined the field full of life and promise. John looked at her, smiled, and then leaned in for a kiss. In her mind, she noted how smooth his skin was. Their lips met and joined to dance. Ann almost found herself puckering her lips as if she believed the scene were real. She almost believed their love was real; almost, but not quite. This baby wasn’t their love, but her sin. No, it didn’t belong to her; it belonged to Steven. Then why did she bear it with broken arms and worn muscles.
For a while longer, Ann watched as the wheat sway in rhythm with the wind. Ann wished she was one of them, a piece of wheat. She longed for the community and companionship of her brethren swaying with her. Ann’s grain-less heart had dwindled, much like her late husband’s livelihood. She plucked a piece of wheat from the ground. It was fragile and weak. It reminded her of herself.
The dam broke and more tears escaped her. Overflowing emotions hit the ground like punches. For months she had held on; not one tear had escaped her. But today they left easily. Everything was wrong. No one wanted her, loved her. Ann wondered if her baby would even want her. Tears of sorrow turned to fear. How could she raise this baby alone, without John? How could it survive without a father? Ann stood up, the tears ceasing to flow. As she turned to look down the long road, toward her new destination, she found a sense of purpose. While she began for the stable, toward the two horses she had managed to keep, she glanced up at the sky. A snicker escaped her, a bitter snicker directed at John. She imagined John being hurt. He deserved it; he had never loved her.
[b]Part 2: Smiles and Daggers[/b]
Steven’s house approached her like a sudden storm. Atop her buggy, Ann slowed herself. It had been so long since she had seen him. Ann didn’t know how to react or what to say. After being alone for so long, she found that words didn’t come as easily as they once had. She wondered what Steven would look like, if he would do her memory justice. It was hard for her to accept, but she still loved him, still had feelings. And while those may not have been as strong or as powerful as the feelings she once held for John, they were enough to make her stomach clinch and her heart stutter.
She slowed the horses to a stop outside the front door. It was amazing how beautiful the house looked to her up close for how little work Steven did. Maybe she had misjudged him all along. Maybe, that night so long ago, he hadn’t been after what she thought he was, but rather, maybe he had wanted her heart. Maybe he truly loved her after all. She found it odd how the smile that had once scared her now didn’t seem so menacing. Thinking about it, about that night, she felt foolish. Steven loved her, not John. John left, and while Steven hadn’t been the most present in the past few months, maybe all he needed was for her to come to him. In the end, after all she had been through, Ann truly believed this. These thoughts, whether right or wrong, were what she now believed. They were her truth.
A deep breath and a knock followed her ever twisting thoughts. She lost a beat of her heart somewhere in the sound. A part of herself and her guilt had been transferred to the wood on that door. Maybe, when she and Steven had reunited, the rest of her would vanish as well, and all that would remain was serenity and joy. This door was now the only thing standing between her and eternal fulfillment. Steven loved her, she was sure of it now. Steven loved her...
The door swung open to reveal a half naked Steven. Ann, startled by the sudden image, took an uneasy step back. What she noticed was a familiar sight. There, just above his chin was her fear and joy. The smile, which she remembered perfectly, felt different yet again. This time, it brought confusion and panic. Why was he smiling this way?
Through heavy breaths, Steven muttered a single word, “Ann?”
Ann? Was that all he had to say? Where were the romantic gestures, the loving words, the longing? Where was the scene she had explored so many times in her mind? Where was that Steven?
“What are you doing here?” Steven inquired.
“What am I doing here? What am I doing here? I’m doing what you couldn’t. I’m here to reclaim what we both felt that night. I’m here to see you.” Bombs ignited behind her eyes.
“Listen, Ann, this isn’t a good time. I’m...”
“Steven, who is it?” A voice broke through the air and plunged daggers in Ann’s throat.
Steven looked behind him into a narrow hallway, “Julia, umm, it’s no one.” Anger and urgency darkened his eyes as he turned back to Ann. “Go, don’t come back here,” he whispered quietly. He began to close the door behind himself.
An angry hand refused to let go. As darkness descended on her life, Ann reached up from the grave to save whatever light she could. Steven loved her, he had too. How could so many lonely nights be wrong?
“No! You’re not going to do this again. I’m all alone. I wait, day after day, for you to come for me, to save me, but you never do. Do I even cross your mind?”
“Steven?” the confused sounding girl asked.
“Ann, please!” Steven said with more urgency.
Darkness covered Ann. If John didn’t love her, and if Steven didn’t love her, then who did? Ann felt foolish again. John had loved her, as had Steven. Then, after that night, neither did. How could such a small mistake make such a mess of her life? The dirty water nipped at her feet, leaching any hope away.
“I’m not going to let you walk out of my life. You’re going to love me, dammit! This is your baby too!”
“Baby?” The girl’s voice squeaked. The girl took a step into view. Ann recognized her. Her hair was short and burned with the colors of midnight. Her eyes had a slight downward slant. She was the daughter of the pastor at their community church. Judging by the way she wore Steven’s shirt, Ann concluded that her father’s beliefs hadn’t been passed along.
“Ann, please!” Steven’s poison continued to spread.
Something snapped. No longer could Ann contain her demons as she unleashed them onto her once passionate lover. Her punches fell like leaves, crashing to the ground in a symphony of wasted effort. Her knuckles cracked liked wildfire trickling crimson anger. Steven just took it.
“Stop!” the pastor’s daughter screamed as she fell to knees. Finally, Ann stopped as the trickles of pain fell from the other girl’s eyes.
“This was a mistake,” Ann sobbed as she turned to her restless horses. Only a few steps, and then I can leave, Ann thought to herself.
“Wait!” Steven reached out and grabbed Ann’s arm. His hands, once passion filled, now were filled with apologies. Ann knew he didn’t really feel sorry; he just didn’t want her angry at him. That was something she couldn’t do. Ann snapped and twisted away violently. Perhaps it was her punishment or sheer mistake, but Ann did get free, only to be trapped by more sorrow.
The last thing she remembered was falling. She could feel her arms sink through the air, feel the impending doom. Steven’s hand clenched as she fell away from him. The girl stopped sobbing for a moment to look at Ann as she fell. Steven’s face was a sombre one, almost like he hadn’t come to terms with what was occurring. For that matter, neither did Ann. The baby kicked in protest as Ann’s body joined with dirt. That was the last time it would ever kick.
Part 3: Truth be Told
The walls painted shadows of death and defeat. Ann sat in her room watching their grasp nearing her. Ann thought about death a lot lately. John had died, her baby had died; maybe she was supposed to die too. The shadows crept ever closer yet Ann had no desire to keep them at bay. She was looking for someone. John always came. Maybe, just maybe, one of them was John.
The sunset light leaked through the boarded window. The bright orange bled with determination and warmth, yet all Ann felt was coldness. She wasn’t sad anymore; she didn’t feel pain or sorrow. Ann felt nothing. She was stuck in a limbo of depression. She welcomed it.
She had tried to deny her emptiness. When she had awoken from the incident, she was at home in her bed. A note had been left beside her from some doctor; she hadn’t recognized the name. It was short, blunt and bitter:
Ann, after your accident, your friend Steven called me over. I examined you and then the baby. You appear to have had no real damage, except a bump to the head. Your baby, on the other hand, didn’t make it. Very sorry and best wishes, Dr. Ima Staker.
Ann had never left the bed since the note. Three days ago she had seen it and couldn’t bring herself to get up. She no longer felt meaningless things like hunger or thirst. She felt nothing and had become as dry and withered as the field outside. Steven had never shown.
Perhaps she was dreaming, or maybe she was passing over, but a face appeared to her now. It was a strange kind of face, one that took her a while to recognize. The beard was gone and there was something different about his face; a smile. Ann found herself comparing Steven and him again. She placed the two side by side and ran through all the smiles she had seen on Steven. None of them were like this smile. This one was kind and loving. It cared about her and would do anything for her. It would even have left so that she could be with someone who could make her happy.
There in that room, Ann realized a single truth. John had loved her; he had always loved her. She knew, deep down, that she had always known. Somehow, Ann had perverted the truth. Now, in John’s smile, Ann knew that this was the truth.
The depression lifted a little and the sunlight warmed her. From beside the new expression on John’s face, one which he had always hidden, a hand reached out to her. John still loved her, even after she had caused his death. Ann reached out to take it, but paused suddenly. On his hand, the paint remained. How could she accept this, accept his love, if the paint remained?
John seemed to realize this and the hand retreated. Tears fell from Ann’s eyes and she realized the decision she had made. She wanted it, wanted him, so much. But she couldn’t have him, not yet at least. She had to earn it, had to earn his love. Ann had to earn him.
John just nodded and smiled. As he began to fade like a waking dream, he muttered a single phrase, “When you’re ready”. With those final words, John vanished and left her, alone, once again.
Her feet were heavy as she stood on the floor. She was weak and could barely stand. Her body screamed in protest, but Ann wasn’t about to give in. She wasn’t ready to die yet. John had done so much to earn her love, now she needed to do the same. She passed through the inviting doorway and reached for something that still remained in the hallway; a paintbrush. Ann dipped it in paint and touched it to the door. She didn’t know how or when she would earn it, but she would. She would see John again, but this time, she would love John as he had loved her, content in the love they would share.
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I wrote this a few months ago as an assignment for school. We were told to tell of Ann's life after the events in "The Painted Door". So, I created this which I consider to be my best writing to date. Sorry about the length but I hope you enjoyed it!
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