Man in the Locket

This is just something I wrote for a class so I'd like to see what you all think. Please tell me what you thought of it and what I can fix! It's about a girl who's captured and decides her own fate.

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes is the darkness. It wasn’t a comfortable darkness, either. It was the type of cool, damp darkness that leaves a chill in the air; the chill that raised the hair on your arms and you could feel settling in your bones. It was an eerie chill; the type that felt like it was suffocating. My breath came out in short puffs of air. A dim light came through the bars, and I could hear the sounds of the guards and other prisoners. Screams echoed throughout the place. I shivered and tried to block agonizing sounds out.

I was lying on a flea- ridden cot, which smelled of mold and sweat. I grimaced, as my head pounded like a bunch of giants were tap dancing inside my skull. I took a silent inventory of what hurt and what didn’t. My side was aching, along with the cut splitting my lip. My whole body itched and burned from the fleas. I rolled over and my booted feet hit the cool, rough surface of the stone floor.

I then looked around the room, or cell, as it was. It was small, no more than eight feet both directions. It held the cot I was currently sitting upon and a rickety chair, which looked as if it’d fall apart if a pebble landed on it. 

The room was cold and the thin material of my shirt and trousers did nothing to protect me. Both items of clothing were worn thin from to many washings and patched from where holes had been.

Another scream echoed and I clenched my teeth together and again tried to block out the agonized sound. My hand unconsciously went to the locket that hung around my neck. On one side it held a mini portrait of my mother and I when I was small. My mother had had a friend who was willing to do it for us at a cheap price. The other side contained one of my mother and whom I assumed was my father. The locket had belonged to my mother. It was silver with a heart pendant that had a small vine with thorns wrapped around it.

I don’t know how long I sat there when I heard the heavy footfalls of the guards. I selfishly prayed they would go past my cell, but it seemed as I was out of luck. There were two of them. One was tall and well muscled, while the other was short and stocky. The taller one unlocked the door and it opened with a creak that had me wincing. The shorter one grinned.

“Awake now, ain’t ye, missy?” he said with a malicious smile. His eyes raked up and down my body and the hair on my arms raised. He walked over and roughly grabbed me by the arm. I stifled a yelp and glared defiantly at the man. My stomach churned queasily as I got a whiff of him. He smelled of sweat, liquor, and some other pungent smell. It was by no means a pleasant odor.

At all.

He had short, greasy black hair and his teeth were rotten. His eyes were beady and held a malicious glint in them. The taller man had reddish-brown hair with gray eyes, which held a look of pity as he glanced at me. He took my hands gingerly between his own and bound them behind my back with a piece of rope. I gave the binds and experimental tug. They held tight.

“Don’t hold her so roughly, Harris.” The taller one said. Harris glared at the man and loosened his grip, if only a little.

They both took ahold of my arms and led me through dim corridors as I just looked down at my boot covered feet. It had already been a week since I was captured and this was the third time I had been retrieved from my cell. I ignored the sounds of the other prisoners to the best of my ability, but it was useless. These were the sounds of my nightmares.

They led me through dark corridors with so many twists and turns that I soon began to lose track of which way was which. I was dragged up a stone staircase and down another corridor. I could tell we had reached the house, as it was cleaner and lighter, although still gloomy. We made a right and walked a few more feet before we stood in front of a door.

Once at the door tall guy (still don’t know his name) knocked and waited patiently before we hear a muffled “Enter!” We walked in. I looked around in amazement.

It was a study with a rather large dark oak desk, which looked new, and bookshelves everywhere. The cherry wood shelves were filled to the brim with books, but it was neat. Each book was in its place and they looked well taken care of.  I had never seen so many books in one place before!

The room was spacious, yet the shelves and massive desk made the room feel small. The room was carpeted and my feet seemed to sink into the plush flooring. Behind the desk sat an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and piercing blue eyes, eyes that seemed strange yet familiar.

“Please have a sit, Miss Briarly.” He said pleasantly and I immediately felt a feeling I couldn’t explain. I hesitantly took a seat across from the man. The room definitely smelled better than the cells. It was like wood, dust and books.

“I am sure you have wondered as to why I have brought you here, yes?” he asked solemnly.

“It has crossed my mind briefly, but only that.” I replied with a thick accent. The man laughed heartedly for a few moments.

“Harris, John, leave us.” The man said with a wave of his hand and the two guards who brought me here left. The great oak door shut softly behind them. I turned and stared at the old man. His blue eyes were centered on me. He looked no more than forty, yet his hair was streaked silver. His face was aristocratic in looks with high cheekbones and a slightly pointed nose. His face was clean-shaven with no scars or blemishes.

“Now, Miss Briarly, my name is Geoffrey Malcolm. It is to my understanding that a couple of my guards happened to find you snooping around in places you should not have been. Care to explain yourself?” Malcolm asked calmly. He had leaned back in his chair and his hands were folded together, resting upon his stomach. His body looked relaxed, but his eyes were alert. They watched me carefully, not missing anything. He awaited my reply.

 “It would seem, sir, that you were misinformed. I was never told as to what lands were yours, or what belonged to another bloke. I was told to simply come and someone.” I explained calmly, but on the inside I was a bundle of nerves. I fought the urge to just get up and run, as that would’ve been useless. In my malnourished state I would have been no match against the man across from me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the silver bell on his desk.

My long blonde hair fell loose and flat against my shoulders. My face was covered with the dirt and grime of the cell and the blueness of my eyes were the only things I could identify.

I looked up from my reflection to see Malcolm staring at me thoughtfully, his thumb and pointer finger placed on his chin. Finally he spoke.

“And who is this man you are looking for?” he asked finally. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes, so much like my own, to give him the next bit of news. I looked at the man in the locket. My father.

“You. My father.” I said simple and the man stiffened in shock. He sat up and leaned forward, towards me.

“Me? Miss Briarly I assure you that I am not. You have the wrong man.” He said matter of factly.

“Oh, I assure you, sir, that I have the right man.” I said dryly and he lifted one elegant brow. I mocked him.

“Really? How can you be so sure?” Malcolm asked and sat back in his previous position, his face set in a smug smirk. I then leaned forward, or as best as I could in my current situation.

“You grew up in Wellingshire, have two brothers and you are the middle child. Your eldest brother, Edmund, died in a tragic accident roughly twenty years ago. While home from your last year of Eton you met Mary Briarly. She was a simple bakers daughter. You courted her that summer and planned on marrying her the next year, but plans soon changed. Your parents heard of your intentions and did not approve. While you were away at school they had my mother sent away and told you that she had eloped with a young farmer a few towns over.” I explained softly and all the color drained from his face. If he were standing I was pretty sure he would’ve fallen to the floor in complete shock.

“How do you know about that?” he croaked hoarsely before clearing his throat and repeating the question. His shock quickly turned to anger. He suddenly stood and walked around until he loomed over me.

“Where did you learn that? Who told you? Answer me!” He bellowed and I shrank back in fear. I quickly remembered who I was, who this man was, and my fear quickly turned to anger.

“She wrote to you for a year! She wrote every single day, without pause, for a year! After she got no reply she stopped then resumed two years later! Then you know what? Nothing! When I was six years old an elderly woman stopped by the shack we called home. She walked in like she owned the place and called my mother a w***e and to stop writing! For years when she thought I was asleep she’d cry, sitting by a small window. Your name was the last words she ever muttered. After years of no response, she continued to love you.” I seethed. All the anger, the pain consumed me. I became furious at this man for both my mother and I. For never looking, for the pain he caused my mother.

I thought of all the stories she told me, the smile she’d have when telling them. She looked so happy that I wished that she could find that again. She constantly talked about the noble, kind, brave man she had fallen in love with. She talked about him with such love in her eyes that I began to resent the man who was my father.

That man currently stood before me, his face a stony mask of anger, shock, and pain. His eyes held such different emotions that I couldn’t identify them all.

“You’re lying.” He whispered and stepped back to sit on the desk. His broad shoulders stooped in defeat and I began to feel sorry for him.

“I’m not. This is all the truth.” I whisper, my anger beginning to cool.

“You can’t be.” He said a little louder and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Look at the locket. Its around my neck.” I commanded softly. Malcolm did as told. He unfastened it gently and turned the small trinket over in his large hands. He touched the engravings, the vines, before opening it. Tears gathered in his eyes as he saw the portraits, and soon they fell. His gaze returned to my face, searching for something, anything.

“I gave this to her, you know. Right before I left. An artist in the village painted it for us. This was the last thing I had ever given her.” He said softly, his voice full of so much hurt and grief. We sat in silence before he spoke again.

“I truly had loved her, you know. She was everything to me. I met her soon after Edmund’s death and she made everything okay. Where my life was bleak and lonely, hers was bright and full of laughter. When I met her it was like taking that first breath of fresh air after you have been inside all day. She was everything I wasn’t.” His voice was filled with so much raw pain that it was hard to believe that he was lying. “I had always known her, but I never developed feelings for her until that summer. But once I had, I knew that it was real. She brought joy to my bleak and sorrowful existence. Mary was everything good. I wondered about her for years after I graduated. My parents never told me of any letters.”

He looked so hurt and broken that all my anger melted away. But then I remembered my tied hands. I shifted to awaken my sleeping limbs.

“Do you think you could untie me, please?” I ask after a moment. That seemed to jolt him out of his reverie. He stood and grabbed a small dagger and cut me loose. I sighed in relief and rubbed my wrists together to let the blood flow through. As I was too busy staring at my wrists, I didn’t notice that he had moved. I jumped as I felt the now cool metal of my necklace touch my neck.

The door then opened and in came a laughing little boy followed by two older children. The little boy looked around the age of six while his sister looked a few years older. The last was an older boy who looked to be around the same age as I. The older boy gave me a quizzical look and I became self-conscious. He had the same dark hair and blue eyes as our father but his other features must have been from his mother.

“Papa!” The younger boy shrieked and flung himself in his, my, father’s arms. Malcolm laughed and swung the boy around before setting him back down.

“Samuel!” the girl admonished but was smiling while she said it. She was quite beautiful with long brunette hair and bright green eyes.

“Clarisse, Adrian. How was the picnic?” Malcolm asked as he gazed at them. His eyes shown of love and happiness and I began to feel jealous. They were able to know where they came from, when there next meal was, and, most of all, that they were loved. Although I knew that my mother had loved me I missed out on the chance of a happy family. A real family.

As they all talked happily I felt like an onlooker. A stranger. Although I wished to know my father, I knew that I would never fit in. I’d never be accepted by society. I knew that he felt guilty for all the years that we were alone, but there was no need. I looked out the window and saw the sun shining. My gaze turned back to the family that was still creating a happy whirlwind of chaos. I had two options. One, I could stay and disrupt the life he had here or two, to walk out and leave them alone. To continue a life that ended to soon or begin my own. To look back on the past or walk towards the future

With one final look back, I walked out.

 

 

Author's Note

What did you think? Write a review, and be honest! Tell me anything I need to improve on.

Reviews

[Jack]

I loved your story! It was a great read. I loved how the beginning left me with a lot of questions. I wanted to continue to read to find out these answers to my questions. Many of the questions weren't answered, but that's okay.
Another thing, it's usually considered a little cliché for a character to describe him/herself by looking at there reflection.
Nice little plot twist with the man turning out to be her father. I wasn't expecting that. And I also wasn't expecting the story to go in that direction so that was cool.
I do find it a little unrealistic that these kids would just be able to barge into their fathers office without notice especially with all the not so great things going on(keeping prisoners, etc...). Although I did like ending.
My last thing is that I wish the readers could find out more about where the main character was and why there were so many prisoners living in horrible conditions.
But overall, it was a wonderful story and great read! Keep up the good work.