Chapter 53. Nightmare

“How’s His Highness the Grand Duke?”

“He left early in the morning.”

I don’t believe in superstitions like Friday the 13th being unlucky, but I thought I should at least warn Enoch to be careful, so I came to find him. Hubert informed me of his absence, and I stared at the empty office feeling somewhat desolate.

“Did he mention when he would be back?”

“He said he would be back late, but I don’t know exactly when that ‘late’ will be.”

“I see…”

Why do I feel so empty? I was confused by my own emotions as I slowly looked around the office. His traces were everywhere, but the space didn’t feel lived-in. It felt more like a model house.

Still, there were elements that brought a sense of life, especially when I found a bottle of whiskey, a glass, a pipe, and an ashtray in the resting area. It made me feel a bit glad.

I could easily imagine him sitting lazily on that crimson velvet sofa, smoking a cigarette and sipping whiskey. He would probably be wearing a black silk robe over a casually unbuttoned shirt.

Suddenly, I realized how familiar I had become with him. Does this happen when you live under the same roof, even if you’re strangers?

A wry smile escaped me. Shaking my head, I turned and headed for the door. Hubert and Jasmine were waiting for me at the doorway. I gave them a painted-on smile and said,

“Today, we need to choose the flowers to decorate the engagement venue, right? Let’s start right away, so please call the florist.”

“Yes, Miss.”

The weather today was gloomy and overcast, fitting for a day like Friday the 13th. However, it didn’t feel like an ominous sign. Weather is just a natural phenomenon, and Enoch would be fine. I couldn’t imagine anything bad happening to him.

He was the type of person to trample over bad luck.

* * *

As if to prove that Friday the 13th is just a superstition, the day passed peacefully to the point of boredom.

Enoch still hadn’t returned, but no news was good news. I went to bed after dropping some lavender oil on my pillowcase and lighting a cypress-scented candle.

The small flame flickered like a dancer in the darkness. Watching its wavering, precarious movements, I eventually fell asleep.

It was a light, shallow sleep, like a thin thread that could snap at any moment. Throughout that restless sleep, I was tormented by nightmares I couldn’t remember.

As always, the dream became vivid just as I was about to wake up. My mother, with a bloodless face, was standing by the window in a dark room, laughing loudly.

A storm raged beyond the wide-open window, and the wind and rain violently battered the curtains as they invaded the room. Thunder and lightning roared in the pitch-black sky. My mother’s maniacal laughter grew louder. The eerie sound mixed with the thunder, wind, and rain to create a grotesque harmony.

She poured out endless curses and then suddenly turned to look at me. My mother spoke to me.

Come here, Ellen.

Like a marionette on strings, I staggered towards her, drawn by her voice.

My mother’s damp, cold hand gently stroked my cheek. She asked with a long, drawn-out smile.

Do you know why I went mad?

When I shook my head in fear, she scolded me for being a coward.

What you should fear is not the madwoman locked in a cell, but your fate as her daughter, she whispered with a laugh.

My mother asked again.

Do you know why I went mad? Sometimes only the mad can see the truth.

Do you know what the truth is? I can give you one piece of advice.

Don’t love that man.

My daughter must not love anyone.

Don’t love, but dominate, understand? Don’t become a saint.

My mother burst into laughter again. It sounded like she was mocking and ridiculing me. As if punishing the wicked witch, lightning struck violently, and the storm grew fiercer. My body, growing colder and paler, staggered towards the window and then collapsed with a thud.

At that moment, I woke up abruptly from the nightmare.

My whole body was drenched in cold sweat, and my breathing was rough. My cold hands and feet trembled. I sat up, curling into a ball, and tried to catch my breath.

My mother is dead.

She is no longer in this world.

Though it was an undeniable fact, I sometimes felt as if she were vividly alive. Especially on nights when I had nightmares about her, I felt this even more intensely and shuddered.

Perhaps my mother had achieved immortality by imprinting her existence on me. Like a demon of heresy, she was an evil and eternal presence lurking within me. I feared the truth she had touched and the condemnation that came with it.

Don’t love that man.

Her words echoed. I tried not to think about who ‘that man’ was. Covering my ears and shaking my head, I abruptly got out of bed.
I paced the room like a madwoman, trying to stop all thoughts. Almorter. Suddenly, that word pierced my mind. Almost immediately, a voice, whether my mother’s or mine, I couldn’t tell, intruded.

Why do you feel fulfilled helping that man, even at the cost of your life?

‘Shut up.’

I hastily knelt on the floor. Wrapping my head, I tried to block out the voice, as if that would free me from it. Whether it was the cool night air seeping through the wallpaper or my mother’s ghost clinging to me, my body continued to grow colder, trembling with the chill.

‘B-Brother, you know, right? About Miss Lopez’s biological mother… They say the Katarian woman was mad. So they say Miss Lopez might have inherited that madness…’

Am I going mad like my mother?

Is my mother’s wish for me to go mad like her?

The connection between a foreign woman and madness seemed quite reasonable. That’s why people believed the Katarian woman was mad. But I knew my mother’s madness wasn’t because she had foreign blood.

My mother went mad because she married my father.

Then, what is driving me mad?

“……”

Curled up on the floor for a long time, my body grew so cold that it wouldn’t have been strange if I froze to death. Perhaps because of that, my heartbeat slowed, my blood circulated sluggishly, and my thoughts quieted.

Tick-tock, the sound of the clock reached my ears. Only then did I become aware of the stillness of the night.

Blankly lifting my head, I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The hour hand was approaching the number 12. Only a few minutes remained until Friday the 13th ended.

Once that thick, short hand moved one step forward, it would finally be the 14th.

I suddenly smiled faintly and murmured softly.

“…Happy birthday in advance, Ellen.”

It was then.

I suddenly sensed a commotion in the hallway. Staring blankly at the door, I moved my frozen legs and stood up.

Without even thinking to grab a shawl, I opened the door and stepped out barefoot in just my nightgown. From the other end of the hallway, dimly lit by gas lamps, someone was walking towards me.

He wasn’t alone. With his large, rough hand clad in a black leather glove, he was dragging a man along.

I stared blankly at the bloodied man. It wasn’t easy to recognize his original appearance with his nose broken and his eyes and cheeks swollen. However, having seen a similar sight before, I could identify him without much difficulty. The man was Robert Anderson.

“Hello.”

Enoch, who had finally reached me, greeted me in a sweet, melodic voice. The sweetness of his voice was in stark contrast to his appearance, with blood splattered on his face. When our eyes met, he smiled beautifully, his eyes curving like crescent moons.

I realized that he was feeling proud, like a wolf bringing back its prey. The prey was Anderson. Or rather, Anderson and his gang. I didn’t know the details, but it was clear that Enoch had finally found the evidence to completely ruin Anderson tonight.

“Kneel.”

He threw Anderson down before me and commanded. Anderson, trembling with fear, prostrated himself before me. Then, as if he had practiced it dozens of times on the way here, he mechanically recited,

“I was wrong… Please spare me… Hic… Please, save me… I was wrong! I committed a grave sin…!”

It was only then that I realized that Enoch had been punishing Anderson unilaterally all this time, and I, the direct victim, had never received an apology.

This unexpected situation left me in a daze. It wasn’t particularly shocking that Anderson was crying and begging before me. What surprised me was that Enoch had gone to the trouble of dragging Anderson here to make him kneel before me.

Click—

Just then, the hour hand of the grandfather clock pointed to 12. The chimes rang three times. Ding, ding, ding—

Midnight on the 14th.

Enoch smiled broadly and said,

“Happy birthday, Ellen.”

* * *