Amateur Fiction

Amateur Fiction – Malcolm Arkwright Bluebeard

Post 689 of 930

Aashka Iyer is a 16 year old Dubai kid and not what you would expect. A literature fan to the core, she carries a copy of her favorite Jane Austen novel with her everywhere and aims to attend Harvard University in a few years.

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Fri, 20/08/2003
Subject: Charming ShouldersDear Anne,He is the colour of eggshells. His eyes are the shade of ebon. He has charming shoulders and his name is Malcolm Arkwright Bluebeard. No, his beard is not bluehe does not have a beard. Today he professed his love for me. His love made me love him in turn. I am so very happy! He is a fine young man and I can’t wait for you to meet him.
I love you.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Sat, 21/08/2003
Subject: Re: Charming ShouldersDear Jeanne,
How immature do you conjecture me to be? I did not once think his beard would be blue. Calling someone an eggshell neither qualifies as an appropriate descriptor nor a compliment. I’m not sure where you were heading with that comment. I can’t wait to meet his charming shoulders.
I love you more.
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Sat, 21/08/2003
Subject: Re: Charming ShouldersDear Anne,
Sorry. I had forgotten about your imagination or the lack thereof. He is pale.
They’re mine.
I love you the most.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Sun, 22/08/2003
Subject: Re: Charming ShouldersDear Jeanne,
Whatever.
I love you more than you can imagine.

Anne xxFrom: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Tue, 2/10/2003
Subject: Jeanne Arkwright BluebeardI would trade anything for Pemberley. Remember English Literature?
P.S. AHHHHHHH!
I love you to the moon and back.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Tue, 2/10/2003
Subject: Re: Jeanne Arkwright BluebeardDon’t remind me.
You’ve known him for exactly a month, 12 days and a half.
You really shouldn’t but at the same time AHHHHHHH!
P.S. When are you telling mum and dad?
Call me!
I love you more than I do chocolate.
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 3/10/2003
Subject: Re: Jeanne Arkwright BluebeardI would’ve personally preferred to be a Darcy- by marriage.
Would it kill you to stop being critical for once?
P.S. I already have.I love you more than I do Darcy.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 3/10/2003
Subject: Re: Jeanne Arkwright BluebeardWhat part of ‘don’t remind me’ is hard to understand?
Everyone would rather be a Darcy- by marriage. Just be happy we’re not Wickhams.
Yes.
Call!
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 3/10/2003
Subject: Re: Jeanne Arkwright Bluebeard
Ew.
Ok!
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Tue, 29/10/2003
Subject: Everything
Is the château beautiful? Is he taking good care of you? Is everything perfect?
I love you.
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 30/10/2003
Subject: Re: EverythingYes. Yes. He’s leaving for Paris tonight.
I love you more.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Thurs, 31/10/2003
Subject: Re: EverythingOh?
I love you most.
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 31/10/2003
Subject: Re: EverythingI’m going to give myself a tour of the house.
I love you more than you can imagine.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Thurs, 31/10/2003
Subject: Re: EverythingCall me.
Anne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Thurs, 31/10/2003
Subject: Locked DoorsWhen a door is locked, it is more often than not, meant to be kept that way!
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 31/10/2003
Subject: Re: Locked DoorsBelle entered the west wing.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Thurs, 31/10/2003
Subject: Locked Doors
I don’t remember there being a locked door.
Anne xx

From: Jeanne Pemberley
To: Anne Pemberley
Sent: Wed, 31/10/2003
Subject: Re: Locked DoorsI’m going in whether you like it or not.
Jeanne xx

From: Anne Pemberley
To: Jeanne Pemberley
Sent: Thurs, 31/10/2003
Subject: Locked DoorsJeanne!
Where could the key possibly be? It ought to be here. I run to his (our!) room and start searching.
Underneath the clothes- No.
Bedside tables- Nope.
Office room- No.
Library- There’s a locked drawer.


Google- “How to pick a lock”
I grab two paper clips from the office room and rush back. I shove the unwound paper clip into the lock and move it around, press it down, and turn it around. I lift the paper clip up and rake it towards me. I drag the drawer outa key with a red mark lies there in between wax sealed envelopes (who still seals their envelopes with wax?).

I slip the key into the lock and twist it- once, twice, thriceclick.
The handle pulls itself downward and the door creaks open. A biometrics system guards a domineering wooden door. I can already tell that it was specially designed to keep people out. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Suddenly a hand encloses around me. I turn back and fall into raven eyes-
“Malcolm” I whisper.
“Here darling” he says as he pulls my hair back “you can’t break through this one without me”.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh yes you did!” He asserts.

He pushes me behind him and places his finger on the device. A beep. A green light. Stepping aside, he lets me step forth. I place my hand on the bronze handle and push the door open.

There’s blood. 7 white iceboxes. No. No. No. I should’ve listened to Anne. I hear the door click behind me! No! I run to the door and try to push it open. “It can’t be open from the inside babe”, Malcolm snickers. I try one last time and then give up. Violent sobs start tearing through me.

He locked the door and left me here. It is dark now. Painfully so. I get up slowly and try to make sense of myself. He’s going to come back. I run my hand along the wall- it’s cold. The iceboxes! I feel my way to the metallic edge of one and open it. A face. She’s beautiful. She’s dead. Her intestines are disseminated on the ice. My eyes immediately reject the sight and I feel the bile rise in my throat. I need to escape!

Knee, right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow.
Knee, right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow.
Knee, right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow.

I don’t know how much time has passed. What if he never comes?

Knee, right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow.
Knee, right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow.
Knee, right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow.

I hear the sudden sound of metal against wood. I look up. It’s him. The light almost blinds me and the sound of his footsteps almost turns me deaf. He walks in with a briefcase in hand. He sets it on the floor with deliberation and looks down at me. I get up with hesitation and a tinge of surprise runs through his smile and reflects in his demeanor. I close my eyes. A deep breath. ‘Find your core’ I tell myself ‘find your core’.

Knee- “Ah!” he yells. Right jab, upper cut, left hook, roundhouse kick, elbow, run. I turn back at the entrance, give him one last look and slam the door on his pathetic face. I keep running. I run and run and run. I keep running outside, in the open, even though I know he can’t follow me. I keep running.

I grab at my phone and will myself to dial 911, but then I stop as my will gives way to a won’t.

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