The murders were real. Giovanni, perhaps sensing my wavering spirit, made me watch the funeral procession through the narrow egress windows in the basement. My entire family passed by inside wooden coffins secured in horse-drawn wagons. All dressed in black, the villagers wept as they strode past Giovanni’s. I was forced to face Balthazar’s deeds. And Giovanni is right—I must flee at once.
Giovanni told me the villagers are outraged by these senseless murders. And with me missing, blame has been cast my way. I am to leave the basement when the world is shrouded by night. He will go with me and see me safely off.
August 31st, or so I think.
The time travel was most mysterious—as I said, the sacred scripture, with my hand sliced open by my dagger, I felt the world blur. I became quite ill and thought I would vomit. Then, I was surrounded by whirling blackness, as if in a dream. When I opened my eyes, I lay in a tall grass field. I am alone and frightened. I have been traveling for days and have seen no one.
September 8th
Balthazar has already found me. He has traveled to this time. As I was famished, I welcomed seeing him. I was so weak I could barely put one foot in front of the other.
Balthazar told me how much he loved me and that he missed me. He has promised to be a better man.
“I have a home here in the Americas,” he told me. “I will take you there and keep you safe. I vow I will control the darkness inside of me. You need not fear me, my beloved.”
I was too exhausted to protest and collapsed in his arms.
When we arrived at his stone mansion at the top of a mountain, I let him lay me in a bedroom filled with finery, lit by golden sconces on the walls. Velvet curtains hung from a four-poster bed lined with furs and pillows. A cheery fire blazed in the massive stone fireplace, warming my bones.I had been cold for days, but tucked beneath this bedding, I know I shall survive.
Balthazar fed me sweetmeats and candies. He bathed me with a sponge and held me while I drank water. Gradually, I became stronger from his care.
When I could walk on my own, he ravished me again, coming to me in the middle of the night to lay with me. Our lovemaking was violent and exhausting, leaving me bare and vulnerable. Yet, when he would depart, I’d long for him, twisting and writhing beneath the bedding, wishing he were here by my side. I was obsessed with his touch and our frenzied passion.
Two weeks after I arrived here, the killings began again. I’d be gazing out the window and see him carrying a limp body. This happened on several nights. As I had not been allowed to leave the premises, I don’t know where he found the people—usually women—to kill. But kill he did.
When I confronted him about it, he tried to justify his actions, telling me he only took the diseased and the sick. But then he confessed that slaughtering sick people left him with the effects of their illness. So, he had to go back to murdering the healthy and hale.
“What do you get out of this behavior?” I asked him, utterly nauseated at the thought of so much destruction.
But he would not answer. Instead, he would leave without a word and lock the door behind him. I planned to leave him but didn’t know how to escape. I was on the second story of his estate, and my full strength had not yet returned. I worried that if I started the intonation here in his house, he’d arrive home and interrupt me. I must get away from here to work the magic of time travel.
September 30th
When I saw him leave tonight, a plan sprang into my mind. I quickly removed the top bedding and the muslin between the sheets and the feather mattress. I tore it into strips, which I shoved into the bottom of the armoire. He never looks there. He only leaves me with clothes he has purchased from town, wherever that is. He spreads them across the bed and tells me to wear them when we dine together. That’s the only time I am allowed out of this room.
October 5th
I have been watching the moon, and Balthazar has been watching me. I think he suspects something. I tried to maintain calm and eagerness about his arrival, throwing myself at him when he came home.
But he’s taken to dining with me in my room.
I don’t question his decision. I compliment him and murmur adoring phrases to him. I do all I can to please him and satisfy his insatiable appetite for sex.
Tonight is the night, however. The moon is full. I pretended to fall asleep by his side, breathing deeply and evenly. Finally, at midnight, he arose and slipped out of my bedroom. The lock snicked into place when he left.
I listened intently to his footsteps as he trekked down the hall and descended the stairs. The distant sound of the front door let me know he was outside. I lay in bed, too scared to move. I dared to venture out of bed when I heard him calling to the horses, and the clip-clop of hooves sounded below. I tiptoed to the window and peeked through the curtains, watching his retreating form in his fine carriage.
I quickly dressed in warm clothes, tucked my dagger and journal in my pocket, and prepared to leave.
Swiftly, I retrieved the muslin from the armoire I had knotted together. I tied one end to the leg of the bedframe. I had to work the window open with much effort. When I got it open, I clung to the makeshift rope and made my way to the ground.
On wobbly legs, I ran toward a clearing near the house, slit my palm, gazed up at the moon, and repeated the sacred words.
And then I was gone.
“Oh my God… Mom lived like a fugitive,” I breathed, turning to Emily.
Emily tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her expression dark with sympathy. “Her life must have been unbearable.”
