Existence :: By Laura Adkins

Existence
By Laura Adkins

Hard, expensive leather boots disturb mossy puddles of rainwater, scattering the contents with each footfall. It is a path these boots have trod frequently, especially in the last year. James Calumny is the wearer of the boots, a middle-aged man with a solemn-set mouth and grasping gray eyes once lively and jovial but now dimmed and dull. Lines of weariness creased the man's forehead, making well-known his fatigue and concern.

At the end of the path lies an oil-thirsty door and relief from the cold, relentless rainstorm. Behind the door lies the apothecary shop, home to many a lifesaving elixir. There is little inside, however, that can cure what ails James Calumny.

"Hullo, Calumny! Back for more? How did my last prescription do?" Called the apothecary, cheerfully.

Calumny dragged himself to the counter. "Not well enough. That concoction sated her for a few hours or so, but after that she was back to thrashing again. We had to strap her arms and legs down this time."

"Oh my. Getting worse, you think?"

"Exponentially, by the day." Calumny wiped his rain-soaked face with his handkerchief.

"Pity. Such a pretty thing."

Calumny was silent, and the apothecary regretted his words.

"Do you have anything else?" He asked gruffly.

"Well, I can see about strengthening that sedative we used last time -- maybe it will keep her sated longer."

"I wish we could heal her, instead of merely providing temporary relief."

The apothecary smiled sadly. "Shall we try it, then?"

"Fine. Just don't overdose her. She's suffering enough."

"Have a seat, and I'll see what I can do." Calumny sat on the wooden bench and scowled rancorously at the fog-obscured moor, through which he lived.

The patient is Calumny's daughter Riayn; A lovely thing, barely an adult in years. She, too, was once lively and cheerful. The moor had taken her gaiety and her sharp mind. It was a thief who robbed from their family, a quiet demon who snuck in through the night and stole his beautiful daughter over time, little by little, day by painful day.

"Try this, Calumny." The apothecary woke him from his brooding hatred. "I put in a little something extra for your little ones, some candy left over from the holidays. I know times are hard."

Calumny mumbled a thanks and stepped out into the biting rain.

Four months had passed since Riayn's husband Quentin was taken by the moor. Its mysterious illnesses robbed him of his health, slowly eating his personality and intelligence until it could eat no more, and left behind a delirious shell of a man to die. Even as the families grieved, Riayn refused to believe that her beloved, once vivacious and exciting, now lay dead and buried. In her sorrow she would run into the damp moor, hoping to catch a glimpse of him through the mists. She swore, in her defense, that he resided there, and that seeing his face kept her alive another day. In truth, exposure to the moor only sickened her. The townspeople, looking for an explanation, rumored that it was her lover who brought the illness upon her, beckoning for her to follow him into death.

"Riayn!" The voice was pleading, frantic above the thrashing. "Riayn, you mustn't flail about so!"

Riayn responded with a shriek and more thrashing.

"Goodness child, I hope your father returns soon. I don't know if I can handle you much longer!" The nursemaid wiped her sweaty hands on her apron and sighed defeatedly. Riayn grunted and intensified her racket.

"Oh, thrash if you want to! Tire yourself out, and then be still!" She sat down hard in a corner chair. "Maybe we can have quiet, then." She removed her bonnet and mopped her forehead. Long days of caring for the delirious woman were beginning to wear on her senses.

"Ellen, what is that racket?"'

She jumped up and straightened her clothes. The noise had been so loud that she had not heard the door open.

"Master Calumny, sir!" She bowed quickly. "Oh, she's been terrible today, sir!" She had to scream to be heard over Riayn's cacophony. "The medicine did nothing, and I was afraid she'd break her bonds!"

Master Calumny gazed sadly at his daughter, who was throwing herself from side to side, mumbling incoherently. Her long undulating curls, a source of great pride before the illness, lay damp and wild across her mangled pillow. The deep auburn rings were a stark contrast to her pallid skin. It was a frightening sight.

"Give these to the children, Ellen." Calumny opened his bag and took out the candy. "I'll give her the medication and then I'll be out for dinner."
Ellen took the candy and, with a weak smile, obeyed his orders.

"Riayn, dear, I've got a little something to calm you." He called. Riayn stopped abruptly, her chest heaving from exertion. Calumny gently took the bottle from the bag and the spoon from the nightstand, poured an appropriate amount of medicine into the spoon, and held it still. He tapped on her bottom lip, and the woman opened her mouth enough to let the bitter liquid in. Riayn instantly made a face, but obediently swallowed.

"Yes, I know, it's rather bitter." The father softly dabbed the sweat from his daughter's forehead and tried to look cheerful. "There now. The pain should go away soon, and you'll be able to sleep."

Riayn babbled in response.

"I'm going to go see your mother now, ok? I'll be back later to see you."

The woman turned her head toward him and stared blankly.

"I will return Later, Riayn. Try to sleep a bit."

Calumny's other children, one son of adolescent age and two still toddling, were awestruck and a bit afraid of their oldest sister. While enjoying their candy, they asked all sorts of questions of Ellen: "What does she look like?", "Why does she scream so?", and "What was all the noise about?" Ellen could only answer with gentle smiles and simple answers.

"I gave her the medicine. We'll see if it works or not." Calumny said, opening the door. There were three shouts of "Daddy!", and a stampede of little feet. Soon Calumny found himself swinging his toddlers around and hugging his eldest boy.

"Let's eat dinner, shall we?" He suggested, before questions could be asked.

After dinner, Calumny drank a glass of wine in his study to calm his nerves as he sat in rueful contemplation. His wife Eleanor stood behind him, softly gripping his shoulders.

"I can't bear to see her like that." Calumny murmured sadly. "I see my little girl with so much life slowly dripping away."

"To have lost Riayn's husband this way, and now to be losing Riayn... It hurts terribly." She murmured, removing her hands from his shoulders and hugging him from behind. Tears soon flowed freely.

Calumny brought his hand to his mouth and covered his sobs. "What sort of existence it must be; to be chained hand and foot, no longer free to roam about, or even to think, because the pain thinks for you?" He whispered through his wrenching sobs.

Gazing despairingly through the study window, Calumny looked for hope from the skies, but all he could see was the fiery sun setting, for the rain had ceased.