Envy Becomes Her
Never did I think my life would end this way; it was never meant to end in tragic violence, at least. Up until now, I had led a reasonably simple life. I was just like any other young woman, looking for love in the city that never sleeps. Since I was a young girl, I’d had this idea in my head of how I’d meet my soulmate. Girl meets boy, boy falls in love with the girl, they get married, maybe start a family, and they’d live happily ever after, right? That’s the way it was supposed to be. Oh, but life had other plans.
Today, I look outside my window, through the iron bars that contain me, that hold me a prisoner. The cold front blankets the sky in dull gray. Outside, time moves along as it usually does, while within these four walls, time is just a concept. Even still, the days are shorter, and the nights are agonizingly longer. Once full of vitality and color, the trees are now lifeless, like me. But unlike me, the cycle of life will continue at the start of the equinox.
Presently, it’s smack dab in the middle of winter. January. In the reflection of the glass, somewhat veiled by frost, defeated eyes look back at me. I don’t recognize her anymore–whoever she is, she’s just a shell of a person. I can hear the muffled conversations from the day nurses as they make their rounds, checking in on the other patients down the hall. I await my turn, albeit not enthusiastically.
I turn to walk back towards the bed, searching between tangled sheets for my pen and notepad. Writing helps me stay sane in this place; call that a paradox. I flip the pages back, exposing a blank slate. Where do I even begin? I guess I should start with why I’m in this hell, the cause for my conviction. I bring the tip of the pen to my tongue and back down onto the paper. My truth flows from me:
#
My mother-in-law, Celeste Anderson. She is the reason I’ve been thrown in a mental institution, hidden away upstate. Given a chance, I would have killed her that much is certain. But before you write me off as a monster, you need to know the truth, the absolute truth. So I’m writing this entry to set the story straight. Someone out there has to believe that I did not do what I have been accused of.
The papers say I killed my husband, William Anderson II, known to his close friends as Billy (by everyone, except his mother) for his money and that I attempted to make it look like a home invasion. But not before his poor, helpless mother, Celeste, came home and witnessed the horrific scene and was but a moment away from being collateral damage herself.
None of this is true. It’s a fallacy. I am a victim, and so was he.
My life was taken from me, and the love of my life, Billy, is dead. All because his mother couldn’t stand the thought of her darling boy sharing a life with someone who wasn’t her.
He had no idea the kind of monster his own mother was, no clue that she was the one who spurred his father into drinking himself–literally–to death. In her jealousy, she had gone as far as to push her husband down the stairs, killing him all those years ago. Billy, just a boy then, was led to believe what happened to his father was an unfortunate accident. However, he had expressed a nagging suspicion that Celeste was somehow responsible for her husband’s death after discovering journal entries written by his late father. In much of his writing, he’d expressed fear of the woman he’d married. He even wrote about his plans to leave Celeste and take his Billy boy. But, according to Billy, his father’s entries stopped after that last one.
“Your drunk, good-for-nothing father tripped, and that’s how he broke his neck.” She had told him, “Do not fret, William, my sweet boy. We’ll be better off. It’s just you and me now.” And she made sure of that.
I had never believed in love at first sight; it was for the birds. That was until I met him. It had never occurred to me as odd that my husband had few serious relationships before meeting me. It also seemed strange that he was not too concerned about introducing me to Celeste before deciding to propose only five months into our relationship.
“To hell with it!” he told me. “We’re in love, and if she loves me, she’d be crazy not to love you, too.” A bit of an understatement, in retrospect.
So, he proposed eloping in Vegas. The rest was history… Look, I just thought he was spontaneous, and I loved that about him. I had asked about my mother-in-law a lot in the beginning. I didn’t know it then, but my loving husband protected me from Celeste’s harsh words regarding our marriage. I believed, at first, she was only upset with how quickly we got together, not having a proper wedding. I was a bit of an optimist back then. Still, it was soon made very clear to me that I would “never be enough of a woman” to keep “her” William happy. That I am nothing but a “penniless whore,” whose only reason for being with her darling boy was for his money, of course! That was it for Billy; he cut all communication with his mother not long after that. And as you can imagine, she did not go willingly or quietly. He had our telephone number changed five times within a few months. It wasn’t until we moved into our first home together in the city, forgoing leaving a forwarding address, that we finally stopped receiving her letters.
It was peaceful, but only for a moment.
It was a rainy afternoon in October when I came home from the grocery store to find my husband sitting in our living room, pale in the face as if he had just seen a ghost. It wasn’t until I saw a figure before she stood, her back to me, that I realized who was in our home. How she found us, I had no idea. When she finally turned to me, I got to see the woman–who made no attempt at hiding her hatred for me– in person for the very first time. Celeste was lovely, in every way a woman could be, physically. She looked glamorous, like she stepped out of classic Hollywood. She was as beautiful as Hedy Lamarr, maybe even more so, angelic almost.
I took in her features, overwhelmed by her beauty. Her hair was black as a raven’s, in contrast to her ivory skin–smooth as glass, and her nose was what women showed their surgeons in hopes of having. Her plump lips–painted in ruby red–were set in an almost melancholic way. A wave came over me, a feeling like I needed to protect her. Protect her from what exactly, I had no idea; that was the power she held over others. Like a siren luring a sailor to his tragic end… that was the kind of hold Celeste had over anyone she held in her grasp.
For a moment, I was curious how she never remarried after her husband’s accident. Looking back on it, now I know why. The devil, too, was an angel once. She looked me over with a face of disdain, and I could only stand there frozen; it was as if her ice-cold stare could turn you to stone, like Medusa. What was she doing here? How did she find us? What did she want? These were the questions screaming at me in my head. I couldn’t move. When she made no effort to say anything, I tried, “Hello, Celeste! What a surprise you dropped in! I’m pleased to finally mee–” “As I’ve said, darling, I must be going now.”
Her back was to me again, ignoring me completely as if I’d said nothing at all. My husband did not move from his place; he seemed frozen, too. Instead, Celeste moved towards him, leaning down to press a kiss atop his head. She stayed there for a moment, breathing him in before whispering, “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my darling boy.”
He cringed before standing, finding his ground again. “I’ll walk you to the door, mother,” he spoke with finality.
The tension in our home was palpable; you could almost choke on it. Finally, finally, Celeste made her way to the door. But not before she paused, taking one last look at me but speaking to him, “You know, love, you should really think about getting serious regarding your future instead of playing house with that one.”
Billy’s face was as red as a ripe tomato in a matter of seconds. He wasted no time in berating his mother while practically slamming our front door in her smug face. Finally, Billy turned towards me, and I could only guess my face gave away my hurt feelings.
After a moment, “I am so sorry, Fiona. I really don’t understand why she’s like this.”
“What did she want?”
Billy was quiet then as if lost in his thoughts. I followed as he walked back towards the living room, pacing. Then, after an audibly long silence, “My mother, she’s ill. Uhh, cancer,” He sat and let his face fall into his hands, rubbing his eyes like he was sure this was a dream. “It’s terminal. She doesn’t have much time, she’s told.”
#
A few weeks passed, and all was well until a letter arrived from Celeste. In her letter, she pleaded with her son to come to stay with her in her final days.
“If she thinks I would ever stay with her, after everything she’s done, she’s crazy! I’d say cancer has officially turned her brain to mush.”
“You should go, she’s still your mother, and she’s sick. It’s the right thing to do, despite her past behavior.
“Who knows, maybe she wants to make amends.”
“You have too much faith in her, Fi. I admire you for that, but I can’t go without you. I won’t.”
“You know that isn’t a good idea, Billy.”
“Listen, if she wants me to come up and stay with her, I’m bringing you, my wife, with me.”
#
We journeyed from the city to Celeste’s estate in the Adirondack mountains a few days later. Upon arriving, Celeste was nowhere to be found on the grounds, which we found concerning. After looking around the house, we found another odd observation when we could not reach an operator through the telephone, only to discover that the cord was cut. Why would Celeste do that? Everything in me was screaming at me to get out, get out now. However, I brushed those feelings aside. Maybe something had happened to Celeste on our way up here. Perhaps she was in danger. The reality of it was, that we were the ones in danger.