The night was still, the only sounds disturbing the silence were the loud ticking of the wall clock counting down the seconds and her heart thumping loudly inside her chest.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
The night was completely dark as she discreetly slid into the room, only the amber light of the lamp embalmed the room in a soft orangey glow.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
He had left her.
After everything they had been through together. War, marriage, children, death, and resentment had finally driven him away.
He had ceased to love her, or so he claimed.
How can a person run out of love, she wondered as she pulled the sharp bladed kitchen knife out from where she had concealed it.
It was true she had fallen out of love with Ashley, she reasoned. But had she really loved him to begin with? Had she just daydreamed about a man who had never really existed, a fabrication of her imagination, made up from what she thought and had been told was the perfect man, the ideal husband?
She wasn't sure anymore.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
At first she had wanted to run off to Tara, rest her head on her mammy's shoulder and cry for a bit.
But unlike him, she wasn't a coward. She didn't run away when times were tough.
And she was convinced he still loved her, at least a part of him still had to, and as infinitesimal as that part might be, she was absolutely certain that she would be able to conquer his whole heart again.
And the sooner she started, the better.
She sighed as she gently stroked the cool metal of the knife with the tip of her index finger; a faint smile was starting to form at the corner of her mouth.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
After weeping on the stairs of her home for what had seemed like an eternity, she dried her tears and started thinking, an idea to solve all her problems was quick to emerge in her mind. It was a drastic solution but she was sure of herself.
It was the only thing to do.
It would prove to him, for once and for all, that she really loved him and no other.
What she was about to do, wasn't the kind of thing one should take lightly. It requires a lot of thought and a certain degree of skills.
She firmly held on to the handle of the knife.
It was not as if she had never done this before, true the last time was years ago and she had used a different utensil, but that did not really matter, at least not to her. The memory of the event that had taken place at Tara, just after the war, which still haunted her some nights when she was feeling particularly lonely, revived itself in her mind.
She smiled fondly at the memory of Melly and how good a friend she had been, taking that secret to the grave with her.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Once she was done, she gazed at her reflection in the glass of the cabinet door. She looked a fright; never in a month of Sundays would she have dared venture out of the sanctuary of her room looking half as bad as this.
She giggled slightly.
She had always been one to take pride in the image she gave to others of herself. She enjoyed being the prettiest, the best dressed, the feeling of having all the eyes in the room focused on her.
But the truth was she didn't care anymore.
Her hair was frazzled, her untameable curls popping out of the rest of her bun at awkward places, making it seem as if she hadn't brushed her hair for weeks. Her clothes were creased; they wouldn't have looked any worse had she slept in them, for a week.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
The most disturbing elements of this uncharacteristic untidiness were the large stains of the deep red liquid smudged over her clothes, smeared over her face in contrast with the ivory skin of her face and still dripping from her hands to the polished wooden floor.
Dripping at the same rhythm as the grandfather clock ticked away the seconds.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Suddenly a door creaked open.
Someone was coming.
Somebody was going to find her, here, like this.
They would say she's gone crazy. She would be the talk of the town, not that that would change anything from her everyday life, she had always been the old pea hens' most cherished topic for chit-chatting.
She didn't care. She just didn't give a damn anymore. And to be honest, she hadn't in years.
Nothing matter anymore, nothing except getting him back, they could all say that she was fit for the asylum, it wasn't important, as long as it brought him back to her.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
"Scarlett?" he asked, his voice echoing in the silence of the night. "What the hell are you doing?"
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
She couldn't believe it, he was here. She had thought that by this time he would already be halfway to Charleston, apparently she had thought wrong.
"What the hell are you doing?" he repeated.
She turned around to face him, he was unable to conceal a gasp. "Scarlett, what have you done?" he asked, concerned.
She looked up into his eyes, green meeting black, uncertainty meeting confusion.
"Scarlett, are you hurt?" he enquired, taken aback by her appearance.
She shifted slightly to the right, just enough to reveal the lifeless cadaver behind her.
"Scarlett!" he exclaimed in shock. "What have you done?"
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
"I did it for you," she said, her quietude undisturbed. "I wanted to show you that I love you, you and only you, with all my heart."
"But Scarlett, it didn't have to come to this," he said in an almost whisper.
"I wanted to. It's to show you I have changed. Although this is just my first attempt, I never dreamed that you would turn up tonight, I thought I would have time to get better at it before I could present you with the fruit of my labour."
"Scarlett, my dear, we have servants for this kind of labour," he said gesturing at the lifeless form.
"I know, but it's not the same," she sighed.
He glanced over at the table, and walked over to it, he picked up the wing of the chicken that was only dangling on to the rest of the carcass by a thread. He chuckled and looked over the other products on the table –bread, carrots and tomato sauce, which she seemed to be covered in, the weak glow of the petrol lamp making it look like blood.
"My darling, I don't care if you're the one who prepared the meal that I'm served at night. I didn't marry you for your abilities to craft and serve a good meal,"
"Why did you marry me then?"
He did not answer the question, allowing the night to become once again peacefully quiet.
After a few minutes, it was Scarlett who was the first to break the silence.
"Rhett, why did you come home?" she asked boldly.
He sighed heavily, "Turns out I was wrong."
"I can't believe I lived to see the day when the bold Rhett Butler would admit being wrong about something," she laughed, wiping her hands clean on a near by towel. "And what exactly were you wrong about?"
He sauntered over to her, "About what I said earlier when I left. About not giving a damn anymore, I do give a damn about what happens to you."
They were only inches apart from each other, they were cautiously circling each other to find the other's true intentions, neither wanted to feel the pain of rejection again.
"What made you change your mind?" she probed.
"When you got back from the Wilkes, my mind was so set on leaving you that I never really listened to what you were saying. I was just adamant about getting out of here, going away, that I didn't want to risk changing my mind," he said taking her hands in his. "But while I was waiting for the train to leave, I finally realised what you had just said to me."
"Rhett …" she interrupted.
"Do you how long I've been waiting for you to say those words to me? How many years I have longed for you to love me? It was just so typical of you to start to love me when I had decided that I wanted nothing more to do with you," he smiled
"Rhett, I have loved you for years, I just didn't realise it. And I thought you hated me," she exclaimed, tears of joy appearing at the corner of her eyes.
"Well my dear," he said. "It seems to me that a little more honesty in this household would have saved us a great deal of trouble and misunderstanding."
"Oh, Rhett I'm so glad you came back," she sighed, looking up at him expectantly.
"I would kiss you to celebrate, but you are filthy," he laughed.
She nodded and started making her way to the hall to go upstairs and clean up, but he caught her arm and pulled her into his arms, "Who cares about getting a little tomato sauce on their clothes when love is at stake?"
THE END
For djeanne:
Three things I want in my fic:
1 Must have a happy ending.
2 Romantic scene(s) between R&S. Doesn't have to be explicit, just
romantic.
3 Would like it to be like a thriller/suspenseful. I don't think I've read
any GWTW fanfics like that and think it could be good.
Three things I don't want:
1 No "dream sequences" - like Scarlett waking up and it was all a dream.
Keep it realistic.
2 Stay away from "misunderstandings" like Rhett mistakenly getting the wrong
idea that Scarlett still loves Ashley when he sees her talking to him, etc.
That stuff is so tiresome.
3 Don't use the horrible novel "Scarlett" as part of the story! Make sure
Scarlett stays in the South, and doesn't venture over to Ireland.
Time period during which you want your story to be set (if applicable): Pick
up right at the time the novel ended.
A/N: Well I hope I didn't venture too far outside the box. I'm sure I managed to stay away from the things you absolutely didn't want in the story, and I think I did alright with wishes #1 and #2.
But I'm not entirely satisfied with my attempt at making it thriller/suspenseful like, for all the Agatha Christie's, Mary Higgins Clark, John Grisham and Michael Connolly novels I have read.
I am fully aware that the end is totally daft, but for me dead bodies are the essential ingredients for thrillers, but I could not really have her kill someone and, at the same time respect wish #1.
I would like to thank CaptScarlett for organising this fic-a-thon, I'm thoroughly enjoying it. It was a brilliant idea, and I hope there are more to come