After I Died, My Husband Went Mad - Chapter 83
The memories of that day were not very clear. Screams, trembling breaths, raindrops pounding down, someone’s body growing cold—these were all that seven-year-old Dehart had retained of that tragic event.
“Ugh….”
On that day too, Dehart cowered in his bed, tightly shutting his eyes. Someone kept whispering in his ears. He had to remember, he had to recall.
[Dehart, remember it clearly. When I shout, count to ten, then run to the other side…]
“I don’t know, I don’t know about that…!”
His body trembled. Lightning struck by the side of a seven-year-old child who had lost his entire family.
Crash—!
“Master!”
People rushed to him, trying to calm him down, but to no avail. Dehart’s seizure persisted. Eventually, he received a sedative brought by the family doctor and lost consciousness.
“You must…remember…”
Even as he blacked out, he mumbled something unintelligible.
Who the hell keeps telling me to remember?
The whispering voice was too terrifying. Just hearing that voice made tears well up, and his heart pounded, making it hard to breathe.
He promised not to forget. But if he remembered, it would be painful. What did he promise to remember?
Two conflicting emotions coexisted, colliding within him. There were clearly memories that he was forgetting, and to recover them, he had to reach back into the pain. He had to go back to the dreadful day when his parents and sister were dying.
It scared him, so Dehart was haunted by nightmares every night. The unconscious commitment and the refusal in his heart clashed relentlessly.
[Poor thing, this is why we shouldn’t have taken in that illegitimate child. It’s all his fault, Dehart. Claude Inverness, that accursed bastard.]
Roger pitied him. He whispered warm words, wrapping his arms around him, urging him to forget everything. He flooded Dehart with sweet words, saying that he didn’t need to remember, and that recalling such things would only make him miserable.
[The adults will take care of everything, dear boy. So, you can rest peacefully and do nothing. There are some things in this world that are better off forgotten.]
No, there was no such thing as forgetting. Ignoring the painful memories, leaving the unhealed wounds untouched, was not only impossible but also a self-destructive act.
Dehart realized the truth too late, far too late. It was only after seeing his youngest uncle, who suffered even more than himself, suppressing his own seizures that he could remember.
[Dehart, remember it clearly. When I shout, count to ten, then run to the other side…]
In the cramped shelter of branches, where he couldn’t even scream with both hands covering his mouth, Claude appeared like a guardian angel and hugged him. Holding his shoulders, Claude spoke.
[Run with Rosaline to the other side, and if you hear any sound on the way, you must not look back, and you must not look for me. Do you understand?]
[No, Uncle. Let’s go together. I…]
[I will take your father with me. I promise. So, wait patiently with Rosaline.]
Raindrops streamed down his forced smile. But now Dehart could understand. Claude was crying.
[Don’t forget, Dehart. Run to the other side after counting to ten.]
He must have been desperate, realizing that he couldn’t safely evacuate his seven-year-old nephew. Yet, at the same time, he was likely trying to hold onto the last flicker of hope.
Otherwise, how could he…
“How can you smile like that in front of me?” Dehart, now a grown man, asked Claude.
“All this time, I believed you killed our entire family.” Dehart spat out, his voice shaking.
“You…”
Claude’s smiling face cracked.
* * *
“Mr. Cardy?”
Sebelia finished her consultation with Watts and ran into Claude, who was rushing down the stairwell. His face was white and he was gasping for breath as if he had seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Oh, Bella. You’re here.”
“Take a break for now. Your fingertips are turning blue.”
Sebelia patted his shoulder, and Claude seemed to come to his senses. He followed her lead and breathed in and out slowly.
“Phew…”
She had never seen this side of Claude, who was always so relaxed and smirking. Sebelia tilted her head, wondering what was going on. Surely…
Dehart must be up there.
Sebelia’s blue eyes traveled up the stairwell.
