Prison of Glass and Stone

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. It was a never-ending kaleidoscope of colors as the seasons changed. A vast sea stretched beyond the garden below. The colors were subtle - blues, greys, and sometimes white, constantly crashing on the shore. Sometimes the sun shone brightly through the window. Other times the view was blurred by rain running down the glass.

Violet paced the length of the room again. Always the same path from the window to the heavy oak door and back. While she walked, she thought back to how she came to be here.

He had brought Mama here. He said as soon as he saw her at the carnival, he knew he had to have her. He fell for dark, nearly black eyes and sultry smile. He loved to remind her mother about how he kept her there out of love.

Mama’s stories were different. He had stopped to have his palm read and saw her shuffling her cards. Mama knew it was him - the man from her nightmares. The man who would destroy her life before it ever started. Mama had hoped she would have more time. She wanted to run and hide. She wanted her parents to protect her, but her father only saw how much the man was willing to pay for her.

He claimed it was a dowry, yet he never married Mama. It wasn't allowed, even if he did claim to love her. A man of his stature couldn't marry a Romani. It would ruin him.

Then Violet was born. Mama loved her more than anything in the world. She named her baby girl after the purple flowers she loved so much. They once had grown both in the garden and in a wooden box outside the window.

They lived in this room together. There was a four-poster bed hung with dark curtains against the wall near the door. Two upholstered armchairs flanked a large fireplace. A small table with two wooden chairs sat next to the window. Mama’s favorite item was the metal tub with chipped paint depicting a spray of violets. It pulled hot water directly from pipes in the wall. The furniture showed signs and wear, and none of the pieces matched as if he had provisioned the room with a few items that were still usable, although undesired.

When they were alone, life wasn't so bad if they ignored the fact that they were prisoners. Mama taught Violet everything she knew about being Romani. They would play games and read the few books he allowed in the room. As she grew, her mother convinced him to bring the materials needed for Violet to learn her letters and maths.

Three times a day, a sour-faced woman unlocked the door with a heavy iron key. She never gave them her name. The woman always looked like she smelled something bad as she wheeled the cart of food inside.

The man came to their room every day unless he was traveling. He never cared about Violet, barely glancing her way, which suited her fine. He scared her.

He seemed to like horses very much, always making her mother read the card to tell him which would run faster in one race or another. Sometimes he would ask her for other information about games or investments.

He made sure they couldn't escape by denying them shoes. For years, Violet never had more than a nightgown to wear. He replaced it every so often as the old ones became worn and too short to be modest. Or rather, his maid brought it in with her food cart and tossed it carelessly on the bed.

The man had provided her mother with a couple of proper skirts and blouses. When he first brought her there, he had instructed her to burn her Romani clothing. Instead of obeying him, Mama had hidden the items under the mattress. She would take it out to show Violet every so often.

When Violet was five, the man married a woman from a wealthy family. She hit the house like a whirlwind. From the amount of furniture carted out and new items coming in, it appeared she was replacing everything. For several days Violet and her mother were disturbed by the sound of hammering and sawing.

Eventually, it was quiet again. At least until the woman discovered Violet and her mother were there. He had forbidden her from entering their room. With the renovations finished and the man out of town, she was no longer preoccupied and forced the sour woman to unlock the door.

His wife was livid when she found Violet and her mother in the room. She almost threw them out of the house, but the maid intervened, insisting that her husband had them there for a reason. There was quite a bit of yelling on both their parts after he returned. She only forgave him for his deception after he insisted that Violet was not his child. He falsely claimed that the gardener had fallen for Mama and snuck into her room, begetting her with child.

Violet wished that was true. Declan was a good man. He may very well have fallen in love with Mama. After all, he had taken it upon himself to plant the violets. But the only time he set foot in their room was to restock the firewood. Every Christmas, he had a little trinket for Violet, which was more than that man ever did for either of them. Declan was always friendly and polite. Violet never saw him make any advances toward her mother.

For years it was the same thing. Day in and day out. The same room. The same view out of the same window.

Violet watched her brothers grow from babies to young boys as they played in the garden. She could have been jealous of the time he spent with them, but Violet couldn't bring herself to feel anything but hatred toward him. Even that was a waste of emotion. He was nothing but her captor.

He continued to make her mother read the cards. Sometimes his wife would come to have her fortune read. They became wealthier than ever. Violet knew it wouldn't last. It wasn't that Mama was lying to them. The information she gave them led to everything they could ever want. There was no end to their greed. The more they had, the more they desired.

Then her mother grew sick. Violet tried everything she could to make her well again, but she knew it would do no good. Mama’s skin burned with fever until it freed her, and she awoke no more.

Violet sat in the room in despair, hoping against hope that he would release her from captivity. For weeks no one came except for Declan, tearfully paying his respects, and the sour-faced woman bringing her mostly untouched meals.

One day he showed up and demanded that Violet read the cards for him. He became quite rough when she tried to refuse. It wasn't that she couldn't read the cards. Her mother had taught her to interpret them. That interpretation could be arbitrary. She could deal the same cards to five people, and each would take them to mean something different. The cards had only been for show. Mama’s predictions and advice had come directly from her, just like Violet knew what was to be.

At first, when she read the cards for him, Violet told him true, although it made her stomach roil. She hated giving him the tools to gain riches when he had treated her and Mama worse than his servants.

Violet gazed out the window watching through her tears as Declan collapsed in the garden. She didn't want to watch but felt a need to bear witness. It wouldn't have changed anything if she had warned him. Sometimes things were inevitable. The only difference may have been his heart given out in his bed at home rather than among the plants and flowers he loved.

A young man she had never seen before delivered the next load of firewood. He stayed longer than required, leering at her. Violet made the sign of the evil eye, and he ran out, making the motion of the cross. After that, he dropped off the load of logs and left quickly without making eye contact.

One day her captor came to her, asking her to read the cards regarding a risky business venture. Violet shook as she recommended he take the deal. She knew what would come of it, but she did it anyway. She fell to her knees after he left and sobbed, not out of guilt - he deserved everything that befell him after what he did to her mother. No, Violet cried out of fear and relief at what was to come.

Months later, the man stormed into the room in a rage. Spit flew as he screamed at her. Violet said nothing while he viciously beat her. She was nearly unconscious when he finally left. Violet dragged herself over to lie in front of the fireplace, her body wracked with pain. Tears seeped slowly from her eyes, but it required too much energy to cry. Still, a satisfied smile played on her lips.

That was the last time anyone came to the room. No food arrived even once, let alone three times a day. Violet kept the fire small to conserve the logs. She drank from the faucet in the bathtub.

Over the next few days, there was a lot of commotion in the house. Although every muscle hurt, Violet dragged herself over to the window. The horses, hitched to a carriage in the drive, pawed at the ground restlessly. She watched as he hurried his wife and sons into the buggy. They had stacked only a few trunks on the back. He and his family rode through the gate and out of sight.

Violet saw the servants dragging bags laden with silver candlesticks and other expensive household items behind them. In all likelihood, they were short several weeks' wages. It made sense that they would take what they could carry to make up for it.

Soon the sprawling manor was empty - or nearly empty. No one had thought to release Violet from her prison. She hadn't expected otherwise. It was not her fate to walk away from there.

Violet lethargically paced between the window and the door. The wood floor bore a scuffed path from the number of times she had walked that pattern during her life. Even before that, Mama spent many sleepless nights treading those boards, trying to soothe her restless infant.

She had pulled out her mother's clothing from under the mattress and put them on. Violet liked the bright colors of the violets and songbirds embroidered on the skirt as it swirled around her legs. The pretty purple blouse had ruffles around the collar and the sleeves.

She rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm them. The firewood had run out days ago. Not that it mattered. Violet practically had to crawl into the fireplace to feel the heat in the days before she used the last log.

Violet’s stomach rumbled, but she hardly noticed anymore. Every muscle in her body ached. Even breathing was difficult. It had been so long since she had eaten anything. The only thing holding her to this world was the water from the bathtub.

She stopped by the window and leaned against the frame to watch the sea. The waves soothed her soul. Violet knew what she had to do. Death was coming for her no matter what. She chose to take it into her own hands rather than as the result of his neglect.

Violet turned her head to the ash-filled fireplace. Slowly she moved toward it to grab the fire poker. She inched her way back over to the window.

With shaking arms, Violet lifted the poker and hit the window. Her first attempt was fruitless. Fury at her situation gave her a wave of incredible energy. Again and again, she slammed the metal rod against the window until the glass finally shattered. Violet kept hitting the window until she had created a large enough hole.

Violet groaned as she pulled her spent body onto the sill. She took deep breaths of the chilly sea breeze. Violet could taste the salt on her tongue. It was the first time she had smelled anything but the musty air inside his room.

She smiled and let herself fall. The jarring pain of hitting the stone pavers below was only a momentary shock. It blocked out the sharp burn from where the shards of glass ripped into her skin as she passed through the broken window. Violet sighed long and deep, her last breath flying away with the wind.

***

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The sea still crashed upon the shore. The breeze blew through the broken glass.

Violet paced restlessly, miserably from the window to the heavy oak door and back. She was always walking, never ceasing.

Sometimes she saw Declan wandering through the garden. She hadn’t noticed him before she took her last breath, but she had been consumed with her own suffering. Violet waved to him whenever she saw him gazing up at the window.

Debt collectors arrived and forced their way into the house. Violet could hear them tearing the estate apart. They pounded on her door but couldn't budge it. She heard them cursing because no one could find the key. Violet watched through the window as they carried off anything of value to reclaim what was owed to them.

The yard outside the window fell into a state of disrepair. The stone wall around the garden crumbled. Weeds overtook every spot they could, even growing up between the pavers. Declan looked perturbed at the overgrown plants. He spent hours making motions to bring it back to its former glory to no avail.

Years passed, and the house remained empty. Violet would occasionally see boats out on the sea or hunters crossing the yard. Declan would watch the men but didn't try to run them off.

Once in a while, a strange contraption would roll up the drive. They were metal carriages but moved without horses pulling them. Some made a horrible racket. Over time they grew larger but quieter. Either way, they disturbed the peace Violet had become used to. Declan didn't like them either.

Whenever these horseless carriages would arrive, people would climb out of them to wander over the grounds. Sometimes they would come into the house, but no one came near her room.

One day several of the machines arrived, carrying tools and supplies. Men tromped through the house, hammering and sawing and making other sounds Violet was unfamiliar with. They rattled the door handle to her room, but it didn't open. Someone returned a few days later. The sound of the long unused iron key turning in the lock stopped Violet in her tracks. No one had walked into that room since he left with his family.

The men ignored her when they entered. They stripped the room bare - Violet’s bed, bathtub, the trinkets from Declan - all gone. Then they ripped off the dingy, peeling wallpaper. The floors were sanded down, painted with a dark oil, then waxed. The glass in her window was replaced. Walls were torn out. New walls were constructed. When they were finished a second, small room sat within Violet’s room. Her freshly painted bathtub, no longer decorated with violets, was back where it belonged, in addition to a basin and a commode.

As angry and confused as Violet was during the entire process, she had to admit the room looked very nice. The men left the house, taking their odd wagons with them. The house was quiet again.

More vehicles arrived, this time bringing furniture. A harried, but kind looking woman stepped quickly through Violet’s door. She directed the furniture movers where to place a small bed and dresser. Several boxes followed. The woman shivered as she joined Violet at the window.

“How odd,” she mused. “It’s very drafty in here for being summer. I thought they had used insulated glass when they fixed the window. It's such a shame it was broken. I did so want to keep as much of the original features as possible.” The woman looked at the floor as she moved to the door. “Why do these boards look so worn? The renovators were supposed refinish the floors.”

Violet wasn’t sure what to make of the intrusion into her space. She didn’t much care about the bed. She never used it anymore. The thought of someone else living in her room rankled her until she found out that her roommate was a young girl.

Lucy was the first person to indicate she could see Violet. She turned from the window to find the girl huddled under her blankets staring at her. Violet smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Lucy relaxed slightly and smiled back. Although she wasn’t sure the girl could hear her, Violet sang her the lullaby Mama used to sing when she was little. Soon Lucy was fast asleep.

Violet overheard a conversation between Lucy and her mother once while the girl was taking a bath.

“What is that you are singing, Lucy?” The woman asked.

“I don’t know what it’s called, but Violet sings it to me every night.” Lucy replied. “I don’t understand the words.”

There was a pause. “Who is Violet?” Her mother pressed warily.

There was a giggle and a splash. “The girl with the dark eyes who stands by the window. Sometimes she walks to the door.”

“What?” The woman gasped in fright.

“Don’t worry, Mum. She’s nice. Violet won’t hurt me.” Lucy replied.

They didn’t speak while they finished the bath. As the water was draining the mother spoke again. “Did you paint flowers on the bathtub, Lucy? They look very nice but you are supposed to ask permission first.”

“No, Mum.” Lucy’s voice was muffled by the towel she was rubbing over her head. “I don’t know where they came from, but Violet said they are supposed to be there. They are violets, just like her name.”

“Oh…okay,” she replied.

Lucy’s parents explored the room while the girl was in school the next day. Their conversation was hushed and they appeared apprehensive, especially any time they crossed Violet’s path. In the end, they decided leave it be since Lucy didn’t seem to be in any danger.

The garden had flowers growing in it again. Declan looked elated as he wandered through the rows. Violet was content, something she wasn’t used to. Lucy’s family brought a breath of fresh air and happiness to their home that never existed before.

As Lucy grew older she began exploring the manor. At Violet’s urging, she located a box in the attic containing the lost trinkets. Violet smiled as they were displayed on the mantle.

All too soon, Lucy was grown and leaving home. The room was quiet. Violet paced restlessly from the window to the door. Lucy’s father fell ill and the house was sold.

Violet was surprised when her bed found its way back into her room. The bedding was changed out but the wooden four posted frame remained the same.

She hoped another little girl would move in. Violet was disappointed when she realized the estate had become a hotel. Guests came and went, always invading her space. Violet particularly hated when men stayed in her room. Her experience with men was limited, with the man who she would still not call her father being the most prominent in her life. Lucy’s father had been one thing. He had been kind, like Declan. Violet didn’t trust these strangers.

When they were out of the room or sleeping, Violet would find ways to disrupt things in hopes of scaring them enough make them to leave. Most often, she would fling their belongings around the room. While her actions were usually benign, she would sometimes lose control, especially if the man in question was mistreating his spouse or lady friend. Those men would find painful, bloody gashes appear on their bodies.

Violet became more despondent as time went on. Her activities had the opposite effect. People began seeking out the haunted hotel. Her room was the most popular resulting in it being booked solid.

She paced from the window to the heavy oak door, tears rolling down her face. Violet stopped to press her palm against the cold glass. Declan looked up at her, his face reflecting the misery in her heart.

What had she done to deserve this? For years she had watched her mother forced to help him. Violet had done everything he asked. Only once had she defied him. Yes, that lie had resulted in him being financially ruined. But wasn't gambling nearly a sin? What about him holding her and Mama prisoner? Was she being punished? Was she cursed to never leave this room?

***

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The commotion in the suite was different than the usual sounds of yet another guest. Violet turned from the window to see two young men unpacking some equipment.

“Hey, everyone. We’re here at the Blanding Bay Hotel to investigate reported hauntings.” The man with a knit hat pulled down nearly to his eyes said excitedly.

Another man with a billed cap turned backward held a device Violet had heard guests refer to as a camera. She turned back to the window, having no interest in what they were doing. Two more people were recording something in the garden. A woman wandered through the rows while they spoke. She seemed to be looking directly at Declan.

“Simon and Corvin are down in the garden where a shadowy figure has been seen walking through the flowers.” Knit Hat continued. “While they try to make contact, Gordo and I will be investigating the Tarot Suite - the most haunted room in the entire hotel. Guests have actually found tarot cards tucked under their pillows. Men, in particular, have complained of being scratched.”

Gordo backed into Violet as he was filming. He jumped. “Oh my God! Dave, I just hit a cold spot. It's freezing over her. Feel my hand.”

“Dude! You are ice cold!” Dave of the knit hat chortled. “I'm going to get the equipment set up. Gordo, why don't you go over the history of this place.”

Gordo turned the camera toward himself, holding it at arm's length. “Right, so the Blanding Bay Hotel was once a private estate owned by John Bannon. He was a self-made gentleman with a knack for placing bets. Bannon purchased the manor and surrounding lands after the previous owner died without heirs. He married Elizabeth Dowling, the daughter of a wealthy businessman. They lived here with their two sons, John Jr and Edward.”

Violet took a minor interest in this. She had never known the names of the man or his family. Dave set a small cylindrical object with lights on top on a table by the bed.

“Luck, it seemed, ran out for John. A risky investment went wrong, and he lost everything. The family abandoned the estate and scraped together enough money for passage to Australia. John died from dysentery on the trip, leaving Elizabeth and their sons to fend for themselves.” Gordo continued.

Violet couldn't help but smile at that. He didn't deserve to rebuild his life. She held less hatred toward her brothers. They had only been children, after all.

Gordo’s eyes widened. “Here's where things get weird. About three months after Bannon left, the body of a young woman was found on the pavement below the broken window to this very suite.”

Dave was scanning the room with a small device with a screen.

“The sister of the estate’s former gardener told authorities that her brother claimed a girl named Violet was held prisoner by Bannon. The gardener suffered a heart attack on the property and may very well be the spirit seen on the grounds.” Gordo turned the camera back to Dave.

“Yeah, the thermal imaging definitely shows a cold spot by the window,” Dave said. He walked over to the table and pointed to the object he had set there. “Violet, if you are here, can you walk over and touch this REM pod? It will light up if you interact with it.”

Violet ignored him. She went back to watching out the window. The woman in the garden looked up as if she was gazing directly at her.

“Alright, let’s try the Ovilus,” Dave said, undeterred. “Violet, if you want to speak to us, this device will pick it up.” He jerked. “Look at this, Gordo. It says, ‘Go Away.’”

Violet watched as the woman began walking toward the house. She made no further interaction with Dave and Gordo except to laugh to herself when they flinched as their radio buzzed.

A female voice could be heard. “Hey, guys, I’m coming up there. I made contact with the spirit in the garden. He expressed concern for Violet.”

“Yeah, sure, Haylee. We’ll see you up here.” Dave said.

Haylee arrived, bringing a serenity with her that made Violet turn toward her. After a short conversation, the men agreed to leave. The camera was set up on the dresser, trained toward the window. Haylee said nothing until the two men were well away.

“Hello, Violet. My name is Haylee. I am a psychic medium. You can speak freely with me.” She said gently. “I can feel how sad you are. Can you tell me why?”

Violet felt a sense of camaraderie with this woman. “I don't want to be here.”

“Were you here when John Bannon was in residence?” Haylee asked.

“Yes. He kept Mama and me locked up in here,” she replied.

Haylee looked pained. “Why?”

Violet looked at the floor that still showed the tracks of her footsteps no matter how many times they were refinished. “Mama could see things. He bought her and made her tell him where to place his bets. He forced himself on her whenever he desired. Then I was born.”

“John Bannon was your father?” Her voice expressed surprise.

Violet felt a mixture of shame and anger. “Yes. Not that he would ever admit it.”

“You are psychic too, aren't you,” she asked with a smile.

Violet began pacing again. “I am. He made me tell him things after Mama died from the fever. But I paid him back for what he had done. He nearly killed me after he lost everything.”

Haylee’s grin broadened. “You lied to him about that investment.” Then her expression turned serious. “Violet, did you jump from this window - or were you pushed?”

“I was dying anyway. He left me here with nothing to eat. I thought if I jumped, at least my spirit would be able to escape.” Violet wrung her hands. “I was wrong.”

“You never left here.” It was more a statement than a question.

Violet shook her head. “I was born in this room. I’ve never known anything of this world but the view from this window. I don't know how to leave.”

“How old are you?” Haylee asked.

“Eighteen,” she replied.

“So young. You had your whole life ahead of you. I’m sorry for what was done to you and your mother.” Haylee closed her eyes. Violet felt a gentle probing. It was more soothing than frightening. When the woman opened her eyes again, she reached a hand toward Violet. “I can help you pass through the veil.” She began to whisper a series of words Violet couldn't understand.

She felt drawn to the window, as always, but it was somehow different. When Violet reached out to touch the glass, her hand went through it. She took what would have been a deep breath had she still had a body and floated through the window down to the ground.

Violet slowly spun around, taking in everything she had never been able to see from that angle. Even if she was stuck on this earthly plane, at least age was now free. Declan stood at the edge of the garden. He strode forward with open arms. Violet fell into his embrace. He was the father she should have had.

“Why are you still here, Declan?” she asked, pulling away slightly.

His warm smile encompassed her. “Before your mother died, I promised her I would watch over you.”

Violet was confused. “But...I’ve been gone a long time.”

“I know. If I had the power to, I would have found a way to let you out of that room. It tore me apart that he let you die out of spite.” Declan replied. “Once I realized your spirit couldn't leave, I stayed so you wouldn't be alone.”

“Thank you,” she cried. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

Declan shrugged. “Come. It's time to go.”

“Go where?” Violet asked, glancing around.

He pointed out over the sea. A bright light was forming on the beach. “Across the veil.” Declan led her toward the portal.

A sob burst from Violet as a familiar face appeared on the other side. “Mama!” She flew through the veil and into her mother's arms.

“Oh my baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Mama whispered in her ear as she held her tight.

Violet didn't look back as she wandered beyond the veil with her mother and Declan. The window was closed. That part of her life was behind her now.