"SASSANDRA" by Alessandra Azzaroni

STORY LAST UPDATED ON 01/07/2002

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Written in Australia. This story was partly inspired by Flowers in the Attic.

PROLOGUE

It wasn't that I didn't know. It wasn't that I didn't understand. I thought I understood the reasons why they were hidden away. But still, something just seemed a bit… wrong. As if it wasn't normal for people to live in private places.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I didn't understand after all. But I didn't automatically blame them. Perhaps it wasn't their fault they were locked up. Maybe their parents were just evil.
But the scariest part was that I was locked up with them.

CHAPTER ONE: DEPARTURE

My aunt and uncle made it very clear that I wasn't their child. Not in a harsh, cruel way. Just "this is the way it is - face the facts."
    I lived with Dominica and Alvin Estoril, and their daughters, Maxine and Nadine. They were twins, and they were my age - fifteen. The five of us looked similar, so sometimes people did think that I was one of them.
    Maxine and Nadine, like their parents and me, had very dark hair, but their complexions were pale. My skin was the colour of honey. All four of them, like me, were tall. Yet I was still different.
    Aunt Dominica had told me that my mother was her youngest sister. But she refused to answer any questions about her or why I wasn't living with her. And when I asked about my father, Aunt Dominica just said, "I don't know who he is." All she ever told me was that shortly after I was born, she and Uncle Alvin took me home to live with them and their twin daughters.
    I would've thought it would be hard for them to raise three children the same age. The secret to their success was that when we were young, our maid and nanny took care of us. Her name was Wilhelmina Jessop, but I'd always called her Willa. She was a beautiful African-American who was a nun in the monastery near our house. Aunt Dominica said that her own mother, whose name was Viviana Grey, knew Willa and had convinced her to work for the Estorils.
    I wasn't an Estoril. I was a Grey, the same as my mother. My name was Sassandra Grey, but Willa called me Sassy when we were alone. I knew my name was strange. I knew a Cassandra and a Sandra at school, but Sassandra was a rare name. Willa, who'd introduced me to geography and taught me to love the world, had got out an atlas and showed me that Sassandra was a place in the Ivory Coast, in Africa.
    Aunt Dominica had said that my mother had named me. But she gave no reason behind the choice of my name. I was a mystery, even to myself.
    Willa was my best friend, despite being forty years older than I was. She was the only person who seemed to care about me, who seemed to understand me.
    She'd always told me I was pretty, but there was something about me that people didn't like, and I used to run home crying to her about it. It was my eyes. They were purple. And although I wasn't sure myself, people had sworn to me that my eyes had turned red on occasions. I wasn't sure if the people were joking or not, but I dared to believe them.
    Willa would hold me close and tell me that it wasn't my fault. "You didn't do it, Sassy, you're not to blame. Don't you worry."
    I barely even saw Uncle Alvin, let alone talk to him. He was always out on business. And Aunt Dominica would play the part of the dutiful wife. And as for Maxine and Nadine… they had ruined my time at school. Although our public school wasn't religious, they had told everyone that I had the eyes of the devil. Everyone teasing me and out casting me happened during recess and lunchtimes. In class we acted as if we were all friends, and the twins were almost like sisters at home. I just didn't understand, although I wanted to desperately.
    But Willa would always be there for me. She'd told me so. And I believed her.
    "Sassandra, get down here, please," I heard Aunt Dominica call out.
    When I got down to the living room where she, Uncle Alvin, Maxine and Nadine were, I asked, "Where's Willa?"
    "Wilhelmina has been excused from her duties," Aunt Dominica answered.
    "What do you mean?" I asked, still standing.
    "We've sent her back to the monastery."
    I wasn't happy with that. Willa had been an asset to the household, and now she was going?
    "She left last night," Uncle Alvin added.
    "But… why?"
    Aunt Dominica turned to my uncle. "Should I explain?" He nodded, so she continued. "Alvin is being transferred. He's going to be the manager of a very successful bank in Malaysia."
    "Malaysia?" I echoed. "But that's on the other side of the world! We can't move there."
    "Oh, you needn't worry, Sassandra. You'll be staying in the States. The four of us are moving to Malaysia."
    I suddenly got frightened. If they put me up for adoption… I'd never be adopted. I was far too old for young parents to want. "What's happening to me?" I asked.
    Aunt Dominica ran a finger through her perfect hair. "You'll live in Virginia with my parents. Your mother's parents. They're expecting you, and you have a flight tonight, so you'd better get packing."
    "We bought you some suitcases," Uncle Alvin added. "They're in the guest room."
    A few hours later, I was in the air.

CHAPTER TWO: ARRIVAL

In the arrivals' lounge of the airport, an elegant-looking man held up a card with 'Grey' written on it. Hoping that it wasn't too common a last name, I went over to the tall, grey-haired man. "Hello, I'm Sassandra Grey."
    He nodded. "Yes, miss, yer grandparents are expectin' ye. Let's get yer bags now." He held out his hand. "I be Fergus Flynn, te manager of te estate." His voice carried a distinct Irish accent.
    I shook his hand. "Estate?"
    "I be explainin' it to ye soon. Yer bags, miss."
    I followed him to the luggage terminal, and we picked out my pieces. As I did so, I wondered what Willa was doing. And I'd never find out, for I didn't have her address, and I expected her not to have mine.
    Once settled in the comfortable, black, German-built vehicle, Fergus started explaining things to me. "We be goin' to Flintoff Vale. Just a half-hour drive, so ye can nap if ye wish to."
    "Oh, could you possibly tell me anything about my grandparents?"
    "Ah, sure I can." Looking in the car's mirror, I could see a characteristic sunny disposition. "Yer grandparents are wealty. Tey inherited, but he invested it. Viviana Grey be a bit strict, but she gets tings done. And Jonas Carlsson be a quiet one, but he loved his daughters."
    I found something strange about that last sentence. "If Jonas Carlsson is my grandfather, why do I have the surname Grey?"
    "Ah, te lady of te manor, yer grandmother Viviana, wanted to keep te Grey name in te family. Jonas agreed."
    "Is Viviana kind of… dominating?"
    Fergus winked. "I not be one to say, miss. Ye be findin' out for yerself soon enough."

Somewhere between there and Flintoff Vale, I fell asleep. I woke up to look outside the window, where Fergus was driving the car around a circular driveway, and coming to a halt in front of a two-storey brown-bricked house, with an attic. What it lacked in height, it spread out in width and length.
    "So is this the estate?" I asked.
    "Ye be correct, miss. It may be fancy and rich on te outside, but inside it be not so glamorous. Noting out of te ordinary about it. No antiques. Yer standard home, but larger, ye'll see," Fergus answered.
    I opened my door, and helped Fergus with my bags, before starting up the walkway.
    "Wait, miss!" I turned around. "Before we go in, there be tings you need to know."
    Like anyone else in my position, I was curious. "Tell me, then, Fergus."
    He reached to scratch the back of his neck. "Yer grandparents are rich, but tey won't treat ye te same."
    "Well, I don't expect them to. It's our first meeting."
    "Miss, te man and lady of te manor shared teir wealt wit teir daughters. But… tings changed and tey were hard on teir daughters. Well, maybe just te lady was," he said as an afterthought. "Tey be hard wit ye, too."
    I furrowed my eyebrows in thought. "What do you mean, 'hard on their daughters'?"
    Fergus shook his head. "I have an inklin', but I not share it wit ye, miss. I have a job to keep." He changed the subject. "We be goin' inside now."
    I followed him up the stone walkway. He turned the brass handle, and opened the front door. Inside, it was indeed large, and the design was beautiful. But the furnishings and… aura of the house just seemed cold.
    To the right was a staircase, leading to the second floor. I followed Fergus up it, and then he stopped at the last door. He turned the door handle, and I followed him inside.
    Despite the size of the house, this bedroom was not bigger than my room in the Estorils' house. If anything, this was smaller. It was white-painted, with dark red carpeting, and the pillows and doona on the bed were in a rose pattern.
    On the left was a door, which I supposed led to a bathroom, and the single bed and a desk. The wall directly facing the entrance door had a large window that spread all the way across. The colour of the curtains matched the carpet, but they were closed. Along the right wall were two doors, which I supposed were closets, a set of drawers and a bookshelf, which was empty.
    Fergus set the bags on the carpet beside the bed. "This be yer room, miss. Wash up, and come down to meet yer grandparents. Don't be long." He switched on the overhead light before leaving.
    I put down the bags I was carrying, and went into the bathroom. Everything was white, hospital-white. And it was spotless. It was all ordered. There was soap in the bath and shower, and in the basin, and inside the mirrored cabinets were medical items, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste, items for "monthlies" and a comb.
    As I washed up, I prepared myself mentally for meeting my grandparents. Fergus had given me the impression that my grandfather was nice, but quiet, and my grandmother made all the rules.
    One thing niggled at me: How hard were they on their daughters?

CHAPTER THREE: MEETING

Down the staircase I went, and hovered about at the bottom, unsure of where to go. I decided that the best thing to do would be to listen for sound, and follow it.
    I walked forward on the off-white carpet, hoping to hear some voices, and soon I did.
    "So she's here now, is she?" a sophisticated-sounding woman asked.
    "Tat she be indeed, Ms Grey," I heard Fergus reply. "She be down shortly."
    "Does she look like her mother?" a quiet man inquired, with a foreign tilt to his voice.
    "Ssh!" the woman hushed. "Let's not get into that. She's not to hear about her mother."
    "And what about-"
    "As far as Sassandra will know, we only had two daughters, and Dominica is the sole one left. Is that clear, Jonas?"
    As I stepped closer towards the room I thought they were in, I thought I heard a sigh. "If it must."
    "Yes, it must. God knows the Grey name has been tainted enough. That girl better not cause any trouble-"
    "Don't be a-worryin', Ms Grey, she seems fine," Fergus put in.
    "She better be. Dominica will be coming to check up on her soon…"
    I knocked on the soft wood door, which I was sure they were behind, and waited for an entrance allowance.
    "Come in," the woman called out.
    I opened the door to see that it was a living room area. The woman; with her raven hair that had streaks of grey, and her high cheekbones and grey eyes that immediately had me on edge; was sitting with perfect, straight posture on a sofa. The man I guessed to be her husband had thick, blond hair that was going white, eyes that were close together and a welcoming smile, and he reclined comfortably in a leather armchair. Fergus stood on the carpet between them.
    "Step in, lass," Fergus said to me. I entered the room and stood in front of them. "Tis be yer granddaughter, Sassandra." He gestured to my grandparents. "Tis be Viviana Grey-"
    "I'll take over here, Fergus," the woman, my grandmother Viviana put in before he could say more. I knew that my time here would be on a first name basis. "You may leave now."
    "As ye wish." Fergus bowed, and left the room.
    Viviana forced a smile. "I take it that Dominica and Alvin explained the situation to you?"
    "They told me they were moving to Malaysia with Maxine and Nadine, and that I was to come here and live with you," I answered.
    "Maxine… Nadine… How come we never see them?" the man asked.
    "Never mind that!" Viviana turned to face me again. "So you're Sassandra, then. Yes, we are your grandparents, but don't refer to us as that. I was going to insist that you call us as you would with any elder, but my husband here convinced me that perhaps we should use first names instead. I'm Viviana and this is Jonas." She said it as 'Yohnas'.
    "It's pronounced 'Yoonas'," my grandfather said softly. Viviana ignored him, and I put the correct version into my head. After years of being married, she still couldn't say her husband's name properly!
    "So you're in your mother's bedroom?" Viviana asked.
    "Yes, it's very nice," I replied. "She must have lived a happy life there."
    Jonas's sunny smile dimmed, and transformed into a sad frown. "My daughter… I miss her," he murmured.
    "Stop it, Jonas," Viviana warned between clenched teeth. Again, she got the pronunciation of his name wrong, and always would.
    She forced another tight smile my way. "Well, you'll be here for the rest of the summer. Then you'll go to the Marianne Davis boarding school. But of course, that's some time away. Hopefully you'll find something constructive here for you to do in the meantime. Fergus does the cooking, but you'll be doing the dishes."
    She pointed a finger at me as she issued out an order. "And you will keep your bedroom and bathroom clean. Fergus will give you cleaning supplies. My parents gave me this house in their will, and I won't stand to see it get wasted. Understand?"
    I didn't like the way she was looking at me, but I hastily told her that I did understand. How could a forceful woman like her be married to such a nice man?
    Viviana raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you've just come here from California, I take it that you'll have some slight jet lag. I'll let you off your duties for today, and you can spend the day in bed. I'll have Fergus send your meals up."
    I nodded, but she didn't seem satisfied with that. Racking my brain, I decided that she wanted - expected - me to thank her. "Thank you."
    She nodded, pleased with my answer. "You may go to your room now, Sassandra."
    As I left the room, Jonas called out to me. "Sleep well!" I smiled. I may have been living with a cold, hard grandmother, but my grandfather seemed like someone I could really get along with.

CHAPTER FOUR: DREAMING?

"I'm hungry. I'm so hungry."
    "Far will be here soon. He wouldn't forget us."
    "But how come he isn't here with our dinner? He never forgets. What if something's happened to him?"
    "Don't worry. Far wouldn't intentionally not come. Maybe he just couldn't get away to feed us."
    A long, silent pause followed.
    "Maybe Mother wouldn't let him come. She's punishing us! We've done nothing wrong. Not lately-"
    "Don't worry. He'll be here soon. Come on, let's just go back to sleep. If we sleep, we won't need to eat."
    "But-"
    "Jag är sömnig. Sova, sova…"

I sat up, blinked and rubbed my eyes. What kind of a dream was that? The thing was, I didn't know if dreams had to have visual bits or not. This one sure didn't. There was only sound.
    And what was happening in the dream? It seemed to me as if the two women hadn't been given dinner yet. But why didn't they just go and get their own food?
    I'd opened the curtains a little bit before bed, and I used the moonlight and starlight to brighten the dark red carpeting, so I could see my watch. It was 1:57 in the morning. Time to go back to sleep.
    I lay back down, but I couldn't get the dream out of my head. If it even was a dream. Somehow I thought that maybe I had heard voices, real voices speaking. And what about the last bit I'd heard from the second woman? The words were obviously in another language, but which one? And why did she not speak in English then?
    I cleared my mind of its cluttered thoughts as best as I could. Then I tried to concentrate on my breathing, for that usually helped.
    Soon I was going back to sleep again.

I heard heavy knocking coming from the other side of my bedroom door. Sunlight had entered the room, illuminating the precise 7:30AM on my watch. "Yes?" I called out.
    Fergus opened the door. "Te lady of te manor wants ye to be a-helpin' me in te kitchen wit breakfast. Be down in fifteen minutes." He closed the door.
    Fully awake, I got out of bed, grabbed a white bathrobe out of one closet, for the other one was locked, and went into the bathroom for a quick shower. I towel-dried my hair and dressed quickly into a long-sleeved blue top, black trousers and black scuffs.
    I found my way into the kitchen, and Fergus explained to me the schedule mealtimes were run by. "Breakfast be always at eight, so you be here at quarter to. Lunch be at one, so you be here at quarter to. Dinner be at eight, so you be here at half past seven. Got it?"
    "Got it. What are we making?" I asked.
    "English muffins and tea for te lady," he answered, peeking through cupboard doors, before removing a bag of English muffins. "Jonas has requested falukorv for this mornin'. He's already bought it."
    "And what is falukorv?"
    "Fried pork sausage." He chuckled. "Viviana would never eat what he eats. He usually makes his own lunch and dinner, and I'd be a-guessin' to say he'd want to share wit ye."
    "Any reason in particular?"
    Fergus cut a muffin in half, and sighed. "Te lady doesn't like him a-bringin' his Swedish tings into te house. She doesn't like tem."
    I furrowed my eyebrows. "Has she tried giving it a go?"
    He laughed. "Te lady would never!" He pointed his head in the direction of the fridge. "Te falukorv is in there. Get it out and I be a-helpin' ye fry it."
    Soon I was successfully frying the falukorv, and my mind was still on the "dream". I dared to believe that I had not dreamt it, and that I had not imagined it, either.
    Suddenly, I had an idea. Maybe the language I'd heard was Swedish! It was quite possible, seeing as though my lovely grandfather was from Sweden. But that only sparked another question into my head. Who were the women, and were they somehow related to Jonas Carlsson?
    I turned the falukorv over, and tried not to fuss over the matter too much. I probably had just imagined it, and more likely had dreamt it.
    But that didn't make it feel any less real.

CHAPTER FIVE: ABOVE

On top of the bookcase in my room, I found a key. I didn't know what it was for, but I sure did want to find out. So I waited until the dinner dishes were finished before I went back upstairs.
    The key had to have been in my room for a reason. It had to go with a lock in the room, I supposed, figuring that it wouldn't make sense to keep the key in here if it was for another room.
    I noticed that it was far too big to be a diary key, so I picked up the clunky, gold item and went to the bathroom. I searched around for a lock, but there was none that I could see.
    Next, I tried the closet. But it was just a closet, and nothing else. Certainly there was no lock around. So I searched the carpet, under the bed, looking for something, anything - a safe deposit box, perhaps. But still there was zilch.
    But I didn't give up hope. No, I didn't. There was one last door, and I had assumed it to be just another closet. I decided to find out for myself. The key slipped in and turned so easily. It was a perfect fit.
    But opening the door and seeing what was inside surprised me. It was a wooden staircase, with a slanted roof, leading up to what I guessed to be the attic. And I was intrigued, for I thought that maybe I would find something up there that would tell me more about my mother. Good or bad, I didn't care - I just wanted to know something.
    I cautiously stepped up the staircase. Who knew what old staircases were like? They had their trouble areas, places where the wood was wearing through. I had to be careful.
    "Did you hear that?" I thought I heard a voice say. "It sounded like someone coming up the stairs."
    "It's probably just Mother," another feminine voice answered. "No need to get worked up."
    Still, I continued up slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible.
    "Maybe it's Far," the first voice said. "Maybe he's finally allowed to see us again! Do you think, do you think?"
    The second person sighed. "I doubt it. I really do. Look, you know what Mother's like - when she doesn't want him seeing us, there's nothing we can do."
    "Negative Nancy. Next time Mother comes up here, we'll kill her, take her key and escape! We'll see Far, we'll see outside, we'll see-"
    "Stop it!"
    I was at the top of the staircase, with a wall only a foot in front of me. A corner. If I turned the corner, I would find out if I had just been imagining those voices, or if they really were real. Did I dare to?
    Yes, I did.
    So I rounded the corner hesitantly, almost afraid of what I'd see. But what I saw didn't really scare me. It just made me wonder why these two women were locked up here.
    "Who are you?" the first woman asked me. She was short, with hair as dark as night, and grey eyes - which reminded me of Viviana's - that flashed with confusion. The other woman was older, with ash blond hair, and an air of superiority around her. I don't know how I knew that, but I sensed it.
    "Have you come to visit?" the dark-haired woman asked again, seeming persistent. "Or are you going to be locked up here, too?"
    "Locked up?" I asked. "How long have you been here?"
    The ash blond woman answered. "She's been here eighteen years, and I've been here for seventeen. We've been counting by the calendars." She gestured to a wall, where nineteen calendars were tacked up, each one on the December page, bar the most recent calendar.
    "Mother brought us those calendars," the almost-childlike woman answered. "She does love us after all; she loves us enough to give us things."
    "But she doesn't love us enough to let us out. Or to spend more time with Far. She doesn't love us at all…"
    I stopped listening, because I was almost positive I could hear someone in my room. "I better go," I said. The first woman called out after me, but I ignored her and hurried down the stairs rapidly.
    But just as I was nearing the bottom, I heard the key turn in the lock, and footsteps walk away. I seized the doorhandle and tried to turn it, but it wasn't budging an inch.
    "There's no use trying to escape," the second woman called down to me. "Once you're locked up here, you can never leave."
    "What do you mean?" I called back.
    "Mother's locked you in. You've found us, so now you have to pay."
    What was that? I was locked up in here with them? And all because I had unlocked the door and had gone up?
    And would I ever be free?

CHAPTER SIX: NO ESCAPE

Realising that I had just sealed my own fate, I hung my head as I trudged glumly back up to where the women were. I truly was down in the dumps. I felt how the women had probably felt when they had first realised the true impact of their lock-up.
    The ash blonde gave a tight smile once I dropped down to sit on the wooden floorboards, knees pulled up to my chest with my arms wrapped around them. "It's not so bad," she said. "You get used to it after awhile."
    The brunette came over and sat next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Well, since you're here now, we may as well get acquainted. "I'm Kärla, and this is Kassándra. Our names aren't spelled the way you'd think, though." As her sister hunted down a scrap of paper and a pencil, Kärla asked me, "What's your name?"
    "Sassandra," I answered.
    "Ah," Kassándra sounded, dropping down to sit with us and write their names down for me. "I see our dear sister carried on the tradition our mother started with Dominica, us all having names of places."
    I looked down at the paper, admiring the letter Ks, and the way Kärla had umlauts on the first a, and how Kassándra had an acute accent on her second a. They looked quite exotic. "So how many sisters are there?" I asked.
    "Were," Kassándra corrected. Three of us are still alive, but one of them is dead."
    "Is that one my mother?"
    Kärla nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "She died," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "She died when she was up here with us." She took a deep breath, and wiped the moisture from her eyes. "But it's probably best we forget about that. I don't like to talk about unpleasant things."
    Kassándra leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Kärla has problems. I'll tell you about them in private."
    I checked to see if Kärla had noticed her sister whispering, but she looked lost in her own little world. "How many years separate you all?" I asked, trying to bring the subject away from my mother, even though I wanted to know so much about her.
    "Dominica was born first," Kärla responded. "A year later came Kass, and then me, and then your mother."
    "What was her name?"
    "Pretoria."
    That was a familiar place. "That's in South Africa, right?"
    "Correct. Dominica's in the Americas, Kassándra is in Greece and Kärla is in Latvia."
    "And Sassandra's in the Ivory Coast," Kassándra put in.
    I smiled. "You've got a lot of world knowledge," I commented.
    Kassándra was bitter. "What else is there to do up here than stare at the atlas?"
    I thought that it would be better to stop talking about them and their time in here. My mother was also a precarious subject. So what else was there to talk about? Luckily, I suddenly realised an aspect not yet discussed. "Was Dominica ever up here?"
    Kärla's eyes went stone cold. "Never Dominica. She was - and probably still is - far too perfect to ever come up here." She pulled herself out of her trance. It seemed so simple for her to flick back and forth from the past to the present. "Of course, you never did anything really to be locked up here. You just found us, that's all, and that's what's got you up here."
    "So there's no escape at all?"
    "No," Kassándra replied. "The only people we ever see are Mother and Far."
    "Far?" I asked.
    "It means 'Father' in Swedish."
    Kärla was locked in some memory. "Remember Doctor Rizzenfeld? He came up here, and the next day he was found dead." She looked up at me. "I read that in the newspapers Far gave us."
    What Kärla had just said was extremely eerie. A doctor had come up here, got out and was dead the next day? People don't die just like that. People die for a reason. "What happened to him?" I timidly asked.
    "Murdered," Kärla answered, snarling. "Killed by Carson Vanger." She looked at me again. "He was Mother's lover. We heard Mother on the phone talking to Carson after he murdered Doctor Rizzenfeld. She said Carson's name and all. The day after that, we read that Carson had jumped off a bridge."
    Kassándra gave another disturbing tight smile. "You see, Sassandra? If you come up here and you're not Mother or Far, you die. Whether you stay up here or find a way out, you will never truly escape."

Incomplete

Back to Home