Chapter 3 The Past

Just like the first night, a month before, Brooke took a deep breath before walking into the living room in her fancy dress. But this time, Oswald's warm smile was waiting for her.

"How come I always see you in a black dress?" He joked, giving her his arm to accompany her to dinner like a true gentleman.

"I wore a red one two days ago." She answered ironically, causing him to chuckle.

They were the last to sit at the table and, as usual, Grace gave Brooke a look of disapproval for her delay, but the woman hardly noticed.

Elijah, at the head of the table, was the one who usually led the conversation. Sitting on his left was Grace, whose main purpose was to laugh at her husband's jokes and, from time to time, comment on his stories. Nestled at her feet was her beloved Doberman, which also enjoyed the dinner from the hands of the woman. In front of her mother, there was Sasha, the pretty statue, and Charles sat next to her. Oswald, instead, occupied the place between Grace and Brooke. The man used to keep his eyes on his father, eager for all his stories.

· ♛ ·

"It's true. I swear. A ghost." The raise in pitch in Charles' voice made Brooke jump in her chair.

The woman had no idea how they got to that point in the conversation, she tended not to listen to the speeches of her stepbrother, considering them lame fantasies of a mind still stuck at childhood age.

"She was this pale old woman in a long black dress. She was this close." He continued, pointing with his hand at the distance between him and Oswald, who was listening intently with wide eyes.

"What did you do?" He immediately asked.

"Oh, I run away screaming, of course!" Charles replied obvious, and then laughed at it, involving all those present. All except one.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Oswald?" Grace asked nicely, turning to him.

"Yes, I do. I've seen them." He nodded.

"This house has several of them. But don't worry, they're all quite friendly." Elijah spoke.

Grace shook her head slightly and smiled before turning to Oswald again. "Don't listen to him. There are no ghosts here." She reassured him.

"Oh, there's ghosts all right." Elijah said. "This house was built by my grandfather. He died here. His wife and two sisters also passed away upstairs. And my poor, dear parents." He explained, his gaze always fixed on his son. "Yes, many ghosts." He concluded, letting a gloomy and mysterious air descend into the room.

It was Oswald who broke that strange silence. "How did you meet?" He asked, shifting his gaze between his father and Grace.

"Oh. That's a boring story, really." She replied, acting as if she wanted to dismiss the argument.

Brooke knew it was a farce. Grace felt immense satisfaction and pride in how she had climbed the social ladder, in the intricate plot of lies and deception she had devised which had taken her to sit at that table that night. The fake indifference was due to the fact that the woman was well aware that the husband would intervene to tell the story, as usual.

"No. Let me tell it, dear." Elijah, in fact, interrupted her and started the tale. "After my mother died, I sat alone in this house for months, barely got out of bed in fact. Finally, I found a diner not too far from here. I'd go there every day at the same time, order the same thing."

"Chicken soup and a seltzer." Grace spoke in a sweet way.

"Grace was my waitress. And I grew very fond of her. She told me of her two poor children, Sasha and Charles. And of Brooke, of course. She told me how they all had suffered at the hands of her abusive husband, who left them with nothing after his death. I had to help. I offered her refuge and she accepted. And this house heard laugher once again. Then one thing led to another. Love blossomed. And here we are." The man concluded, looking at his wife with love in his eyes.

"That's really sweet." Oswald commented, smiling at the couple.

"Yes. Elijah always was. I really don't know where we'd be without him. Richard, my previous husband, was a very violent man." Grace told him, cracking her tone of voice in uttering the last words.

Brooke's eyes, which had been pointed at the plate most of the time, snapped at the woman in hearing her assertion about her father. Grace now wore on her face an expression of fear, sadness and shame even. The girl could not help but cheer mentally to her talents as an actress, but she would not listen to a word more. "If you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling well." She said in a calm tone, getting out of the chair and exiting the room before anyone could replicate.

Oswald watched her leave worried, wondering what might have upset her so. Eventually, he blamed the memories: living her childhood with an abusive father must have been hell for her, it was perfectly understandable that she didn't want to hear about it. He couldn't know how wrong he was at the time.

· ♛ ·

Her eyes were closed but she wasn't sleeping. Her mind lost in memories of the past. From time to time, her lips folded into a small smile and warm tears ran down her cheeks. Her arms held one among her many pillows tight to her chest, as if looking for a long lost affection. If her mind had become accustomed to living in deception, her heart could no longer bear it. The dense blanket of lies surrounding her was becoming increasingly suffocating, and Brooke did not know how much longer she could resist.

Her father was not a perfect man, no man is, but violent never was. It had always been just the two of them; her mother had died in childbirth, and her memory had never left them. When she was a child, Brooke loved to sit on her father's lap and listen to him tell the best moments he and the woman had spent together. The stories never ended. Some were among the most extravagant, such as when they had stormed a pirate ship, or when they had piloted a spaceship and fought cybernetic men. Looking back on those stories now, Brooke was aware that they were just fantasies, but as a child she believed them, and she was never tired of hearing them.

Now, those stories were the only thing she had left of him. Of them.

· ♛ ·

The next morning, Brooke reluctantly got out of bed. Her cheeks were red, her eyes swollen, surrounded by dark circles, a sign of the very few hours she managed to sleep that night.

The woman took a deep breath before crawling into the shower and preparing for the day.

When she entered the living room an hour later, every sign of what she had gone through that night had disappeared from her face. The anger, the resentment, the melancholy, the sadness had been stored in a locked drawer. A smile framed her lips instead.

"Good morning." She greeted her two favourite men in the house.

"Good morning, Brooke." Oswald replied, giving her a smile.

"Well well, awake at last." Elijah chuckled, referring to the late hour. "How are you feeling this morning, my dear?" He asked.

"I'm much better, thanks." She answered, sitting down on the couch in front of them. "So, why are you playing?" She inquired, nodding at the cards on the table.

"Oh, Elijah is teaching me to play bridge." Oswald told her.

"And he's getting way too good at it. I'm loosing." Elijah commented, making the three of them laugh.

"All right, count me in. I'm the queen of this game." Brooke smirked, signaling to give her cards.

"Elijah." Grace's worried voice caught their attention, interrupting the game before it could even begin. The woman stormed into the room, followed by Sasha and Charles. "Brace yourself." She said in a serious tone. "I'm afraid we have some bad news."

"Oh dear." The man murmured, pointing his eyes at his wife.

"Charles was at the public library today." She started explaining.

"Researches for the novel I'm writing." Her son pointed out.

At those words, Brooke lowered her head slightly to hide a chuckle. The stepbrother liked to call himself a writer and boast of his exceptional poetic skills, when, in fact, in the last two years, all he had been able to write about this mysterious novel were two mere introductory pages.

"I was reading some old newspapers and I made an alarming discovery." He continued, totally ignoring her reaction.

"My dear, Oswald is not the nice, young man he says he is. If we didn't lead such sheltered lives here, we would know what the whole world knows. He's a notorious criminal." Grace stated in an alarming tone, handing her husband an old newspaper.

"Oh, he's far more than that. He's the King of Gotham underworld. He's the Penguin." Brooke replied, grinning at her.

"You knew?" Charles asked, a shocked expression on his face.

"Of course. There's a thing called the internet, you know? I use it." She answered wittily.

"Then why didn't you tell us? He's a killer and a rapist, we were all in danger!" Sasha argued in her high-pitched voice.

"Calm down, Sasha. We were never in danger. We are his family. And I honestly don't think Oswald would ever hurt his family, do you?" Brooke replied calmly.

"That's enough. We'll talk about your recklessness later, Brooke. Now we have to understand how to deal with this criminal." Grace intervened, stopping her daughter from saying anything else and then turning her gaze to Oswald.

"I-I-" he stuttered, terrified and embarrassed by the whole situation.

"My son told me about his past." Elijah came to his rescue. "He just didn't tell me how famous he was. You're too modest, son." He then added, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Indeed." Brooke nodded.

"Elijah. A violent criminal in our house?" Grace murmured, clearly upset.

"Grace, relax. He's changed. Redeemed." He told her. "You're not this man anymore, are you?" He then asked his son, in search of a further confirmation of his convictions.

"No, sir." He immediately answered, shaking his head.

"But how? How do you know? How do you know he is not?" She insisted.

"I've looked into his soul. I've seen his beautiful heart." Elijah stated. His serene expression convinced his wife that his decision was not questionable and the woman thought it was best to to leave the scene; her children right behind her.

"The Dapper Gangland Kingpin!" The old man exclaimed, reading the headline of the newspaper given to him by Grace.

Oswald smiled slightly, embarrassed at the name, while Brooke burst out laughing.

"And all this time, you've known the truth?" Elijah asked the girl.

She nodded. "That's why I was a bit shocked when I met you. I'm still sorry for that." She then said, turning to Oswald.

"No, no, please, don't be. It's fine, really." He hurried to replicate. "Just, may I ask you, why didn't you say anything? I mean, weren't you afraid of me?" He then asked her, in an uncertain voice.

"No. No I wasn't afraid of you. And I didn't say anything because I knew this would happen." She replied. "You just didn't seem like someone I should have been afraid of." She added, smiling at him.

"My dear Brooke." Elijah called her. "You have such a good heart under all that bitter. You should stop hiding it." He told her.

His words were true, and all three of those present knew it well. The woman, however, was not certain that she would ever be able to follow that advice.