“Our one time,” Joshua replies drily.
“Anyway,” she continues. “After my indiscretion I returned to the party and made my way over to Eli. If I had known for even a second that Kenneth was a tyrant, capable of monstrosities beyond understanding, I would have left that very second. Instead Eli and I posed for a photograph for the local paper. An article about our wedding would be featured. And then . . .” Her voice quivers, and she stops, pressing her lips together. Joshua turns to her, a pained expression crossing his face. Obviously, he forgives her for being a constant bitch.
“When I arrived in the ballroom,” Joshua says, picking up the story, “I closed the doors behind me and joined Lourdes at the bar. She was crying, dark purple bruises imprinted in the shape of a hand on her forearm. I knew who had done it, of course. But I wasn’t in the position to stop Kenneth from abusing her. We would both be out of a job. We’d starve.
“I helped Lourdes with the drinks, making sure she didn’t mess up, especially when I saw Kenneth watching us, waiting for an opportunity. Understand, Audrey,” Joshua says, “the Ruby didn’t make Kenneth a terrible man—he already was. We were scared of him then, and we’re terrified of him now.”
Kenneth has been torturing them for years, making rules and punishing them at his discretion. Of all the horrible people to have power over you in death, for it to be the one who abused you in life must be unbearable. My sympathy for Lourdes is tremendous; I’m devastated on her behalf. She watches them talk, distraught, like she’s reliving the tragedy.
“It was a candle,” Catherine says. “There was the smash of a bottle breaking, and Eli and I both looked over to the bar. The housekeeper had dropped the scotch,” she says bitterly, and glares at Lourdes’s burned body. Catherine’s expression weakens, as if she thinks Lourde has suffered enough.
“The bottle slipped from Lourdes’s hand and smashed on the tiles,” Joshua continues, “startling the nearby guests. I didn’t have to check to know Kenneth would be on his way over. Lourdes fell to her knees and began sweeping up the glass with her hands, shredding her skin on the broken shards. Smearing blood in an attempt to clean before he arrived.
“That was when I saw Catherine and Eli standing together. Only now they weren’t so cozy. Eli was questioning her whereabouts, and Catherine lifted her chin, defiant, beautiful and ugly at the same time.
“The colors in the room,” Joshua says with a twisted sort of nostalgia, “they were so beautiful, so vibrant. I looked from face to face, people speaking and laughing, and then my eyes fell on Kenneth. His expression was tense with controlled anger; his fingers curled in impending punches as he stomped his way toward the bar. I could see the hint of satisfaction in his stride—he liked to hit women, especially Lourdes.”
He lifts his head. “Poor Lourdes,” he whispers sadly, “was cleaning frantically, thinking there was still a chance she could avoid the beating. I grabbed a rag to help her.”
He stops, working his jaw like he doesn’t want to continue. Lourdes lifts her hand to touch him, to forgive him. The emotions in the room are palpable, and when I look at Elias, he’s watching me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. My own tears well up in response, and I want the story to end a different way. I want them to survive.
“None of us meant to be here, Audrey,” Elias says solemnly. “None of us thought this was a possibility. When Joshua knocked over the candle, there was no slow motion; there were simply not flames and then flames. The alcohol blazed up in an instant. Before the first screams even reached our ears, the tapestries surrounding the doorway caught fire.
“Lourdes never made it off the floor,” he says. “Her suffering ended nearly as soon as it began. Joshua tried to put himself out, slapping his blackening hands on his clothes. But he only succeeded in spreading the flames. He threw himself against the closest person, screaming, his hair singed off. Soon the room was ablaze in bright orange fire. Around me, guests shrieked and ran for the door, but their clothing wasn’t optimum for escape. An older woman was the first to fall, and she began a chain reaction. People crawled over each other, but the wooden doors were completely lost behind the flames.”
I cover my mouth, overcome. I can picture it all; smell the fire, the burned flesh. I can imagine all the horror of that night.