Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

gained."
    "Mother? Gained weight?" Bronson was right: I couldn't believe she would have permitted herself to add an ounce. She had been terrified of having a double chin.
    "She lies there and eats sweets all day," Bronson said. "She knows what's happening to her. A few days ago she asked the maid to put a sheet over the vanity-table mirror. She doesn't care to look at herself anymore.
    "I know she went to extremes with these things before. I let her spend a fortune on new miracle products to stop aging, but I would much rather have her that way than the way she is now. For the past few days she's barely eaten. All she does is sleep and sleep. It's as if she wants to fade away," he added, his voice breaking.
    "I'll be there tonight, Bronson," I promised.
    "That's good. Actually, you're my last hope," he confessed. "She thinks so highly of you now. I bring home all the good news about the hotel and the children. I'm very proud of you myself," he concluded.
    After I hung up I sat back and thought how ironic it was that Mother depended on me. I couldn't find the hardness in my heart to refuse to help her. If the tragedies of my own life had taught me anything, it was to be more tolerant and sympathetic toward others. In one way or another we were all victims of a sort. Only Grandmother Cutler, whose spirit still haunted us somehow, remained unworthy of any sympathy, I thought.
    When I arrived at Beulla Woods later in the day Mother was, as Bronson had described, cloistered in her room, lying listlessly in her great canopy bed. Seeing her without her makeup, unadorned by expensive jewelry, her face pale and her hair unbrushed left me speechless for a moment. It didn't seem to matter, for when I entered the suite she appeared to be in a daze herself, looking through me. Bronson, standing right beside me, whispered in my ear.
    "She's worse than I told you," he confessed. "For the last few days she's barely uttered a word to anyone."
    I stepped forward.
    "Mother?" Her eyes blinked, and her head turned slowly toward me. I saw no note of recognition in her eyes. My heart began to flutter nervously. I looked at Bronson, who stared at her with concern.
    "Laura Sue, it's Dawn. You asked about her, and here she is," he said.
    Suddenly Mother laughed, but it was a strange, almost hideous peal of thin laughter. Then the mad and bizarre smile left her face, and she glared at me angrily.
    "Who are you?" she demanded. "Another one of her nurses? Answer me. Who are you?"
    "Oh, dear," Bronson said.
    "Who am I? Mother, you don't know who I am?" I drew closer to the bed.
    "No!" she cried, cringing. "Go away. Go away. It's not my fault. All of you," she said, turning to Bronson, too. "Leave me alone!" She began to wave her hand in the air as if she were chasing away flies.
    "Laura Sue, what's come over you?" Bronson asked, rushing to her side. She seemed to shrivel up under the blanket, shaking her head, her eyes wide.
    "I don't understand," Bronson said to me. "What's happening to her?"
    "This hasn't happened before?" I asked.
    "No. Up until now she's just been . . . withdrawn. Laura Sue, please," he cajoled.
    She started to cry, grimacing like a child.
    "I didn't mean it. It's not my fault, Daddy," she moaned.
    "Daddy? Dear God, what's happening to her?" Bronson cried more frantically.
    "Mother," I said, seizing her hand, "snap out of this. What's wrong with you?"
    "They're all looking at me," she whispered, shifting her eyes to the side. "All of them, whenever I go downstairs. They know. They know it all. She told them; she's got them against me. She's spreading the lies, and they believe them." She grabbed my arm with her other hand and squeezed hard. "I want you to help me," she pleaded. "Make them understand it wasn't my fault."
    "All right, Mother. I will," I said, deciding it was best to humor her.
    "Good," she said, easing her grip. "Good." She turned toward Bronson. "Doctor, I need something stronger, something that will make me forget. Don't you have anything powerful enough? I can't sleep," she cried. "Every time I close my eyes I think it's going to happen again. And even if I do fall asleep, I wake up and hear his footsteps outside my door. I hear him breathing hard through the cracks. He's whispering my name, calling to me. I want another lock on the door," she demanded. "And no one is to come up here but the servants. No one, do you understand?" She turned to me, and I saw the fear in her eyes, the fear and the sadness, and