Anatomy of a Darkened Heart: Victorian Psychological Suspense

By Christie Stratos

The only way to survive the Whitestone family is to escape them.

Abigail Whitestone is the eldest of the three Whitestone children—and the most tormented. The room darkens and time seems to stop when she is born, but is it really her fault? Is she as evil as Mother insists, or does it forebode a life of abuse and cruelty?

With only one positive influence in her life—that of her nanny—Abigail tries her best to stay out of Mother’s way. But Mother always seems to be present when there’s a chance to hurt. And Father is no use at all.

If she could just keep the attentions of the wealthy and handsome Conrad Scott until he proposes, he could be her lifeline.

But after a violent accident and a disturbing series of events that permanently warp Abigail’s mental state, she finds herself drawn to stay in the very home of her abuse, and she’ll do anything to force her siblings to stay too—anything.

ANATOMY OF A DARKENED HEART is the first psychological suspense novel in the dark and twisted, fast-paced Dark Victoriana Collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christie Stratos
• Release date: Oct 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996781220

Christie Stratos

Christie Stratos is an award-winning writer who holds a degree in English Literature. She is the author of the psychological suspense novels Anatomy of a Darkened Heartand Brotherhood of Secrets, the first two books in the Dark Victoriana Collection. Also a poet and short story writer, Christie has been published in anthologies, literary journals, and magazines. Christie has been featured on the radio, in magazines, and on podcasts, and she has given presentations for writing organizations and at writing conferences. She owns her own editing company, Proof Positive, where she works one-on-one with authors as well as with small presses as a freelance editor, and she has enjoyed working with a rising press as an acquisitions editor. Christie hosts the well-received podcast Writers Showcaseon the Authors on the Air Radio Network. She has interviewed New York Timesbestsellers, publishers, and major award-winning authors, including Hugo Award winner Robert J. Sawyer, BBC correspondent Humphrey Hawksley, and Mary Higgins Clark Award winner Hank Phillippi Ryan.Find her on her website at christiestratos.com. Join her Patreon and follow her on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

Book preview

Praise for Anatomy of a Darkened Heart,

the first book in the Dark Victoriana Collection

If you have any interest in the Victorian era, dark stories, or even just a love of beautiful writing, this is a book you must read.

—Travis West, author of What Was Left

Christie Stratos has taken meticulous care with the use of symbols throughout this story, enhancing her characters with sinister traits that she offsets with unique backstory or extenuating circumstances, blurring the line between good and villain line enough to make this a super compelling read.

—MM Jaye, author of the Greek Tycoons series

Christie Stratos has written this story in such a wonderful way and brings the 19th century to life…I was completely mesmerized by this slice of the 1800s as Christie presented it to us.

—The Scary Reviews

The writing is phenomenal. It’s not a long book, and the author makes every word count. Her descriptions are perfectly refined to give the reader exactly the amount of detail you need.

—Sunshine Somerville, author of The Kota series

I loved it. If I had to categorize this work I would say that it is a much darker version of Alcott’s work.

—Amazon review

The author clearly did a lot of research to get her facts right about many different aspects of the Victorian era, right down to details, which gives the story a believable quality and brings it to life. Frighteningly so.

—Autumn (Amazon review)

"There are times when the author delivers moments of sheer sadness of a tragic quality that profoundly moved me. That is not easy to achieve, whatever your talents as a writer…Psychologically compelling and full of depth, intelligent, beautifully written, literary but easily accessible, Anatomy of a Darkened Heart may well begin a new era of dark Victorian-era fiction."

—Jason Greensides, author of The Distant Sound of Violence

The psychological twists and turns kept the tension high and the way Christie could get me to sympathize with a character in one chapter and despise them three chapters later was masterfully done.

—Emily S. (Amazon review)

I liked the natural progression of the story, how each character’s darkness stood out more as the story went. It isn't easy to give a character his or her own world while keeping the story in check and allowing for each storyline to merge and form into a coherent piece of masterful awesomeness.

—J.B. Taylor, author of the Dissimilar Shorts series

This was definitely a book full of intrigue and mystery…

—Amazon review

ANATOMY OF A

DARKENED HEART

CHRISTIE STRATOS

Anatomy of a Darkened Heart: a Dark Victoriana Collection novel (Book 1)

Copyright © Christie Stratos (2015). All Rights Reserved.

Revised edition.

Published by Proof Positive Publishing

Cover art design: Ebook Launch (http://ebooklaunch.com)

Editing and proofreading services: Proof Positive (http://proofpositivepro.com)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author with the subject line Anatomy of a Darkened Heart Permissions at [e-mail].

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9967812-0-6

ISBN-10: 099678120X

DEDICATION

To my family, who always told me I could do the things I doubted. I could not have come this far without your support, and because of it, I know I can continue. Thank you is too pale a phrase.

To my mentor and friend, Dr. Philip Billings, who taught me that fiction is limitless and boundaries simply don’t exist. There is, and never will be, anyone like you.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Doll Doctor Kathleen, your passion and incredible knowledge of dolls throughout the ages was not only invaluable to this book, but it was so interesting. Our chats were inspiring and so much fun.

Elena Greene, your expertise in historical fiction was so helpful for a fact I couldn’t find anywhere no matter how hard I looked. Thanks for using your experience to help a new author out.

#Awethors, there aren’t enough words to thank you all! I would have been much more afraid of the whole publication process if it hadn’t been for all of your support and encouragement. If I ever had a question, I turned to you and got solid answers.

Anita Stratos, my editor from Proof Positive, thank you for all the tiny details you picked out and all the help you gave reworking sections and researching impossibly itsy bitsy facts. I could not have had such an accurate book without you.

Dane from Ebook Launch, you took my (awful) drawing and all my scattered ideas and turned them into a book cover even more perfect than I imagined. Thanks for your attention to detail and eye for darkness.

BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

From the Dark Victoriana Collection:

Anatomy of a Darkened Heart

Brotherhood of Secrets

There will be many more to come in this collection…

SHORT STORIES BY THIS AUTHOR

Piece and Quiet in The December Awethology Dark Volume anthology

Self Portrait in the Awethology Dark anthology

Intent in the Gems of Gratitude anthology

Focal Point in the Gems of Strength anthology

Part 1

Thou feedest them with the bread of tears; and givest them tears to drink in great measure.

Psalm 80:5

King James Bible

Birth

October 31, 1840

It was in the very moment of her birth that the ambiance changed. Everyone felt it. The room darkened, blackened to the point that the midwife paused, the baby still half inside her mother, to look around, frowning deeply. Elizabeth’s heartbeat quickened.

The clocks… the midwife muttered. They had stopped. There were two in the room, and they’d both stopped ticking simultaneously. The midwife looked right into Elizabeth’s eyes with an expression that was half apologetic and half frightened. Clocks were only physically stopped—not supernaturally—when someone died or while mourning the deceased. But now the clocks had stopped by themselves, and nobody had died. Unless…

Is the baby all right? Elizabeth shrieked, leaning forward as much as possible. She was covered in cold sweat and exhausted and scared.

The midwife suddenly remembered to continue with the birth and gently helped the baby out the rest of the way. It made no sound.

Is it alive? Elizabeth was frantic now. This was her first child and if it was stillborn… The midwife wasn’t answering. She was just staring at the baby. Elizabeth couldn’t even see it. Is it alive! she yelled.

It’s alive, the midwife said quietly. She wiped blood off of it slowly as if under some sort of spell. It’s not crying yet, though. She rubbed its belly and it made a sound like recognition, like an annoyed grunt. But it didn’t cry. And then the clocks started again with a hard tick, but neither woman noticed.

Is it a girl or a boy? Elizabeth asked. She was getting irritated now. What was wrong with this midwife?

The midwife looked at her again, that same look on her face, this time with more worry than fear. A girl, she whispered.

What’s wrong with you? Give her to me! Elizabeth couldn’t take it anymore. This woman wouldn’t tell her why she was making that dreadful face and she wasn’t giving information freely. They would complain about her. She’d have Richard do it.

I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… It’s just that… Well, here. And with that, the midwife stood up, took two long steps around the bed, and harshly held the baby out. Elizabeth took her, not really seeing while she concentrated on taking hold of her properly.

As soon as the little girl was in her arms, against her body, Elizabeth saw it. Tired eyes. Eyes like an adult—an unhappy adult. The blue eyes were like big round teardrops, wide and evaluating, searching for something. Under the bright blue eyes were circles, light gray circles that threatened to darken. Those tired, striking eyes weren’t closed or roaming, they were focused on Elizabeth’s eyes. It felt as if something was connecting their pupils so that neither of them could look away and neither could blink. Elizabeth felt a sudden strong sadness, loss, disconnect. Something wasn’t right with this child. It couldn’t be. Children weren’t like this. But then again, who’s to say they couldn’t be? It wasn’t squirming either. It just lay there limply and stared into her eyes.

The room never brightened again.

0–6 weeks old

1840

November 1, 1840

Elizabeth had planned to name the child Mary Judith but couldn’t bring herself to do it after the clocks stopped, after she’d seen its eyes. They were so strange, those eyes. She couldn’t get over how tired the baby looked. It couldn’t be normal…

Richard didn’t have any interest in the name, so it was up to Elizabeth. Whatever she wanted, he’d said. Anything was fine, he’d said. She knew he wanted a boy. She asked the midwife what his reaction had been when she’d told him it was a girl. The midwife gave her a small, tight smile, a smile that looked like a stretched-out jumprope in the middle of play, and then looked down. He wasn’t pleased.

Elizabeth knew she had plenty of time to name the baby before it was baptized in four weeks. There was something unsettling about having a living being in the house with no name attached to it. Or perhaps it was just this baby that unsettled her. Perhaps the first should be their last… But she already knew Richard wouldn’t accept that. He wanted a boy, and if he wanted it, he would have it.

He hadn’t seen her since the birth, hadn’t come to visit or even sent a note in with the midwife. Nothing. She felt empty, lonesome, with just this odd, tired, quiet child to keep her company. Actually, there was now a nurse milling about to take care of it while she rested, but she didn’t see too much of either nurse or baby. She couldn’t even accept visitors for two more weeks. That was a long time to sit in bed, alone. It was a long time.

But back to the name. What should she call it? Elizabeth breathed deeply and pulled the covers up further. She was half sitting, half lying slouched in bed, pillows messily spread out behind her. She liked the covers all the way up to her shoulders. It was October and chillier than usual. A weak fire crackled in the fireplace across from her bed. She wanted tea, boiling hot tea to hold in her hands, against her chest so she could feel the steam rise up to her chin.

Abigail.

The name came to her suddenly, just popped into her mind like it was meant to be. Abigail.

Did she know anyone named Abigail? Or was it a name she recalled from her Bible readings? Well…honestly…she didn’t read it often, if at all anymore. Her memory was terrible, so whenever anyone quoted from the Bible, she smiled and nodded piously, as if she knew exactly where the quote came from, as if she could remember all those pages word by word. She was supposed to know them. She didn’t.

Abigail was a good woman, she thought. A wife, twice. Perhaps if the first name represented someone decent, a woman with morals, the child would follow suit.

But Richard’s distance from this child made Elizabeth want to do something to make him sorry he wasn’t taking an interest. It would satisfy a loving, warm side of her that was always being pushed down by him. A little secret her daughter may never understand, but Richard certainly would. It could be something Elizabeth could call her when she was frustrated with Richard. Perhaps she could force him to care that way, so she could say, You should have taken more of an interest in our daughter when she was first born. If you’d only done that… and she could finish that sentence whatever way suited the situation.

Delilah.

Delilah was a lovely name, a name that carried betrayal of a man. It was perfect. It was Elizabeth’s permanent private revenge.

November 1, 1840—one day after birth

Richard Whitestone’s diary

Abigail Delilah Whitestone.

That is to be the baby’s name.

Delilah.

I don’t know where Elizabeth gets her cruel streak. Her mother was impeccably moral and stern, the way a mother and wife should be. And yet, she has decided on this name. This clearly ominous name. This will surely set our daughter up to be something despicable.

I told Elizabeth I wanted a boy, not a girl. I was explicit. And yet she did not pray hard enough. Perhaps she should not have stayed home from church for her sickness in the morning. Perhaps the Lord is angry with me for allowing it, and He has now punished me with a girl. I don’t want to see it. I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Who will inherit our estate now? Someone from outside the family. Elizabeth will have to continue her wifely duties to me until she gives me a boy. She owes me that.

Who will trust a woman with the middle name of Delilah? Certainly no one in our church-going town. I will speak to Elizabeth soon, although I am still too disgusted to see her. Her lack of piousness shows in the sex of our baby—and its unfortunate name.

She will bend. She will have to.

November 9, 1840

Elizabeth waited for days, but Richard didn’t come to see her. The nurse kept her in bed to ensure her health. The maid, Ashdon, brought her everything she needed. She had nothing to complain about. Except Richard.

Has he seen the baby yet? Elizabeth asked every single day for two weeks. Every single day the nurse shook her head, breaking eye contact, answering the ground.

All she had received so far was a note from Richard two days after the birth. It read:

Elizabeth,

"Delilah" is wrong. I am sure you will make a decision more apt for moral fortitude. I am sure you will realize your mistake. Prove yourself to me and rename it.

Richard

Realize her mistake? Prove herself? What horrible things to say to a new mother.

She would prove herself.

November 15, 1840

Good afternoon, Mrs. Hinsley. It’s wonderful to see you, Elizabeth said as Mrs. Victoria Hinsley entered the visiting room. Elizabeth held the baby on her lap, bouncing it lightly. The nurse had put it in a clean white robe, which was both agreeable and disturbing because it brought out the baby’s under-eye circles. Pale skin, pale eyes, dark circles.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitestone. I’m so happy to see your little one! Mrs. Hinsley came closer, smiling brightly, all clenched teeth. Mrs. Hinsley was barren. Pretty Mrs. Hinsley, whom all the young men had clamored after.

Yes, I’m very glad to be receiving again.

Mrs. Hinsely paused when she was just a few feet away. She’d noticed the baby’s eyes too. It was unnatural. Her smile faltered.

She’s just lovely, she said, voice wavering accidentally on the last word. She tried to keep her poise but backed up a step. It was a natural reaction. Oh, she said, turning around, I thought the chair was closer. She didn’t think the chair was closer. Not really. Strolling over to the chair across from Elizabeth, Mrs. Hinsley sat down, keeping her eyes on her knees. How are you feeling, dear?

Oh, very well, Elizabeth said. It was true that her health was good. Her heart… It does something to you, having a baby. I feel more refreshed than with a thousand nights of sleep. Not true either.

And have you and Mr. Whitestone chosen a name for the child yet? I know the baptism isn’t for another two weeks, but—

Abigail.

What a beautiful name! Not so extraordinarily popular, but certainly pretty. She’ll stand out for sure. Mrs. Hinsley lifted her head in a self-righteous manner.

Abigail Delilah.

A pause.

Oh. Mrs. Hinsley frowned ever so slightly, her pretty face looking both worried and pleased, like she wasn’t completely positive whether she’d won a game of chess. How…how delightful. Her grin assured Elizabeth the name would spread around town very quickly.

Just like her, Elizabeth said.

She didn’t truly know yet the irony of her statement.

*

Elizabeth received more visitors than expected during the two weeks before the baptism. She was the only woman in town who had named her baby an oxymoron. Everyone was fascinated.

During every visit, the questions started out very general: How did you pick the names? Did Mr. Whitestone help? Is either name after your mother? Then they become more pointed: Why those particular names? Neither is really popular. How did you ever decide on those two names? Aren’t they quite opposites? My dear, what possessed you? Sweet to the ear, yes, but what will everyone think of their meaning?

Richard was miserable. He’d had to start talking to her once visitations were to begin. The very night before at nine o’clock, he’d knocked gently on her door. When she didn’t answer regardless of the