The Keeping of Lena Ch. 04

Renz hadn't just left her with his estate and wealth.

It seemed he'd also managed to leave her with his shamelessness as well.

The rakish man she loved had never been concerned by her lack of a title and education.

He'd introduced her to his society, had celebrated her at hishome in front of Germany's highest elite. He had left her in full control of his estate in his absence.

Renz wasn't the least bit ashamed of her upbringing--so Lena decided then and there that she wouldn't be either.

Karl chuckled to himself as Ava warily glanced at Lena, as if asking for guidance on how to proceed. Lena smiled fondly at her, grateful for her sisterly protection.

But she found that in this instance, it wouldn't be necessary.

"Surely my admission isn't the boldest utterance tonight," Lena offered eventually. To her relief, the tension in the dining room faded, replaced by tepid humor and curiosity.

"A...maid? Truly?" Karolina asked with wide eyes. Lena noted that her gaze wasn't unkind--it was intrigued.

"Indeed. Just months ago. My previous Master was an English lord, retired in the French countryside. That's where I met Herr Wolfenbarger. After we...met...he brought me here," Lena replied. She didn't find it necessary to divulge the explicit details about her attachment with Renz.

She'd shocked her guests enough already.

"From maid to Lady in a matter of months. You, Lena, are truly impressive," Edvard said with heartwarming sincerity.

"Far more impressive than the Lords and Ladies we typically socialize with in Brussels. Sister, thank you again for your letter, I love this girl already," Valda exclaimed happily.

Feeling brave, Lena indulged in dessert wine with the decadent chocolates Valda brought as the group conversations shifted into risqué humor, bold enough to make even Ava blush.

Which only made Lena giggle harder.

It became easier to suspend her sorrow with each glass of wine, but by the time all of the couples had retired to their respective suites, that strange sensation of emptiness returned, even more powerful than her longing for Renz.

It was as if her body was grieving something--but Lena had no idea what.

"Fräulein Lena, it seems we have another guest," one of the butlers said suddenly. Lena had been lost in thought, assisting with cleaning the kitchens, even though the servants had asked her to abstain.

"It's after midnight, Stefan. And we weren't expecting anyone else. Surely there's some kind of a mistake," Lena responded warily.

The butler lowered his head in contrition.

"Yes, Fräulein, but...well...it's Frau Wolfenbarger."

******

******

"What does my mother have to do with anything?" Renz demanded. He had no interest in listening to this disturbingly nunlike woman launching into some kind of Oedipal diatribe or Freudian philosophies. The women he'd fucked--Lena especially--had nothing to do with the woman who'd given birth to him.

"Relax, Mr. Wolfenbarger. This is a natural part of therapy. Our relationship with our parents, from infancy, is the foundation of psychosexual development. Especially for boys and their mothers. If you want this process to work, if you want your cure...we need to explore this," Rosalyn advised.

With a sigh, Renz reclined back on the chaise. "Fine. What do you want to know about her?"

"What was she like? What was your relationship like?"

"I couldn't tell you. She's been dead since I was five," he replied plainly.

"I'm so sorry. Did your father ever remarry? Were you close with any stepmothers?" Rosalyn continued.

Renz shook his head. "He had many mistresses. Fathered my bastard brother. But he never remarried. He died a decade ago."

For Renz, the death of Johann Wolfenbarger had been a day of relief, and even, celebration.

"So you never really knew your mother, and I can already gather that your relationship with your father was...strained, after her passing," Rosalyn deduced.

"Your assessment is fair," Renz responded, and he hoped she wouldn't ask for further detail.

He preferred to treat the memories of his father much like the scars he'd delivered.

On his back--and therefore out of sight.

"Did he ever hurt you, Mr. Wolfenbarger?" Rosalyn asked.

"He disciplined me, yes."

"And how often?"

"Frequently. It should come as no surprise to you as a doctor that I was a troubled youth," Renz clipped. His patience was nearly exhausted.

Almost as if in reaction to his vexation, a smug grin appeared on Rosalyn's face. "Indeed, Mr. Wolfenbarger. With the death of your mother at such a young age, and no surrogate mother figure apart from your father's mistresses...add in your father's abuses, it's no surprise at all to me you'd end up raping a maid. Your entire sexual development was shaped by grief and violence."

There was a sweetly brutal way Rosalyn spoke, like a blade to a recent kill, that was as elegant as it was painful. It recalled a memory of a hunting holiday Renz had taken with his father, shortly before his mother's death. They'd tracked a large buck for hours, its proud antlers stretching farther than Renz's five-year-old arms could reach. Renz could still conjure the sound the beast had made, the desperate cry, when his father's pistol had fired into its chest.

When they'd approached their kill, the animal had still been alive, its large black eyes fearful and terrified as blood flowed from its gaping mouth.

Renz had expected his father to shoot the beast again, to end its suffering.

Instead, his father had pulled out a hunting knife and had carved the deer's flesh, eliciting panicked, harrowing screams from the dying, thrashing creature. Johann had prolonged its death to the last possible moment.

By the time the life left its body, it was unrecognizable, nothing more than a pile of mangled, bloody flesh.

Renz had stood there, for as horrifying as the sight was, it wasn't entirely unique.

He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He didn't speak.

He'd just watched.

"I'm fundamentally perverse," Renz said eventually. Rosayln gently shook her head, and she rose from her chair and knelt on the floor next to him.

"Any sickness can be cured, with the right medicine--even yours, Mr. Wolfenbarger," she said softly, offering him a small glass.

"What is this?" Renz asked skeptically.

Rosalyn smiled. "Chamomile tea, Mr. Wolfenbarger. It will relax you for the next part of our session."

Renz had never been fond of tea, but he took several sips to be polite.

"What now?"

He wasn't sure if it was exhaustion from the travel, or the natural sedative properties of the tea, but Renz suddenly felt as though he were moments from losing consciousness.

"We're going to access your subconscious mind, Mr. Wolfenbarger. We're going to uncover all of those secrets unknown to even yourself, so that we may find your cure," Rosalyn lilted. Her voice reminded him of the hypnotists of the Near East, for she'd taken on an almost melodic quality, a suggestive tone that seemed sourced from multiple directions.

What am I supposed to do Renz asked, though he was no longer certain if he was even speaking out loud. The room was fading to darkness, and his muscles grew instantly paralyzed. He was overcome with the sensation of free-falling, floating through an abyss of nothingness. There was nothing but his own thoughts, and Rosalyn's haunting voice.

He was absolutely certain that something other than chamomile had been laced with the tea.

"Go back to the night you raped Lena, Renz. I want you to tell me what happened--every last detail."

He wanted to resist the compulsion to speak, and simply storm out of the Lodge and destroy Rosalyn and all she worked with, but Renz was immobilized.

With nothing else to do, he returned to that fateful night.