A Maid’s Duties

Ophelia is getting quite efficient at cleaning up bloodstains, though the metallic smell mixed with her bleach solution still threatens to burn her nostril hairs. She scrubs vigorously, leaving no mess behind. Even a speck here or there is unforgivable. Thus, the woman spends extra time making sure the dark floorboards are spotless, scrubs the chester drawers with devoutness, and does a once over of the vanity more times than probably necessary. Everything must be done correctly until Ophelia is satisfied, otherwise there is no way she could go on the rest of the day with a clear head. And even then, it’s more than likely she would return to the bedroom later in the evening to clean again, scrubbing at nothing. With the job done, gloves disposed of, and apron discarded for later (to be put in the incinerator, no less), Ophelia moves on to the second part of her job, the one that is arguably even more time consuming than the cleaning.

Ophelia gently ties the new apron she had waiting for her outside the room around her waist. One knot, then two, precisely done so there would be no need to re-tie later. With all evidence of her previous occupation gone, she walks down the hallway toward the master bedroom. The heels of her shoes are quieted by the maroon carpet that lines the floors. It’s a beautiful color, Ophelia’s favorite, but she can’t help but worry that a bloodstain could possibly get on it. She would never know. The thought irks her, but she tries to shake it. As long as the master kept all his business within that bedroom, there would be no worry.

The dark mahogany door to the master bedroom is cracked ever so slightly. Inside, she can hear the pitiful weeping of him, the squeaking of the bed as he rocks back and forth and sobs into his hands, biting at his nails and scratching his skin. Ophelia doesn’t see him, she doesn’t need to to know what he looks like, this sorry state being a regular occurrence for him. Ophelia knocks lightly.

“Master? May I come in?”

The crying stops. The master sniffles, once, then twice, and sits up straight.

“Come in.”

Ophelia’s heels clack annoyingly on the floor as she enters the room, thrown in disarray. The early morning light pours in freely through the window, curtains torn to the side and nearly ripped from the window. The mirror that usually hangs on the wall is shattered. Ophelia purses her lips. She just replaced it.

The master sits up straight, trying to make himself presentable, an almost funny display, considering the state of him and his room. His face was red, hair disheveled, and the five o’clock shadow on his jawline makes him seem homely.

“Ah, the work is finished, I presume?” His voice croaks as he makes an attempt at professional conversation. It won’t last long.

“Yes sir. Her bedroom is quite tidy.”

The use of the word “her” is a trigger, and it sends the master into near hysterics once more. He doubles over, gasping for air as fresh tears adorn his cheeks.

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean, ah, oh, oh god. I just thought it was her, I miss her so much-”.

He clutches his throat and begins to scratch, fresh, red lines overlapping the other ones. 

“She didn’t deserve that, no, I just miss her, I miss Sunny, I want my Sunny, I don’t want them!” He mumbles incoherently to himself, rocking once more. Ophelia grits her teeth and walks over to sit next to him on the bed. Almost immediately, the distraught man collapses into her, burying his head into her collarbone and he sobs.

“Oh, oh Ophelia, what have I done? Please, take me away from this place, I can be here no longer, not without her. I can’t-”. His shoulder shakes so much it jabs Ophelia’s chin. Slowly, she reaches around the master to take him into her arms, something not done without tremendous effort. This seems to egg him on more, as his blubbering begins to soak Ophelia’s blouse. She rubs his back, trying to mimic a motherly tenderness.

“It’s quite alright. You didn’t know what you were doing, now did you?” He shakes his head. “I know, of course you didn’t. You just miss her so much, you had a bit of a reaction. It happens to the best of us,” Ophelia says, her voice filling the room in all its softness and comfort. Like clockwork, it soothes the master, and his sobs gradually turn to sniffles as Ophelia rocks him like a newborn. An eerie quiet fills the room. After a few moments, he lifts his head and looks at her.

“You remind me so much of my mother, do you know that?” Ophelia just smiles.

“Why thank you, but a maid such as me could not hope to compare to the madam.”

The master opens his mouth to say something, but Ophelia quickly shushes him.

“I think you’ve had a long night. Why don’t I grab you some tea? You need to rest.”

He seems to think on it for a moment, before conceding. 

“...I suppose. Although, there’s some business I really should be getting to, isn’t there? I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“I’m not sure there’s much on the agenda today. How about you get some rest, and when you wake, you may remember. I will return with tea and breakfast,” Ophelia says, gently nudging the master off of her shoulder. Truthfully, she’s quite eager to be rid of his presence, yet can’t risk being too forceful.

“Ah, yes, tea and breakfast, I am quite starving.” He continues to mumble to himself as Ophelia quietly rises from his side and leaves the room. Once the door is shut behind her, she tears at her damp blouse with a desperate ferocity. The buttons fastened all the way up her neck pop one by one, until she rids herself of the garment entirely. Ophelia runs a cautious finger over her collarbone and holds back bile when she feels a trace of the master’s wet tears. She wastes no time running to her room to clean herself, scrubbing her skin raw in her bathroom, leaving behind a patchy and angry red. Afterwards Ophelia grabs a second, identical blouse from her closet to wear. 

She takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself. Everything is clean, including herself, and that’s all that matters. Her walk to the kitchen is a long one, as she stares at the elegant mansion surrounding her. The old walls are adorned with expensive artworks and artifacts, ones the master had been keen on collecting in recent years. His taste is not quite the same as hers, but they are interesting to look at nonetheless. The whole place looks like something taken from a gothic novel, and fittingly, there’s no electricity in the entire building. Most of the light comes through the long windows that line the hallways and rooms. Near the front of the house, a large portrait hangs outside the master’s study. It depicts his parents in their younger years, holding gentle smiles, yet they don’t reach their eyes. Her bosses, Ophelia reminds herself, are what keeps her putting up with so much. The checks sent her way are not small in sum, and although they don't compare to their wealth or the master’s, they give her reason to stay, and a glimpse at what her life could be in lavish richness. The job is not terribly difficult in truth, as long as things go as they should. Keeping the master happy, healthy, and doing business was the task, no matter what it took. And to Ophelia’s pleasure, the Sir and Madam didn’t ask questions.

The day ahead of her is long, but simple. The master does indeed rest, and makes a short trip to town for a public appearance. Ophelia doesn’t attend these business doings, in fact, she doesn’t know much at all what goes on with the master’s work. She doesn’t need to. With things kept in proper order, the master can handle himself for the time when he’s away, and Ophelia has the place to herself. His absence today is in perfect timing too, because when Ophelia leaves to conduct business of her own, there’s no one to notice she’s gone.

The drive to town is short. The view as the sun sets is beautiful, reds and oranges fading to purple, and eventually black. Evenings are prime work hours for the master and Ophelia, so there’s no room for error. Still, as precise as she tends to be, Ophelia isn’t nervous. The classical music from her CD has her swaying her head slightly. At some points, Ophelia can just close her eyes and enjoy the music, she knows the road so well, down to the potholes and number of turns. As the houses with money fade to the suburbs to the city, comes with it the blinding lights and overwhelming noise. When traffic becomes too loud, Ophelia turns down her music. A familiar neon sign comes into view, along with littered streets and the nearby gas station. She fights back a grimace and turns into the gravel alley by the bar. This part of town was the exact opposite from the other part of her job, almost funny how it takes Ophelia to two extremes. Nothing about the gritty, broken, poor part of town was appealing, yet it’s most convenient for the second part of Ophelia’s job. From her concealed parking area, she has a perfect view of the patrons. In and out they come, most often worse for wear than when they entered. Early in the evening, the ones that stagger out are often the regular drunks, a crowd Ophelia isn’t quite looking for. She clicks her tongue as she watches them make fools of themselves. For now, it’s a waiting game.

As the night drags, and the bar drunks start to thin out, Ophelia’s patience comes with a reward. She leans forward as a group of young girls exit, several of them tripping over their own cheap heels and giggling with each other. One of them, with long dark hair slicked back to reveal a small, kind face, is the one she zeros in on. Her heels match the others in cheapness and height, and Ophelia can tell from the movement of her lips her words are slurred. With arms slung loosely around her shoulders, she helps her friends into a car, almost tripping over the curb. Ophelia rolls her window down.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I gotta cab coming. Yeah, I said I have a cab coming! I’ll message you in the morning.” The car door shuts in front of her as she backs up to the sidewalk, bumping into a few other drunkards on her way. Ophelia exits the car and shadows, making her way over to the girl, now slumped against the wall of the bar with a lazy smile. The maid’s neat attire is strange given the area she’s in, and a few people look at her like she just exited a limousine in the poorest part of town. The young girl doesn’t notice her until she’s a few feet away. Unlike the other patrons, upon seeing Ophelia, she just gives a warm smile. 

“Can I help you?” she asks. Ophelia scans the area quickly, making sure the only ones around are so wasted they won’t remember anything in the morning.

“I think the real question is, can I help you.” The girl cocks her head and looks like she’s trying to understand each individual word Ophelia speaks.

“It’s dangerous here at night, especially for a young girl such as yourself. Let me take you home,” Ophelia offers, making sure to speak slowly and put emphasis on every word. The girl does a once over of the maid, and seems a bit unsure. It’s clear that Ophelia’s least favorite part is necessary. She loops her arm under the girl’s, trying to coax her into feeling security. 

“Come along my dear.”

“...Mmkay.”

She leans into Ophelia as they walk. The smell of alcohol and mint chewing gum has her turn her head. The staggering makes walking difficult, and it doesn’t help that both women are wearing heeled shoes. From behind, it probably looks like a mother helping her under the influence daughter, not too out of the ordinary, but Ophelia knows this is the part where the stakes lie. Her future of wealth and solitude, one without deranged masters and stuffy bosses, stretches before her. It lies in this girl, and all the ones after her. When they reach the alleyway, Ophelia scans the area one more time, before turning the corner into darkness. The trunk of her car is already popped. The girl doesn’t notice, and lazily reaches for the door handle. Her distracted and otherwise compromised state fills Ophelia with confidence. In one swift motion, Ophelia grabs her ponytail and jerks her back, putting a hand over her mouth. She’s forced to lean her weight on Ophelia as her shoes make her lose balance. 

“Don’t make a sound. Just be good.”

A squeak and nothing more comes from her mouth. Not much of a fight is put up by the girl, the alcohol in her body betraying her. It doesn’t take long for Ophelia to secure her in the trunk, arms and legs bound and mouth gagged. Purple rings form around her limbs from the tightness, but Ophelia can’t risk escape. Her soft eyes, now full of fear, stare up at her captor as some form of protest and plea tries to escape her mouth. Ophelia shushes her.

“You’ll be a good daughter, alright? You be a good daughter for him, and it won’t hurt as much. Try to stay away from the carpet.” She closes the trunk and wastes no time climbing into the front and putting the car in drive. No one pays mind to the random car emerging from the alleyway into the road. No one notices the girl’s absence from outside the bar. No one cares when the cab arrives, takes a look around, and just decides to leave.

Ophelia looks at the time. The master should be home soon, if not already. This should keep him occupied for a while, at least until the cycle repeats come the next day. She goes over a mental list of all her duties she is to accomplish in the morning, including the normal cleaning, cooking, and incinerating. She makes a mental note of the groceries she needs to get, counters that need dusted, and blouses of hers she needs to replace, as well as her current one. As the town fades behind, Ophelia turns up the volume of her classical CD to cover the muffled cries from the trunk, and hums softly.