Chapter 24: Chapter 24 – A very slow romance and a madwoman

A building no more than three floors tall loomed before him.

It was, to be specific, the largest inn in Snodland that received a clientele. But one shouldn´t be impressed by its size, for both inside and outside it did not differ much from the rest of the shops on the main street. There was nothing special about that place of lodging, although Oscar would be lying if he said that it never ceased to surprise him to be there. And it is that, if a few months before they had told him he would go to an inn to see a woman, and that said woman was going to be the same writer with whom he had an altercation in the past, he wouldn´t have believed it.

Well, not only would he not have believed it, but he´d have rejected the invitation to begin with. Despite the fact that on his blog, because of how in his criticisms he didn´t sweeten his words at all, it seemed that he was inciting a conflict, he never intended to get into face-to-face confrontations.

If an author disagreed with something he had said, he was happy to discuss it by private message. He preferred to do so for two reasons. The first because, making it a private discussion, there would be no occasion for readers to get where they were not called. And second, because he was quite clear that if a writer - like the one in "My Impure Obsession" - invited him to have a coffee, shortly after he had made an unfavorable criticism, the disastrous result would be imminent.

The only reason he made an exception that day was because the two had a common interest. So, wondering if there would be a police station nearby in case things got ugly, Oscar entered the inn and went up to a room where someone was already waiting for him.

Once there, Dianne received him with the hospitality expected of a hostess like her.

"Sit around and don't touch anything" she had said. “Do you a drink? If you want something, ask the service yourself. They have a restaurant downstairs and surely be delighted to have you as a customer… As long as you pay for your drink, of course. Because I invited you to speak, not to charge your whims to my account.”

As if he was already used to hostilities, Oscar didn't flinch. A not-too-comfortable-looking chair had been pointed out to him, but he went to a sofa occupied by a closed suitcase. He pushed it away, setting it to the side of the cabinet, and sat down in its place.

"I thought you lived in another village about six or seven miles from here," he commented with absolute normality, as if the first thing he had done when entering someone else's property was not to break every one of the rules imposed.

"I was," she replied, stopping to look at her guest as if he were a wanted criminal. “But when I realized I had transmigrated to my precious work, decided that it would not be convenient for me to stay so far from my protagonists. That's why I used the money from my character's parents to let me stay here temporarily. Not long ago I arrived at the inn, actually, it was only two weeks ago. I was looking for a governess job in the area when I got an invitation from Patrick, so it was like, ‘This is my chance!’ I had already planned to visit Rose Cottage, but as a result I thought again and thought it would be more epic if I appeared before Madeleine during the fair.”

"Oh, I'm sure she was dying to see you," Oscar sneered.

"Isn't it true? I think so too, because when I found her…” The author stopped here. “Wait, are you talking about Dianne or me, as the author?”

“Don´t know, you tell me.”

“Well, let's stop joking and admiring characters who deserve our affection. And no, don't look at me like that, I already know you couldn't love even the most virtuous character in this story.” Taking a seat in an armchair opposite Oscar, she began to say with astonishing seriousness. “Let's start by establishing how we end up here.”

Having no objection, Oscar decided to comment on what had happened to him:

"In my case, it was on a stormy night at the end of August. I had passed some important exams, so decided to celebrate with some liquor. Sneaking out from my relatives, I grabbed a bottle of gin from the pantry and took it to my attic room. I drank a little, watched a couple of movies, and fell asleep late at night. The next thing I remember is waking up here in the Cornell´s stable.”

"I see, so you came here because you were drunk," Dianne mused.

And it is that this woman when she calmed down seemed to have an even sharper tongue than she did when being in a state of pure anxiety.

"I didn't drink enough to get drunk. Although alcoholic beverages are to my liking, I have never been a big fan of this practice of drinking until I lose consciousness, even less when staying at my relatives.”

"I understand, you didn't want them to see you in your deplorable state of repressed drunk. It's understandable.” Without giving him a chance to react to the affront, she added sympathetically. “That must have been why you transmigrated, but don't worry, you shouldn't feel bad about it. There are far more stupid ways to die, I guarantee that.”

"In the case of such a virtuous author like you, how was it?" He asked, realizing that denying something that hadn't happened to that girl was the same as arguing against a wall…, although with the addition that she could return every blow from him.

If Oscar had gotten drunk, the memories would be much more blurred than they were. And, although it was true that he didn´t manage to return the bottle of gin to his place, he was convinced the reason was because he had been trapped while he was trying to watch some seedy movie at dawn.

"I… I wasn't filling myself with alcohol to celebrate the limited progress in my academic life, like others," Dianne began. “No. Mine happened at the beginning of December, also during one night. I was in front of my computer, beginning to write an extra chapter that my wonderful readers had asked me and which I had promised to upload the next day. Time had caught up with me and I realized I´d need to stay up to finish the chapter on time. Well then! I must have fallen asleep on the keyboard at some point, because when I woke up I was at the Warren´s house.”

"What was the weather like that day?"

“Oh? You think maybe lightning struck nearby and that's what caused it all. But I already tell you that it can't be. That night the sky was clear.”

"I understand," Oscar said thoughtfully, imitating the tone used earlier by the author, "you must have transmigrated for being lazy. Either that or… In that extra chapter there were erotic scenes? Maybe your computer, fed up with putting up with you writing so many nonsense one after another, got tired of you and decided to collapse on its own, sending you to the novel you adore so much, so that you could see what he had to suffer being the bearer of your delusions.”

"I had a cup of hot chocolate next to me," Dianne murmured, not listening to what didn't suit her, "maybe I threw it on the computer when I fell asleep. Although I don´t remember having the feeling that I was burning, or being sore from something. Did you…?”

“Nothing at all. But does it matter now?”

"Don't you want to find a way out?"

“It doesn´t matter to me. It may sound strange to you, but it's not that I don't want to go out, it's that I don't see the need to spend energy on this issue. Most likely we are dead. If that's the case, where do you want to go out? There may be nothing left for us. And if that's not the case then... I don't know, was it really worth it to be where you were? Oh right, you had your entourage of female fans. It must be hard not being able to contact them from here.”

"Surely you must have led a miserable life to think like that!"

"But, ladyheathcliff04, I thought you loved your novel! How is it possible that I want to stay while you want to escape? Could it be that in these weeks you have lived, in the first person, the plot holes I had pointed out?” Seeing the other did not respond, he continued. “Not that I had a bad life. In fact, it was excellent compared to the misery I have encountered here. But I am one of those who consider that it´s not worth fighting for a goal that isn´t even certain to be achieved, especially if there are no allies or guarantees of success. So I thought: ‘Since I'm here, I'm going to try to live as well as possible and forget about the rest.’"

Dianne stared at him for a moment. She seemed to want to reproach him for his lack of heart, since he himself had confessed to being determined to leave his old life behind if the occasion required it, but at the same time he didn´t dare to do so. No matter how cold a person was on the outside, it took a lot of courage to shed his roots like that.

Therefore, in the end she only managed to say:

"You should call me by my real name when we're alone, it's awkward that you're always using my username."

"Right, education first and foremost."

It seemed the author didn´t catch the sarcasm of that reply, because she proceeded to introduce herself as if she had someone in front of whom she was interested in her true identity:

"My real name is Ashley Carpenter. This is also how I sign my books off the web. I've been working with publishers for three years (they, unlike you, do appreciate my writing) and got another five years more of experience uploading my works online. This you should already know, because the distribution of my novels has been done internationally for quite some time. In this country, although it is wrong for me to say so, I am one of the best known and acclaimed authors who started through a writing platform.”

Oscar said nothing to this little monologue. He already knew her real name from before, because after publishing his critic and the insults began to rain on him from her fans, he took the trouble to enter the author's website and blogs, wanting to find out if the aforementioned was as loved and famous as her entourage claimed.

He hadn´t used that appellation before to address her because, what for? Again, he wasn't in the mood for fraternizing too much with people like this and the last thing he wanted was for this smug woman to believe he had been investigating her.

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"I wish I could dedicate myself completely to my writing, but unfortunately, I can't yet," he continued. “So I was working at the decoration company my parents gave me. Which is a bummer because, uh…, I do love everything that has to do with our business. But it is a pain to have to go and return to our chalet on the coast every day, it´s so tiring even if we have our own driver. And I need the time to complete my literary projects!”

Oscar didn´t claim anything here either. He'd been listening without interrupting, but the truth was that he didn't give a shit about all of this. Hence, he did n´t stop Dianne for commenting or even left the slightest sign of astonishment, realizing that, in addition to being a half-famous and published author, he was speaking to a daughter of wealthy entrepreneurs.

“What about you?” She asked at the end, annoyed at the lack of response she was getting.

“Me? What do you wanted to know?”

"What is your name, resentful one!"

"Ah, that... Keep calling me Oscar, when you remember," he replied, smiling; In a world where no one knew him, anything as personal as a name imposed on a previous existence seemed too valuable to let go so lightly. So before the other could complain, since she had revealed hers ruthlessly and would demand the same treatment, he proceeded to say. “Now, putting this whole issue of transmigration aside, do you think I can give you an update on how your perfect plot has gone awry?”

The author wanted to know what the real name of the blog user was, but she was even more interested in knowing what happened in those months of the presence of an intruder in her novel. So she sat down to listen to Oscar's story, without interrupting him with rude comments, stopping him only from time to time to ask a question.

Oscar didn´t leave anything out in his account. He began to tell about his meeting with Uncle Rob in the stable and ended with the last conversation with Madeleine the day before, when the fair was about to end. He didn´t spare the details of his plans, both the facts for Madeleine to get what she wanted and those he did for personal gain. Also talking about his friction with both the protagonist and the villain.

By the time he finished recollecting, the author could not help but exclaim:

"No wonder the romance between Patrick and Madeleine goes so slow, you loaded half a plot with your nonsense!"

"Don't be messing around with that. The way things are right now, the easiest thing to fix is ​​Madeleine's. I'm sure if she tells Patrick the envelope full of ten-pound bills was her thing, he'll run to her side and forget for a little bit any adventure he might been having.” After thinking about it, he added. “Sure, the time spent with her would be pretty short if he found out old Cornell is broke, but who knows. Maybe Madeleine will get him down the aisle sooner. One shouldn´t underestimate the gifts of this type of protagonist.”

"Don't be dismissive! It's not like those two got married for the money. In case you haven't noticed yet, this was originally a romance novel. Do you hear me? Romance! It´s obvious they married for love.”

"For the love of money, yes. If anything, how did Edmund Cornell fix his money shortage problem in the original work? I remember you mentioned he had recovered a good part of his fortune thanks to a few investments that went well, but nobody believes that. The guy wouldn´t risk the few assets he has left and, furthermore, because if he were someone with luck and intelligence for those things, he would have invested long ago. Never getting into this mess”

"How insightful," Dianne said in a whisper, dismissively. “No, it wasn't about the investments. That's the excuse he made to his family. It was actually thanks to an inheritance from a great aunt who passed away with no other relatives.”

"What a cliché!"

"But she didn't leave the money to the Cornells but to Ms. Groves, since she was her niece. The idea was that she, as Edmund's lover, would be the one to lend him the money and help him with the investments to get an even bigger fortune. Now, with your brilliant ideas you managed to scare him away and now he no longer dares to approach his lover. Do you think now she´ll be willing to lend anything? We´re lucky that she hasn't left in search of another job yet!”

Oscar sighed. How the hell was he to know that? That was another of the plot holes that weren´t explained properly!

"Well, we have a problem, because Patrick isn't going to pay the money back and the Cornells don't have money to pay for Theresa´s books, either."

"Sorry, do we? You got yourself into that problem.”

"Although, if Cornell could win Ms. Groves' favor again… No, but that wouldn't ensure that he´s going to help Theresa," Oscar thought aloud. “And actually, Madeleine is to blame for all of this. She is the one who got confused with the envelopes! So she should be the one to pay… Which she won't be able to do until she manages to cajole Patrick.”

“Hey no. It was Theresa's fault, who can she think of entrusting Madeleine with such a task on such an important day? It was evident she wouldn´t be with all her senses on the errand!”

"It's settled, then!" Oscar declared, without listening to the writer. “I'll have to convince Madeleine to get that money back once they're engaged. I will appeal to the friendship that unites us and to all the favors she already owe me.”

Dianne giggled skeptically, as if she didn't believe anything. But she didn't contradict him either. All she did was warn him:

"Whatever you do, I would hurry. I don't think Albert Northrop will be very happy if he finds out that the same guy who was playing with his feelings and then rejecting him mercilessly has managed to lose the money that he so kindly lent him.”

"Nonsense, neither I rejected him nor vice versa. We already clarified it was just a misunderstanding and left, each on his own path, without grudges. As for the money, he would understand. And if he doesn't understand, it's the same! Don't think I'm going to put my trust in Madeleine, I'll tell her to make an effort with Patrick and tell him about the envelope with the money. But, just in case, I will find another job to be able to collect the money on my own.”

"You say Albert wouldn't take it the wrong way, but they are already commenting around he wants to challenge you to a duel."

"What? What about a duel?"

Dianne shrugged.

“Yesterday he was talking with herself at the fair, late in the afternoon. Actually, it seemed a bit early to me for the villain to decide he wants to split your head in half, but when I saw Albert in passing I thought: ‘Maybe this will happen earlier than planned.’ Because the aforementioned was crestfallen, his eyes lost and his face red with anger. I don't even think he heard me when I greeted him.”

Knowing this, Oscar had a bad feeling. It was Sunday, so after meeting the writer, the first thing he had planned to do was make his usual visit to the Northrop. Now, after this revelation, the plan didn´t seem so appealing.

Although, again, the villain wouldn´t be so unreasonable as to propose a duel to the death less than twenty-four hours after telling him he would accept his friendship. Oscar decided to hold on to that fine thread of trust transmitted to him by one of the few characters who had not behaved unfairly with him while saying:

"There's one thing I've wanted to ask you for a while, precisely about the villain. And it is, why did he murder my character?”

"I-isn't it obvious? It was in a fit of anger, I thought you had read my novel paying attention to details.”

"I did, but Oscar's death scene was never explained in detail. He was simply found with the shattered skull in the same room as the villain. Who, apart from the fact that he also had his clothes stained with blood, confessed the murder”

"There you have it then."

"But that doesn't add up to me! I don't recall reading a single scene where Albert even raised his voice in excess of anger. What motive could he have for doing that to a servant who wasn't even his? Because in the original story they barely interacted... And well, that's not to mention that, knowing him in person, he doesn't seem like the type to kill on impulse either.”

"Are you a criminologist now?" The author herself crossed her arms, adopting a defensive position that made Oscar think that not even herself had a fucking idea of what she had written. “You just focus on not making him mad!”

True, that would do. Aside from getting the money back, Oscar's other priority was finding out if the other was capable of killing. And, if so, under what conditions. 

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