Jane V Bertha

Jane fell asleep, her head nestled gently on her husband’s chest, and soon she was dead to the world and dreaming.

She found herself in a prim, sweet smelling garden, flowers of all kind clearly visible, and birds flapping past in the air.

As she watched the birds, she noticed a parrot sitting on the bench opposite her, across a small pathway, and it seemed to be staring at her.

Curious with the visitor, she reached across to see if she could touch it, but as she did the parrot suddenly disappeared, and in it’s place sat Bertha, her husbands ex wife.

Her black, burnt skin from the fire was clearly visible, a haunting memory from the dreadful day the house burnt down. White scars illuminated her black charcoal face. She was a horribly burnt old woman, haggard and hunched over, but her head and eyes deadly transfixed on Jane's face.

“Hello, Jane, how are you doing with my man”, Betha said casually, almost gleefully, as if any jealously had been lost but only petty bicker remained.

“He’s my man now”, Jane shot back, angry at the implication that she was somehow cheating Bertha out of a marriage.

“No, no, no, he will always be my man, Jane. You may have youth and looks on your side, but he was my husband for a longer time than you have been with him”. She leant forward on her perch, her black pupils pulsing like a heart, striking a sense of fear into the inner core of Jane.

“What are you are implying? That there is some sort of impropriety going on between us?”, she replied.

“You died, he was scarred badly, and now we are in love”. Jane also leant forward so that their two heads were only a foot or so apart from each other.

The stench of burnt flesh and smell of charred wood hung deadly in the air like a poison, as were the birds mid flap, stationary in the sky.

“Ah, but Jane my dear, looks do fade, and the brain that feeds the mouth with clever ideas to converse with your spouse do too.” Bertha crowed, the biscuit crumbs of what remained of her teeth biting into her lips.

“Nothing can be taken for granted in this life. It is too precarious to be carefree. You do mightily seem ignorant of any future perils that might await you.“ Bertha leant further towards Jane, so that their two heads were almost now touching.

“Do you think I thought I was going to end up locked away in the attic when I was young and in love with your new husband?”.

Bertha’s eyes continued to pulse, and in time, it seemed each pulse entwined with Janes own heartbeat.

Synchronicity was in play here and they seemed to be communicating without words. However, words must be said. Jane could not take this abuse sitting lightly.

“How dare you Bertha! You have left this mortal world. For why you were in the attic I do not know, but I will broach this subject with Mr Rochester no doubt. The time must be right though. For I do not know, or dare care too yet, about the reasons why for your solitude and loneliness in that place."

"Do you not think I too dread ending up being locked away like you, in such a prison, of both mind and matter?” She cried, a tear running down her angry cheek.

“Good, then you will ask him then, agreed?”, Jane slowly nodded her head, and as the unsaid contract was signed, Bertha suddenly vanished into a cloud of ash, slowly sprinkling like rain to the ground, and then Jane awoke.

She was cold and shaking, shivering in sweat. Dripping continuously into a pool into the dip of her husband’s chest.

Jane rolled off Mr Rochester and curled up into a tiny childlike ball on the side of the bed.

She thought of her marish dream, and wondered when she would dare risk her new marriage by broaching the truth about Bertha’s predicament to her new love.

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