Chapter 48
Anneliese had learnt what a chain reaction was when she was a child. Her mother had described it as actions that resulted in consequences - something about how the earth all spun around and those who dwelled on it were interconnected.
"Ana, my sweet," She would whisper as the moonlight sunk into her room, illuminating all the sharp edges of oak dressers in her childhood room. "Do you remember when Herbert stole Oskar's favourite blazer?"
She did. It was hard to forget really, even when her young mind was busy learning new sowing stitches and the names of aristocrats from Southern Austria - specifically the Von Puchberg family. At the age of nine, Anneliese was expected to know what her future was: a wife, a mother, and a decoration for whichever Von Puchberg son her Uncle selected for her.
But it was moments like this that she was reminded she was still a child. A child who used to gaze up at her mother and see the world in her eyes. The same dark eyes as her own, yet, when her mother stokes her hair gently, there is an unfocused glaze to it. Often, she believed her mother to be lost in thought when she tucked her into bed. Her eyes would become wide and black, and a hint of curiosity and fear seemed to plague them - but only then. Anneliese's mother guarded her emotions much better than she could, much better than anyone she has ever met... and Anneliese has met plenty of powerful men in her short life.
Then words would be muttered from her lips that made no sense to her as a child, often confused about how the story her mother was telling her had anything to do with the folklore book she had selected for her to read. This time was no exception.
"Herbert was sick for a long time," Anneliese had supplemented after a moment of silence. Her eyebrows had knitted together, trying to figure out what exactly her mother was getting at, "and didn't Oskar end up getting to go with Uncle to his research facility ?"
Her mother nodded, her fingers still tangling in Anneliese's hair.
"That's right," she hummed, "Herbert was only sick because Oskar trapped him inside the broken hut we tell you not to enter. He was missing for more than a day, and much to his displeasure - it had snowed."
It had happened the same day Anneliese was forced into a penmanship test, a silly thing really. Her cousins had not been forced into these types of classes; instead, she would watch them from afar as they practised fencing or the occasional shotgun aiming. But that day she hadn't seen either outside the arched window of the small room that her Uncles had fashioned into a classroom for her. She did hear, however, maids and staff yelling out Oskar's name.
By lunchtime, or after her test, everyone was trying to find her tall cousin - by no means as tall as Oskar, but much taller than Anneliese. He had inherited the Schmidt hair and eyes, with the only differentiation between him and Oskar being his square-like face. He had, unfortunately, taken to liking leather fashion like her Uncle. Anneliese had never been so thankful that Oskar wouldn't be caught dead in leather. Regardless, Herbert had always been the loudest of the three, with Anneliese remembering saying that he could talk enough to drive a sane man crazy.
Yet, his absence wasn't noticed until the maids noticed that none of them had complained about his loud shouting as he attempted to flirt his way into one of their beds. It left the household in uproar. One of the few times Anneliese had ever seen her Uncle visibly upset was when a full twelve hours passed and no one had found him.
"Uncle made Oskar look after me," Anneliese slowly recounted, "He tried getting me to practice my penmanship, not like his handwriting is spectacular..."
Looking up at her mother, she was met with her radiate smile.
"They found him eventually and your father believed that Oskar was likely to be disowned," Anneliese took in a sharp breath as her mother spoke. Even she knew that members of the family had been disowned for much less.
But Oskar hadn't been disowned, in fact, the reverse nearly happened. When Herbert was found shivering, bloodied, and tear-stained - he was torn to shreds. Oskar had tried to block the window from her, trying to make sure she didn't watch her Uncle unbuckle his belt and lash Herbert's frostbitten back in the garden for everyone to see.
There had been a lash for every hour he was missing.
Crack. Anneliese's face had turned into stone as her eyes were glued on Herbert.
Crack. He was crying. She had never seen Herbert cry before.
Crack. Oskar tried to pick her up, muttering something about how she shouldn't be seeing any of this.
Crack. A glint of red could be seen on the silver buckle of her Uncle's belt.
Crack. There was a longer pause between each lash.
Crack. Oskar moved away from the window and she could see it all now.
Crack. The white snow was drenched in blood now.
Crack. Anneliese would've lost count if Oskar hadn't raised eight fingers.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Then a pause. She didn't breathe. Anneliese was willing to bet that no one on the estate breathed.
Herbert had only received eleven lashes - he was missing another four.
"Eleven?", Anneliese whispered, not removing her eyes away from Herbert's crumpled mess.
CRACK. She flinched away, nearly tripping over her desk.
CRACK. The lashes were louder now.
CRACK. Anneliese turned away, her eyes wide.
She watched as her Uncle moved towards Herbert, leaning over to whisper. She didn't need to know what he was whispering as she felt Oskar's lips near her ear.
"Schmidt's are not weak" he drawled lowly, "Cry again boy and you will learn what real tears are."
Anneliese shivered. Having been on the receiving end of that very statement, she knew that her Uncle always kept his promise. It was another curse of being a Schmidt, or at least that was what Oskar had told her when he came back from boarding school. No matter how long it takes to fulfil the promise - Schmidts always do.
Blinking rapidly, Anneliese was brought back to her childhood room - her mother's eyes focused with her eyebrows knitted, as if she was trying to study what was running through her mind. As a child, Anneliese hadn't fully understood that look, but now? She knew her mother had to be studying her. To see if she inherited the Schmidt morality.
"Herbert stopped talking to Oskar after the incident and many more vicious fights followed," her mother whispered, a knowing look sent towards Anneliese. She flushed in embarrassment as she had been both a witness and a player in many of their fights. "To now, where we find the Schmidt name falling onto your shoulders. Oskar, the heir, with no intention of marrying and to follow Johann into science. The spare, Herbert, fathering illegitimate children from lowly maids and keeping himself busy with his silly military talk."
Anneliese giggled as her mother's nose turned up in disgust at the mention of the military. She often did it: when she was reading the news, discussing politics with her Uncles, and whenever Herbert strolled around the estate in only his military uniform and badges brought by her Uncle.
Her mother stood up, her face rigid as she spoke:
"You are the last hope this family has and Johann knows it. An arrangement with the Von Puchberg is a terrible match: low rank, little money to their name, but they are influential. You my dear have become a pawn in a game far bigger than you can ever understand."
A yawn left her mouth as she rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to stay awake - to listen to her mother. But she was only nine and when her mother's tone turned stale and cold, she tried her bed to ignore her. It reminded her of her Uncle when she was trapped in a room of shattered glass and knives. Cameras flashing. Oskar following Johann. Her skin was shredded into pieces of red ribbon. This was not her voice, Anneliese concluded, it was the weight of being a Schmidt.
Staring back up at her mother, she watched as her face contorted. The tight slick back bun began to fall out in clumps - the hairline receding into a 'w' shape. She grew taller with broader shoulders. Spiders made of leather wrapped around her mother's nightgown, ripping it apart and leaving a trail of white stitches. Anneliese couldn't speak, she was paralysed.
She wanted to scream when her mother's stance changed.
No longer was it delicate but commanding. Both hands folded behind her back as her mother slowly transformed into something much rougher. Eyebrows thicker, moonlight gleaming off eyes a shade darker, and then the medals appeared on the breast of a being that was certainly not her mother.
"We meet again Anneliese Lorenz."
Johann was standing in front of her. He was standing at the end of a bed that was far too big for her childhood bedroom. His eyes remained on her and then slowly drifted towards the warm body next to her. Anneliese's eyes were growing wider by the second.
He couldn't be here.
It was a dream.
She was having a dream about her mother. This has to be a nightmare-
"-Or should I say, Ms Stark."
The floorboards creaked as he took a step forward and Anneliese was breathing heavily now. She had to be trapped in a dream, she almost wished she was stuck in her mind right now - like her mother when she was a child. She couldn't move - her fingers frozen.
She felt Howard stir and press himself closer to Anneliese's side. His chest is unclothed and warm against the satin of her nightgown. Only when he nuzzles closer towards her does Anneliese finally speak.
"Why are you here," she breathlessly says, terrified that she might wake Howard.
Johann stares at him as if Howard is a complex problem for him to solve. She can see the way his mind ticks as his gaze drifts to where the blanket only covers half of his torso - leaving most of his chest open to the cold air. She can feel his eyes move from Howard's arm wrapped around her waist - his face in the nook of her neck. Her face heats up as he finally meets her eyes with a raised brow.
"I didn't expect you to stay at your father's home after you married," he states, no hint of emotion in his voice, "All this publicity made it almost too easy to find."
Anneliese knew the consequences from the first night she took Howard back to her father's home to create a scandal. Her address had been blasted across radios, and newspapers, and gossiped from one wife to the next. Then there was the second scandal, the third, and so many others that all made the front cover of the New York Times every time.
But she had thought she would be safe anyway. Whether it was her naivety or belief that Johann would never leave the European continent, she believed she had outsmarted him. Tonight was her last night in her father's home. The final constructions were nearly completed after four days of work: painting, replacing the floorboards of the front porch, and oiling the squeaks from the oak doors.
Yet here he was. In her childhood room, her American childhood room.
"It's home," Anneliese replies after a heavy pause.
Johann pulls out two roses, a red one and a white one, from behind his back and places them in a glass of water Howard was drinking before he went to bed. Anneliese's breath hitched as Johann turned back to face her, his lips curled as he spoke.
"Germany is your home," he paused before emphasising each vowel. "I am your home."
Howard shifts again and Anneliese watches as his eyes dart straight back to him.
"Whether you like it or not, you are just as much as a Schmidt as I am-"
"-I am not", Anneliese hissed.
With his eyes still trained on Howard, he picks up the photograph from her desk. She knew which one it was. She was younger in that picture. Her parents had looked happier but to the stranger, they looked stoic and stiff. A small pet bed is in the background and Anneliese knew her Jenna was somewhere hiding in her bedroom when the photo was taken.
Johann walks swiftly towards her. Each large step grows louder by the second and it isn't until he is mere inches away that Anneliese manages the courage to move. She shutters towards Howard - their body impossibly close. Howard's arm wraps tighter around her waist instinctively. He's warm and had it been any other man in front of her staring at her in the middle of the night, she would feel safe knowing Howard was nearby.
But she feels anything but safe, especially as Johann's hand reaches down to tilt her chin up - stretching her neck until a small involuntary whimper leaves her throat. His grip is bruising. She can feel his finger dig into her skin finding her bone. Anneliese stops breathing.
Alarms begin to grow rampant as his other hand slowly encloses around her neck and constricts her breathing slightly. Her eyes have grown even wider as he hovers over her, both hands wrapped around her neck. His thumb presses against her windpipe and short ugly gasps fall out of her mouth.
"Let this be a warning," he began as his grip grew tighter. Anneliese was gasping rapidly now for breath. Her fingers clawed into Johann's hand and drew blood. She can smell the distinct metallic scent of it and the aroma from the roses has her mind spiralling.
She was failing and she was certain Howard was going to find her dead when he wakes in the morning.
One of Johann's hands let go of her neck and Anneliese sharply gasped - fighting for whatever air she could. Busy with trying to breathe, she hadn't realised he had reached for an item in his pocket before it was too late.
Two seconds later and a bullet cried out from within the room. Johann had let go of her throat as her heart seized at the blood soaking the white blanket. Blood that was not her own.
Howard's eyes fluttered open, his golden eyes ridden with fear before they dulled into lifelessness.
"A warning."
Anneliese wakes up to Howard shaking her. She's disoriented, confused, and gasping for air. Her hands reach out for her throat as she feels the ghost of Johann's fingers wrapped around her neck. She's scratching at it, trying to peel away the feeling of his hands on her skin. Then she notices her screaming and Howard's worried eyes.
His worried eyes.
He was alive.
Yet her heart was racing and she couldn't breathe. Her eyes were twitching and her head was jerking around the room trying to seek out Johann in the shadows. To find the monster that seemed to haunt her no matter how far she hides. A monster that seemed to stop at nothing to ensure she could not live a life that wasn't designed by him.
"Love," Howard says, or maybe he is yelling. She's still yelling. She's yelling his name, Johann's name, she's yelling for her father and then she's yelling for Oskar.
"Ana," he says louder, now she is certain he is yelling.
"Sweetheart," he finally says in a whisper as he forces her head into the nook of his shoulder. He's holding the back of her neck as he whispers her name over and over again. She's crying now, trying to focus on the scent of him. He smells of cinnamon and gunpowder. There were no roses, she could not smell roses and she could not smell the metallic scent of blood. It's just cinnamon and gunpowder - it is just Howard.
Her cries turn into weeps as Howard's other hand rubs her back, keeping her pressed close to him. She's confused and exhausted - still struggling to catch her breath in between her deep, shuddering sobs. She's unsure how long she spends in his embrace, but by the time her throat is raw and her cries are voiceless with tears long dried up, light is sprinkling into the room.
Howard doesn't let go as she rests her chin on his shoulder, her eyes are aflamed as she hiccups.
"You are safe," he whispers softly, "Today is September 26th and you are with me. You are safe, Anneliese, you are okay."
He repeats the same mantra over and over again until Anneliese eventually moves back and comes face to face with him. Howard's hand moves from the back of her neck and gently moves against her neck. Her body jerked away and he quickly moved his hand to where she could see it, a worrisome look flashing past his face.
"Love," he whispered, "I have you."
And she was so terrified for the future where he wouldn't have her. She knew Howard was her weakness and she knew Johann knew this. When she was younger, she had thought his phrase "you will learn what real tears are" was just a reference that the punishment would contain more blood and glass shards. Now, she knew what Oskar meant. She understood why he tried covering Herbert from her.
It was a chain reaction.
For Herbert, he was obsessed with power and pride. The spare, the son only born in case something was to go wrong with Oskar. He was always second to everyone, and Anneliese supposes something snapped in him. He began stealing from Oskar to assert dominance. Flirting with the maids because they had nowhere else to go. He was raised to think he was better than everyone because he carried the Schmidt name. One thing led to another and he stole from Oskar one final time. His punishment was worse than lashes and blood. It was public and it was the end of his pride. He no longer commended the same power he once did within the estate. A chain reaction, almost.
She had let herself fall for a man she knew happily ever after wasn't an option. No matter how much she has tried to stop herself from caring for him, stop herself from loving him. She wasn't able to. She was stuck in a limbo that she knew would cause irreparable damage. To love him made her weak. Johann could hurt her with fire and a pointed knife and it wouldn't nearly be as painful if Howard was hurt. She was weak.
"Schmidt's are not weak", she could hear Oskar drawl in her mind, "Cry again girl and you will learn what real tears are."
Howard calls in to work saying he cannot make it. Grey questions him, making snarky remarks that he was too busy doing 'husband duties' to remember that he has an entire technological empire to be running. He doesn't bother to reply; instead, he watches Anneliese warily on the sofa with a cup of warm Earl Grey tea in her hand.
"Stark?", Grey asked, his tone becoming more serious, "Is everything okay?"
He doesn't reply as he observes the tremble in Anneliese's hand as she lifts the teacup to her lips. She had always held her teacup gently in a dignified way. He had chalked it up to her being a woman originally, that some households were strict on bringing up daughters to being excellent hosts. However, the more he's gotten to know her - he knows the posture of her rigid back and the slight brush of her ring finger against the ceramic teacup that it was a trained action.
"I hope so," Howard replies.
In truth, he wasn't completely sure if she was fine and that terrified him.