#chatacter death

He gathered up every item from the house that reminded him of her for an enormous bonfire. The bed frame and mattress from her room, the dishtowels she'd embroidered, the spoon, the chair, even the pants she'd mended for him— he set all of it alight. Bright and cheery, the fire crackled, sending sparks and flutters of ash into the night sky, an offering to the stars above. It gave him satisfaction to watch everything burn. He sat and watched until the last bit was gone, poking at the remnants with his rake so as not to leave anything recognizable behind.

Peaceful sleep followed the purge. Life could return to normal now. There was no reason for all not to be as it was. It would be as if Belle never existed.

After a week of keeping to himself (Cora had advised him to keep a low profile to let people forget about the incident) and working around the house, he decided to visit the tavern. It was time to rejoin the community. He slammed the door open in his usual manner to alert everyone to his presence. The men usually greeted him with enthusiasm, asking him to play darts and inviting him to join them for drinks, pulling out chairs to have him sit at their table.

Nothing happened. Didn't they notice him? He cleared his throat. The loud noise attracted some attention, but all he received were a few muttered hellos. He ordered a mug of ale, scowling as he surveyed the room. No one came to sit with him. After his fifth drink, he decided he'd had enough of being ignored. He threw some money down on the bar, kicked a chair, and stalked out.

He almost ran into Regina who was arriving with that man who fancied himself an archer, Robin... something. They hadn't yet been officially introduced, but Gaston knew he wouldn't like him.

“Aren't you going to present me to your friend, Regina?” His large frame blocked them from making their way into the tavern. He would not let her snub him like everyone else.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, a move he wouldn't have tolerated from anyone other than his cousin. “Robin, my cousin Gaston. Gaston, Robin. Happy now?”

He shook Robin's hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He gripped it hard, waiting for the other man to grimace in pain and let go. The opposite happened. Robin's smile grew as he squeezed back. The two men faced each other, neither backing down, and their handshake turned into what looked like an arm-wrestling contest without the table.

“That's enough, you two.” Regina pushed herself between them and forced them to let go. “How childish,” she scolded.

But she was making eyes at Robin like he was something special. Gaston could not understand what had come over his cousin, mooning over lion tattooed riff-raff in public. She should be embarrassed, not beaming with pride.

“Would you like to join us?” Robin asked.

“No, thank you. I need to get home.” He'd rather cut his own finger off.

“Next time, then.”

Gaston stepped aside, and the pair chose a table and sat down. Everyone greeted them and Regina beamed. Her whole face lit up. She was happy. Gaston had never seen her like that before. For a moment, he realized this was what he could have had if he'd made different choices. He squashed the thought. No looking back, only forward.

She couldn't really be happy, he decided as he walked home. Aunt Cora, holding on to hope for an advantageous match for her daughter, threatened to throw Regina out if she didn’t stop associating with Robin. After an ugly, public argument, Regina told her she’d save her the trouble and leave. Cora had responded by tossing her belongings into the street. She was now living in a tiny room that the Nolan family rented out.

That night he had a dream about the morning he'd spent in the crawlspace under Gold's house, listening to the sounds of passion above him. To his horror, the cracks in the floor widened until Gold and Belle were right in front of him, naked and pleasuring each other. Breathy moans and panting rang in his head. The smell of sex permeated the air, choking him. He shut his eyes and covered his ears, but he could still hear and see them.

The nightmare ended when it got to the part where a button fell through a knothole in the floor, just as it had in reality. He jerked awake, sitting up in bed. The button. He'd forgotten all about it. Some piece of Belle still remained here in New Zealand. Tomorrow he would retrieve it and smash it to powder. Then it would all be over. He fluffed up his pillow and settled back into bed, asleep in minutes.

Gaston woke at dawn. There was a strange electricity in the air. He dismissed it as a remnant of his nightmare, but the feeling did not dissipate as he dressed. As he pondered his plan, he decided he was not being superstitious. He became convinced that the only way for his life to return to normal was a total removal of any trace of Belle. A quick search of the house confirmed he had overlooked nothing, not one ribbon or scrap of fabric.

He was tempted to skip the morning chores in his hurry to get on with his mission, but agitated noises coming from the barn stopped him. The cow looked fine, although it was mooing with impatience to get out. Her milk didn't even come close to filling the bucket, then she almost knocked him over in her rush to exit the barn. Stupid cow.

His horse was whinnying, the whites of its eyes showing as it tossed its head in agitation. Concerned there might be something wrong with the animal, he opened the stall. The stallion dashed out, galloping through the unfastened barn doors and jumping the fence. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. Had the whole world gone crazy?

Outside, the cow was lying down instead of grazing on the sparse grass. Gaston checked the sky for rain, but it was blue, not a cloud in sight. Strange. Well, it didn't matter how odd this morning was turning out. He had a button waiting for him to destroy it.

There was a heaviness in the air, increasing as he walked the path to Gold's cottage. He kept looking up, expecting to see ominous clouds. The sky visible through the canopy of trees was still clear, and the sun shone sending beams of warm light down in front of him.

The beauty of the day was at odds with the surrounding activity. Birds screamed as they flapped overhead, all flying in the same direction as if to escape an unseen predator. A lizard dashed across the trail, almost running up his leg in its rush through the underbrush. He even saw a kiwi bird. They were never out during the day.

The strangeness of the morning had worn Gaston's nerves, and he approached Gold's empty house with caution. His instincts told him not to go into the crawlspace. He wanted to turn around and go home. “Don't be a coward,” he told himself. Hearing his own confident voice helped him brush the fear aside as irrational.

He knelt down and peered under the porch. Nothing appeared amiss. The crawlspace was a tight fit, but he'd managed it before. Although the previous time the goings-on in the house distracted him.

Gaston crawled through the dirt, brushing cobwebs out of his way. He recognized the knothole where he'd listened to the sounds of sex above. There was no sign of the button in the dim light. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a box of matches.

The heat and stillness were oppressive, and he noted that the raucous screaming of the birds had stopped. Ignoring the tenseness in the back of his neck, he struck a match.

There it was! It glinted in the faint light just a bit ahead from where he lay. As he wriggled toward it, the ground seemed to… ripple. He lunged forward, grabbed the button, then froze. He didn't even feel the match flame burn the tips of his fingers. The rippling continued and intensified. An earthquake.

In his panic to get out from under the house, Gaston tried to sit up and turn around. He only succeeded in banging his head, hard, on the floor beam above him. Dots danced before his eyes and there was a ringing in his ears. He shook his head to clear it as the trembling strengthened.

Blood ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. He wiped at it, now registering the pain in his blistered fingers. Dust filtered down through the air as the building groaned and swayed.

He slithered back as fast as he could. The entire world shook and rumbled, and the timbers of the cottage splintered and cracked above him. The house collapsed as the ground heaved.

Gaston cried out at the intense pressure. It was like being squeezed in a giant's fist. His ribs snapped like twigs, puncturing his lungs and filling them with blood. He couldn't breathe. Organs ruptured, then he felt nothing as the structure crushed him. Only one booted foot stuck out from beneath the ruin of the cottage.

Under the rubble, his hand clenched the button he so wanted to be rid of, tying the reminder of Belle to him in death.