The Triangle
Emma writhed in her sleep, sheets twisted around her legs, sweat dripping off her nose, and yet she shivered with each breeze from the open window.
In her dreams, there was darkness.
She stood in the only pool of light, staring into the abyss. She was waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. There was a sound behind her, and she spun around to see another pool of light had appeared, about four feet away from her.
Standing in it, looking healthy, and very much alive, was Graham.
His eyes were tight, his mouth worried. He clutched an old fashioned hunting knife in one hand, and when she looked to see where his other hand was, she was surprised to see a wolf standing next to him. The wolf looked at her with uncanny, un-animal eyes, as if he disapproved of her. He seemed to take no notice of Graham’s white knuckled grip on his ruff.
Something (someone?) moved in the darkness behind Graham, but she couldn’t make it out. She tried to talk to Graham, to call out to him, but she couldn’t make the words come. Instead she stared at him, wanting to reach out and touch him, but unable to move. He was looking at her the way he had that last day of his life, desperate, as if she held all of the answers to his questions, but was refusing him. The intensity frightened her, and when she heard another sound, she turned away from him.
A second pool of light had appeared, this time holding August Booth. Unlike Graham’s desperation, his face was calm, with an easy smile, and twinkling eyes. He held Henry’s storybook, one hand caressing the spine unconsciously. She tried to ask him what was going on, what was happening (why did he always seem to have the answers?), but she choked on the words. Another (smaller) figure moved behind him, and she tried to call out to it. Booth shook his head with a smile, and tipped his head to something behind her.
She turned, and Lawrence was there. There was madness in his eyes as he cut a piece of fabric without looking at it, eyes locked on her. His lips were moving, and she knew what he was saying, even if she couldn’t hear it.
Make it work. Make it work. Make it work.
The indistinct figure behind him only made his appearance more terrifying, and when she heard a gentle rustle behind her, she turned back to Graham gratefully.
The light was brighter, allowing her to make out the figure behind him. Mary Margaret stood there, clothed in a long white dress, curly hair reaching her waist, and that gentle smile on her face. She stepped forward, and put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. With her other hand, she pointed to Booth.
Emma spun, and next to Booth stood Henry, school backpack on, and impish grin on his face. Booth had a hand on Henry’s hair, and both looked happy to see her. Together, they opened the book, and held it up for her to see. It was the pages she had burned, the ones telling about Snow White and Charming’s baby, the savior of the fairytale world.
She wanted to scream at them, but couldn’t bring herself to try, fearful of doing anything that would take that wonderful smile of Henry’s face, so she ripped herself away from her son, turning back to the madman, wondering who would be with him.
She was shocked to see David, a man she had barely spoken to. He was dressed in a hospital gown, IV trailing away, but the grip on his broadsword was strong. He looked different than she had ever seen him - strong and confidant. She wondered why. Lawrence glanced behind himself briefly, then seemed to dismiss David (and his sword) as unimportant.
Around and around she spun, starting at each figure in turn, trying to decipher what they were trying to tell her. Smiles, questions, desperation, the expressions slowly became indistinct as she moved faster, faces blurring into each other, until Mary Margaret was making a hat, and Henry was holding a sword, and Booth was standing next to a wolf, and then it was too mixed up for her to see anything at all, and finally her throat opened and she cried out.
The sound woke her, and she lay in bed for a few minutes, panting, the dream slowly fading away until she couldn’t remember anything but the darkness, and the sense of expectation, of people depending on her. It was suffocating, and she through off the covers, and went to fix herself a cup of coffee.
In her dreams, there was darkness.
She stood in the only pool of light, staring into the abyss. She was waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. There was a sound behind her, and she spun around to see another pool of light had appeared, about four feet away from her.
Standing in it, looking healthy, and very much alive, was Graham.
His eyes were tight, his mouth worried. He clutched an old fashioned hunting knife in one hand, and when she looked to see where his other hand was, she was surprised to see a wolf standing next to him. The wolf looked at her with uncanny, un-animal eyes, as if he disapproved of her. He seemed to take no notice of Graham’s white knuckled grip on his ruff.
Something (someone?) moved in the darkness behind Graham, but she couldn’t make it out. She tried to talk to Graham, to call out to him, but she couldn’t make the words come. Instead she stared at him, wanting to reach out and touch him, but unable to move. He was looking at her the way he had that last day of his life, desperate, as if she held all of the answers to his questions, but was refusing him. The intensity frightened her, and when she heard another sound, she turned away from him.
A second pool of light had appeared, this time holding August Booth. Unlike Graham’s desperation, his face was calm, with an easy smile, and twinkling eyes. He held Henry’s storybook, one hand caressing the spine unconsciously. She tried to ask him what was going on, what was happening (why did he always seem to have the answers?), but she choked on the words. Another (smaller) figure moved behind him, and she tried to call out to it. Booth shook his head with a smile, and tipped his head to something behind her.
She turned, and Lawrence was there. There was madness in his eyes as he cut a piece of fabric without looking at it, eyes locked on her. His lips were moving, and she knew what he was saying, even if she couldn’t hear it.
Make it work. Make it work. Make it work.
The indistinct figure behind him only made his appearance more terrifying, and when she heard a gentle rustle behind her, she turned back to Graham gratefully.
The light was brighter, allowing her to make out the figure behind him. Mary Margaret stood there, clothed in a long white dress, curly hair reaching her waist, and that gentle smile on her face. She stepped forward, and put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. With her other hand, she pointed to Booth.
Emma spun, and next to Booth stood Henry, school backpack on, and impish grin on his face. Booth had a hand on Henry’s hair, and both looked happy to see her. Together, they opened the book, and held it up for her to see. It was the pages she had burned, the ones telling about Snow White and Charming’s baby, the savior of the fairytale world.
She wanted to scream at them, but couldn’t bring herself to try, fearful of doing anything that would take that wonderful smile of Henry’s face, so she ripped herself away from her son, turning back to the madman, wondering who would be with him.
She was shocked to see David, a man she had barely spoken to. He was dressed in a hospital gown, IV trailing away, but the grip on his broadsword was strong. He looked different than she had ever seen him - strong and confidant. She wondered why. Lawrence glanced behind himself briefly, then seemed to dismiss David (and his sword) as unimportant.
Around and around she spun, starting at each figure in turn, trying to decipher what they were trying to tell her. Smiles, questions, desperation, the expressions slowly became indistinct as she moved faster, faces blurring into each other, until Mary Margaret was making a hat, and Henry was holding a sword, and Booth was standing next to a wolf, and then it was too mixed up for her to see anything at all, and finally her throat opened and she cried out.
The sound woke her, and she lay in bed for a few minutes, panting, the dream slowly fading away until she couldn’t remember anything but the darkness, and the sense of expectation, of people depending on her. It was suffocating, and she through off the covers, and went to fix herself a cup of coffee.