2003-4 fic: Shards, parts III and IV
Disclaimer: Fox logos, the LXG trademarks and characters do not belong to me. I make no profit from this venture, the folklore/ghosts stems from Black Hart Storytellers, Auld Reekie's Terror Tour and Meercat Tours.
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Shards
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Chapter Three: Of absence, darkness, death
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He is not alone.
Two feet in front of him is Allan Quatermain, and Sawyer’s heart expands, contracts and aches acutely all in the space of a beat.
He’s standing, looking at him with the same wise, tired smile, holding the Winchester loosely in his right hand.
“How are you, Tom?” He asks and his voice has a strange doubled quality in the blackness.
“I’m-” he begins, but his voice breaks, halts. He is crying silently, tears of happiness and sadness mixed in together.
Quatermain smiles slowly, evenly. He waits, the silence an almost physical presence until Sawyer can speak again.
“I’m good, good, are you- ?”
“Oh yes, fine, still dead,” Allan’s mouth twists into a sardonic little smile, “It would seem the legend of Allan bloody Quatermain has some weight over this side however...”
He looks at Sawyer with dead eyes.
“...I am paying for my sins.”
Sawyer’s face breaks into an exclamation of distress. Quatermain sighs.
“Oh there’s no need to react like that- it breaks the monotony. It can become very tedious here I can assure you.”
“I don’t understand,” exclaims Sawyer, “Sins? There shouldn’t-”
“Oh but there should.” States Quatermain, looking away from Tom into the distance, “Pride, deceit... It’s a long list I didn’t have time to atone for.” He smiles and shoots a sidelong glance at Sawyer, “Didn’t expect to go that way: saving your life.”
Sawyer frowns as the guilt in him expands, pressing on his heart. I let you die, and now I’m falling apart...
“And look what you’ve done, Sawyer; turned away from the team, hidden from the world,” Allan fixes him with that same dead gaze, the eyes almost black. “You run away. I don’t call that honouring my memory...”
Sawyer looks at him, pleading silently, this is not what he needs, and this is not what he wants...
“Tom,” Quatermain begins, “The guilt is perfectly understandable, it was after all your weakness that led to my death-”
Sawyer recoils as if physically hit.
“-but this selfishness...” Quatermain begins moving towards him slowly, and Tom feels the air growing colder. The smile is still bitter, the eyes are dead and it doesn’t look like Allan anymore. He feels an inescapable fear, and a growing conviction that this is all wrong.
“You’re not Quatermain.” He states, voice a whisper in the icy air.
Allan’s face suddenly breaks out into a wide smile, the teeth too white and too sharp. The skin suddenly ripples as if made of water- something beneath it disturbing the calm surface.
“No,” The voice says, and the strange doubled quality is now more emphasised that ever. “No, Sawyer, I’m not,” It leans close to Tom, eyes black as pitch, “but you’re just too delicious to resist.”
Sawyer backs away fast, straight into an invisible wall.
“Time to wake up, Tom” the thing states.
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The screaming is unbelievably loud, a piercing wail. He thinks for a moment he’s back there in the dark amongst the others, all slowly charring to death. But the lights are burning brightly in his cabin and his flesh, although not visible, is still intact.
He scrabbles for some clothes- trousers, coat, and shirt; anything to cover up the vulnerable skin. He runs out the door, slamming it behind him, the screaming breaking down ahead of him in low moans which he runs towards.
Ahead of him Sawyer rounds a corner at a speed which is frightening and the two almost collide.
“Skinner!” He exclaims, and Rodney can see in his eyes the same mixture of fear and relief; at least it isn’t you that’s screaming...
They begin to run together, stretching their legs; the corridor seemingly expanding in front of them with a misty echo, the screaming ahead getting louder. The whole thing has a horrible dream-like quality- the ones where you run and run but cannot get away from the awful thing that’s coming from behind you.
Or in this case the awful thing ahead of you.
A left, then a right and then Sawyer skids in a pool of blood, grabbing the wall with a frantic cry.
Anything to avoid falling into the thing on the floor that once was a human being.
It’s charred beyond recognition, bones seemingly melting and reshaping themselves into a warped shape that screams of pain.
Sawyer’s turned white and his eyes have grown dark and dull as he takes in what’s before them.
Skinner knows he’s not fairing much better. But it’s not the sight that gets him, it’s the smell of burnt flesh; warm and sweet, that makes him turn and retch- dry heaves followed by gulps of air that makes it worse, so much worse.
There’s at least three that are burnt beyond recognition. The screaming comes from a Wiccan; flesh black with a dark crust of burns. Others simply groan or whisper- parts of their faces melted away or arms and legs lying at twisted, unnatural angles.
Nemo, Jekyll and Mina round the corner from the other side of the carnage: Jekyll taking in the bleeding without a word, immediately crouching to the wounded, pressing his jacket to the injuries; Mina stopping dead, a hand to her mouth, her face white, bending down to dip her hands in the blood of a corpse; Nemo turning calling to the crew that have come running to fetch bandages, morphine...
The soldered walls are leaking again- all repairs seemingly ripped open. Water mixes with the blood on the floor.
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Once again they are avoiding eye contact with each other, though Jekyll knows that this time it’s more to do with not breaking; not having to see your pain in someone else and have to acknowledge it, than with mistrust.
Skinner and Sawyer have the unhappy duty of clearing away the dead. Their hands are so gentle on the fragile, charred skin and bones, but Tom’s face is beyond despair and Skinner’s coat speaks of his revulsion in every jerking movement he makes.
The injured are on stretchers, morphine dulling their screams into groans. Mina, face as expressionless as ever is moving from one to another, applying fresh bandages as old ones are soaked through quickly with arterial red. Other crew members quickly wheel away the stretchers to the waiting doctors in the medical bay.
And he and Nemo slowly, cautiously, quietly enter the room from which this all started. Activity pauses in the corridor, Skinner and Sawyer holding their breath, Mina watching with intense eyes.
It is filled with mirrors. Nothing but mirrors. Many lean against the walls, reflecting each other. In the centre of the room the two mirrors that remained intact last time are still standing.
But the glass is black.
Nemo pauses, startled and Jekyll lets an exclamation slip from between his lips.
“What is it?” Calls Sawyer from outside.
The glass has not been painted; it is simply a black well. There is no fire or brimstone, nothing to suggest what could have caused the butchery in the hallway.
“It’s...unexpected...” Jekyll calls back, shooting a quick look at Nemo that is met with a similar look of disbelief. Nemo moves towards the doorway and in urgent tones describes the glass. Jekyll moves closer towards it.
There is a shadowed reflection of him, Henry Jekyll; Edward is invisible and silent.
Behind him, Nemo approaches and there is a dark reflection of him in the mirror.
“What is this Nemo?” Jekyll asks making eye contact with him in the glass.
“It is-” Nemo begins, and frowns, seemingly recalling an unpleasant memory. “It is reminiscent of old stories, ancient superstitions about mirrors.”
“Where from?” Asks Jekyll.
“Book study, doctor.” Replies Nemo.
Nemo’s face is troubled, his eyes flicker over every mirror in the room. “What do you see doctor when you look in a mirror?”
Jekyll raises his eyebrows, “Edward- he’s...”
“No. Beyond Mr Hyde, the room is reflected?” Nemo asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the mirrors.
“Well yes, but obviously in reverse-”
“Exactly.” Replies Nemo quickly, “What is seen in a mirror is not the same as what exists here in this world. It is changed. And with an infinity curve of mirrors such as the one that was here-”
“-There are many such worlds...” replies Jekyll, catching on swiftly.
“And what there is in this world is nothing compared to what there is in others. And when they used the door, they released these others...”
There is a horrible silence as Jekyll takes on the full weight of what Nemo has said.
Behind him there is movement and he looks around to see Skinner, Mina and Sawyer standing, visible eyes seemingly captivated by the sight of all the mirrors.
“How much have you heard?” Jekyll asks them, eyes dark and full of trepidation.
“Enough to understand what you’re saying.” Replies Skinner, his posture incredibly nervous, his voice almost swallowed up in the quiet of the room.
“What sort of things are in these other worlds?” Asks Mina, eyes flickering between the black glass and Nemo.
“Our reflections.” Replies Nemo, eyes watching the mirror intensely.
“Well yes,” replies Tom worriedly, “But what else?”
“You misunderstand;” states Nemo very evenly, very controlled, “Reflections are without purpose or will- some would say without soul,”
Jekyll hears Skinner draw in a quick, frightened breath.
“There are too many reflections and not enough soul to go around.” Nemo, it seems, is only just accepting the import of these words himself. “The space between is full of... things that hunger for a soul.”
Jekyll feels all his hair begin to stand on end. His eyes widen.
“Then... we are not alone?” He asks, quietly, almost a whisper.
And as if in response to the question the glass comes to life with a scream; the blackness boiling and writhing, claws exploding from the molten surface, reaching, grasping for them...
“God almighty!- ”
Nemo and Jekyll lunge backwards; behind them Mina, Sawyer and Skinner run to grab them, help them, move them away from the malevolent intelligence that seems intent on consuming them.
It is with shock that Jekyll realises he needs help; the thing has a hold on him that it will not release and he feels it burning into his skin- his wrist smoking as Mina grasps him around the waist and pulls.
But it won’t let go.
“HelpmeHelpme-” She’s crying, and he can feel them both being pulled towards that terrible living blackness. Through the pain he can feel more hands pulling him away, arms wrestling for a firmer grip on him...
And then abrupt release. A sound of breaking glass as Nemo swings a chair repeatedly into every mirror in the room-including the two in the centre. The screaming shifts into a high-pitched wail which dies off quickly. He feels Sawyer’s sigh of relief, hears Skinner cursing repeatedly and is pulled to his feet by Mina, all of them standing and running to the door although the room is now quiet and calm.
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It is in the corridor that they pause for breath; each retreating into their own shells of disbelief, disconnecting from the group, even as they work together.
But their distance has become very, very dangerous, and Mina knows this.
She reaches for Jekyll’s wrist and takes in the noticeable wince when she gently touches the weal of burnt flesh.
“Jesus-” begins Skinner.
“Well, I guess we know what happened here.” States Sawyer, eyes wide.
“Do we?” Asks Jekyll. And Mina knows what he means.
“At the moment all we have it ghost stories and folklore,” she explains and Nemo nods in agreement, “We do not know what we are truly dealing with.”
“And there are only a few people on board who do...” Skinner continues.
“Water and bandages first.” She states, and Jekyll sighs in relief. Skinner dives into the next room to get the water and Nemo takes bandages from an abandoned pile in the debris scattered through the corridor.
There is an exclamation of shock which makes them all turn sharply, as Skinner exits the room quickly carrying a basin.
“The pipes aren’t providing us with water anymore...” he explains, voice trembling.
The basin is full of soil and fragments of bone.
Disclaimer: Fox logos, the LXG trademarks and characters do not belong to me. I make no profit from this venture, the folklore/ghosts stems from Black Hart Storytellers, Auld Reekie's Terror Tour and Meercat Tours.
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Shards
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Chapter 4: Things which are not.
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“What are we dealing with?”
Jacobs blusters, flushes red and tries to stand up from the seat that Nemo has pushed him back into.
“I don’t know what-”
Nemo forces him to sit down again. There is this terrible graciousness in his manner that Sawyer knows could boil over at any second.
“Any falsehood is not welcome at this time Mr. Jacobs,” Nemo states, eyes sparking, “I would suggest that you tell us absolutely everything.”
“And when he says absolutely everything” continues Jekyll, “we mean absolutely everything.”
A cliché that Tom recognises, but this cliché is beyond effective when coming from Jekyll. There is a darkness to him that Hyde does not have; something which Tom knows can only be glimpsed rarely. Something he spat out when he uttered the words ‘sneaky blackguard’, something he spits out now.
Jacobs is beyond flustered, almost boiling with indignation.
“You think that I have some ulterior motive? That in some way I am connected to the deaths of my dear friends? How dare you-”
Tom sees him for what he is: A bland, blind little man, indifferent to the darkness surrounding him. Darkness embodied in Nemo; in Jekyll; in the roasted skin of a man in so much pain he couldn’t stop screaming.
“Shut up.” States Sawyer and his voice carries a bitterness, an anger he didn’t know it could contain.
There is a pause; the colour beginning to fade from Jacobs’ face as he takes several deep breaths and looks at Sawyer in some shock.
He looks deflated, grey. “Fine,” he states finally, voice deadened, “Fine. What is it you want to know?”
“What are we dealing with?” Nemo repeats.
The atmosphere still has that horrible inquisitional tack to it, and Tom folds his arms protectively as Jacobs shoots each of them a bitter glare.
“We’re not sure,” He begins, mouth twisting around the words, “Perhaps a demon? Some sort of ambiguous demonic force: A motiveless malignity.” He laughs a strange, hollow laugh. “Something we though we had under control.”
“You’ve been keeping this thing?” hisses Jekyll, and there is horror in his voice.
Jacobs’ face coils into an expression of distain. “We are not idiots Dr Jekyll; we do not seek to provoke the darker side of things and then keep them bottled up.”
Sawyer winces at the direct insult.
Jacobs pauses, snorts as Jekyll backs off, retreating into a corner, and then continues: “We did not know what was happening at first. A few accidental fires in our old temple; banners would fall down, statues would be broken. Normal occurrences; perfectly acceptable if you were experimenting with new spells as we were.”
He frowns, sight focussing into his memories, “And then-chaos... Much the same as you’ve been experiencing here. Fires and... burns...”
Jacobs seems to shudder. Tom knows the memory: The warm smell of cooked flesh-
“We would heal our wounds, perform spells to calm things down-and they would for a time-then go back to the experiments and... ‘it’... would happen again.
“After a while we thought we had it figured out: The door we required for our magic was letting out something indigenous to the temple-something that had been there for years, something that wanted to do us harm.
“We performed binding spells, packed everything up and left-soliciting your help to take us as far away as possible. The demon could have the place! We didn’t want a fight, we wanted peace.”
“But it followed you.” States Nemo and Sawyer can see the anger he is repressing. “And you didn’t warn us. Even with the damage-you just continued with your experiments-”
Jacobs looks at him, eyes with that same dull sheen of insolence.
“-it wasn’t indigenous, it’s something you created.” Rage is crackling from Nemo, threatening to set the situation alight.
“No.” States Jekyll suddenly, and both Sawyer and Nemo focus on him abruptly. “No, not that you created-that you released.” He says; eyes locked on Jacobs.
“Things without souls that we have always known about. Things indigenous to mirrors.” he states nodding to Nemo and then looking at Sawyer, recalling the memory of their earlier discussion.
“Things you gave a doorway to.”
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“And there’s no way out?”
“None at all.” Skinner responds, avoiding eye contact desperately, picking at the bandages he is holding.
Mina takes them from him with a sigh and begins wrapping them around the burn on the patient’s leg. Skinner can barely watch this either- the sight causing aches all over his body- scar tissue tightening as if in sympathy.
“So, you’re sure that this is not a memory, or a sign of the trauma you must have-” Mina questions, seemingly absorbed in her task.
“We’ve been over this before, haven’t we?” Skinner responds abruptly. “It can’t be a memory because I’ve never been there-”
“And it is not a sign of trauma because it doesn’t echo your own experience?” Mina looks up and into the holes where his eyes would be. She takes a deep breath. “Then we come back to another conclusion-that your dreams are a message.”
“Of what? From whom?” He asks, and he can feel trepidation bubbling in his throat.
“I don’t know Mr Skinner.” She cuts him off, and there is distance in her eyes even as she attempts to reassure him with a sympathetic look.
He has never felt so alone.
Something else is seeking human contact and this isolates him, frightens him, and burns him in his sleep. He looks at his reflection in the mirror on the medical bay wall and sees his own wide eyes- empty holes surrounded by greasepaint.
He turns to pick up more bandages, and as he does so, the ship gives an almighty groan- a metallic shudder.
His hair begins to stand on end; he turns to shoot a frightened look at Mina, but he can no longer see her.
The lights have gone out.
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They stand in darkness.
Jekyll can hear the sounds of movement; a rustling to his left.
Something brushes past him softly.
He jumps and turns around, wincing as Nemo brightens the lamp he is now holding.
“What the hell is this?” asks Sawyer, and Jekyll can hear the fear in his whisper, something he knows is echoed in his eyes.
“It’s-”
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He reaches for Mina’s hand, and feels his heart contract with relief when he finds her small, cold fingers.
In the blackness all he can hear is the sound of his own heart, and he feels the dizzy sensation of a shift in space-as if the walls have shrunk around him; a cloying sense of the air tightening, increasing in pressure as the walls move.
He feels his skin begin to flush with heat, and he waits, breathless, for the groans and the feel of others scrabbling away, pulling themselves into a tight huddle.
Instead he hears a clattering and feels the reassuring squeeze of Mina’s fingers. Hears the flare of gas as she lights a lamp on the table.
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Henry
Edward’s voice; insistent, harsh after weeks of silence.
But it’s not the only sound in Jacobs’ room.
“Do you hear them?” asks Sawyer and he can, Jekyll can hear them; Loud as a whisper, clear as snow:
Voices; hundreds, whispering just beyond human hearing: Laughing, taunting, cajoling.
Nemo draws his sword, the sound of metal scraping against metal too harsh in the soft sibilance created by the whispers.
Jekyll feels panic beginning to tighten his chest, his breathing becoming audible.
He watches Nemo looking wildly about, his breath visible.
It is cold.
Henry please
“What is it?” He asks, voice sharply addressing Hyde, addressing anyone who might know what this is, anyone that might calm the rising terror he feels...
it burns
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“Do you hear them? Do you hear them?” His voice is a panicked rush and he watches Mina with wide eyes, afraid to release her hand.
“Yes,” She whispers, eyes darting around the room, larger than his, “I can hear them...”
Skinner hears the sound beginning to build in the dark corners. It circles them, louder behind them, then in front...
“It’s cold...” she begins, and Skinner feels her jerk suddenly as she makes a lunge for the lantern, pulling it into her hand.
The light in it is fading. Dying.
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Help me
His teeth are chattering. Jacobs is sitting stock still, Nemo still turning wildly, Sawyer has drawn his pistols and is watching Jekyll intensely.
He can’t but help looking at Edward:
Something dark with light flickering behind it in the large dressing mirror; Edward-a shape writhing against this terrible light which grows brighter as the gas lamp fades.
Help me
Jekyll is drawn to the mirror even as the room around him grows darker.
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He can see her breath even in the dark.
They are reflected in the small mirror to his left- he can see them: his face painted white, invisible hands clutching thin air while ahead of him a lamp floats; its light fading. The invisible man the only visible one in the reflection.
Behind them, he sees the shadows begin to writhe and shudder.
The light goes out as Mina lets go of his hand.
He hears the smash of broken glass and a dull thump.
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Jekyll can feel his skin begin to stretch; his bones begin to rearrange themselves.
A low moan escapes him as the pain dulls everything around him but the beat of his heart, the gasping in his lungs.
He grabs his head, trying to hold it together as a pain threatens to cleave it open.
He collapses, and around him the light fades.