Rated T for blood and violence. Angst/Comfort/Mild Romance Set 5 months after 'The Wheel of Darkness'. Spoilers for Wheel of Darkness, and all proceeding. A/N: I think the Pendergast series has got to be my favorite of all time. I actually started with ' Book of the Dead', so I have quite a fondness for Constance. I don't get all the Constance hate. Her character fascinates me to no end, and I can't wait to see more of her! And what's with the lack of Constance/Pendergast here? They're the creepiest, cutest pairing ever. I've always been under the impression that she would have been close to Leng, and eventually view him as a father. The spent decades alone together, I think a fondness would have been inevitable.
The girl stood in the shadow of the ancient, creaky door, and quietly observed her guardian's work. He was busy grinding a fine powder in a mortar. The pestle moved up and down with small flicks of the old man's wrist. He softly muttered various phrases and equations as he meandered across the laboratory.
She noticed the extra stoop in his back, the slow, elderly shuffle to his steps. He would not stave off death forever.
"F-father?" she said quietly, not wanting to startle the man. He continued to putter around the workbench, oblivious to her presence.
Constance licked her lips lightly, and reached out to touch his arm. She hesitated for a moment, then rested her palm on his silk shirt. "Father?" she repeated.
The man turned slowly, and she smiled. She had been away such a long time, and could barely contain her joy at being able to see him again. She had so many things to tell him. She was dying to speak to him about Aloysius. She knew he would be pleased at how much he had changed her for the better.
"I've missed you so-" She began. Her words were pulled from her mouth, as her eyes quickly glazed in fear.
Now facing her was the rotted, reanimated corpse of Antoine Leng Pendergast, her beloved surrogate father. She jerked away, hitting the stone wall behind her. Vials filled with noxious substances resting precariously on shelves fell to the floor. The shattering of glass accompanied the fumes that choked her lungs, and made tears spring to her eyes. She grabbed a broom in the corner, and flung it at the zombie, but her arms were suddenly weak, and the broom missed by miles.
Leng began to shuffle towards her; his mouth moved but no words came from his desiccated lips. Sounds came from around Constance, pouring from the walls. Whispers, murmurs, muttered threats. The voices were all familiar, and yet so completely foreign. Leng reached for her and let out a bone-chilling moan. Foul breath mingled with the sudden stench of decay the whole room had begun to emit. She screamed, and started to claw at the wall behind her. Where was the door? Why wasn't it here? He was close, so close. He would kill her for sure now, as he should have all those years ago.
Close to hyperventilating, her brain reminded her that this was her home. There was safety here, she only needed to look for it. This was the laboratory- his massive collection of weapons would be nearby.
She turned and ran, hoping that she had pointed herself in the right direction. She flew down the halls and tried not to panic.
She edged along the stone, putting distance between her and the corpse. Everything had suddenly gone dark, and she had to feel along the wall to navigate, despite the familiarity she should have had. She could make out more movement ahead, but forced herself to keep moving forward. Nothing could be worse that what lie behind.
xoxoxoxox
Constance slid her hand around the sturdy hilt of an ancient sword. She hefted it slightly; It was almost too heavy for her delicate frame, but with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she did not doubt she could handle it. She gripped it firmly with both hands, and held it at the ready. The room was silent and dark, but she could smell the reek of death, and could feel another's presence.
Where had this...this thing come from? What was he even doing here? He had died...he had died... tears threatened to spill as her brain wrestled with reality. She let them fall to the concrete floor.
A footfall brought her back to the present, and she squinted to try and catch a glimpse of the approaching figure. She held onto the sword with a tighter grip, and took a step forward of her own, mindful of the numerous poisoned displays. Carefully sidestepping a particularly nasty-looking mace, she touched her tongue to her now chapped lips, and quietly called out.
"Hello? Show yourself!" She trembled slightly when her words were met with a soft groan, and a shuffle of feet. She turned towards the sounds, and raised the deadly blade. As she saw the shadow move, she swung with all her might at the dark apparition.
The blade hit home with a sickening 'Crack!', and in the same moment, a childish scream rose from the crumpling body. Constance's eyes widened in horror, and she dropped to her knees as she recognized the face of her older sister, now streaked with tears and blood.
Mary's ashen, wide-eyed face stared up her sister, her lips moving in quiet pleads. Blood poured from the slice across her chest- the green of the girl's dress framed the red in a horribly festive manner. Constance scooped her up and pressed her hands to the young woman's breast, desperately trying to quell the torrent. "No!" she screamed. "I c-c-can't lose you," she choked out. "Not again! I didn't know it was you! Come back to me! she pleaded.
Mary's eyes fluttered, and she coughed red. "You...you killed me again, dear sister." she whispered. Her eyes closed in finality.
"No...!" Constance tried to scream again, but her voice broke and dissolved into wracking sobs. She didn't care anymore. Let the long dead take her to join them. She deserved nothing but death. He had been right all along. She was a freak of nature, only capable of hurting others. She gasped and wished only for a swift death as she curled into a small ball on the warm floor.
So...much...warmth.
The voices started again, but they weren't whispering threats. They were telling her that she was okay. The warmth surrounding her body intensified. She looked down at her arms, but her sister was nowhere to be seen. She had never been anywhere. She reached out and touched the empty space in front of her, only to have it dissolve away to black.
Black, warm, nothingness.
She touched the blackness, and was surprised to find that it was solid. Solid, but oh-so soft. She ran her palms over it, and it contracted under her fingertips. Her hands found the edge of it, and she pulled it closer, breathing in the faint, comforting scent of sherry and old books.
She clung to it tightly, felt it rise and fall against her body. It was alive, breathing and beating in time to her own rhythms. She cried against it, but not with the uncontrollable wails of before, but with relief that somehow, something had saved her from herself.
Her crying faded after a period, and she settled into gentle breathing. After a time, she felt warm skin settle on her hands, and gently pull them away. She grasped the skin, and the real world materialized around her. It solidified into two pale, strong hands, framed by a black dressing gown.
She was in her bedroom in the Riverside Drive mansion, nestled securely in her bed. She still trembled, but the sheen of sweat on her arms was quickly evaporating. Her violet eyes focused, and she looked at the man leaving her bed.
"It seems that you've had another nightmare," he said, as he rose gracefully. He reached to the bedside and proffered a small glass. She sat up and took it with quivering hands, then raised the amber liquid to her lips. She took a small sip, then laced her delicate fingers around the aperitif glass. She quietly cleared her throat.
"Thank you, Aloyisus. Your presence is much appreciated. It is most thoughtful." she looked up at the tall man standing at her bedside. His eyes were completely unreadable, much like her own.
"Should I postpone our plans?" She noticed a brief flicker of concern in his eyes.
"No, that is unnecessary." She held the glass out to him, averting her eyes from his face. Why did he always insist on worrying himself with her wellbeing? "I am looking forward to seeing the rest of Europe." She forced a small smile to reassure him.
He paused, searching her face. "Very well." He grasped the glass, but didn't immediately take it. "Constance..." His brow furrowed from some inner battle, before taking on a serious, consternated expression. He set the glass back onto the bedside table. It rattled quietly before settling. He seated himself carefully back on the edge of her bed, and took hold of her hands.
"I want you know, I intend to do everything in my power to secure your happiness and safety. I care deeply for you, beyond mere responsibility."
The woman blushed, and disengaged her hands. "Thank you," She said quietly "I..." She cleared her throat again. "I care for you as well."
Much to her surprise, she found his lips pressed softly to her cheek. She lay there, frozen and unsure if the gesture should be returned. To her relief, he rose again and excused himself from her bedroom, turning out the lamp as he did.
In the dark, she touched her fingers to her rounded belly, a gesture she'd come to find comfort in. The reassurance that her child was still with her.
January's harsh winds howled against her window, the maelstrom adding another layer of melancholy to her mood. Slowly, her eyes began to close.
Everything would be alright in the morning.
xoxoxox
Like it? I hope so. I like it. I would loved to have done this epic make-out scene, but somehow the words just won't come. Nope, just a cheek-kiss. EXHILARATING! Heh. Okay. Review, point out mistakes, etc. This has not been Beta'd, and your critiques are most welcome!