As per usual, I don't own these fabulous individuals.
Hidden Depths
Chapter 1
Imogen Drill burst into the staffroom, slamming the door behind her. As she dropped rather harder than she'd intended to into the discomfort of a wooden chair, she let her face fall into her palms and sobbed loudly, salty tears trickling between her fingers.
Amelia Cackle and Davina Bat, having heard the commotion, soon hastened into the room after her, with mutually perplexed expressions on their faces.
'Imogen, what on earth's the matter?' Amelia's asked with concern as Davina perched on the arm of the chair next to Imogen, placing a lace-clad arm around her colleague's shoulder. Imogen gasped for breath through her sobs, struggling to steady her voice.
'I think it's over - between me and Serge,' she said, almost inaudibly. Davina and Amelia exchanged confused glances. Neither of them was particularlyexperiencedin the relationship stakes, so judging how to respond on something they knew relatively little about whilst not appearing to be insensitive was a potentially delicate operation. Amelia went first, sinking into a seat opposite Imogen and taking her hand across the table.
'Oh dear, Imogen. I am sorry – I know how much you liked him. If there is anything we can do…'
Davina nodded in avid agreement. 'It's awful seeing you so upset,' she said. 'And so unlike you, dear.' She thought for a moment and her face brightened.
'I know!' She reached into her pocket she pulled out a small, pink and white striped offering. 'How about a nice sweetie to take the edge off the pain?' she shrilled in the tones of one who was addressing a small child. Miss Cackle's face lit up as the possibility of there being more where that came from dawned on her, before consciously dismissing the thought from her mind.
'I think what Imogen needs, Davina, is the afternoon off and a lie down,' she walked to the window and ducked her head, grimacing towards the ominous grey clouds which were descending on the mountain. 'I doubt very much that the girls will miss their cross country practice this afternoon. Davina – take her back to her -'
At that moment the door flew open and Constance Hardbroom stood statuesque, with one hand on the door handle.
'What on earth is the matter with you?' she looked at Imogen with wide eyes, as though she had sprouted another head, reducing the gym mistress to a second mass of tears as she hurtled out of the staffroom, pursued shortly after by Miss Bat who paused to look up at Constance from her meagre height.
'You – abominable woman!' She shrilled, her arms tense against her sides and her fists clenched with rage. And with that, she disappeared along the corridor after Imogen. Constance turned to the headmistress, aghast.
'What did I do?'
Amelia simply closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reaching across the table and helping herself to the first of many chocolate Hobnobs.
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Imogen woke late in the afternoon. The sun had already set and the school was in near-silence. She looked at her watch. The girls would be at dinner now, she thought. She ought to put in an appearance, but as she padded across the cold stone floor of her bedroom to the bathroom and manoeuvred the vanity mirror so that she caught her reflection, she let out a groan. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy, her eyelids were swollen, and remnants of her mascara had smudged beneath her lower lashes. She couldn't possibly let the girls see her like this. Besides, she had no appetite. She turned on the tap, watching the jet of water for a few moments. I am not going to cry again, she thought, bending towards the basin and splashing icy water onto her face. Grabbing a towel from the side of the bath she patted her skin dry and paced back into the bedroom, dropping onto the end of the bed.
It had been inevitable – the end had been in sight for some time. Serge and Imogen had been going through the motions, getting on well enough and still making each other laugh, but the spark had gone. Every time he touched her, she thought about someone else – and every time she thought about that someone else, it was the same someone else.
She rubbed her face as if to eradicate the thoughts from her mind. Despite being safe in the knowledge that she had never been unfaithful to Serge, she felt as though she had betrayed him. He was a good man – the only man she had ever really loved – and she had jeopardised what they'd had for the sake of someone she could probably never have.
Why couldn't you just have been grateful? she thought. Why do you always think the grass will be greener on the other side? Once upon a time, Serge had been standing on that grass, when she'd been alone and thought how wonderful it would be to have a life partner with so many shared interests. And how much more shared could those interests have been? The trip to Toronto, skiing in Val d'Isère, bungee jumping in New Zealand – all gone to waste because of her indulgent, selfish fantasies.
She thought of the person who had been haunting her thoughts for these past few months. Where are they now? Not here, that's for sure. Not comforting you in your hour of need. And for all she knew, they probably never would be.
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Listening for the scramble of students returning to their rooms, Imogen slipped into her running gear and out of the castle. Just a brisk walk should do for tonight, she decided, striding across the courtyard and through the gate. She fiddled with her iPod until it was in "random" mode, turning up the volume as high as it would go. Her ears would ring in the morning – but she didn't care. She enjoyed nothing more than the combination of fresh air and her favourite music. The eeriness of the forest at night, with its lone owls hooting and creaking branches, was blocked out except for the majestic bulb of the moon lighting her path, obscured only by trees.
There was a stream about halfway down the mountain – rather an impressive stream, which wasn't deep but which rushed past loudly, the water gliding over the rounded cobbles of its bed, skittering over the larger, jagged rocks, bubbles collecting in a foaming mass as it meandered into the distance. Tonight, with the brilliance of the moon illuminating the clearing where the widest part of the stream was, Imogen felt quite at peace with the darker side of nature. Feeling the ground to ensure it was dry enough to sit, she slipped off her jacket and perched cross-legged at the side of the stream. The late night air was crisp and fresh against her skin. The tall, arrow-shaped evergreens were silhouetted against an indigo sky, and Imogen was reminded of the pointed hats the girls wore for special occasions.
The stars, blinking above her, turned her mind to her school-day astronomy lessons, and she racked her brains to remember what constellation she was gazing upon. Just as the elusiveness of the answer became frustrating, Imogen felt a disconcerting nip in the air, as though a presence was with her. She reached into her pocket, sending the crunching melodies of Metallica decreasing to silence. Shuddering slightly, she turned to look behind her on both . As she reconciled her nerves to the thought that she'd never heard any rumours of hauntings on the mountainside, she breathed deeply through her nostrils in an attempt to steady her beating heart.
Then, as the chill whipped through her again, she let out a scream as something touched her shoulder.