A/N: A story in which there is mystery, romance, angst, and general oddness. Longer authors note to follow at end. Also, excuse any out of character behaviors; there is an explanation for things, I promise.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of someone else. Any resemblance to any plots of anyone else is purely coincidental.
In every relationship, there are mysteries about the other person that cannot be understood. Sometimes, it is a nervous tick, something done subconsciously, but very much depended upon in times of turmoil. Sometimes, there is a letter, hidden away in some back drawer, never to be spoken of or touched. And then sometimes, the mystery is in a request, insisted upon, but never explained.
In the case of Casey and Derek, it was the last mystery that often kept Derek up at night. Finally, together, and yet, she insisted upon only one thing: that it never be spoken of, that it be kept a complete secret.
Secret love, they found, was a powerful thing. There was something…cinematic about loving one another only in the shadow of night, something deliciously tantalizing about stolen kisses in brief moments, all the while the awareness that they could be caught at any moment sweetening the kisses. To be honest, at that point, it is unlikely that anyone would have cared all that much. They were, after all, adults, living their own lives, independent of their families. But she insisted upon the secrecy, and he complacently agreed. And it was perfect, for a time.
And yet, Derek ruminated, something still did not feel entirely right. Yes, he loved Casey, and he was certain that she loved him in return. So why couldn't they speak of it? Something, and he didn't know what this something was, wasn't right. He said as much to her one day. It was one of those blessed days, when they were alone.
"This is…strange," he started, looking down at her. She was curled up next to him, facing away. He had his arm loosely wrapped around her body. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she snuggled closer.
"Derek, why do you always have to talk?" she asked, a trace of amusement evident in her voice.
"Case…"
With a groan, she turned around, pushing herself up to look at him. "Derek, please, I've told you before…"
"Yeah, I know. You don't want to talk about it. Everything's fine, just leave it alone." He sighed. "But Casey, it's been a month. I just want to understand why you insist on all the secrecy. We're adults, for crying out loud. It's not as if our parents could do anything. Hell, I don't think they'd even care. And everyone else, well, they don't even know that we're stepsiblings. I don't know, I guess I'm just…"
"Tired of it all?" she finished, frowning. She had paled, he noticed, and she was biting her lip, a nervous habit of hers. "Derek, do you remember what you said to me a month ago? When I called you?"
He remembered. He remembered everything.
It was an ordinary day, night, whatever. Since graduating from college, he'd been earning a living as a photographer for a magazine. It was a nice living, much better, he thought, than that of a hockey star. Not that he had a choice; a knee injury freshman year had effectively ended any and all dreams of playing professional hockey. But that didn't matter anymore. He was twenty-two, living an independent life in Toronto, without any serious obligations, and a job that paid well enough.
Life was good.
It was on a rainy night that things changed. It was late when he received the urgent call from Casey. She sounded out of breath, and scared out of her mind.
"Please, just come down," she pleaded, citing an intersection where she said she'd be. She was sitting in the pouring rain when he arrived, looking at the aftermath of a car crash. The crash was a grisly scene; through the rain, he could vaguely make out a small car that had obviously turned over several times. He swore he saw a leg hanging out the window of the overturned car. He could see why it would disturb Casey so much; she always was sensitive.
"Casey, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, turning to her. She was sitting silently on a bench, wearing only a cotton tee shirt and a pair of jeans. She looked up, relief evident on her face. She was shaking violently, he noted, and he wondered just how long she had been sitting like this. She looked at him, but she did not respond. "Casey, earth to Casey. What happened?"
"I…I just want to get out of here," she finally answered. "Can we just go?"
"All right." She wasn't known for her strong stomach. She just needed somebody, anybody, to talk to, he figured. And who was he to argue with the woman he had been in love with for years? It wasn't everyday that you got to play knight in shining armor.
Silently, they made their way back to his apartment. He didn't question her about why she had called him. Their relationship had gotten better over the years. As they aged, they had grown to be friends, good friends, at that. They often talked and got together as adults, for they both lived in the same city, and it was certainly good to know someone when you were on your own in a big city.
After she had dried off, and had changed into an oversized sweatshirt and pulled on a pair of sweatpants she'd left at his place, she settled down next to him on his couch. "I…we…what are we?" she finally stuttered. Shocked, he looked at her. If she was asking what he thought she was asking, it was a conversation that had been in the works for a long time.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" She paused. Then, with a sudden look of determination, she looked him in the eye. "I mean I love you, and I need to know if you feel the same."
He didn't stop to think about where this new, assertive Casey had come from, for suddenly, her mouth was on his, and he wasn't about to pull away.
"I take that as a yes?" she said breathlessly, a moment later.
"I'd say so," he responded, a broad smile pasted on his face.
"I knew it," she muttered. A look of confusion crossed her face briefly, only to be replaced by a smile a second later. "Do you trust me?"
It was an odd question, but he didn't stop to think about it. Just go with the flow, he told himself. Go with the flow, and maybe you won't wake up.
"Of course I do." Impulsively, he added, "I'd trust you with my life."
"As would I. But all I need is for you to trust me. And promise me something. Can you please promise me something?"
"Anything."
"Don't ask questions. I'll eventually tell you everything, but not now. I can't right now. So, just trust me, okay?" She was Casey, so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that she wasn't making sense. Still, he couldn't help but tease her about it.
"What is this about? Are you suddenly wanted by the CIA?" he joked, remembering the American agency from some movie.
"Shut up, Derek. I need this," she motioned between them, "to be a secret. Don't tell anyone that we're together. Don't talk about me, don't mention me. Act like I don't exist."
"Casey, what the hell are you talking about? Are you sneaking around? Jesus, Casey, are you engaged, married?"
"No! It's just…I'll tell you later, I promise. But you have to do this for me. Nobody can know about me, and I mean nobody. Don't call me, don't come over and see me, don't do anything." Her voice was quiet, though there was an undercurrent of urgency in her words. Her eyes were wide, and she was shaking once more. Scared shitless, he would have once said.
"Casey, what's going on? You can't expect me to just say 'okay' to something like that without some sort of explanation."
"You have to!" she exclaimed. "I can't say anything, and I can't be seen. Please, Derek, just do this for me. I'm not going to force you to do anything, I'm not. You can kick me out, and we'll forget this ever happened. But I'm begging you to just listen to me!" she exclaimed.
He sat, stunned. Never before had he heard her sound like this. She had never acted so strangely, in all the years that she'd known him. He loved her, that much was certain. But what had she gotten herself into? He couldn't imagine anything that would have her so scared, so panicked. Interpreting his silence as a refusal, she started to get up.
"I'm sorry for being so presumptuous. I shouldn't have called…"
"No, wait, I just needed a moment. Casey, I don't know what's happened to you, but I love you, and I'll do anything you ask. I'm just confused. I mean, what the hell would you have to hide from?"
"I'll tell you…"
"Later. Yeah, I know. And I promise I'll trust you. But remember, that's a two-way street."
"Breaking out the cliché's? I should have expected as much," she ribbed.
"So says the English major," he returned. He kissed her, and for the rest of the night, was too preoccupied to think about her words.
"Derek," she pushed, interrupting his thoughts of that night, "do you remember what you said?"
"I said I promise you, and I trust you. And I do. But really, Casey? This secrecy was fun, but it's getting annoying. I mean, people ask me to go out, and I want to tell them I can't because I have a beautiful woman waiting for me, not because I'm some boring old man. Or, better yet, I want to bring you with me when I go out, so I can rightly put the guys in their place when they brag about their women." Running a hand through his messy hair, he closed his eyes in thought for a moment. "I want to show you off, Case."
She didn't look pleased. Rather, she looked terrified. "You haven't said anything, though, right? Nobody knows…"
"Nobody knows about you. Hell, my neighbors don't even know. How do you know when to come over, anyway?" He'd always wondered that. He wasn't allowed to call her, or text her, or email her, or correspond with her in any way. Yet, she always knew where to find him. Sometimes, she'd show up at a photo shoot, and he'd see her lurking in the shadows, giving him a look that could only be described as smoldering. Sometimes when out for dinner, she'd suddenly pull him behind a building, out of sight, and have her merry way. And then she always knew when to come to his apartment.
When he thought about it, it really was rather strange. When he said as much, she just gave him a cryptic smile.
"I just know, Derek." She kissed him once more, and all further thoughts were immediately put aside in his mind.
Funny, that seemed to happen a lot.
A week later, he slipped up. He mentioned to a colleague his girlfriend. He caught himself, and didn't tell him her name, all the while wondering why the hell not. She was waiting for him when he arrived at his apartment. He didn't remember giving her a key; he figured she must have made a copy one day, as she seemed to be waiting for him often. When he came in, she was pacing nervously.
"What're you doing?" he asked, amused by her antics. She looked up, and let out a breath of relief.
"I'm…nothing. I'm just happy to see you," she said.
"Damn right you are. So," he said casually, lowering himself onto the couch, "when's this secrecy going to end? I mentioned my girlfriend to Jack today, and he wanted to know when he could meet her. They're starting to doubt me, Casey. If I keep this up, I'm going to lose my reputation as 'the man,'" he joked. She laughed uneasily.
"You didn't mention my name, right?" she queried.
"No, Casey, I didn't mention your fucking name. Not that it would make any difference," he added bitterly.
"It would for me," she mumbled sadly.
"Casey, what are you so afraid of? What happened to you?" His voice was soft and tender. Stubbornly, she shook her head.
"I won't tell; you know I won't. I want to know, so that I can protect you from whatever it is that's got you so scared."
"You can't…"
She was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Shit," Derek muttered. That's Jack-I forgot he was coming by with some negatives."
Casey glanced around nervously, her eyes wide in terror. "He can't know I'm here. Nobody can know. I can save this still," she said, talking more to herself than him. "Derek, don't say anything."
"Casey, I…"
"Venturi, stop talking to yourself and open the damned door. Unlike you, I happen to have a life I'd like to get back to," a man yelled. Derek started to the door, sparing one last glance at Casey, who was moving towards the bedroom.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he said, opening the door to admit a tall man in his early thirties. The man, Jack, let out a low whistle.
"So this is the famous Venturi pad, where you seem so intent on spending your evenings. I must admit, I'm disappointed. With the way you carry on, I thought there'd be some secret lab or something, or at least some women. Shit, you really do live like a hermit."
"If you're done dissing my 'pad,' could you give me the prints? And I'm not always alone," he answered. From the back, he could swear he heard a low voice whisper, 'no!'
"Right."
Derek laughed. "Really, man, you don't think that I actually sound like a babe, do you?" He knew that certainly, the man had been able to hear his small argument with Casey just moments before. Jack shrugged.
"I hear nothing, man. Just you talking to yourself."
"But…"
"Dude, just don't. I swear, one of these days we're gonna have to lock you up, Venturi." He chuckled. "See you around. Have fun doing whatever it is you do around here."
He waved, and let himself out. A minute later, Casey emerged from the bedroom. She looked calmer than she had before, and she seemed to be saying something under her breath.
"You didn't tell," she said, relief flooding her voice.
"No, I didn't."
They didn't speak about it again until the next morning. Derek had gotten little sleep, the mystery plaguing his mind. Something had happened, he surmised, that night when he found her. She had seen or heard something, maybe, that had scared the hell out of her. But what? And why call him? Why not call the police if she had seen something. Was it connected somehow to the accident? But then again, an accident like that, while scary, wouldn't have had her this scared. Certainly, it wasn't anything big; it hadn't made the papers, from what he'd seen. In a city this large, car accidents and deaths were an everyday occurrence. So it had to have happened before then.
"What are you thinking about?" He started as he felt a small hand gently touch his shoulder. He turned around and smiled at her. She looked radiant, wearing an oversized shirt of his, her hair mussed from bed. This was real, this was his, he thought with wonder, not for the first time since they'd been together.
"I'm thinking how hot you look in my shirt," he replied. She rolled her eyes.
"Typical," she laughed. "But really, you were restless all night. What're you thinking of?"
"You, I guess. I'm wondering what you saw that's got you so scared."
"Derek, don't," she warned.
"It's just, I figure you must have seen something that you don't want anyone to know about, not even me. But what is it? Why not go to the police? Why call me, of all people?" He was rambling, voicing all of his thoughts, trying to sort them out. "Were you threatened?" He paused, and then, as though suddenly struck by a revelation, froze. "That's it, isn't it? Somebody's trying to hurt you. Who is it? I'll kill them," he growled. "Is it an ex? Oh, God, did he hurt you. Jesus, Casey, talk to me! Talk, Damn it!"
"Derek, it's not…" She stopped, and bit her lip, as though in deep thought. "I can't say anything, Derek, I just can't. You don't understand."
"I'm on the right track, aren't I?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny that, Derek. Think what you will. Just don't say anything to anyone. I don't want this to end. This can't end, not yet."
"It won't, Case, it won't ever end. I promise you, it won't end."
"Just keep me a secret, and it won't," she assured him.
He agreed, of course, because what else could he do? She trusted him and him alone (or so he assumed). This was a new thing, and it left him feeling euphoric to know that she was relying on him to help her. He couldn't break her trust, not like this. Still, he couldn't help but think, bitterly, 'great, more secrets.'
Two weeks later, just when he thought he'd almost figured her out, she went to surprise him once more. He was out at some stuffy dinner, a quarterly thing put on by the magazine at which he worked. Often, it seemed to him a farce, an excuse for the publishers to show off how much money they made by 'giving' everyone a wonderful dinner at some French place. They were horribly boring and downright depressing for those who did not have dates. There was a dance floor at the restaurant, with a live band. This made the conversation difficult to hold, especially when continually interrupted by the squeals of dates begging to dance. Derek was wishing that he'd brought Casey. He'd have danced with her, he thought.
Apparently, though, she read his mind. He was seated near the window, looking out over the garden (because of course a place like this had to have a garden), when he saw her looking up at him. He was in the second level dining room, and from his spot, he saw that the garden was empty. It was an unusually cold night in May, so it was no surprise that people would want to stay indoors. She smiled up at him, swaying slowly to some ghostly band. She had, on occasion, come to him while he was out. However, tonight, she was dressed up, wearing a long red gown. The strapless garment flowed outward at the waist, the low neckline exposing her pale skin. Her hair was curled, giving her the look of a woman from another time and place. She looked more ghost than human, he thought, more angel than living.
Excusing himself, he quickly got up, following the signs to the terrace. Once outside, he could hear the faint strands of music drifting through the air. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, darting into the shadows. He caught up with her, noting that she had found a spot that was entirely out of sight.
"I was hoping you would be here," he breathed, sweeping her into his arms.
"I couldn't miss it," she returned, kissing him. "I wanted to dance with you."
"Then why don't you come it, where we can hear the band?" he suggested.
"Derek, can we please not talk about this tonight? I just want to dance with you, dance and love you. Please," she begged. Softly, he kissed her brow.
"When have I ever refused you?"
"Then hush, and let us dance, as though it were the last night of the world."
And they danced. He could not hear the band well, and yet they seemed so in tune with the music. An orchestra seemed to be playing just for them, the sound audible only in their small, dark corner of the garden. The sweet scent of flowers hung heavily in the air, a natural aphrodisiac. And yet, they were not there to make love, not tonight. The setting was too pure for such things, made only for this moment of dancing.
And yet, all things come to an end. Derek hadn't thought he'd be missed, not with the way people were drinking. And yet his bliss was shattered by another voice.
"Venturi, where the hell are you?"
Casey smiled serenely at his look of annoyance. "And so the clock strikes midnight," she murmured. "Go, my prince charming." He gave her once last lingering kiss, and watched as she stole away.
"Derek? There you are. I know this is annoying, but really, man, you can't just disappear," the man said. Derek shrugged.
"Guess I lost track of time."
"Bull shit. So, tell me, who was it?" he leered. Derek, still caught in the trance of the evening, looked away.
"Casey," was all he said. The man shrugged.
"Whatever. Let's head back in, before we're both screwed." As Derek reluctantly followed, the man turned. "You've been acting so strange lately, man. Strange," he repeated.
"Whatever. Let's just get this over with," Derek replied distantly.
When he came home that night, he wasn't entirely surprised to find that Casey wasn't there. Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. With a sigh, he started to move towards his answering machine, but decided against it. It was late; any call could wait until the next day.
An hour later, he heard her enter the apartment. Snuggling next to him, she whispered in his ear, "make love to me." He half thought it a dream, until she roughly pressed her lips to his.
"I'm tired," he moaned. He heard her breath hitch, as though she were stifling a sob. Reluctantly, he turned to face her.
"Casey?"
"Please, just one more time, I need you. Please," she repeated softly.
And that was the end of his resistance.
Their lovemaking was unusual that night. There was urgency, passion, and a sense of finality that gave the even a bittersweet edge. Irrationally, he felt as though it were the last time they would be together. Of course, he thought afterwards, if this was the last thing he did, he'd be a happy man. She left afterwards, with a soft, "I'll be back tomorrow," leaving him to wonder if it had been a dream after all.
The next day came too soon. She burst into the apartment, hysterical. She was shaking, her face pallid, and her eyes swollen, as though she'd gotten little sleep. Immediately, he wrapped her in his arms.
"Casey, what is it? What's wrong?"
She pulled away from his embrace. "You told someone!" she cried, looking at him with raging eyes.
"Casey, what are you talking about?"
"My name, Derek, you said my name!"
"Shit, I did. But it doesn't matter, Case, not at all. I don't think they even heard me, and they don't know you! They don't know who you are! It was a mistake, I swear." She was scaring him now, pacing frantically around the room, her hands clasped together, the knuckles white.
"No," she moaned, shaking her head wildly. "Nobody can know! You can't know me, Derek. You can't know about me! Don't you understand?"
"No! What are you afraid of? Who are you afraid of, Casey? What did you do?" She shook her head. "Answer me, damn it! What are you afraid of?"
"I didn't…I don't… No, I can't tell you! But you'll have to know. Oh, God, no!" she screamed, looking up at the ceiling.
"Casey, you need to tell me exactly what's going on." He stopped her, grabbing her hand, and looking down at her. "It's time I know."
"You don't want to know," she answered petulantly.
"Casey," he warned.
"It couldn't last, not forever. But I thought we'd have more time. That's all I wanted, time. There is so much we never got to say to one another, and it was like a gift, this chance. But now it's gone. Oh, God, what's going to happen? I can't stay now; they won't let me. Derek…"
He pulled her into an embrace. "Casey, I don't understand you, babe. You're hysterical, you need to calm down."
She pulled away, and looked up at him. Her gaze seemed distant. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" she asked. When he shook his head, she continued, "Orpheus was the son of a minor God and a muse. He was the best musician, for his mother was a muse, you see. He lived a simple life, until he met Eurydice. They fell in love, and married."
"Casey, I don't mean to be rude, but what the hell does this have to do with anything?"
"Let me finish, please. They fell in love, but on their wedding day, a great tragedy befell upon them. Eurydice was bitten by a snake, and died that day. Orpheus was inconsolable, so broken was he by the death of the woman he loved. He decided to take action, and so, with his lyre, he descended into the underworld. He met with Hades and his cold queen Persephone, and began to play for them. His music was so beautiful that it melted their hearts as he begged to have his bride back. Finally, they let him through to his beloved Eurydice, with permission to take her back with him. However, this was not without a warning. She was still a shadow, and would remain one as long as she was in the underworld. He could not doubt that she was there, could not look at her to confirm it. She would follow him to the light, and once they reached the light, she would become a full woman again. But he couldn't look at her until then. He almost made it, but as they got closer to the light of the outside world, he began to doubt that she was there, for he could not hear her. So, full of doubt, and so close to making it out, he turned to look. He saw her for only a brief moment before she was whisked away, back to the dead souls. He tried to go back, but he couldn't, for you cannot access the Underworld the same way twice. He was heartbroken, and eventually, he too died," she finished. Derek was silent as he digested the story.
"That's a sad story, Casey, but I still don't understand what it has to do with anything."
"Can't you see, Derek? You looked. Despite everything I told you, despite all warnings, you doubted, and you looked. And now," she shook her head sadly, "now I don't know what's going to happen. I suppose I will drift away as well." Suddenly, she straitened, tilting her head. "No," she whispered, "not like this."
"What is it?" He was confused, for she had ceased to make sense. What was she going on about, he wondered. Perhaps he should have taken her to the hospital or something that first night. He should have known something wasn't right, for she hadn't been acting like herself. Yes, he decided, he was going to take her to the hospital now, even if he had to drag her there kicking and screaming. Something was very, very wrong, and it was starting to scare him.
"This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this," she moaned, hiding her face in her hands. "It can't end like this, it can't." She looked up towards the ceiling. "I was going to tell him, I was!" she insisted, speaking to some unseen force. "Please, don't do this to him, don't!"
Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes red with tears. "It's not me I'm afraid for, Derek. It's you. I…" She stopped, and looked towards the door. A moment later, a knock was heard, followed by a woman's voice.
"Derek Venturi, I know you're in there. Open up!" Derek looked at Casey strangely.
"What's Lizzie doing here?" he asked, moving to admit his stepsister.
Silently, Casey sunk to the floor, mouthing 'no!' even as he opened the door. Lizzie stormed in, slamming the door behind her, and turning to look at Derek, her hands on her hips, her mouth pursed in anger.
"This is a surprise," he finally said pleasantly. "You should have called, and I'd…"
"You have some nerve, Derek, some fucking nerve," she interrupted. "I did call, you sonofabitch, we all did. And you haven't answered a damned call. They all told me to leave you alone, that you'd come around, but it's been almost two months, Derek, two months!"
"Derek I'm sorry…"
"Lizzie, what are you talking about?"
"I was going to tell you…"
"Amazing, just amazing," Lizzie said, looking at him with disgust. "Do you even care, Derek? Jesus, from the way she talked about you, I'd have thought you two were friends. We thought you were mourning in your own way, but then you didn't even have the courtesy to show up at the funeral. And now, it's been two fucking months, and you haven't called, haven't said a word."
"No, don't! Not to him, please! It was my fault. Do you hear me? It was MY fault!" Casey cried, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wild.
Derek looked between the two sisters. "What is she talking about?" he asked, looking at Casey.
"It shouldn't have happened like this," she was saying. "I tried to help you, once I realized what I'd done. I didn't even know what I was doing until after I called you, and by then, it was too late. I tried to leave, I tried to move, but then I realized that would just be worse for you. You'd have found out immediately if I'd done that, and then…" she shook her head sadly. "I didn't know what happened, I swear, I didn't know!"
"Casey, what are you…"
"Derek! What the hell are you doing," Lizzie demanded. "You have some nerve to speak about her. Do you even care that she's dead. Answer me!" she screamed, slamming her fist on the table.
"Who's dead? I…I don't understand," he stumbled, looking wildly between the sisters.
"I didn't want this to happen. It had to end, I knew it did, but not like this. I'm not ready for this," Casey sobbed.
"Casey, Derek, I'm talking about Casey," Lizzie was saying. "She's gone. Dead. Don't you know? Don't you even care?"
He looked towards Casey. "No, that's not true…"
"There was a car accident…"
"I should have told you, I should have told you!"
"She can't be gone; she's here…"
"Drunk driver…"
"Casey, say something, do something! Tell her you're not dead. Tell her!"
"Dead on the scene…"
"Derek, I'm sorry. I wanted to help you, I did. It only happened because I loved you," Casey was explaining.
"Casey, you're delusional," he said.
"Derek, who are you talking to? Casey's dead!" Lizzie repeated, regarding him strangely.
"You're lying!"
"Derek, no…"
"Get out! You're a liar! She's not dead! Get out!" he bellowed.
"Derek, it's true," Casey whispered. "I've tried to tell you."
"Casey, no! It's not!" He tried to grasp her hands, but they slipped out of his reach. They both looked down, and he gasped in horror; her hands were starting to fade.
"What's happening, Casey?" He was trembling, looking as her body began to pale. She seemed to be veiled in a heavy cloud of smoke. He could hardly make out her features now, for they were foggy, distorted by the veil. A hazy cloud surrounded her body, a soft yellow glow threatening to consume her.
"You looked, Derek, you looked." Her voice sounded distant now. Desperately, he reached out for her. A strong grasp pulled him back.
"CASEY!" he yelled, "CASEY!"
"Oh, my God…" Lizzie breathed, looking at him with wide eyes. "I didn't…I thought…" She paused, trying to hold the man back as he grasped at the air. "Derek, we need to go; we need to get you help."
"Not without Casey!"
"She's gone, Derek, gone!"
"NO!"
"She's dead, Derek. Casey is dead. Oh God, I should have…we should have known something wasn't right. We have to go, Derek, come on," she urged, glancing nervously around.
He tore himself from her grasp. "I'm not going anywhere! Not until you tell me where she is!" He couldn't see her anymore, didn't understand where she had gone. Dead, dead, dead. The words echoed through his mind. But she wasn't dead. She had just been here. They had made love, had kissed, had spoken. A ghost couldn't have done all of those things.
She's dead she's dead she'sdeadshe'sdead...the words melted together into a chant, growing louder, more voices joining in, until it became a roar in his mind. Lizzie was saying something, but he couldn't hear her, couldn't hear anything except the mocking voices.
Deaddeaddeaddead…
He screamed, finally, unable to take it anymore. "No!!!!!! Casey!"
And then, he fell.
ONE YEAR LATER
St. Joseph's Hospital, London
Psychiatric ward for long-term patients
She was decidedly nervous as she got off the elevator. Looking nervously around for the doctor who was supposed to meet her, she wondered if this was really happening. It had been luck, pure and simple, that had gotten her this interview in the first place. She was a graduate student at the University, writing her thesis on dissociative disorders and coping mechanisms. When she'd contacted the hospital to see if there were any patients she could talk to, she hadn't expected anything to come from it. Doctors couldn't tell her anything, and could only as the patients if they would see her.
As it turned out, one man had said yes.
"Ah, Miss Turner?" An older man walked up to her, smiling kindly.
"You must be Dr. Johnson," she replied, taking his offered hand. "I can't thank you enough for letting me have this chance," she continued.
"Yes, well, you were lucky I had a patient who was so willing to talk to you," he answered, motioning for her to follow him. "You understand that I can't give you his file, of course."
"Of course," she agreed.
"As I said over the phone, he is a twenty-three year old man suffering from a severe depression, and what looks to be possible post-schizophrenic depression. A year ago, his stepsister found him in his apartment, following her sister's death two months prior. He showed signs of schizophrenia, but there is no family history of the disorder," the man cited.
"And you believe that this was a coping mechanism, to deal with the death?"
"It would seem so. He insists that she was with him for the two months following her death, and that she wasn't dead. It seems he had a severe break from reality. We would ordinarily have released him, but for his depression."
"So he's suicidal," she noted.
"Yes, and we're here. I'll be standing right outside; he's requested to see you alone. He's quite harmless, so don't be afraid." He stopped in front of a small room, a chart designating it as the room of a Mr. Derek Venturi. With a deep breath, she walked inside. The man was sitting on the couch, and looked up at her. For a moment, his eyes lit up, but they faded away once he got a look at her.
"You must be the student," he said sullenly. She sat down, pulling up a chair so that she was facing him.
"I just want to ask a few questions…"
"Tell me," he interrupted, "have you heard the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?"
END
A/N: So, this started out as a dream, believe it or not. Whether or not that dream was born from watching too many episodes of the X-Files, well, I cannot say. All I know is it was born from a dream about two strangers. Naturally, when I decided to write about it, I didn't want to waste time trying to make up two characters, and Casey and Derek are always fun to play with, so I went with the thread.
I must say that this is one of the strangest things I feel I've ever written. To write a psychological story is a daunting task, and I imagine that this is one that I will forever be editing as I become a stronger writer. I could perfectly conceive the story in my mind; putting it to paper was a bit more difficult. And yet, I did it, because this was a story that wanted to be told. It's been a long time since an idea bit me, and refused to let go until it was completed, and an even longer time since I actually sat down and wrote it. Silly me, I thought this would be a short story. Nearly 6000 words later, I found out that I was sadly mistaken. Of course, I also thought it would be easier to write, and in the beginning, it was looking as though it would be another 'post end-of-the-world' story, like "Two Words" was (a story that remains my all-time favorite, if I may insert a shameless plug). Then, things changed, and this was born.
I feel strange about this story, and it is one that I really would like to know what people thought. So please, give me some sort of indication of your feelings. It was difficult to write, and I'm curious as to how I did. To write Derek as I did was…strange, to say the least. I might do an original story with this, I might not. I feel as though I have been on a long ride in writing this, although in truth, it didn't take long to write at all. So, if you read it, just drop me a note. I'm curious, plain and simple.
Finally, there is a St. Joseph's hospital in London (Canada, that is). I wasn't able to find out if they had a long-term psychiatric care unit, but for story purposes, I'm taking some creative license. Similarly, most of the information about Schizophrenia is correct, although again, there may be some inconsistencies with reality. Still, I hope you all enjoyed it.
And that is the end of the epic authors note.
Emily