It was quite peculiar, Sarah O'Brien thought as she glanced up to the aged Downton gallery, how the things we run from have an annoying tendency of appearing in our lives more than anything else. How the things we enjoy seem to disappear as quickly as they appear, and the things we don't are timeless, dragging on and on for ever. How the people we love always go away, and those whose company we could really do without hang about like flies around a big pile of shit. Obviously someone's idea of a rotten joke.

Sarah O'Brien never thought she'd be in Downton Abbey again. She'd done all in her power to escape this damned house, escape these damned people, and yet here she was. She'd wanted out so quickly that the only way of doing so was to sneak off in the night, with nothing but a pair of scribbled letters to explain her actions. Cowardly? Perhaps. As she'd half ran down the garden path that night, she could already picture their faces upon their realisation that Miss O'Brien, Lady Grantham's lady's maid, Miss O'Brien – scowling, moody, unapproachable – had done a bunk. Had told them all(in so many ways, anyway) to kiss her backside because she was sodding off to India with Lady Flintshire. 'Oh how terrible of her!' 'Poor Lady Grantham, what ever shall she do? How ever will she brush her own hair or put on her own stockings?' 'How selfish that evil Miss O'Brien was!' 'Good riddance!' Good riddance indeed. Sarah O'Brien had caught a glimpse of freedom and adventure in the form of Lady Susan Flintshire, and Sarah O'Brien had bloody taken it. She'd packed her bags, scribbled a note to Mrs Hughes and went to leave. But then she'd stopped at the door when she'd caught sight of the now repaired dress for Lady Grantham hanging up on the door of her wardrobe. She could never have left without finishing it, and Sarah had been rather looking forward to showing Lady Grantham her handy work – she'd exceeded her mending skills with this one. Sarah clenched the door handle tightly, her eyes fixed on the mended dress. God damn it... She gently placed her bag down so's not to wake anybody, and bent down over her tiny desk and quickly started to write.

'Dear Lady Grantham..."

The woman had been good to her over the years, better than previous employers, anyway. Would she be sorry leaving her? Of course she would... perhaps more than she'd allow herself to believe. Every time she looked at the woman, she was reminded of her ultimate shame and guilt. She was reminded of her selfishness and her moment of complete weakness... she couldn't live with that, and she certainly couldn't stay if Bates knew. She saw the monster within her every time she looked in the mirror or caught herself in a reflection. She didn't need Bates reminding her of that as well.

'...Lady Flintshire has booked my ticket for India, and it seems to good a chance to miss. It is with regret in my heart that I withdraw my services to you as lady's maid, and I hope that one day you can forgive me.

Yours,

Sarah O'Brien'

Her hand had started to shake towards the end of the letter.. damn... She hadn't time to re write the thing, so it would have to. It's not like Lady Grantham would notice anyway. She'd read it in the morning, roll her eyes, crumple the thing up and throw it into the fire. She felt a stab of annoyance as she folded the envelope over and placed it gently on the other side of the mantle. It was for her own peace of mind of course. The woman upstairs probably couldn't care less. Lady's maids were easily replaced, and this time tomorrow, the Countess of Grantham would probably be back in front of her mirror having her hair prepared and her backside kissed. There was a last sweeping look of her room, a last glance at the perfectly repaired dress, and she was gone.

So why, why, why was she here again in the prison she'd so desperately wanted to escape? She'd vowed to never return, to never have to look at the stupid carpets or paintings, to never have to answer to Mrs Hughes or Mr Carson again. She glanced around in confusion. Had she been gone that long? How on earth was the house this quiet? She moved silently towards the staircase, placing a feather light hand on the banister.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here, Miss O'Brien."

Sarah couldn't help but jump at the sudden voice – she'd been certain she was alone. The voice belonged to a tall gentleman who was stood with his hands joined in front of him. His hair was short and messy – he definitely needed to run a comb through it, at least – and was the lightest shade of blonde Sarah had ever seen. His face was young, but lined and creased, and he wore a simple white shirt which was unbuttoned at his throat, and a pair of plain brown trousers. He ran his hands down his braces and left them to rest on where they joined his pants.

"Don't worry, I'm here to explain."

"Excuse me? And who exactly are you?"

Scruffy sod, surely he wasn't a new footman? Unless Mr Carson's standards had drastically dropped. Sarah eyed him carefully, making sure to keep a sensible distance between them both.

"My name is Michael, Sarah. I've come to help you."

"With what, exactly?"

He looked unsure for a second, tapping his fingers on the metal of his belt as if contemplating something.

"Well..." He gave a small laugh. His face was kind, and his gaze on her was soft, almost warm. "It might be easier to simply show you. What we see with our own eyes shows us more than the words of another ever could."

Sarah stared. What the hell was this lunatic blabbing about? She glanced quickly to the door leading down the steps to the servants hall. Maybe if she yelled for help someone would hear her-

"No one will hear, you, Sarah. You must trust me."

"You ought to go, Mr Carson doesn't like strangers mulling about the house-"

"Mr Carson cannot see me, Sarah. At least, not yet."

"If you need food, there's a shelter in the village that can help you, you won't find anything here other than a sharp word off the ol' blues-"

"Sarah, stop." His tone was firm, and Sarah's words caught in her throat. "No one can see us, hear us, feel us. There is no need for worry." He moved gently towards her. She'd never met a man like it... His eyes held such a warmly kindness she'd never seen before, she felt almost ashamed to look him in the face. "I'm here to help you understand Sarah, so you can move on."

"Move on?"

"Yes. Except there's been a complication... you've ruffled a couple of feathers up there, you know." His fingers ran carefully along his belt again. "And down there, too." He shot her a piercing stare before turning from her, and slowly paced the empty hall. He brought a hand to his chin, deep in thought.

"You've lived a somewhat good life, Sarah O'Brien... but there is something preventing me from carrying you on. You did something in your life that is not allowing you to move on, something you need to be forgiven for. Now usually, a soul like yours would be taken downstairs straight away... but your cause of death requires us to give you a chance to repent."

"My... my what?"

"Your cause of death Sarah. You do realise where you are?"

"I'm back at Downton-"

"No, no... I mean where you really are. I can't move your soul on, and they can't move your soul on either, so you're stuck here for now."

Sarah felt her legs buckle, and she dropped onto the steps of the grand stair case.

"I... I'm dead?"

"Oh dear... I'm sorry. I've been doing this for such a long time that one often forgets about modern beliefs, or lack of... Yes, Sarah O'Brien, you are dead. A bit of a deflated ending, if you ask me. You were always a sparky youngster, a sparky woman, too. What will be, will be, I suppose." He gave a small sigh and ran his hands up and down his braces again. "It happens to all of us, Sarah." He took a seat next to her on the the stairs. "Would you like me to show you? It's going to make your journey a little more understandable..." He held out a hand to her. Sarah O'Brien was no fool, and she half wanted to give this Michael a good clip round the ear for the ridiculous nonsense he was spouting. But that warmth in his eyes and the safety she felt in his presence was enough to stop her.

"You better not be pulling my leg..."

"As truthful as you when your mother thought you smashed up the boy next doors model ship... it was, in fact, your younger brother, Alfred."

"How do you know about that?"

"I know everything about you, Sarah. I know that smashing things up wasn't really your style... You were more... sly ... when acting out your revenge. Just as little Paul Rigby found out, many a time."

"He deserved it! Picking on our poor Alfie all the time-!"

"You needn't explain your acts of revenge on Paul Rigby to me, Sarah. Come on..." A moment of hesitation passed over Sarah O'Brien, but she carefully placed her own trembling hand into the larger, welcoming hold of Michael. A sudden and complete darkness fell over the pair of them, and Sarah tightened her grip on Michael's hand.

"Open your eyes, Sarah."

She did so, and found herself standing in the narrow corridor of a ship. Instinctively, she pressed herself against the wooden wall as a gentleman in a naval uniform went by. Michael didn't move, and Sarah gasped as she watched the sailor pass right through him. Michael couldn't help but smile at her obvious surprise.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to that." He started down the corridor, motioning for her to follow. "Humans can't see you, some animals can, so be careful with them.. Rumour has it young children often catch glimpses, too." he said as he walked on. She ran to keep up with him. "Walls are a little tricky at first, but with a bit of practise you'll be walking through them in no time. You can't go through floors though – and don't ask why, neither. That question never used to be a problem, but you humans get more inquisitive with every generation that passes. Ah, here we are."

He turned to face a door and walked straight through it, leaving Sarah stood in the corridor with her mouth hanging open in shock. His head suddenly appeared through the wood again.

"Right... close your eyes, don't think too much. It'll be a little easier here because we're in the past and we're just watching... anyway, close your eyes and just walk..."

What the hell was happening? Sarah rubbed her face in irritation. Come on Sarah... you can do this. She closed her eyes and held her breath before stepping forward into the door. Where she expected a crunch of flesh on wood, there was nothing but a slight drop in temperature. She opened her eyes to find herself stood in the luxurious cabin of the Flintshire's.

"Well done, Sarah. Most people can't bring themselves to do it straight away. I had a monk in the fourteenth century that fainted when I asked him to walk through a wall... that was rather unpleasant for us both."

Sarah didn't quite know what to say, so she simply stared around the cabin. A door suddenly swung open, and Lady Susan Flintshire came staggering out. Her hair was unkept and messy, and she wore a ruffled dressing gown. The sight was so familiar in Sarah's mind that she had to keep glancing at Michael to make sure she wasn't still actually here and going insane.

"She... she can't see us?"

"No, she can't see us, Sarah, don't worry. We're just here to watch." Sarah glanced at his face and found there a sadness she couldn't quite explain. It made her own heart quake in her chest. Sarah had never really warmed to Susan Flintshire, so as she watched the woman stumble about the cabin, drunk and dirty, she felt no sadness for her. She put the trembling of her heart down to Michael's face... his energy had changed. He watched Susan like a parent watching their child marry the wrong person... disappointed, worried, and terribly, terribly sad.

"Susan developed a sickness of the mind, Sarah." he muttered finally. His eyes never left her. "I'd guess she'd put it down to her belief that she failed as a mother if she could, and, as many do, she turned to alcohol instead of seeking proper help." They watched as she drunkenly lit a cigarette, inaudibly muttering under her breath as she filled her glass again. "She hid it well, of course... you wouldn't of been able to help her, Sarah. You worked well for her, and I truly believe she appreciated everything you did for her... She mourned for Rose terribly... more than she let on, any way." They watched her in silence for a few moments. Sarah had of course noticed the lingering smell of whiskey on her Lady's clothes when she'd dress her in the morning. She'd noticed the messiness of her hair and skin, the lack of attention she showed when interacting with others, her constant murmuring under her breath. She'd met the woman up in Scotland during the Crawley family's usual annual visit to Duneagle. She was sharper than Lady Grantham, a lot less kind, and much more insecure about her looks. She bristled whenever her husband walked into the room, and jumped at every word he spoke like a dog to a bone. Sarah had – for a second – a fleeting moment of longing for Lady Grantham, who slipped into her dresses easily and sat patiently when Sarah brushed her hair. She'd always had wonderful hair – smooth, clean, and black like a ravens feathers. She would allow Sarah to work quietly, often trying to spark a conversation, even if sometimes it was somewhat awkward. Never the less, she would try, and Sarah often found herself enjoying the simplicity of her evenings with Cora Crawley.

"Is that a pang of regret you're feeling, Sarah O'Brien?"

She blinked away the frown that had appeared on her face quickly when she realised Michael had been watching her. She shook her head and moved her attention back onto the drunken Lady Flintshire. They watched as she stumbled across the room again, leaning on the door frame that lead to Sarah's tiny living area.

"As I said, Susan developed a sickness of the mind. That doesn't excuse what she's about to do, however."

"What she's about to do?"

"Watch..."

They continued to watch her mumble nonsense under her breath. She spotted a rather grand, heavy candlestick whose wick had not yet been lit, and roughly snapped the wax off, throwing is onto the floor. The candle stick really must have been quite heavy, for Susan Flintshire stumbled slightly as she picked it up, bringing it up above her head and holding it there as she quietly opened the door to Sarah O'Brien's room. It felt as though she was watching a train wreck in slow motion. She wanted to lash out, scream, just stop this woman from doing what she was about to.

"Stop her!" she shouted, moving forward to grab the candlestick. Her fingers melted through the gold like they would through fog.

"You can't do anything, Sarah. This is just a memory, you can only watch."

"But-"

She felt utterly helpless as she watched Susan Flintshire move beside the sleeping Sarah in the bed, completely unaware of the murderous woman stood over her.

"No... I can't die like this! Stop! STOP!"

After everything, everything, this was how she was to die? Asleep in her bed, no chance of putting up even a tiny fight? Deflated end indeed... She brought her hands to her face in absolute distress and watched as Susan brought the candlestick crashing into Sarah O'Brien's skull. It was the most awful scene Sarah had ever witnessed, and as she looked into the face of Susan Flintshire, she was filled with rage so excruciating she grasped her hair and let out an agonising shriek that seemed to fill the whole room.

"You stupid bitch! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?" There was a light pop, which caused Susan to flinch in mild surprise, and part of the room was darkened. So that's all she could muster? All this rage and hate, and all she could do was pop a light bulb?

"Sarah..."

"No! How can you just stand by and let her do this?"

"We can't interfere, Sarah."

"So she's just going to get away with murdering me?"

"Her time of judgement will come. You can only focus on your own fate, now. That's why I'm here."

For a small woman, Susan Flintshire showed an enormous amount of strength when she managed to lift Sarah's still body up and half drag it out onto the deck. They both followed her in silence and watched as she hauled Sarah's body up over the railings on the ship and gave a small sigh as she heaved one last time. The body disappeared pathetically into the darkness of the night, swallowed by the monstrously enormous ocean. Sarah could think of nothing to say. Susan Flintshire had come to her with promises of freedom and adventure, a foreign and exciting land far, far away from the secrets of Downton. A place she could go to escape seeing that evil monster in the mirror every morning. She left behind Cora Crawley, the kindest mistress a lady's maid could ever wish for, for this drunken, frizzy haired, murderous beast. Damnit, Sarah...

"Your life was taken away from you by another. The rules change a little... you're allowed a chance to repent for your sins, find forgiveness from those you hurt the most." Michael leant against the railings of the ship, motioning for her to follow. She did so in silence, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You wanted to know why you ended up back in Downton Abbey – it's because the one sin that is preventing your soul from moving on happened there, the person you hurt the most is still alive there. The only way you can move on is if you can find forgiveness from that person. The secret you hold in your heart is one of sheer darkness, Sarah. They tried to lay claim on your soul because of it."

"They?"

"Evil. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to go down there with them, Sarah. It would mean an eternity of pain and suffering. Luckily for you, both sides have agreed to halt any claims on you for now. You lived a good life, so that prevents you going downstairs. But your secret cannot go unforgiven, and that stops you going upstairs. We're giving you this chance to decide your own fate. Find forgiveness before the person you hurt dies, and I'll come and get you. Don't, and a less friendly gentleman will come knocking."

"Who..."

"I think we both know the answer here, Sarah. Cora Crawley has many years of natural life ahead of her, luckily for you. But evil works as evil does... they want your soul, Sarah, and they'll do anything to get it. If Cora Crawley dies before you can find her forgiveness, you'll go straight to hell. You must protect her, and once you are forgiven, you'll be able to move on."

"But she can't see me... how am I supposed to explain myself?"

"She can't see you in the mortal world, no. The only way to truly contact her is in her dreams, Sarah. But be wary – the dream world is unpredictable."

Sarah's knuckles had turned awfully white against the railings of the ship. Michael gently placed a hand over them.

"Protect her, Sarah, and you will earn your place in Heaven. Good luck, child." He brought a hand to her cheek and gently turned her face so he could place a light kiss on her forehead. A sudden light surrounded them both, and Sarah was forced to close her eyes to shield them from the brightness. When she opened them again, she was stood alone once again in the hall of Downton Abbey.