Rating: PG
Codes: P/T, K
Date Posted: 31 October 2000
Summary: Tom's worst nightmare comes true.
WARNING - CHARACTER DEATH!!!! This story is darker than my usual. If your taste runs toward more lighthearted fare, try last year's Halloween Challenge story, "Hell Shuttle," instead.
Spoilers through "Drive."
Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.
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by Shayney
um·bra: 1. A dark area, especially the blackest part of a
shadow from which all light is cut off. 2. The completely
dark portion of the shadow cast by the earth, moon, or
other body during an eclipse.
Harry was waiting in the transporter room
when Tom got there. Punctual as always. He smiled
tentatively when he caught sight of Tom, and reached
for his pack.
"Give me that," Tom said, taking it.
"Thanks," Harry said, and limped up onto the
transporter platform.
Harry still wasn't walking very well. The Doc
had several more surgeries planned, but not until
Harry recovered a bit more.
Once, Harry had moved with the exuberant
grace and endless energy of youth. Watching his
awkward, halting steps now was painful. An
unwelcome reminder of the accident that had
changed Tom's life forever.
This wasn't the kind of shore leave Tom
wanted. His idea of a good time was a busy city and
a hot night life, with plenty of civilized comforts and
alien vices to sample. But the government of this
planet was reluctant to allow them into their urban
centers. They were offered shore leave, but only in
sparsely populated, rural areas.
Harry was looking forward to it, of course. He
still hadn't lost that neophyte enthusiasm, despite
everything that had happened. Sometimes it made
Tom want to throttle him.
It's not Harry's fault, he tried to tell himself.
It was an accident.
But Tom's life was in ruins, and it was hard not
to be bitter. An undetected asteroid field, a young,
inexperienced pilot, a fiery shuttle crash - in one
moment, Tom lost everything. His sweet, beautiful
B'Elanna, gone forever. He'd had some problems
dealing with it - who wouldn't? - and the captain
had relieved him of duty. Just temporary, she said,
until he was better.
The only problem was, Tom wasn't sure he was
ever going to be better. The rest of the crew shunned
him now, not knowing what to say to him, fearing his
misfortune was catching. They were polite enough,
but couldn't look him in the eye...afraid of the
emptiness there. Only Harry, his first and last friend,
stuck by him. Out of guilt, loyalty, or sheer
stubbornness, Tom wasn't sure. Just as he wasn't
sure whether to be grateful or resentful.
So here they were, going on shore leave
together. Just like they used to, before. Only now, it
was because none of their other crewmates welcomed
their presence.
Maybe this would be just what he needed, Tom
thought. He was so tired of the whispers that stopped
when he got near, the pitying looks, the way their eyes
shied from his. At least here, no one would know
him, or about what had happened.
Except Harry. Tom would have preferred to go
alone, but the captain insisted on the buddy system.
Besides, Harry wasn't well enough to be on his own
yet.
They beamed down in a forest clearing. Trees towered around them, cool and majestic. The
crisp mountain air contrasted exhilaratingly with the
heat of the reddish sunlight filtering through the
leaves. Before them was a cottage of stone and wood,
with a high tower atop it. It was beautiful, and Tom
felt his heart lift a little. Maybe this shore leave
would be okay after all.
Harry brightened, looking around. In this
warm, rosy light, the scars barely showed. He
seemed almost the untouched youth Tom had rescued
from Quark's bar, so many years ago. Tom found
himself smiling in response. When Harry moved
toward the cottage, limping stiffly, Tom, a little
giddy with the fresh air, picked him up in his arms
and carried him up the rickety wooden stairs,
depositing him on the stone porch.
Harry laughed, startled, then pushed forward
into the cottage. Tom followed, frowning slightly.
Harry had felt so fragile in his arms. Harry, who had
always seemed so solid.
Inside, the cottage was Spartan but clean, with
simple wooden furniture - a table, a bed, some
benches - and a huge stone fireplace. There was a
staircase of sorts, leading up to the loft. Or maybe it
was more like a ladder. It was a large log, with steps
carved into it, leaning against the edge of the loft.
No way would Harry be able to get up that.
Tom climbed up, looking around. There was
another bed up in the loft, and another log staircase.
It must lead up to the tower. "I'll sleep up here,"
Tom called down to Harry. "You can have the bed
downstairs."
"Thanks," Harry said. He threw his pack on
the bed, and himself after it. "This place is great," he
said.
"Yeah," Tom said, smiling a little.
Tom woke early the next morning. Harry tired
easily these days, and was still asleep, so Tom
decided to go exploring on his own. He grabbed
some supplies, and followed the stream into the
woods.
He walked for awhile, until he came to a glade
beside a wide, deep pool. The trees were thick and
tall here, so it was dim and shadowy even though the
sun was high. As good a place as any to have lunch.
Tom hadn't brought any food, but that didn't matter.
He had something to drink.
Opening his canteen, he took a swallow of the
harsh, heavy liquor inside. A few months ago, he'd
have turned up his nose at such a primitive brew.
Now he had no choice. The captain thought he was
drinking too much. He scowled. Who wouldn't, in
his situation? But the bitch had restricted his
replicator usage. No more synthahol. For awhile,
he'd gotten around it by getting Harry to replicate his
booze for him, but the captain had found out, and
now Harry's replicator usage was restricted, too.
So he was stuck with the moonshine from the
Maquis still. Not so long ago it had been only the
best French wines. Not so long ago, he'd been
the envy of the entire ship. A great job, a beautiful
wife, a bright future. All wiped away in an instant,
thanks to a young idiot's carelessness.
Sorrow welled up, so intense he could barely
breathe. It just wasn't fair. Every time he built up his
life, it was smashed to pieces again. There was only
so much one man could take. He should have been
on that shuttle. He should have died with B'Elanna,
with all his hopes and dreams.
Gradually, something pierced his misery. The
scent of roses. B'Elanna's perfume.
He wouldn't have expected B'Elanna Torres to
be the kind of woman to wear scent, but she always
did, every day. She had worried that her strong,
musky odor, normal for Klingons but pungent by
human standards, was offensive, and tried to cover it
with floral perfume. Tom had always loved the way
she smelled. The rose scent would be too sweet on
any other woman, but combined with the rich musk
of B'Elanna's skin, it was intoxicating.
Tom's eyes filled with tears, and he shut them.
He knew it couldn't really be B'Elanna's perfume. It
must be alien flowers that grew in the forest here,
that just happened to smell like her. Funny how
odors cut right through the higher cerebral functions,
going straight to the reptile brain and its raw
emotions. For a moment, Tom was filled with so
much pain he thought he would die of it.
He opened his eyes, and for a brief second, he
could swear that he saw her. The image was fleeting,
and blurred with tears, but it was B'Elanna. Wearing
his favorite dress of low-cut red velvet, standing
there in the clearing in front of him. Then she was
gone.
Tom took a deep, shuddering breath. He was
losing it. He would have to stop drinking.
Tomorrow. He picked up the canteen again.
For a few days, Tom tried to find the source of
the alien flowers that smelled like roses, but he never
could. The tricorder couldn't seem to pick up the
odor, and he couldn't find any flowers at all in the
forest. He always gave up after a couple of hours,
and sat in the glade by the stream, drinking and
napping. Perhaps because of that memory-rich scent,
he often dreamed of B'Elanna there. She seemed so
real, he could almost feel her soft, warm lips against
his.
"I want to come with you," Harry said.
Tom tried not to let his impatience show. He
was planning to walk to the market in the village -
way beyond Harry's current capabilities. "You can't
walk that far." Though maybe you could, if you
followed the Doc's instructions for once in your life.
"We could transport there. It's kind of boring,
being alone here all day."
Tom didn't want that. It would be faster, but
Harry was sure to argue over the supplies Tom
bought. Particularly the liquid supplies. "I'll see you
later, Harry," Tom said, and strode off into the
woods.
"Tom!" Harry called after him, but Tom
ignored him.
Geez, when had Harry become so whiny and
dependent? Ruefully, Tom remembered that he'd
always spent his shore leaves with Harry, not
B'Elanna. He and Harry had always got along so
well. They'd shared the same interests. While he and
B'Elanna always ended up fighting over what to do.
It was just easier to go with Harry, while B'Elanna
went with Sue or Chakotay or one of her other
friends. Now he deeply regretted all the wasted
moments he and B'Elanna might have shared. He'd
give anything to fight with her again.
The marketplace was small but busy and
colorful. A variety of goods were laid out on rough
wooden tables, including Tom's most pressing need:
booze. He was going through his supply alarmingly
fast.
He made his selections quickly, stuffing the
various jugs and bundles in his pack. He was about
to leave when something caught his eye. A small
dagger, in an ornate silver sheathe. It was a lovely
thing, with clean, elegant lines, perfectly balanced,
and very sharp. Beautiful and efficient, like his
B'Elanna.
This was just the kind of thing he would have
bought as a souvenir for his wife, once. Klingons
considered knives to be very romantic gifts. Now, of
course, he had no one to give it to.
The proprietor noticed his interest. "The very
best, a rare antique," she said. "They're not made
like that any more. It will never break or corrode.
The metal is starsteel. Found only in a few ancient
meteorites. Exactly where is a mystery long
forgotten."
Crap if he ever heard it. It was likely a cheap
gewgaw mass-produced for sale to tourists all over
the planet. But Tom found he liked the feel of it in
his hand, so he haggled with the dealer and bought it
- for probably an outrageous sum, judging from how
friendly the woman became, once the sale was made.
Her name was Bonari. All the natives looked
alike to Tom, but she was apparently an elder of her
species, remembering generations of local history.
"The old firewatch tower," she said, when he told her
where he was staying. "When the fire risk was high,
people used to take turns, watching the hills for
smoke or flame. If they spotted any, the whole
village ran to contain the fire."
"You don't use it any more?" Tom asked.
"We have surveillance satellites now, to do that
job. For awhile, the old firewatch tower was used as
a residence, but...well, people don't like to live there
any more."
"Why not?" Tom asked, interest piqued by
something in Bonari's expression.
"It has a tragic past," she replied. "People are
superstitious."
"What happened?"
She didn't seem to mind telling the story. "It
was many, many years ago. A young family lived
there. They were very happy...until the wife
discovered her husband was unfaithful. She went
mad with grief. She killed her husband and the
mistress, then drowned herself and her children in the
stream. At least, that's what I think. Some say
otherwise."
"It's haunted?"
She seemed to consider, and Tom wondered
how the universal translator had interpreted the word.
"Not exactly. It's not ghosts people fear. They think
it was a...." there was a long pause, then the
translator decided on "...vampire."
Tom puzzled over that. "A supernatural
creature that drinks blood?"
"No, no. The vampire does not drink blood. It
drinks tears. It lives alone in the high places, but
grief may draw it to human dwellings. Most folk
need not fear, but those tragedy has visited - they are
vulnerable. The vampire will scent their pain, and
use glamours and illusions to drive them to insanity
and death. To feed on their misery." Bonari stopped
suddenly, seeming to regret her words. "It's just a
superstition," she said. "Not real. And even if it was
real, you would be safe. You are here on vacation,
for happy reasons."
"Yeah," Tom said, nearly choking on the irony.
No mythical spook could equal the horror that was
his life now. For awhile, in this new place,
surrounded by people who didn't know what had
happened, he was almost able to forget. Almost.
Tom was dreaming. He knew he was
dreaming. He didn't want to stop dreaming.
He lay on the grass, and B'Elanna lay beside
him. She felt so real. Soft and warm and alive, and
smelling of roses.
"I missed you this morning, Tom. Where were
you?"
"Had to go get supplies. I came as soon as I
could."
B'Elanna gave a contented little purr, and
snuggled against him. Tom sighed, and pulled her
closer.
He was alone when he woke up, of course. But
in the fading light, he could swear the grass beside
him was flattened, almost as if someone had been
lying beside him.
Tom recognized the set look on Harry's face,
and mentally steeled himself.
"Tom, let's go fishing today," Harry said,
determinedly cheerful. "You said yesterday we
could go today."
"You go. I don't feel like it."
"Come on, Tom. One morning. You can spare
your best friend one morning."
"No. I have other plans."
Harry was silent a long moment, then said,
"You mean you're going to go out in the woods and
get drunk again."
"So what if I am?"
"You know that doesn't help!"
"Do I?" Tom stalked out of the cabin and into
the woods, fuming. How come he'd never realized
before what a pompous, self-centered jerk his best
friend was? Once, he'd been willing to give his life
for Harry Kim. Damned if he could remember why,
now.
Reaching the glade, he sat down facing the
stream and was soon very drunk. I hate you, Harry
Kim. You killed my wife. Harsh, bitter sobs shook
him, so hard he thought his very bones would shatter.
He cried for everything he had lost.
"Tom, oh, Tom, don't cry." B'Elanna's arms
were around him. She rocked him gently, stroking
his hair.
Finally, he ran out of tears. "B'Elanna." Tom
didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have.
She couldn't be here. But she seemed so real. Solid
and strong and beautiful, just as he remembered her.
"Are you a dream?" he asked her whimsically.
"Or a vampire?"
"You have a weird sense of humor, love," she
said, and Tom didn't press it. Dream, vampire, or his
own insanity, he'd take it.
As usual, as the shadows grew long, Tom
headed back to the cottage. He was on the porch,
about to open the door, when he heard Harry's voice
through the open window. There was an urgent tone
to it that made him pause. Silently, he listened.
"....not helping. Doc, I think he's getting
worse. He spends all day out in the woods, and all
night up in the loft alone. Drinking. He hardly talks
to me, and when he does, he's barely civil."
The Doc's voice replied, with the slightly tinny
sound voices had over the comm. Harry must be
talking to Voyager, via his combadge.
"Mr. Kim, I think you should both return to the
ship immediately. I warned you that Mr. Paris'
adjustment to...recent events...was not healthy." The
Doctor's tone was disdainful. "If you ask me, he belongs in the brig, not on vacation."
"It was an accident," Harry protested. "You
can't blame him."
"Can't I? His wife died, you almost did. He
came out of it with only a hangover."
"He was upset! He'd had a fight with B'Elanna,
and drank a little. He didn't mean to hurt anyone."
"Mr. Kim, from what you describe, his guilt is
coming to a head. Anyone nearby could become a
scapegoat. You're not safe down there alone with
him."
"All right. As soon as he gets back, I'll tell him
the captain has cancelled our shore leave..."
Tom wasn't listening any more. They were
going to take him back to the ship. He'd be separated
from B'Elanna. He couldn't let that happen. Dream
or not, he couldn't imagine life without her.
Turning, he crept quietly back out into the
woods. Once he was safely clear, he began running.
He had never been out this late before, and tripped
repeatedly over rocks and roots he could barely see.
But he kept going. "B'Elanna!" he called frantically.
"B'Elanna!"
She evolved slowly out of the darkness, lovely
as always. Her eyes were very bright, almost
glowing, her lips red and moist. "What's wrong,
Tom?"
"B'Elanna. Darling. I won't be able to see you
again!"
"Why not?" she asked.
"Harry!" Tom blurted. "He's jealous. He told
the Doc lies about me, and now they're going to
make me go back to the ship."
"Oh, Tom, that's terrible! You can't let him do
that!"
"I can't stop him," Tom said.
"I can," she replied. "If you let me." She
smiled seductively, dropping small, rose-scented
kisses on his lips and cheeks. "Just say yes, and we
can be together always."
Tom clutched at her slender body, breathed in
her sweet, musky scent.
"Do you choose me over Harry?" she asked.
"Do you? Just say yes." She kissed him again.
"You have to say yes."
"Yes," he whispered.
Tom woke up, head aching, feeling something
was terribly wrong. He was lying on his bed in the
loft of the cabin, with no memory of how he got
there.
"Harry?" he called. There was no answer. He
peered over the edge of the loft - and his heart froze.
"Oh my god, oh my god. Harry!"
He threw himself down the ladder, more falling
than climbing. Blood, there was so much blood.
Harry sprawled in the middle of the floor, eyes
staring, throat slashed. The ornate silver knife,
stained with blood, lay beside him.
"NO!" he shrieked. Grief and horror slammed
through him. And suddenly he knew who had done
it. "B'Elanna!"
Tom bolted from the cabin and pelted out into
the forest. "B'Elanna!" he shouted. "B'Elanna!"
She was waiting for him, there in the glade.
"Hello, lover," she said.
"How could you? Harry was your friend!"
She smiled voraciously, and suddenly, she
wasn't beautiful any more. She looked as she had the
last time Tom had seen her: blackened, burned, bone
showing through her seared flesh.
"No!" Tom cried, backing away.
She pressed close to him. She didn't smell like
roses any more. He gagged. "What's the matter?
Don't like my face? But it's your design."
He screamed and struggled, but her wizened
body was impossibly strong. "You wanted to be with
me forever," she said. "Now you will be." She
wound her dry, shriveled arms around him, and
pulled him into the dark.
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