A Cursed Fate...
The wind swept her from under her feet, and Catherine Linton felt a great sigh of relief, utter relaxation taking her body entirely. Her eyes fluttered open for mere seconds, rolling and closing once more, as if a great pleasure passed through her in this final second.
Heathcliff...
This was what she sighed silently as Catherine rolled over and stepped from the bed, feeling awfully light headed, almost weary but refreshed at the same time.
Ellen bowed her head, a few tears sliding down her face as she left the room, Edgar bent over the bed Cathy had just stepped from. Catherine stared at them oddly, all the anger, the spite, the sorrow ebbing back into her, the absolute fury making her entirety shake.
Blinking away tears of anger, anger at Heathcliff, at Edgar, at Ellen, at her unborn child, Catherine turned and left the room, vowing to never return.
She descended the staircase, through the fine living room and across to the back door, out into the field; all was dark, quiet almost, as if the wind sending the trees across the moors thrashing wildly, as if this wind was as silent as death. Gazing across the moors, Catherine jolted and swayed, realising that leaning against a tree, his face solemn, was Heathcliff.
"Heathcliff" the word rolled across her tongue smoothly, like warm soup running down her dry throat, Catherine suddenly felt alive for the first time in years. The sight of him, the smell of him, the sound of his calm breath; all of it was like a lullaby soothing her.
She ran to him, a sudden energy coming from within her, her eyes never leaving his. As she neared him she slowed; he did not see her, he did not move. She leant against his chest, arms falling around his neck, breathing in everything about him, drinking in his very presence.
"She's dead!" he exclaimed roughly and Catherine flinched, turning from him to see a figure standing; it was Ellen, tear-stained and shaking in the cool wind. "I've not waited for you to learn that. Put your handkerchief away-don't snivel before me. Damn you all! She wants none of your tears!"
Catherine stared at him, lost of all emotion and love, mere confusion entering her; who was dead? It couldn't be...it couldn't. She couldn't. She...she wasn't!
Falling to the wet ground in her nightgown, Catherine stared at the two, her maid and her lover, speaking though she could no longer hear them as she shook and moaned in angry despair. Finally looking back up at them she heard Ellen speak once more.
"Quietly as a lamb!" Ellen replied "She drew a sigh, and stretched herself, like a child reviving, and sinking again to sleep; and five minutes after I felt one little pulse at her heart, and nothing more!"
"No! Ellen! You did not sit calmly and watch me die!" Catherine screeched in horror, sure that someone would've helped her, saved her, rescued her. "No!" she shrieked, running at Ellen with pure fury screaming within her. She shoved and clawed at Nelly, until she was lying sobbing upon the wet ground.
"And--did she ever mention me?" Heathcliff hesitated in asking, and Cathy turned, her tears having dissolved to nothing, her disbelief of her condition forgotten as she thought only of Heathcliff; she did not mention him...it had been so gradual Cathy had thought it only to be sleep.
"No..." she whispered, shaking as she got to her feet "Heathcliff...I love just the same, even more, do not doubt my love because I never mentioned you..." Cathy felt the guilt surged through her as the man's face contorted in despair as Ellen explained; the despair of own who has lost his lover, whom was never quite sure of their feelings towards himself. He should never know now?
"She lies with a sweet smile on her face; and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream--may she wake as kindly in the other world!" Ellen said gently, taking a step towards Heathcliff, who was now shaking in anger, desolation, grief and love. He pushed her away as Cathy felt a sudden pull, as if from inside her, a pull towards something she couldn't describe; the other world? Was she not supposed to have left this one of Heathcliff, Ellen, Edgar and her damned child? Why was she still amongst the living?
Backing away slowly, Cathy felt this pull and all the grief, the melancholy as Edgar's wife, only able to steal mere moments with Heathcliff when they deserved eternity, all this sadness and anger was beginning to dissolve like her illusory tears. She could not stay, she was leaving him, her Heathcliff...she gasped at the thought but knew she would see him again, she would-
"May she wake in torment!" Heathcliff suddenly cried in a fearsome fervour, and Cathy felt the pull instantly cease, the calm that had come over her; it was ebbing away as Heathcliff raised his voice to the black skies and howled like a wolf at the moon. He stomped his feet and groaned, a sudden spasm of wild tempestuous zeal. He shouted, tears running down his face, his voice embittered; gruff and harsh, and Cathy could do nothing but watch, feeling her stomach convulse in pain more and more; his pain was hers. "Why, she's a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there --not in heaven--not perished--where? Oh! You said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer--I repeat it till my tongue stiffens--Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you--haunt me, then!" And with this Cathy fell to her knees, unable to breathe, as if she had been stabbed, gasping as she felt the floaty airy feeling of death ebb away into an unfathomable emptiness; she felt grounded, attached clearly to the soil as any living being, excepting that she was not living.
Heathcliff continued to shout, the pain filling Cathy from head to toe, shaking uncontrollably; "The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"
And Cathy's eyes rolled back into her head, collapsing in pain and vehemence as Heathcliff proceeded to strike his forehead against the tree, howling as if he were an animal rather than a man as the blood splashed to the ground.
Cathy screamed as she awoke, staring through the window into his room; he was sleeping, his head bloodied, face wet, still in his clothes and boots. She lifted her grey bridal veil and scraped her fingernails down the cold glass, shrieking like an animal.
"Heathcliff!" she sobbed, knowing she was trapped here, incapable to move on, waiting for him. "How dare you do this! I loved you! I still love you! I'm trapped because of you! You demon!" she roared and he stirred, glancing to the window.
Groggily, Heathcliff wiped the sleep and tears from his eyes, and saw Cathy at the window. Yelling, he leapt to his feet and ran to the window, staring at Cathy as he shook; she was dressed in a greying wedding gown, her long dark hair knotted and unkempt, her face was streaked with tears and she was pale, paler than death.
"Cathy!" he screamed, unlocking the window, and she sighed.
In a burst of white light, Heathcliff crumpled to the ground, comatose.
"Cathy?" he muttered, awaking and Heathcliff looked around the room; it was morning, blood was dripped across his bed, the furniture, the floor, and he was still in his clothes and boots.
Standing unsteadily Heathcliff realised he was on the floor; he was sure he went to sleep in his bed?
Turning, Heathcliff felt his stomach turn over as he realised the window was broken and open, rain and wind having come in through the night the room was positively dishevelled, wet books and papers everywhere.
Sighing and bending over to pick up one of his letters from Cathy, Heathcliff noticed something; a thick lock of dark hair lying upon the letter. It was not his...it had a reddish tinge to it, and he knew with an unpleasant jolt exactly whose it was.
Picking up the lock of hair, he stood, looking at the window. Walking towards it, he shook; was that terrible dream from last night real? Did Cathy haunt him now?
Leaning out of the window, he looked across Wuthering Heights.
"Until tonight Catherine" he whispered and kissed the lock of hair, closing the window.