A bright, blinding light over took Stefan after he'd passed through Bonnie. Shielding his eyes, he waited for the light to die down. But he couldn't help himself from thinking about the fight and how quick his death really came. The green-eyed vampire lived for over a century and a half and never once thought he would have gone out like that. After all the things he'd been through, It seemed like he was cheated—dying like that, having his heart ripped out.
It really wasn't all that bad—dying. Thinking back on it, he really didn't register what had happened until he caught the quickly fading sight of his bloody heart outside of his body. He couldn't remember anything after feeling his legs give out from underneath him. The light, cold feeling came quick before he blacked out and left Caroline to grieve over his graying body.
Then he saw Bonnie...
When the light finally gave away, the suave male lowered his arm and opened his eyes. He found himself standing in the middle of an old dirt road with over growth of weeds and roots from the nearby trees. Pouting in confusion, he turned around, looking each way for a sign of where he was. But the only things he could make out were the forest in the night's darkness and the rocky ground under his feet.
Suddenly an impulse to walk forward filled him. The sensation of a light pressure was at his backside, as if being pushed. And when he took a step forward, he realized he couldn't feel the ground under him.
He looked down. He could see his feet were on the ground. But when he focused on the absence of that sense, he quickly knew what it was—He was a ghost. He had no body with nerves to feel his surroundings... But he did remember how things felt. Staring at the ground he remembered what a dirt road felt like under his feet; hard, lumpy, the stones would shift under his feet as he moved. Even the sound of his foot steps on a dirt road came back to him—The gritting crunch.
He stepped forward again. And again he noticed he wasn't feeling the ground. In that instant he began to miss it. But the lack of this sense didn't seem to bother his balance like it should have as he kept walking.
Turning his head this way and that, he looked for something, anything to explain what was going on. Other than the obvious "You're dead" that went through his mind, he still didn't have any idea where he was, or why he was here.
Stefan stopped walking when he noticed the cries of a horse. He looked around him, but it wasn't until he faced forward again did an image fade into view, growing so vivid as the area transformed to an instantly familiar scene. From where he stood, Stefan could make out the form of himself and Damon helping Katherine out of the carriage on the night of the vampire raid in eighteen sixty-four.
A panic gave the illusion of his chest tightening as he watched the scene.
Damon had pulled the mouth piece off of a sedated Katherine. They were untying the ropes around her wrists as the sounds of horses and men shouting echoed in the distance. His past self was urging his brother to hurry.
Bang!
Stefan jumped hearing the gun shot as he watched himself and his brother. Then he watched as Damon collapsed to the ground and die, his past self going to him, calling his name to get him to respond.
Shouts came from behind him. Turning to look from the scene, he recognized the men coming at him and running through his ghostly body as they yelled to shoot his past self. He turned his attention back on the scene in time to watch as he had grabbed the rifle of the man Damon had knocked out.
Bang!
His past self was shot. He had struggled to keep up for a moment, but he couldn't manage it. He'd fallen to the ground with the gun still in his hand.
His green eyes were wide in the shock of watching himself and his brother die. Looking around at the fading edges of the vision, he stepped back and watched as scene disappeared completely, leaving him back in the strange forest from before. Only now he recognized it. It was the same place, only aged a century and half with taller trees and thicker bushes. This is where he and Damon had died all those years ago.
Stefan took a deep breath, more out of habit than anything else, as it didn't seem to relieve him at all. He was confused. He'd returned to the place of his original death, and now he was left standing there in a troubled, lost state.
A bright flash suddenly caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned around to look at it and saw the space of air near him had a rippling look. The center expanded and revealed a blurred, wavy scene of two people talking. The voices coming from inside it were familiar, and soon the people came into focus. Stepping towards the rippling image, Stefan peered in at the scene of his brother and Elena talking, their conversation sounding alien as the words echoed and faded into each other. Lifting a hand, Stefan reached out to the strange window of the scene and his hand slipped through. Surprised, he stepped closer, pushing in his whole arm. He looked the window to Damon and Elena up and down briefly and pulled his arm back. Looking his arm over, he saw it wasn't harmed. He stared back to the window curiously, and hesitantly stepped closer and leaned into it.
"I just miss him so much..." Elena's voice cracked as she used her hand to wipe her tears.
"I know. I do too," Damon responded in a gentle tone.
Instantly Stefan saw Damon and Elena sitting in the living room of the boarding house. He leaned in more and stepped forward. The rest of his body passed into the room, and the rippling window behind him showed the forest where he was just standing. He turned his head back to Damon and Elena.
"I can't believe he's gone, Damon."
"We'll be alright, Elena."
"That's not the point! He's dead, Damon!"
The raven haired vampire rose to his feet with a scowl. "Yeah, I know that! You think I don't miss him too?! I may have been a dick to him but it didn't mean I didn't care about him! I just wanted to make his life miserable, not for him to die!"
Elena didn't respond. She just looked at Damon with tears in her eyes.
Damon sucked in a breath and let it go with a heavy sigh as he watched her. He then stepped towards her and reached out to pull her into a hug. She met with his chest and began to cry as her arms wrapped around him.
"Guys," Stefan called. But the two grieving vampires didn't respond to him. "Hey!" He shouted. Still they didn't seem to hear him. Stefan clenched his jaw, then shouted again, "Hey! Elena! Damon!" But they still couldn't hear him. They couldn't see him even as he stepped right over to them. His efforts to touch and push them also went unnoticed as his hands passed through them.
Stefan stepped back and watched as Damon and Elena stayed in each others' arms. A sense of frustration came to him as he watched them, unable to talk to either of them. Stepping back again, he turned and walked out of the room. Not a sound came from him as he made his way up the stairs and up to his room. A floor board in the steps that usually creaked under his weight stayed silent as he stepped on it to reach his door. Grasping for the door knob, his hand passed right through it. He paused for a second and stared at his hand and the door. Uncertain, he pushed his hand at the door and it went through without any difficulty. Then stepping forward, he walked through the door into his dark room.
His room had a small build up of dust coating everything. He walked around his room with a frown, looking at everything while trying to gauge just how long he'd been gone for this amount of dust to have taken over his room. Stepping over to his desk he let his finger tips attempt to graze along the surface, only for them to pass through the wood. His computer's screen had been turned off and it too had a thin sheet of dust covering the glass. Then he saw his ring sitting next to his keyboard. It was covered in the gray filth, having been sitting there for a while. It was becoming obvious that some time had passed since he was killed. His brows furrowed in confusion. Just how long had it been, he thought.
He looked up at his room and wandered around it silently as he tried to find any clues. But all he had saw was what he had left there and a few things out of place. He didn't think much of it. He hadn't left his ring in here the night he died. Someone must have come in here to mourn over him and looked through a few of his things. Stefan stopped at his table and stared at one of his journals that was left opened. His eyes scanned the page. It was an entry from before he was turned into a vampire.
August 3, 1864:
I met up with Henrietta at her father's shop this morning. I wasn't expecting to see her there. She told me she was helping her father finish a few suits so he could catch up on orders, but I didn't hear the rest of what she told me. I had become distracted by her smile as she sewed a button into a jacket and I had forgotten that I had brought in father's vest for repairs until she asked about it. I think I made a fool of myself. I babbled like an idiot and could feel my face heat up as I struggled to answer her. She laughed at me. But I'm fooling myself; She doesn't feel the same way towards me. She likes Damon.
Stefan hadn't thought of Henrietta in so long. She was one of his best friends before he'd met Katherine. He, Damon, and Henrietta grew up together in Mystic Falls, and as they grew, Henrietta had told him that she "fancied" his brother. While at first it didn't bother him, he eventually began to have feelings for her, especially when Damon had left for the war and he had spent more time with her. But Stefan recalled not paying much attention to Henrietta once Katherine had arrived in Mystic Falls. Katherine's doing no-doubt, he thought. He probably had been compelled to ignore her so he'd spend his time with the vampire instead.
That bitch.
He stood there, staring at the journal entry. Slowly his eyes shifted around the table and he noticed an old photo with the edges slightly torn and the parchment yellowed from age. He recognized the faded black and white face instantly.
She had long, dark tight curls that draped her shoulders, big dark eyes and light skin. But the photo didn't show the details he remembered. He could remember her in greater detail. That long dark hair was a smooth chocolate brown and it shined a halo crown in the sun, highlighting some stray rusted strands. Those eyes were a brilliant shade of hazel speckled with red and gold in the centers. Her skin was the color of porcelain and held a lively glow no matter how much or little light she stood in. Her full, red lips always curled so slight dimples appeared in creases of her cheeks. He could even remember her voice and laugh holding that sweet, feminine tone with that old southern accent.
It was Henrietta. He'd managed to keep her picture even after being forced to forget her. It must have been in this journal the whole time, protected and forgotten.
Stefan wished he could have apologized to her. To tell her what had happened all those years ago. But he didn't even know what happened to her. There was no doubt in his mind that she had died a century ago. But she would have passed on. She wouldn't be stuck here on The Other Side like he was. Stefan thought if he could have gone back in time to find out what happened to her, he would have.
A sudden flash caught his attention. Looking up, he saw another ripple effect in front of him. Like the other, it expanded and revealed an image. Stepping towards it, Stefan watched as the vision formed.
He could make out an old stair case surrounded in pristine antique furniture and stepped through, more confidently than before. He walked into the vision and found himself in a foyer of red painted walls and gold bordering. It only took him a minute to realize that he had stepped into a house from the eighteen hundreds.
The front door swung open with a powerful force as a panicked, yellow primped southern belle rushed in. Her face was laden with fear as she pulled up the bottom of her dress and ran up the narrow stairs. Her boots thumped on the hard wood floors as she ran into a bedroom where various books had been stacked in every corner, bookshelves tightly packed, and tables littered with open leather bound journals.
Stefan appeared in the doorway as she opened her closet and an avalanche of clothes and sheets came pummeling down in front of her. She climbed over the pile and reached into the closet, pulling out a large suitcase and throwing it onto her featherbed. She began grabbing seemingly random clothes and wadding them up carelessly in the suitcase and grabbed the journals that were on the table.
Stefan watched as she moved quickly, stuffing her bag full and struggling to close it. His eyes narrowed in his confusion. "What's going on?..." He asked aloud.
Henrietta froze and gave a cautious look in his direction.
Startled, Stefan continued to watch her for a moment. But when she didn't look away and continue her packing, he turned to look behind him.
Henrietta had straightened and looked at her doorway cautiously. Her autumn eyes locked on the spot where Stefan was standing. "Show yourself," She demanded with a nervous tone.
Stefan's head turned back around to see her staring at him with a weary expression. But her features grew hard after a moment of silence.
"I said, show yourself!" She demanded louder with authority.
Stefan's face flinched. He wondered if she was talking to him, if she had heard him speak just a moment ago. Deciding to try again, he called her name hesitantly, "Henrietta?"
Her face tightened. Her painted lips thinned as she sensed a presence standing there. "Who's there?"
Stefan's brows rose. She was responding to him! "Henrietta? Can you hear me?" He asked.
Her eyes narrowed now. She couldn't hear him, but she felt as if someone was asking her a question. Stepping towards her door, she reached out blindly, unable to see him. Stefan stood still as her pale hand came closer. When her finger tips grazed his spectral chest, he watched in shock as she quickly retracted her arm and stood back as fear claimed her features.
His eyes widened. She'd felt him. "Henrietta? It's me. It's Stefan. Don't be scared!" He told her and took a step forward.
Henrietta stepped back again as she felt the presence come closer. "Stay back!" she ordered, and Stefan stopped.
"Henrietta. It's Stefan. Stefan Salvatore. I'm not going to hurt you," He tried to reassure her, his tone nearly pleading.
Images of the smoothed-backed haired brother flashed in her head. The fearful expression faded from her face as a calming sense came over her. "Stefan...?"
A smile pulled at his lips. He was getting through to her. He took another step towards her, but slower.
A shaky breath escaped her as she stared at the empty space in front of her. Memories of Stefan began to fill her head, from when they were kids and used to throw rocks into the river, to when they were grown and he had taught her how to ride his horse, Mezzanotte. As she drew in another breath to calm herself, Stefan's form came to quick view in front of her. Her breath escaped her as she looked up at his smiling face. "Stefan..." she uttered.
His eyes flinched slightly as she said his name again. Her eyes had been looking directly up at him rather than through him. He tilted his head down curiously as he watched her shocked face. "Henrietta?" He said cautiously. Seeing her eyes widen he pulled back a bit. Then his eyes narrowed at her. "... Can you see me?"
She began to nod slowly, her large doe-eyes locked on him.
A relieved shock passed through him and he smiled again to her. "You can hear me..." he said, realizing he was successfully communicating with her.
"Yes." She nodded again and inhaled sharply before her eyes wandered, looking him up and down.
"Don't be scared. I'm not here to hurt you."
She stuttered. "I'm not scared. I'm shocked."
Relief was still washing over Stefan.
She looked back up at him. "Why are you here?" she asked him in that lovely, old Virginian accent
He shook his head, his lips parted. "I don't know."
"What are you wearing?" She abruptly asked, her features scrunching as she looked him over again.
His brows knitted for a second before he looked himself over. He was wearing the clothes he'd died in in two thousand fourteen. A grin forced its way to his face and he looked back to her, then he frowned.
"Henrietta... I was turned into a vampire in eighteen sixty four," he told her in a soft tone.
"What?" she looked back up to his face with horror striking her own.
"The night Damon and I died, we turned. We had Katherine's blood in our system."
A shock filled her as he told her. Blinking back tears she stepped back and sat on her bed. "But... but they said you were killed by vampires," she told him. "You died bravely fighting the vampires."
"No." Stefan stepped towards her, shaking his head. "We tried to save Katherine that night. We were shot."
Her eyes closed and her head shook. "No..."
"Yes! Henrietta, we were shot for trying to rescue Katherine."
"No... No, why would the town lie?"
"Because our father is the one who shot us!"
Her breath escaped her again and she looked back up to him with tears in her eyes. "What?"
"My father shot us. He's the one who killed us. My father lied to make us look better and not like vampire sympathizers." His brows suddenly tightened. Stefan didn't know Henrietta had been aware of the vampires in town. "How do you know about the vampires?" He asked.
"..." She stared at him silently for a moment and wiped her eyes with her fingers which smudged her makeup. She drew in a stiff breath. "I've known about them..."
A look of disbelief came over Stefan's face.
"I'm a witch. My father is one. He told me about them... He warned me."
"If you knew about them, why didn't you know about Katherine?"
"I did!" she cried.
His brows tightened again and his jaw line hardened.
"I knew what she was when I first saw her. I told my father, and he told yours."
He continued to watch her as she spoke.
"I couldn't stand to see you and Damon being used like that!" She shouted in tears. "I noticed it the first time I saw you with her," she told him, "We had made plans to go to the town's anniversary celebration. But you told me you didn't remember and had made a promise to Katherine for the day."
"You knew we were being compelled..." He stated softly. Memories struggled to come back to him. He could only faintly make out the image of him and Henrietta talking before Katherine had come up to him and pulled him away from her.
"...Then Katherine came up to you and took your arm. The second you looked at her I noticed a glazed look in your eyes as you smiled to her and turned to walk away with her... But she looked back at me and gave me a grin. It gave me chills, Stefan..." She trailed off with concern.
"You were trying to help us..." he said, realizing she had been behind that whole mess the entire time.
She nodded. "I didn't mean for it to end up the way it did. I'm so sorry."
"No, Henrietta, it's alright. Don't apologize."
"But you and Damon..."
"We were alright," He reassured her. Granted, he and Damon had gone through all different levels of Hell over the past century and a half, but they had been fine... Well at least Damon had. Stefan was dead after all.
Henrietta held back tears as she thought of what she had done. She thought If she had kept quiet, maybe Stefan and Damon would have grown old and died as normal in town.
"No... No, Henrietta, don't cry. You did the right thing."
"How can you say that?!" She yelled at him. "You're dead!"
"I would have died anyway." He crouched down so he could look into her eyes evenly. "Katherine would have turn me no matter what."
She shook her head. She was in denial of what he was trying to tell her.
"Trust me, Henrietta. Katherine is worse than you think she is..."
"Was..." She corrected him.
Stefan's brows knotted in confusion. "What?"
"Katherine was worse than I thought..." she told him and wiped her eyes again.
He thought about it for a moment. She sounded like she was saying Katherine was dead, and while she was dead in two thousand fourteen, he was talking to Henrietta in the eighteen hundreds. He started shaking his head slowly again. "No, Henrietta. Katherine wasn't burned in the church."
"She's trapped under it, I know."
"No."
Henrietta stared at him.
"Katherine escaped. She was never in the church at all."
"What? But—"
"She's not there, Henrietta. She's probably across the country by now... How long has it been?"
"A few months..." She gave him a confused look.
"She's long gone by now," he told her.
Henrietta continued to look at him in shock and disbelief. She'd been told that all the vampires in town had been burned in Fell's Church, and then told by her father never to go to the sight, that the vampires were actually trapped underneath in the church's tomb by magic.
As he watched her quietly, Stefan's leaf-green eyes shifted to the bulging suitcase next to her and he remembered that she had been in a hurry. His brow crinkled. He looked back to her. "What's going on? Why are you packing?"
She blinked at him, then grew a distant look in her eyes as she remembered what she had been doing before sensing his presence. Her head turned back at her suitcase and a curse left her lips in a hush. She stood quickly from her bed, rushing through Stefan's form as she moved to the suitcase and heaved it off the mattress. "I have to go. I can't stay here. They're going to be coming for me."
"What?" He rose and stepped in front of her. "Who's coming for you?"
"The town. They found out about the witches. Other nearby towns are gathering them. My father was taken earlier today. They know I'm a witch too, Stefan," She told him in a panic.
Stefan's eyes widened. "The hundred witches..." he mused as he remembered the cottage that Bonnie had gained power from one hundred dead witches in.
"What?" Henrietta stared at him.
"One hundred witches are burned in a cottage in town..."
Her lips parted as she took a breath. "When?"
"Eighteen sixty-four," he told her slowly.
Her lips closed and she looked away. "I have to leave... Now," she said. Fear had come back to her face as she stepped around him and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Anywhere but here!" She shouted as she lugged the heavy suitcase down the stairs.
Stefan watched her as she strained down the stairs and thought he would have taken the luggage for her if he could have. Following her down the stairs, he seemed to glide in his descent. "Henrietta, they're going to be looking for you everywhere!"
"That's why I have to go now!" she yelled back at him as she reached the last step.
No, she can't die like this, he thought. She's never hurt anyone... Stefan's foot hit the floor just as she opened the front door.
A gun shot boomed through the house.
Henrietta was thrown to the floor. A man Stefan didn't recognize with a blonde, curling beard was standing in the door with a rifle aimed at the brunette. Dark red stains were forming on her corset.
"No!" Stefan yelled and rushed to her side, utterly useless to aid her.
Henrietta coughed his name as she struggled to catch her breath. Spittle of blood had begun to spot her lips as the man stepped into the house.
"It's a shame you're so pretty. You would have made a fine wife if you were human," He told her with a gruff and aimed the barrel of his rifle to her head.
Stefan didn't know what to do. Panic had taken over his face as sat there, wishing, praying that she wouldn't die like this. Henrietta coughed again as she stared down the barrel of the gun. Gasping for a breath, she strained to call Stefan's name again. Hearing her plead for his help tore whatever kind of heart he had left as he looked down to her.
The sound of the rifle cocking stole Stefan's attention. In a split second he could feel a sudden surge of power and anger go through him. Before he knew what he was doing, he lunged at gunman.
Another gunshot rang through the house.
The rifle had fallen out of the man's hands and clattered to the floor. The man was against the wall, slouched on the floor and Henrietta laid where she had been. Struggling to breathe, she used her elbows to prop herself up enough so that she could turn over. Blood spilled from her mouth as she coughed, creating a small pool on the floor underneath her. Using a shaking hand, she dipped her fingers into the blood and began to smear it into a circle while trying to utter incoherent words.
The man's eyes slowly opened. A painful groan escaped him as he strained to stand, but paused when he noticed Henrietta drawing in her blood. A confused expression washed over his face as he continued to watch her and his eyes widened when her body suddenly collapsed.
"Henrietta!" He called out, but was surprised by his own voice. Looking himself over, his brows knitted at the sight of his old, dirty clothes and rough hands.
Movement pulled his attention away from himself. He looked up and watched as Henrietta pushed herself up with her arms weakly, then fell onto her side as she gasped for a breath. Getting the air she needed, her body relaxed back onto the floor.
The man pushed himself up and walked over to her, a deep concern in his eyes as he looked down at her. Henrietta's eyes had shifted up to him with a blank expression before they closed and she took a few deep breaths. She opened her eyes after a moment and stared at the male standing over her.
"Henrietta?" He called softly and crouched down next to her.
Her eyes followed him calmly, watching the older man next to her. "Thank you," she told him.
He nodded and fell to a sit on the floor with a sigh of relief.
Henrietta then pushed herself up off the floor and to her feet with a wince. "Get out of him."
He pouted with confusion.
"You're possessing him, Stefan," She told him and bent down to grab the rifle off the floor.
Stefan looked himself over again. Then he scanned the room with stolen blue eyes. He no longer saw the gunman. He was the gunman. "How do I get out?" he asked.
"Were these made with iron, Stefan?" She asked, holding up the rifle.
Confusion came to his face again. "Uh... Yeah, I think so, wh—"
Henrietta had swung the rifle at him. The barrel crashed into the side of his skull. Stefan's form was immediately thrown from the body and dispersed as the man fell over and slammed into the floor. The side of his head bled as he laid there unconsciously.
She dropped the gun with a sigh as she watched the man on the floor and frowned. She thought of this being the first time she'd hurt someone. Watching the man's chest as it rose and fell slowly with his breaths, Henrietta stepped back, then looked around for Stefan. He was no where to be seen. She couldn't sense him. Looking to the rifle on the floor, she knew its iron frame had repelled Stefan's ghost temporarily. But she didn't know for how long.
She stepped over to her suitcase and grabbed the leather handle, pulling it up off the floor, and she moved for the door. Stopping in the doorway she turned and looked back to the gunman. She wasn't sure if he was going to live, and she thought of burning him to ensure her escape. But she didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to become one of those witches. Looking away and into the snow-covered town, Henrietta dragged her suitcase out the door and into the cold night.