TITLE: Melancholy
GENRE: au!au
RATING: K+
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the intellectual property of Annie Proulx. I am only borrowing them and am making no profit from this fic.
FEEDBACK: You guys always give me great feedback so I don't think I even need to ask ^__^
SUMMARY: Jack and Ennis meet on the train to Solitude, but the journey is far from peaceful.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This plot bunny came out of nowhere just begging me to write it, I might make it into a series later but only after I've finished Always and Forever and only if people like it. One last thing: it's very British (which some people keep calling me on) but this time it was sort of intentional because I wanted a Victorian-esque feel to it.
Melancholy was a town that seemed to have existed since the beginning of time and its detached stone houses and the tiny church would be around until the angels fell from the heavens blowing their trumpets and the world would end.
On the very outskirts of the town stood a station, the building was red brick and little more than a ticket booth and a flimsy roof over the concrete platform which did little to protect passengers from the rage of the storms that so often landed in the area.
Not a great number of trains passed through Melancholy but one in particular ran late into the evening, in summer it would just be getting dark when the train pulled in but in winter the station would be lost in darkness.
It was winter now and the station porter stood against the side of the building, hands tucked as deep into the pockets of his greatcoat as he could manage and most of his face hidden by a scarf of a color resembling mucus that his wife had knitted for him many Christmases ago. He had worked in the city in his youth but after retiring he'd found himself too full of life still to simply sit around playing dominoes or bridge with the rest of the fellows in the home of the elderly his eldest daughter had rather forcefully moved him into last year when his wife had died of flu, so he'd taken the job at the station and other than enduring the storms it was as good a job as any.
There was only ever one passenger who caught the train, the porter had come to recognize him and knew his name to be Jack, though what his surname was remained a mystery. Jack would always arrive ten minutes or so before the train was scheduled to arrive wrapped up in a long, tan coat with a battered leather briefcase in his right hand. He'd purchase a ticket from the person on duty behind the ticket booth and peruse the collection of fruit and buns on offer to one side (All the produce was bought at market first thing each day and claimed to be the best, though from the stale nature of the buns and the close to rotting fruit the best in question was likely one of value), Jack would never buy any food but on the first Monday of each month he would buy a monthly newspaper, though he seemed to favor no publication in particular.
Not being a first Monday that day Jack simply turned away from the display of fruit and baked goods and made his way to the platform, as he passed through the archway from the enclosed area of the ticket booth onto the platform he nodded towards the porter, a neutral smile on his lips. The storm seemed to reach some point of climax in its production and a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the platform for that brief moment, the porter bit his lips to prevent himself gasping at the way the silver light made Jack's bright eyes almost glow and instead forced himself to send an equally neutral nod.
The storm seemed to be reaching something of a lull, the thunder and lightning downplaying to make way for a great deal of wind and rain. Jack stood at the far end of the platform, ignoring the stone benches and instead standing a few feet from the platforms edge. He took out a cigarette and set about lighting it, but with the wind playing its part a number of dead matches littered the floor at the man's feet before the tip of the cigarette was ablaze. Jack dropped the used match to join its fellows on the floor and sucked deeply, the porter was always awed by the smoke that Jack exhaled because it wasn't the thick and silver mist he was used to seeing from smokers, but instead a fine, white fog almost indistinguishable from breath on a cold night.
A few minutes later the distant rumblings of the train could be heard and the tracks started shaking as though scared of the monstrous engined beast making its way towards the station. The storm overhead picked up again, as though in challenge to the noise being made by the train. Jack didn't even flinch as the train passed through, lit windows dancing by his eyes until the train came to a standstill, he simply dropped the remainder of his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe.
The porter's whistle added a shrill cry to the cacophony of the storm and the purring of the train, "Train from River's Edge, calling at Lesser Camden, Greater Camden, Mistle, Oakley and Solitude. All aboard."
Jack stooped to pick up his battered briefcase, with a final nod of recognition towards the porter he pulled open the door to the nearest compartment and stepped aboard the train. The compartment was mostly empty, a young couple were sat at the far end and a man of perhaps a few years older than Jack was sat in one of the four-seater sections that had a table between two pairs of seats that faced one another. He was watching the rain out of the window, a fountain pen tapping against his cheek in a regular pattern and a was newspaper spread over the table open to reveal a half-finished crossword puzzle.
Jack took the seat opposite the man with the crossword puzzle and fumbled with the clasps on his briefcase for a moment.
"Damnit," Jack muttered as the faulty clasp broke off the briefcase once again. The stranger looked away from the window for a moment, soft brown eyes showing a hint of concern but mostly disapproval at Jack's choice in language. Jack mumbled an apology and set about twisting the clasp so it fell back into place on the briefcase albeit precariously. Gingerly loosening the other clasp Jack removed a hardback book and a glasses case from the briefcase and snapped it shut once more, sliding it away on the luggage rack above once he'd done so.
The light from the lanterns overhead was far too soft for Jack to be able to see well but despite that fact he slid his reading glasses from the soft envelope of fabric he kept them safe in and settled them firmly on the bridge of his nose. Squinting very slightly he opened the book, rapidly turning over well-thumbed pages until he found the point at which he had last stopped.
Two paragraphs later it became clear that the ever persistent storm was going to be much too distracting, upending the book on the polished wood of the table Jack turned to the window and loosened the cord holding the curtain in place.
"Do you mind?" He asked almost absently, turning to face his companion across the table.
"What?" Looking up from the crossword puzzle the stranger ran a hand through his loose brown curls distractedly, "Oh, not at all," The hand with the fountain pen waved towards the curtain and then landed back on the newspaper, printing tiny letters into the squares on the page.
The fabric of the curtains looked quite expensive, but from one touch Jack could tell the quality was not all it seemed. Yet still it proved its worth at blocking the flashes of light from the storm outside, even if it wasn't quite so efficient in masking the roars of thunder. Attention once more on the time worn pages of his book Jack managed a few pages before he was distracted again.
"Pox, boils or buboes," The stranger muttered, "Pox, boil or buboes," The words repeated themselves several times, each time accompanied by a tap from the fountain pen against the flesh of the man's cheek.
"Plague," Jack suggested without looking up from the book.
"Too short."
"How many letters?"
"Seven."
"Blemish," Jack suggested again after a few seconds of thought.
"Yeah, that fits. Thanks."
"No problem," Jack turned his gaze back to his book and had managed to restart the sentence he'd been reading before the stranger spoke again.
"Ennis."
"I'm sorry?" Jack finally looked up from the book and noticed rather absently that the stranger had managed to blot ink on his face, the small black stain just to the side of his lips probably had its origin in the amount of time the pen spent tapping against the man's face.
"It's my name," He elaborated, "Ennis."
"Jack," Jack supplied his own name out of politeness and turned his attention back to the book, for once it seemed he wouldn't be pressed to give a surname which suited Jack quite nicely.
"Say Jack, you don't happen to know the French for duck do you?"
Jack smiled in the manner of one who is close to losing their sanity and calmly closed the book. Removing his glasses his cleaned the already immaculate lenses with a handkerchief for a moment before replacing them in their case setting the case beside the book, "Canard."
The young couple sharing the compartment with them left at Lesser Camden, in that time the storm reluctantly calmed to a simple rainstorm and the two men managed to finish the crossword; though Jack was sure Ennis may have fabricated some of the answers in order to make them fit as he was quite sure that crustacean wasn't spelled with a K.
Ennis set about opening the curtains once more and Jack, perhaps a little hopefully, allowed his fingers to stray to the cover of the book.
"What's that about?" Ennis inquired curiously once their seats were once more being bathed with light from the night sky and not just the flickering lanterns overhead.
"Not much of anything really," Jack avoided the answer and found his fingers running over the pattern engraved on the cover of the book. Four perfect squares were positioned together into the shape of a diamond, there was the slightest of gaps between each square so that the diamond had a cross shape cutting through it. Jack would often run the tip of his index finger along the edge of each square and then the edge of the diamond as a whole, it was an almost comforting ritual.
"Bit boring to read a bit about nothing isn't it?" Ennis teased lightly.
"You have ink on your face," Jack deadpanned in response.
Greater Camden came and went presenting a handful of new passengers to the train, but none of whom chose Jack and Ennis's carriage. The conversation seemed to have stopped for now but Jack made no attempt to resume his reading, instead joining Ennis in watching the passing woodland out of their shared window.
"Witch Burner's Hill," Ennis stated as the train flew along the rails alongside a hill, there was nothing extraordinary about it geographically but it was where witches were burnt at the stake years ago if one believed the tales people told, Jack didn't.
"Yes," Jack stated lamely when he realized he should contribute something to the conversation, "There's an inn named after it in Mistle. You ever been?" It was called 'The Flaming Hag' to be accurate and Jack had only spent two nights there a few years ago, it hadn't been the nicest of places but better than some.
"No."
"They sell farm-brewed cider behind the bar, it's not too bad either."
"I'll have to try some if I'm in the area," Ennis turned away from the window, the ghost of a smile on his face and the window still misty with his breath.
"Where are you getting off anyway?" Jack hadn't thought to ask before.
"Oakley."
"It's nice there, I go sometimes. Do you live there or something? I haven't seen you around."
"Just moving there," Ennis answered, "My uncle died and left me some fancy manor there."
"'Bout all they've got up in Oakley is fancy manors," Jack chuckled.
"I figured it had to be better than a poky little apartment in River's Edge so..." He trailed off.
"You work in River's Edge?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, in the metalworks. How about you?"
"Bookshop on Farmer's Drive."
"Figures."
"What?" Jack asked slightly offended.
"You seem the bookish type," Ennis teased.
Jack bit his tongue to refrain from arguing further and they stayed silent all the way to Mistle.
Mistle was positioned in a slightly awkward place and so to continue along to Oakley the train had to pass round the other side of Witch Burner's Hill.
"You believe in witches Jack?" Ennis asked, eyes watching the dark shadow of the hill out of the window.
"What, women on brooms casting spells on people?" Jack snorted, aware that this conversation could easily stray into dangerous territory.
"No," Ennis rolled his eyes, "Witches. Real ones."
"I believe they used to burn women who could do odd things," Jack tried hard to recall the words the historical encyclopedia he'd read through a few weeks back had used on the topic of witchcraft, "But since we now know about herbs and medicines it was probably just wise women who knew a lot of herbal remedies."
"I guess," Ennis shrugged, seemingly not bothered by Jack's answer.
Jack breathed a silent sigh of relief but was shocked by the sensation of cool breath on the back of his neck. He shivered very slightly and felt the familiar pull of energy from the center of his chest. His pupils dilated rapidly and all around him Jack could see thick white fog, as if the doors to the train had opened and let the night drift in to greet them; the temperature dropped and Jack found himself shivering again.
"Jack?" Through the fog Jack could see Ennis looking at him, obvious concern in his soft brown eyes.
"Run," Jack whispered the word, fear thick in his tone and a second later the lanterns overhead flickered out.
"What's going on?" Ennis wondered aloud, standing up as the train slowed to a still in the middle of the woodland. Jack knew, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"The door to the next compartment is locked," Ennis returned after a few moments, "The one at the other end too. What on earth is going on?"
"I think I can explain," A raspy voice sounded from somewhere and before the eyes of the two men an elderly woman appeared before them in the carriage. The woman was soaked to her wrinkled skin, barely covered by a tattered rag that was so filthy and soaking it may well have been washed in a mud puddle before being thrown at her. Despite the wet nature of her being she was clearly burned, her hair was rough, blackened and short it gave off the putrid smell of burning hair, but that wasn't as bad as the smell of roasted flesh that filled the entire compartment in seconds. Ennis fell back, gagging at the odor and Jack grabbed the book from the table, holding it to his breast and running his fingers over the diamond pattern.
"Who are you?" Ennis demanded once he'd recovered from the smell.
"Just a poor wise woman who knows too much about herbs," She leered at Jack and made a mad dash towards them, laughter that sounded like nails scratching on a chalkboard echoed around them.
"Stay back," Jack had his eyes shut, but at the strength in Ennis's words he forced them open again. The darkness was broken by a new light, from the tips of Ennis's fingers a hot orange flame was roaring, the heat seemed to not affect Ennis in the slightest. The elderly woman stopped her mad charge, falling backwards and away from the fire in the man's hands. Not wasting a second Jack jumped upwards and sheltered behind the other man, "Do you know what you do to witches?" Ennis asked, Jack wasn't sure if he was meant to provide an answer or for that matter if Ennis was even talking to him, "You burn them." The woman shrieked, pushing herself up and towards Ennis but the fire in his hands flew forward, growing in size and the heat from it made Jack flinch away.
There was a single, prolonged cry of agony identical to the one that had resounded through the forest atop Witch Burner's Hill many years before and then the woman was gone. No ashes, no burn marks; it was as if nothing had happened.
"Are you okay?" Ennis turned to look at a slightly shell-shocked Jack.
"I'm fine," The fire in Ennis's hands was gone and so was the white mist that had filled the air. The lanterns flickered into life once more and the train resumed it journey to Oakley, "...you're Pyrokinetic." Jack noted a moment later.
"That I am," Ennis nodded his head ever so slightly, "The fact that you're not surprised by the witch or my own brand of magic suggests you have some knowledge of the paranormal."
"Second Sight." Jack supplied immediately.
"I see, that would be why you told me to run before the lights even went out."
"Yes," Jack nodded and settled back into his seat, placing the book back down beside his reading glasses.
"That isn't a book about nothing is it?" Ennis prodded slightly as he resumed his own seat.
"No, it's not," Jack admitted. He handed the book to Ennis so the other paranormal could observe it's content, "My mother had Second Sight too. She wrote down all she knew about ghosts, witches and other things like that."
"Hm," Ennis looked thoughtfully at a diagram of an invocation circle for a moment as the train slowed to a stop, "I think I'm gonna be seeing you around Jack," Handing back the book Ennis stood up and collected his belongings from the luggage rack.
"I'm sure you will," Jack nodded and watched Ennis leave the train and make his way across the Oakley station platform. The Pyrokinetic turned back to wave very slightly at Jack through the window and Jack returned the favor; as the train sped out of the station on its way to Solitude Jack hugged the book to his breast again.