Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to "Corpse Bride" or its characters.
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to the memory of the seven (count'em, seven) elderly people in my area over the past three months who met fates similar to Victor's in this story. You'll get it when you reach Chapter 4.
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"Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'em out and look at'em very often. We all know that something is eternal, and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars... everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."
--"Our Town" by Thornton Wilder
O---O
I.
"NEW ARRIVAL!" The announcement was followed by what sounded like a fire alarm. Several people cheered. Victor suddenly found himself entering the cheery little pub, unable to say how he got there. Looking around, Victor realized that it all looked awfully familiar. There was a lot of colored light, clanging music, and loud voices. At a loss, Victor headed for the bar, and the bartender immediately set bubbling drink in front of him. He was a little disoriented. I shouldn't be at a bar, I'm supposed to be at Alice's birthday party, he thought. Then he took a moment to really look around at his surroundings. And it finally dawned on him. Uh-oh.
Of course. The Ball and Socket Pub. How did this happen? Victor wondered, staring into his drink. Well, of course he knew how it happened, but when? Victor honestly couldn't recall dying. And he certainly hadn't accidentally married any corpses on his way to his great-granddaughter's sweet sixteen. So what had happened?
"I guess I'm not going to Alice's birthday party," Victor murmured. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the noise around him, trying to think. When had this happened? He remembered waking up that morning (had it been that morning?), and leaving the house. It had been pouring rain. After that, there was nothing. I think I really am dead. Victor opened his eyes. I'm dead! he thought again. He smiled. Finally. Victor had been waiting for this for two years. Victoria! he thought, delighted.
It was the first time in a very long while that he'd thought about Victoria without crying. Only two years ago, just after her eighty-first birthday, Victoria had died in her sleep. Victor had wanted to die too. It had been such a shock--she'd been absolutely fine that night when she'd gone to bed, and the next morning, when he'd gone in to see why she wasn't awake yet...It had been, without a doubt, the single worst day of his entire life. The two years that had followed weren't much better. Victor, of course, knew where she'd gone to, and knew that he'd see her again eventually. But the knowledge hadn't made her death any easier. After sixty-two happy years with Victoria, after four children and a dozen grandchildren and great-grandchildren, it didn't seem possible or fair for life to continue without her. Somehow, Victor had expected--and wanted--the world to stop the day she'd been buried. Victor had thought about her every single day, and missed her more than he could tell. There just weren't words for the kind of pain he'd felt since he'd lost Victoria--he'd walked around their home in a daze, lost in memories, causing his family to worry about him quite a bit.
Oh yes, the children--my family, Victor thought. They'd be sad he was gone, he supposed. Yet, as much as he loved them, they seemed rather distant now, all the same. He'd miss them. But he'd see them again. Besides, all of that was done now. Life was over with, and here he was. Finally. All Victor could think about was seeing Victoria again. All of the sadness that he'd been carrying around for two years was instantly replaced by excitement and expectation.
"Victoria, darling..." Victor said, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until someone answered him.
"What was that, Gramps?" asked a voice from the stool next to him, interrupting his thoughts. Victor turned, and saw a young man wearing what looked like a tattered army uniform. The young man had no arms, Victor noticed. Most of his face had rotted away already as well. War casualty, apparently. Poor kid, Victor thought.
"Sorry, I don't hear so good," the young man continued. "Got my ears blown off when Dresden was fire-bombed. Lost my arms, too," he added unnecessarily, rolling his shoulders and making the protruding bits of bone wag up and down.
"I'm sorry," Victor said. And he was. This young man couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Twenty, at the outside. How awful. Suddenly Victor felt tremendously guilty for living into his eighties.
But the young man shrugged. Had he been able to, Victor was sure he would have waved a hand dismissively. "No big deal, really. At least I came home almost in one piece," he said. He jerked his head in the direction of the far corner of the room. "Ted, though--they had to send him home in a shoebox. Not a lot left." Victor looked over at the corner, and sure enough, there were some...er, bits and pieces lying on a table. From what Victor could see, poor Ted had been reduced to a couple of ribs, the top part of his head, and a hand. Ted swiveled his eyes at hearing his name, and the disembodied hand gave a little wave.
"Yeah, he had to work out a way to talk by blinking," the young man explained as Victor waved at Ted. "Dunno what we're gonna do when his eyelids are gone. He can always tap out Morse Code on the table, I guess. I'm Peter, by the way. I'd shake your hand, but, you know..."
"Oh! No, no, that's all right," Victor said, turning back to Peter. "I'm Victor Van Dort." How strange all this was. Being dead, first of all, was rather odd in itself. Victor didn't feel all that different from the way he usually did--a little cold, maybe, and he was aware that he wasn't breathing anymore, but it wasn't bad. Ever since his experiences as a young man in the Land of the Dead, Victor had often wondered what scared people so much about dying. Probably the separation from loved ones, Victor realized with a pang.
"Nice to meet you," Peter said. He paused, looking Victor up and down. "Can I ask you something?"
"I suppose," Victor replied. "What would you like to know?"
"Well, if you don't mind...What the hell happened to your head?"
Victor blinked. "What? Why? What's wrong with my head?" He lifted his right hand and felt around his scalp. Everything seemed fine. The war had obviously turned this Peter fellow funny, to use the expression people were so fond of. Just as Victor was about to reprimand the young man for cursing, a new voice broke in.
"Victor Van Dort? No kidding!" said the voice from behind him. Victor turned, and found himself eye to socket with a nattily dressed skeleton. Victor cocked an eyebrow. The cheery, bombastic voice sounded awfully familiar.
"How've you been?" the skeleton asked, extending a bony hand. Victor shook it, still trying to figure out who this was. He eyed the skeleton, taking in the white suit and blue striped tie. The outfit, like the voice, was irritatingly familiar. Victor knew this person, and couldn't place him. You'd think death would cure senility, Victor thought, frustrated. The pause was becoming awkward.
"Don't...don't tell me you don't recognize me!" exclaimed the skeleton. Victor shook his head apologetically. The skeleton sighed as he leaned against the bar. "Come on, now...You don't recognize your own son-in-law?" After thinking for a moment, Victor grinned.
"Fred! Of course! How are you?" He leaned over and grasped Fred's skeletal forearm. "It's been almost thirty years!" How could he have forgotten Fred? True, without the muscles, blond hair, and ruddy complexion, Fred looked very different, but his energy was unmistakable. Dropping his jaw in what passed for a skeletal grin, Fred clapped Victor on the shoulder.
Fred had been a magazine photographer when he was alive. Victor and Victoria's youngest daughter, Mary, had married Fred...when? Victor tried to pull memories back to the fore. Must have been 1921 or thereabouts, because Victor distinctly remembered Mary being twenty at the time. Mary and Fred had only been married for four years when Fred had come home early from an assignment in India. He'd caught some kind of sickness. No one had figured out what it was, and by the time he was at home, it was too late. Victor felt a pang, remembering. It hadn't been fair, not at all. Mary had been absolutely devastated by his death. They all had been.
But now here Fred was, his cheery old self. It was wonderful to see him.
"You sure look different," Fred told him, taking a seat.
"Well, so do you," Victor replied, leaning his elbows on the bar tentatively, and then relaxing. After almost twenty years of painful arthritis, Victor was pleased to find that he could move around and bend quite easily. "But people tell me I look rather good for eighty-three. Well, I mean, people told me." Victor gave a little laugh before he added, "I suppose I should get used to using the past tense now, eh?"
Fred laughed, clapping Victor on the shoulder again. "Yes, you aged very well, Dad." Victor smiled. Fred had been the only one of his daughters' husbands to ever call him "Dad." Just hearing it brought back some very nice memories of his daughters, and their families...and Victoria...
"How is Mary, by the way?" Fred asked, rapping his knuckles on the bar. The bartender set down a putrid-looking concoction in front of him. Victor didn't want to know what it was. He watched as Fred knocked back the drink, and found himself wondering how Fred kept the liquid from seeping out into his clothes. He didn't have a stomach, after all. One of the afterlife's great mysteries, Victor decided.
"She's doing very well; I think she started working for a publisher last year. But even now, she misses you," Victor answered. "She's actually living in New York City now, of all places." Victor decided not to mention that Mary lived there with her second husband and two grown children. Fred didn't need to hear that.
"Good for her. Glad to hear she's okay," Fred said, ordering another drink. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Victor wondered again where Victoria was. She had to be around here somewhere. He was getting very impatient to see her. It had been two years, after all. Two agonizing years.
"Fred," Victor finally said, unable to wait any longer. "Where is my wife, Victoria? Is she here?" He waited with bated breath (well, his breath would have been bated, had he been breathing) for Fred to finish swallowing his drink.
"Dear old mother-in-law?" Fred asked. Victor nodded impatiently. "Of course she's down here. In fact," Fred turned around to scan the room, "I saw her come in not twenty minutes ago."
"Well, where is she now?" Victor asked, looking around. It was awfully crowded. He tried to remember what outfit Victoria had been buried in, thinking that it might help him spot her. He couldn't recall.
"Don't know," Fred answered. "Didn't see where she went. I wasn't paying all that much attention, sorry."
Victor didn't bother to answer. He was quickly turning his head this way and that, trying to take in the whole room. He didn't want to miss Victoria, if she was there. Suddenly Victor heard a soft popping noise, and felt something drop against his cheek. He stopped, and held his head still. That's...strange, Victor thought. He was looking across the room at the fireplace, but he could see his foot and a patch of floor at the same time.
"How odd," Victor said aloud, trying to bring his eyes into focus. It wasn't happening. Victor started to panic a little.
"What's odd?" Fred asked, looking over at him. Victor turned around again to face his former son-in-law. He could see Fred out of his right eye, but his left one seemed firmly focused on the floor.
"Jeeze," Fred said, putting his glass down. "What the hell happened to your head?"
"That's what I wanted to know," Peter piped in from Victor's other side. "He wouldn't tell me."
"What is wrong with my head?" Victor asked, somewhat exasperated. Without letting Fred or Peter respond, he continued, "For that matter, what's wrong with my eyes? I feel like a chameleon." He tried to move his left eye, but it didn't work. This out of focus double vision was getting quite irritating.
Fred burst out laughing. Victor glared at him out of his working eye until he composed himself.
"Sorry, Dad," Fred finally said. He pointed at Victor's face. "Uh, I think...I think your eye just kind of...fell out of place. Just wedge it back in, it'll be fine."
"My eye fell out of place?" Victor stared. Fred nodded. With his left hand, Victor felt along his cheekbone. Sure enough, his eye seemed to be a bit lower than normal. So that's what that popping noise had been. His face felt odd as well, but Victor couldn't quite describe how.
"That's a little embarrassing," Victor said as, with a squelching sort of pop, he managed to get his eyeball reset in its socket. To Victor's relief, his eyesight seemed to be set to rights again.
Fred waved a hand. "Nah, don't worry about it," he said reassuringly. "Happens to all of us." Fred looked at the left side of Victor's face again, making Victor feel quite self-conscious. "I hope your kids sued whatever mortician worked on you," he added with a chuckle.
Before Victor could ask what that meant, there was a sudden commotion on the far side of the room. He turned and saw a group of people huddled around a pinball machine. One of them had apparently just won, judging by the way the machine was ringing and buzzing and flashing its lights. Looking at the group, Victor realized that almost all of them were young soldiers. Or had been, at one point. Kids in uniform who had come back to their families in pine boxes almost a decade ago now. There were about six of them, and all were in various states of decay. Some were missing limbs, others looked more or less whole, if a little rotted. All of them looked to be having quite a good time, however--they were huddled around whichever of them had scored all of those points. Victor couldn't see who it was, since the young men were blocking his view. Victor watched them, feeling a bit sad. Maybe "reminiscent" was a better word. He'd been young once. So had Victoria. And they'd been alive. Victor decided that when he finally found her, he was going to ask Victoria if she wanted to try a game of pinball. It looked like fun.
"Hey, Tom!" someone yelled from a table near the back. "Who's the big winner?"
One of the ex-soldiers, a twenty-ish man with half of his face missing, turned and called back, "She is...again!" He sounded pleased. "So Bill and me just won ten drinks each!" Tom turned to one of his buddies, a man wearing a navy uniform peppered with bullet-holes. He looked rather ticked off. "Come on, George--pay up!"
Grumbling, George the navy man started walking toward the bar, presumably to order the drinks he owed. As he passed, Victor heard him call back over his shoulder, "I can't believe that...How did she get so good at pinball, anyhow?"
"Practice," Peter answered when George arrived at the bar. "She's been playing ever since she got here. She turned out to be a natural." He gave the still-grumbling George a light kick in the shin, since he couldn't clap him on the shoulder.
"Yeah, but a little old lady..." George shook his head. "I can't believe it."
"Ah, don't be sore about it," one of the other soldiers shouted. "I told you it was a bad idea to put your money on Frank. She always beats him."
"She always beats all of us," someone else added.
"Who? Who are they talking about?" Victor asked, turning to Fred. But his question was lost amid the catcalls and whistles and shouts flying across the room. He looked back at the pinball machine. Suddenly he noticed small, white-haired woman in a blue dress shaking hands good-naturedly with one of the young men. Victor stared. Slowly, he slid off of his stool, keeping his gaze on the woman.
"Yeah," the young soldier named Tom said, putting a hand on the woman's shoulder. She smiled at him in a motherly way, looking quite pleased with herself. Seeing that smile, Victor felt his heart stop (well, metaphorically, anyway). Victor began walking toward the pinball machine.
As Victor neared the group, Tom continued, "When it comes to pinball, it's always a good idea to put your money on--"
"Victoria!" Victor said. Everyone turned to look at him. Victoria stared, and then clapped her hands to her mouth as she recognized him. She seemed to be somewhere between laughing and crying. Victor knew how she felt. Neither of them moved, just stood there grinning rather stupidly at each other.
"Yes, exactly!" Tom replied with a laugh. He looked over at the bar. "Hey, George, where are my drinks?"