Chapter Ten: Drowning

She was having the most peculiar dream.

Light filtered through some thick substance, perhaps water, that surrounded her. She was momentarily afraid that she would drown, but it didn't seem to affect her at all. She stood in her familiar home, in the front hall— surrounded by prosaic and known objects, all turned suddenly alien to her eyes by the weird quality of the light. She glanced up.

There was no roof to the house. Some incredible force had torn it off, and now she was exposed to the watching eyes of a curious world. She felt as though her mind, her thought processes, were unprotected as well, naked to the stares of strangers. She clutched her arms about herself and shivered. It was cool there in the hall, where always before it had been warm and full of a comfortable feeling. That comfort was gone now.

It was unlikely, of course, that anyone would take sufficient interest in her affairs to look in on her; but now as she looked up she saw the faces of people unknown to her, foreigners in her eyes, peering down at her with an air of detached interest, like spectators at a zoo. They read her every thought, they saw the lines of her body through her clothes, they pointed and laughed at the scarring on her mind.

She shivered and clutched herself tighter. The doors were closed, at least they could not come down here, could not absolutely invade her home as they had invaded her mind—

They began to come down the walls.

They walked as easily as if gravity were an option for them, an afterthought, or perhaps something they'd never even heard of. Even the children were monstrously tall, their bodies stretched and misshapen, their arms reaching out to her, to poke and prod. She wasn't human to them; they did not recognize her as one of their species—

Or perhaps it was the other way around. They were not human. And she was not of their species.

She screamed, a wordless shrill of terror. In her mind it was loud and real, but it faltered even before it left her lips, so there was nothing to it by the time it reached the air. They understood, however. They screamed back; animal sounds, rising in pitch and frequency till everything began to shatter. Air bubbled from their lips in the strange watery atmosphere, and she realized suddenly that she hadn't drawn breath once.

She was not breathing.

In terror and horror she flung her hands up to her face, covered her head with her arms, crouched to the ground, weeping, begging someone to hear her, take pity on her, lead her out of this place—

It happened quite suddenly, and she didn't even get the sense of displacement that come with sudden transference from one location to another. All she knew was the screams died away as though the sound had been cut off, and another noise replaced them— the sound of quiet breathing.

She felt a warm touch on her hands, still up over her head, and she lifted her face to see.

Erik stood there.

The mask was gone, and the wretched half of his face looked calm and noble in the strange half-light. He had brought her to warmth and silence and she was grateful, all at once, instantly, the emotion swamping everything else she had ever felt for him. He stood and moved back from her.

She took herself to her feet and swayed on them a moment, in her eyes a look of pleading.

Her lips moved.

At first she felt fear again because she couldn't hear her own voice, but gradually the sound rose till it was audible, and she said, "Am I dead, Erik?"

He refused to speak, only shook his head.

"But I am not breathing."

A small quirk at the corner of his lips indicated a smile, and the gratitude she felt was suddenly joined by a rush of longing. He stepped towards her, his face smooth and implacable and so beautifully human, turned her chin up to face him, put his lips to hers and breathed life through them.

She was gladder for his touch than for the life that suddenly pulsed through her— she felt her heart begin to beat again, and, not waiting to acknowledge it or thank him for it, put her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pulled him closer, pulled him deeper.

She thought she would die from the ecstasy of it, and concentrated on the feel of him beneath her fingers, the trim line of his hair tickling the palm of her hand, the stiff collar a diagonal pressure below it. She described it to herself. Words had become suddenly important, her lifeline, to keep fast hold of before she drowned in Erik—

He didn't let go.

Always before, he had released her, stepped back and pushed her away, not violently and yet still angrily— there was enough anger in him for ten people. But now he held her close, whispered soundless words onto her lips, closed his eyes as he felt her hair brush his face. She had given up. There was nothing she wanted more. As if obeying her unspoken request, his hand drifted up from her waist to caress her neck, then down again slightly, coming to rest over her left breast.

She felt the pounding stop.

She opened her eyes and knew that Erik had stepped away from her, though she could barely see. The world was going dim, the light swallowed up in darkness, and she could only just make out his form in front of her, holding something in his hands.

He looked down at it and again that small smile twitched at his lips.

Then he let her heart fall to the floor, where it shattered into a million pieces.

She awoke, choking in oxygen, desperately in need of comfort, but Raoul was gone again, and when she put out her hand, all she felt was the coldness of the empty bed at her side.