Chapter 21: Dreaming In Vane

Abigail settled gently into sleep and found herself standing in the dressing room once again. This time she noted that no one was present save the girl herself kneeling in front of the door and weeping. Abigail stepped forward to try and find out what had happened, but was stopped by the door opening immediately. She frowned and watched a dark figure enter. He was obviously an aristocrat of somekind who had seen years of nothing but beauty and privelege that now bored him to tears. His pallid complexion seemed more haunting than natural and his smile was plastered on as poorly as his hair colour dye; a dull brown which did nothing to cover the grey of his waining eyebrows. Abigail's nostrils filled with the new and still nauseating scent of expensive cigarette smoke as the man pushed his way into the room and helped the girl stand.

"Oh, Lord Henry! Do you wonder why I am undone? You should be happy for it! Dorian has turned his heart against me!" she wailed as the man stepped back away from her. His expression fell to neutral at her words as she stood trembling and clutching her own shoulders. "No, no, not him, but I; I turned his heart from me! Oh, why could I not have shone more brilliantly! It was foolish to throw away the muse that swept him into my dismal life! He will never speak to me again! My dear, dear Dorian! What have I done?!"

"There, there, my dear. My friend, Mr. Gray, has a terrible sense of humour. He is playing on the same game that you played on him in performing so terribly this evening; he pretends to be upset and will wait to see whether or not you entirely lose yourself in sorrowing. I tell you that if you continue this, he will indeed never speak to you again. You must pretend this whole event never occurred until tomorrow evening when he will come back on his knees begging for your tenderness again," the man called Lord Henry replied. Abigail narrowed her eyes as the sting of deception met the back of her mind. She grunted in pain and reached up to grasp the back of her head. She gasped more loudly at feeling herself paralyzed. Her heart began to race in realizing that she would be powerless to stop the murder once again. She began to struggle furiously with her own limbs as the oily nobleman inched towards the innocent actress. "I know that I was not kind to you when Dorian announced his engagement to you. I admit I was jealous of such a lovely young man spending the currency of his youth in purchasing a marraige, but I have thought sensibly about it since. Please allow me to apologize and help you relax with a little of my family's elder-berry wine."

"Why, Lord Henry, this is so unexpected," Sibyl said in a shocked breath. Abigail cried out and tried to lurch towards the girl as she began to walk towards her dressing counter and reach for two wine goblets that had obviously been meant for herself and her fiance'. "But it is very welcome. A joke? How like Dorian! How childish and charming all at once! Though I must say that he was quite hurtful and dark for my taste! How horrid he seemed just a moment ago, but mother tells me that it is so with a husband. One moment he will be a scoundrel and the next a glowing prince. Oh! My sweet Dorian! I will be patient and humour you!"

"How wonderful," Henry mused without genuine emotion.

Sibyl seemed to overwhelmed to notice. Abigail screamed as loudly as she could, but now realized that neither could hear her voice. She suddenly realized that she had moved a fraction of an inch forward. A flicker of hope flashed through her and she began to struggle more furiously than ever. Henry took both of the flutes from Sibyl quickly and took a small dark flask from his jacket. Sibyl's expression changed. She took a step backwards.

"Where is Basil Hallward, Lord Henry?" she asked uneasily. Henry smiled.

"In the hallway," he replied. "I am sure he'd agree with me on the assumption. He has known Dorian far longer than either of us, after all."

"That's, that's not wine! Where did you get that!? It's poison! I have seen it in the downstairs many times as a prop! You must throw that out at once!" she cried in fear.

"It was in the supply room, my girl, and it has yet to serve its purpose," he said lunging forward and grasping her tightly at the neck as he tipped the full cup to her mouth and began to pour in the dark fluid. "I will not see the beauty of that boy wasted on a harpy like you! He is mine and mine alone! I made him and I will have his beauty all to myself! He is my puppet, and I will not easily let him dance for another!"

"Basil, Basil help me!" Sibyl shrieked repeatedly until the words began to gurgle with fluid.

Abigail felt fire burning in every fiber of her being as she flailed and screamed. The girl writhed in Henry's arms for several minutes, but not long enough to do any good. She suddenly began to turn a sickly shade of purple and grow still. A final cry of pain escaped as a rasp before the girl collapsed limp to the floor. Henry smiled and looked down at her.

"That's better," Henry said with a smirk. Abigail felt a cold wave hit her as she watched the man step towards the doorway. He turned and glanced back at his fallen victim once more. "Terrible waste." Without a word more, Henry swept out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Abigail felt her mind and body grow numb and ill all at once. She had only grown close to feeling as terrible as this during a bout of influenza. She had been so ill for days that she was roused every few hours to eat and take a tonic, but had been completely unaware of the passage of night and day. She wasn't sure if this were still a dream or not. Had she died in her sleep? If so, then this could not have been heaven. She was standing, unable to move, staring at the form of an innocent girl recently murdered violently. Her stomach twisted and began to retch. She felt herself fall forward and the scenery changed as a pair of hands caught her. She was still in the theatre judging by the walls and floor, but was now in the hallway. Her vision centered more fully and she found herself staring into the face of Dorian himself. This time he was not weeping as he had been doing in her dreams several times before. She stared at him in confusion.

"Abigail?" he asked uneasily.

"Mr. Gray?" she replied in a sickly whisper. "Are you dead, am I, are we both dead?"

"No," he said slowly and cautiously. "I am asleep."

"Oh," Abigail sighed. "So am I."

Dorian furrowed his brow. "This doesn't seem odd to you?"

"Not at all, I dream alongside others that have strong feelings toward me if I have strong feelings toward them," she explained. "I have been fascinated by you from the beginning and I suppose you pity me."

He glanced sideways for a moment and cleared his throat. "That aside, it is very rude and intrusive to lark about in someone else's dream without asking first."

"Well, it is rather difficult for me to ask you what with you slumbering with the enemy and all," she replied finding the sudden strength to fight back with sarcasm. She frowned at finding the memories of what the brute had done to everyone on board returning to her. She suddenly glared at him. "You were going to kill all of us."

"Oh, good gracious. Don't you think I am more intelligent than all that? I could have set those explosives more precisely, you know. I deliberately bought you a half an hour to get the ship back to the surface and regroup," he replied hotly. "Not that anyone will be grateful. That does not matter to me. What matters is that my portrait will soon be returned and the photograph will be destroyed."

"But I have the photograph!" Abigail exclaimed. Dorian smiled brightly.

"You most certainly do not. I gathered a few things while you and Sawyer were off together," he replied. Abigail snarled at him. A look of confusion crossed his face as he continued to stare into her eyes. "I, I come here every night to try and decipher at what moment exactly she took her life. I haven't been able to get inside that room, ever. How did you manage?"

Abigail stared back in bewilderment. "I'm not sure. I find myself there in all of these dreams." Her reply sounded softer than even the whisper a moment before. Abigail felt her breath catch in her throat at feeling somewhat afraid of this man so suddenly. Mina had just told her that he had been guilty of a man's murder; not just any man, a friend. She stared back at him for a moment more and then turned away to regain her composure.

Dorian frowned. "I suppose the rules of the dream realm are different for someone like you," he said in jealousy so strong it sounded like disgust. His expression shifted once again into a smirk. This time Abigail could clearly see something else behind it as she gazed at him. There was fear, subtle and very persistent fear. What of? She narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned over her. "Getting back to the point; I have the photograph, but not my portrait. Not yet, anyway, I still have one part of the bargain left to fulfil."

Abigail felt another cold and sickening wave wash over her. The fear in the young man's eyes could not give her any hold on her own senses at realizing he meant to take something from her.

"And that was?" she asked hoarsely.

"I never retrieved the formula from you. I hadn't actually expected to see you come along, but M reported that you had left the school and would head for Kenya, you see. He was lucky to be wrong and was overjoyed when word reached him that you were nearing London." Dorian pulled her face to his and allowed the fear to swell into anger. "You could surrender it now, seeing as you still have every cognitive function available to you here."

"Mr. Gray, there's something you need to know . . ." Abigail began as she stared back in terror.

"Indeed, so tell me what I need and perhaps I can convince my superior to spare your friend when we arrive," he added cruelly. Abigail's eyes widened further.

"What?! Why would he . . ." she sputtered. "But if Dr. Kruschev has the formula, why would the Fantom need my input? Doesn't Dr. Kruschev have it memorized?"

"No," Dorian replied with a dark smile. "The old fool left the only record with you and only you were curious enough to look at it and remember what was written."

"I don't believe you, something isn't right," she muttered softly. Her eyes darted to and fro for a few moments. She turned and looked back up at the aged youth in shock. "You aren't cruel, not like this, not on a regular basis. That's what she meant."

Dorian's expression fell once again, this time audibly. Abigail was sure she heard his flawless features shatter with emotion at hearing a subtle referrence to Sibyl. He began to growl softly.

"How dare you use her words!" he suddenly shouted, grasping Abigail's shoulders with a grip of hatred. The girl shrieked and tried to pull away. "You saw her, you saw her death! You know it was my doing, don't you?" He demanded. Abigail suddenly found herself completely mute. Even her shrieks of fear were silent now. The young man's eyes began to glow red. "I will not allow you to destroy me!" he shouted. Abigail felt cold and fire swirling in a raging vortex within her. She was completely trapped and unable to make any sound or movement whatsoever. Dorian raised his hand to strike as the walls around them began to churn and twist as madly as the nerves within her. Abigail felt herself falling backwards without explanation as a voice called her name. She felt no air moving around her as she fell into the blackness she usually saw before waking. This was probably more terrifying than the images of the nightmare itself. She reached both hands up and outward, groping for anything to grab hold of. She suddenly felt her hands graze something warm and firm in front of her. She grasped it tightly with both hands and drew herself forward.

"Abigail, wake up," Mina commanded firmly. Abigail felt her eyes fly open as the warm figure in her hands took the shape of her companion. She gasped for breath and looked to either side of herself, confirming repeatedly that she had just awakened from the nightmare and was now sitting bolt upright in her room. She panted heavily and remained silent for a moment. The woman looked at her face worriedly. "You were having a fit in your sleep. What happened?"

Abigail looked up at the woman for a moment and contemplated spilling out all of the details of her dream. Another, louder, portion of herself wanted to run furiously across the ocean and the continents until she found her mother and then curled up in her lap. Abigail had never faced such a terrifying image. The fierce look in the youth's eyes had been more than desperation; he had wanted to kill her. Without saying anything, Abigail jumped off of her bed and raced out into the hallway towards her father's room. She grabbed the handle tightly and forced the door open allowing herself inside and not turning when Mina called to her. She slammed the door shut and ran over to the man, rousing him confusedly from sleep. As she leapt onto the bed beside him and threw her arms around him, Allan found himself coming out of what had been the best sleep he'd experienced in months. He frowned and looked down at his daughter, forgetting entirely about the issue of sleep when he felt her trembling.

"Abigail, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked hurriedly. Abigail said nothing and buried her head into his chest, breathing heavily.

"I want to go back, I don't want to go any farther," she whispered.

"It's a little late for that," Allan mused as he pulled the girl close to him and put the extra blanket covering him around her. "Did you have a vision?"

"The Fantom is after me," she explained. "Mr. Gray explained it all. He will keep coming after us until he has his portrait returned." Her trembling began to intensify at remembering every image and sound in the dream. "He will kill for it, has killed for it."

"Then we'll have to trust our own strengths," Allan said firmly and comfortingly. He placed both arms around the girl and sighed heavily. "I haven't seen you like this yet on the voyage and you've had plenty of reasons to be terrified before."

"I could see it in him, he wanted me dead," she said shuddering. "I want to forget that dream."

"Then think about something else for now, it will fade," the hunter offered. Abigail looked up at him and frowned.

"What else can I think about? That was beyond horrible!" she cried. Allan thought for a moment before concocting a positively brilliant distraction.

"Have I told you about my adventure in Tsavo three years ago?" he asked quickly.

Abigail ceased shuddering and panting for a second and shook her head. He smiled. The child in her would be distracted by a story long enough to make the dream a tolerable portion of her past. It felt awkward having her beside him, but she seemed to desperate and frightened to send straight back to her quarters. The elder began to retell the story of a railroad, two demons, and his two companions helping him restore peace to the countryside. Abigail half listened and half tried to decide whether or not she should tell anyone about what she had seen happen to Sibyl. What if this Lord Henry were still alive and wielding some sort of power over Dorian? She had sensed before that it was another evil guiding him. After a few minutes of balancing scheming, questioning, and listening; Abigail relenquished her consciousness to simply listening until she fell asleep. There was still something to figure out about this mysterious immortal and it looked as though Mina would no longer have the answers.