The Others: Whispers in the Dark
by the Chronicler
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Chapter 5
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Had it all been a dream? Another, horrific, not to mention irritating, dream?
Jules Verne pushed himself up in the luxuries bed and, shaking the extra long sleeve down to free his hand, ran his fingers through his curls.
His mind worked slowly, sleepily. The whispering, breakfast with Fogg (oh, what fun that was), more whispering, sleep, Dr Camin to assure Fogg that the frenchman really was crazy (but didn't Fogg refuse that explanation? said there was a reason for all the weird stuff that buzzed around the writer's head?), sneaking out, more whispers, the stables, whispers... and her.... and now he was waking up on the Aurora, safe and sound, and rested.
It had to have been a dream. Nothing else made sense. He had been dreaming! And he could shuffle it all away as wild imagination on the loose.
Then again, that did not explain why he was waking up in Fogg's room in Fogg's bed in... He looked down at himself. Fogg's night shirt?
Jules suddenly leaped out of the bed, mortified that he might be found in the great Phileas Fogg's very own bedroom in his very own silk night shirt in his most private space: his bed.
There was a giggle.
Jules spun about, searching for the source. But he saw no one. "Someone there?" he called to the air.
Again the giggle. *Come, join us for the breaking of the fast.* whispered in his mind.
The young Frenchman dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. "It wasn't a dream." he mumbled to himself.
*No, it was not... but I am flattered to be thought of worthy of a dream.*
A more alarmed thought: "What are you doing on the Aurora? Where's the Foggs?" he demanded.
*Come, before the meal chills.*
Concern and frustration began to twist itself into a headache. Jules quickly spotted a set of clothing, all of the best quality and just his size, on a nearby chair and quickly dressed. before leaving the room, he glanced down at the nightstand.
Fogg always had a gun hidden somewhere for just those cases that needed a gun at unusual (for any normal man) times.
He opened the drawer, but all that was there was a bible.
Jules frowned slightly. How very unlike Fogg to sleep beside a bible.
He picked up the book. It was strangely light.
He smiled. How very much like Fogg to have something rather unholy like hidden within.
But the hollowed out spot inside was empty. Frustrated, he shut the book and returned it to the drawer.
Apparently his head wasn't the only thing these people? could get into.
With a sigh, he left the room, headed down the hall, and down the spiral stairs to the main cabin.
if he wasn't paying attention, he just might have missed what was different. The room sat as it always had: the heavy oval table under the elegant chandelier; the artistic steering globe; the wide windows and double doors that opened up to the observation deck; the big comfy pair of chairs; the delicately curved couch; the bookcases; and, of course, and perhaps most importantly, the weapons locker and liquor cabinet.... all of which was as it should be. There was even an elegantly dressed gentleman sitting at the table, reading a newspaper, a beautiful woman stretched out on the couch thumbing through a book, and a tall, gangly fellow standing at the controls.
Too bad none of them were the people who belonged there.
"Ah, our guest has made an appearance." the man sitting at the table spoke up with a perfect english accent. He rose to his feet and stepped forward to greet Jules.
Jules stepped away as he approached. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why have you kidnaped me?"
The man smiled. "I am known as Candle." he answered, offering his hand. When Jules did not take it, he clasped his hands behind his back. "You have met Autumn."
The woman glanced up from her reading to smile at the newcomer.
Jules recognized her at once. "You were at the stables!"
"Smart, this one, Candle." spoke up the man at the controls. His tone dripped with sarcasm. "better watch your step. He just might be able to figure out in which direction the sun rises."
A definite American accent, not to mention attitude, Jules decided.
Autumn giggled, hiding her face behind her book.
The American looked at her sharply. "What?" he demanded. "He was thinking about me, wasn't he?!" He spun about to glare at the Frenchman. "What did he think about me?" he growled.
Autumn stifled her humor, tucking herself behind her book.
Candle sighed. "And this uncivilized fellow from the colonies is Tam." He smiled at Jules. "He is gruff and uncivilized, but not a better man there is to have at your side when times get rough. You'll get used to him." he assured.
Tam smirked, taking insult with the compliment. "An' they're states, not colonies, you freakin' English peacock." Though his words were aggressive, his tone and expression held a notable fondness for the man.
Jules stared at Tam a moment longer before turning to Candle. "You make it sound like I'm joining you."
Candle's eyebrows rose. "You are a bright one." He indicated the others with a nod. "But, as you will come to learn, we are all the same: each of us is special, unique, in our own wonderful way."
*And you belong with us.* sounded in his mind.
Jules' eyes snapped back to the woman. "You're the one in my head, aren't you? How do you do that?"
"Same as any of us do anything." Tan held out a hand. A tin cup flew from the table, across the room, and into his grasp. "With ease." Smiling at his cleverness, he took a sip of whatever was inside.
Jules' expression was one of wonder and awe. "That is amazing!" Despite his apparent captivity, curiosity ruled the moment. He hurried across the room to get a better look at the man and his hand. "Does it have to do with air currents? I read where some oriental martial arts have figured out how to manipulate the air in a specific area, like controlling a wind." He shook his head, dismissing that idea. "No... no, that requires some movement. Magnets! Does it have to do with magnetism? Some how the metals in your body has been magnetized so you can pull metal objects to you... but then everything would be sticking to you... unless you can turn it off... control it. Can you repel objects as well?"
Tam stared at the boy, startled by his enthusiastic interrogation. What was meant to have been intimidation was beginning to intimidate Tam. Desperate for a save from the young scientist, the American turned a pleading look to Candle.
Candle laughed. He stepped across the room, took Jules by the shoulders, and lead him to the table. "Autumn says that you have not eaten in some time. Come, sit."
His tone and manner was so much like Fogg's, the young writer instinctively obeyed.
But it also reminded him of his predicament. "Why have you taken me? And the Aurora?" he demanded once again after he had taken a seat at the table.
"Well, if you want to be completely honest..." Candle started, returning to his seat, leaning back, and lacing his fingers together before him, "you came to us."
Jules glanced sharply at the woman.
"Don't you look at her like that!" Tam snapped. "She did it for you! She did it for all of us!"
Candle held up a hand, stilling him. "Understand, Jules Verne, everything we do, our very existence is dedicated to keeping our kind out of harms way."
"Your kind?" Jules repeated. That was the second time he had said something of that sort.
"No." Candle said slowly. "OUR kind. Mine, Autumn's, Tam's, and yours." He pointed to each in turn. "Unless, of course, you are going to sit there and deny the FACT that you have an extra ordinary mind with extra ordinary abilities."
The writer stiffened. Fogg had always warned him to keep his talent a secret. Not that, after meeting things such as Count Gregory, he had needed much prompting. Thus, looking away (he knew he was a lousy lier), he said softly "I don't know what you're talking about."
Autumn approached unnoticed by the Frenchman. *He's afraid. He has known the evil that hunts our kind.*
Jules stared straight ahead, avoiding their gazes.
"Of course, Count Gregory." Candle took a deep breath, help it a moment, then let it out slowly. he leaned forward. "Look at me, Jules Verne."
His mind gave no command to do so. His mind screamed protests. Every fiber of his being resisted. But Jules Verne still found himself turning his head to look at the man.
"We were sent to you to keep you out of the hands of such evils as Count Gregory and the League of Darkness." His eyes were unwavering, steady as steel. "There is nothing you can hide from us. There is nothing you need to hide from us. We know everything about you. That is our job."
Jules stared back. "And just what do you think my `extra ordinary' ability is?"
"You can reach into the future, stupid!" Tam snapped.
"Really?" Jules smiled, doing his best imitation of Phileas Fogg's best dare-you expression. "Here's a little future for you then: Phileas Fogg will not allow you to get away with this. He will hunt you down to the ends of the earth... and that would be just to get me back." He chuckled. "Wait until you see how he feels about the Aurora!"
Candle leaned back and smiled.
An expression that unsettled the young Frenchman.
"Jules Verne, eat." Candle said softly.
Once again, though every bit of him resisted, fought obeying, Jules Verne turned to the plate before him and began to eat.
by the Chronicler
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Chapter 5
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Had it all been a dream? Another, horrific, not to mention irritating, dream?
Jules Verne pushed himself up in the luxuries bed and, shaking the extra long sleeve down to free his hand, ran his fingers through his curls.
His mind worked slowly, sleepily. The whispering, breakfast with Fogg (oh, what fun that was), more whispering, sleep, Dr Camin to assure Fogg that the frenchman really was crazy (but didn't Fogg refuse that explanation? said there was a reason for all the weird stuff that buzzed around the writer's head?), sneaking out, more whispers, the stables, whispers... and her.... and now he was waking up on the Aurora, safe and sound, and rested.
It had to have been a dream. Nothing else made sense. He had been dreaming! And he could shuffle it all away as wild imagination on the loose.
Then again, that did not explain why he was waking up in Fogg's room in Fogg's bed in... He looked down at himself. Fogg's night shirt?
Jules suddenly leaped out of the bed, mortified that he might be found in the great Phileas Fogg's very own bedroom in his very own silk night shirt in his most private space: his bed.
There was a giggle.
Jules spun about, searching for the source. But he saw no one. "Someone there?" he called to the air.
Again the giggle. *Come, join us for the breaking of the fast.* whispered in his mind.
The young Frenchman dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. "It wasn't a dream." he mumbled to himself.
*No, it was not... but I am flattered to be thought of worthy of a dream.*
A more alarmed thought: "What are you doing on the Aurora? Where's the Foggs?" he demanded.
*Come, before the meal chills.*
Concern and frustration began to twist itself into a headache. Jules quickly spotted a set of clothing, all of the best quality and just his size, on a nearby chair and quickly dressed. before leaving the room, he glanced down at the nightstand.
Fogg always had a gun hidden somewhere for just those cases that needed a gun at unusual (for any normal man) times.
He opened the drawer, but all that was there was a bible.
Jules frowned slightly. How very unlike Fogg to sleep beside a bible.
He picked up the book. It was strangely light.
He smiled. How very much like Fogg to have something rather unholy like hidden within.
But the hollowed out spot inside was empty. Frustrated, he shut the book and returned it to the drawer.
Apparently his head wasn't the only thing these people? could get into.
With a sigh, he left the room, headed down the hall, and down the spiral stairs to the main cabin.
if he wasn't paying attention, he just might have missed what was different. The room sat as it always had: the heavy oval table under the elegant chandelier; the artistic steering globe; the wide windows and double doors that opened up to the observation deck; the big comfy pair of chairs; the delicately curved couch; the bookcases; and, of course, and perhaps most importantly, the weapons locker and liquor cabinet.... all of which was as it should be. There was even an elegantly dressed gentleman sitting at the table, reading a newspaper, a beautiful woman stretched out on the couch thumbing through a book, and a tall, gangly fellow standing at the controls.
Too bad none of them were the people who belonged there.
"Ah, our guest has made an appearance." the man sitting at the table spoke up with a perfect english accent. He rose to his feet and stepped forward to greet Jules.
Jules stepped away as he approached. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why have you kidnaped me?"
The man smiled. "I am known as Candle." he answered, offering his hand. When Jules did not take it, he clasped his hands behind his back. "You have met Autumn."
The woman glanced up from her reading to smile at the newcomer.
Jules recognized her at once. "You were at the stables!"
"Smart, this one, Candle." spoke up the man at the controls. His tone dripped with sarcasm. "better watch your step. He just might be able to figure out in which direction the sun rises."
A definite American accent, not to mention attitude, Jules decided.
Autumn giggled, hiding her face behind her book.
The American looked at her sharply. "What?" he demanded. "He was thinking about me, wasn't he?!" He spun about to glare at the Frenchman. "What did he think about me?" he growled.
Autumn stifled her humor, tucking herself behind her book.
Candle sighed. "And this uncivilized fellow from the colonies is Tam." He smiled at Jules. "He is gruff and uncivilized, but not a better man there is to have at your side when times get rough. You'll get used to him." he assured.
Tam smirked, taking insult with the compliment. "An' they're states, not colonies, you freakin' English peacock." Though his words were aggressive, his tone and expression held a notable fondness for the man.
Jules stared at Tam a moment longer before turning to Candle. "You make it sound like I'm joining you."
Candle's eyebrows rose. "You are a bright one." He indicated the others with a nod. "But, as you will come to learn, we are all the same: each of us is special, unique, in our own wonderful way."
*And you belong with us.* sounded in his mind.
Jules' eyes snapped back to the woman. "You're the one in my head, aren't you? How do you do that?"
"Same as any of us do anything." Tan held out a hand. A tin cup flew from the table, across the room, and into his grasp. "With ease." Smiling at his cleverness, he took a sip of whatever was inside.
Jules' expression was one of wonder and awe. "That is amazing!" Despite his apparent captivity, curiosity ruled the moment. He hurried across the room to get a better look at the man and his hand. "Does it have to do with air currents? I read where some oriental martial arts have figured out how to manipulate the air in a specific area, like controlling a wind." He shook his head, dismissing that idea. "No... no, that requires some movement. Magnets! Does it have to do with magnetism? Some how the metals in your body has been magnetized so you can pull metal objects to you... but then everything would be sticking to you... unless you can turn it off... control it. Can you repel objects as well?"
Tam stared at the boy, startled by his enthusiastic interrogation. What was meant to have been intimidation was beginning to intimidate Tam. Desperate for a save from the young scientist, the American turned a pleading look to Candle.
Candle laughed. He stepped across the room, took Jules by the shoulders, and lead him to the table. "Autumn says that you have not eaten in some time. Come, sit."
His tone and manner was so much like Fogg's, the young writer instinctively obeyed.
But it also reminded him of his predicament. "Why have you taken me? And the Aurora?" he demanded once again after he had taken a seat at the table.
"Well, if you want to be completely honest..." Candle started, returning to his seat, leaning back, and lacing his fingers together before him, "you came to us."
Jules glanced sharply at the woman.
"Don't you look at her like that!" Tam snapped. "She did it for you! She did it for all of us!"
Candle held up a hand, stilling him. "Understand, Jules Verne, everything we do, our very existence is dedicated to keeping our kind out of harms way."
"Your kind?" Jules repeated. That was the second time he had said something of that sort.
"No." Candle said slowly. "OUR kind. Mine, Autumn's, Tam's, and yours." He pointed to each in turn. "Unless, of course, you are going to sit there and deny the FACT that you have an extra ordinary mind with extra ordinary abilities."
The writer stiffened. Fogg had always warned him to keep his talent a secret. Not that, after meeting things such as Count Gregory, he had needed much prompting. Thus, looking away (he knew he was a lousy lier), he said softly "I don't know what you're talking about."
Autumn approached unnoticed by the Frenchman. *He's afraid. He has known the evil that hunts our kind.*
Jules stared straight ahead, avoiding their gazes.
"Of course, Count Gregory." Candle took a deep breath, help it a moment, then let it out slowly. he leaned forward. "Look at me, Jules Verne."
His mind gave no command to do so. His mind screamed protests. Every fiber of his being resisted. But Jules Verne still found himself turning his head to look at the man.
"We were sent to you to keep you out of the hands of such evils as Count Gregory and the League of Darkness." His eyes were unwavering, steady as steel. "There is nothing you can hide from us. There is nothing you need to hide from us. We know everything about you. That is our job."
Jules stared back. "And just what do you think my `extra ordinary' ability is?"
"You can reach into the future, stupid!" Tam snapped.
"Really?" Jules smiled, doing his best imitation of Phileas Fogg's best dare-you expression. "Here's a little future for you then: Phileas Fogg will not allow you to get away with this. He will hunt you down to the ends of the earth... and that would be just to get me back." He chuckled. "Wait until you see how he feels about the Aurora!"
Candle leaned back and smiled.
An expression that unsettled the young Frenchman.
"Jules Verne, eat." Candle said softly.
Once again, though every bit of him resisted, fought obeying, Jules Verne turned to the plate before him and began to eat.