The Button
D.K. Archer (2001, I believe)
Notes: This is an old fanfic I'm posting simply for the heck of it; It was written in 2001, if my memory serves me, which would have made me sixteen years old at the time. I take full responsibility for all errors and foolishness. ^_^ Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I'm sure, in your wisdom, you will be able to tell what I do and do not own in this story ^_~
A thick grey mare skittered gracelessly on the sleet-slicked paving stones, managing her footing again before either horse or rider became intimate with the gutter mud. The rider, a tall man in great coat and fedora, slid from her ribs and slapped the lady's icy rump to send her towards the stables. He did not bother knocking before shoving through the door and cringing, shivering, in the heated interior of the Wounded Boar Inn.
The hour was well past midnight, as was attested by the polished mantle clock, and the inn's sober patrons were wisely asleep in their beds. He quickly shed his coat and hat, leaving a slough of frozen rain on the flooring and a puddle on the table where he'd thrown it. His poor, slender fingers were stiff with the cold around the handle of his black little bag.
"Doctor? Is that you?" a high and womanly voice called from somewhere in the Inn. He shouted his affirmation, and a moment later a rather flustered and tiny woman appeared from one of the doors. She wrung her calloused hands in the apron of her dress, and her dull colored hair had worked itself loose in strands to hover in her eyes. She forced a weak smile at the doctor.
"I know how late it is," she apologized, holding her palms out helplessly "but I didn't think he could wait until morning. The poor fellow is hot as a tea kettle and something foul's been coming up from his lungs."
The doctor nodded "Yes, your messenger told me. Where is the man?"
She flicked her head towards the proper door and turned, holding it wide for him.
The cool room was dark but not quiet. From the light of a shielded candle the doctor could make out shapes, the edges of a spare cot and wooden sea chest, a dented tin bowl sitting crooked on the latter, belly smeared with something slick and dark. He carefully lifted the opaque chimney from the candle and the walls shivered with yellow light.
The darkness left an emaciated man, clothed in sweat soaked linens and curled upon the cot straps. Wet eyes opened to s glittering slit, but he didn't move. In fact he gave no motion at all until the doctor pressed his brow to lift his lids, at which he erupted with a fearful violence, striking out with open palms. From so thin a man it was a fearful sight, but his condition allowed for no aim, and the doctor quickly pinned him back against the cot.
"NO! He's coming, don't ye see!? Your with him!" The ribs arched up against the doctor's chest. "Let me GO!"
"Miss Dinah, help me hold him!" the doctor snapped. The woman did not move, but stared with dumb fascination from the door.
"Hook! He's coming for me! Don't let 'im--"
The man choked, heaved, and the doctor jumped back. A thin hand scrambled for the tin bowl but it only clattered to the ground, slopping it's vile contents onto the floor.
"I-I can't do anything." the doctor stuttered, backing away from the retching man. "He has the consumption. Had you called me earlier I might have helped."
"I couldn't!" Dinah protested, as the doctor warily snatched up his bag from the boards and pushed past her into the main room. "He only came here two days ago, trailing a drunkard. He looked sick but it wasn't my business to pry!"
The doctor frowned and ran a hand thru his thinning hair.
"Do you know anything about him? A family he mentioned? They need to be told."
She shook her head "All I know is that he's Irish. He went by the name of Smee."
"If that's a family name, I've never heard of them." the doctor said distastefully. "But the church is closing a pauper's grave the day after next. He can be buried with them, with some dignity, at least. I'll send the cart for him tomorrow evening.
"But he isn't dead yet!"
"He will be."
Miss Dinah went quiet. She gave no protest when the man collected his coat and fedora, but when his hand went out for his fee she sniffed indignantly and produced two thin coins from the pocket of her apron. It was not even enough money to justify the wear on his horse, but he couldn't morally demand full payment when there was nothing he could do for the patient.
"Good night to you, Sir."
"Er, yes. Goodnight, Miss Dinah.
The door closed on him, and the inn seemed most painfully quiet.
"...dinah?"
She snuffed and shifted, a bit surprised to find herself sitting up, though perhaps she had dozed off in her sewing? As her eyes blinked open and her head raised she noticed this was not her room. There was a man laying propped upon her elbows, in the spare cot she always kept for extra guests.
"Miss Dinah?"
"Shh, it's okay. I'm here, Mister Smee." She rose from the stiff backed chair she had brought and knelt at the head of the cot. The man ignored her vain attempt to brush the greying hair from his eyes.
"Miss Dinah, the sea chest. Open it?"
The woman looked, and hesitated a moment. After the doctor had left she had cleaned and righted, and now the tin bowl was back in its position on the chest, it's belly pooled with a slick of dark matter.
"Please, Miss Dinah?"
The watery and weakened voice allowed no refusal without making it a cruelty. Miss Dinah relented and carefully shifted the bowl to the floor. The sea chest was relatively new, against the age of the man, and the wooden lid eased open without complaint from the hinges. Rumpled on the top was a change of clothes with spectacles folded neatly upon them. His hand went out and she set the lenses in his palm, though he did not put them on. He held them a moment in reverence.
Again he pointed to the chest.
"There's a little bag there..."
She nodded. Gently shifting the clothes aside she found first a little book of india paper. She expected it to be a bible, but it seemed a bit thin, and the lettering on the cover had long since worn dull. Next to it was a pocket watch which had cracked it's casing, and a little leather pouch, the kind men kept their coins and tobacco in. The man smiled thinly as she handed it to him.
Poured into his palm the bag held three British pounds, two thick coins from Spain, and a silver jacket button. The coins clattered as he dropped them, one by one, to lay or roll away beneath the cot. Miss Dinah watched with confusion as he still held the button. It rolled between his thumb and finger as he took a quavering breath.
"He IS coming, Miss Dinah."
"Who is?" she asked, laying a soft palm on his ribs to calm the tremble. His answer came almost too soft to hear.
"the captain...."
The little silver button flashed coolly in the candle light, rolled as it was between his fingers. Staring into the glint of that beacon Miss Dinah felt she knew something, something furious and tainted and sad, so long ago. But she light shifted, and it was gone.
"I've seen him, Miss Dinah." he whimpered. "Through the windows and in streets. He looks at me. He knows the things I've said, and all the lies I've told." His fingers brushed the clasp of her collar. "He knows I didn't die with him that night..."
The inn was dropped into a sudden vacuum of silence as outside, the sleet and rain abruptly died. The wind did not even find the courage to blow into that darkness.
Dinah didn't like it. Smee even less so, as his empty hand snaked into hers like a little child's might. He held still and listened, though a thickness was beginning in his mind.
"did you hear that?" he hissed suddenly, staring towards the closed door. Dinah had not. She saw the man's mouth tremble as his hand went tighter about hers.
"he's coming!"
"Mister Smee, theres nothing there!" she insisted, though that horrible trickle of fear had started in her gut.
With a shudder, Smee succumbed to the burning in his throat, and he began to cough again. Dinah quickly shoved the bowl towards him.
Still choking, Smee's face suddenly turned up, red, veined, and eyes wet. Dinah strained to see what he stared at with frozen nerves but there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Only silence. Smee gagged and the tears began to slip down his face. Thin arms went out in supplication, but not to Dinah, to that thing that slowly crossed the floor, that thing she couldn't see.
"..don't--capt'n---"
His throat blocked. Dinah watched with a tremble as his eyes bulged and one hand went to claw at his throat, the other still out, begging. The silver button slipped from his hand and clattered across the floor.
"Mister Smee!"
He didn't hear her. Dinah's arms went out to him, to calm him, make his breathe again, but it wasn't him she touched. Her fingers brushed the heavy cloth of someone's coat, in that emptiness there before him.
Next she knew she had barreled into the chest of a patron at her inn. Arms came to steady her, and seven faces watched her in alarm, all fresh from sleep. There had been screams, they said, and she only pointed to the door, stumbling through a torrent of tears. The gentleman who had her wouldn't let her look as two men crept into the room, and quickly hurried back out again.
Outside, the rain had begun to trickle down.
"Is Mister Smee all right?" she hiccuped, fingers curling into the fabric of his nightshirt.
He shook his head.
"Mister Smee is dead."
***
A cart came by the next day, and the doctor had promised. The men were quick about it, and Miss Dinah just sat in the main room, legs tucked beneath her in her chair. Beside her waited the gentleman who had caught her the night before. He hadn't left her side once since she'd run, and she was thankful for him, even if she didn't know his name.
A strange notion occurred to her as she sat, and she pulled his collar towards her so she could whisper in his ear. He nodded and went quietly into the room as the men were leaving with their bundle. She didn't watch, but there came small voices, then quiet and footsteps as the two men left. The gentleman was gone another moment or so before sitting down beside her again, an apologetic look upon his face.
"I'm sorry. They said they didn't see a silver button, and it wasn't on the floor. Is it one you lost?"
Dinah shook her head. "No. I guess it isn't important."
--------------------------
That was fun ^_^ Please, god, let me have improved as a writer at least a smidgen since then ^_~ Feel free to leave any ranty comments you like. I will enjoy them. ^_^
D.K. Archer (2001, I believe)
Notes: This is an old fanfic I'm posting simply for the heck of it; It was written in 2001, if my memory serves me, which would have made me sixteen years old at the time. I take full responsibility for all errors and foolishness. ^_^ Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I'm sure, in your wisdom, you will be able to tell what I do and do not own in this story ^_~
A thick grey mare skittered gracelessly on the sleet-slicked paving stones, managing her footing again before either horse or rider became intimate with the gutter mud. The rider, a tall man in great coat and fedora, slid from her ribs and slapped the lady's icy rump to send her towards the stables. He did not bother knocking before shoving through the door and cringing, shivering, in the heated interior of the Wounded Boar Inn.
The hour was well past midnight, as was attested by the polished mantle clock, and the inn's sober patrons were wisely asleep in their beds. He quickly shed his coat and hat, leaving a slough of frozen rain on the flooring and a puddle on the table where he'd thrown it. His poor, slender fingers were stiff with the cold around the handle of his black little bag.
"Doctor? Is that you?" a high and womanly voice called from somewhere in the Inn. He shouted his affirmation, and a moment later a rather flustered and tiny woman appeared from one of the doors. She wrung her calloused hands in the apron of her dress, and her dull colored hair had worked itself loose in strands to hover in her eyes. She forced a weak smile at the doctor.
"I know how late it is," she apologized, holding her palms out helplessly "but I didn't think he could wait until morning. The poor fellow is hot as a tea kettle and something foul's been coming up from his lungs."
The doctor nodded "Yes, your messenger told me. Where is the man?"
She flicked her head towards the proper door and turned, holding it wide for him.
The cool room was dark but not quiet. From the light of a shielded candle the doctor could make out shapes, the edges of a spare cot and wooden sea chest, a dented tin bowl sitting crooked on the latter, belly smeared with something slick and dark. He carefully lifted the opaque chimney from the candle and the walls shivered with yellow light.
The darkness left an emaciated man, clothed in sweat soaked linens and curled upon the cot straps. Wet eyes opened to s glittering slit, but he didn't move. In fact he gave no motion at all until the doctor pressed his brow to lift his lids, at which he erupted with a fearful violence, striking out with open palms. From so thin a man it was a fearful sight, but his condition allowed for no aim, and the doctor quickly pinned him back against the cot.
"NO! He's coming, don't ye see!? Your with him!" The ribs arched up against the doctor's chest. "Let me GO!"
"Miss Dinah, help me hold him!" the doctor snapped. The woman did not move, but stared with dumb fascination from the door.
"Hook! He's coming for me! Don't let 'im--"
The man choked, heaved, and the doctor jumped back. A thin hand scrambled for the tin bowl but it only clattered to the ground, slopping it's vile contents onto the floor.
"I-I can't do anything." the doctor stuttered, backing away from the retching man. "He has the consumption. Had you called me earlier I might have helped."
"I couldn't!" Dinah protested, as the doctor warily snatched up his bag from the boards and pushed past her into the main room. "He only came here two days ago, trailing a drunkard. He looked sick but it wasn't my business to pry!"
The doctor frowned and ran a hand thru his thinning hair.
"Do you know anything about him? A family he mentioned? They need to be told."
She shook her head "All I know is that he's Irish. He went by the name of Smee."
"If that's a family name, I've never heard of them." the doctor said distastefully. "But the church is closing a pauper's grave the day after next. He can be buried with them, with some dignity, at least. I'll send the cart for him tomorrow evening.
"But he isn't dead yet!"
"He will be."
Miss Dinah went quiet. She gave no protest when the man collected his coat and fedora, but when his hand went out for his fee she sniffed indignantly and produced two thin coins from the pocket of her apron. It was not even enough money to justify the wear on his horse, but he couldn't morally demand full payment when there was nothing he could do for the patient.
"Good night to you, Sir."
"Er, yes. Goodnight, Miss Dinah.
The door closed on him, and the inn seemed most painfully quiet.
"...dinah?"
She snuffed and shifted, a bit surprised to find herself sitting up, though perhaps she had dozed off in her sewing? As her eyes blinked open and her head raised she noticed this was not her room. There was a man laying propped upon her elbows, in the spare cot she always kept for extra guests.
"Miss Dinah?"
"Shh, it's okay. I'm here, Mister Smee." She rose from the stiff backed chair she had brought and knelt at the head of the cot. The man ignored her vain attempt to brush the greying hair from his eyes.
"Miss Dinah, the sea chest. Open it?"
The woman looked, and hesitated a moment. After the doctor had left she had cleaned and righted, and now the tin bowl was back in its position on the chest, it's belly pooled with a slick of dark matter.
"Please, Miss Dinah?"
The watery and weakened voice allowed no refusal without making it a cruelty. Miss Dinah relented and carefully shifted the bowl to the floor. The sea chest was relatively new, against the age of the man, and the wooden lid eased open without complaint from the hinges. Rumpled on the top was a change of clothes with spectacles folded neatly upon them. His hand went out and she set the lenses in his palm, though he did not put them on. He held them a moment in reverence.
Again he pointed to the chest.
"There's a little bag there..."
She nodded. Gently shifting the clothes aside she found first a little book of india paper. She expected it to be a bible, but it seemed a bit thin, and the lettering on the cover had long since worn dull. Next to it was a pocket watch which had cracked it's casing, and a little leather pouch, the kind men kept their coins and tobacco in. The man smiled thinly as she handed it to him.
Poured into his palm the bag held three British pounds, two thick coins from Spain, and a silver jacket button. The coins clattered as he dropped them, one by one, to lay or roll away beneath the cot. Miss Dinah watched with confusion as he still held the button. It rolled between his thumb and finger as he took a quavering breath.
"He IS coming, Miss Dinah."
"Who is?" she asked, laying a soft palm on his ribs to calm the tremble. His answer came almost too soft to hear.
"the captain...."
The little silver button flashed coolly in the candle light, rolled as it was between his fingers. Staring into the glint of that beacon Miss Dinah felt she knew something, something furious and tainted and sad, so long ago. But she light shifted, and it was gone.
"I've seen him, Miss Dinah." he whimpered. "Through the windows and in streets. He looks at me. He knows the things I've said, and all the lies I've told." His fingers brushed the clasp of her collar. "He knows I didn't die with him that night..."
The inn was dropped into a sudden vacuum of silence as outside, the sleet and rain abruptly died. The wind did not even find the courage to blow into that darkness.
Dinah didn't like it. Smee even less so, as his empty hand snaked into hers like a little child's might. He held still and listened, though a thickness was beginning in his mind.
"did you hear that?" he hissed suddenly, staring towards the closed door. Dinah had not. She saw the man's mouth tremble as his hand went tighter about hers.
"he's coming!"
"Mister Smee, theres nothing there!" she insisted, though that horrible trickle of fear had started in her gut.
With a shudder, Smee succumbed to the burning in his throat, and he began to cough again. Dinah quickly shoved the bowl towards him.
Still choking, Smee's face suddenly turned up, red, veined, and eyes wet. Dinah strained to see what he stared at with frozen nerves but there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Only silence. Smee gagged and the tears began to slip down his face. Thin arms went out in supplication, but not to Dinah, to that thing that slowly crossed the floor, that thing she couldn't see.
"..don't--capt'n---"
His throat blocked. Dinah watched with a tremble as his eyes bulged and one hand went to claw at his throat, the other still out, begging. The silver button slipped from his hand and clattered across the floor.
"Mister Smee!"
He didn't hear her. Dinah's arms went out to him, to calm him, make his breathe again, but it wasn't him she touched. Her fingers brushed the heavy cloth of someone's coat, in that emptiness there before him.
Next she knew she had barreled into the chest of a patron at her inn. Arms came to steady her, and seven faces watched her in alarm, all fresh from sleep. There had been screams, they said, and she only pointed to the door, stumbling through a torrent of tears. The gentleman who had her wouldn't let her look as two men crept into the room, and quickly hurried back out again.
Outside, the rain had begun to trickle down.
"Is Mister Smee all right?" she hiccuped, fingers curling into the fabric of his nightshirt.
He shook his head.
"Mister Smee is dead."
***
A cart came by the next day, and the doctor had promised. The men were quick about it, and Miss Dinah just sat in the main room, legs tucked beneath her in her chair. Beside her waited the gentleman who had caught her the night before. He hadn't left her side once since she'd run, and she was thankful for him, even if she didn't know his name.
A strange notion occurred to her as she sat, and she pulled his collar towards her so she could whisper in his ear. He nodded and went quietly into the room as the men were leaving with their bundle. She didn't watch, but there came small voices, then quiet and footsteps as the two men left. The gentleman was gone another moment or so before sitting down beside her again, an apologetic look upon his face.
"I'm sorry. They said they didn't see a silver button, and it wasn't on the floor. Is it one you lost?"
Dinah shook her head. "No. I guess it isn't important."
--------------------------
That was fun ^_^ Please, god, let me have improved as a writer at least a smidgen since then ^_~ Feel free to leave any ranty comments you like. I will enjoy them. ^_^