She wasn't sure what woke her up, but in the darkness she buried her face in the pillow and tried to ignore whatever it was. She didn't feel like being awake yet. Then she heard it – the click of the door handle. She froze, straining her ears for the slightest noise. Yes, the hinges sighed in opening and there, that little pressure on the floor, almost imperceptible. Large feet, hard feet, feet on a mission. Frozen against the mattress she willed herself to wake up. It wasn't working. She calculated this would make the fifth night in a row in nightmare cycles, every one tangible and terrifying. He was close now, she could sense it, he was standing, staring, and this was her chance, her moment to will resistance.
Sometimes in these dreams she could win, even though it still felt like losing, blood covered and violent. She settled a strategy and waited, tense, pretending sleep. There it was, the slight disturbance of the air, the hand descending, closing the distance, and she waited. The hand paused, changed direction, and pulled the covers instead. They slid down her body in a disgusting closeness, and she drew herself in, as though from cold. He stood, watching, and she could feel his eyes raking over her, and she ground her teeth, waiting for the moment to strike back. The hands extended, descended, found her form, digging in, pushing, committing strength to leverage. She struck. Whirling up and out, she used their combined momentum to throw him and come to her feet. She hit her head on something – she couldn't see in the dark, and she wasn't expecting it. He struck back, fury in his hands, angry at the challenge to his power. Over and around, willing herself through the movements, resisting him. He was strong, grabbing at her, trying to force her down. Again, she threw him, hearing a tumble and crash of destruction where he landed. She needed light; she was at a disadvantage. She moved to the side, keeping her hands extended in the direction she last heard him from, looking for a wall, a light switch. She collided with something, big, wooden, taller than her but not the wall. He came at her again, slowly, grunting, almost growling. He grabbed a wrist and she stepped behind him, throwing him off balance. Turning, using the weakness of his hand she tried to keep out of his reach, knocking over some small piece of furniture in her path. She tried to keep herself oriented in the space, but failed, finding the wall in suddenness that gave him an opening. He took it, striking at her and connecting, bone on flesh, exploding pain. She dropped, sweeping her arms into the backs of his knees and taking him down.
She needed to wake up. She tried to jolt herself out of it, shouting. Nothing was working, and her side was flaming from the blow. Dreams weren't supposed to hurt this badly. She noticed a thin line of gray to her right, inching across the floor. She took a chance, and rolled that direction, coming to her feet quickly, hearing him behind her struggling to get up. She couldn't see the line anymore, and hoping she was still heading the right direction, she slid forward as quickly as she dared, hands outstretched. She encountered heavy cotton. Thrilled, she pulled the drapes, hand over hand, blinding herself, but hearing him recoil behind her as well. The window was wonderfully large. Blinking, she saw slats indicating shutters, and fumbled for the latch. She threw the window fully open to the morning sun, and whirled back to the room, settling into a comfortable half-stance.
He was halfway across the room, standing, but bent, wiping blood from his mouth. It was him alright, beard and close-cropped hair, like tarnished copper. He never changed in her mind, always big and wide and freckled, even after college, when she came home and realized he was barely on eye level with her. The room, though, was odd, not one she'd ever seen before, huge and full of similarly heavy pieces of furniture. All of the wood was dark, and from what she could see, all with some degree of ornamentation. The bed was canopied, she noticed, and remembered the sore place on her head. He spat, and her attention returned to where he was straightening and glaring at her.
"Ill mannered wench."
He turned on his heel, thundering out the door and slamming it in his wake. She remained by the window, trying to wake up.
"Miss? Are you alright, Miss?"
Another door opened, and a round face popped through it. A kind face, framed by auburn curls and lace. Lace. The woman was wearing a mob cap. He had been wearing short trousers and garter socks. The window was shuttered, but not glazed. Slowly, she turned in place to look outside. The window was less of a window than another doorway, onto a narrow balcony. The sun glanced bright off the buildings winding away from her in close huddles, getting shorter and hiding behind the next in succession down to the harbor.
"Miss, are you alright? I heard a struggle and I thought you might be wanting me."
A forest of black and brown masts cluttered the water, and a few smaller fishing trawlers winged into port, sails yellow against the blue water.
"Where am I?"
"Miss?"
"Wake up. Just wake up."
"Miss? Are you alright?"
With soft rustling the woman approached, and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned, and took in the woman's dress, cut straight through the bodice and full skirted. Small bits of lace stood up around the square neckline and beneath the sleeves, cut tight and ending just past the elbow.
"Where am I?"
"Miss? It'll be alright, just a bit of shock. Come away from the window, Miss, and we'll dress you."
"What's going on?"
"Miss? Come on now, away from the window, there we go. I'll just shutter this one back up and you take a rest now, Miss. Quite a noise you've made this morning, you'll be wanting to break fast soon, I'd wager. Well, Cook must have anticipated you, she made a fine one this morning. You will be wanting to eat this morning, right Miss? I've been worrying about you, not eating. 'Tisn't right, I say, you'll do yourself a harm. Now what will you be wanting to wear today?"
She backed away as the woman went around the room, opening curtains and righting small tables and chairs knocked over in the fight. She looked at her own clothes, finding lace and thin cotton, billowing to her ankles is soft gathers. How had she not noticed before? Everything was wrong, the dress, the room, the town outside, the cadence of the woman's speech - and she couldn't wake up.
"Miss? Come now, Miss, it will be alright. Just a little shock, you'll feel better when you've eaten, I wager."
"How often does this happen?"
The woman sobered, her head tilting to one side ever so slightly.
"So Mary was right."
"Mary?"
"You know Mary, she serves the Tamsen's daughter, Ann, next door."
"Oh. Mary. What did Mary say?"
"If I may say, Miss, I don't trust that physician. And Mary and I, we've kept the Laudanum away for a fortnight. This is the first time since he prescribed it that you've been anywhere approaching yourself."
"It would do that. How long has sh-, have I been on it?"
"Near as long as Master has been coming in here. But if I may say, Miss, that was a fine noise you raised this morning."
For lack of a nearby chair, she sank down on the floor, chewing on a handy thumbnail. She couldn't wake up. If this was Death, she felt cheated.
"What is my name?
"Miss?"
"I might as well know my own name, if I'm to be stuck here."
The woman clucked and shook her head, looking down on her charge.
"I need to know everything that might be of use to me. Believe my memory wiped clean, believe my mind in need of a start; believe whatever you want to believe."
"I will dress you and take you to Madam, she is a more proper one than I to counsel you…"
She took a fistful of the woman's skirt and pulled until the woman sank to her own level.
"No. It must be you. You who took the Laudanum away and gave me a door this world, it is you who must tell me who and what I am."
"Mary. Brigid. Michaels."
Author's Notes
"Laudanum: circa 1603.1: any of various formerly used preparations of opium 2: a tincture of opium"
Courtesy of m-w.com.
Laudanum was commonly used in previous centuries by the rising medical profession to treat their female clientele. Anything from a fever to depression to menstrual irregularity to sexual aggression could be grounds for dosing with Laudanum, and many became addicted.
Thanks for reading so far – more to come!