Kat: Yep, she did! Now aren't you a little mind reader. Lol.
MR-Forever: Marguerite was just teasing Veronica because she knows that Veronica wants children, too. Trust me, the twins are Roxton's. I wouldn't have it any other way. Lol. Thanks for the review!
Spirita: Well I'm really glad! Lol.
Panda: I'm trying, but life sometimes gets in the way of my storytelling (now isn't that unfair? Lol.).
KDC: John knows of her power. He just doesn't know she's experiencing…uh…"side effects" I guess would be the best way to put it. Anyway, lots of people don't like Veronica, but I think she's ok. I wasn't fond of her in the first season, but she's not as snobby/bitchy as she once was.
ChosenOne: Stalled? Why? Writer's block? Anyway, thanks for signing up as my "boring monitor." Lol.
Keys: Remember when I told you I would keep 911 handy? This is why…
Taya: Promise! For now.
Chapter Six
Darkness Whispers
Marguerite shivered, bitter cold with numb fingers and frozen toes. The wind howled a ghostly tale as it swept through the branches of the jungle's aging trees causing her insides to shrivel against the frosty air. She forced open her eyes, but saw nothing: the world was covered in a cloak of darkness. Fear hesitating her movements, she slowly brought her hands out, exploring the space around her. She gasped as her fingers struck what felt like wood. She ran her hands all around her, frantic when she realized she was confined inside a tiny box.
Was she even still inside the tree house? Most likely not.
Frightened, tears stinging her eyes, she pounded against her prison and screamed. She felt a wetness seeping down her hand and she knew that she had sliced open her knuckles, but continued to strike the wood more forcibly. "Help," she cried and then went on shrieking.
Where was Roxton? Where were her babies?
Lillian! William!
"Somebody help me," she screeched, tearing the flesh away from her fingers as she slammed them against the wooden coffin.
Coffin. That must be what she was in…a coffin…a grave. Had they buried her alive? Did they think she was dead?
"I'm not dead," she screeched. "I'm not dead! Let me out! I'm not dead! I'm not…
--
"…dead. I'm not dead," she murmured in her sleep, her hand flinging out and slapping Roxton in the face.
Roxton grumbled, pushing her arm away from him. It must've been only four in the morning and he was exhausted from his previous day's hunting trip. He rolled onto his side, rubbing the grogginess from his hazel eyes. It's then he heard her murmuring, and he stroked her face gently. "Shh, Marguerite. Love, it's only a dream."
She jerked awake, gasping for air, sucking the oxygen harshly into her lungs. "I'm not dead," she exclaimed.
"I know that, you silly little thing." Roxton pecked her nose and then continued to caress her smooth skin. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"
Marguerite, wild-eyed, sharply looked his way, her breathing gradually returning to normal, but her heart went on like a freight train. "No," she breathed. "No. It was…just a dream. Go back to sleep, John." She patted his shoulder, gently pushing him fully back onto the mattress.
"Are you sure you're all right," he inquired, not looking convinced.
"Yes," she retorted. "I just need some water." She crawled off the bed and grabbed her robe from the end of the small, wooden frame. "Just go back to sleep. I'll be right back."
"Are you sure you don't want me to…"
"Positive." Marguerite gave him an incisive look. "Come on. I'm a big girl. I can handle getting a glass of water and checking on the twins all by my grown-up self."
"Oh, I don't know about that, Marguerite," his tone light and teasing. "Sometimes you can be quite the damsel in distress."
She tossed him a haughty glare. "I have never needed your help, Lord John Roxton. I can manage just perfectly fine on my own."
"Oh sure," he replied with a smug grin. "You mean like when a swarm of icemen kidnap you to be their new breeding queen? Or when a strange cult wants to sacrifice you in the belief that your death will prevent the annihilation of their people? Or when…"
"Ok, ok, I get the bloody point," she interjected, smiling. "Now shut up and go to sleep. I'll be back in a few minutes."
She slipped from the room, careful to draw the blanket back over the doorway. Quietly, she went to the kitchen and retrieved one of the canteens. Not bothering to get a cup, she unscrewed the lid and took a long swallow. The warm water embraced her dry throat, making her hum with pleasure.
She was alive.
Marguerite replaced the canteen – making a mental note to fill it back up in the morning – and then headed towards the twins' bedroom.
"Marguerite," a faint whisper filtered through on the breeze.
Marguerite stopped, whipping around and scanning the room. Was her imagination just running wild or…
"Marguerite, this way," he hissed.
Marguerite jumped, her stomach lurching into her throat. "No," she whispered. "No. You're dead."
He cackled. "This was, Marguerite," he taunted with gleeful cruelty. "This way."
"No," she screamed, her long curls falling into her face. "You're dead! Damn it, she killed you!"
A murky shadow – roughly outlining the silhouette of a man – fell across the floor and over the children's doorway. "You're mine," he hissed.
"Marguerite," Roxton hollered off to the side. He came sprinting towards her, his eyes darting around, searching for danger. "Marguerite," he said upon reaching her side. "What's wrong? Whose dead?"
She pushed passed him, rushing into the babies' room. "No one," she lied, peering down into Lillian's crib. She rubbed her hand over the baby and then turned around and marched over to William's crib.
"Damn it, Marguerite, don't give me that line," he ordered, checking on Lillian himself. "Something's spooked you and I want to know what."
"Just the effects of my dream, John. Nothing more." Satisfied that her children were safe, Marguerite sat on the rocker that the four other members of the tree house (John, Ned, Veronica, and George) had made her for Mother's Day.
Roxton came to kneel in front of her. "Marguerite, please."
She sighed, wrung the hem of her blouse between her hands. "I thought… I thought I heard him."
"Him?"
She stared him dead-on, knowing the reaction he would have. "Klor," she whispered.
Roxton shook his head. "But he's dead. Veronica killed him."
"I know," Marguerite emphasized. "That's why I'm telling you that it was probably my imagination running wild because of my silly dream."
"What was your dream about?"
"I don't know," she lied fluently. "Who cares? Can we just go back to bed? I'm exhausted."
He looked for a moment as though he were going to press the matter, but decided to let it drop…for now. "One must have their beauty sleep. Come on, darling, let me escort you to your chambers." He swept his arms underneath her and scooped her up.
She giggled, rolling her eyes. "Always the gentleman, I see," she laughed as he carried her back to their room.
End Chapter Six
And there is plenty more of where that came from!