Author's Note: Oh dear… long time since my last update, and for that – again – I apologise. Stupid writer's block. The annoying thing is, I've pictured some of the end now, but I just can't write it, lol. On the plus side, I have read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn for an insight into the charming little guy, and am now chugging away on the fascinating The Picture of Dorian Gray. Good read… both of them, though The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is better I think, than its follow-up. Oh well… maybe that's just me. Time for the shout outs.
BloodMoonLycan: Don't worry about the long review time… I appreciate the review no matter what. *hugs* No guilt, missy. Hehehehe… pea soup *smile*. Go ahead, jug the bejeezus out of Tom… for once in my stories, it won't kill him if you do *grin*. Thanks for the review, pal!
Graymoon74: Hehehehe. Everybody knows GM wants Dorian… if they didn't before, they certainly do know *grin*. He is very dashing, I know… annoyingly so. A traitor? You'll have to wait and see. Yes… Tom needs his girl back… when he can figure out what he wants *grin*.
Funyun: Thanks for the Wolf thing comment… I just like playing with it. Well… the French… this is rather a stretched thing, but in the book, he tells Jim about the French, and can speak a few words. Now he wasn't messing about, cuz they were actual words, so I figured he kept it up, and learned it properly… it would give him an asset, after all *smile* Hope that cleared that up for you. Tom's eyes are green yes, but if you look at Shane West very closely *giggles, and slaps self for distraction* you will see flecks of hazel. It's subtle, and on the film poster *looks to her right at her own* they emphasise the hazel/brown in them for some reason. They are blue in his book of origin, and Mina's are green… but it was all changed, and it doesn't bother me. Tom's are a wonderful green/hazel-flecked though. Hope that helped too.
Leigh S. Durron: I did indeed leave you like that. Hope this makes up for it. Hehehehe, yes, Leigh, good advice on the boo, but I still prefer TAoTS more. I am the cliffhanger queen! *cackles* Ahem…
Hoshii-chan: Love triangle? Quite possibly *winks*
LotRseer3350: BTLOTM? Well… that's nearly finished, but this has a ways to go yet.
GypsyGirl: Thanks. Hehe, yeah, I'm being relatively 'nice' to Tom as my habits go. Huck and Dorian are both cool literary characters, I agree. Angst…? Most certainly!
Mrs. Mina Harker: Hehehehe… no fun without brutality? … I like the way you think, LOL!
Kingleby: Poor everyone! That's a good thing that I'm affecting you, lol. Poor guy yeah… and I'm a little like you *shifty look*
Sethoz: Ah, quoteage… sorry, I'm back in reality. Me? A genius? *blinks* You feelin' okay? Tom's awake, yay! Gotta get inside Huck's mind *wink* It's so fun in there, lol.
Capt. Cow: … That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. *gets out stick* Here we go!
Without any further ado, here is part 9 of Ghosts of Old…
Mitesh heard it with highly tuned senses, before anyone else, and turned to his fellows, saying, "A boat is approaching." They grunted or nodded their approval, and one of them grabbed the American roughly by the hair, pulling her from her place on the ground. She clamped her eyes shut, and whimpered quietly, but when her blue eyes opened, they were full of a ferocity that made Mitesh wary. He would have to remember to watch her carefully, in case she tried something unbecoming of a lady.
He directed the Nautiloid towards the surface, using the controls skilfully, as Nemo had taught him in the past, no less. A grim smile touched Mitesh's lips as he realised how the man must have reacted to the treachery, and then thought about what Wolf – as he had been calling him recently – was offering them in reward. The churning noise from above started to grow louder as they ascended, and soon enough, they were breaking the surface of the waves, cutting through them like the knives the edges represented on the submersible exploration pod.
They looked through the porthole on the small vessel, and saw the boat. It was turning to its port to run alongside them, and gruff men were hanging over the side expectantly, looking down at the strange object floating next to their ship. Mitesh directed one of the others to open the hatch, and the man quickly did so, reaching up to the top of the Nautiloid, where there was a flawless 'lid'. It lifted up and away smoothly, and the man poked his head out, as if to test the intentions of the crew on the boat nearby. They called to him, and he replied, but their voices were carried away by the wind, and Mitesh only caught the odd word here and there, before he turned his eyes on the woman. She did not flinch under his gaze, something that annoyed him. He was very tempted to strike out at her… he always believed that women should know their place and respect it, but he had no idea what Wolf would make of his actions… and so refrained.
The largest of them came back down into the Nautiloid and spoke to Mitesh, "They are the men Wolf sent for us."
"Very good," Mitesh replied. "Take her across, and have them send over whatever is to be left behind."
He nodded, and grabbed the American, yanking her to the hole, before lifting her up through it, where a man had clambered onto the slippery exterior of the Nautiloid, and hauled her to her feet. From there, she was handed over, onto the boat, and Mitesh lost sight of her then… he didn't care. They could do what they wanted with her. The men started to leave the Nautiloid as Mitesh shut down everything aboard, knowing that Captain Nemo – no, not Captain anymore… just Nemo – would be able to track it anyway.
With one last glance around what was once part of what he so strongly believed in, Mitesh clambered out of the Nautiloid and slammed the hatch.
Walking with purpose, Mina closed her door gently behind her, and cast a glance over her shoulder, before moving stealthily towards the drape that hung seemingly of its own accord on the wall opposite her bed. Her blue eyes stared at the blank cloth, before she shakily raised a hand, and tore it away from its trappings.
She took a step back as the dark eyes of Dorian Gray stared into her own, as if silently mocking her in that way she had always hated. So handsome, yet so conniving. She stared into his face, searching for signs of decadence or menace… and found it in his eyes. They were laughing… seemingly at her. She sneered, and tore the portrait from the wall, before wrapping it in the cloth again, and carrying it with her, under her arm, out of the room. Mina made her way to the dining hall, intent on calling a meeting of the League to discuss their situation.
It was time she made a little confession about the portrait.
He had finally been allowed out the infirmary, after a whole, overwhelming twenty-four hours of unbearable inactivity. He was walking around the halls now, on his way to the dining room of the Nautilus, where the League was to meet to discuss the situation. They were all in agreement that it was Dorian Gray now… even Mina, who had somehow proven it to herself, though Tom could not fathom as to how. He hadn't spoken to her since she had made this revelation, which had been a little over three hours ago. She hadn't wanted him out of the infirmary – neither had Jekyll – before then, and he had reluctantly agreed.
He curiously wondered what it was that Mina wanted to tell them or show them, even as he entered the room, meeting the mix of concerned and surprised eyes. Had they not all known he was coming? If not… then he didn't care. Becky had been taken by the very man who had tried to blow up the Nautilus; the man whom Mina insisted she had killed, and he couldn't just sit around and let everyone else deal with the problem. No… that wasn't Tom Sawyer.
Mina was standing at the head of the table, an expression of fiery anticipation on her intimidating yet hauntingly beautiful features, and Tom came to stand opposite her, at the other end. His hands were buried in the pockets of his pants, and Joe and Huck came to stand on each side of him, like guardians. He appreciated the thought, but it wasn't necessary. Nevertheless, he didn't have the heart to tell them to back away. They were only protective… they were all the same. Friendship meant a lot to them… always had.
"So," began Nemo icily. He had been in a similar temper since the name had been mentioned… Dorian Gray… Ishmael's murderer and defiler of the Nautilus. It did not sit well with Nemo what the immortal had done, and Tom knew for a fact that it would never settle within the proud Indian as anything less than an insult to everything he was to try and take so much from him. The fact that Dorian had succeeded on one count did not help any either.
Removing his hands from his pockets, he laid them flat on the tabletop before him, glancing to the nervous Jekyll, and the silent Skinner. It was odd to see the thief so reclusive. It was as though he were intimidated by the very idea of mutiny… as though he would be blamed again. The pince-nez turned in his direction, pinched onto an unpainted nose, and Tom threw him a reassuring gaze that said it all: We don't blame you.
Skinner took in a deep breath that made the jacket around his chest heave, and glanced to Mina.
"So it is Gray then?" Tom inquired when it appeared no one else dared to speak. He despised uncomfortable silences… they made him feel awkward.
Mina let her eyes drop for a moment, before the clear blue met the pensive green, and she said clearly in cold tones, "It is."
"How do we know?" Jekyll's quiet question floated from his rigid frame as though he had not meant to say it aloud, and his timid gaze spoke volumes as to his apprehension.
"Because of this." Mina reached down under the table, and pulled something up. Tom furrowed his brow as she let one end land on the table's surface, and it sounded like a solid object. There was a heavy drape… one that he recognised.
That was no mirror…
She used her feminine hand to pull the cloth away, and they all stared in a mixture of horror and disgust at the portrait of Dorian Gray, perfectly represented in paint and canvas. Tom stared into the laughing eyes, the sneer that was subtlely shown on the perfect face making his stomach twist with a nausea that made him want to retch with hatred and his eyes narrowed despite himself, even as they rose to Mina's face.
"You… you had it all along?" He was in stunned disbelief. She had been hiding it from them? How? Why? Was she still 'in love' with that monster of a man?
Mina sighed for a moment, and then nodded as though ashamed. "Yes… I kept it secret for fear of what you would think of me."
Jekyll, Skinner and Nemo said nothing, though the latter's irritation was evident in his ever-expressive eyes. They all looked discreetly to Tom, who stood between the confused Joe and the steadfast Huck, both of whom had their arms crossed over their shoulders. Mina appeared apprehensive as to what Tom would say or do, and even as she watched him, the American lowered his head in a slight bow so that they would not see the hidden closing of his eyes as he tried to rationalise what was going on.
"What are we supposed to think?" came his quiet question, shortly before the head rose again, and their gazes locked intensely across the length of the table they stood around.
Don't start, Sawyer… this is the last thing we need right now. We already have an external battle going on, we don't need an internal one as well. But as usual, he ignored the rational part of his brain and went with the instinctual… the course that he would most probably regret choosing later on along the line somewhere.
"Agent Sawyer… I had no idea, whatsoever, that keeping this portrait would allow him the power to resurrect," Mina told him. "I was led to believe that it would destroy him when he looked upon it."
"And who told you that?" He cocked his head.
Mina faltered here, and fell silent in her defiance.
"Gray, right?" Tom nodded when she didn't respond or defy it in any way and he uttered a humourless laugh. "You didn't think he might have been lying?" Tom cocked his head, trying not to sound cold or harsh, but unable to prevent it as he pushed off the table. "You should have known better than anyone… he hurt you in the past, and tried to kill you… and you kept his immortality alive. Maybe you didn't mean it… I'm sure you didn't, but that's what happened." Tom's eyes hardened he knew, as he added, "And now he's got Becky."
"You know I meant no harm in this, Agent Sawyer," she challenged, laying the portrait face down on the tabletop. Nemo seemed to relax slightly when he did not have to see the smug face. "I only kept it because…" She halted, as though she did not know the answer herself, which it seemed was the case.
Tom looked at her, hurt showing in his eyes, as he shook his head with a light sigh. Without meaning to, he said, "You'd better hope he doesn't hurt her…"
"Tom…" Joe started, before the blonde American turned and left the room, seething, and thinking about Becky and what that… 'man' might do to her.
He didn't know what he would do if he hurt her in anyway. He didn't want to think about it.
The crystalline notes that rang out from the piano were simply delightful to hear when approaching the study, the ringing of the music a blissful sound that carried into the soul and warmed the heart. The player seemed to have a touch for the instrument, and it seemed they were pouring everything they were feeling into the music. It was full of passion and emotion, and even as they ascended the steps – led by James – she couldn't help but be moved by its beauty.
Her wrists were a little sore from the rope, and her mouth was unbearably dry from the dehydration that had settled in along the rest of their journey. Becky Thatcher glanced around her at the walls as they moved, taking in the various faces on the paintings and intricately created portraits by famous artists she had – not surprisingly, given her nationality – never heard of. She was aware of some American artists… but not English.
The time on the rest of their passage from America to England – London, she knew – had passed rather quickly… a little too quickly for her liking, and there was no sign of Tom, Joe, Huck or the League. She hoped they were all right. She prayed they were unharmed… especially Tom and the other two agents, whom she cared for like family.
The music grew louder as they completed their climb, and Becky tried to take in as much of their path through the vast house as possible, in case she had a chance to break for freedom. The last thing she wanted was to get lost. They were right outside the door where the piano was being so adoringly played, and the man, James, reached forward and pushed open the entrance to the room, allowing the music to flow to her clearly now, without hindrance. It was even more beautiful now that she heard it without obstruction, and despite herself, she found it difficult to breathe for the sound of it.
The player did not look up, simply kept their dark, deep brown eyes on the keys as they played, before tilting his head back somewhat and closing them as if lost in the music he seemed to cherish. She took in his face, which was dashingly handsome, and flawless, no marring of any kind on his skin, save for the slight expression of pain as his hands moved deftly and exquisitely over the piano. His hair was a kind of mahogany-brown, with a gentle, charming curl that made it seem as though it framed his face almost angelically. He was thin, but not overly so, she could see that from where she was held near the doorway, and his limbs were long and nimble. His chest was broad and his shoulders were perfectly poised, in the posture of an ideal gentleman. His clothes spoke of stature as well, with their crisp lines and slight frills to the cuffs and collar. They were rather neutral in colour, with pastel greys, whites and beige, nothing too adventurous or thrilling. Though she tried to fight it, she found herself fascinated by the young man, and drawn in by his impossible masculine beauty and charm.
His eyes opened, and his music faded softly, not suddenly and harshly, but as if drifting on a wind that wished to carry it off to the ears of faraway listeners. A smile touched his lips, and curved them upward slightly, even as he pushed up from the stool. There was a polished cane with silver pommel nearby, but he did not take it from its place as he moved from the piano. She could see a ring on his finger now, a ring of family importance, she assumed. He moved closer, and the feelings she knew were wrong swelled.
He came before her, and touched his fingers to her cheek. She flinched for a moment, unable to look away from his eyes… they seemed so warm… yet there appeared to be no soul to them, something lost in the sands of time that he may never regain, and that thought saddened her. He gently removed the cloth from her mouth, tossing it to James, and said to her in a voice like silk, "Miss Thatcher… welcome to Melmoth House."