Soundtrack:
"Something to Sleep To" - Michelle Branch
"I Saved the World Today" - Eurythmics
"Could I Be You" - Matchbox 20

She's his yellow brick road, leading him on,
going down to nowhere. ...
In my mind, everything we did was right.
-Michelle Branch, "Something to Sleep To"

---

Catiline was having such terrible dreams.

He knew he had to find Joseph and Rose immediately. It was with a pressing urgency that he fled into the dark corners of his mind to find them. As he succumbed to the dizzy spiral of darkness, he finally found himself there. Except... it wasn't the sweet pastel sky framing the cozy cottage and vast fields he remembered. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. It took him a few moments to focus hard enough to rectify the scene so he could tell what it was.

There was a strong wind blowing. The sky was dark - not the pleasant velvet of night. No, on the edges it glowed. This was a storm. This was a bad storm. In the distance it rumbled and roared, coming for him. Terrified, he scrambled up and ran for the cottage door. He couldn't get there fast enough. He stumbled once, just as the thunder blared again. It was all bad.

Inside it was too quiet. When he threw open the door, the walls rattled, empty and silent, a shell of the former busy household. Gasping, he stood there for a moment, staring in disbelief at the cold darkness. No... no, it couldn't be like this. Rose was supposed to be cooking something at this hour. Maybe Joseph would be inside, if not in the barn. They would be talking - laughing – happy. He did not expect the sadness of an empty house to slap him as soon as he walked in the door.

He took a tentative step forward and whispered: "Rose?" There was no answer. He yelled this time. "Rose!" Nothing. Oh God, oh God. They couldn't leave him alone, not now, not now. "Rose! Joseph! Rose!" His screams became more frantic and hysterical with every step. It was then he noticed the note on the table. It was a nice little note - written on Rose's stationary, he noticed. He could tell. Her special little notepad had a printed sprig of roses on each page of the creamy paper - she liked the pun. And it was her handwriting, too - large and loopy and graceful. He picked the piece of paper up as if it were a terrible weapon.

It read:

Cat -
We will be back later
Don't worry - I'm sure you will be fine on your own for a bit.
We love you.
-Rose

The paper was dead in his hands. He knew those words exactly from before... and... no, he couldn't think about that, not now. Maybe he could catch them, before they went. They would take the horses, he was sure of it. He flew out the door.

He was running across the field to the barn when he saw the clouds break with a great rumble of thunder, the wall of water bearing down on him. In a moment it and he met and he was instantly drenched to the bone, hard and heavy raindrops pounding him relentlessly. He didn't care. He had to find Joseph and Rose.

He shouted as he neared the stables. The rain drowned him out; he received no reply. Already the dirt was turning into thick and sticky mud, dragging him down, hindering him. It was a trial he told himself he had to endure, even if he was getting tired and it was painful, the feelings leaking back in from his true physical state. He paused at the stable door before dragging it open.

It was empty.

Completely empty. All the horses were gone, Joseph and Rose were not there. All they had left behind were their small vestiges of themselves - a bucket of peppermints for treats. The stack of feed. Hay for the stalls. They hadn't even taken their good bridles... Breath catching into sobs, Catiline shakily walked over to touch the saddles hanging on the wall. The best was Rose's, a polished and shining English riding saddle. She said she was going to teach him how to ride properly someday. Someday, someday, someday - now someday would never get the chance to come...

He sunk down beside the saddles, tucking himself underneath them and curling into a little ball, suddenly wishing with a strong and terrible anger to die. As he closed his eyes and began to sob uncontrollably the world began to blur. He didn't care any more; what reason did he have for staying? The farther he went, the farther he dissolved back into darkness; lethargy and pain smothering him. He finally let go.

And yet --

He was still awake, just on the cusp of consciousness, enough to be aware of the pain slamming into him. There were people murmuring over him, a tapestry of conversation. He couldn't pick out just one thread of a voice... it was so hard to concentrate, his thoughts lumbering along, slow and heavy. But he did notice the hands delicately lifting his head, reaching around to undo the buckle that held his mask on.

It took an intolerable amount of energy for him to drag an arm up to block it. For a moment the hand tried to brush him away, but the harder it pushed, the harder he did. It was a terrible amount of pain, but he bore it. He had to. Finally, he just barely heard -

"Oh, for God's sake. Let him keep it on - can't you see him crying?" It was a woman's voice, young and authoritative. Another pair of hands reached over and wrapped around his hand, pushing it back down to rest. He let his muscles untense, letting her guide it. The momentary terror was gone. He could relax.

For him the distant babble of conversation was soon replaced again with velvet darkness.