"Mother, look!"
A voice, a high-spirited, defiant warble of a voice, rang through the air like the pealing of bells.
She was so close…she could see her against the back of her eyelids…
"Mother, you aren't looking!" she scolded.
All she needed to do was reach out and reach out she did with a trembling hand, every fingertip tingling for her…
All she needed to do now was open her eyes and so she did…
And there she was, as she should be, sitting in a pile of fallen leaves with her skirts astride her knees, humming and whispering happy nonsense. And for a moment, and no longer than that, she gazed at the sight with her hands at her throat and heart in her mouth.
She looked up.
The dusky tresses shimmered and twisted and twined about her shoulders as if moved by an invisible wind; the glossy ringlets curled so prettily against that sweet cherub's face, dripping past her collar of Irish lace the pale blue of baby's breath. The sumptuous sapphire fabric brought out the ocean tones of her eyes and the deeper navy ones of her blue-black hair. Scraggly wildflowers were bunched in one hand and a naughty grin was spread across that beloved angel's face. She was making mud pies, that's what it was…there were chunks of grass and dirt flung everywhere, a considerable pit scratched in the ground, but there was not a stain on her, not on the immaculate royal blue velvet of her riding habit and neither on the small, dimpled white hands, and when she went to wipe her round, ruddy cheeks with the back of her hand, not a smudge was left behind.
A cry of pure joy escaping her lips, she sank to her knees and held her arms out and with a delighted shout of: "Mother!" she came bounding over like a puppy. She embraced her with all her strength, pressing her nose and lips to her curls, inhaling that perfume of freshly cut grass, of honeysuckle, of contentment, and well-bring. It was all her, her little girl, and she felt her heart swell and her eyes smart but there was no need for such things, no need at all…she was right there with her. She had never left.
"I was calling for so long, I couldn't find you…I thought mother had gone."
"I'm here, darling. I'm here," and she drew her even closer. She wanted to stay that way forever, to keep smelling that sweet scent, to keep listening to her baby's babble of a voice, to feel the warmth of her small body against hers radiating through the fabric of the well-starched dress. She wanted to never let her go…as she should have, but far too soon, she wriggled impatiently and pulled away, the shapely pink lips set in a pout:
"Mommy, I want to see my pony!"
"Alright darling, let's go out to see him." Taking the small hand in hers, they went…
And there he lay, on his side, under the shade of the old yew tree.
She skipped over to him and impatiently tugged at the reins, but the thing continued to lay there. She looked up, frowning.
"Mommy, is he sleeping?"
"I don't know, dear. Let mommy look." As she drew close, she saw: the eyes were black with flies, the purpling gums crowned with jagged yellow teeth, the abdomen was swollen and distended, and the thick-barreled legs stood at stiff attention. The cloying stench of corruption hung heavy in the air and brushing away strands of fine cornsilk hair, she saw that there was a ragged hole in the middle of the white star of his forehead. When she smoothed a finger over it, it brought forth a thin stream of frothy black blood that gurgled with delight at her touch and writhing maggots burst through the veined, blistered skin of the ripe corpse to join their brothers in the earth.
She cried out, stumbling backwards. Her hands…the blight had gotten on her hands, and she desperately tried to wipe them on her skirts but the stain only spread further. She wanted to flee, but her knees had given way…and something, someone was behind her. She could feel the shadow, the tall lurking phantom with its cool, damp breath on the nape of her neck. She wanted to turn around to see who it was, but-
"Mother, why did you leave me in the dark?"
Her dress was in tatters now. There were stains all along the front, dark stains. Her curls were straggly and unkempt; there were bloody scratches on one cheek, a smudge of dirt on the nose, and the eyes…the eyes were two black pits sunk deep in their sockets. There were little patches of yellow below the ears. And as she spoke, small fissures began to appear on the cheeks.
"What do you mean, darling? I'm right here with you. I never let you go. I'll never let you go."
She laughed that bubbly, mirthful laugh and smiled…so sweetly, the ends of the teeth a little too long.
"But you did, mommy, you did. I wanted to stay with you and daddy and big brother and sister. I wanted to stay with you forever and ever. Aunty and daddy didn't want me to go, but you did."
She shook her head.
"No," she said, "No."
She looked round her, reaching desperately into the void, looking for someone, looking for him.
And there he was, tall and trim, all in black…and there she was, a whirl of green. She knew who he was but somehow didn't quite recognize him, but it was alright, for it had been so very long after all. She smiled at him and when he smiled back, that slow, insolent, infuriatingly wicked smirk of a smile she had so dearly missed and only too late had realized she had loved, she remembered again, and with her deep curtsey and his short bow, they were off. They danced to the nostalgic lament of her youth, with one of her hands on his shoulder and the other snaked through his. His arm wrapped securely round her waist, they went round and round, for hours, for days, for weeks, for years…they spun faster and faster as if possessed by a fever…she was flying now, her heart fluttering in her chest like a tired butterfly's wings…she was finally free….
And then they were in front of a mirror, with her back to him. When she gazed into the glass, a woman she didn't know leered back; it was white and lovely, that face, with that cloud of black hair. He combed his fingers through it, and as he did, it grew, twisting and writhing. He braided it into a noose and grinning, placed it around his neck; she turned, beaming, the emerald eyes sparkling with delight, and, placing her hands over his, helped him tighten it.
"No," she moaned.
"Scarlett."
"No, please…"
"Scarlett, wake up."
And so she held onto the only thing she had left, she held on to her even when she felt her convulse and then go as limp as a rag doll. When she felt her begin to stiffen, she closed her eyes: she wanted to remember her as she had been, not as she was, as she is, but the cold, bruising fingers tightened round her throat and shook her.
Look, you cowardly bitch. Look! the drawling voice hissed.
"..don't..want….I don't...want to…don't, don't make me…please."
"Darling."
She was black and bloated now, the skin as veined as her beloved steed's; the bright blue eyes were hollow sockets and when swollen graveworms slithered through the wounds and over her arm, she let out a strangled cry and tried desperately to free herself from his vice-like grip.
But she remembered then: someone had promised her not to leave her in the dark and she didn't remember who had made that promise but she knew it was a promise she had to keep. She held on and as she felt someone trying to pry her fingers loose, she held onto her so tightly that she feel the pain shooting through her knuckles, but whoever it was was too strong and she felt her grip begin to loosen until it grew completely slack. She had failed her, had failed him, yet again.
…s-s-sorry…I'm sorry…I'm so…so…, she sobbed.
"Honey, wake up."
Her eyes flashed open. It was dark. Her head was splitting in two, her heart was galloping in her chest, and the blood was thundering in her ears. Strands of hair stuck to her forehead and lips; she could feel the nightgown clinging to her skin, and rivulets of cold sweat mingled with the tears before traveling down her face to her neck and wound their treacherous way between her breasts. She realized she couldn't breathe and, letting out a choked gasp, desperately clawed at her throat, trying to remove whatever it was that was strangling her…but it was only her hair, her hair that had wrapped itself around her throat as she thrashed.
His hand was cupping her cheek. She jerked at the touch, raising her upper body from the bed.
Don't TOUCH me.
Don't YOU touch me.
DON'T TOUCH M-!
Her heart gave a particularly nasty throb and promptly leapt into her throat, cutting her off and she sank back into the pillows, gasping for breath. She had seen the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, had heard the chiming of her voice, had smelled that nostalgic scent…she remembered that cutting smile, that throaty chuckle, a whisper of that velvety voice, and that heated touch…she was real and so was he; they were more real than she. It was unfair…so unfair. Her legs were two leaden logs caught amidst a tangle of sheets and so she flipped onto her stomach and started blindly groping in the dark for the edge of the bed, for the frame, for anything. She had to get out of this bed, this room, this house.
But he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her against him as easily as if she were a child. She shuddered, her body going flat and rigid. At first, all she could do was shiver and shake as she concentrated on trying to calm her own erratic breathing, but every rise and fall of her chest touched him, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and his embrace fit so snugly around her…he was so close…he was so warm…and he was so very real…she shut her eyes and leaned against his shoulder and when he didn't draw away, she moved lower, resting her head against his chest so that his chin was nestled in her hair. She inhaled that clean, earthy scent and listened to the sound of his deep, even breathing, his strong steady heartbeat…did it quicken, ever so slightly?
She felt him shift. She still couldn't see, but knew that he was looking down at her.
"Was that…your old dream?"
She didn't respond, but raised a hand to his face and tentatively caressed his jaw, the rough scrape of his stubble against her fingertips. He remained still and so she leaned in, seeking refuge in the comforting crook of his neck, but when her lips brushed against his skin, he tensed. She immediately drew back, clenching her teeth, the breath escaping her lips in a hiss. She tried to wrench herself free, but cradling the back of her head with his fingers entangled in her hair and the other running soothingly down the length of her spine, he gently pulled her back. With both arms encircling his shoulders and one hand resting on the nape of his neck, she pressed her lips behind his ear, rubbing her cheek against his. The room now bathed in moonlight, he rocked her back and forth, back and forth, until she fell asleep.