A/N: Flaming Trails. You lovely, wonderful person you. Your reviews always make me smile. I'm glad you've decided to stick with the story. :)

Chapter 15

MEETUP

Margaret Finch mfinch .uk

Victor,

Can you and Miss Hunter meet me at 5 o'clock at Rosings? It's the only time I can fit you in this week.

Margaret Finch

DIGG Photography

+44 3069 990586

mfinch .uk

Victor rereads the email for the third time, then glances at the clock. 4:30. Is he sure he wants to go through with this? Is Emily even ready for this? Sure, her ankle's healed, but what about the rest of her? Her mind?

He turns to ask her, but she cuts him off immediately.

"Yes, Victor, I'm sure."

"Okay."

He closes the window and powers the laptop off before rising from his chair. Emily approaches him, taking his hands in hers. Bright blue eyes find coffee brown.

"Stay with me?"

He presses his forehead to hers, smiling. "Always." He takes in flowing, golden blonde hair spilling over shoulders, soft, ivory skin pressed against his own, covered in an elbow length sleeved orange creme dress, patterned with tiny oranges. He presses a kiss to her cheek, a giggle escaping her lips. "You're beautiful." He murmurs.

She wraps her arms around his neck and lays her head against him, smiling into his chest. "I can't wait to be done with all of this."

"You and I both."

x

They arrive at Rosings a few minutes early, the café practically empty for happy hour. All the same, Victor appreciates it. It means less gawkers for Emily, though the few that are present do stare a bit. One mother holds her child a little closer. Oh dear. Margaret is nowhere to be seen. Emily's grip on Victor's hand tightens as they step inside. He turns to her.

"Alright?"

"Fine." She leans into him, shifting her weight. "It's just, the last time we were here…"

"I know."

They make their way to the counter. Victor orders a caramel macchiato, wanting all the energy he can get for today. Emily remains silent.

He nudges her gently. "Love, order something."

"I don't think I'll be able to keep it down."

"Please?"

"Alright."

She orders a shaken sweet tea, simple enough not to upset her already fluttering stomach. She can do this.

After picking up their drinks from the counter, they spot Margaret, who smiles and eagerly waves them over. She sits with a notebook spread open in front of her and a pencil tucked behind her ear, stirring some sort of coffee with a spoon.

Emily's eyes lock onto the pad. A chill slips in, crushing her insides and freezing her. She cannot move. Images flash before her eyes. A wooden bat. The click of the recorder. A computer screen filling with text as she spoke, trembling. Pangs of hunger. White hot pains in her arms, her legs, her stomach. A shredding sensation in her heart. Loneliness. Desperation. Barkis's cold, yellowish eyes, faint blue hues shining through white paint. His harsh, maniacal laughter. The slamming of the door, cutting off her only escape.

She can't do this, not again, not ever, not —!

"Emily!"

Her vision blurs, then focuses, back to the present. She's not in that place anymore. She's here, at Rosings, with Victor. Margaret is sitting over there, not Collin. Barkis isn't here. He's gone, for now. She's fine. She's —

Got cold, sticky tea slowly dripping out of the cup she's been squeezing just a little too tightly. She notices the tiny puddle beginning to form on the floor and relaxes her grip.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry!" She sets the cup down and pulls napkins from the mini bar and hastily crouches down to wipe it up. A sharp pain shoots up through her leg immediately, and she hisses. The injury is still tender, though just healed, but she continues to dab at the floor anyway, trying to clean up the mess she's made. Maybe after that she can clean up the mess she's made of their lives. Her arm moves faster at that. She doesn't notice Victor tugging on her arm until he does it a third time.

"Emily, stop, stop." he says, pulling her upright. "It's fine, I'll get it." He wipes up the rest of the tea and balls up the napkins before throwing them out, shooting the barista an apologetic look as he straightens up. "You don't have to do this. Actually, I'm not sure if I want to let you do this."

"No, I want to. I need to. I can't let this continue to affect me." She takes a sip of her tea, grounding herself further in reality. She has to go through with this. "I promise this is the last time."

Victor continues to look at her with worried eyes, but says nothing. He takes her hand and gently leads her to Margaret's table in silence. He pulls up a third chair and places himself between them so Emily is seated across from Margaret rather than beside her.

"Alright," Margaret says. "The article covered some basic information, but I'm going to need a bit more to build your case. I have a list of questions here for you to answer, but if you feel you can't answer some of them, I'll understand."

Emily manages a brave smile. "Thank you."

"I'd like to get the most difficult question out of the way, the one most readers will want answered, especially after that article: we know the how, but why are you here?"

Emily frowns. "Pardon?"

"We want the people to know you're not out to murder them in their sleep, not some scheming villain biding her time until the moment is right. Surely if you wanted to go back, you would have tried already, right?" Margaret leans in a little, curiosity shining in her eyes. "How does this whole afterlife business work, really?"

Emily shifts in her seat, forcing herself to relax a little more. "I was in a place called the Attic." she says. "It was… beautiful." She smiles, remembering. "Anything you could imagine, it was created by what other spirits called the Unseen Master. I wished for music most of the time, beautiful ebony grand pianos, jazz bands, a dance hall. That was what the spirits and I loved to do best, dance. Whenever I wasn't sitting at the piano, I'd dance with them to songs from my childhood, and even ethereal music I'd never heard Upstairs that seemed far too pure to leave the Attic's confines. I couldn't recreate it here, I tried once, but it wasn't the same. I was… content." She frowns, recalling the loneliness that set in after a while. "I don't know how much time passed, really, time was something of a figment in the Attic, but I started to feel… lonely. Of course, the spirits were lovely, and the Unseen Master was very kind. He spoke to me sometimes, in that warm, rich, comforting voice of His. But, I was missing someone." She pauses, and her eyes rest on Victor, who smiles, gently, waiting for her to continue. "You, Victor. I asked Him to create you for me, so I wouldn't miss you so much." Her eyes flicker to the tabletop; she bites her lip. "Everyone has limits. There are some things you just can't make out of clouds. He tried, and He did a wonderful job. The Victor He made looked just like you. But all he did was smile and hold me when I asked him to, and sometimes he'd play the piano, but the music he made was the same ethereal sound, which was breathtaking, but not quite the way you play. He never spoke, no matter how much I tried to coax him to. I don't think he could. And that just made me miss you more. I wanted to go back to you, but I thought that was impossible. Death had already taken me after you set me free. Yet, even though I had never spoken that wish, the Unseen Master heard it somehow. So, one day, while I was taking a walk alone, missing you more than ever, I suddenly found myself falling, through the clouds." She pauses as a part of her memory fills in, that one missing piece that she'd never been able to recall, until now. "And as I was falling, I heard His voice for the last time. He said to me, 'I see now that my Plan for you has changed. You are not ready to join me here quite yet. My child, go to him when you see him. Live out your days with him, and be happy, and you will return to me with him at your side.'"

Emily stops there, suddenly overwhelmed at this unexpected flood of crucial memory. She risks a glance up, and finds Victor's jaw slightly dropped, eyes widened, and Margaret scribbling furiously, smiling, with hints of tears in her eyes.

"That's beautiful." Margaret says, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve as she continues to write. She flips to the next page and finishes her sentence before setting it down to shake out her withered hand, cracking her fingers a little. "I might need another notebook after this session."

"Emily, how long have you known that?" Victor asks.

"It just came to me." Emily says, sipping on her tea, now realizing that her mouth has gone dry with so much talking. "Just now. That part was always a little fuzzy, but I guess telling it again brought it back." She smiles. "Like He brought me back to be with you."

Victor grins. "I suppose that means we have all the time in the world, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does." Emily playfully swats his arm, getting a little more comfortable. "Unless you do something stupid."

"Oi! Why do you think it'll be me?" Emily gives him a knowing look, reminding him of all the clumsy things he's done in the past that could have gotten him killed. Victor laughs. "Alright, that's fair."

Margaret's phone goes off, interrupting them. She glances at it, types out a response, then replaces it into her purse. "I have a collaborator coming, if that's alright with you." she says. Emily nods. From the first question and the way Margaret had earnestly listened, she knows she can relax around her at last. Margaret continues. "He's a bit shy, and he's asked us to meet him in the back room. He's cleared it with the Rosings staff, so we should be okay to head back there."

A bit of uneasiness creeps up Emily's spine, but she pushes it down. She needs to overcome this, and she's so close already. Maybe a bit of security will help it along. "Can we leave the door propped?" she asks.

"Of course." Margaret says. Her phone buzzes again. "He's here. Shall we?"

Emily gets up, followed by Victor. "Let's."

x

The back room of Rosings is just as cozy as the main room, if not a bit more since it's smaller. The walls are painted a soft pink color, little white bulbs hanging around the windows, which let in a pleasant amount of daylight. There are even some framed records on display and an acoustic guitar sitting in the corner. The floors are the same hardwood as the main, but covered with patterned rugs overlapping each other. There are comfy cream colored armchairs with tiny end tables dividing a few of them, a spread of magazines topping each one, and a cream colored couch with a wall all to itself. A support beam stands in the center. As promised, it's completely empty.

Margaret looks around, confused. "I'm sorry, he said he was here. Well, might as well sit down."

Victor and Emily take the couch, and Margaret takes one of the armchairs, taking care to leave the door propped slightly before pulling out her phone and tapping something out. Emily notices, and a bit of appreciation for Margaret swells in her heart. She really is a kind old woman.

The door opens, and Emily's heart freezes for the second time that day.

Collin steps in, unshaven, and wearing another hideous brown cable knit sweater and a triumphant grin, a black duffle bag in hand. To make matters worse, Barkis follows, freshly painted white and dressed in what looks to be a new tweed suit. His eyes lock on Emily, and he smiles that same twisted smile as he yanks the door shut and locks it.

Margaret is the first to rise. She leaps to her feet with a surprising amount of strength for her age, an expression of mild annoyance on her face. "I told you not to bring him." she scolds Collin as Barkis settles into one of the chairs, in no clear hurry to do anything to Victor and Emily just yet. Emily cannot move, paralysed with fear. Both of them, in the same, small space, is too much all at once. Victor wraps his arms protectively around her.

"He insisted on coming." Collin explains, barely masking the irritation in his voice, taking one of the chairs and shoving the headrest under the knob. He wanted to do this on his own, to prove to Barkis that he wouldn't fail a second time, but Barkis wouldn't let him go alone.

"Bloody hell, Margaret!" Victor growls, seething with betrayal. "Not you too!"

Barkis laughs; Emily curls deeper into Victor at the sound. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to trust anyone after what happened before. Now, do we have to tie you up, or are you going to make this easy?"

"Do as he says, Victor." Margaret says. "Trust me."

"Trust you!" Victor nearly laughs. "Trust you? No, never again!"

Margaret sighs, turning to Collin. "Will you two decide what you want to do with them while I make this easier for all of us?"

Barkis cackles harder. "And what are you going to do? Beg and plead and —"

Margaret cuts him off with a glare. "Don't forget, I'm the one that got them here."

Barkis sets his jaw, unable to argue. "Fine. Come here, Collin. We never did discuss the exact details anyway."

Collin goes to him as Margaret draws near to Victor, lowering her voice. "Play along, will you?" she hisses. Victor makes to protest, but Margaret shoves a pruny finger to his lips. "Hush. You're going to ruin my plan. If you're going to respond, whisper."

Victor scowls but lowers his voice to a hush anyway. "Why should I listen to you? You brought those two madmen back to Emily!"

"To bring about justice! You're not safe with those two still around. They need to be locked up. I sent a text to the police, since I can't very well call them without giving us away. They'll be here in ten minutes, possibly sooner. Hopefully sooner. Play along until then."

Still guarded, Victor asks, "How do I know if I can trust you?"

Margaret looks him dead in the eye.

"What other choice do you have?"

Victor groans. She's right.

"Fine."

"Are you quite done over there?" Collin asks. "We've decided everything now."

"Yes." Margaret straightens up. "Victor?"

Victor doesn't want to say the words, doesn't want to give Barkis the satisfaction of victory, however temporary, but he complies anyway. "We'll cooperate." he says reluctantly. "What are you going to do to us?"

"Surely you know by now that you're not going to walk out of this alive." Barkis says, clearly enjoying himself, brimming over with glee. He steps to the center of the room, beside the support beam. "First, we'll poison you."

From the bag, Collin draws out a jug containing blood red liquid, followed by a familiar looking goblet. The more Victor stares at it, the more he realizes: it's the same cup from his wedding. He gapes.

"How did you get that?"

"Never you mind that." Barkis says, waving his hand dismissively. "When I plot vengeance, not a single detail is overlooked." The last bit is pointedly at Collin, a hard jab at the boy's esteem. Collin hangs his head, but says nothing. "Then, while you're convulsing on the floor, vomiting blood, we'll run you through with this a few times, slowly." A ruby jeweled dagger is produced, joining the poison and the goblet on the floor. "Finally, when I'm satisfied with your condition, Collin will blindfold you." A black bandana. "You won't see the blade until it's buried in your chest." Barkis sneers. "And the best part is—"

"You get to choose who dies first!" Collin eagerly supplies.

Barkis inhales sharply, his face twitching a little, restraining clear rage. Victor can faintly see the blue undertones beneath the thick layer of paint darken. "Yes, you do. Thank you for interrupting me, Collin." he says through gritted teeth.

Collin backs down, shame clouding his eyes. "Sorry. I just wanted to say something. It was all so brilliant when we were talking about it."

Victor resists the urge to scoff at how absurd Collin's being despite the imminent danger he and Emily are in, not wanting to make things worse. Emily hasn't moved from his side the entire time, her eyes precariously far away. He whispers her name, trying to draw her back, but she simply lies still, eyes unseeing, in some sort of stupor. Seeing her like this rips his heart to pieces, knowing that there's only one thing he can do to stall for time until the bobbies arrive. He untangles himself from her gently and rises, noticing Collin immediately locking his gaze onto him, curling his hands into fists, ready to fight if he should try anything.

"I'm not going to attack." Victor says. "You can stop that."

Collin relaxes his hands slightly. "So you've decided to go first, then."

"Yes."

"Have a seat, then." he says, grabbing an armchair and pulling it towards center.

Victor walks towards the chair, trying to conceal the sudden flood of fear overtaking him. Where are the bobbies? Barkis's conniving little spiel certainly felt like more than ten minutes. He tries to still his racing heart, tries to force the cold beads of sweat back into his pores, tries to release the tension building up in his chest. He's failing miserably. Barkis and Collin watch him with matching psychotic grins.

He nearly makes it to the chair when his phone rings.

He looks at Barkis, knowing that he's the one who's really in charge here, not wanting to aggravate him further.

"Answer it." Barkis commands. "Assure whoever's calling that you're perfectly fine."

Victor slides the phone out of his pocket. Victoria's picture lights up the screen. Another slash through his heart. He presses the answer button, and Victoria's voice fills a room that seems to have shrunk a thousand times in size.

"Hello, Victor?"

"Hello, Victoria." Victor says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He's afraid, despite himself, but he's determined to hide his fear as much as he can.

"You've been gone for a long time. Are you nearly through with the interview? Bonejangles just got the demo album for your music from the record place, and he really wants to show you two."

Barkis unscrews the cap on the jug and begins to fill the goblet. Victor forces himself to look away before he responds.

"Uh-m, we should be wrapping up soon. Margaret's being really thorough, but it'll help in the end." It stabs at him a little to spout such lies, but he has to keep going. "I'll call you when we start driving back, alright?"

"Alright, but hurry. He's practically bursting with anticipation. I think he's changed his eyepatch about twenty times." Victoria chuckles. "He says he's trying to find one with the most pizazz —, oi, Bonejangles!"

Bonejangles's voice booms through the speaker, and Victor has to hold the phone away from his ear to keep from going deaf.

"VICTOR! YOU GOTTA HURRY BACK!" he says. Victor can practically see the big, happy smile on his face on the other end. "I'M DYING TO PLAY THIS THING, MATE!"

Victor forces a laugh. "Okay, Bonejangles. We'll be over soon."

"YOU'D BETTER BE! WOOOO!"

Bonejangles hangs up on the other end, leaving Victor with his lock screen. He replaces it in his pocket.

Barkis scoffs. "Now that that nuisance is out of the way," Victor glares at him but says nothing. "Shall we get on with it? Not literally, of course. I'm making sure that your death is slow and painful. And hers," He looks back at Emily, still frozen on the couch. "Will be much worse."

Victor follows his gaze, burning the image of Emily into his mind, in case he dies before help arrives. He tries to picture her laughing, smiling, vibrant, and fails. She lies there helpless, eyes staring ahead at nothing. He looks away, forcing back tears that are beginning to form, and instead sees Margaret slowly moving the chair away from the door, trying not to make a sound. She winks at him before he shifts his gaze somewhere else, trying not to draw attention to her movements. She must know that the bobbies are close, somehow. He seats himself in the chair, trying to settle himself. He may die. He probably will die. He grips the armrests in an attempt to calm himself as best as he can. Will this be better if he closes his eyes? Maybe. He tries, but it doesn't last.

"Open your eyes." Collin demands. "I'm not going to feed it to you. You're going to drink it yourself."

Victor groans, but opens them anyway and takes the goblet from Collin. He and Barkis both watch him with a sickening anticipation. He nearly gags at the smell, something resembling garlic. He can feel the warmth of it through the metal. This is it.

He raises the goblet, eyes watering at the strength of the poison.

Goodbye, Emily.