Chapter 15: Cold, Alone, Done For

It was raining.

It was night, and balmy. Her gown stuck to her skin, heavy and clinging.

The world spun as she tried to sit up. She felt sick, and nauseous, it took her a long time even to rise to her knees. A light, nearly blinding in its brightness, shone down from above.

Abigail held a hand over her eyes, looking around with bleary vision.

"Rose?"

No one answered, and yet there were voices somewhere in the distance. Her ears had been ringing, she had not even noticed until her own voice cut through the white noise.

"James?"

Her voice cracked, as though sore from a cold, or from screaming too much. Had she been screaming? She thought she might have when she….when she fell. That's right, she had seen a...something, a shadow...and then it was so cold. Cold like when she froze their bedchamber. After that...she fell over the side of the parapet, towards the crashing waves and rocks below. Yes she recalled now, she had screamed for help, and then everything went black.

Abigail struggled to her feet, grabbing hold of whatever was nearest. Her fine slippers held no purchase on the smooth ground, and she almost fell several times. Each of her limbs was weak, buzzing with the barest jolts of magic as it drained from her. Why was her magic so weak? Looking down at her shaking hands, Abigail felt the air rush out of her lungs. A table stood before her, a wrought iron table. It was this table which she had grasped to haul herself to her feet, and as she leaned on it even more now to prevent another fall, she wished it gone from her sight. Wide blue eyes, at last able to see even despite the pouring rain, took everything around her.

And a keening wail was ripped from her lips.

The garden, she was in their garden, the one they left behind. The blazing light was a street lamp in the alley, right behind the chain link fence and little concrete pad where her car was still parked.

"No, no, no," Abigail bit her lip so hard it bled and tripped on her gown as she hurried to the back door of the townhouse. Her fingers were cold despite the late summer heat, and they barely worked as she tore the welcome map up and tossed it aside, searching in the semi darkness for the key that was hidden under it.

She needed her books, her scrying tools, her crystals….anything and everything. She had to get back...she had to go home.

The door swung open, she barely managed to shut it behind her huge, rain soaked, skirts. Abigail reached for the light switch, having trouble seeing in the dark and not quite remembering where the device was. She was nearly blinded when the electric lights flared to life, their fluorescent glare unfamiliar and stark. Rushing through the kitchen, nearly slipping in her delicate slippers, her breathing harsh and harried.

It had been some time she since had last seen this place, she had never thought to see it again. Her memory was still sharp however, despite her terrified and confused state. Things were not as they had left them….the living room was different. She tore through boxes of books, she had not packed up anything before...before leaving. A lamp was turned on, more electric light which hurt her eyes. Someone had been here, organizing their things. Family? Had there been a search for them? But she didn't want to think about those she had left behind, it was terrible to say but it was true. For the first time in her life she had been indescribably happy and then suddenly in the blink of an eye it was all gone. This world, this mundane world, it wasn't her home. Her hands ripped cardboard boxes to pieces as she searched every book on magic and the occult she could find.

"Have to go home, have to go home," she repeated the words over and over like a mantra. Tears blurred her vision. She wanted Rose. She wanted James. She wanted to curl up in her huge canopy bed with her kitten and her lovers nearby. Indigo skirts flared out as she fell to her knees, knocking over a table laden with what looked like missing person flyers. Dream interpretation, no that book was useless. Herbology. Abigail almost sobbed. Candle magic. That might work! She stowed it safely next to her and kept searching, desperate and shaking. Nothing else seemed even a little relevant. She read through each chapter, madly flipping pages and combining rituals in her mind. Recreate the lunar spell and she could go home. All she needed now were the right tools. Grabbing her single book, she tried to open the old steamer trunk which held all the candles and altar supplies. But it was locked. She shrieked in agony and defiance, looking for the rack of keys on the wall by the door. They were gone. Another scream, this time in anger, echoed in the empty house. Abigail looked around wildly, and set her eyes on a small dish, full of small change and bills she and Rose had kept handy for small emergencies. Swiftly pocketing the cash, she throw open the front door and let it slam behind her against the old plaster wall.

There was a new age shop two blocks down. Go in, buy the candles she needed, a lighter and go back. People stared at her as she rushed down the street. Her slippers hurt, they were not meant to run in, so she kicked them off and cared not for how the concrete ripped her delicate silk stockings and tore at her feet. There! The light of a blazing Open sign in the window of a basement shop, the window full of crystals and statues. A little bell rang as she burst inside. No one else was there save for a cashier, a young man with bright green hair.

"Are you okay, miss?" He sounded so concerned, and stood quickly. Did she really look so terrible? It mattered not, she had a mission, she couldn't delay. Even in a magic shop, the world here felt dull and dank, and not just from the rain. There wasn't any enchantment here, not like the Never Sea. And she hated every second she spent here, so alone.

"I need a yellow candle, and a purple one. Travel and spirit, I need them."

"What? You look sick, miss, sit down, you're soaked and-"

"Don't patronize me!" Her eyes were wild, "Where are your books on portals? I need to open a portal so I can get back so just tell me where I can find what I need!"

The man behind the counter backed up a little, hands held out in what he might have thought was a calming gesture.

"Please, let's take it easy, maybe there's someone I could call for you."

"The only people I need to talk to aren't here! I'll find the books myself!" Abigail stomped through the store, nearly knocking over tables of quartz and a burning censer as she passed. Her eyes were wild as she scanned the shelves, all the mass produced, glossy covers of 'fairy magic' and 'teen love spells' only drew her anger closer to the surface. "Damn, damn damn!" Nothing, nothing at all so far. She sped down the next aisle. It never occurred to her that the cashier had gone quiet. A book on spirit portals, something about hauntings caught her eye. It might work, she ripped it from the shelf and quickly flipped through it. Nothing but some idiotic ghost hunter with too much hair gel prattling on and on about his escapades. The book was tossed to the floor and she continued her frantic search.

Her nerves were frayed and her body just starting to tire from it all when she heard a strange, shrieking sound. Abigail froze. Not recognizing the sound at first, she hide behind a brick column. The flashing red and blue lights blazed through the display window.

Police.

Looking around, she saw the cashier was gone. The front door was open ever so slightly, someone was pacing on the sidewalk.

He had called the police. For her. To take her away.

Just as her mind fully comprehended the fact, the door was opened, and two officers walked down the short flight of three steps and entered the shop. Frantically, she looked for an exit, there was one in the far back of the store, with its green sign glowing like a beacon, back where the storage should be. But she would have to rush down the main aisle to get there, they would be able to catch her. What could she do?

"Miss, we'd like to have a word," the female officer said. She was tall, dark skinned, with a pretty face. But her hand was on her taser, and Abigail shifted back.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"We just need to talk a little, just walk slowly and calmly to the door and we'll figure all this out."

The male officer paused, looking at her with a perplexed expression.

"Thompson, I know her face," he said to his partner lowly. "There's a poster down on the corner here, by Maple and Greene. Missing person. What's she wearing?"

Abigail started to cry. She tried to summon her magic, the taser making her think of her lightening. But nothing came. Her blood didn't sing with enchantment, her hands shook with a cold which did not embrace her as it did back home. She was powerless, alone, disgustingly vulnerable and they were going to take her away.

Before her, the officer called into their walkie talkies, asking for an ambulance and calling in her missing person's ad.

She didn't fight them when they escorted her out. How could she? It's not as though she could deflect the electricity of the taser, or turn the rain against them. Maybe she could play nice, she was an actor, she could maybe fool them into letting her go sooner rather than later. Maybe once she was free she could go back to finding a way home…

At least they did not put her in an interrogation room. Not one of those cold, stark, cinder block rooms that were always on crime shows. No, she got a nice cozy space with a cushioned seat, some clean clothes and a blanket. There was a nurse just outside, telling Officer Leslie Thompson what sort of medicine she would need, how much rest they needed to give her. They all pitied her. And she hated it. She wasn't to be pitied, she was a witch, she was a Lady, they didn't know what she had been through so there was no way on the gods' green earth they could help.

Someone had set a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of her. She ignored it. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, her hair slowly dripping dry as she sat curled on the chair, making herself as small as possible.

The door opened. A man with brown skin entered and sat across from her on the couch.

"Miss Ó Rinn-Sheehy," he said kindly, "Do you know where you are?"

She nodded miserably. Oh yes, she knew where she was.

"Do you know how long you've been missing?"

She hesitated and shook her head.

"Miss Ó Rinn-Sheehy, I'm Detective Sanchez. I'm the head detective for your missing persons case." He smiled warmly at her, a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, "I'm very happy we found you. I was starting to think we never would. Would you mind telling me where you were?"

She shook her head, pressing her lips together. She couldn't tell him, he wouldn't believe her.

"Okay, well, would you like to tell me how you got back?"

Tears burned her eyes and she shook her head violently.

"Okay, that's perfectly okay. You must have been through a lot." He shifted in his chair, leaning closer, "Can you tell us who it was that took you?"

She trembled, remembering blue eyes and black curls. A lean body and a hook for a hand. Her heart broke at the memories and she sobbed, breaking down and covering her face with her hands. She missed him so much. She missed Rose so much.

The detective moved to kneel by the chair, touching her shoulder sympathetically, completely misunderstanding.

"Don't worry, Abigail. Whoever took you won't be able to find you. You'll never see them again, okay? You're safe."

She only sobbed harder, shaking her head.

Detective Sanchez got to his feet, "I'm going to call someone who will be able to help you, okay? Officer Thompson will be just outside the door if you want something."

The door swung shut behind him and Abigail curled into herself, cradling her head in her arms.

She managed to quiet herself, wiping away her tears. Her hair was mostly dry, hanging in limp curls about her face. She started when gentle hands began combing through the strands, looking up into the kind face of Officer Thompson. Her hand wasn't on her taser anymore, instead her fingers were softly twisting Abigail's thick hair into a braid to keep it out of her face. Abigail remembered when Rose would do the same thing when the actor was poring over scripts to learn her lines and she bit her lip to stop a fresh wave of tears.

"You haven't touched your coffee," Thompson said as her dark fingers twisted the hair-tie around the end of the sable braid. "Can I get you something else?"

"Tea," Abigail whispered, pulling the braid over her shoulders, "Please."

"Of course," Thompson said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly, "I'll be right back."

She heard Thompson's voice outside, talking to what sounded like Detective Sanchez. She couldn't hear what they said and she didn't care. Time passed. Maybe hours, maybe mere moments. Abigail did not notice. There wasn't a clock in the room, and if there were she was not sure she would be able to stand the ticking. They didn't have any ticking clock back home, James….James couldn't stand the sound. A few tears trailed down her cheeks, she quickly wiped them away. No, she did not want anyone to see her cry. Her sadness was her own, she only shared her vulnerability with a precious few. The door opened, and Officer Thompson came back in with a cup of steaming tea.

"I didn't know if you wanted any sugar, so I brought some packets if you wanted to add it yourself," she said softly and set the cup and sweets down.

"...Thank you," Abigail said and ripped open one paper package and poured the sugar into her tea. Just one, Rose always took two and cream. Stay as far away from thoughts of them as possible, she told herself. Tarry too long on those she mourned the absence of and she would fall apart. Tell the police what they wanted to hear, get back to the townhouse, and find a way back as quickly as possible. Do not fall part, do not fall apart.

"We'll be notifying your next of kin with the good news," Leslie Thompson told her as the policewoman took the chair across from her.

Abigail stared at her. Who did she have listed for that?

"You had Ms. Rose Belchiere as your second contact, in case the first could not be found," a sad expression crossed her kind face. "We still haven't been able to find your girlfriend, Abigail. But we're trying." Abigail did not answer and just sipped her tea, looking down at the table. No, they wouldn't be able to find her, not here. "I'm so sorry you're hurting, we'll do our best to bring you two together again."

"I...you're very kind," it was all she could manage and so she hid her lips with her cup. The tea was very hot, it burned her tongue but she didn't care.

"Was…." Thompson hesitated, "Was she taken with you? Were you in the same place?"

Abigail nodded before she could stop herself.

The officer looked concerned, alert, leaning forward and taking one of her hand in her own.

"I want to help you, I've seen so many women taken from their homes and loved ones. You miss her."

Of course she missed her! Abigail started to cry again despite her former resolve.

"No one here can help me…" she sobbed. Thompson moved to kneel beside her, and Abigail let the woman place an arm around her shoulders. It felt good to be touched, to be comforted. She was so alone, any kind of kind word or gesture was enough to bring more tears to her eyes.

"We can help you," the officer soothed her. "Tell me about her, how was she when you saw her last. Tell me about the place she was in. I bet she's very pretty."

"She's beautiful," she sniffed.

"Her aunt rented her townhouse to you, she's been caring for the place off and on since you two went missing. It's a lovely house, lots of books. You two seem to have a nice life together."

"Rose is a historian...and she loves romance novels. I have all the horror novels, the cookbooks, and dramas."

"You're an actor and receptionist part time, yes? You must have missed being on the stage."

"I haven't acted in months…" She hadn't thought of that at all, and it hurt to realize all her hard work was for naught.

"Where were you all that time? Was Rose with you? I know you must be worried about her, I have a girlfriend too, I understand." Leslie Thompson had a nice face, Abigail noted. Natural hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, wide brown eyes, a generous mouth with dimples and smile lines. A kind face, she decided, this woman really wanted to help her.

"She's home, with him, probably worried herself sick…"

"Him?" Leslie looked concerned, intrigued, and leaned forward a little, reaching for Abigail's arm to lay a reassuring hand there.

"Hook," she could not help herself. She needed to say their names, it made her feel close to them again. "He loves us, we stayed at his home, he gave it to us. It's beautiful there, overlooking the sea." Leslie quickly took a few notes. The poor officer really was trying her best, not that she could be of any help.

"And this Hook, he still has Rose?"

"They're together, at least they're still together. He can't be alone you know, he's not the type of person that can stand to be alone…and he hates that other place, too many bad memories." Abigail finished her tea. "It can be lonely there."

"Where, this house by the ocean?"

"Neverland? No that's another island, our house is further away." The central air system began to blow chilled air into the room. Abigail shivered and pulled her blanket tighter around herself, even her gown of flimsy silk gave her more warmth. "Is my dress here? I want to take it back to the townhouse with me. Hook gave us gowns, gave us whatever we wanted, I don't want to go home without it...I love that gown."

"You...had on a very fancy dress when we found you. I'm afraid it didn't do so good in the rain, and it's been added to the case as evidence, I can't access it just yet until it's processed."

"My ballgown….I've ruined it," tears began to well up again.

"Abigail, I'm going to get you some more tea and have a talk with my partner. We'll get you all warmed up and settled. Just stay put and don't stress yourself, honey."

Leslie Thompson got to her feet and slowly backed away. She opened the door, and said softly, "Javier?"

Detective Sanchez glanced over at her from where he was talking to a man in a suit and Officer Thompson closed the door behind her.

"I've seen this before, when trauma is too intense for the mind to handle, it creates a new reality as a coping mechanism. Sometimes this happens with just perception, other times with personality, there are a myriad of ways to escape the pain of a terrifying experience." The doctor's words were cold and precise, or at least that was how they seemed to her. His voice was calm, trying to be gentle and comforting. But no, she wouldn't hear any of that.

"I'm not crazy," she said. She had kept saying that, over and over, maybe if she did it enough they would let her go. This night had only gotten worse. They were going to send her to a mental health hospital because she had told them about Neverland, and James, and that Rose was still with him. Why had she done that? Now they had started to diagnose her, already the prescriptions were piling up.

"I never said you were, Abigail," the doctor whose name she didn't bother to remember said slowly with a tiny smile. "We're here to help you get better and find Rose."

"She's….far away...safe." Don't say anything else about magic, or pirates or anything. Give them mundane answers and they might let you go quicker.

"You escaped and she didn't, the police are worried about her. They're sending patrols out to the bay right now, searching for any house which could be used as a hideaway."

Abigail said nothing. Officer Thompson was present as well, assigned to her case she had to be there for the diagnosis. Abigail wanted to forgive her for telling her story, the woman only wanted to help her, but all she had done was make her last chance to escape fail miserably.

"You had a check up before being brought to me," he continued. "There is a scar on your back which wasn't there before you and your girlfriend went missing." He looked at his file with an uncomfortable expression which he barely managed to disguise. "Two letters, J. H." He pulled his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sighed. This time he spoke to the policewoman. "Initials perhaps, of the kidnapper."

Abigail wanted to correct him but kept her lips shut.

"She said the name Hook during our meeting at the station," Officer Thompson explained. An expression of disgust crossed her face as she looked down at the file, where a picture of the scar was stapled to a patient record. Pity and disgust...

"I see…..with all this talk of Neverland and her desire to return to her abductor, it's possible she's projected this fairy tale character of Captain Hook onto the suspect you're looking for. That would make sense for her coping with the situation, as far as I can surmise. More therapy will be needed, of course, she might not be able to give you a location or physical description for weeks." Both her captors sighed with sadness, she felt sick. Weeks? No, she didn't have weeks to spare, time ran so differently between worlds, it might be years until she got home. Would Rose and James wait for her that long? They had to….

"Please, Doctor Mitchell, there's a second woman out there possibly in extreme danger. Who knows what that man will do to her once he finds his second victim escaped. The sooner we can find Rose the better."

"I don't want her here, I want to go home!" She couldn't take it anymore, they were talking about her as if she couldn't hear them. As if they knew what was best for her. They didn't know anything, how could they?

"Please calm down, we don't need to call for sedation," the doctor tried to placate her and failed miserably.

"I will not be caged like an animal! Or sedated!" She tried to leap from her seat but could not get very far, they had buckled her in.

"Please, Abigail don't fight us," Officer Thompson tried to reason with her but her patience had run out.

"No! You don't know what I've been through! What Rose has been through! You can't help me, now let me go!" she screamed.

"Orderlies, I need 5 mg of midazolam!"

A prick at her arm, and after less than ten minutes of struggling and shouting, her world went black.

Even in the gardens of the mental hospital, she could hear the drone of automobiles and the clamour of mainland life. But the garden reminded her of Rose so she went everyday, falling into a stupor among the plants for hours and hours, only arising from herself when the orderlies found her. In the middle of the garden was a crepe myrtle tree. Rose had one in her garden that she doted upon and Abigail pressed herself against the bark of the small winding trunks that embraced her, trying to stay grounded, to stay connected to herself and to her lovers. Being among the insane was driving her mad.

"In the spring with blossoms crowned," she sang to the tree, struggling to keep a grip on herself. "In fall, apples ripe and round. Bless the flower and bless the seed. And bless the fruit of every tree."

A breeze danced through the green gardens and she curled closer in on herself.

"May winter's cold to you be kind. May you blossom in the spring sunshine. May gentle rain in it's season fall. May you be loved by one and all…."

Her voice broke and she buried her face in her arms, drawing her knees up to her chest. Rose...James...the ones that loved her. The ones that were away from her. Far away in some other world with no way to return. Even Abigail did not know how she was brought back, but here she was, locked away. Like some damsel. She hated it. She hated them all. She fisted her hands in her hair, a dry wail tearing itself from her throat.

Her body shook as though with chill. There was no magic in the air here, she was dying without it. There was no magic in this awful world and it was starving her. She was wasting away with no way to return to the magical realm and with no way of being saved.

Before she knew what she was doing, her fingers started scrabbling at the dirt at the base of the tree, her hands churning through the dark soil, searching for any trace of magic or life in the earth. Rose had pulled life from the ground, maybe Abigail could too. The ground had been freshly watered so the damp dirt smeared against her pale skin and got under her fingernails but she did not care. She needed to feel magic again, to feel that energy coursing through her veins.

"Abigail?"

The kind voice reached her from far away and she looked up, blinking at the bright sunlight emerging from behind a cloud. A man stood before her in white and she couldn't see his face, the sun was too bright, but she thought she saw beautiful blue eyes. A hopeful smile crossed her face.

"James?" she reached for him with a filthy hand, "James, is that you? Did you find me?"

"No, Abigail, I'm Ian, remember? You remember me."

The orderly moved and she could see his face properly. Her smile died and her face crumpled as she turned away. The earth was dead, there was no magic here. And there was no magic in her, not anymore. And she was alone.

"It's time to go back inside, Abigail," Ian said gently, reaching out to take her wrists, "You have to eat dinner."

She shook her head petulantly, "No."

"Yes, Abigail." Ian took her in his arms and she fought weakly against him, squirming, refusing to look at him again. "You have to eat. The doctor's worried about your health. Come on, it's time to go."

"No," she protested, "I want to stay outside…"

"I think you've played in the dirt plenty for today," the orderly said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her back towards the hospital. They walked back into the stale air and false light of the building and Abigail tried to hold back tears.

"I know where she is."

James barely looked up from where he sat, his head laid down upon the surface of his desk. It was littered with empty bottles, the only source of respite he allowed himself these last few weeks. He was hungover, probably malnourished and probably a horrible sight to behold as he had slowly forgone all his usual careful preening. Useless as he was, he did not care for looking well, let alone feeling well. Not even the comfort of his remaining lady was something he would dare to allow himself. Rose was better than he deserved...as was Abigail. His lost lady. How he missed her. From sharp tongue and mocking smile, he missed her to the marrow of his being. In his dreams he saw constantly repeated the way in which her crystal eyes would flicker with the hint of a soul not yet mended from the cruelty of the world. And she was gone...taken by some unknown sorcery.

He did not bother to pay attention as the footsteps came closer, at how they halted before the desk.

"James get up!" A hand slammed down next to his head and his ear started ringing.

"Damn it, Smee!" He went to slash with his hook only to remember he had not doned the weapon for weeks. With bleary eyes he saw not the portly bo'sun but the elegant figure of his Rose.

"I am not Smee. And you are so far into your cups I'll need a crane to fetch you out," she was displeased with him. As she must be, he had not protected their lover after all.

"I have no wish to be free of the spirits," he grumbled at her and reached for another drink. She swiped it from him, his reflexes slowed by too much rum, and threw it right out the window. "What was that about?" He began to feel anger at her. Could she not let him mourn in the only way he knew how?

"You obviously didn't hear me the first time." Both hands slammed down on the antique wood now, and she leaned in until their faces were but inches apart. "I know where she is." Reality came to a screeching halt. Feeling sober for the first time in an age, James sat up straight and looked his lady in the eye.

"You what?"

"Bless the ways of magic, James Hook, they showed me the way." Shoving off the desk, Rose began rushing through the cabin to gather her things. "And bless that strange Mr. Strand, he's gone and given me the map to find the way."

"Where? How?" On wobbly legs he stood, grabbing his harness and making for her side. "That imp? What did he do?

"First, in a dream I had two days ago," she said as she found a suit of Abigail's clothes and carefully folded them into her bag. "You were passed out, there was no use telling you."

"What was this dream?" Well did he know the powers of dreams, their mystical reach had bridged two worlds to bring the three of them together. Had Rose found some way to control them?

"I saw her, recognized where she was and even spoke to her. It's a place of healing not far from the city where we lived." In a bizarre series of actions, she took every reflective surface in the cabin and laid them on the floor. When space became an issue, she roughly shoved his expensive furnishings off to the side, the noise made by the scraping on the floor hurt his ears and made his head pound.

"She is in a sick house?" he asked while holding his aching head. She tossed a shirt at him, which he barely caught.

"Of sorts. It is a place for repairing mental health, not physical problems. I am the one of the only people with legal rights to petition for her release." Rose looked to him, clearly not understanding that he was not following her.

"An asylum?" Oh he knew of those places, dens of filth and a prison for the insane. How had their Abigail ended up in such a nightmarish place?

"A treatment facility," she corrected him. When she turned, she noticed he had yet to put on the shirt she threw at him. Quickly she helped him strap the harness around his chest, cranked it into place and assisted him in pulled the shirt over his head. "The doctors don't believe that you are real, that any of this is real. And as far as they know, I'm still missing. Finish getting dressed, we have to leave as soon as possible."

"Leave? How?" When he did not move fast enough for her liking, she tossed more clothing at him and he had to duck to hide from the boots she threw across the cabin. "Blast it, woman, answer me!"

"Mr. Strand came to me with the location of the hospital, and thank the gods it's in our hometown. How he figured it out I don't know and, quite frankly, I don't really care. As to getting there I have an idea!" she shouted back. The last mirrored sconce was set on the floor and she stood to survey her work. At Rose's feet, King James meowed sadly as though he knew his remaining mistress was planning something. Reaching down, she pulled him in her arms, cuddling the little creature and kissing his fluffy head. "I've already asked Mr. Smee to take good care of you," she murmured to the kitten. "We'll be back soon, you'll be well cared for until we get home." The cat was placed in his ornate bed, where a sprig of valerian hung from the small canopy, the herb soon began to glow. When the feline had just barely touched the cushions, he was fast asleep. "Hopefully he won't miss us too badly, at least he'll sleep through our vanishing. I just hope I'm strong enough to pull this off."

"What is that mess?" He gestured to the haphazard arrangement on the floor.

"A portal, or at least I hope it'll be one." Hazel eyes, usually so warm, turned sternly to him. "Mirrors, like dreams, can be doorways. I'm going to try to send us back to the Mainland where we can find Abigail." Her hand reached out for his. "Do you trust me?" This was not the sweet Rose who would spoon feed a sick crewman, nor the temptress who shared his bed and drove him mad with lust. This was a side of her which he had never seen, stronger, serious and ready to throw caution to the winds for the sake of a plan which may or may not work. His hand took hers, holding her tight. "Good."

She turned her gaze to the plethora of glass, crystal, bronze and gold which lay before them. It did resemble a doorway, taller than he and just wide enough to contain them both. A cloud of scarlet began to seep around her, crawling down her body to infect the objects with an eerie glow. When it made its way up his body, he felt its power melting into his skin, hot and stinging. It was not meant for him, but did not harm him either, simply it coated him like a cocoon. Her eyes glazed over as she concentrated, her breathing going shallow. On the floor, each of the mismatched objects began to twinkle. First they reflected the ceiling of the cabin, then for just a moment he could see in the broken image of an unfamiliar space. Over and over this happened, the strange scene lasting a little longer each time. Under her breath, Rose chanted something that almost sounded like a song.

"Think of me, James," she whispered. "Think of Abigail. Imagine that we have brought you to our old home, want it and think of nothing but that."

He did as she asked, to the best of his ability. With no time to regain his sobriety, his mind was not as sharp as preferred, but time was of the essence. As he repeated her mantra in his mind, his gaze could not look away from the scene below. A garden...with a metal table….candles and crystals.

"Yes," Rose hissed and smiled. The image held now, the flickering gone, and she began to tremble. "I can't...hold it long," her breathing began to grow harsh. She took a step forward, and to his shock he watched as her foot stepped down...and vanished. There was no time to react, say a word of disbelief, she pulled him after her and together they fell.