I glance towards Felicity. She is staring transfixed at the rising chest of Pippa.
"It cannot be."
I stumble towards them, feel for the slight flicker of a pulse. It is there.
"It cannot be!" Felicity's eyes widen and I feel the hope spring to again, a sickening lurch in my stomach. I cannot bear to see her crushed once more. it has happened so many times.
"Fee... I don't know what to do."
"They... they are just asleep! Don't you see? None of it is real! None of it happened?" she grabs at my hands, my face, kisses me deeply and roughly. I want to push her off but find I haven't the strength. I don't think I ever did. So I relish it, the taste of her tongue, the feel of her breasts, the insistent pluck of her fingers at the strings of my corset, and I wonder that she always wants to kiss me after tragedy. In times of danger. It fits, somehow.
"Fee..." I break away, my breath caught in my throat. She gazes towards me expectantly, but I am not sure if she really sees me. Not anymore. "Fee... I don't think they will wake."
She does not understand at first, but then I see the glimmer of recognition in her eyes and it catches like tinder to a flame. She is scornful and it hurts.
"Are you so desperate to have me to yourself? To have them gone? Is that it?"
"Of course not, Felicity! But ... we saw them pass through! Both of us, both of them! It makes no sense."
"Neither does falling through reason, and yet we manage it surprisingly frequently."
She speaks the truth, and it stings unbearably. "Wake them, then. Try and wake them."
And of course she does, and of course they don't. But we drag them to their beds anyway, and it is unnerving, watching the chest of Ann rise and fall in the bed next to me, yet knowing that the real Ann – the true Ann – is so very far away.
Of course, when I rouse Brigid early the next morning and tell her that Ann won't wake, it is confirmed. They are gone, fully gone, and we will never have them back. And that is when I cry. Brigid soothes me, patting my hand and mumbling reassuring phrases into empty air – "no need to cry love, just a fever, awake again in no time, back on her feet tomorrow, I'm sure of it" – but over the days, when neither will wake, and they are sectioned, for fear of having a rare and contagious illness, her reassurances stop. I often see her, pausing outside the door the to sanatorium, gazing wistfully through the clouds of masked doctors and white nurses, trying to glimpse her little Ann. It hurts far more than I expected it to, and it is then that I realise how our actions will affect so many. It is a curious feeling, half-guilt. I think I may drown in it.
Felicity does not mention travelling again to the realms, and neither do I. It seems to have become an unspoken word between us, and now we will only talk of clear and happy, shiny and new, the forward, the future, the light. I see the desperation in her eyes each morning, when we are all given the same announcement – "Still no news, I'm afraid" – and I feel the tug in her voice as she controls herself. It is strange, how Felicity refuses to abide but society's rules about things such as sexuality and education and women's rights, but will not allow herself to feel emotion. Feel sad, or betrayed, or even hopeful.
After they have been gone one week, and then three days after that, and then a fortnight after that, and then a day later, Ann returns.
Pippa does not.