Ch 2: Falling
Anastasia O'Neill was having a really bad day. It was so bad, in fact, that she strongly considered heading off to the nearest pub to knock back a couple shots of good whiskey. She wasn't much of a drinker, so this pondering was rather useless. But it helped to think that perhaps there was something in her deviant enough to stroll into a bar and swig whiskey like it was water. Maybe, just maybe, it would help.
Letting herself into her small flat, Ana paused to snap on the lights and drop her soaking wet bag, coat, and umbrella off at the door. Normally a tidy person, Ana sneered at the jumble of effects lying pathetically by the door jamb. Stomping off to the kitchen, she started a pot of tea with a slam, and enjoyed brooding at the teapot as if it were her boss's head. Well, her ex-boss.
Oh, if only she had gone with her instinct and quit a week ago. She could have circumvented this whole devastatingly embarrassing episode. But no, Anastasia was not one to go on instinct or gut-feeling. She was notorious for over-thinking and rationalizing, and so had denied herself the distinct pleasure of tossing Harold's crappy job and even crappier pay back in his face. Instead, she had steadfastly clung to her job, waiting for the storm to pass. And so was forced to be there when Harold handed her the final paycheck with a simpering, snarky look on his face.
"Bollocks," she muttered under her breath, trudging to her bedroom about the size of a closet. Practically ripping her neat, painfully plain navy suit off, Ana snuggled down into a pair of sweats and an over-sized sweatshirt to combat the wicked cold of a London winter that sinuously wound its way into her place. It wasn't a home, not quite; but she could say without embarrassment that it was her place of residence.
The kettle started to scream, and Ana was surprised at her instinctive baring of teeth. Ana had never been a particularly aggressive person, so her fighting instinct was one she had thought rather weak. The job incident was case in point. Pouring herself a large cup of tea, Ana made her way to the small den, flopping on the couch with a drawn-out huff.
After a few sips, Ana ruthlessly tugged her hair out of its severe bun at the base of her neck. Wildly waving and the color of umber, it was almost waist-length and thick as rope. Her father liked to say that since her eyes were so cool—almost jade green—that her hair had to make up for it with its fire. Oh, Dad. What am I going to do now?
Moodily sipping her tea, Ana started when the phone trilled with its mind-numbingly happy squeal. Sighing, she picked up the telephone, taking her good sweet time bringing the phone to her ear. She knew who it was, and was far from eager to hear her mother condescend/comfort her. It was a tension of emotions that made Ana's head and stomach hurt.
"…Ana, you've just got to start learning to trust yourself. Didn't you tell me just last week that you had a bad feeling about that job?"
"Hello, Mum," Ana said softly, letting her attention wander to the novel lying split on the coffee table. Her mother continued to chatter, and Ana continued to ignore her, propping the phone gently against her shoulder and picking up the book. Flexing it a bit to loosen the spine, Ana snuggled down into the old couch's sagging cushions, uttering an occasional, "Hmm," and "Yes, Mum, I know," to keep the ball of her mother's conversation bouncing.
Ana often felt guilty using this technique whenever her mother called. But if she were to be honest, she was far from the mood needed to deal with her mother. That required patience and a steely control, neither of which Ana had at the moment. Instead, she allowed the words of the book to wash over her as she dived headfirst into the confrontation between the protagonist and a shadowy figure from her past where Ana had left off last night. It was a mostly undiscovered author who possessed some fabulous figurative language. Needed a little work on the dialogue, but her descriptions were poetic and very powerful. She was enjoying her book, and escape, so much that it took her mother repeating the question several times for Ana to hear it.
"…Ana? Ana, are you listening? Hello, Anastasia?"
"Hmm? What is it, Mum?" Ana took a quick sip of tea to wet her throat as her mother cleared her's in exasperation.
"Ana, I need you to come over here, right away. I found something in an old trunk that might interest you." Ana dropped her head back against the spine of the couch, sighing.
"Mother, I'm sorry. I'm just not up to it. I-"
"Ana, I found something of your father's." It had been a long time since Ana had heard her mother use that serious tone of voice. It sent shivers down her spine.
"What did you find, Mum?" The explosive whoosh through the phone warned Ana that her mother was sighing. She always did have a taste for the melodramatic.
"It's difficult to explain, Ana. It would be best if you just came over right away." Ana weighed the options. Her mother could be dragging her across town to her flat in order to scold her for her stupidity over losing her job, and this business about finding something of her father's could be a ploy.
Or it could be real. Jason, Ana's father, had died when Ana was fourteen. Painfully closer to her father than her fluttery mother, Ana had taken the car accident hard, and had grieved the decade since. Father's Day and his birthday, April fourteenth, were hell. Any possession of his was treated as if it were the treasure of Atlantis itself. Her mother knew that, and Ana didn't like to think that she'd go that far just to get Ana face to face to bitch and grind on her self-esteem. Pursing her lips, Ana weighed her options.
"All right, Mum. I'll be over in twenty," Ana agreed quietly.
The travel across town was slow progress, the rain a slicing sheet that hid even the clearest lights from view. Martha O'Neill's stylish flat had been acquired several years after her husband's death, and something in Ana rejected it at a very basic level. It was feminine, delicate, and there wasn't a trace of her father anywhere. She often had to force herself to visit her mother, Martha's nosy and bossy nature not making the trip any easier. Ana pulled her small car, almost as old as she was, into the tiny parking space in front of her mother's building. She had changed into jeans and a sweatshirt from the University of London over an old blue t-shirt, and was grateful for the sensible boots she had slipped on as she splashed through an overflowing gutter on her way to the door. Ana trudged up the stairs to her mother's, counting the steps in a heralding to her childhood. Every time she walked up the stairs to her mother's, and only on that staircase, did she count.
Her mother let her in with a tad more seriousness than usual. Ana tried not to furrow her brow as she was led into the living room and directed to the small sofa, made of a bronze-colored material with sapphire throw pillows. It was utterly her mother's style, and rather unappealing to Ana. Her mother disappeared into the study with a solemn look on her face, leaving Ana to wring her hands impatiently.
"OK, Mum, what's this about?" Ana tried to ask in a polite voice once her mother returned. She tracked Martha's movements with sharp eyes, and could see clutched in her mother's slim hand was a thick, yellowed envelope. Martha lowered herself next to Ana slowly, gently placing the lumpy package in her daughter's hands. Flipping it over carefully, Ana gazed at the artful scrawl across the front of the envelope, which felt suspiciously like parchment.
To Ana, My Legacy.
"He always did say you were the reason his heart flamed." Ana glanced up from the package, searching her mother's eyes as she hadn't done in a very long time. She remembered the hazel and the shape similar to her own, but the wrinkles seemed newer, and all the more painful for it. There was a bitterness and sorrow in those eyes that Ana had never seen before. Or perhaps had not wished to see.
"Mum, he loved you," Martha huffed gently, shaking her head.
"What your father felt for me was paltry compared to the love he felt for you. You were his Ana," she murmured as her mother ran gentle fingers through Ana's hair. "You were his, more than you were ever mine. It wasn't fair." Martha sighed as she dropped her hand from Ana's face, standing slowly. "It wasn't fair that he was taken. He still had so much to give you." Martha strode away to the kitchen, and Ana could hear the clattering of her mother putting on a kettle of tea.
Ana had never seen her mother that way. Martha had a painful tendency to make light of the past, her triumphs and mistakes alike. Ana felt guilty about agreeing with her mother in the idea that she had loved her father more. Perhaps there was more to Martha O'Neill than Ana could have guessed.
Returning her attention to the envelope, Ana ran careful fingers over the writing. There was a strange lump in the bottom right corner. Turning it over, Ana slipped her finger under the flap, intent on ripping open the letter, her hand trembling a little. After only an inch, though, the paper's edge bit into Ana's skin. With a small indrawn breath, she snatched her hand away, peering at the small cut. Blood welled until poised on her skin like a crimson pearl. Ana watched with a strange fascination as the drop of blood slid off her skin, plopping onto the envelope with a small ring.
Ana winced at the blemish upon a rare gift from her father. Glancing towards the kitchen, Ana could hear her mother contentedly humming as she prepared tea. She always was something of a homebody. Satisfied that her mother wasn't going to return any time soon, Ana determinedly finished the tear, pulling the thick paper out with gentle fingers. Taking her time to unfold it, she placed the letter on her lap with reverent care before looking again inside the envelope.
Deep inside was a delicate bracelet. Pulling it out with confusion, Ana held the piece of jewelry up to the light. The metal appeared to be silver at first, but was darker, and almost iridescent. It was worked into the shape of a twisting dragon, green gems that were too misty to be emeralds set in the dragon's eyes. Clutched in its small claws was a teal stone about the size of a marble. It rippled and shimmered with the light, and a strange buzz flitted into Ana's blood from her fingertips, tripping up her arm until it hummed in her throat.
There was something too powerful about the bracelet to encourage just any person to wear it. Setting it aside along the blood-stained envelope, Ana picked up the letter. She brushed regretful fingers over the spot of blood no bigger than a pea repeated twice, and started to read. But she had gotten no farther than "My dearest Ana," when the paper started to warm. The spot of blood became a pinprick of light, which slowly bled into the words until the whole sheet shone like a star. A soft keening drew Ana's puzzled attention away from the letter to the bracelet she had set aside.
Like the paper, the stone in the dragon's claws glowed with a bright silver light. She gingerly picked it up, and almost dropped it again to find the bracelet warm as human skin, when only seconds ago, it had been cold to the touch. A gentle wind stirred Ana's thick hair, and she had to tighten her grip on the paper to keep it in her hands as the air grew more aggressive.
The pitch grew even higher, and Ana tucked the letter in her sweatshirt pocket while she slipped the bracelet on. "Mom!" she cried, but her voice barely carried over the wind. "MOM!" Ana could see her mother race out of the kitchen, a look of concern on her face when, quite suddenly, there was no floor beneath her. Ana dropped out of sight without so much a whisper, the hole closing over her head. This wasn't the floor below, it wasn't even outside. She was dropping through a field of black, pinpricked with misty stars that flew by in streaks of light.
Too shocked to scream, Ana could only hug her arms close as she plummeted, fighting against the bone deep cold that tore through her clothes within seconds. There was terror within her somewhere, an instinctive fear of falling. But it was buried very deeply by confusion and wonder. What was happening, and how could it happen? There was no wormhole beneath her mother's flat. And what could account for the behavior of the parchment and the bracelet?
Ana could no long feel her feet and hands, and her face was a mask of ice. With her blood flow went her reasoning powers. Her stomach still in her mother's flat, the rush of lights started to make her ill when combined with the cold, so, against all instincts, Ana closed her eyes. Pressing her lips harder and harder together, she couldn't feel it when they started to bleed.
Through her tightly closed eyelids, Ana could sense a change in the light. Glancing down, she clenched her teeth against a wave of sickness. Very, very far away was a little dot of light that was gradually growing larger. She was so cold she no longer shivered, just fell through the space like a block of ice. The dot started to widen until, about five feet across, she could make out blue within the hole. Frost was starting to lace Ana's eyelashes and hair, and her breath came out in misty gasps.
Still, she drew closer to the gap, which widened like a yawning mouth. Then, with a small yelp, Ana was through. Glancing up, she watched again as the hole closed over her head, snipping off a half-inch of hair. Now, she was falling through real air again. For a moment, she sailed through blue sky before slamming into a cloud. Just as she had started to thaw, the cold, this time a very wet and heavy chill, snagged at her clothes and skin.
Ana was now blind, and had no gauge to measure her descent. Then, with the snap of the fingers, she was out of the cloud. The sun battled through the mists, shining stingy rays on the very far away ground down below. At the sight of the green slowly taking shape, a realization hit Ana. She had been freefalling for who knew how long, and was rapidly approaching the very hard, incredibly unforgiving ground. And she had no parachute.
She was going to die.
If she had the presence of mind, Ana might have started screaming, much good it would have done her. But Ana fell for a full fifteen seconds with her mouth gaping open, staring at the ground that she was very soon going to meet. She was only conscious again when an unfortunate bug splatted against her teeth. Sputtering and spitting with a vengeance, Ana was able to flex her fingers enough to wipe at the bug guts strewn across her face, making damn certain that she swallowed nothing.
As she wiped away insect remains, Ana slowly began to realize that, beyond all possibility, she was slowing down. Her hair didn't feel like it was going to be ripped out of her skull, and she could actually flex her legs out a little bit. Ana was still falling far too fast to survive unscathed—she had paid attention during this unit in physics—but maybe her parts wouldn't be strewn quite so far apart.
Yet she kept decelerating, slowly but surely. Ana actually dared to hope that, perhaps, beyond all reason, she wasn't going to share the same fate as the bug she could still taste and smell. Finally, she drifted down onto a tree, landing without so much as a creak on the branch. Just as she rested her hand against the prickly trunk, a great crack shattered the quiet.
"Oh, no," Ana whispered when, sure enough, the branch broke out from under her. It was her mother's living room all over again, but this time, she was falling through a tree. While it did slow her momentum, Ana was pretty sure she heard the snap of bone when she landed on her side on a particularly large branch. However, for all her scrabbling hands, Ana slid off the branch as if it was greased, and continued her raucous descent, branches catching and clawing at her with all the tenacity of blood-thirsty claws. A particularly springy bow caught her across the cheek with the snap of a slap, and Ana could feel her skin part and blood flow under her left eye.
Just as she was clearing the last ten feet of foliage, Ana could make out a person just underneath the tree. Despite her immense problem and rapidly accumulating pain, Ana had enough presence of mind to shout, "Shit! Move!" However, the unfortunate civilian either did not hear her or didn't understand her heavily accented voice (Ana had a tendency to thicken her normally smooth English when she was stressed or afraid.)
So, the circumstances completely out of her control, Ana landed quite ungracefully on the person. Her head smacked against the ground and, for a brief moment, Ana was enveloped in darkness.