Hey guys! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews – I love reading them all so very much. Just wanted to say, for all those who are asking after Tom, I'm sorry that I've not paid him more attention. I just have to work him into and around Sybbie and Thomas' tale. But I promise, he will return.

I just want to say a massive thanks to Davy Tex, who has encouraged me so very much with all their reviews and the chats that we've had. Also, a shout-out to , Saya White, Mary Austin, and lizzy384 - even though you're still MIA ;D. And thank you, to all the wonderful guests who, unfortunately, I have been unable to respond to. Finlee, Souffle, Cori, Nek0Nek0, and all you others... sign up, guys!

Now, if there was to be a chapter that was the deciding pivoting point of this entire story, this would be it. So read on, guys, and please, please tell me what you think. I'd really love to know!

Sparki: I own nothing!


"Barrow. Mr. Barrow!"

There were hands. Rough hands, shaking him. He felt them upon his arms. Thomas had the odd feeling that he knew the voice; it was pleasantly familiar. Thomas groaned in sleep.

"Barrow! Thomas!" That voice again. "For god's sake, wake up!"

For a moment, all he could make out were shadows. Thomas blinked once, and slowly the sleep began to clear. As the world crawled into focus, he found himself looking up into the startled face of James. At first, Thomas thought he must still be dreaming. He blinked again, but when James didn't vanish, he hesitantly pulled himself up in his cot.

"What the 'ell are you doing 'ere?" he mumbled, passing a sleep-ridden hand across his eyes. Strangely, Thomas found himself hoping that, when he once again could see, James would be gone.

But he wasn't, and his reply was frantic.

"Barrow, you have to help me!" he whispered urgently. "Please, you have to come now!"

Thomas frowned at the man. "Why do you need me?" he queried, his voice still muffled with sleep.

"Just come now!" James insisted, his eyes wide, almost pleading. "Please, Thomas!"

Thomas scowled. Perhaps it was simply the sleep that clouded his judgement, but he felt his resolve beginning to crumble. James looked so very troubled, and since he was already awake, Thomas reasoned that a short trip down the hall would not truly do any harm. With a heavy sigh, he swung his legs from beneath the warmth of the blanket. No sooner had his feet brushed the cold ground, James grabbed his wrist. Without another word, he dragged Thomas from the room.

Down the darkened hall, Thomas' legs, still numb with sleep, stumbled over every lump in the old carpet. James was breathing hard, but Thomas hadn't the faintest idea why.

Around the corner, and Thomas fell flat upon the floor. Although his arms took most of the blow, he winced.

Something was lying across the hallway. Something large and, apparently, heavier than Thomas. In the darkness, he'd not seen it, but James, who was standing in tense silence against the wall, obviously knew it was there. Groaning slightly, Thomas rolled onto his back.

"What the hell was…"

His words died upon his tongue.

An arm, thick and flabby, lay strewn across the carpet. Thomas' gaze followed the frozen limb, and he soon found another arm, two legs, and a cold, vacant face.

Mr. Higgs, the property inspector, lay dead upon the floor.

Taken aback, Thomas scrambled away from the body. He felt his stomach lurch at such a blatant display of death. He stared up at James in bewildered askance.

"What have you…?" he hissed. James shook his head viciously.

"I know how it looks," he stammered, "but I promise you, Thomas, I had nothing to do with it." For some reason, Thomas believed him. Although none downstairs had such a motive as James, he could not imagine the younger man kicking a dog, much less murdering a fellow human being.

However…

"What were you doing out here, at this hour?" Thomas asked, realizing suddenly that he still lay sprawled on the floor. With as much dignity he could muster, he hauled himself to his feet. James was staring at the ground.

"I… I was… heading to the kitchen," he murmured. Thomas narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" James looked up. "It doesn't matter!" he snapped, sounding suddenly irritated. "What are we going to do?" Thomas thought for a moment. He could almost hear the frantic thump of James' heart.

"We have to tell Carson," he muttered finally. James' head shot up, and he stared Thomas, eyes wide and… frightened.

"No!" he hissed. "No, you can't tell Carson!" Thomas drew his dark brows into a frown. "Why not?" he asked. "We can't just leave him here."

But James only shook his head.

"Please, you have to help me," the footman begged. "If you don't, people will think…," His voice trailed off, and for a moment, Thomas thought James might faint.

"Please, Thomas." James gazed at him. "Please!"

For a long while, Thomas studied James. He felt himself torn, so very torn. A man had died; it was not something the two could hide. But to hide such a mishap from Carson…

Is it truly worth the risk?

In the darkness, Thomas gave a heavy, laden sigh.

"Grab his ankles," he groaned. James blinked in surprise, but after a moment, he did as he was told. Doubling over, Thomas grasped the man's thick, meaty wrists. "We'll drag him upstairs," Thomas breathed, "but that's all."

For a short, silent moment, the two men waited, readying themselves for what would certainly be a momentous task. Thomas closed his eyes, and allowed himself to pretend that it was not a body they held between them, but an especially thick rug. Something just as heavy, but far more innocent. Through the shadows, Thomas saw James gulping the air. He gave a sharp nod, and watched as James shifted his grip.

"One, two, three!" Together, they heaved.

Mr. Higgs was a very heavy man. Thomas, despite his broad shoulders, was slender, and not overly muscular. He was quick yes, but not so very strong. Neither did James have much to share, by way of brute strength.

Thomas' shoulders screamed for release, and his hands felt slick. The bandage, a constant companion, made grasping the man's wrists in his clammy fingers all the more difficult. No sooner had they neared hall's end, was Thomas quite ready to give in. Judging by the look on James' face, the notion was mutual.

So weary was he, Thomas felt in danger of succumbing to sleep right then and there, in the midst of the hallway. In his moment of utter exhaustion, Thomas could do nothing but slouch against the wall. James was doubled over, his shaking hands still clutching the man's ankles. So tight was his grip, the man's knuckles had turned white.

"What are we going to do with 'im?" Thomas gasped, peering down at the corpse. Across the narrow hall, James stared at him, wide-eyed.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" the footman hissed. "I had nothing to do with this!"

"For god's sake, I wasn't implying that you did!" In frustration, Thomas banged a fist against the wall. The thud was loud, and seemed to echo unnaturally throughout the darkened corridor. They froze, awaiting the dreaded tap of footfalls they were both certain would, at any moment, come traveling down the hall.

But all remained silent.

For a moment, Thomas leant his head back against the wall. James was glaring at him, he knew - however, he hadn't the energy to honor him with a reply.

"Come on then," he whispered, pushing himself reluctantly from the wall. "Take his legs up again!" Fumbling a little in the dim light, James regained his grip around the man's ankles. Thomas grasped his wrists. It took him a few moments to fully take hold; so thick were the oaf's arms. Without a word, the two lifted the hefty bulk. Between themselves, they managed to put no more than a foot between the body and the ground. Even in death, the man's stomach rolled and jiggled, as though he had just had the greatest laugh.

Half-way to the servant's hall, and already, Thomas felt as though his shoulders might crumble. He was just about to guide them around the corner, when James stopped dead. Thomas flicked him an irritated gaze.

"What is it now?" he breathed. Shadows played upon the younger man's unusually pale features. If Thomas had not known better, he'd say that James was about to be ill.

"I killed somebody…," he whispered. At those words, Thomas felt his stomach heave. He gave his head a decisive shake.

"No," he protested weakly, groaning beneath the man's weight, "you did not kill anyone." But James just stared at him.

"Thomas," he whimpered, in a tone the under butler had never imagined could tremble from one so proud, "that fish… that food, I… I knew it weren't suitable… I knew it weren't right to eat, but I gave it to hi-,"

Thomas cut him off. "You think he died from eating the kipper?" If it had been funny, Thomas might have laughed at James' fear. "No, he's had a heart attack, I'd say." With a critical eye, Thomas gave the corpse a brief scrutiny. "Not that hard to believe," he added. But James wasn't convinced.

"We have to get it out 'o here!" the man practically begged Thomas. "What if Mrs. Hughes was to see us? Of worse - Carson!" Unable to dismiss his own niggling anxiety, Thomas tightened his grip on the meat-like wrists. He watched as James did the same.

"One, two, three, lift!" Together, they lifted the body from the floor. It was a long haul, but slowly, they crawled down the corridor. Just as Thomas truly believed they might make it, weary footsteps became audible. The two stood still, their burden swinging slightly between their bodies. Never in his life, had Thomas so wished to be invisible. He closed his eyes, but to no prevail.

Alfred stumbled from the servants' hall, glass in hand. It was water, for when he saw the odd procession, the young man stopped so quickly, the clear liquid ran down his hand. The splash it made upon the floor seemed ridiculously loud.

For a moment, Alfred looked as though he might turn around, and leave the whole thing to a dream. After all, it was an odd sight to see - anywhere, but especially at Downton. Closing his eyes, Thomas prayed that he would. But despite the under butler's taunts and teasing, Alfred was not stupid. He stared at the pair for a moment.

Then:

"What in the name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph are you doing?" he spluttered.

"Poison kipper!" James blurted out, before Thomas had a chance to reply. He shot a glare at James, but the younger man was too apprehensive to notice.

"A heart attack, I reckon," Thomas corrected, turning to Alfred. The footman was still staring, wide eyed at the body as it swung, almost comically, between the two men. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, but his voice seemed suddenly to have vanished. He simply stood, mouth agape, arms rigid at his sides.

Thomas, spurred to irritation, rolled his pale eyes, but Alfred seemed unaware.

"No, I mean, what the hell are you doing?" Alfred hissed, looking at the pair now with more suspicion than shock. "That is a dead man!"

"I'm well aware of that, Alfred," Thomas growled, "but thank you for erasing any doubts."

"We're taking him upstairs." James finally spoke. With pleading eyes, he gazed up at his friend. "Alfred, you've got to help us!"

Alfred took a step back.

"Please, Alfred!" James whispered. "You're me best mate!"

At this Alfred stopped, and Thomas knew a nerve had been struck. The tall man glanced down at the deceased, his eyes wide and fearful. But he was no longer shying away from the desperate, who stood before him, bathed in sweat. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Alfred gave a sigh. Crouching low, he placed the dripping glass upon the floor. It disappeared into the shadows. As Alfred straightened his long, lean frame, Thomas released a laden breath he'd not known he'd been holding. James looked as though he might cry.

"Thank you, Alfred," he all but whispered. "Thank you." Alfred didn't reply. Instead, took a leg from James' grasp. The footman paled slightly, but to Thomas' surprise, he did not falter. He held tight to Mr. Higgs' ankle. He spoke not a word, but at Thomas' command, he heaved with passion, as great as that of James, or the under butler. Together, the three men lifted the sagging corpse from the cold, bare floor. Beneath the weight, Alfred stumbled. His heel knocked the hidden glass, and the water, clean and clear, spilled into the darkness.


He runs. Papa runs, but the darkness is too fast. It bites at him, like a dog, huge and hungry and wild. It chases him, and I know that if it catches him, it will never let him go.

Papa runs. But the darkness is too fast.

I cry out his name.

"Papa! Papa!"

But he can't hear. He doesn't know that I'm crying. He can' hear me crying.

"Papa! Papa!"


Sybbie slapped a hand upon her mouth. She stifled a scream, closing her eyes, and biting into the soft skin of her palm. The pain brought tears to her blurry eyes, but she felt the panic beginning to ebb into nothing. But the fear remained.

The fear would not be moved.

Holding her breath, Sybbie climbed from her bed. Her bare feet came to rest upon the floor, and she shivered. But in the darkness, she could not find her slippers. And so, he feet cold, Sybbie hurried across her room. She caught her toe on the leg of her rocking chair, and stumbled. With a soft cry, she landed upon her knees, with a painful thud. Her foot ached. Shaking, she placed a hand against the chair's smooth arm. It rocked gently beneath her touch.

For a few, lingering moments, Sybbie crouched in the darkness, thin arms wrapped around her knees. She closed her eyes, burying her face against the soft fabric of her nightgown. It smelled of rosewater, and the soft, summery smell that seemed to cling to all of the girl's garments. Sybbie let out a small sigh, and raised her head. Steeling herself, she gazed into the darkness. The door stood; a shadow, a tall, towering shadow.


"Here, this is far enough!" Alfred's whispered words were urgent. "More than enough!" Spurred on by the agony that burned within his shoulders and the cramps that gripped at his hands, Thomas gave a small nod.

"Alfred's right," he gasped, his gaze fixed on the floor. "We'll... we'll leave him here. See... what the morning brings." Without another word, he let the man's wrists fall from his grasp. Mr. Higgs slumped to the carpeted ground. James and Alfred winced at the sickening thud that followed.

"Thomas?"

The under butler froze. He fixed his gaze on the corpse. He didn't turn, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sybil was standing but a few steps away. He could almost see the look of horror in her dark eyes. He gulped, and felt his pulse beginning to race. Of all who could have possibly discovered them, why had it been her? His blood pounding painfully in his ears, he turned.

"Sybil," he whispered, barely able to find his voice. "Go... go back to bed." But the little girl didn't move. She stared up at her friend, her eyes wide and frightened. In his small hands, she clutched Thomas' handkerchief. It swayed slightly against her nightgown, as her hands trembled. Thomas felt his heart beginning to crack. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Please, Sybil. Just go back to bed." He smiled through the darkness. "Everything will be alright in the morning."

Thomas could feel the eyes of James and Alfred resting upon his back. He shifted in discomfort, but didn't take his eyes from Sybil's terrified face. He took a small step forward. Sybil stumbled back.

No.

Without a word, Thomas dropped to his knees. The cold of the carpet seeped through his thin pants, but he hardly noticed. He gazed at Sybil, trying to say the words his mouth couldn't speak.

"Sybil," he breathed. "It's alright." He opened his arms.

Sybil threw her arms around his neck. She clung to him, her face, now stained with tears, buried within his shoulder. Slowly, Thomas climbed to his feet. Cradling the girl in his arms, he turned back to the startled footmen.

"Get back downstairs," he commanded quietly. "Go to bed before someone notices you're missing." Thomas turned away. "I'll be along soon."


For an age, Thomas sat by Sybil's bed.

He knew that he shouldn't be there; he should be downstairs, curled in his own bed, safe, asleep. But he couldn't leave. Sybil held his hand, wrapped up in her little fingers.

She lay in bed, hugging his hand to her heaving chest. Something had terrified the girl, and the vision of three grown men, dragging a corpse through the darkness had done nothing to calm her fears. Even in sleep, Sybil whimpered, tossing and turning, as though she were running from something – a monster that only she could see.

With each passing moment, Thomas' anxiety grew. Sooner or later, the girl's nanny would come to check on her, as she would do, each and every night. And she would find Thomas – a grown man – sitting upon the little girl's bed.

With a reluctant sigh, Thomas pulled his hand from Sybil's grasp. The girl cried out softly, but she did not wake. Silently, Thomas climbed to his feet. He stood over the bed, gazing down at the child's huddled form.

Don't do it. Don't.

Thomas rested his hand against the soft mattress. He leant down, careful not to disturb the child. Closing his eyes, he placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

It was the barest wisp of a kiss; more like a brush of lips against skin. But as Thomas pulled back, Sybil stilled beneath the blankets. Her breathing slowed, and her closed eyes ceased in their frantic fluttering. She sighed, and clutched Thomas' handkerchief just a little tighter.


It was a horrid sight.

The body lay upon the cold carpet, strewn like an animal awaiting the slaughterman. The arms, fleshy and fat, rested against the floor, the sausage-like fingers reaching out into the darkness. The man's skin was pale; in death, his sagging skin was a sickly grey. His lips were but small, brittle lines, mashed into his bulging face.

But it was his eyes that turned Thomas' stomach. As the man lay upon that carpet, his beady eyes gazed up at the under butler. Cold and empty.

Forever staring, unblinking.

Thomas ran.


So there it is. Please review guys, and I hope you all had a wonderful mother's day!