This is just a little, emotional addition I wanted to write, to break up the night's misery, and the drama that is sure to follow with the dawn's light. This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Davy Tex, about how, hopefully, in Season 4, Thomas will grow kinder towards those around him. As we have seen in the tail end of S3, Anna obviously does care for Thomas, even after all the grief he has given Bates. And although she was less than warm towards him after John's homecoming, she has a place in her heart for him. And obviously, a lot has happened in the eight years since Sybil's death; Anna, at least in my story, DOES 'know what it is to cry'. I know this is a short chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it.
I thought I might take this opportunity to respond to some of my Guest reviews, since I can't PM you guys. For those who this doesn't concern, sorry about the tangent! ;D This is a little difficult, since so many of you are just 'Guest', but here goes – I hope you love your new nicknames!
LesGuardians: I'm so glad you think the references are 'cool'. I don't usually take reffs from other movies, but sometimes, you just think, 'what the hell?'
Scrobette: Hey! It's great to hear that you think this story is superb. Trust me, I also desire for Thomas to be happy – I hate to see him so sad. I promise, I'll try to update more frequently!
Lyra500: You're welcome ;D
Sorry! Now, to the story...
He couldn't move. He was unable to find strength; even the insignificant amount needed to pull his trembling hand from the door knob.
Thomas could hear James, now. As he stood alone in the cold and empty corridor, confronted with a seemingly never-ending row of white wooden doors, he could hear his gentle sobs. With laboured breath, Thomas gazed down with unseeing eyes at the old and worn carpet. But he didn't notice the carpet.
All he saw was the face of Jonathan Higgs, cold and pale and lifeless. Those horrid eyes – eyes that reminded Thomas of something he might find peering at him from the shadows beneath a bed – would never blink, never flutter in the sunlight. He saw James' face there too; frightened, tear-stained, like a child's. He remembered the shaking of his hands, as the footman grasped the wrists of the corpse. He felt a cold needle thread down his back, at the memory of Alfred's eyes, wide and wary and repulsed.
Thomas crumpled to the ground. Gasping now for air, he buried his pounding head in his clammy hands. The tension and apprehension the night had pumped through his veins washed over him. His body was suddenly overcome with a crippling fatigue. And so, crouching on the floor, shrouded in the shadows, Thomas moaned.
"Thomas?"
Startled, yet unwilling to rise from his defeated slouch upon the floor, Thomas peered through his fingers. The voice, although familiar, was soft and distant. His weary eyes travelled slowly down the darkened hall. The Great Door stood, securely bolted for the night. Even in the dim light, through the panel of thick, frosted glass, the under butler thought he saw a flash of light.
"Thomas?" came the call once more. "Is that you?" Soundlessly, Thomas stood. He crept down the carpeted hall, never taking his eyes from his feet. He placed them carefully, one before the other, avoiding the places that he knew would shriek. As he approached the sacred door, he caught another glimpse of that bright and burning flash. It was candle; someone was waiting for him.
"Thomas?"
And that someone was Anna. With a confused scowl, Thomas wiped away his tears. He sniffed, fighting to drain the emotion from his voice.
"Anna," he murmured. "What are you doing?" There was shuffling behind the door.
"I…I heard you," she replied softly. Her voice was awkward, and yet, full of concern. "I heard you… crying." Thomas' cheeks burned red. Although he knew that Anna could not actually see him, he turned away.
"What is it to you?" he muttered. He heard Anna give a saddened sigh.
"I care, Thomas," she replied after a moment. "I... I know what it is to-,"
"To what?" Thomas spat, perhaps with more venom than he'd intended. Glancing around, he lowered his voice. "To be different - so different - that people turn away from you in the street?" Anna was silent, and so, Thomas pushed on.
"To be spat at, and hated?" he hissed. He placed his fist gently against the whitened wood. "To be doomed to a life searching for the happiness that you know you can never find?"
Through the misty pane, he watched as Anna raised one slender, shaking hand, and rested it against cool glass. Thomas could see her fingers, spread apart ever so slightly, waiting.
"No, Thomas," she whispered. "I don't know what it is." He lowered his fist.
"All I was going to say," Anna continued, "is that I know what it is to cry."
Slowly, Thomas stepped away from the door.
"I know," he whispered.
Please guys, some new reviews would be wonderful!
