Window to the Past

Tairais: Curled up on a chair in the
corner of the library, and being as he was, Richard disregarded the sounds of
menacing hooves as best he could, fingers digging into the halls of the Chateau
d'If as the sound grew closer. He finally relented when the sound paused to a
halt in front of him, looking up with a glare in his eyes only to freeze as the
stag's crimson eyes bore into his.
He could feel the breath of the stag at his back, cooling the blood that now
coated it, and the rest of him, black in the moonlight. He turned around and
stumbled, the sounds of whooping soldiers in the distance a dissonant,
screeching melody against the backdrop of yet another burning home.
Their homes were always taken from them, they only had each other. They had
only had each other, and now they had no one, several miles, several years, and
six feet of earth between them.
He let out a ragged, hoarse shout of rage and grief, falling to his knees.
The library had become a forest made of shifting, writhing shadows, calling to
him, mocking him.
A gasp for air tore his gaze from the stag, heart pounding in his ears, bile
rising in his raw throat, tears trickling down his face. Snarling, he tore two
knives from within their compartment on his leg. Filled with rage and hurt, he
rose to lunge at the great beast and-
He slammed into the ground, using the body of the man he had been fighting
with. A bubbling gurgle escaped from where his throat had once been, and he
fell silent, eye lolling into the back of his head.
It was beautiful, he mused, the brutal savagery that gave way to art in the
eerie moonlight.
There was a single shift against the cobblestone street, and H- His
mentor- mentors, there had been two of them- stared at him blankly, the
faintest flicker of pride in the depths of maroon eyes from one, admiration for
his savagery in the other.
He felt ALIVE.
"Look at this, Ričardas. It is your art. Enjoy it, Ričardas."
His breath clawed its way out of his chest, leaving it hollow and empty as
he hunted the stag through the library. He ended up backed against a railing,
the stag suddenly turning to lower its head at him, driving him back. He
growled, clutching at weapons that would be of little use against the thing.
The stag stilled, raising its head to nudge pointedly behind Richard. His heart
plummeted in his chest as he heard familiar voices, memories overlapping each
other in their haste to torment him.
He didn't have to turn around to picture each one, clear in his mind as the day
they had happened. They weren't in order- they never were.~*~
"Thank you, darling Ričardas. Lavender is my favorite flower. What vase
should I use, do you think?" His mother, seconds before she
slipped away. He had turned away to place the flowers on the window, and in
that moment of inattentiveness, she was gone. An almost peaceful corpse, were
it not for her own blood staining her lips.
"I'll be all right, Ričardas, just take my coat and go!" Jack,
attempting to buy them time to right something that was entirely his fault,
lying crumpled on the ground, blood trickling from the single wound like
watercolor wings emerging from a single point. His kind, handsome face white
with steady lack of blood and contorted in horrendous pain: Elise had shattered
part of his back, but he could still feel. He would die watching him run, but
never see the conclusion. Perhaps that was a small mercy.
"Richardas?~ Look at me, mano numylėtinis. Look at me!" Elise,
hovering over his battered body. He had been screaming since he caught sight of
his left side, missing an arm and covered in knife wounds. His voice gave out,
and then he was screaming wordlessly, liquid fire poured over him. As it began
to bubble and eat away at the skin beneath, he fell unconscious, body covered
in the red sheen of his own lifeforce.
"Ričardas, I believe I have angered the wrong peop- My God, what
happened to you? What have you done?" Benediktas, barging frantically
in to his room to find him in a pool of his own blood, scratches gouged into
his one good hand in penance for the great crimes he had committed and would
continue to commit.
"Nononono, Ričardas, please, don't do this, you're better than
th-" Lillian, a broken, bloody mess by the time he had been
pulled off her by Jack. Her arms torn from their sockets, eyes caved in by
merciless thumbs, a Glasgow smile carved for all to see. She could no longer
see to do harm, and she finally had the joy she had never had in life. His
overwhelming hatred of himself as walls slammed into place, and the sickening
realization of just how wonderful it felt to right a horrid wrong. No, that
wasn't right. How wonderful it was to take a life, to make art out of the meat
left behind.
It wasn't Lillian. Elias, terrified and bleeding before him.
It wasn't Lillian. The urge to tear open Elias like a clock, to
find out what made him tick.
It wasn't Lillian. The fear of acting on those urges, and the fear
of falling in love with something so fragile. Elias' body faded from view
before long: The memory was too recent to want to claim his attention at the
moment.
~*~
The bodies behind him kept bleeding, and then so were the walls and the floor.
Everything burned, the scents of copper and smoke reaching past his throat to
dice his lungs into ash and grit. He stared fearfully at the Ravenstag, who now
watched him with cold indifference. It bellowed again, the sound thrumming in
his chest like a gong. Darting off, it left him to turn and stare down at the
corpses floating and bobbing like so many pieces of driftwood in a sea of
blood.
The area around him burned, the platform beneath him slowly crumbling. His
knives clattered to the floor below him with a sickening 'gloop' as they pushed
past the surface of the sea. Choking out a furious, panicked sob as wood
crumbled into the sea around him, he leaped into it, crawling back onto the
couch he had abandoned, which was now floating with corpses that reached for
him with hungry, accusing eyes. Blood coated all things, including himself: All
he could see and feel was a sea of red and black, the colors muting and warping
the longer he stared.
Silently, to gods he didn't believe in, Richard prayed for an end as searing
pain laced through his forehead and back. The antlers of the Wendigo carved
their own path to freedom through him, reaching and tearing through the sofa to
raise him above the blood as it rose.
Thankfully, there was still a single path- more of a well-worn dock than
anything, really- through the library. Thankfully- But was it thankfully that
someone could walk in on this display? At the growing amounts of blood and
corpses that manifested as each memory and nightmare he'd ever had claimed a
space in the room.
Let it end, he thought, let it finally be the end. Of what, he didn't know. The
past would haunt him forever, and he simply just couldn't keep running. He just
wanted it to end.
Jekyll1886:  Lewis
had gone to the Society's library to better familiarize himself with the
history and current state of occult and scientific knowledge of this realm,
hoping something would explain the recent spate of living dreams. He had
sequestered himself unobtrusively in a corner, several large, obscuring stacks
of books laid out about him. He had been deep in concentration when Richard had
entered; given the dim lighting, it was possible neither man had noticed the
other's presence.
The changing environment, however, had been much harder to ignore. He'd clung
to the shadows instinctively, trying to figure out what was going on--he'd
thought he'd been the only one in here!--when he'd spotted Richard. And the
stag.
The dreams--or, more's the truth, nightmares! he'd
realized. He had thought he'd be in the clear once he'd dealt with his own, but
such was not to be, apparently. Richard's presence assured that.
It occurred to him this was a fantastic opportunity to learn more about both
the nightmare-memory phenomenon and Dr. Prince.
He watched the ensuing scenes with eager fascination, a succession of
expressions flitting across his face in turn: satisfaction, wistfulness,
surprise, pity, recognition and ruefulness, inner laughter, shock and sadness
and a wisp of regret. Understanding.
Then, as the blood-dimmed tide began to rise, concern. Concern for Richard, as
the wood burned up around him. Concern for himself, as the crimson sea closed
in and swallowed him whole.
Oddly, Weir found he could breathe. He wondered why that was. Formulating a
theory, he tested his luck. As he did in his own dreams, he willed himself to
the surface, and came to rest gently upon it.
The view which greeted him was not what he had expected. Prince looked to be in
agony, perhaps mortally wounded. And the man--or figment of a man--Richard had
injured earlier was back, staring at the gory tableau. Lewis wondered what he
signified.
He shook himself clean in one fluid, head-to-toe motion. The dark liquid flew
free more by his desire to have a spotless waistcoat than by actual physics.
He strode over to Richard, leaving ripples where he walked on the sea of blood.
"Pardon me," he politely addressed the lofty patchwork Prince.
"May I proffer a suggestion?"
Decipherer:  For
the record, it had been Richard's cry out that had initially claimed Elias'
attention. With a concerned grumble and a brief question of where Artemis could
be at this time, he set off through the halls in search of the source.
At the bellow of the ravenstag, while he had still been seeking out the person
who had yelled out, he stopped in his tracks. All around, the walls, the
floors, everything warped and shifted from the warm tones of the Society to
stone walls and tundra and fierce jungle, anything and everything to get him to
pay attention to the world around him as it crackled with history, his history.
But still, he stormed on, with a far stronger determination than he'd had
before.
And he found it; he poked his head into the library, and his stomach churned.
The bodies, and the blood, and the stag- Elias desperately wanted
to help Richard, but that need was rapidly snuffed out by the sick feeling that
was creeping into his chest and throat. He couldn't help him, and he wouldn't
dare try, but still he hung in the doorway, gaze fixed on Richard solely
because, despite the man being coated with blood, he couldn't afford to look
anywhere else.
Tairais:  Richard's
head snapped up, a feral snarl escaping from the depths of his chest before he
could entirely stop himself. He did, however, freeze in place at the sight of
Lewis before him (and all he signified) unaffected, a similar memory flickering
to life like a mirage above the gory sea. His frantic gaze snapped to it, and
though the memory itself was silent, he himself was not, as he found forgotten
words pulled from his mind and vocal chords like metaphorical teeth from a
metaphorical mouth.
Pitch black. Richard's hands jerked at his side, unmoving. Everything was
black, the very air viscous in its darkness. A deafening silence crashed around
him, his heart thudding in his chest frantically, though he tried to look calm.
Tchck, tchck, tchck.
The cloying smell of carrion-filled breath reached his nose. He didn't
have to turn around to feel the stag's presence looming behind him; Goosebumps
raised in the flesh of his still-bleeding back as the tines of its antlers
hovered between each rib, over each shoulder-blade.
He struggled as his lungs clenched tight, a strangled sound unable to free
itself from his throat, breath falling out in ragged gasps to rest like bullets
on the floor. He twisted to the left. To the right. Anything to break free from
a sea of restless noise only he could hear. Panic clattered against his skull,
alarm bells ringing, his instincts shrieking at him to MOVE-
I can’t move! He wanted to yell.
Smoke curled into his nostrils, and he jerked away from the scent, eyes- no,
eye (When had he lost his false eye?) lolling back in its skull like some
skittish horse.
He yanked his face away again as hot smoke blew across his face, a hacking
cough rattling through his lungs. He jerked again, metal cuffs digging into
metal wrists, feeling more blood drip into the pools on the floor.
“This is far from amusing, H-------!” Had he said that out loud? (He had, and
it echoed in the library, his voice hoarse from shouts and screams)
He twisted again, searching for the unseen figure, feeling both his and the
stag's presence lingering near his side. “Release me!” He hissed, as metal
clanked against metal.
“H-------? W---?"
Hollow laughter rang against his ears with another cloud of smoke. A row of
snaggled teeth pressed into what remained of the flesh of his right arm.
His voice changed. While the accent and timbre were almost identical to his
yet, the voice was infinitely more calm, almost condescending. It only served
to highlight the bubbling rage underneath, just out of sight. His posture
reflected this as he stood up straight, snarl curling into a sneering grin.
"You belong to us now, Ričardas. You have always belonged to
your.. 'demons,' as you so called us. We were hardly planning on leaving
without you, our most treasured pupil."
A cold blade trailed down his side, pressing and pushing at flesh. Trickles
of blood followed once more, and he hissed out a startled, weary breath.
“You sold us your soul,”
A sickly voice howled somewhere, though it wasn't his. He was fairly certain
it wasn't his.
“You owe us your life.”
A sharp edge ticked up the side of his ribs, moments of this taunting
trickling into eternity.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Mm, yes, the quickest way to man’s heart. That was
to be our final lesson before your Becoming."
Fingertips tapped out a rhythm on his throat.
“How do you think Jack will feel when we leave your body on his steps?
Incensed by your betrayal? Or delighted with a renewed peace and quiet?”
Hot breath hovered above his mouth, mingling with the stench of decay that
clung to feathered fur.
“Five. Let’s find out, shall we?”
A pause for the words to sink in. Realization flickered on his face and he
blanched as his heart sunk like a stone in his chest.
“P-plea—“ When had his voice gone so frail?
A scream burbled out of Richard's throat as metal slid
between his ribs, tearing divots into his flesh that would stay forever, like
jagged craters against the pale face of the moon. Tears and blood ran in
rivulets down his chest, silent sobs shuddering his chest as liquid pooled at
his feet.
The stag then collected its penance, bone-bleached antlers unfurling in his
back and chest, growing through the hollows his (former) mentor, (His friend,
his betrayer, the betrayed) had painted across his skin. Whatever drugs he had
been given, they kept him awake, heart practically choking him as it thudded in
his chest, aware of every last blinding white spark of agony
The shapeless figure stood before him now, form flickering through many
visages as it smiled cruelly: Lewis. Artemis. Catt. Hen. Jack. Elias. Martha.
Benediktas. Elias. Lewis. Jack. H-------, W---. Elias again.
The dark voice chuckled amidst pained, whimpered gasps. He couldn't remember
when he had collapsed to the ground, nor when he had begun to clutch at his
chest, just over the heart, where the biggest scar laid.
He looked up at Lewis, dimly defiant eyes glazed over.
"Some doctor you are. You, who would see me Become myself, now is the one
to see me fall of your own accord."
In some corner of his mind, he realized Lewis had spoken, but he couldn't think
of a response past the ghostly feelings ricocheting in his chest and skull.
Jekyll1886: "I'm
afraid you've the wrong doctor, dearie," said Lewis, half joking, half
worried. He had been content to watch previously, but this recent turn of
events caused him concern. "But, as fascinating a window onto your
mind--and, apparently, rather colorful past--as this has been," he said,
kneeling next to Richard, careful not to touch him, "I think it's time we
brought it to a close. You're frankly not looking too well."
With that, the room went dark. A cold autumn breeze whipped up.
After a few moments, the wind calmed. The lights came back on.
Around them was the library, perfectly normal once more. Richard, Lewis, and
Elias remained where they had been. There was no injury, no blood.
Weir let out a relieved sigh.
"That's better," he pronounced. "How are you feeling,
Richa--"
He noticed Elias in his peripheral vision and stopped himself abruptly, head
snapping up to meet his gaze.
"What the bloody blue blazes are you doing here?" he asked in
surprise and its concomitant anger. He'd thought he'd banished this phantom!
Decipherer:  The
entire sight had left Elias a sick mess, and thoughts of 'he isn't safe to be
around' took the strongest hold in his mind. His face contorts into immediate
disdain at Lewis' words towards Richard, however - familiar as well, though in
a way he didn't quite catch on to - and he seems taken aback as Lewis addresses
him. "Excuse me?"
He walked across the library quickly and gently, so as to not startle Richard
and the... other one. Though part of him felt guilty that he hadn't helped
Richard, he knew better than to place himself in that environment.
Tairais:  Richard
couldn't help but flinch away from the pair of them, images of possibilities
flickering across reality for him, but not them, or at least he thought. He was
grateful for Lewis' intervention: Elias couldn't see them, and he didn't want Elias
to see them.
The picture was silent, save for the rumbling of shifting earth and
crackling flame against a scene painted in fire and twilight smoke. Two
familiar figures stood, embracing atop a cliff, one tall and gangly, antlers
sprouting from their head, the other only just smaller, coat billowing in the
breeze.
There was an air of quiet acceptance and soft grief in the world. A flash of
silver, the movement producing it gone and buried in the blink of an eye.
Slowly, gracefully, they fell, feathers falling away like wispy puzzle pieces
to merge with the sky above until nothing remained but smoke trailing ever
upwards.
That was his doing, the question remained: Why?
Mute, he thought to smile to reassure either of them, only to freeze as the
stag once again flickered into vision, almost mockingly. Where was it now? Was
it in his mind, or part of the nightmare-scape before him? Was it real this
time? He thought it was the first, but there would be no way to tell until one
of the others reacted.
Did Elias see the smoke twined around his throat and chest again? Did Lewis see
the blood clinging to his clothes, or the chains pooled at his feet, gleaming
in unseen moonlight?
He couldn't tell. The smile that twitched in the corners of his lips died there
too.
Jekyll1886:  "Richard..."
Weir said, his eyes open wider than normal and glancing from him to Elias and
back, "what is that phantasm still doing here?" He rose, interposing
himself between the two. We must stand at the ready, he thought
hurriedly. If that dream-devil is strong enough to withstand my
neutralization of Richard's nightmare, it must have quite the hold on him. Lewis
harbored a growing concern the hallucinatory figure, given that it had this
much substance, might actually hurt the man from whose troubled mind it had
sprung.
Decipherer:  "Phantas--!
I'm not one of his- I'm not part of that ... nightmare," he spat, scoffing
bitterly and huffing in extreme annoyance. This man is 'fascinated' by
Richard's nightmares, and yet he still pretends like he wants to help? Elias
wasn't fond of the two-faced, however hypocritical that thought was.
Jekyll1886:  "OhthankGod,"
Lewis more exhaled than spoke. He let out a nervous laugh, relieved. "Had
me worried." He looked the other fellow in the eye. "Lewis Weir, by
the way," he introduced himself. "I don't believe we've met."
Decipherer:  Elias
merely rolls his eyes at the introduction, looking visibly irritated that Lewis
was... talking at all, really. "Elias, and, uh, I don't think so,
no." How unfortunate we had to at all, his mind
continued.
Tairais:  About
the time Elias started talking, Richard managed to get his leaden tongue to
move enough to speak. For once in his life, the weary stutter he wore was
genuine: he found himself quite weary in the wake of
"Tai.. er, t-that is E-Elias. N-no.. g-ghost."
He felt (and was) rather pale, and he drew his legs and arms close, seeking
warmth that did not come as the sensation of being chest-deep in freezing water
seized his chest and made it rather difficult to breathe.
He didn't want to think, didn't want to move. Each movement would only be met
with metal restraints, each thought met with pain. He couldn't look at either
of them in that moment; Their respective symbolisms still surrounded them. His
heart clattered in his chest, three beats for every one step of the stag's
hooves, round and around in circles, just out of view.
Not for the first time, he felt far too old for a man not even thirty.
He rested his forehead against his knees and sighed, closing his eyes,
shoulders slumping in defeat but still coiled, prepared to deal with any sudden
onslaught of pain.
Jekyll1886:  "Well,
Elias, would you mind fetching a blanket and a glass of water?" He turned
and addressed Richard. "Unless you prefer we simply help you to your
room."
Tairais:  Richard
had to speak carefully to avoid slurring his already nigh-incomprehensible
words. A spark of irritation at himself lit his eyes before it too faded into
the soulful, glassy stare he had acquired during his... memories.
"I d-do.. n-n-not think it is t-the best idea f-f-or m-me t-to move at
p-present, t-truthfully." Was that truly his voice, so hoarse and cracked?
He fixed his stare on Elias, though he wasn't entirely sure what he hoped to do
or see. Was he looking for reassurance, or giving it? Asking to be comforted,
or comforting in return? He didn't know.
He didn't think he managed to hide the small, panicked expression that hid in
the press of his mouth and flash of his eyes when Lewis offered his suggestion.
Don't leave me, don't leave me. His chest and throat ached with the
strain of breathing normally. He was being irrational, and knew as such, and
yet...
And yet.
Jekyll1886:  Weir
followed Richard's gaze to Elias, then back. The realization sank in. He raised
an eyebrow, eyes half-lidded; a small smile crept across his face.
"Fair enough," he said to Richard. "I'll just go...grab those
couple of things, shall I? 'Be back shortly." With the air of a medical
professional, he turned to Elias to ask a rhetorical question: "Would you
stay here with him? I don't think it's wise for him to be alone at this
juncture."
Decipherer:  Elias
looks very clearly displeased at a) the idea of leaving Richard, and b) doing
anything that Lewis suggests. However, this melts into concern as he notices
Richard's staring.
Elias looks towards Lewis and simply nods in agreement. His gaze falls to
Richard, and albeit slowly, for fear of stretching some very recent stitches on
his side, he sat himself beside him.
Jekyll1886:  Lewis
popped his head back around the doorway to the library as a pertinent thought
occurred to him.
"Oh, and...one last thing, Elias," he advised him. "Do be
careful what you think in my absence, would you? I've taken care of his nightmare,
but not yours. Ta." With that, he was off.
Decipherer:  He
could be genuinely concerned, Elias considered. This
didn't last, however, and was promptly overlapped by other, more scornful
thoughts, and the decision that Lewis was to be added to the list of people to
actively avoid.
These thoughts only manifest in a very annoyed huff, however, and he shifts his
attention back to Richard. ".. That was unpleasant."
Tairais:  Richard
huffed a weary breath and flashed his twitching, stuttering smile. He couldn't
find the right words, in any language, to articulate his thoughts, and so he
said nothing, nodding in agreement instead.
Unpleasant was.. certainly a word for it. He felt drained, throat tight with
unshed tears, and that was what frustrated him the most. The past wouldn't stay
buried, no matter how much he tried. He just wanted to move on, to forget the
old self that was just under the surface of.. himself. He was tired, and he was
upset that he had become unsettled so easily.
".. 'm sorry you... h-had to see that" He winced at the pitiful,
hoarse tone of his voice. He had rather hoped to hide the true extent of his
dejection. His already taut shoulders seemed to tighten more: his mind still
expected to be berated for showing grief, and why shouldn't he be berated,
after everything else..
He sighed again and tried to tuck his limbs closer to his stomach to ward off
the hollow feeling within.
Decipherer:  Elias
knitted his eyebrows together and, after aborting the first few attempts, lays
a hand on his shoulder. Offering a small half-smirk-half-smile, he says,
"It's alright." A pause, and a slightly hesitated addition,
"There's nothing wrong with being sad, you know. You've been through a
lot."
Tairais:  Richard
gritted his teeth past the half-second of angry skittering that rippled down
his arm at Elias' touch before sighing and leaning ever, ever so slightly into
it, unaware he was doing so. He paused, considering.
"Not.. s-sad so m-much as... p-perhaps r-regretful or t-turbulent. I am..
m-more angry and h-hurt t-than sad."
Stoptalkingstoptalkingstoptalking. Elias is just going to do what they did,
no one loves you,, you're a broken toy that's been thrown off the shelf that
murdered it's owners for brutal treatment in a fit of irony. He all
but visibly forced his mind to quiet, restlessness seething behind a mask of
calm.
He pulled together some semblance of a smile, remembering his manners.
".. T-thank you, Elias." Small, painfully honest, disgusting. He
needed to stop thinking.
Decipherer:  His
gaze flickers across Richard's face, and he gives a thin smile. "Fair
enough, then." He wanted to help him- he wanted to make him feel less
alone, so, so badly. But, by his unfortunate inability to form the right words,
he said nothing at all.
He didn't think he'd be wishing for Lewis' return, and especially not so soon,
but here he was.
Jekyll1886:  Lewis,
meanwhile, had not only gathered a blanket and pillow but also assembled a tray
of crackers, water, and tea. He bore all these to the library, and entered with
a gentle "Here we are, then."
Decipherer:  Elias
gives a mirthless chuckle as he sees Lewis enter. Speak of the devil
and he doth appear, he thought. Regardless, he straightens out, eyeing
Richard on the opposite side of the couch with just a tinge of nervousness and
worry.
Jekyll1886:  Lewis
set the blanket and pillow between the two of them on the sofa, then turned and
set the tray on the low table. He handed the first two items to Richard with a
nod, then took a seat in the space they had occupied. "What would you care
for?" he asked, glancing to Richard and Elias in turn. There was a carafe
of water as well as a pot of tea on the tray, along with cups for each and a
plate of bland crackers. "I'll be Mother."
Decipherer:  He
mutters an "I'm fine" as he relaxes against the couch, still
observing Richard out of the corners of his eyes.
Tairais:  Despite
the gentle tone of voice, Richard still flinched away, curled up as far from
Lewis and Elias as he could be while still remaining on the couch. Taking a
deep breath to calm his racing heart, he exhaled softly, almost with a hiss
before murmuring an apology.
He was very tired, and equally strung-out.
== Obtained From ==
Nightmare, or Reality?
Nightmare, or Reality cont.
Category:Main Plot
Category:Halloween Special: Nightmare or Reality?