Chapter 41 Sleeping Together 3
Elaine's feet padded slowly across the unfamiliar house, each step echoing against the high ceilings. The stairs were grand, impossibly large, their intricate designs carved on the beautifully Polished wooden floors. The floor below was a patchwork of beautiful paths, though now, the grandeur seemed hollow, a shell of what it once had been. Large chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals catching the dim light, nearly brushing the floor. But the splendor was marred, broken chandeliers, shattered glass scattered everywhere, and remnants of what seemed like a party abruptly ended. The air smelled faintly of dust and something sharper, something metallic. Elaine's eyes couldn't ignore the blood, splattered across the floors and walls in mournful streaks.
She walked down the staircase with cautious steps, unsure of where she was heading. At the foot, two massive double doors with golden handles stood before her. She lifted her hand, ready to open them, when she noticed a figure nearby. Allan. Yet, oddly, she could barely see him he was there, and not there, as though the dream had blurred his presence. Subconsciously, she recognized him, but she couldn't act on it. Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed open the doors. Beyond lay a vast back garden, strange and serene amid the chaos. Two swings, adorned with delicate flowers, swayed gently in the wind. Allan followed silently behind her, saying nothing.
In the garden, Elaine's gaze fell on a young girl, maybe seventeen, sitting alone on a swing, rocking herself slowly. Her hair was black and straight, parted neatly in the center, cascading down her back, adorned with delicate ornaments, her fingers toyed absently with her neck as she swung. Elaine approached cautiously, Allan trailing behind her silently. The girl slowly turned revealing her face, Elaine gasped. Her neck bore a deep, horrid slit, and blood seeped freely, soaking her beautiful silk dress. The sky above darkened as if mourning, clouds thickening and heavy, promising a storm. The scene was eerily familiar an exact replay of a dream she had days agobbut this time, instead of waking, she was thrown further into another, darker reality. Around her, chaos reigned, houses were set ablaze, screams echoing, fire consuming everything in sight, children and people alike caught in the inferno. Smoke and the acrid scent of burning flesh clung thickly to the air. Elaine remained close, silent and frozen, unable to speak or act, as Allan stood behind her.
Elaine's eyes caught a smaller building further away, swallowed by flames. She almost looked away, but then she saw the same girl again. This time, there was no slit on her neck. Tears streaked her face as she banged on the window, fire licking dangerously close around her. Elaine stepped carefully toward the building, hesitant but compelled, each movement slow and deliberate. The girl placed her right palm against the window which was covered in dust and ash coating the glass. Elaine mirrored the motion, also placing her palm on the dirty surface of the window. Then, a sinister smile spread across the girl's face and mirrored itself across Elaine's own. In an instant, the flames engulfed the girl completely, leaving her charred, unrecognizable which made Elaine let out a scream that tore through her throat as she jolted awake.
She gasped for air, sweat clinging to her skin, hair plastered to her face. Her hands and feet moved frantically. Allan calm and composed, slowly opened his beside her, his hand still tightly gripping her wrist where his mark was etched. He noticed her trembling with fear and other unexplainable emotions which made him hesitantly hold her around shoulders, and patted her head gently. "It's okay, it's just a dream," he murmured, his calm voice a fragile anchor in the storm of her panic. Elaine buried her face into his shoulder, hot tears streaming freely despite her desperate efforts to stop them. It took several long moments before she could even begin to steady herself. She looked up at him, seeing the imprint of his mark on her wrist. She flinched lightly, and he loosened his grip, giving her space on the bed.
"Do you remember the dream?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't.
"I-I" she tried to speak, her voice shaky, red-rimmed eyes lifting to meet his.
Elaine shook her head slowly, weakly. "No… not really."
"What happened in it?" she asked again, trying to summon any fragments of memory. Allan explained patiently, detailing the nightmare, the fires, the girl, the chaos. But even as he spoke, it felt unreal to her a story she had somehow lived and forgotten.
"So, the spirit… did she die in the fire? Or her neck…?" she asked, confusion shadowing her pitiful features.
"That's not exactly it," Allan said, calm and measured.
"Well, dreams aren't perfect. They're puzzles… pieces missing, always needing to be fixed."
"So we don't know if the spirit actually died?"
"Not yet," he said, his tone soft, almost distant.
Elaine glanced at the broken clock, it's hands frozen. "What time is it?"
"How do you expect me to know?" he replied. She peered around the room there were no windows, only darkness, enveloping them. "I suppose I won't dream again now, since I've woken," she muttered.
"I think I should head back to my dorm," Elaine suggested.
Allan looked at her slowly before saying
"Don't, it's almost dawn" she finally decided to remain in the room, the darkness pressing around them, a shared quiet keeping them company.
They sat together, silence broken only by the faint echo of a heartbeat, which belonged Elaine, that was when she realized his heart wasn't beating at all. "Why are you helping me?" she asked, looking forward, avoiding his eyes. Allan sighed, resting his head against the headboard, saying nothing. She asked again, this time turning to him, sincerity and gratitude etched across her face.
"Let's just say… I need something from you," he finally admitted.
"And what is that?" she asked.
"You'll know eventually," he said. "Not now."
Elaine tilted her head, eyes narrowing, trying to pierce his calm exterior. "What exactly are you, Gwen, and Horace?"
"I'll tell you… sometime later. Not now."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going back to bed," he said, covering himself fully with the blanket, even though sleep wasn't necessary. Elaine studied him for a moment, then lay back herself. He held her wrist again, the mark still fresh. "Just in case you fall into another dream state," he said, and Elaine shivered, both from the memory of her nightmare and the weight of his words.