Mists of Midnight

by Pillow Michelle M.

  “Stillwell?” she mumbled.

  “Yes,” said Dougal.

  “No,” she said weakly in protest.

  “Imogen,” he reasoned. “How is it everything you look for is right where you would have it? When is the last time you had to look for anything—a hair ribbon you wanted, a lost bonnet?”

  “That proves nothing.”

  “Do you not justify things to yourself? When you first met me, you easily accepted me as your tutor without any real proof. You made me as you would have me be. And every time you would not deal with a problem, you fainted. Do you remember falling asleep too fast—only to awake not remembering how you got to bed? You were called to relive your death, as are we all for a time. Do you remember eating, or just looking at the food and then walking away?

  “I do remember eating,” she proclaimed. “I drank wine.”

  “Did you? And how did it taste?” he insisted. “Did it taste like wine?”

  “No, it tasted like my blood. I can taste it now. What have you done to me? You had Charlotte serve me blood?” asked Imogen in disgust.

  “Of course not!” snapped Dougal.

  “I spoke to my parents,” she said suddenly.

  “I thought you said you parents weren’t speaking to you. Did they speak to you, or through you?”

  “I saw Jane,” insisted Imogen. “I talked to my sister. And she talked to me. We had a full conversation.”

  “You did?” he said in surprise.

  “Yes.” Imogen nodded emphatically.

  “Mayhap her belief in you made her able,” answered Dougal, puzzled. His voice grew louder, “That I cannot explain. But you have to admit you only remembered things that you can handle happening. But it is time to face the truth. You need to face the truth. You’re like me.”

  “But, Jane,” protested Imogen. “I talked to Jane. She heard me, saw me. She would have said something.”

  “Imogen,” Dougal said. “Look in the mirror. See for yourself. You are a ghost. You didn’t survive your accident.”

  “I am not dead.” Numbly Imogen walked out of the library, wanting to prove him wrong, wanting to make him stop talking. Dougal followed her. Coming to the main foyer, she stopped by a wide mirror. She gazed at the floor, too frightened to turn.

  “Look,” ordered Dougal. He grabbed her by her arms and forcibly turned her around. Dropping his hands when she would jerk from his touch, he said, “See for yourself.”

  Imogen slowly raised her head. Tears already poured down her pale cheeks. The image that met her was as unfamiliar as a stranger. Her dark locks were tousled about her head, sticking up in spots, falling flat with matted blood in others. Trails of dried blood ran from her nose and ears and eyes, blending with the blood around her blue lips. Her skin was no longer the creamy pale of porcelain, but more of an ashen gray of death.

  The dried blood stretched down her throat in a red tattoo she knew might never come off. She was missing a kidskin glove. And her clothes had changed from the ones she donned that morning to a gown of fine muslin. The blue and cream dress was torn and tattered and caked with blood and dirt. The long ripped skirt fanned out from just beneath her breasts. The smooth charcoal and ash of her skin was overly exposed under the torn veil of lawn. The gaping material barely hid the top of her chest. And she could tell her feet were bare.

  Seeing a lump on the side of her neck projecting against her flesh from within, Imogen raised her bare fingers and touched her neck. She jolted in disgust as she felt the bony protrusion.

  “Your neck was broken,” explained Dougal quietly, “when the horse threw you.”

  “No.” She shook her head. The movement was stiff and awkward and unsupported. Imogen swallowed in disgust, her appearance grotesque. “This is a trick. I can feel that it is. You are making me see things. You lie to get me to stay with you.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “The demon that held back the dog… just moments before when I was on the forest floor… he didn’t take me because I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t dead yet. That I know is true. He was hunting Margaret. He looked into my eyes and I saw… I saw death. The dog wanted to take my soul to join the others, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t dead. I just couldn’t move. I was stunned. I am not dead. I walked back here.”

  “No, Imogen,” whispered Dougal softly. He wanted to reach for her, but knew his touch would not be appreciated. “It is true you were alive when the knight came by, but you did die. That is why you could not move. You were dying. Only when you were dead could you rouse.

  “I found you in the forest, lying on the ground. You were so dazed. You couldn’t speak. Can’t you remember? I carried you home and put you in bed.” Dougal placed his hand hesitantly on her shoulder. “I sat by you all that night as you thrashed about. You didn’t want me to leave you. And when you spoke, you said you saw a demon. You said you knew who he was. You said the beast wanted you. Imogen, you said you knew how to kill it!”

  “No,” she began.

  “Don’t you see Imogen,” declared Dougal eagerly. “You faced him and survived. No one has ever been as you have and lived to tell. You told me you looked into the beast’s eyes. You said he would come back. You said you knew his secrets!”

  “No,” she wept in denial. Her shoulders shook. She didn’t have the strength to throw off his hand. She turned to the mirror, staring at the horrible image she projected.

  “The next morning when you awoke you disappeared. I looked for you and couldn’t find you. Then, after about three months, you would appear to me. But you never saw me or if you did you never spoke.” Dougal pulled her around gently to face him. Her face was horrible in death, yet he could still see the traces of her beauty. Her pain tore at his heart, but he knew it was time for her to realize the truth. “And then I came across you in the garden. I didn’t think you could see me, since you had been blocking me out for so long.”

  Imogen couldn’t answer. Her gaze fell to his lips, handsome and solid. She could remember the feel of them against her. Entranced by his words, she listened through the fog-covered veil of her emotions.

  “I tried to ignore you like before. But you motioned as if you saw me. I never dreamt that you would speak to me again, but you did. Only you didn’t remember me. You didn’t remember what had happened. You just went about your life, convinced in what you believed was true.” Dougal sighed heavily. He waited for her reaction. It felt so good to finally speak of the truth to her. He had wanted to tell her so many times, but knew that if he pushed her she might again disappear and he might not get another chance to see her. When she didn’t readily speak, he became fearful that he had pushed past the limits of her sanity.

  Suddenly, she jerked, pulling out of his grasp. “Why did you lie to me? If what you said is true, you could have told me. But, no, you just let me believe I was alive. You’re sick. You’re using me for your own gain!”

  “No, Imogen. It is not like that.”

  “If I am dead, then it is you who killed me. I will tell you what I remember. I remember Margaret laughing and spooking my horse. I remember you trying to grab me and yank me to the ground. Well, maybe you succeeded after all. If what you say is true, then you killed me—you and Margaret. The demon only came afterwards to see what you had done.”

  Dougal paled. He didn’t know what to say. He had never thought she would blame him. “Don’t think like that.”

  “You said that you would leave if I asked it of you,” she stated bitterly. “I held up my end of the bargain. I went to the forest.”

  “Don’t send me away,” he protested. His eyes pleaded with her. Imogen was hardened to them. “Just give yourself time to calm down. When you are thinking clearly you will see that everything will work out. With what you know we can defeat the demon, and with the demon gone, we can be together. There is no living and dead issue between us. All we need is each other. We’ll be a family. Everything I ever dreamt of will be right here—Margaret, you, me. We’ll be together
.”

  “I don’t know any secrets. I don’t know how to kill the demon,” Imogen said truthfully, drawing herself up. She hardened her features to him. Lifting her chin in the air, she declared, “And I want nothing to do with you. I had a full life. I had a family. You took that away from me.”

  “No, please—”

  “I do not believe your audacity in suggesting you could ever replace them,” she seethed. The anger felt good. At least it was an emotion besides pain. “If your plan was to find a mother for Margaret and a wife to help ease the torment of your eternity, then you killed the wrong woman. If there is any shred of honor in you, you will get away from me and never, ever come back. I hate you. I curse you. I curse the day I saw you. Damn you, Dougal. Damn you to hell!”

  Instantly, Dougal flashed before her face beneath the blast of her outrage. There was no fading, no warning. Just instantaneously, he was gone.

  Imogen gulped angrily for air. She refused to turn to the mirror, appalled that the creature in it could even remotely be her. She didn’t believe Dougal’s nerve. She didn’t know why he thought to try and trick her. What did he have to gain? She would know if she were dead. She would be able to feel it, and she didn’t imagine death felt like the unyielding pain that now covered her body.

  Running through the house, Imogen found herself standing before Jane’s bedroom door. She could hear her sister moving around inside. She would ask Jane what had happened. Jane would have all the answers.

  * * * *

  Margaret shivered violently as a cold breeze swept over her skin. Looking around the shallow cave, she couldn’t tell where she was. The cave was not familiar to her.

  Her eyes pierced the darkness. She was alone. Along the stone wall, she saw what could only be described as ancient writing scribbled along the jutting rock. Past the scrawl was a thin veil of light. Slowly, she made her way forward to try and escape the cave. But, as she tried to pass the writing, she struck an invisible wall and was thrown back onto the ground. Stunned, she realized she couldn’t move. She was trapped.

  * * * *

  Imogen pushed through Jane’s bedroom door without knocking. Her sister jumped up in surprise from her writing desk. Imogen said nothing as she eyed her sister’s face. Jane’s features drained pale with fright.

  “Imogen?” Jane pressed back from her older sister, seeing the anger in Imogen’s distorted face. “I didn’t expect you.”

  Imogen watched Jane’s reaction carefully. Her sweet little sister’s expression unfurled nausea deep inside her gut.

  Taking a deep breath, Jane tried to smile. She pretended she didn’t see the dazed and battered version of her sister before her. Speaking as she had when Imogen first appeared to her, she said conversationally, “I’m glad you came, sister. I must speak to you. Tell me, have you been taking out the horses? Mother is quite upset by it. She thought that they keep escaping on their own and ordered locks placed on the stable doors. But when they escaped again and the locks were still there, she neared hysteria.”

  Imogen tilted her head to the side. She panted, a horribly garbled sound, listening to the soothing tone of Jane’s comforting voice. Jane always calmed her down. She felt the tension leaving her body. The pain began to lessen.

  Jane smiled prettily and sighed in visible relief. Imogen’s head began to straighten by degrees. Her skin blossomed with color until the ghostly pallor was replaced by porcelain flesh, stained with a hint of delicate pink roses.

  “It is very wicked of you to scare mother like that,” admonished Jane gently, continuing with her conversation. She smiled at her sister to ease the reprimand. “I know you are angry with her, but really, do you think it fair to unnerve her so?”

  “Mother?” Imogen asked hoarsely.

  “Yes,” Jane answered, nodding. She ignored the harsh, grating sound of Imogen’s voice.

  “She… here?” asked Imogen in gruff pants through pale lips.

  “Yes, she has been here,” Jane said. She was pleased to find her sister’s gown growing to be replaced by a fresh looking green one of simple print. “I thought mayhap you were letting out the horses to scare her.”

  “No,” Imogen mumbled with a grim shake of her head. She crossed over to sit on Jane’s bed. Her eyes were dazed as she studied her sister. Jane looked so fresh and beautiful, but she looked older than she remembered her being. Hearing her sweet sister’s voice, it would be so easy to forget what Dougal had said to her.

  “Oh,” returned Jane, easily changing the subject when she saw her sister was not going to speak. “I don’t know if you have heard, but mother and father are moving back to London. They wish to keep an eye on Harriet and Edward. It seems there was almost a most disastrous scandal. Edward was seen coming out of another woman’s home very early one morning. I am so glad you did not marry him, though I feel terribly sorry for Harriet. She, naturally, does not believe a word of it and is standing by him.”

  Imogen only listened. She blinked as she stared at her sister’s moving mouth.

  “The Colonel and I will be living here soon after the wedding,” continued Jane. “I insisted upon it and he, having admitted to always loving this estate, readily agreed to let me have my way. I do hope you will be staying here. I should love to have you around.”

  “Jane,” Imogen finally broke in. Her gaze darted from her sister’s mouth to her eyes. “Am I dead?”

  Jane gasped in surprise. Biting her lips she looked away and then back again.

  “Jane,” repeated Imogen, her tone growing by small degrees. “Did I die?”

  “There was the accident,” Jane said weakly. Tears came to her eyes at the memory. She was forced to turn away from Imogen’s suffering.

  “And—?” Imogen prompted when Jane would not proceed.

  “The investigator examined you and said you struck you head on a branch when riding. You snapped your neck in the fall and struck your head on the ground.” Jane sniffed. “They said you felt no pain, that it was quite sudden. It was, wasn’t it?”

  Imogen, seeing her sister’s agony over this point, nodded. She felt no guilt over the lie. Jane did not need to know the truth.

  “I am so glad,” Jane said in relief. “We searched for you after your horse was discovered without you. I had nightmares of you lying on the ground, dying for hours. I would swear you called out to me to help you. Mother got so distressed, she sent me away to Harriet.”

  Imogen stood, moving instinctively to hug her sister. She leaned over and wrapped her arms about Jane’s shoulders. Her limbs fell through her. Imogen frowned, standing.

  Jane gave her a sad smile. “So you will stay, won’t you? Last time you left in such a hurry, I thought that you might never come back.”

  “Yes,” Imogen whispered in a daze. Her eyes were hollow and far off as she watched Jane. It was true then. Her death had been an accident. She could see that now. She could remember. It was as Dougal said. Her horse had been spooked by her reactions to Margaret. And Margaret wasn’t to blame. She was just a child searching through the mist for her parents. No one was to blame but herself.

  Imogen’s knees weakened. Dougal had tried to stop her horse. He had tried in vain to save her life. After she fell and had died, he had found her spirit and carried her to her bed. She could remember it now. His voice had been so caring, so kind. He had stayed with her, holding her as she screamed in fear. Part of her fell in love with him that night.

  “Fear,” mumbled Imogen.

  Jane cocked her head in confusion.

  “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid?”

  “What?” asked Imogen, looking blankly at Jane. For a moment she forgot where she was. With an eerie calmness, she muttered, “No, Jane. Do not worry about me. I must go now. But I will try to come back to you. And if not me, I will send you a message.”

  “A message?” inquired Jane, growing fearful at the ominous feel of her sister’s words. There was too much of a finality to them.

  “There
are others here, sister,” Imogen said with a kind smile. “Do not be fearful of them. They are as lost as I was. Speak to them if you see them. If they do not answer, then ignore them as they do you. However, you might not see any of them. It is hard to say or explain. Just know that I love you and go now to make sure this house is safe for you and your husband.”

  “Safe?” asked Jane, fearfully.

  “Have no fears, sweet sister.” Imogen felt herself fading. It was a strange sensation, but natural and she did not fight it.

  “Imogen,” Jane gasped, rising from her chair. Imogen saw her hand reach out to her. “I love you.”

  Imogen nodded, smiling brightly at her sister as she faded completely from view.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Imogen’s sprit drifted instinctively through the manor and gardens looking for Dougal. She could feel her body glide with the ease of air. She passed through walls and furniture, through bushes and trees. She could feel the life in everything around her. It was splendid and sweet. It was freedom. But with the freedom came a longing so great it nearly ripped her in two. For she would never again be a part of the beauty she passed.

  Slipping once more to the library with ease, she frowned. She could not find Dougal anywhere. And if he had really moved on, she would have to spend eternity alone. Imogen stopped in the library. She felt her body form by the mere suggestion of her will. Walking across to the window, she turned to call to him as she had before.

  “Dougal, come out. I need you,” Imogen said clearly. She watched the chair hopefully, never allowing herself for a moment to doubt that she would find him. He didn’t appear. Louder, she yelled demandingly, “Dougal, come here!”

  Striding across to the foyer, she stopped before the mirror. She hesitated slightly before turning to look in it. The creature was gone, replaced by the near transparent image of her face, as she knew herself to be. Standing in the approximate place she had stood when she banished Dougal from her, she ordered, “Dougal, come back to me. Appear to me now!”