"Forgive me, where are my manners. Please, have a seat."
The phantom met Donovan's stare over the rim of the glass. He lowered the drink and smiled. "Think nothing of it. I hardly need an invitation to sit in my own home."
What an arrogant, obnoxious — His home? Donovan opened his mouth to give the ghostly figure the set-down he deserved then shut it almost as fast. I think I need another as well.
He filled his own glass again then watched, a bit surprised, as the spirit swallowed down the liquor. But then again, if this is a dream, he didn't really pour the drink, did he?
"A very nice brandy, your grace."
Donovan chuckled.
"Is something amusing?"
"I was just wondering what I should call you."
"You may call me your grace."
Donovan snorted. "Your grace indeed."
"I see your point. Very well, you may call me Past Duke," the specter said.
"Why should I call you Past Duke?"
"I'm the past you, or rather the you you should have been," he explained.
Donovan furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Isn't the past the reason you're sitting alone in this dungeon of a study on Christmas Eve? Aren't the events that took place, what happened between you and Delia, what didn't happen between you and Tess, the reason—"
Rage coursed through Donovan's veins, the memories once again clawing at his heart. He slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair. "Silence! Don't speak of them." With a trembling hand, he set the glass on the tray and stood. "I believe my imagination has been entertained enough for one evening. It's long past time for me to retire."
Past Duke rose slowly. "You don't think I'm real."
Donovan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His anger drained away, leaving him with a heavy heart. He had enough demons to fight without adding arguing with himself to it.
Past Duke drew his foot back and planted a hard kick to Donovan's shin, making him curse.
"Whyever did you do that?" he demanded, rubbing his throbbing leg.
"This isn't a dream. Although I'd be more than happy to punch you in the nose if you need more convincing."
Donovan glared at him. "I don't advise that."
"Avoiding me won't make me disappear. I'm here to grant you one wish."
"Then I wish for you to go away."
The room fell silent; the other him seemed to blur, become faint. The embers in the fire dimmed to no more than tiny sparks. Both candles went out. A draft swept through the fireplace, sending a chill through Donovan's body. He shivered.
"What the devil?"
The room fell black and the air stopped moving, forcing Donovan to draw in deeply to fill his lungs, making him dizzy. He tried to move but was frozen in place. Almost as if he'd been glued to the spot, as if the darkness was a prison.
Panic spiked through him. His sanity had clearly deserted him, leaving him trapped in this nightmare. Wake up. Wake up now.
Donovan seemed to be spinning, then suddenly the fire crackled to life and the candles again illuminated the study. He whirled around, searching the shadowy corners. Relieved no demons were lurking about, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Just as I suspected. A dream. A drunken hallucination, had to be. One that sobered me quite fast.
Conversing with myself. What a ridiculous notion. He retrieved the candle from the table. When he turned toward the door, Past Duke was there. Donovan's body trembled and his heart thumped erratically, seeming to skip more than beat. The lightheaded sensation from a few moments earlier returned with a vengeance, and he dropped to his knees. The monster blocking his exit was Death, come to collect him. He had to get out of there, get away before the demon took his life.
But isn't that what you want? To leave this world? Leave the loneliness of having lost all those you love?
The fear coursing through his body seemed to answer back, No! I want to live! Get up!
Past Duke tilted his face toward the ceiling. "Why did I think this would be easy?"
Donovan lurched to his feet and backed away. The vision of himself filled the doorway, the room, demanding his full attention. "W-what do y-you want from me?"
The ghost stalked him. "I want the same thing you want. The life I should have had — could have had, if you hadn't been such a fool."
"I-I-I don't understand." Donovan collided with the wall. His body shook so violently that his teeth banged against each other.
Past Duke stopped in front of him. "You will soon enough. You, my dear fellow, are going to go back to the past and fix it."
"Fix the past? Fix what?"
"You're going to set right what you did wrong."
"I've gone mad," he whispered.
"Your heart cries with the regret and sorrow from the past. I'm the person you should have been, still can be. But only if you can set the future on the right course," Past Duke said.
A shiver ran up Donovan's spine. "What foolishness is this? I beg you for mercy. Let me awaken from this nightmare."
"You've spent eight years punishing yourself far more than I ever could." Sorrow crossed the past duke's face. The lines on his brow deepened; his lips turned down slightly.
"So your intentions are to make my suffering worse?" Donovan snapped. No one needed to remind him of what he'd lost… what he didn't have.
"Of course not. I intend to send you back to Christmas Eve 1812."
Donovan hrumphed. "And how would that be?"
"Like this."
Past Duke shoved him hard in the chest, pressed so forcefully Donovan was sure the apparition's fingers touched his heart, causing it to momentarily stop. Then his thoughts ceased and darkness consumed him.
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Partridge and the Peartree Page 6