Losing You, Chapter 6
Jun. 2nd, 2012 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crossover_chickThe penultimate chapter!
Chapter 6
March 17th, 1875
Burtonsville, England
7:14 P.M.
The carriage was absolutely silent as they started the journey back to Burtonsville. Victor had thought his parents – or at least, his mother – would be going on and on about Victoria getting married to someone else, but they weren’t saying a word. Instead, they were just sitting there, glaring at him. Victor was almost starting to miss being yelled at. Anything would be better than those unrelenting stares.
He tried to ignore them, looking out the window at the passing scenery. He didn’t know what was expected of him now. Should he say something? What could he possibly say? “I’m sorry Victoria’s married to someone else, but they thought I was dead?” “The Everglots would have never let her marry me now anyway?” “She’s happy with Mr. Lloyd now and I can’t change that?” He sighed. And he’d thought his conversation with Victoria had been awkward.
Nell finally broke the silence. “You. Have ruined. Our lives.”
“Mother--”
“The Everglots were related to grand dukes at one point! They were the cream of the social crop! If we’d had their name connected to our own, we would have had everything one could ask for! And now, we’re going to be eternally known as the family who threw away a marriage to one of the best noble families in England!” She pointed violently at him with her fan. “All because you decided a corpse would be a better bride than a living woman!”
“This is not going to be good for business, Victor,” William added, voice surprisingly hard. “We have a reputation to uphold. It’s bad enough that we’ve lost a connection with the nobility. If people hear about your – tastes, it might cause them to stop buying our products. And then where would we be?” He shook his head. “I’m very disappointed in you, son.”
“Father, I have n-no intention of spreading the story any f-further than necessary,” Victor told him. “And I told you, I’m not like that. You needn’t worry.”
“Poppycock,” Nell snapped. “If you weren’t, you’d forget your ‘corpse bride’ ever existed.”
Victor bristled. “I’m not going to do that, Mother. I can promise not to t-talk about her to others, but I’m not going to forget her. She deserves to be remembered.”
“No she doesn’t! She was a sick delusion on your part! If you cared about us at all, you’d wipe her from your mind! Start fresh so we might still have some chance of making a decent marriage with you!”
“Mother, she existed! She was murdered! I helped set her free! It would be beyond d-disrespectful for me to pretend she n-never was!” He clasped his hands in front of him. “W-why can’t you be satisfied with me being quiet? Why can’t I j-just remember in peace?”
“Because we don’t want you to have a relapse! If you keep thinking about it, who’s to say you won’t try marrying another corpse one day? It won’t do, Victor, it just won’t!”
Victor looked back out the window. It was no use arguing – once his mother made up her mind, there was no hope of changing it. But this wasn’t something he was going to back down on. Emily’s memory was too important.
Emily. . . .
Where is she now? Victor wondered, as the silence and the glaring resumed. What happened when I set her free? Did she go somewhere else when she burst into butterflies? Or was that just a fancy way of returning to the Land of the Dead? And if it was the latter. . .
Could I possibly see her again?
Victor felt a strange warmth in his stomach upon thinking that. Seeing Emily again. . .seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, feeling her arms wrap around him. . . . He’d like that. He missed her – that was part of the reason he was clinging to her memory. And he wanted to make sure she was happy. She’d seemed happy enough that night in the church, but he wanted to be certain of it. Had his near-marriage to her truly satisfied her need to be a bride? Or was she still waiting for someone to ask for her hand?
And – if she was still waiting – would she possibly take him back?
For a moment, Victor was surprised with himself. Was he really thinking of trying to propose marriage to her again? That had worked out so well for him the last time. . . . And if anything was going to convince his parents he was indeed a necrophiliac, that would be it.
But then again. . .what was left for him up here? Just like before, Victoria was married – and this time, she wouldn’t be slipping into any churches in an attempt to escape from her horrid new husband. She was truly lost to him forever now. And his parents would probably like nothing more than their “insane” son to disappear off the face of the earth. He had no friends in the town, nothing really holding him to this plane of existence. And he knew now that death was nothing to fear. In fact, it was practically to be welcomed. Below was color and enthusiasm and excitement. He had no doubts his friends Downstairs would welcome him back warmly. He caught himself smiling as he pictured Mrs. Plum fussing over his eating habits, or Bonejangles clapping him on the back and trying to convince him to play with the Bone Boys. It would be nice, to feel so loved. And if he could be with Emily. . .
Victoria had been right. He loved Emily, and he would have been happy to marry her. Death had not seemed frightening at all with her by his side. He could picture their – afterlives? – together still. Sharing a coffin at night. . .welcoming new arrivals. . .playing with Scraps, talking with Maggot and Black Widow. . .playing piano together. . .and on their anniversaries, he’d take her up to the Land of the Living for a night so they could dance together in the moonlight. They’d be happy together, he was sure of it. And he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone telling him he was mad, or that the dead couldn’t rise, ever again. The afterlife would be – maybe not peaceful. The dead seemed to enjoy their parties too much for that. But it would be full of fun, and joy. And he’d have someone he loved, and who loved him in return, by his side for the rest of eternity.
He nodded slightly to himself, his mind made up. Once they got home, he’d slip away to the woods and look for Emily’s hand again. And then he’d do his best to convince her they deserved a second chance.
***
The trip home felt like it took an eternity, but finally they arrived back in Burtonsville. After sharing yet another awkward tea with his parents (in which they discussed getting in yet another doctor), Victor managed to slip away and head for the woods. He was very careful not to let anyone see him – if the town crier caught wind of what he was doing, everyone in the village would probably want to burn him at the stake. Not that Victor particularly cared what they thought of him anymore, but it was better not to invite trouble.
He made it over the bridge and into the forest successfully, and began following the old path that had taken him to Emily’s final resting place. His heart beat faster as he neared it. How would he greet her? What would he say? What would she say? Would she be able to take him down to the Land of the Dead again? Was there a way for him to finalize his vows to her without visiting the Land of the Living? Or, if they had to go back Upstairs, did they have to do it in the church?
Vows! He didn’t have a ring! Did that matter? Would merely saying the vows without slipping a ring onto her finger do the trick? Should he go back and find a ring? No – if I go back, there’s too much chance of getting caught, he said to himself, crossing the frozen stream. I’ve got to try it without first. Oh, I wish I’d thought of that sooner. . . . Still, maybe it’s not necessary. We’ll see, won’t we?
He climbed up through the old graveyard and looked around. Now, where – aha! There was the stump he’d pretended was Lord Everglot! And nearby, the old branches he’d used as a stand-in for Lady Everglot! He was right where he needed to be! Victor grinned. “Emily?” he called. “Emily, I’m back!”
No answer. Well, it was probably silly to hope for one just yet. He needed to wake her up first. He turned around slowly, orienting himself. The stump. . .the branches. . .the tall, tall trees where the ravens had perched. . .the old oak tree. . .and underneath, a few curling old vines, and –
And. . .
Victor stared. There were just a few dead plant stalks beneath the twisted trunk of the old tree. That was it. No sign of a reaching hand at all.
Victor spun around again. Was he in the wrong spot? No, he recognized all of this! It was all as it should be, except for Emily’s hand! He fell to his knees and scrambled through the dirt at the base of the tree. There wasn’t even any hint that Emily had been there at all. But – but that’s not right! This is where she died! Her hand should still be here! Unless someone’s dug her up, or buried her again with her hand down, or –
Or if it was only reaching out when she was looking for a husband.
Victor looked back at what he supposed was Emily’s final resting place. He’d always considered it a bit odd that her hand had been sticking up like it had. Who buried someone with their hand reaching out to passers-by? It seemed terribly sloppy, and not likely to happen even if someone – like a vicious murderer – had been in a rush. Granted, by the time he found her, her hand had been covered with dirt and debris, making it look like nothing more than branches – but he wasn’t the only one who came into these woods. Surely, if her hand had decayed above ground, someone else would have found her first? Or an animal would have made off with the errant limb as a snack?
Thinking about it now, though. . .he knew magic was real. There was no other way to describe how Elder Gutknecht had gotten them back to the Land of the Living with just a raven’s egg. And Bonejangles had said explicitly in his song that “she made a vow lying under that tree/that she’d wait for her true love to come set her free.” Maybe – maybe her vow had been a kind of magic. A contract of sorts, allowing her to rise again once she received the proposal she so hoped for. And since it was hard to propose to empty earth, the magic had made her hand protrude, protecting it until the right person came along and slipped a ring on her finger. It made some sort of sense. . . .
But why is it gone? part of his mind protested. She never got married! Our wedding proved to be null and void! Shouldn’t she still be waiting?
The song echoed through his skull again. “Come set her free. . . .” She hadn’t been waiting for a husband, exactly. She’d been waiting for someone to free her. Maybe she hadn’t realized that when she’d said the words, but. . . . He thought about what she’d said to him in the church, before returning his ring: “You set me free.” And Elder Gutknecht had confirmed that – he’d helped her see her murder avenged, and her murderer brought to justice. And – he’d shown her that love really existed? How had he done that? He’d spent most of their time together running from her or insulting her!
But. . .he’d apologized for that. He’d shared a piano duet with her. And he’d shown her that he was willing to give up his life for her. He’d shown her he wouldn’t abandon her like Barkis had. Not to mention he’d let her walk to the altar as a bride, even if she didn’t walk away someone’s wife. He’d given her everything she’d truly wanted, hadn’t he? A chance to love and be loved again, even briefly. And the opportunity to ensure that what had happened to her would not happen to another. He hadn’t just set her free from her vow – he’d set her free from her doubts, her fears, her past. So when she’d turned into butterflies. . . .
They hadn’t been a fancy way of returning to the Land of the Dead. Elder Gutknecht would have told him if that were the case. No, when he’d set her free, her soul had gone someplace else. Heaven, maybe? Or maybe she’d become a part of nature. Maybe a sliver of her soul was in every blue butterfly she’d dissolved into, free to wander wherever she wanted, free to see the world. He kind of liked that thought. Either way, she’d left anything resembling a mortal body and mortal cares behind. Which included the need for a husband.
The need for him.
He sighed and stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants. He knew he could still technically go ahead with his plan. Killing himself would bring him back to his other friends Downstairs. But – it all felt rather hollow, knowing he wouldn’t see Emily again. And now he didn’t even have a guarantee the other people he cared about would be down there either. Maybe Mrs. Plum or Bonejangles or any of the others had passed on to the next stage as well. Or if they hadn’t yet, they would. He didn’t want to watch his friends fade away around him, not knowing where they were going. Not knowing if and when it would happen to him. I wish that explanation had been for mortal ears, Elder Gutknecht, he thought. I could really use one.
He looked around the clearing one more time, then up at the old oak tree. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said softly, “but I just want you to know that – that I really do hope you’re happy, Emily. Elder Gutknecht told me you were, and I suppose he would know, but. . .I would have preferred hearing it from you.” He sighed, then smiled. “Wherever you are, whatever you are – I wish you joy, and peace. I want you to rest easily knowing that I will never forget you. No matter what my mother says. I will cherish our time together always. And I think Victoria won’t ever forget you either. She’s sorry, by the way, for thinking you were evil once. I’m sure you understand.” He reached out and laid a hand on the rough bark. “I love you, Emily. Be happy, wherever you are. And know you will never be forgotten.”
With that, he turned and hurried away from her grave, eager to put some distance between it and him. Because if her spirit did linger around there in some form –
He didn’t want her to see him cry.
Thoughts? Tears? What have you?
March 17th, 1875
Burtonsville, England
7:14 P.M.
The carriage was absolutely silent as they started the journey back to Burtonsville. Victor had thought his parents – or at least, his mother – would be going on and on about Victoria getting married to someone else, but they weren’t saying a word. Instead, they were just sitting there, glaring at him. Victor was almost starting to miss being yelled at. Anything would be better than those unrelenting stares.
He tried to ignore them, looking out the window at the passing scenery. He didn’t know what was expected of him now. Should he say something? What could he possibly say? “I’m sorry Victoria’s married to someone else, but they thought I was dead?” “The Everglots would have never let her marry me now anyway?” “She’s happy with Mr. Lloyd now and I can’t change that?” He sighed. And he’d thought his conversation with Victoria had been awkward.
Nell finally broke the silence. “You. Have ruined. Our lives.”
“Mother--”
“The Everglots were related to grand dukes at one point! They were the cream of the social crop! If we’d had their name connected to our own, we would have had everything one could ask for! And now, we’re going to be eternally known as the family who threw away a marriage to one of the best noble families in England!” She pointed violently at him with her fan. “All because you decided a corpse would be a better bride than a living woman!”
“This is not going to be good for business, Victor,” William added, voice surprisingly hard. “We have a reputation to uphold. It’s bad enough that we’ve lost a connection with the nobility. If people hear about your – tastes, it might cause them to stop buying our products. And then where would we be?” He shook his head. “I’m very disappointed in you, son.”
“Father, I have n-no intention of spreading the story any f-further than necessary,” Victor told him. “And I told you, I’m not like that. You needn’t worry.”
“Poppycock,” Nell snapped. “If you weren’t, you’d forget your ‘corpse bride’ ever existed.”
Victor bristled. “I’m not going to do that, Mother. I can promise not to t-talk about her to others, but I’m not going to forget her. She deserves to be remembered.”
“No she doesn’t! She was a sick delusion on your part! If you cared about us at all, you’d wipe her from your mind! Start fresh so we might still have some chance of making a decent marriage with you!”
“Mother, she existed! She was murdered! I helped set her free! It would be beyond d-disrespectful for me to pretend she n-never was!” He clasped his hands in front of him. “W-why can’t you be satisfied with me being quiet? Why can’t I j-just remember in peace?”
“Because we don’t want you to have a relapse! If you keep thinking about it, who’s to say you won’t try marrying another corpse one day? It won’t do, Victor, it just won’t!”
Victor looked back out the window. It was no use arguing – once his mother made up her mind, there was no hope of changing it. But this wasn’t something he was going to back down on. Emily’s memory was too important.
Emily. . . .
Where is she now? Victor wondered, as the silence and the glaring resumed. What happened when I set her free? Did she go somewhere else when she burst into butterflies? Or was that just a fancy way of returning to the Land of the Dead? And if it was the latter. . .
Could I possibly see her again?
Victor felt a strange warmth in his stomach upon thinking that. Seeing Emily again. . .seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, feeling her arms wrap around him. . . . He’d like that. He missed her – that was part of the reason he was clinging to her memory. And he wanted to make sure she was happy. She’d seemed happy enough that night in the church, but he wanted to be certain of it. Had his near-marriage to her truly satisfied her need to be a bride? Or was she still waiting for someone to ask for her hand?
And – if she was still waiting – would she possibly take him back?
For a moment, Victor was surprised with himself. Was he really thinking of trying to propose marriage to her again? That had worked out so well for him the last time. . . . And if anything was going to convince his parents he was indeed a necrophiliac, that would be it.
But then again. . .what was left for him up here? Just like before, Victoria was married – and this time, she wouldn’t be slipping into any churches in an attempt to escape from her horrid new husband. She was truly lost to him forever now. And his parents would probably like nothing more than their “insane” son to disappear off the face of the earth. He had no friends in the town, nothing really holding him to this plane of existence. And he knew now that death was nothing to fear. In fact, it was practically to be welcomed. Below was color and enthusiasm and excitement. He had no doubts his friends Downstairs would welcome him back warmly. He caught himself smiling as he pictured Mrs. Plum fussing over his eating habits, or Bonejangles clapping him on the back and trying to convince him to play with the Bone Boys. It would be nice, to feel so loved. And if he could be with Emily. . .
Victoria had been right. He loved Emily, and he would have been happy to marry her. Death had not seemed frightening at all with her by his side. He could picture their – afterlives? – together still. Sharing a coffin at night. . .welcoming new arrivals. . .playing with Scraps, talking with Maggot and Black Widow. . .playing piano together. . .and on their anniversaries, he’d take her up to the Land of the Living for a night so they could dance together in the moonlight. They’d be happy together, he was sure of it. And he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone telling him he was mad, or that the dead couldn’t rise, ever again. The afterlife would be – maybe not peaceful. The dead seemed to enjoy their parties too much for that. But it would be full of fun, and joy. And he’d have someone he loved, and who loved him in return, by his side for the rest of eternity.
He nodded slightly to himself, his mind made up. Once they got home, he’d slip away to the woods and look for Emily’s hand again. And then he’d do his best to convince her they deserved a second chance.
The trip home felt like it took an eternity, but finally they arrived back in Burtonsville. After sharing yet another awkward tea with his parents (in which they discussed getting in yet another doctor), Victor managed to slip away and head for the woods. He was very careful not to let anyone see him – if the town crier caught wind of what he was doing, everyone in the village would probably want to burn him at the stake. Not that Victor particularly cared what they thought of him anymore, but it was better not to invite trouble.
He made it over the bridge and into the forest successfully, and began following the old path that had taken him to Emily’s final resting place. His heart beat faster as he neared it. How would he greet her? What would he say? What would she say? Would she be able to take him down to the Land of the Dead again? Was there a way for him to finalize his vows to her without visiting the Land of the Living? Or, if they had to go back Upstairs, did they have to do it in the church?
Vows! He didn’t have a ring! Did that matter? Would merely saying the vows without slipping a ring onto her finger do the trick? Should he go back and find a ring? No – if I go back, there’s too much chance of getting caught, he said to himself, crossing the frozen stream. I’ve got to try it without first. Oh, I wish I’d thought of that sooner. . . . Still, maybe it’s not necessary. We’ll see, won’t we?
He climbed up through the old graveyard and looked around. Now, where – aha! There was the stump he’d pretended was Lord Everglot! And nearby, the old branches he’d used as a stand-in for Lady Everglot! He was right where he needed to be! Victor grinned. “Emily?” he called. “Emily, I’m back!”
No answer. Well, it was probably silly to hope for one just yet. He needed to wake her up first. He turned around slowly, orienting himself. The stump. . .the branches. . .the tall, tall trees where the ravens had perched. . .the old oak tree. . .and underneath, a few curling old vines, and –
And. . .
Victor stared. There were just a few dead plant stalks beneath the twisted trunk of the old tree. That was it. No sign of a reaching hand at all.
Victor spun around again. Was he in the wrong spot? No, he recognized all of this! It was all as it should be, except for Emily’s hand! He fell to his knees and scrambled through the dirt at the base of the tree. There wasn’t even any hint that Emily had been there at all. But – but that’s not right! This is where she died! Her hand should still be here! Unless someone’s dug her up, or buried her again with her hand down, or –
Or if it was only reaching out when she was looking for a husband.
Victor looked back at what he supposed was Emily’s final resting place. He’d always considered it a bit odd that her hand had been sticking up like it had. Who buried someone with their hand reaching out to passers-by? It seemed terribly sloppy, and not likely to happen even if someone – like a vicious murderer – had been in a rush. Granted, by the time he found her, her hand had been covered with dirt and debris, making it look like nothing more than branches – but he wasn’t the only one who came into these woods. Surely, if her hand had decayed above ground, someone else would have found her first? Or an animal would have made off with the errant limb as a snack?
Thinking about it now, though. . .he knew magic was real. There was no other way to describe how Elder Gutknecht had gotten them back to the Land of the Living with just a raven’s egg. And Bonejangles had said explicitly in his song that “she made a vow lying under that tree/that she’d wait for her true love to come set her free.” Maybe – maybe her vow had been a kind of magic. A contract of sorts, allowing her to rise again once she received the proposal she so hoped for. And since it was hard to propose to empty earth, the magic had made her hand protrude, protecting it until the right person came along and slipped a ring on her finger. It made some sort of sense. . . .
But why is it gone? part of his mind protested. She never got married! Our wedding proved to be null and void! Shouldn’t she still be waiting?
The song echoed through his skull again. “Come set her free. . . .” She hadn’t been waiting for a husband, exactly. She’d been waiting for someone to free her. Maybe she hadn’t realized that when she’d said the words, but. . . . He thought about what she’d said to him in the church, before returning his ring: “You set me free.” And Elder Gutknecht had confirmed that – he’d helped her see her murder avenged, and her murderer brought to justice. And – he’d shown her that love really existed? How had he done that? He’d spent most of their time together running from her or insulting her!
But. . .he’d apologized for that. He’d shared a piano duet with her. And he’d shown her that he was willing to give up his life for her. He’d shown her he wouldn’t abandon her like Barkis had. Not to mention he’d let her walk to the altar as a bride, even if she didn’t walk away someone’s wife. He’d given her everything she’d truly wanted, hadn’t he? A chance to love and be loved again, even briefly. And the opportunity to ensure that what had happened to her would not happen to another. He hadn’t just set her free from her vow – he’d set her free from her doubts, her fears, her past. So when she’d turned into butterflies. . . .
They hadn’t been a fancy way of returning to the Land of the Dead. Elder Gutknecht would have told him if that were the case. No, when he’d set her free, her soul had gone someplace else. Heaven, maybe? Or maybe she’d become a part of nature. Maybe a sliver of her soul was in every blue butterfly she’d dissolved into, free to wander wherever she wanted, free to see the world. He kind of liked that thought. Either way, she’d left anything resembling a mortal body and mortal cares behind. Which included the need for a husband.
The need for him.
He sighed and stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants. He knew he could still technically go ahead with his plan. Killing himself would bring him back to his other friends Downstairs. But – it all felt rather hollow, knowing he wouldn’t see Emily again. And now he didn’t even have a guarantee the other people he cared about would be down there either. Maybe Mrs. Plum or Bonejangles or any of the others had passed on to the next stage as well. Or if they hadn’t yet, they would. He didn’t want to watch his friends fade away around him, not knowing where they were going. Not knowing if and when it would happen to him. I wish that explanation had been for mortal ears, Elder Gutknecht, he thought. I could really use one.
He looked around the clearing one more time, then up at the old oak tree. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said softly, “but I just want you to know that – that I really do hope you’re happy, Emily. Elder Gutknecht told me you were, and I suppose he would know, but. . .I would have preferred hearing it from you.” He sighed, then smiled. “Wherever you are, whatever you are – I wish you joy, and peace. I want you to rest easily knowing that I will never forget you. No matter what my mother says. I will cherish our time together always. And I think Victoria won’t ever forget you either. She’s sorry, by the way, for thinking you were evil once. I’m sure you understand.” He reached out and laid a hand on the rough bark. “I love you, Emily. Be happy, wherever you are. And know you will never be forgotten.”
With that, he turned and hurried away from her grave, eager to put some distance between it and him. Because if her spirit did linger around there in some form –
He didn’t want her to see him cry.
Thoughts? Tears? What have you?
