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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 27, 2024 6:19:54 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-Two : Fever Dream
‘You’re the only one who can save me.’
Every night she dreamed the same dream.
And every night she heard the same voice, calling out to her, reaching out through the darkness of her mind, yet there was nothing she could do about it.
Fifteen years now, and it was still the same.
Beatrice knew who she was, but she was still a stranger to her. Beatrice had shared those thoughts for so long now, soaking in the fabric of her consciousness, but she still did not understand who she really was.
‘You’re the only one who can save me.’
But save you from what?
Save who?
Beatrice felt her eyes ease slowly open, and realised that she was awake. Sometimes it was hard to tell, as the experience of sifting through the thoughts of someone else was much like that of a dream. She always felt present in the memories she relived, and it was only in the moments before she departed that she could understand that it had all taken place inside her head.
Beatrice lay in her bed for a while, staring upwards into space, trying to clear her head. Not that it ever could be cleared though. Her mind was always full to bursting, a bubbling pot of thoughts and ideas, and almost none of them were her own.
She placed her hand on the locket, the smooth metal radiating soothing waves of gentle heat throughout her body. Closing her eyes again for a moment, she tried to reach out for the thoughts, but now Fiona's mind seemed to have moved beyond her grasp, drifting far away from her own thoughts. Even after all these years, she had so little control over things that it almost scared her. She had no time to be afraid though. Not any more. Beatrice rose from the bed, running a hand through her head, and moved to the window to see the world outside. It was early spring, and the first signs of fresh new growth was starting to show on the trees. The sun was only a thought starting to grow at the edge of her eyeline, and she knew she must have had only a few hours in bed at most. It was a cold morning, but then again it was always cold here. It was an old building, full of dark and twisted things, and she was becoming both with each day that passed. But there was little she could do to help that. She had more important things to worry about.
Beatrice yawned, tiredness aching in her body as she stretched her arms backwards. She needed a bath.
The water was hot, helping to scare the chill out of her bones. As she lazily rested in the water, she fondled the locket, still dangling from a chain around her neck. Beatrice ran her fingers gently over the small series of stones set into the metal. Together, the green gems made the image of an eye. One of the stones was missing, a small crack in the facade that was a twin to the scar of Beatrice's brow. As she played her finger along the crease, she could feel a tingling in her senses, as if her mind was attuned to the locket.
It was good for her to sit and rest, to take some time to acclimatise herself to everything that was happening, to attempt to anchor herself back towards the real world. Her mind was full of such confusion that some days it was a struggle to separate her dreams from reality. It was nice to finally have the company of someone else, even if she felt more trapped than she had ever been.
No, she sighed. Of course not. That wasn’t her.
It happened so often now that it was part and parcel of her existence, her thoughts straying from one track to another. She had gotten used to it over so many years, but she could not wear it lightly. She was dipping herself into the wax of people's minds. It set hard, and their thoughts would work their way into every crevice of her existence.
The patients had no control over their own minds, of course. They could not help it. They were lost, their memories a confused mass that she could not hope to truly untangle. At best she could settle them, and straighten out enough of their thoughts such that they could relax and let go of a part of themselves, but not enough for them to truly understand what was happening. In those moments she would see so much, understanding so little, but a part of them would always stay with her.
And then there was Fiona. But then, Fiona was always different.
Fifteen years. She remembered, only now, that the thought had come into her mind last night. Why? Time had passed, of course it had, but why did that matter to her now?
So much about her life had changed in the intervening years that at times Beatrice hardly recognised herself. She had made a choice, fifteen years ago, to do what she must, to do what she knew only she would be able to do. But back then she had not understood quite how much her life would change, and just how much she would have to sacrifice.
It had been years since she had last seen Bertrand. At first she had needed him, and the relationship that they had built together. It was a stable bedrock on which she had relied on to steady herself, to enable her to cope with the trauma that was exacted upon herself. For a while, she had thought that the two sides of her reality could co-exist, but in the end it had all been too much. Perhaps it had been foolish, but for a while she thought that she would be able to keep this a secret from the man that she loved, but now she understood that their separation must always have been inevitable.
Beatrice knew all of that, of course she did. But understanding did not make the loss in her heart any easier. She longed to see him again, to tell him the truth about what had really happened to her. If she closed her eyes she could still picture him, as easily as if he were there. The long, blonde hair, the deep blue eyes, his hand pressed against her.
No. No! That was not her.
With an ache of frustration she smacked her hand against the edge of the bath. The water was turning cold now, and suddenly all the pleasure it had given her was gone.
Beatrice looked down at herself, her flesh turning soft and pallid in the cooling water. She traced her fingers along the darkening red lines that bridged her stomachs, marks of the children she borne only to abandon. How much more would she need to give before this would all be over?
Beatrice closed her eyes, and tried to search for herself, but it was no good. Perhaps there was nothing left to find.
Later, Beatrice observed her face in the mirror as she dressed. Where once she had been young and pretty, something to be desired and admired, all that remained was a ghost. Her face was hollow, with thin lines scarring her cheeks, turning deeper beneath the heavy bags that lay below her eyes. Her lips were pale and thin, and her skin was pale white, contrasting sharply with the darkness of her hair. Yet in truth even that had begun to fade, with wisps of grey streaking their way through the black.
But what other choice did she have?
Beatrice took her breakfast alone, preferring to keep her own company. Anything she could do to keep herself separate and away from the others seemed to help ease the pressure on her mind. She could not bear the idle chatter and small talk. All it did was add more fuel to the furnace of the mind, and as time had gone by Beatrice had found that she had started to crave the silence of loneliness. These empty moments, where her brain was hers and hers alone, were precious and few, and she savoured them at every opportunity.
If only she could see Bertrand again. Or her children. Or even Fernald.
No, no. Not him. That’s not you.
It was a constant struggle, a battle to hold her thoughts together, to sustain some semblance of control over herself. It was a battle she fought alone, with nobody to fall back on, no support. She had to keep herself together, for their sakes as much as her own. She had no choice.
The door to the kitchen opened, wrenching Beatrice away from her internal struggles, even for a moment.
‘Good morning.’ said Jessica, and Beatrice smiled weakly back at her. She was never sure what to think of the other staff who worked here. Most of them seemed suspicious of her, and she could hardly blame them. She could barely explain to herself how she did what she did, let alone find the words to explain it to somebody else.
But it was more than that. Most of the staff had arrived with Fernald Duncan, and Beatrice did not trust that man at all. Things were beginning to fall apart, and there was a common thread between them all, and that thread was Mr. Duncan.
‘Dr. Rasmussen wishes to speak with you.’ said Jessica. She was still standing in the doorway, looking at Beatrice, waiting for her response. She seemed keen to stay as far away from Beatrice as possible, as though she were some kind of poisonous snake that would bite anything that came too near.
Beatrice simply nodded, and rose from the table, leaving her breakfast untouched.
‘I imagine I will find him in the usual place?’.
As Beatrice entered the laboratory, the sounds made her ears vibrate with tension; The buzzing of machinery, the whine and whirr of hydraulics, and a sonorous thrum that seemed to emanate from the walls. Beatrice was relieved to see that none of the patients were sat upon the throne-like structure that sat at the room's centre, its metallic seats were empty jet black stains dancing across the metal.
Rasmussen was at the device, busying himself with a piece of metal that was protruding from one of the arm-rests. The years had not been kind to the doctor either. His hair had now turned all to pearly white, and looked brittle enough to break in a gust of wind. His eyes were heavy and clouded, like a dewy mist had rested upon them. She often wondered what was going on inside that man’s head. He had dedicated his entire life to his research, and still he had not learned the answers to his questions. So many lives had been shattered, broken into a thousand pieces. She wanted to ask him if he still felt it was worth it.
He turned to Beatrice, and smiled at her.
‘Good morning.’ was all that she said in reply. Perhaps some questions were better left unanswered.
‘Beatrice, I’m glad to see you.’ he said, as he turned back to the machine, tinkering away with a screwdriver. ‘I’m afraid that our resident seems to be somewhat disturbed. The patients have been suffering as of late, and you do know how much that interferes with things.’
Beatrice waited for a moment. She knew what was coming next.
‘You wouldn’t mind going down and having a word, would you?’
She sighed, running her hands through her hair. The locket seemed to burn hotter against her chest, and she smiled subtly to herself.
‘Of course not.’ she said, and Rasmussen turned to look at her again, though his eyes never met her gaze.
‘Thank you, my dear. I’m sorry to have to ask but, well, nothing else seems to work any more.’
Beatrice left without another word, moving past the machine and through a door at the far end of the room. Although she would not admit it, she was not too displeased. Lately, she found that her encounters were the only thing that brought her any kind of peace.
When she reached the antechamber she began to undress, taking her wetsuit from the hook next to her. As the cold material slipped over her body, compressing against her skin, she tried her best to clear her mind and focus on a clear and distinctive thought. She needed to remain in control, lest the thing take control of her.
She had been running from the beast all her life, and the fear was always with her. She needed to take it, and push it down inside of herself, until she almost forgot that it was there.
Beatrice shook her head violently. Those were not her fears, of course. They were the fears of someone else. But perhaps that meant they were now her own.
Beatrice slid the helmet over her head, and for a moment the world became muffled and dulled, until her senses could adjust to the change. There was a satisfying click, and she checked that everything was secure. She opened the door that was facing her, and submerged herself into the darkness.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but she did not need to see, not really. She had walked this way so many times before, she knew what she was going to find. Beatrice could hear her boots clanking against the metal of the floor, There was a torch built into her helmet, and after a few moments she switched it on, a weak beam of light reaching forwards from her head. She was heading downwards in a gentle but sharp spiral, and with each rotation the passage grew wider and wider. Sooner than she had expected, there was a splashing at her feet, and she slowed her pace as she began to submerge herself into the water. Even through the protective layers of her suit, the cold of the ocean waters shot through her, but still she continued on, pushing downwards, until her entire body was taken below the surface.
Beatrice floated there for a little while, the water making her drift slightly to one side. Despite the oppressive constriction of her surroundings, she felt momentarily free. Down in the dark, with no light save the tiny beam from her helmet that shone out on to nothing, she felt completely alone, the world behind her nothing but a distant memory.
Except she was never alone.
The beast could sense her presence, and she could sense it’s own.
Automatically, through some method she could not define, Beatrice knew which way to go. She swam forwards, her eyes useless in the blanketing darkness, but she was not lost. She could hear it, calling out to her, its voice whispering deep inside her mind. And then she saw it. A shape of skin, a surface of something unknown, that could not be defined. It was a darkness deeper than the night, blacker than the darkest pits of her soul.
Beatrice reached out, and laid her hand upon its skin.
Even through the thick layer of diving suit, the creature responded instantly to her touch, and she heard a thunderous roar, though whether it was in her mind or in reality she could not say. It made no difference to her.
Now, she thought, what’s been going on here? You need to calm down, my friend. Dr. Rasmussen tells me that our patients have been getting very sick lately. What is it that you’ve been doing to them?
The next moment, her senses were overwhelmed as a mountain of images erupted across her mind. Two children dancing in an empty classroom, a hand with its fingers torn and mutilated, a dog racing through a field with the wind ruffling its fur, the waves lapping up against a sandy beach, a mother crying as she rocked a screaming child back and forth in her arms, and a wall of flame, taller than a mountain, that crashed down upon the surface of the earth.
But she rode the wave, shaking the images away to the back of her subconscious, focusing instead of what lay before her.
You need to be more gentle, she thought. They cannot take it, their minds are not as strong as mine, or yours. If you do not treat them more kindly, then they will break.
And so will I, she thought, but only to herself.
And then came a memory, full and complete, that flashed across her brain as though a knife had cleaved apart her mind.
She was her, Fiona, and she was dying. The water was pummelling at her lungs, thick salty threads that were pulling down inside her soul and choking her. Her arms were dead with cold, the water turning them to ice, and there was an aching pain deep in the put of her stomach. She tried to scream, but there was no air left inside of her lungs. Only the water, the salty death of the oceans kiss.
And then it was gone, and Beatrice jerked herself away, pulling back from the beast. There was a thunderous, blood-curdling roar, one that echoed around the stone walls of the cavern.
The beast was taunting her, laughing at the secrets that it knew she could not understand.
The locket was burning hot against her chest, and as Beatrice placed her hand against it she found the waters of her mind began to still, and after a few patient breaths she was back in control.
The beast stopped, itself quickened by the power of the pendant.
Beatrice smiled, and placed her hand back upon the cold, leathery skin of the creature.
No, she said, no, that simply will not do at all. Don’t you understand? If you continue to treat our patients in this way, then we will simply stop supplying you with what you need. You cannot control me, you know that. If you disobey me, then i will just have to leave you here, without any more food. And you wouldn’t like that, would you?
So you need to start behaving. Your job is to obey my orders, remember? After all, that’s what we grew you for.
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