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Disclaimer is that I don't own them other t han Caitrin Parker, she is mine and mine alone, this started as an excerise to clear cobwebs out of my head to work on my other stories and here's what evolved. . . . there are character deaths and some spoilers in this part twisted to fit my personal taste . . . . . I have to thank Niceole. PG-13 I never rated it in the first three parts.
Memories Of Long Ago
part 6
by Trish
I could not tear my eyes away from the doors as Broots pulled the car up to the entrance. I watched as Sydney pressed the bell, its buzz mutely heard inside. The door opened to reveal a tall, thin woman. Her features cold-looking with her gaunt face and severe bun.
"Dr. Green," she said, as her dark eyes looked me over with an iciness that I returned with my own stare. Mother would have been proud, when the woman took a step backward, admitting us.
"Cox's room, Vivienne."
She nodded her head regally after a lengthy pause toward the far hallway.
***
The walls were cold, and tomblike as I walked along the corridor; before crossing over the threshold of his room, I took a deep breath and father's words echoed in my mind. His entry in the newly found journal describing Cox filled me with a numbness. Cynical, haughty, conceited. The man who wore black. Today, I wore the black.
Entering the room that was not fully lit, I could make out the shape on the bed and as I approached, his eyes locked on mine. I was trembling as I stared at the pathetic, sullen creature that was lying there. He was thin, his hair unkept, his eyes wide with terror.
"I'm not a ghost," I said, standing over him, his eyes staring into mine, his pupils pinpoint small and the whites showed all around them.
He looked scared, and I relished that.
"Wh----o a----re yo-----u?"
" I could say your worst nightmare, but that is so cliche," I pause, then continue, "Her daughter."
"Not possi---b---le. Die---d thir---tty yea---rrrs ago. Cr----ash."
" No," I shook my head,"she didn't die but escaped the Centre's clutches with help from my father."
"Wh---o?"
I leaned down closer and placed my lips next to his ear.
"The pretender," I whispered.
A thin scream passed his lips and he tried to claw at the bedsheets, jerking his head, a look of anguish crossing his features. His eyes were fixed on me with peculiar intensity, and I held his gaze; his eyes dropped first. I grinned.I turned as I heard a noise and saw Sydney enter into the room, then I sank into the chair next to Cox.
"Are you all right?" he asked," I heard someone yell."
"It was him."
***
It was dark when we left Salisbury, and I know that Cox looked much older, when I left him. But for how long? How long could his remorsefulness remain? After all the destruction that had been brought on by the viciousness of the Centre. A place that sought to deliberately destory the human spirit, but by seeing me, he knew that somehow it failed. They failed.
Sydney had tears in his eyes as we pulled into the driveway. I was afraid that he would succumb and cry uncontrollably once we entered the house. And yet it was Broots, mild, meek Broots, who let his temper finally get the best of him.
"How dare he seek absolution?" Broots thundered, shocking us both, "Grief? Compassion? He doesn't know the meaning of those words."
"Broots, calm down. He's dying and if he seeks forgiveness then he'll need to seek it from a higher power, he won't receive it from me," I replied as I looked the poor man in the eyes.
"Do you know how proud of you, she would have been?" Sydney said, his voice cracking," What memories he invoked for me, though."
"He doesn't exist anymore, Syd. Not for me. As much as he tried to provoke me, I got what I needed. He's a pathetic creature, the less we talk of him the better," it was then that Sydney removed a bundle of yellowed envelopes from inside his jacket pocket.
"What are those?"
"Your father's letters to your mother."
"You had them."
He nodded.
"She gave them to me after. . . ."
Sydney's eyes filled with huge tears and they finally rolled down his cheeks. I, myself, turned to stifle my sobs and kneaded my fists into my eyes. I wanted to cry, yet I was drawing strength from unsuspected depths, deep inside me. He placed them in to my shaking hands, and then both left me alone.
Yet I wasn't alone, I'd grown use to apparitions outside the windows, and that is what I saw as I took up the journal and letters and sank down upon the window seat in grandmother's studio.
Feedback please : Ractrish@aol.com
part 6
by Trish
I could not tear my eyes away from the doors as Broots pulled the car up to the entrance. I watched as Sydney pressed the bell, its buzz mutely heard inside. The door opened to reveal a tall, thin woman. Her features cold-looking with her gaunt face and severe bun.
"Dr. Green," she said, as her dark eyes looked me over with an iciness that I returned with my own stare. Mother would have been proud, when the woman took a step backward, admitting us.
"Cox's room, Vivienne."
She nodded her head regally after a lengthy pause toward the far hallway.
***
The walls were cold, and tomblike as I walked along the corridor; before crossing over the threshold of his room, I took a deep breath and father's words echoed in my mind. His entry in the newly found journal describing Cox filled me with a numbness. Cynical, haughty, conceited. The man who wore black. Today, I wore the black.
Entering the room that was not fully lit, I could make out the shape on the bed and as I approached, his eyes locked on mine. I was trembling as I stared at the pathetic, sullen creature that was lying there. He was thin, his hair unkept, his eyes wide with terror.
"I'm not a ghost," I said, standing over him, his eyes staring into mine, his pupils pinpoint small and the whites showed all around them.
He looked scared, and I relished that.
"Wh----o a----re yo-----u?"
" I could say your worst nightmare, but that is so cliche," I pause, then continue, "Her daughter."
"Not possi---b---le. Die---d thir---tty yea---rrrs ago. Cr----ash."
" No," I shook my head,"she didn't die but escaped the Centre's clutches with help from my father."
"Wh---o?"
I leaned down closer and placed my lips next to his ear.
"The pretender," I whispered.
A thin scream passed his lips and he tried to claw at the bedsheets, jerking his head, a look of anguish crossing his features. His eyes were fixed on me with peculiar intensity, and I held his gaze; his eyes dropped first. I grinned.I turned as I heard a noise and saw Sydney enter into the room, then I sank into the chair next to Cox.
"Are you all right?" he asked," I heard someone yell."
"It was him."
***
It was dark when we left Salisbury, and I know that Cox looked much older, when I left him. But for how long? How long could his remorsefulness remain? After all the destruction that had been brought on by the viciousness of the Centre. A place that sought to deliberately destory the human spirit, but by seeing me, he knew that somehow it failed. They failed.
Sydney had tears in his eyes as we pulled into the driveway. I was afraid that he would succumb and cry uncontrollably once we entered the house. And yet it was Broots, mild, meek Broots, who let his temper finally get the best of him.
"How dare he seek absolution?" Broots thundered, shocking us both, "Grief? Compassion? He doesn't know the meaning of those words."
"Broots, calm down. He's dying and if he seeks forgiveness then he'll need to seek it from a higher power, he won't receive it from me," I replied as I looked the poor man in the eyes.
"Do you know how proud of you, she would have been?" Sydney said, his voice cracking," What memories he invoked for me, though."
"He doesn't exist anymore, Syd. Not for me. As much as he tried to provoke me, I got what I needed. He's a pathetic creature, the less we talk of him the better," it was then that Sydney removed a bundle of yellowed envelopes from inside his jacket pocket.
"What are those?"
"Your father's letters to your mother."
"You had them."
He nodded.
"She gave them to me after. . . ."
Sydney's eyes filled with huge tears and they finally rolled down his cheeks. I, myself, turned to stifle my sobs and kneaded my fists into my eyes. I wanted to cry, yet I was drawing strength from unsuspected depths, deep inside me. He placed them in to my shaking hands, and then both left me alone.
Yet I wasn't alone, I'd grown use to apparitions outside the windows, and that is what I saw as I took up the journal and letters and sank down upon the window seat in grandmother's studio.
Feedback please : Ractrish@aol.com
