Trowa didn’t wake up even a minute before sunrise. Needless to say, when he was jolted out of his sleep in the middle of the night, bedclothes drenched with his perspiration, something had to be terribly wrong. Pulling his boots and coat on, he crept down the hall and to Catherine’s bedroom. She was sound asleep, as expected, her breath coming out in soft little snores. Bending down and shaking her, Trowa hissed, “Cathy, wake up. We need to go to the barn.”
There was low bear growl and then, “Trowa William Barton II, if your life is of any worth to you, you will get out of my room and leave me be until sunrise.”
“Cathy I think something’s happened to Quatre.” Slowly, his sister lifted her head, curls wild and sticking out in nearly every direction possible, eyes half-open and gleaming with a near animalistic light.
“Wha-?” By this point, Trowa had lost patience altogether and simply hauled his older sibling out of her tumble of sheets and tossed her dressing gown and slippers at her.
“Get dressed and hurry up.”
“If I find out that this isn’t some horrible, life-and-death thing, I will personally see to it that you never have children.”
“Pipe down and let’s go.”
The barn was dark and silent, greeting the two Barton siblings with gaping, splintered doors and windows, making it look like a giant skull. The lamp Trowa held was quickly fading out from the rain, a poor source of lighting.
“Trowa, I don’t like this…” Catherine whispered, one hand clutching her brother’s arm as they slowly made their way inside.
“Quatre?” Trowa bent closer to the blond bundle huddled by the wall and carefully set the lamp on the dirt floor. “You okay?” A soft whimper answered him and with shaking hands, Trowa pulled the thin blanket away.
“Jesus Mary Joseph…” Catherine gasped, her violet eyes growing as wide as saucers. Her white hands covered her mouth and a tiny squeak escaped her. Trowa blinked and swallowed hard, his fingers gently grazing a bloody shoulder. Quatre was curled in a tight ball, clothes ripped to shreds, his skin marked with blood and bruises. The rough straw he lay on was wet with blood and other fluids, also staining Quatre’s thighs. The two stood in silence before Trowa said curtly, “Cathy, find a doctor, and hurry.” The young woman, who had a notorious reputation for being stubborn and belligerent, quietly turned and ran into the night.
Dropping to his knees, Trowa gently lifted the broken body into his arms and held him to his breast, lifting the other boy’s icy fingers to his lips and brushing kisses against the limp digits. “I’m sorry,” he murmured softly, “Just hang on, okay? Cathy’s gone to get help, just hold on.”
Time slowly crawled by and until he heard Cathy’s returning footsteps, Trowa continued to hold Quatre in his arms.
The sun was just peeking over the tops of the trees when a weary, fluently cursing physician stumbled from the barn and back on the road to his own house. Back inside, Trowa and Catherine were huddled around the sleeping Quatre. The raggedy old blanket was thrown into a dusty corner and the boy was now covered by Trowa’s thick longcoat.
In the end, it was Catherine who broke the long silence. “We’ve done all we can do, Trowa.” She croaked, her eyes red and rimmed with shadows, her damp red curls hanging limply about her face. “Let’s go back to the house and let him rest.”
“You go ahead.” Trowa replied, never once lifting his eyes from Quatre’s face, which was pinched with pain. “I’ll wait until he wakes up.”
“He might not wake up for days.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to stay awake for quite a while.” One hand moved to touch the blond curls that spilled over the hay.
Catherine laughed, a hoarse, humorless laugh that died in the early morning air. “You really love him, don’t you?” Her brother chuckled and sighed, his own laughter dead and mirthless.
“Too bad it took the work of the Boogey Man to make me realize it.” The girl’s lips quirked in a tiny smile at Trowa’s horrible attempt at humor. The smile faded just as quickly when it dawned.
“Then that means that this estate really is haunted.”
“Quatre couldn’t have been assaulted by ghosts.”
“We don’t know that for sure, and what about the girl with the red dress and the fur collar? Fur collars are from the fourteenth century and this mansion was built ten years before the Peasants’ Revolt.”
“Been reading up quite a bit, haven’t you?”
“I’ll pretend I never heard that snide little remark. But Trowa, as dotty as it sounds, it’s the only reasonable possibility there is. It’s quite obvious there are restless spirits all over the establishment and both you and Quatre saw that girl. We’re not safe here and you know it.”
Trowa heaved a sigh and raised his tired green eyes to his sister. “Then we should leave.” It wasn’t a question.
Catherine’s eyes lit up briefly and she tugged her dressing gown around her more securely. “But to where?”
“There’s Duo and Hilde in Cambridge. They’ll take us in.”
“Cambridge?” She hesitated, her bright eyes focusing on the miniscule beams of light penetrating through the cracks of wood. “That’s eighty kilos away…”
Trowa’s eyes hardened and his fingers gently grazed Quatre’s smooth white cheek. “Anything to get away from here. We can take Melanie with us too.” She noticed that he hadn’t uttered a word of their guardians, which was just fine and dandy with her.
“Auntie and Uncle will be expecting him to do the chores, you know.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Trowa said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand, “Just have to make sure he’s alright first.”
“YOU do chores?” Catherine just about keeled over in a fit of giggles as she swept out of the barn. “Oh, Tro, just love your sense of humor…”
Trowa snorted in indignation and muttered, “Of course I can do chores!” Turning to his sleeping friend, he could almost hear the blond boy trying to stifle his laughter and in the end, failing miserably, his light chuckles filling his ears and no one else’s.
Quatre’s whole world was centered on the throbbing pain that radiated from his beaten body. The light stung his eyes and everything was a muddy black red. Cool fingers brushed against his cheek and when he whimpered in pain, the fingers wove through his hair in an effort to soothe him. He remembered the harsh, grating laughter, the ancient flesh mottled with blood and decay, the deafening claps of thunder that drowned out his cries… another whimper escaped his lips and the warmth around him tightened.
Someone was holding him… but whom? It felt so strange, but pleasantly so; no one had cared to when he’d been younger… and they still didn’t. And yet a tiny voice continued to pip up and interrupt his thoughts.
Someone does care.
Trowa loves you.
No, he was wrong. If anything, Trowa hated him.
If he hates you so much, why does he make you the center of his world?
I…
Now that I’ve proven my point, why don’t you wake up and give your lover a kiss?
Opening his eyes and smiling ruefully that he’d been outwitted by some voice in his head, Quatre glanced up into Trowa’s worried green eyes and croaked, “Hullo.” The strong arms nearly crushed him in their embrace as the dark haired boy buried his face into Quatre’s neck and hysterically babbled all sorts of apologies for every wrongdoing he had ever done in his whole life, whether or not Quatre had been involved in them to begin with.
“I’m sorry,” he choked once he’d released the boy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you- and I know I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you-” Trowa pressed kisses to small hands that clutched at his shoulders. Once he’d calmed down, the two sat in silence, Trowa holding Quatre to keep him warm, and Quatre holding onto Trowa like a lifeline. Only when Elizabeth Bloom's shrill voice broke through the morning air did Trowa let him go, cursing like a sailor.
“Just rest…” he whispered, pulling his coat over Quatre, who was once again curled in the straw, looking so small and frail. “I can’t take this anymore. We’re leaving tonight, I’ll see to it that we do. I have friends in Cambridge who should be willing to take us in. Rest for now, I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”
It was an hour from midnight and the two Barton siblings had snuck from their mansion, with only a few belongings and a sleepy Melanie in tow. In Trowa’s right hand, he held twin stallions with gleaming black coats, who continuously fought against him. “Stupid horses, hold still!”
“Better be polite to it,” Catherine hissed, “Those stupid horses are going to take us all the way to Cambridge, you know.”
“I just want to leave.” All this time, Melanie hadn’t said a word, but simply watched the sky, her slanted black eyes growing wide and round.
“The sky,” She suddenly said, her accent a mixture of both her native tongue and her British one, “It’s going to rain.”
As if the girl had never spoken, Catherine turned to her with her own huge violet eyes. “What about you, Melanie? Don’t you have someone to go to?”
“I do, but he’s back home, far away.” Catherine nodded solemnly and took the girl’s hand, leading her to the barn. Quatre was waiting for them, still bundled in Trowa’s longcoat.
Trowa handed the reins to his sister and pulled the boy into his arms, pressing his lips to the soft blond hair and crooning almost soundlessly. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? Eighty kilos is pretty far…”
“M’fine…” Trowa couldn’t help but frown at the way Quatre leaned on him for support. Lifting the boy easily onto the saddle, he then took one last look at the dark estate and then turned to the dusty road.
“Let’s go.”
One hour after the little group’s departure from the Barton Manor, rain began to pour in sheets, pelting the ground and sending pebbles flying. Lightening crackled and thunder clapped. The girl with the white skin and red dress appeared for a split second in the barn door before quickly disappearing.
Thunder clapped again and this time, two horrible piercing screams echoed after it. The screams suddenly stopped as abruptly as they had begun and all was still. But on the front porch, thick red blood began to trickle from under the door, slowly staining the splintered wood and dripping off the porch stairs.
The girl appeared one last time, a small trickle of red at the corner of her white lips, and disappeared, just like before. The wind howled and rain continued to fall and punish the earth. Just outside the barn, the wind pushed back a clump of reeds and wildflowers, revealing a stone marker in the dirt.
Midii Une Alexandria-Marie Bloom
(1365-1381)
May Her Spirit Rest
Whew! So glad this is over- I just wish I had some more time to improve it. *sweatdrops* Feedback please!~ LiLi