Title: Otherworldly Violins
Summary: Written for the IWTB Halloween challenge October 19, 2002
Special note to philiater who encouraged me to post here. Thanks Phil :)
Slate grey clouds swelled along the eastern horizon
as if they were living, breathing creatures. The occasional
crackle of thunder echoed behind each silvered flash of
Fighting the pressure of the wind he stumbled his way up the dark
sidewalk to the wide porch. A drunken curse exploded from him as he lost his footing at the base of the stairs, hitting the stone walk. Beneath the soaked denim of his jeans he could feel his skin split
It always seemed to rain every year.
Using his crutch he managed to get back to his feet and up the stairs without further incident. A thought occurred to him as he fumbled for the key to the door. His mother, when he was little, would tell him that the storms he was so afraid of were only the angels of heaven grieving for mankind's sins. The wind was their tear soaked voices, howling in grief.The rain was their tears and the thunder God's voice as he tried to comfort them.
That seemed fitting considering what tonight was.
They were either grieving over his sins or perhaps over the lose of her soul to this world.
Stumbling through the door into the hallway he snorted in disgust at his circumstances. He had no one to blame, but himself, that's why he had been at the bar tonight.
Washing away his sins.
As he stripped off his soaked trench coat the sound of a soft moan drifted down the narrow staircase that led to the second floor. Turning, his dark eyes focused on the shadowed landing and for just one moment he could have sworn he saw movement. Not only that, but he could smell a hint of jasmine drifting down on the chill air. This was why he never came back to the house until dawn usually.
"Just the wind...," he mumbled to himself as he moved into what had once been the living room.
Once it had been a room filled with love and light, now it was his self made shrine of hopelessness.
A lone chair, high-backed, dressed in dark blue velvet, worn smooth along the wide arms with age. It had been her favorite chair, the same shade as her eyes were when they had been in the throws of passion. Arms and legs tangled, glistening with a faint sheen of perspiration, the scent of her perfume heavy in the air.
A choked sigh escaped his parted lips as he leaned heavily on his crutch, his crippled leg useless as he made his way slowly across the dusty floor.
When he was finally next to the chair he collapsed against it's familiar comfort. On the table next to the chair a bottle of scotch whisky sat, the golden brown liquid catching the faint light from the embers in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing across the bare walls.
Reaching for the bottle he poured himself a glass, then opened a small wooden humidor next to the bottle removing a slim cigar and lighter.
She would have had his ass in a sling if she could see him now.
Everything he had despised about his own father he had become, an alcoholic his lungs heavy with tar. She couldn't see him though...not now...not ever.
Flicking the lighter he lifted it to the tip of the cigar, the blue flame wavering as if a faint wind swirled through the room. Inhaling he let it shut with a clack, his lungs aching with more than just the cold and smoke. His mind began to wander as he lifted the glass to his
That was when he heard it again.
A moaning edged with tears followed by a sigh of regret.
The glass shattered as it hit the floor, his eyes widening as he fought to catch a breath. It was the wind, he thought, there was no other explanation...was there?
Pulling himself slowly from the chair he flicked the cigar into the ash filled hearth. Supported only by his crutch he reached for the poker, stirring the ashes until the faint glow began to swell. Slowly he worked at getting the fire built up as a shiver moved along his
Another moan rose, dancing down the stairs sending him sprawling to the floor in a druken haze. Anything but this, he thought, anything but her.
His thoughts drifted back to that Halloween night three years before when his life had been different. There had been hope in her eyes, hope for a future together. After all they had been through, after all that loses they had shared, he had managed to convince her they could build a life together. That they could escape a fate to horrifying to consider.
Then they had come back.
After months of silence, of peace they had been waiting for them on a lonely stretch of highway in the dead of night.
There was very little he could remember about that moment, no that wasn't true. There was very little he allowed him- self to remember. Now though as he sat sprawled on the floor, tears welling over his lashes, down his face rough with a weeks worth of beard he finally
Shattering glass, the shriek of rubber on wet black top.
Waking up...blood in his eyes blinding him.
She hadn't been wearing her seat belt.
He remembered how he had watched the life die away in those sapphire eyes. Her body half way through the windshield, hair matted with blood, slivers of glass winking like stars across the crushed hood of the car.
Lifting his eyes he struggled to his feet, knowing he had to climb those stairs, the soft thump of his crutch his only company as he worked his way up into the darkness. His wet shoes slid across the floor as he slipped down the hall, his heart pounding, his breath tight in his throat.
Not once in three years had he been back to this place.
Jasmine tickled his nose as he reached out with trembling fingers to the door knob. Creaking the door swung open into what had once been their bedroom. He had expected dust, darkness and the stray cobweb, but not what he found.
It was as if time had froze.
She lay stretched out on the bed, her skin pale marble in the candlelight, her lips moist red...blood red. The dark blue silk of her chemise flowed along the length of her torso, stopping just mid thigh.
He hadn't expected this.
She sighed softly, rolling onto her back, stretching her arms above her.
The peaks of her breasts tantalizing beneath the dark blue silk, the hem riding just enough to reveal a flash of dark red curls.
Trembling he stepped closer his eyes dilating with passion as she rolled onto her stomach, the curve of a milky buttock causing him to groan. One tiny hand lifted, a finger crook- ing, beckoning him to join her.
God he missed her.
Anger surged, bitter in the back of his throat, as he struggled not into her ghostly arms, but to the window. Throwing open the latch, the storm beyond tore the glass from his shaking hands as he howled out his rage to the rain.
He cursed the weakness she was to him, the self inflicted pain her lose had brought.
Her voice was a melodic symphony of otherworldly violins as she called his name, the wind tearing at the drapes
Picking up, the wind screamed through the room, the candles spluttering and finally dying, leaving the room drowned in darkness.
Their love had been ill fated from the beginning, it had never been right.
Turning back to the dark room he smiled at the pale spirit that still awaited him. He let his fingers slip along her jaw, down the pale length of her neck, as he lowered him- self to the bed. One finger sliding the delicate strap of silk down her shoulder. His lips lowered to the pale cold flesh, the scent of her perfume filling his nose as he tasted her skin.
"I won't go with you," he whispered against her shoulder.
A soft moan filled his ears as he lifted his head to meet her sparkling eyes.
"It was nice of you to...to come...to let me know."
She smiled then, her hand lifting to caress his cheek. With a sigh she leaned forward her lips catching his in a passionate kiss, his fingers tangling in the mass of auburn silk, swirling around her pale shoulders. Pulling back he smiled, tears falling down his cheeks once more, as she began to fade away.
As the storm ended outside he collapsed to the bed sobbing, wondering if he had made the right choice. Finally sleep overcame him as the first light of dawn lit the retreating storm clouds.
He had never been here.
Not even for her funeral.
There was a part of him that realized why now as he wandered between tombs and markers. The caretaker had nodded knowingly when he had ask where her resting place was. A gnarled little Cajun man who had probably seen his share of people over the years dealing with grief.
He knew what he had to do.
There was a little boy out there that needed him and he was ashamed he had forgotten.
Third willow tree from the west fence, the caretaker had said.
He recognized it the moment he saw it.
The artist had captured his instructions to the tee. A single marble pedestal on which an angel knelt, an urn lifted heavenward. The inscription was simple.
Dana Katherine Scully
A tiny smile played along his lips as he traced the angel's marble face. She would have appreciated the message, he thought, as he lay the bouquet of jasmine and lilacs at the foot of the tombstone.
"I hope you found heaven Dana," he whispered as he struggled to his feet, turning away.
He didn't see the soft glow of the tiny form as she reached down to pluck a jasmine blossom from the bouquet. Her lips parted in a wide smile as she turned to the man who waited beneath the bows of the willow.
"I did..." she sighed.
With a final glance at Walter Skinner's retreating form she took Mulder's hand and faded away.
Gotcha! LOL ;D
On a misbegotten, moonless night
I lit up a cigarette
I bounded up the staircase
You're more beautiful than ever
You look so lovely lying there
I threw open the window
What dirty tricks the mind can play
Oh, my wicked, little habit
But it's been so good to have