Jada was dreaming of the man she loved.
Geoffrey was watching her, his half-rotted face smiling, his crumbled hand outstretched. She was watching him, heart fluttering like a small bird. She knew it was him, even if his face was not the face of a man that she would truly remember. “Jada.” He whispered her name to her in a voice like a gurgling whisper, voice and throat half-rotted. His hand was oddly steady. Bile rose in Jada's throat. “And what else could Christine say but no? Would she not prefer to espouse death itself rather than that living corpse?” his hand drew back at her hesitation, and he quoted to her softly.
She was dreaming of a man who had loved her.
It had been twisted, in its way. Never anything physical- she was young, and he was a man of honor. “I am dying...of love...That is how it is.... loved her so!...And I love her still...daroga...and I am dying of love for her, I...I tell you!...If you knew how beautiful she was... when she let me kiss her.”
“You've been dead for a long time.” Jada whispered to Geoffrey. She watched him start to crumble, the smile doing first, the flesh peeling from his face. A grinning skull. He stepped forward, long fingers wrapping around her throat. Her hands went up to touch the cool, skeletal fingers. “I miss you every day.” she whispered to him.
The fingers tightened. Squeezed, and Jada wasn't able to breathe. She tightened her grip on his hands, tried to pull him away from her throat, fighting. But he came closer to her, pressed her back as he choked her. Her back pressed to the wall, she wasn't strong enough to push him away.
The world spun.
A worm crawled from his eye, spilling down his body and crawling over his arm. She tried to scream; she couldn't get in the breath necessary. She tried to struggle, but there was a weighted feeling on her chest. He seemed to shimmer in front of her as things went dark. Something hot seemed to splash across her face, waking her from the lethargy that his fingers crushing her windpipe caused. Geoffrey seemed to look surprised, and then the rest of him turned to ash.
The thick, metallic taste of liquid in her mouth, something heavy on her chest. Sobbing in her ears, a small hand pushing on her shoulder.
Eyes opened. A figure limp across her body, something hot and warm across her face and chest. Zora was shaking her. “Jada. Jada, wake up. Please?” She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but no sound would come out. Her throat hurt. Christ. She reached out, heard the sound of something clattering to the ground as Zora gripped her hand. “Jada.” Castor was yowling, whining in the bathroom. Her balcony doors were open, the glass shattered. Her bedroom door was open, one of the panes shattered out. She shoved the figure off her body, reached over to turn on her lamp. It was missing.
Zora was shaking.
Jada's throat hurt. It hurt to breathe. Jada pointed to the light switch, and Zora nodded. Lights came on and two pairs of purple eyes blinked at the light that flooded the room. Jada was covered in blood. Bright red. It was coming from the head of the figure on her bed, spilling across her sheets and onto her floor, staining the white sheets and the pale carpet. Jada was covered in it. The thirteen year-old near the door started to sob, staring at the man on the bed. Jada pushed off, felt a piece of glass tear into her foot. She pulled it out, reached out for Zora; she pulled her into the bedroom, closed and locked the door. “Are you okay?” it didn't come out as more than air, squeezing past a windpipe that was bruised from the force of his hands.
“F-F-Fine.” Zora shuddered. “I was having a bad dream.” Wasn't everyone lately? Jada reached out for her sister, pulling her close. Christ, what if something had happened to her? “I came to sleep with you.” An admission of weakness from a girl who always tried to be as strong as her big sister. “T-The man was...” He'd been choking Jada, kissing her mouth as she had been thrashing weakly underneath him. “Hurting you.” The lamp was in pieces on the floor, sprinkled over her bed. It was easy enough to see what had happened. Zora had blood on her nightgown. Jada held up a finger, moving over to the figure on the floor. The masculine chest wasn't rising and falling. The familiar face was still. The blood had stopped spreading. Her fingers went to his neck. There was no pulse.
He was dead.
Jada pushed back to her feet, moving over to Zora. Reached out, grabbed Zora's nightgown and pulled it over to her head. “Bath.” she mouthed. “Get in the bath.” She made sure Zora was scrubbed clean. Tossed her in a nightgown, made her go back to her own room. “You didn't come to my room tonight.” Her voice was raw. “Go back to your room.”
“Jada, is he-”
“Go!” she shoved Zora out of her room. Turned, surveying the mess in her room and gave a shudder and a quiet noise. Christ. What was she going to do?
What was she going to do?
Geoffrey was watching her, his half-rotted face smiling, his crumbled hand outstretched. She was watching him, heart fluttering like a small bird. She knew it was him, even if his face was not the face of a man that she would truly remember. “Jada.” He whispered her name to her in a voice like a gurgling whisper, voice and throat half-rotted. His hand was oddly steady. Bile rose in Jada's throat. “And what else could Christine say but no? Would she not prefer to espouse death itself rather than that living corpse?” his hand drew back at her hesitation, and he quoted to her softly.
She was dreaming of a man who had loved her.
It had been twisted, in its way. Never anything physical- she was young, and he was a man of honor. “I am dying...of love...That is how it is.... loved her so!...And I love her still...daroga...and I am dying of love for her, I...I tell you!...If you knew how beautiful she was... when she let me kiss her.”
“You've been dead for a long time.” Jada whispered to Geoffrey. She watched him start to crumble, the smile doing first, the flesh peeling from his face. A grinning skull. He stepped forward, long fingers wrapping around her throat. Her hands went up to touch the cool, skeletal fingers. “I miss you every day.” she whispered to him.
The fingers tightened. Squeezed, and Jada wasn't able to breathe. She tightened her grip on his hands, tried to pull him away from her throat, fighting. But he came closer to her, pressed her back as he choked her. Her back pressed to the wall, she wasn't strong enough to push him away.
The world spun.
A worm crawled from his eye, spilling down his body and crawling over his arm. She tried to scream; she couldn't get in the breath necessary. She tried to struggle, but there was a weighted feeling on her chest. He seemed to shimmer in front of her as things went dark. Something hot seemed to splash across her face, waking her from the lethargy that his fingers crushing her windpipe caused. Geoffrey seemed to look surprised, and then the rest of him turned to ash.
The thick, metallic taste of liquid in her mouth, something heavy on her chest. Sobbing in her ears, a small hand pushing on her shoulder.
Eyes opened. A figure limp across her body, something hot and warm across her face and chest. Zora was shaking her. “Jada. Jada, wake up. Please?” She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but no sound would come out. Her throat hurt. Christ. She reached out, heard the sound of something clattering to the ground as Zora gripped her hand. “Jada.” Castor was yowling, whining in the bathroom. Her balcony doors were open, the glass shattered. Her bedroom door was open, one of the panes shattered out. She shoved the figure off her body, reached over to turn on her lamp. It was missing.
Zora was shaking.
Jada's throat hurt. It hurt to breathe. Jada pointed to the light switch, and Zora nodded. Lights came on and two pairs of purple eyes blinked at the light that flooded the room. Jada was covered in blood. Bright red. It was coming from the head of the figure on her bed, spilling across her sheets and onto her floor, staining the white sheets and the pale carpet. Jada was covered in it. The thirteen year-old near the door started to sob, staring at the man on the bed. Jada pushed off, felt a piece of glass tear into her foot. She pulled it out, reached out for Zora; she pulled her into the bedroom, closed and locked the door. “Are you okay?” it didn't come out as more than air, squeezing past a windpipe that was bruised from the force of his hands.
“F-F-Fine.” Zora shuddered. “I was having a bad dream.” Wasn't everyone lately? Jada reached out for her sister, pulling her close. Christ, what if something had happened to her? “I came to sleep with you.” An admission of weakness from a girl who always tried to be as strong as her big sister. “T-The man was...” He'd been choking Jada, kissing her mouth as she had been thrashing weakly underneath him. “Hurting you.” The lamp was in pieces on the floor, sprinkled over her bed. It was easy enough to see what had happened. Zora had blood on her nightgown. Jada held up a finger, moving over to the figure on the floor. The masculine chest wasn't rising and falling. The familiar face was still. The blood had stopped spreading. Her fingers went to his neck. There was no pulse.
He was dead.
Jada pushed back to her feet, moving over to Zora. Reached out, grabbed Zora's nightgown and pulled it over to her head. “Bath.” she mouthed. “Get in the bath.” She made sure Zora was scrubbed clean. Tossed her in a nightgown, made her go back to her own room. “You didn't come to my room tonight.” Her voice was raw. “Go back to your room.”
“Jada, is he-”
“Go!” she shoved Zora out of her room. Turned, surveying the mess in her room and gave a shudder and a quiet noise. Christ. What was she going to do?
What was she going to do?
