Fic, Moonlight Shadow, Chapter 3
Jul. 1st, 2007 05:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettAuthor : fredbassett
Chapter 3 : Far Away on the Other Side
Genre : Original Fiction
Copyright : Mine all mine (but feel free to slash for fun)
3
FAR AWAY ON THE OTHER SIDE
It took Mark Phelps a moment to realise that Philippa Wakelin hadn’t been looking at her husband’s body when she’d spoken. She was staring at an empty white painted wall, head cocked slightly to one side, her narrow eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
“Michael, concentrate! I’m losing you.”
The shimmer in the air deepened slightly and every eye in the room was now fixed on the same spot. The mortuary attendant didn’t even appear to notice the abrupt change in appearance of one of the occupants of the room as Green Jacket’s glamour wavered then finally slipped altogether. The frown on the hospital worker’s own face deepened as he stared across the shrouded body at the wall and muttered, “Bugger, not another one.”
The doctor shot him a look of quick sympathy. He knew how the other man felt. This was the worst hospital he’d ever known for ex-patients who refused to go home. If the occupants of the mortuary started to hang around as well, the place would soon get even more unpleasantly overcrowded.
The priest had stopped praying and was now staring at the body on the trolley as though he half expected to see the shrouded chest start to rise and fall.
The girl reached out and squeezed his hand. “Don’t be daft, Nathan. He isn’t going to start breathing again, even I know that.” She switched her gaze again to empty air, “Michael, come back!” Her voice was loaded with enough Compulsion to turn a crowded bar tea-total and her hands moved in a quick gesture to set the spell. The shimmer deepened again and Mark Phelps thought he saw a faint shape, nothing more solid than a wisp of mist, but it was enough to tell him that the grieving widow wasn’t hallucinating. Or if she was, then the rest of them were sharing her delusion.
“Get the body out of here,” Green Jacket ordered the mortuary attendant in the voice of someone used to having his commands obeyed even without the aid of spells. “Ghosts don’t like human blood. Especially not their own.”
“Can you see him, Uncle Hal?”
The faery shook his head. “I’m too knackered to see the Headless Horseman, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here.”
He isn’t.
“Thank God for small mercies,” muttered Nathan, starting to wonder whether he had concussion on top of everything else. For a second he’d had an absurd vision of one of folklores better known characters wandering through the room on his equally spectral horse.
“Well, we don’t seem to get big mercies from him, so I suppose you may as well be thankful for the small ones,” retorted the faery, then a grin started to form on his handsome face. “That wasn’t what you meant was it? Have you just heard him?”
The priest gave him a withering look. “Who? The Headless Horseman or Michael? Why not use his name, like the rest of us? Maybe we should debate your cultural taboos instead of my religion for a change?”
“Stop it you two,” snapped Philippa. “I’m trying to stop my husband fading! If you’re going to debate theology and Otherworld customs you can bloody well do it outside.”
The door closed heavily behind both the trolley and the attendant and the man obviously didn’t feel the need to return. Mark Phelps didn’t blame him. He was used to working in an I.C. Unit haunted by an irate ex-patient, but the current scene was starting to feel somewhat surreal even to him.
“Can I do anything to help?” he asked, more out of habit than anything else.
For the first time since he had met her, colour was coming back to the girl’s face and the expression of determination she’d worn for the last hour was starting to look slightly less grim. If anyone was capable of holding a ghost to this world rather than simply getting it to move on, he suspected it would be her.
“A cup of tea would be nice.”
“You obviously haven’t tasted hospital tea.”
“No, but I’ve been breathing hospital air, so any liquid will be an improvement. Hal and Nathan drink coffee for preference and they both take sugar.” She dragged her eyes away from the slight disturbance in the air that he presumed was the ghost of her husband and said, “I don’t know how long we’re going to be here. Is this room going to be needed?”
Yes, there are another three sets of grieving relatives due in the next two hours and this is the only sodding viewing room we’ve got. And I’ve just worked for almost twenty four hours at a stretch and I want to go home to bed. He sighed and said aloud, “Probably, but I’ll see what I can do. Do you want biscuits as well?”
“Chocolate ones,” said the faery, ignoring the sarcasm. “And Nathan needs some pain killers. Preferably ones that work better than the prayers he sets such store by. He’s got at least two cracked ribs which I didn’t have the time or the energy to try and heal and his God didn’t seem to have the inclination.” Before Philippa had the chance to reply he held both hands up in apology and smiled disarmingly.
She shook her head and summoned a shaky smile in reply before turning her attention back to her husband’s ghost. It was like looking into a heat haze. Nothing more than a slight disturbance in the air gave any clue to the fact that something of Michael Wakelin still remained in the mortal world. His wife moved a tentative step forward and stopped when she felt a barely perceptible decrease in air temperature.
Don’t push it. Not too far, not too fast. Some ghosts could be as almost as jumpy as wild animals, she knew that. This was her job, damn it. She was good at this. Go slowly, keep him talking, keep him anchored. Play him like a fish on a line. Reel him in, keep the line tight, but don’t pull too hard, don’t jerk the hook out. She’d never fished, but one of her teachers had, and she’d learned the analogy from him and it seemed to work for her. She visualised a line stretching between her and Michael and concentrated on bringing that into being. Carefully, she tied off both ends of the line, anchoring one to herself and the other to the shimmer in the air that was all she had left of her husband. She’d worry about Guild ethics later. All that mattered now was that she hadn’t lost him totally. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had five minutes ago.
The words of the Binding Spell were spoken aloud and once again, she set them with a movement of her hands. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but she found it sometimes helped and now seemed like a good time to play the percentages.
Her hands still prickled, if anything even more strongly than before. It was a good sign.
It wasn’t my fault, Pippa. I think a tyre burst.
That was a good sign as well. He knew what had happened. And he was still capable of thinking. She hated dealing with ghosts who thought they were alive. No-one wanted to be the person who had to tell their own husband he was dead. She’d done it often enough with other people’s relatives and it was still one of the parts of the job she hated the most. That and telling those who desperately wanted their loved ones to come back that there was no sign of them remaining. For some, it was like losing the person a second time.
Ever since arriving at the hospital she’d known what it was she wanted to find.
And if they’d stonewalled her much longer there would have been Hell to pay. Quite literally. Hospital or no hospital.
She sighed and couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I know. I’m not blaming you, love.”
Frank?
“In here. Not brilliant, but Uncle Hal’s done as much as he can, and the doctor seems to think he’ll be OK.” The latter wasn’t strictly true, but the truth wasn’t always the best policy in these circumstances.
There wasn’t a face to see, but the shimmer radiated scepticism. Sod it, Michael had always known when she was lying. She didn’t know whether to laugh or carrying on crying. As a compromise, she sniffed loudly and started to weave another Binding Spell into the first one.
While she worked, she detected a faint echo of other magic, almost the memory of a spell hanging in the air. Unconsciously, she sniffed again, but this time like a dog on a scent. It didn’t work. Her nose was too bunged up and drippy. She blew it noisily and sniffed again. Otherworld magic. Faint but just detectable.
“Uncle Hal, what did you do when you got to the crash?”
“Tried to keep Frank alive.”
“What about Michael?”
“He was gone.”
Philippa shook her head. “He was dead maybe, but not gone. I think you caught his spirit in the spells you wove for Frank.”
Mark Phelps heard her words as he came back into the room balancing a tray of mugs, which wobbled dangerously. He set the tray down on a small table and kicked the door closed with his foot. “Tea, coffee and biscuits. Plus pain killers and bandages. Will it distract you if I deal with Father Murphy’s ribs in here?”
“It can’t be more distracting than him and Hal scrapping. Besides, I think I’ve got Michael anchored for the moment at least.” But what next? She blinked back sudden tears and started to shake. He was still dead. She couldn’t change that.
Her godfather’s arms encircled her, but it wasn’t only his voice she heard trying to bring comfort. She buried her face in the faery’s chest, dragging shaky breaths through both mouth and nose. Green Jacket felt a coldness in the air and knew that Michael was trying to get closer to his wife. He gave Philippa a hard squeeze and spoke to her in a language that only she understood, “Come on, sweetpea, Michael needs you. You can let go later, but not now.”
She looked up, surprised, “You said his name.”
“Yes, I’m not quite as hide bound by tradition as Nathan seems to think, and anyway, unless I’m very much mistaken we aren’t trying to prevent his spirit moving on, are we? Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Her grin was shaky, but at least she managed to summon one. “The spells gave it away?”
He nodded then changed back to English, “Now blow your nose again and drink your tea before it gets colder.”
Philippa gulped the tea down but refused a biscuit. The faery and the priest were less reticent. Mark Phelps handed two tablets to Nathan Murphy and took two himself, in the hope it would do something to dislodge the pounding headache that had descended on him. He felt like shit and although he didn’t expect them to work, it looked like they were the only option open to him at the moment. He certainly wasn’t going to get the sleep he so desperately wanted. And he still hadn’t the faintest idea what he was going to do to divert the next set of grieving relatives away from the viewing room. They were due in less than an hour and the harassed mortuary attendant had made it quite plain that he wasn’t going to be the one doing the explaining.
Strapping up the priest’s cracked ribs was almost a welcome distraction. At least that was something he understood and could deal with. As for the rest, he had a nasty feeling that he had started down an inexorable slide into some very murky waters.
“So what happens now?” he asked.
Philippa shrugged, looking like someone who was hanging onto her composure by a very slender thread. “I wish I knew.” She scrubbed her eyes fiercely with a handkerchief that was already showing signs of having seen better days. “Michael’s dead. There’s no getting round that, but he’s not gone entirely and I don’t want to lose what’s left of him. Is that wrong, Nathan?”
The priest shrugged as well but the movement made him wince. “According to my Church, yes, it probably is. But I’m your friend, not your priest. Of course you don’t want to lose Michael a second time, and I don’t suppose he wants to lose you, but are either of you in any state to make that decision, Pippa?”
She sighed, “I don’t suppose we are, but I’m not going to let him go without a fight, not if he wants to stay.” She stared at the shimmer in the air and said softly, “Your choice, my love. Stay or go.”
The room was silent. As silent as the proverbial grave, thought Mark. And as cold. He shivered violently. By hospital standards, the viewing room was cool, but not normally as cold as this. He glanced at his watch. The next relatives were due in twenty minutes as he had absolutely no idea how to deal with them. Not for the first time, he wished he’d resisted the temptation to get involved. Would he never learn?
The silence stretched on. Stretched until even the Veil between one world and the other wore thin. And then stretched some more. The reply, when it finally came, was no louder than a whisper, but it was whisper heard by three humans and one faery.
Stay. Help me stay.
Philippa Wakelin groped blindly for her godfather’s hand and gripped it tightly.
The silence contracted, the tension ebbed and four people let out breaths none of them had even realised they had been holding.
“So what happens now?” said Mark, looking at his watch. “I don’t want to rush you folks, but this is the only viewing room we’ve got.”
A rap on the door prevented anyone replying. The mortuary attendant put his head round it and said. “Reception have just buzzed me, Dr Phelps. The next lot are early and there’s a woman from the Guild with them. Thought you’d like to know,” and with that, the man’s head retracted like a tortoise into its shell, and the door closed sharply behind him.
“Oh dear God,” muttered Philippa, “this place reeks of Spells.”
“And several of them won’t pass the Ethics Committee,” said Nathan, “even I know that. Hal, we need a diversion.”
“What makes you think I’ve got the energy to provide one?”
“The fact that you’re still standing, for one thing. Call reinforcements if you need to, but do something! Philippa, what do we have to do to help Michael get out of here? Can he be moved?”
In spite of the situation, the girl laughed. “How should I know? He’s a ghost, not an invalid. Yes, maybe we can move him, but between us all we’re running out of energy almost as fast as we’re running out of options. We need power from somewhere and we can’t get help from the Guild. Nathan’s right, Ethics will have a fit over this. We need to buy time.”
The faery grinned wolfishly. “So let me get this right, you’re asking me to cause trouble?”
Before anyone had the chance to answer, Mark Phelps commented, “This is a hospital, remember.”
“He means you can do what you like, but don’t set off the fire alarm,” said Nathan, helpfully and although the statement earned him a glare, the young doctor didn’t contradict him.
Recognising the futility of trying to reason with this lot, Mark Phelps said heavily, “Just make sure everyone survives, OK?”
They’re mad, all of them, he thought, struggling with incredulity and exhaustion, and I’m no better. I should’ve just gone home and left them to it. He watched as the faery took a moment to gather Glamour back around him like a cloak and then walk out of the door, looking for all the world indistinguishable from any member of hospital staff. His features had blurred into the sort of face you could pass in a crowd without noticing, rather than the sort of face that inspired both fear and longing in equal measure. Maybe the authors who thought Helen of Troy had been of Otherworld origin were right.
“So on the assumption that the viewing won’t be going ahead, what happens next?”
Philippa Wakelin stared at the shimmer in the air again then dragged her gaze back to the young doctor. “I don’t know, I really don’t know. Whatever Hal does, I doubt he’ll bring help from the Otherworld. I can’t think of anyone else from beyond the Veil who would agree to come here. There’s no-one in the Guild I’d trust with my life and there’s certainly no-one I’d trust with Michael’s death, so I don’t know where that leaves us.”
“We need a source of Power,” said Nathan, at exactly the same moment as a piercing shriek made itself heard even through the thickness of several doors.
“So what do you suggest?” said Philippa, ignoring the noise. “Prayer?”
“Hardly, even I know that can be a little too hit and miss at times. I was thinking of something more practical, like fetching the Staff. Do you think you can work with that as a power source?”
Her eyebrows shot up like a pair of jumping jacks. “You’ll trigger the Guild’s Surveillance Wards getting it out.”
“So we’ll need another distraction.”
“The Bishop will freak.”
“And he’ll probably carry out his threat to send it to
“No.”
“Then we’ll worry about the Bishop and his tantrums later. I’m presuming you’ll need to remain here with Michael?”
She looked helpless for a moment, and very, very young, her eyes flickering between the priest and the disturbance in the air.
“So it looks like I get Dr Phelps for back-up. He’s proved pretty resistant to magic, so that might work to our advantage.”
“Whoa, just hang on a minute,” said the individual the subject of their discussion, “I haven’t a clue what you’re intending, but it sure as hell doesn’t sound like it’s going to be legal.” Another yell drifted down the corridor and the doctor flinched, “And I expect whatever’s happening out there comes into the same category. You’re mad, the lot of you, you do know that, don’t you?”
“You wouldn’t be the first to reach that conclusion. Come on, I have a feeling I know what Hal’s up to. We can get past in the confusion. Pippa, Ward the door behind us and stay in here.”
She shook her head. “I’ll set binding spells on both doors. Michael’s as well anchored as I can manage. If I’m with you, we might have a chance of getting it out without being noticed. Dr Phelps can drive the get-away car.” She turned to what was left of her husband. “Make sure you’re still here when I get back. I’m not losing you again.”
Just for an instant, Mark Phelps thought he saw the shape of a man, no more than a shadow, hovering insubstantially in the air.
……… do my best ……… be careful ………
Philippa gave her dead husband a tired grin. “I’ll try. If anyone gets in, rattle a few chains or something.”
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Date: 2007-07-01 06:03 pm (UTC)Although I'm now wondering why Pippa has brought Michael back. I'm suspecting there's going to be a slightly better reason than it's just because she misses him.
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Date: 2007-07-01 10:17 pm (UTC)Glad you're still enjoying it :)
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Date: 2007-07-02 07:30 am (UTC)What a spooky idea to be trying to HOLD a spirit rather than persuading it to banish itself and move on. Keeping a strict eye on Nathan and hal for slash possibilities!
And Dr Phelps is deinitely a good addition to the Canon.
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Date: 2007-07-02 01:09 pm (UTC)Glad you like Dr Phelps. And personally I think there's plenty of slash possibilities with Nathan and Hal, all that priestly angst thrown in for good (or bad!) measure :)
more, more, more!!!! demanding little bitch, eh?
Date: 2008-01-03 06:17 pm (UTC)Re: more, more, more!!!! demanding little bitch, eh?
Date: 2008-01-03 07:53 pm (UTC)My email provider is still off line. It's an ISP issue not a home problem, but as soon as I'm back up and running, I'll start emailing chapters of Shadows in the Dark (Book 1) as if you like that, there's a whole book I can feed you, then there's Shadowfall (Book 2). The main character of these is Philippa's daughter, and they're told from her POV. Less ghosts but more general folklore creatures etc. The second book, if you still like it, has caving as the background.
I mainly started Moonlight Shadow just to fill in the background of Philippa, Michael and Frank, and to work out who Green Jacket was. (My friend Grondfic wanted to meet him, and so did I, so he needed to make an appearance. Check out the poem which started this whole fic-verse, I'll give you the link, below. My Dad used to recite this to me when I was a kid. The two main faery characters of the first books are the ones I've called White Owl's Feather (Aiden) and Red Cap (Erith). I needed Green Jacket to complete the set :) I love all three of them now!
http://www.poetry-archive.com/a/the_fairies.html
Hopefully, I'll be able to email you tomorrow evening, then I have to go out to a meeting, but I'll be back around at the weekend. Hope all is ok with you, hon.
Re: more, more, more!!!! demanding little bitch, eh?
Date: 2008-01-03 08:03 pm (UTC)A little miffed at Maddy--he's got my hackles up, but other than that, I'm ok. Meh--men, they suck, what can ya do? Can't even count on them for friends, huh?? >(
But, I'm mostly anxious about tests, that's really all...can't wait for the e-mail, looking forward to it! Talk at you soon! <3 J
Re: more, more, more!!!! demanding little bitch, eh?
Date: 2008-01-03 08:11 pm (UTC)*fingers crossed for mri*
I'll be thinking really positive thoughts for you :)
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Date: 2009-10-05 08:50 am (UTC)What's going to happen????
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Date: 2009-10-05 11:13 am (UTC)Shivers (Delicious ones!)
Date: 2010-12-31 12:01 am (UTC)Re: Shivers (Delicious ones!)
Date: 2010-12-31 09:59 am (UTC)The faeries are ruled by Queen Madb. Yes, the Seelie and Unseelie courts do exist, but not in a terribly formal sense, and some faeries have a foot in both camp, so to speak.
I've been doing a series of drabbles in this universe as well which you can find through one of my masterlists or the Otherworlds Investigation tag.
Re: Shivers (Delicious ones!)
Date: 2010-12-31 12:58 pm (UTC)Re: Shivers (Delicious ones!)
Date: 2010-12-31 01:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-07 11:18 pm (UTC)I still want my own Hal...
And I almost feel sorry for Dr. Phelps, because really, he's so doomed, lol.
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Date: 2011-04-08 07:31 am (UTC)