Post by qohart on Oct 28, 2012 10:35:05 GMT -8
The night of the Deadly All Hallows Eve
by Cris Hart
Part 2
Jim squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed his head in both hands, the blood pounding in his ears.
“I didn’t silence your voice! I need your screams! You’ve cheated me!” he shouted so loudly his throat burned and his voice echoed off the walls.
Artie sat up in bed eyes wild had clammy with sweat. He looked around and calmed when he recognized his own room on the Wanderer.
‘A dream,’ he sighed internally, ‘It was only a dream.’ He drew in a shaky breath. ‘More like a nightmare,’ he amended.
Artie threw back the covers, padded softly to the bureau and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
“God, what a sight,” Artie said aloud staring at his hair sticking up at all angles, the dark shadow of whiskers on his cheeks and chin and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he’d been ill but he knew it was only the bad night’s sleep due to the nightmare.
Half an hour later, Artie was washed, shaved, combed and dressed. He looked into the mirror again, smiled a very satisfied smile at his reflection this time and headed to the galley to make coffee and breakfast.
As he passed his partner’s room, he barely paused as he knocked twice loudly and called, “Breakfast in 20 minutes,” as he continued down the corridor.
Artie decided on omelets and toast and set about chopping and grating ingredients. A little while later, he heard his partner coming down the corridor. Artie had his back to the door when he passed by.
“Good morning,” Artie called over his shoulder and received a tired grunt in response. He chuckled as he folded over the first omelet and plated it with a slice of toast and placed it to the back of the stove to keep warm. When the other omelet was ready Artie placed the two plates and coffee service on a tray and took it into the parlor.
“Breakfast is served,” Artie announced, placing the tray on the table. He poured the coffee and picked up his cup preparing to take a sip. The cup clattered back to the saucer as Artie gaped in surprise.
“What’s wrong, Artemus?”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Artie spluttered.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? Where else would I be?” Jason Kimble asked looking concerned.
“I mean what are you doing here? Where’s Jim?” Artie inquired finally managing a sip of his coffee.
Jason stared at him for a long moment then sighed and took a seat at the table. “Artemus, I thought you understood all this,” he began.
“All what?” Artie asked suspiciously.
“About Jim,” Jason answered.
“What about Jim,” Artie grew cold and shakily took a seat.
Kimble sighed and shook his head. “All right, I’ll explain it once again. Three months ago, Jim…lost his mind. He murdered a family…”
“The Hightowers?” Artie ventured.
“That’s right,” Jason encouraged before continuing. “Jim killed a lot of other people too…”
“Colonel Richmond, Jeremy Pike, Ned Brown and Bosley Cranston?” Artie asked hesitantly.
“Right. You do remember!” Kimble exclaimed. “President Grant partnered us after…” he paused waiting to see if Artie would fill in the blank but Artemus just looked miserable and sick. “After Jim was put on trial and put to death for treason,” Kimble finished somberly.
The room spun and Artie felt very, very sick. “No, it can’t be,” he muttered.
“He thought he’d killed you too. We found him standing over you in the cellar screaming,” Jason was saying.
Artie joined in, “Screaming, ‘I didn’t silence your voice! I need your screams! You’ve cheated me!’,” Artie stated flatly. He looked up at the stranger across from him. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes. You must have heard him even though you were unconscious,” Jason told him. “You don’t look well, Artemus. Are you all right?”
“No. I don’t think I am,” Artie answered rising from the table. “I…I think I need some time alone,” he said and took a step toward the corridor. Before he could go another step, he collapsed.
Artie sat up in bed eyes wild had clammy with sweat. He looked around and calmed when he recognized his own room on the Wanderer.
‘A dream,’ he sighed internally, ‘It was only a dream.’ He drew in a shaky breath. ‘More like a nightmare,’ he amended.
Artie threw back the covers, padded softly to the bureau and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
“God, what a sight,” Artie said aloud staring at his hair sticking up at all angles, the dark shadow of whiskers on his cheeks and chin and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he’d been ill but he knew it was only the bad night’s sleep due to the nightmare.
Half an hour later, Artie was washed, shaved, combed and dressed. He looked into the mirror again, smiled a very satisfied smile at his reflection this time and headed to the galley to make coffee and breakfast.
As he passed his partner’s room, he barely paused as he knocked twice loudly and called, “Breakfast in 20 minutes,” as he continued down the corridor. He stopped when he heard his partner’s voice.
“I didn’t silence your voice! I need your screams! You’ve cheated me!” Jim shouted so loudly his voice echoed off the walls.
He started when hands grasped his and tore them away from the sides of his head. He realized only then that he had grabbed handfuls of his hair. He continued to scream his frustration even as the hands gently extricated his hair from between his fingers and pulled his hands down to his lap.
Jim opened his eyes and they went wide with surprise. “You!” he cried hoarsely.
“Yes, me. Now calm down, Jim,” Artie soothed his friend with reassuring words and a soft tone.
“How…what…I don’t understand,” Jim finally calmed down and lay back on his pillows.
“You were having a nightmare,” Artie explained.
“Yeah and it was a doozie,” Jim wiped his hand down his face. He looked at his partner and narrowed his eyes. “If I’m the one who had the nightmare, why do you look like that?” he asked.
“Like what?” Artie asked a bit tremulously.
“Artie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jim tried to jest but he could barely manage a smile.
“Tell me your dream, Jim,” Artie urged his friend.
“I was in a house full of…murdered people,” Jim closed his eyes remembering. He did not want to admit his role in the dream, which seemed silly because it was only a dream.
“A family?” Artie asked.
Jim opened his eyes and stared into Artie’s eyes. He did not see mockery as he had expected. He saw understanding and empathy. “Yes,” Jim replied quietly.
“The Hightowers,” Artie stated holding Jim’s gaze.
“Yes,” Jim repeated just as quietly. “And…others.”
“The Colonel, Jeremy, Ned, and Bosley?” Artie’s voice was pitched as quietly as his partner’s.
“What’s going on, Artie?” Jim asked. He balled his hands into fists to keep Artie from seeing the slight trembling of his hands even as he noticed the tremor in Artie’s where his hand held Jim’s forearm.
“I had that same dream, Jim. It was so real, I woke up in a panic,” Artie admitted.
“How can that be?” Jim wondered.
Artie shook his head slowly.
A soft chuckle reverberated through the room. Both men stood and hurried into the corridor as the chuckle became a giggle and grew in volume. Each agent turned moving down the corridor in opposite directions as the giggle morphed and filled the train with the unmistakable maniacal laughter of Dr. Miguelito Loveless.
Jim looked back at Artie who was staring down the hall at Jim. A cold chill ran up their spines as the laughter continued to resonate around them.
The end?