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“Losing you…forces me to realize…” I struggled with the words, terrified of letting my guard down and letting them escape.
Frost watched me struggle for a moment longer, then cut in. “How about I tell you something first?” I nodded in appreciation and he kissed my temple like the fleeting brush of a butterfly’s wing. “I always feel strongly about you. You must know that. But seeing you like this…it changes it. I have the chance to see you completely shattered and vulnerable and to pull you back. I have the chance to make you feel whole, if only briefly. And…seeing you so broken makes me realize how much it kills me to see you in pain and having you whole makes me see just how amazing you are in your strength and how important healing you is to me.”
I opened my eyes and craned my neck to look up at him, to see if he really meant it. I was met with a small, warm smile and those molten ice eyes, hovering over me, a brilliant, honest blue in the dimness of the bedroom. My brow creased and my lips parted slightly in sadness and shock. “Frost. Why do you want me?”
He pursed his lips, reflecting my own sadness in his countenance. “Because I know how great it’s going to feel when you stop asking me that. Now let that go, okay?” He lied down once more beside me, the contours of his chest pressed into my back. His hands slipped from mine and skimmed up my arms, his palms molding around my shoulders and his arms encircling me in an embrace so warm and so protective and gentle that I felt as though I could drown in it. He rested his cheek against mine again and I let my eyes fall shut in contentment. “Can I stay?” he asked cautiously, using the same tone he had when he asked if he could call me ‘darling’.
“Yes,” I whispered back. “I’d like that.”
As I drifted to sleep, I heard him whisper, “Let me stay, darling. Let me save you.”
----
The white mist was a theme that, though still new to me, was becoming almost welcome already, especially since it kept me safe from that wicked nightmare. “Edgar?” I called out.
“Elenora.” The dark silhouette materialized from the fog and stepped towards me, gradually forming into the haunted, miserable man with the dark hair and eyes so eerily like mine. “May I first begin by commenting on how relieved I am that you are merely visiting me tonight and second ask you to express my gratitude to Frost?”
“You may. Thank you, Edgar.” I bit the inside of my cheek grimly. “Without your message to Frost, yes…I’d be doing more than visiting you for a brief chat. I’ll tell Frost for you, but know that we are both eternally grateful to you.”
He nodded his understanding, but the thanks did not lessen the morbidity of his mood. “You have not made any developments in discovering the nature of the tragedy you shall soon face.”
“Do you know what’s coming, then?”
“I know the identity of the murderer who stalks your fate. But part of the deal the dead have worked out, giving them the opportunity to commune with the living, is that they may not divulge information that would lead directly to a shift in fate.” He extended his arms outward to gesture at the space surrounding us. “This place exists for the purpose of advising the living in the settlement of unfinished business. Advising, no more.”
I frowned deeply. “And what is your advice to me?”
“What is it that you are looking for? What ‘curse’ do you seek?”
I folded my arms and tipped my head slightly. “I can’t say. There are so many possibilities of forms it could take that I can’t make out how we could possibly prevent tragedy before it strikes. How are we to recognizeThe Tell-Tale Heartbefore discovering one of our good friends dismembered under the floorboards of their home?”
Edgar considered it seriously, then answered, “You are to know because the nightmare itself is not always the key. Your charge, Elenora, is to recognize difficulties unfolding and put a stop to them before they morph into violence and death.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying that this curse is creative, that it will take whatever means necessary to accomplish the end. The end is a nightmare, of course. The means, though, is ever-changing. It is a variable, thexin the equation, if you will.”
I shook my head sharply in frustration. “That only makes it more complicated.”
“Not at all. It makes it unpredictable in its means, but once you recognize the means…”
“The end becomes predictable,” I finished for him. “How do I tell the difference between common crime, drama or coincidence and the curse itself?”
“The curse is sometimes very clear in its potential outcome. Pieces of the nightmare will become obvious long before the tragedy itself strikes. This is not always the case.”
“Which case am I facing now?”
“I am not at liberty to say. What I can tell you is this, Poe.” Edgar took a step closer to me, his face darkening in warning. “The means does not always justify the end. Some have said that we are molded by the trials we face. Sometimes, to accomplish an end, the curse will expend time and blood in the molding process.”
“So before the nightmare itself even comes along, I could be waist-deep in bodies?”
He seemed to swallow hard, as if pained, and answered quietly, “For instance, your family was decimated not by a nightmare itself, but during the building process of another disaster.”
My eyes tightened in pain. “What? What happened to them? Why were they killed?”
“I cannot say. If you make it through, Poe, someday you will find out for yourself.”
I gripped my head in my hands, my fingers twining into my dark, cursed hair and pulling on it with just shy of the force to tear it out. “I can’t do this, Edgar. I’m not physically or mentally able to.”
