FicWad

The room spun quickly back into focus in a rush of artificial light and Mikey staggered backwards as the apparent motion left him dizzy. Falling backwards against a wall, he knocked over a lamp and sent it crashing to the floor, smashing into several pieces as it landed. Mikey spread his arms out, steadying himself. Hitting the wall may have hurt a little, but it was better than hitting the floor. He breathed deeply and slowly as he tried to calm down. Reaching into his pocket he sighed with relief as he found his inhaler, thankfully undamaged. For the moment he was alone and confused in his new surroundings; nothing looked familiar to him. It appeared to be a bedroom, but not one he had yet seen in the house. It was decorated in a way that he was certain someone had hoped would be stylish, but just, at least to him, seemed far too grand and ostentatious. It struck him as particularly odd that the bed was clearly designed for two people but seemed rather too small by normal standards. Still slightly dizzy, he took a seat on the burgundy satin throw that lay on top of the crisp white, freshly laundered sheets. In front on him, a small table and chairs arrangement caught his eye and by the wall, stood a chaise longue. There were far too many patterns in the room, the wallpaper, the upholstery on the chairs, the chaise longue and the carpet – all different, all contrasting, and definitely not to his taste. The furniture was at the same time old fashioned but appeared brand new; was it just that the furniture in the house never got used? To his left was a partially open door. Taking a deep breath, his balance now restored, Mikey rose and opened it fully, pausing as he realised that his hand hadn’t simply passed through the door handle as it had earlier with the chair. Walking through into the next room, he found himself standing in a well appointed, but small, sitting room complete with sofa, chairs, desk, cabinets and fireplace. Again the gaudy decoration drew a frown of distaste. Then, somehow, realisation dawned.

“This isn’t the house.”

It all felt wrong, very wrong. There was an unnatural calm and stillness in the air; a tableau of half-formed images, partially animated by unseen forces. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, hanging over him like a depression. Mikey’s head pounded and all he wanted to do was sleep. He knew he hadn’t seen the room before now, but the sensation he now experienced confused him even more – he was beginning to recognise items in the room.

His head turned sharply at a knock at the door. It looked like an interior door, but he hadn’t tried it yet. Now, he didn’t want to. He had no idea who might be standing there or what they would make of him. Would he be arrested for trespassing? He neither knew where he was nor how he had come to be there. The woman, Lady Alverton, Catherine was nowhere to be seen and he was frightened. A second, more urgent knock came and Mikey took a step back, uncertain what he should do. Hide, maybe? The decision became redundant as the door suddenly opened. Before him stood a man with slicked back hair in a uniform of a smart white jacket and black pants.

“Lord Alverton, excuse me,” the man hesitated as he saw Mikey simply staring at him. “I heard a crash, but you didn’t answer. Is everything in order, Sir?”
Mikey’s mouth opened slightly, but no words would come out.
“Would you like me to fetch you some water, Sir?”
Mikey shook his head, still staring, unblinking at the man.
“Who are you?”
“I’m your steward, Sir; Watkins.” The steward paused before continuing with concern in his voice, “My Lord, shall I fetch Lady Alverton? I believe she’s taking the air on the boat deck.”
“Y…yeah,” he finally stammered in reply. “Please.”
“Very good, Sir,” the steward nodded closing the door as he left.

Mikey put a hand to his head as he looked around the room. There were far too many questions and no answers. Where was he, and possibly more importantly, why on earth did that man think he was Lord Alverton? Staggering to the bathroom to splash water on his face, Mikey watched the water running and sighed as it dripped from his eyelashes and cheeks. Glancing up, he caught his reflection in the mirror and was relieved to see his own reflection staring back at him. That did, however, confuse him further over how he managed to be so easily mistaken for a elderly English lord.

“No, it’s not obvious,” the same clear English voice, that he had heard what felt like only minutes earlier, answered his thoughts. “But I can explain.”
Mikey turned and as he saw her he stepped back to steady himself as more inexplicable memories flooded his mind. Suddenly, he recognised the room and he realised with horror where he was but with a deep breath he pushed the information to the back of his mind; it was simply impossible. Closing his eyes briefly, he gathered his thoughts.

“Where am I?” he asked hesitantly.
“My dear, Thomas, you know where you are.”
“My name isn’t Thomas!” He insisted. “It’s…”
Mikey appeared as though he had the name within his grasp, but it kept eluding him.
“It’s…” he tried again. “Damn it! What have you done to me?”
Mikey pushed past her and, heading back into the sitting room, flopped down heavily on the sofa as he scoured his memory, searching for his own name. He heard the rustle of her skirt as she sat next to him and took his hand once more.
“You don’t understand,” she began slowly.
“You’re damn right I don’t!” he snapped. “I know this doesn’t feel right to me, but I don’t know why. I’ve forgotten my own name for pity’s sake!”
“Thomas, no! Please listen to me!”
“My name isn’t Thomas!” he snapped.
“Yes it is!” she countered. “You are Thomas Alverton! Or…” she paused briefly, “you are now.”
Mikey cast a bewildered eye towards her.
“What do you mean, I am now?”
She gazed on him with pitying eyes. The boy was scared for his life; she understood, but soon, just as with his name, he would forget everything and simply be hers.
“When I saw you, I saw your connection to the world of spirit. I knew I could be reunited with my husband through you. His spirit is in you… you are my Thomas.”
Her voice almost cracked as she gazed on the face of the man she recognised as her husband before reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. The touch of her hand felt electric and Mikey reacted without thinking. Cupping her hand in his, he kissed her palm.
“Oh, Catherine!” he whispered.

Lady Alverton smiled. The spirit of her long dead husband had been given this one single opportunity to return to her. They may have been distantly related, or it may have been pure coincidence, but the striking resemblance Mikey bore to the deceased lord had given Lady Alverton’s ghost enough energy and hope to return to that fateful night aboard the Titanic when her husband had died. With every passing second Mikey’s own memories, personality and spirit were being suppressed, only to be replaced with those of Lord Alverton. She had waited, aimlessly and agonisingly for a chance to press her lips to his once more, but this opportunity was more than she could possibly have hoped for. This time, with Mikey acting as host to her husband’s spirit, she would change history. She would not stand aside, oblivious to the danger, and allow him to die in the icy Atlantic waters. He would live, she would live; nothing could tear them apart this time.

For the briefest of moments she considered the effect of this on the young visitor to her home. It seemed wrong to use him in this way, but while she felt the passionate pull of guilt, the fear of going through all this, only to lose her husband a second time was simple unbearable. It would be Mikey’s life to trade for her husband’s. It was regrettable, but to her, the end more than justified the means.