Summary: Imogen was supposed to be the oldest sister, but nature intervened and took her away from her family before she was born. Now a guardian angel for the girl who would've been her younger sister, she feels like she has to live the life she never had through her.

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TELL IT TO THE SKIES

nightfly

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prologue

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The people of Seabeth were as hardy as the town itself. Sheltered in an inlet, Seabeth usually escaped the worst of the weather when Mother Nature decided she was going to storm, but there was a tiny shack out on the beach that always bore the worst of it. It was in this shack where Martha and Ian Bell were currently staying, fearful of what was going on outside it. See, nature had decided it was going to kick up a fuss and create one of the nastiest storms Seabeth and the surrounding area had seen in a long, long time.

It was a Saturday, Ian Bell would always remember that, and it was the night where everything had started off perfect and then quickly crashed into being one of the worst nights of their lives. It had been his worst nightmare. It had been the month of March, the weather should not have been that bad. His wife, Martha, had been five months pregnant with their first child.

Martha had protectively laid a hand over her protruding belly. Fear in her face, she'd said, “He's been so quiet, Ian.”

“That could be because you're laying down, Mar, you know she's always quiet when you do that.” Ian had been convinced that the baby was going to be a girl, but Martha insisted it would be a boy. This was because the baby was very active during the day and kicked a lot, but it slept through the night whenever it felt its mother lay down and all went quiet, save for her heartbeat.

“He,” she corrected him and his response was a knowing smile, to which she threw up her hands in exasperation and folded her arms over her chest. “What do I have to do to convince you that our wee baby is going to be a boy?”

Ian sat down beside his wife, slinging an arm around her shoulders and taking one of her hands and lacing it with one of his own on top of her bump. The baby kicked and they felt it and fell silent for a moment.

“Whoever it is in there is going to be one feisty child,” Martha whispered softly.

“Must take after your side of the family then,” Ian teased.

Martha stuck out her tongue at him. “Yours too.”

“It's going to be a mix of both of us.”

“Unless I've slept with the milkman or mailman recently,” Martha replied impishly.

“Oh, you're too cheeky, missy.” He pulled her into a full hug and wrestled her to the floor.

“Hey, go easy on me. You're not the one carrying the baby here!” Martha protested.

“Oh, but am I?” he replied in an equally cheeky tone, a grin splitting his face. He gathered his hands under the round bottom of her belly and lifted up. “See, I'm carrying it! Okay, okay, fine.” He kissed her on the nose and then relented, moving up to sit beside her again.

Thunder crashed outside and the walls of the shack shook. Martha hid her face in the crook of her husband's shoulder. “I'm scared, Ian.”

“I am too, Martha, I am too.” He wrapped his free arm around her protectively. “Don't worry, love, I'll keep you and baby safe.”

Ian felt Martha smile against his neck and he brought his hand up to stroke her hair. He felt her chest moving as she tried to stop herself from crying, both for her sake and the baby's.

The wind outside howled furiously, making the doors and windows whistle and whine as they struggled to keep it out and to keep the occupants of the shack safe.

“Ian?” Martha ventured in a small voice.

“Yes, my dear?”

“I don't feel so good.” And with that last sentence, he felt a mass of wet pool around them.

“Mar... Mar!” He scrambled to get his wife to a sitting position.

Her eyelids fluttered as he sa her up against the wall. She was deathly pale, covered in cold sweat and, as Ian found out when he placed his hand on her forehead, clammy. “I don't know if I can do this, Ian...” she whispered, shifting herself back an inch so that she was braced up against the wall. Her face contorted to a wince as a wave of pain rocked all of her senses. There was an underlying pain there, like someone was slowly dragging a rope around her middle and tightening it beyond what was even possible – what was normal.

Ian felt nothing but fear and pain, seeing both roll in torrential waves across Martha's face. He'd never been so scared of something in his life than he was right now in this moment. He cursed himself for bringing Martha and the baby out to the beach, late in the afternoon, when there was a storm of all things... he hadn't wanted to, initially, pointing at the weather report and showing Martha the forecast. She'd laughed it off and pointed to the day outside where the sky had been bright blue with no clouds and the sun high overhead. They'd frolicked in the sea for an hour or two, wearing only light gear, Martha venturing in only as deep as her knees. She had laughed a lot – and giggled.

No one was laughing now.

Dammit, he should have told her no, been more insistent... he was kicking himself now.

“Ian...” Martha's voice was hoarse and cracked halfway through saying his name. “I don't know if I can do this alone...”

“You won't be alone,” he whispered back, leaning down to kiss her clammy cheek. “I promise you, whatever happens, you won't be alone.”

Ian watched her relax for a moment as she accepted that, but she soon tensed up again as another wave of contractions passed over her.

Minutes, hours, passed by and Ian watched his wife's condition deteriorate. Finally he could bear it no more and scuttled over to his wife. “Mar,” he whispered, “I'm going to go find someone and get help.”

“We – we're – we're in the – the middle of – of nowhere,” she got out between breaths, her voice still creaky. “There is – no – one.”

“I know, but there's a possibility. I have to try. I'll be back as soon as I can... If you're not here when I get back, I promise I'm going to stalk you in the afterlife.”

Martha smiled faintly. “I'll try...”

“Do better than try. You'll be here for certain.”

“Any – anything's possible.”

Ian raced out of the shack, slamming the door firmly shut behind him. In front of him, the sea rages, throwing up waves a score of men would loathe to have to brave, hands of air threatening to pick him up and deposit him somewhere far, far away from the tiny shack up on the dunes, far back from the sea. The wind whipped up sand into his eyes and he brought his arm up to shield his face.

His eyes raced along the cliffs, searching for some form of human life, but he found none.

From inside the shack, he heard a high-pitched wailing over the wind and he raced inside. There, he found Martha hunched over a small, still, blue form – umbilical cord trailing from its belly – no, not its, her belly. Ian swept down to hold Martha in his arms, who was still holding their baby girl cradled in hers. “Imogen's,” she used the name they'd chosen, “dead. She's stillborn. I miscarried.” She buried her head against Ian's chest and began sobbing.

“Shh, shh,” Ian made soothing sounds as they rocked back and forth.

It was going to be a long night.

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The next day, after the storm had cleared, Martha and Ian left the shack – Martha with an empty tummy, and both with broken, empty hearts. Their hearts were left behind with a stillborn baby named Imogen, buried under sand, under the dunes, where everything becomes timeless – and soon, so would Imogen herself.

The white daisies placed on top of her grave by her mourning parents, a symbol of the innocence they had lost, were picked up by the sea breeze and they spiralled, one by one, up into the bright, blue, cloudless sky.

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A/N: Next chapter should be up in a couple days. Hope you liked this. Thanks for reading!