Lost Love, Life Lost
By Jorja-Mae Andrews

ONE SHOT!

- - - - - - - -

England, June 23rd 1875

Into the early hours of a slightly warm night, 17 year old Nikayla Peterson sat in her room staring at the letter she had just written to her parents,

Dear Mother & Father,

Liam was everything that I could have ever wanted, he loved me for me and I treasured every moment with him. He could make me smile when I was sad, he could brighten my day when it was grey.

I know why he is gone, and I blame you. You thought he was wrong for me, for your precious little daughter. But by getting rid of him you took away my reason to live, my reason to be…

Forcing me to marry Lord Dalton's son, and forcing me to give up the man I love, has killed me inside. I am no longer happy, and have no reason to keep up my joyous facade.

I will never forgive you for taking him away from me, and I am doing the only thing I know that will hurt you just the same.

This is the last thing you'll ever get from me

I hope you always remember that the last words you ever spoke to me were,

"You are never to speak of that wretched boy in our house…you are a disgrace to this family"

I hope you are happy, because I am no longer here to disgrace you. When you read this I will be gone, flying high in the heavens, waiting for my love to return to me.

Nikayla'

Her once sparkling green eyes; now dull and filled with longing and depression. Her once elated heart; now shattered like glass.

The silent house echoed her steps as she walked down to her fathers study.

She searched through the draws of his desk until she found what she had been searching for.

Her Fathers' gun.

She her fingers trailed over the cold metal of the gun before she grasped the handle and picked it up. She already knew that it was loaded and she walked out of the study and back down the hall.

"Miss Nikayla, what are you doing up love?" asked one of the elderly servants.

Nikayla quickly stuffed the gun out of sight.

"Going back to bed Maura…goodnight" She said in an eerie voice.

"Goodnight Miss Nikayla" The elderly woman said heading back to her quarters.

Nikayla walked up the stairs and back into her room.

She went through her closet and found her mothers wedding gown.

She was to be married to Lord Dalton's 19 year old son soon, but she would not make the wedding. The marriage was set as a business arrangement by her Father. By marrying Christian Dalton, Nikayla's family would gain more wealth and another business.

But Nikayla did not love Christian. She thought him to be a very undesirable and despicable young man. Who is known for his womanising ways.

She rang a small bell to alert the house staff that one was needed and quickly hid the gun before one arrived. She slipped on the gown and waited for a servant to arrive.

"Nikki?" asked the voice of 15 year old Francesca.

"Cessy, would you do up my dress please" she asked her servant friend.

"Of Course Nikki, you are so lucky to be marrying Christian Dalton, he is quite a catch" she whispered excitedly with a large smile, not asking why Nikayla was trying on her gown at two in the morning.

"Oh, yes, he is indeed" Nikayla agreed.

Christian may be a womaniser, but he was the most sought after man in England. His wealth and good looks have taken him very far. But his academic record surpasses him, you would not think to look at him that he graduated top of his class at university.

She tightened the laces at the back of the dress and Nikayla sucked in sharply.

"Not too tight Cessy" She scolded softly.

The young girl blushed,

"Sorry Nikki"

Francesca loosened it slightly and then tied up the laces.

"Tis alright, Oh Cessy, I am going to miss you so when I leave" Nikayla said turning and embracing her friend in a hug

"You aren't leaving until after the wedding, and that it still months away' Francesca smiled as they parted.

Nikayla sighed,

"Off to bed with you Cessy…tomorrow is going to be a big day"

"Goodnight Nikki" Francesca whispered as she slipped from the room and back downstairs.

"Good…bye Cessy" Nikayla replied softly.

She looked at herself in the mirror, the dress glowing in the moonlight. She walked over to her bed, and carefully picked up the gun that she had hidden in her nightstand draw. She then walked over to her desk and grabbed the letter she had written.

Nikayla left her room and walked down the hall to her parents' bedroom door.

Nikayla looked at the loaded gun in her left hand and the letter in her right, and a sadistic smile spread across her face. She opened the door and stepped inside the darkened room. Shutting it ever so quietly.

She raised the gun to her head.

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" Nikayla yelled.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZERS!" Her father bellowed as he shot up in his bed.

His wife turned on the bedside lamp and gasped at the sight before her. Both of Nikaylas parents watched their daughter in shock as she smiled at them sadistically.

Nikayla threw the letter at her parents,

"A life without love, is not a life at all…you will pay for ruining my life by feeling the pain I felt" she said, "Goodbye"

A single tear slipped down Nikaylas' cheek as she pulled the trigger.

The sound of a gun being fired and the screams of Mrs Peterson could be heard echoing around the house.

- - -

Elizabeth Peterson watched her daughter as she fell to the ground, as if in slow motion.

"NIKAYLA!" She screamed

- - -

Her brains painted the wall behind where her body fell, blood trickled from the gun shot wound in her forehead. Her body lay lifeless as blood soaked into the carpet and Elizabeth's screams alerted the house.

The gun still lay in her hand and you could still see the anguish in her open eyes.

- - -

But her soul did not pass on…no…Nikaylas' tortured soul lived on, haunting her home, and her parents for the rest of their lives.

- - -

She would walk the dark halls of her home. Or sit in her room and write, for it was never touched after she died. No one dared enter her room in fear; they thought they could hear things, hear Nikayla moving around behind the closed door.

- - -

It has been two centuries since that fateful night, in the Peterson Mansion.

The house is still there, upon the hill, in that little country town.

It is said that if you listen carefully, you can still hear the gun shot and the mothers screaming. And even the cries of Nikayla Peterson drift through the night air as she cries for her lost love.

- - -

She watches as the young men pass her home, from the window in her room.

Maybe you've seen her?

She stands behind the white lace curtains, her green eyes still filled with all the anguish she felt, her porcelain skin glistens in the moonlight. Her waist length chestnut hair frames her thin, 5'7, body. And her mother's wedding dress flows behind her gracefully as she walks the halls and gardens of the estate.

She'll call his name softly at the men that resemble her lost love, Liam Thatcher.

She is forever watching; forever waiting for her lost love to return to her.