Eternally Faithful


"The house was perfect."

It was far enough away from town to be secluded, while close enough to not be isolated. She could just hear the talk of the town, about that eccentric lady who lived alone, but for her dog, in the rickety old mansion down Baskerville Lane.

No, she wouldn't have to worry about that.

She absently patted her pets' head, rubbing the glossy blue-black fur of her rotwilder who nudged her hand expectantly. She sighed ruefully; this was her real reason for all this trouble.

After all not many Apartment managers took kindly to a rentee with a rotwilder for baggage.

The place was big, bigger than someone like her needed, the paint was chipping, and the windows had cobwebs and she was almost certain that more than a few contained Black Widows, that and the dust, it was thick enough to make a sandcastle with. Cautiously, quietly, feeling a hush fall around her, ensconcing her in uncanny cold she hesitated, one foot through the door, she froze half in half out, straddling the outside world, and that of the house.

It was strange, and she didn't understand it, not at all, but something was telling her to turn around and walk away, right now!

But she didn't, she did what all-normal and perfectly sane people do, she ignored it.

Once fully through the doorway, she felt a calm, but cold breeze sweep through her, seeping slowly, into her and she felt her eyes drawn towards the stairway to her right, leading upwards to the bedrooms, she slowly ascended the stairs, drawn by a vague beguilement, and with every step she became Elizabeth and Elizabeth became her.

With a certainty foreign to her she turned to the door on her left, her room, and walked in, as though she had done this hundreds of times on a hundred different days.

The rhythmic pitter-patter of Shadows' paws turned her lips upward in a genteel smile, continuing with her silence she re-placed the comb to the right, beside her dusty music box, the very one Tommy had given to her on her 18th birthday.

Shadows' quizzical, but content eyes followed her about the room as she dusted and swept, reminding herself, Tommy always liked a clean house.

Then as though stuck in the midst of a daily routine cleaned up all the other rooms in that same manner, and in that same enfolding silence, except for every now and then she would kneel down and whisper to the dog as she petted him lovingly, "That's a good boy," was all she'd say.

With Shadow following at her heel she went down the long hallways, her steps always even and tempered, her movements never falling far from grace, a bearing more fitting of a Victorian woman of high-class than a modern workingwoman of the 20th century.

She opened the small, inconspicuous door and pulled out an old dust covered trunk, blowing away the dust she opened it carefully her honey-brown eyes lighting up briefly at way lay beneath, her old clothes, her clothes, not these ill fitting garbs of rough material that she wore now.

Returning from her dressing room she stood before the mirror, only but a moment.

The ivory white blouse a familiar comfort, her blue skirts reaching down so only the tips of her black shoes peaked through. Without delay she went about business as before her whisper soft footfalls echoing throughout as she glided down the stairs, into the kitchen.

It was already getting late; dinner would not make itself.

She paused, looking out the window, her face both young and old as she stared at the dusky sky as she always has, as she always would, with eyes both young and new, a glitter, no more, of tears unshed showed through as to herself she said:

"He'll be home any day now. I know it."

The hour was late, and the night was dark, so when she heard the continuous racket of pounding on her door she was unnerved, and unsettled, comforted at the constant presence of Shadow at her side she opened the door, warily "Lizzy, thank God, they told me you lived in some old haunted mansion, I was worried. Lizzy, I'm sorry, can you forgive me?" he rambled on, Elizabeth stared in bewilderment, "Lizzy, who is this" she asked of her other self; "This is my Tommy" was her answer.

And all the pieces of the puzzle tumbled together as though a grand scheme set up from the beginning as if planned by Fate, and the veil that had always before been closed to her opened wide in welcome, and her Tommy took her hand in his own, brining her over, and she realized he had been waiting for her, as she had been for him.

Now they could be together again.

The End.