The women. Emma recognized them, knew they were out there, alive, no manacles, not buried beneath the earth but able to move freely around. Especially the one that resembled her. She was just out of her mind’s reach, yet she could almost touch her.
Why didn’t the woman come to her?
Emma could summon up no face, no past, only the knowledge that she was out there somewhere. She called to her. Begged. Pleaded. Raged. She had a feeling the latter was related to her. But where was she? Why wouldn’t she come to her? Why did she allow her agony to continue when even her presence in her mind would ease the terrible sense of isolation? What had she done that was so terrible that she deserved this?
Anger found its way into her world. Hatred, even. In the place of a girl, a monster grew, deadly, dangerous, grew and thrived on the pain, became a will impossible to crush. Fifty years, a hundred – what did it matter if she traveled to the very gates of hell for revenge? She already resided there, imprisoned in it every waking moment.
She would come to her. Emma vowed it. She would bend the latter’s will to finding her. And once she found her familiar, she would become a shadow in her mind until she was familiar enough with her to force her will on her. She would come to her, and she would have her revenge.
Hunger gripped her each time she woke, so that pain and hunger melted together and became the same. Concentrating on finding the path to the woman, however, saved her some agony. Her focus was so complete that she could actually block the pain for a short while. First it was only seconds. Then minutes. Each time she woke, she bent her will toward finding her; there was nothing else to do. Months. Years. It didn’t matter to her. The lady could not escape her forever.
The first time Emma touched her mind, it was such a shock after all the thousands of fruitless tries that she immediately lost contact. And the rush of elation caused a bright red spray of blood to erupt around the stake buried deep within her body, draining her remaining strength. She slept a long time in an attempt to recover. A week perhaps. A month. There was no need to measure time. She had a direction now, although the latter was far away from her. The distance was so great, it took her full concentration to focus and reach for her across time and space.
It didn’t matter to her how long it had been. Hunger was waiting. Pain was waiting. The treacherous heart and soul of a woman were waiting. She had an eternity to gather what strength she could, and she could never escape her now that she knew the mental path to her mind.
She slept the sleep of immortals, her lungs and heart stopped as she lay in the earth, her body close to the soil it so desperately needed to aid healing, yet a thin layer of wood away. When she awakened, she scratched at the walls of her coffin patiently. She would reach the healing soil someday. She had managed to make a small hole to coax her prey to him. She could wait. She would never escape her. She was her single-minded purpose.
Emma haunted her. Day or night. It didn’t matter to her. She no longer knew the difference when it had mattered so much before. She lived to try to appease her ever-present hunger.
She lived for revenge. For retribution. She lived to make the latter’s life a living hell during her waking hours. She became good at it. Taking possession of her mind for minutes at a time. It was impossible to figure the latter out. The girl was so complex. There were things in her brain that made little sense to him, and the few moments she could stay awake without losing her precious remaining blood did not give her sufficient time to understand her. There was the time she was frightened.
She could taste her fear. Feel her heart pounding so that her own matched the terrible rhythm. Still, her mind remained calm in the center of the storm, receiving quick, brilliant flashes of data she processed so quickly that she nearly missed them. A stranger was hunting her. Taunting her.
Emma also saw an image of herself, her thick red and white hair hanging in strands around her ravaged face, her body savaged by brutal hands.
She clearly saw the stake driven deep within her tissue and sinews. It flashed for a moment in her mind, there was the impression of grief, and then she lost contact.
Time continued endlessly. Wake when a creature strayed near. Scratch and claw at the decaying wood. Eventually the cloth over her eyes rotted until it fell away from her. She had no idea how long she had been there. It made no difference to him. Dark was dark. Isolation, isolation. Her only companion was the woman in her mind. The woman who had betrayed her, forsaken her.
At times she called to her, ordered her to come to him. Threatened her. Pleaded. Perverse as it was, she needed her. She was already deranged; she accepted that. But this total isolation was making her completely mad. Without her touch, she would be lost to the world, not even her will keeping him going.
And she had a need to live: retribution. She needed her as much as she loathed and despised her. As twisted as their relationship was, she needed the moments of companionship.
The lady was physically closer to her now, not an ocean away. She had been so far away from him, she could barely make it across the distance. But now she was much closer. She renewed her efforts, calling her at all hours, striving to keep her from sleep.
When she could manage to get past the pain and hunger and simply remain quiet, a shadow in her mind, she intrigued her. She was obviously intelligent, brilliant even. Her method of thinking was like that of a machine, processing information at incredible speed. She seemed to be able to push aside all emotion; perhaps she wasn’t capable of feeling emotion.