A New Dream...?

Chapter 11

A knock on the door interrupts a young Quirin's attempt to quiet a baby Varian's crying. He places his son in his crib, promising to only be gone for a couple minutes. He's not sure if Varian hears him over his own tears.

Quirin rushes to the door before the person on the other side can knock again, wiping off baby drool from his clothes. He takes a deep breath, and turns the knob.

His eyes widen at the figure that stands before him. Even in the dark of the early autumn night, he recognizes them immediately. They seem to have aged years in the last six months since he's seen them, but that's the last thing that worries him.

"Donella?"

Donella doesn't respond. Her clothes are torn, the skin that is visible sports different colored bruises, and dried blood cakes her face and long, dirty blonde hair. Quirin ignores all of it, only able to think of one thing.

"Where's Ulla?" he demands, eyes narrowing.

She visibly flinches at the name, but she doesn't back down.

"She's dead, Quirin," she answers bluntly.

A shock runs through his spine, and his grip almost crushes the doorknob.

"What?"

"There was...an accident," the woman explains vaguely. "We didn't make it to the library."

Quirin is already stepping out the door, head shaking in disbelief. "No, you're - you're lying. What happened?"

Donella pushes him back, not harshly, but strong enough. "Don't, Quirin. Just listen to me. You won't like what you find."

Quirin's gaze snaps to hers, and they hold a stare. An understanding passes through him.

She holds something in her hand, and she presses it to the retired knight. He takes it hesitantly, immediately recognizing the familiar brown leather of his wife's research journal.

"Accept that, ok?" Donella tells him slowly. "She died. In an accident. That's it."

Quirin's eyes quiver, but he reluctantly nods. He steps back inside, just noticing that Varian's crying has started up again, louder than before.

He doesn't offer for her to come in. She doesn't ask. Her features are stone cold as ever. But at one of Varian's particular screams, a flash of sympathy shows, if only for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, almost genuinely.

He doesn't answer. Eventually, he closes the door on her.

He doesn't go looking for his wife.

He never sees Donella again.

Quirin shakes his head at the memory. He looks up at the painting in the living room. Sometimes, he can still feel his wife's warmth against his body.

Sometimes, he can still hear her rants.

And that's when he knows it's time for him to go back to work. So he does.

Unbeknownst to him, miles away, someone else goes to work too. She leans over schematics, bright red ink drawing over them as an equation works in her brain. Sometimes, she can hear Ulla's voice helping her through it.

But by now, Donella has learned to ignore her research partner's memory, and anything that comes with it.