WARNING!

The following story contains explicit depictions of sexual acts.  
It may also describe non-consensual activity or other illegal 
activities. If you are under-age, offended by such material or 
if this kind of material is illegal where you live 
then  DO NOT READ THIS!!

julian975@yahoo.com
http://www.asstr.org/~julian

====

The Voice In The Mist  (rom, no sex)

Copyright (c) Julian Renard, 1996-2000

All rights reserved.





Paul wandered through the bright hazy mist searching yet again for the
source of the voice.  It was a woman's voice that he always heard, more
beautiful than life itself.  It touched something special in him though
he never quite understood why.  It could ring out brilliant and clear
like fine crystal bells on a light spring breeze, or flow gentle and
soothing like cool clear waters over soft mossy stones.  At other times
it was terribly sad, filling him with tears of sorrow and haunting him
long after it had gone.  Lately this had more often been the case.

He never noticed the words, only the voice itself mattered.  The
compulsion to find its source was overwhelming.  The mist swirled around
him as always, incredibly thick yet dazzlingly bright, confusing his
sense of direction, and distance, and time.  He struggled to concentrate
and follow the voice for as long as it remained with him but his mind had
a tendency to swirl and drift like the very mist around him.

Whenever he slowed or his mind grew distracted, he would recall the
intense disappointment he felt when the voice had finally gone.  From
this he would draw the strength to continue on.  Sometimes the voice
would stop, suddenly and brutally, leaving him desperately holding his
breath in anticipation of its next word.  Other times it faded, growing
steadily distant until it was nothing more than a faint whisper in the
breeze.  Amongst all his uncertainty however, one thing was constant.  It
always came back.

Paul could not remember a time when he had not heard the voice, but then
there was very little he could remember.  He sometimes felt that this was
all a dream, that soon he would awaken into another life.  Yet a number
of things convinced him otherwise.  For one, he actually did sleep and
dream from time to time and when he awoke he was always there, always in
the mist.  It wasn't possible to have a dream within a dream was it? And
those dreams had a different quality to his life in the mist, as if one
was more real than the other.  There were times however when neither
seemed very real.  The voice was the one real anchor in this strange
existence.  It gave him strength and a purpose when little else mattered.

Paul awoke with a start, realising only now that he'd fallen asleep.  He
stared blankly at the perpetual swirling mists trying to contain his
grief.  He had been listening to the voice and, lulled by its tones, had
fallen asleep.  And now it was gone.  He felt like crying.  It had
happened again.  He'd let his mind wander whilst he should have been
searching and now it was gone.

In the dreadful lonely silence he began to despair in the face of a
dawning dilemma.  Of late, each time that the voice came, he found it
harder and harder to concentrate on it.  It was slipping from him earlier
and earlier, and he was starting to fear that if he didn't find it soon
then he never would.





Mary Somers sat beside the hospital bed fighting the endless struggle
against despair.  Each day the battle grew harder and each day less of
herself remained to fight it.  Creeping doubts nagged at the back of her
mind, urging her to give in, to accept the facts, but she would not
listen to them - not now, and maybe not ever.  If she gave up hope then
there was nothing left.

She gazed upon the motionless figure on the bed.  The cuts and bruises
had all but healed and it was hard to believe that he was not simply
sleeping.  But she knew otherwise.  She knew it with the conviction of
one who refused to stop trying.  If there was even the slightest chance
that he could hear her, even if only occasionally, then she would keep
trying.  The alternative was beyond considering.

Drawing a long deep breath to gather her strength, she began to talk to
him once more.  She spoke once again of their early times together.  It
was only two years ago she realised, but it seemed more like an eternity
now.  However, in spite of everything, her mood began to brighten as she
recalled the start of the best part of her life.

Though she relived the moments with fondness, hopelessness and failure
were never far away.  They crept at the dark edge of her thoughts like
beasts in the night that patiently watched and waited.  In time she
feared they would seek her out and she would no longer have the strength
to resist them.  She needed him now more than ever before.  Her need was
so bad it was almost a physical pain.  If only he could wrap his arms
around her and hold her tight like before.  If only...  But she refused
to dwell on her sadness, their life together deserved a better telling.

With the early glimmerings of a smile, she began to talk once more, about
the time that he fell into the river on the way to their first picnic.
In time she was safely absorbed in her memories once more.





Paul felt elated.  The voice was back.  This time when it had started it
seemed closer to him than ever before.  He almost felt that if he reached
out now he would be actually touch its owner through the mist.  He felt
encouraged enough to try but his hand passed only through moist air.  He
refused to be discouraged.  This time something was different, something
that he could not put his finger on, but then any change was good.
Wasn't it?

He started to search.  Closing his eyes, he turned around in a slow
circle trying to determine its direction.  He started to walk in the
direction he guessed it to be, but after several steps it seemed to grow
fainter.  He turned and tried to walk back but it grew fainter still.

Doubt and frustration began to invade his mood, eroding his excitement
and confidence.  He was so close! How could he fail when he was so close!
If only he could call out to the owner of the voice, beg her to keep
talking, tell her he was searching for her.

The voice paused.  For God's sake, please don't stop.  He began to
struggle blindly, floundering in a state of near panic, convinced that if
he did not find her this time then she would be lost to him forever.

Something was certainly different.  Something was wrong.  Her voice was
still clear but it had begun to take on a strange unfamiliar quality.
For the first time that he could remember the mist around him began to
grow dim.  He tried to run back the way he came but the darkness
enveloped him wherever he went.  It's not fair, his mind wailed.  To come
so close and now this.  Why now?

The world around him grew blacker and with utter despair he heard the
voice grow fainter still.  A bitter coldness began to creep into him as
the black became absolute.  With a final wail of horror the darkness
slowly began to invade his mind.





A feeling of dread came over nurse Sarah Walker as she turned around to
the source of the alarm.  Room 502, and from the indicators it didn't
look good.  Of all the rooms in this ward it had to be that one.  She
pushed her chair back and hurried for the door.  All of the coma cases
were sad but this was one the worst.  Paul Somers, struck by a speed boat
on the second day of his honeymoon, right in front of his wife.  Why did
it have to be this one? As she ran down the long hall she only hoped that
his wife was not there with him right now.  Then she heard the
unmistakable sounds of sobbing coming from down the hall.



Paul remembered.  When the blackness came upon him he started to
remember.  Is this what happens when you start to die? He remembered the
boat, the terrible pain in his head, cold green water all around him.
How long ago had that been? He remembered his life, his real life.  He
remembered Mary and his heart almost burst.  He missed her so badly.  How
hard must this be for her? And now, in a final act of unfairness he was
dying.  Would it hurt? He felt cold, he felt some pain, he felt...  He
felt? His breath caught in his throat as he allowed himself a small
glimmer of hope.  And then he realised what he had just done and forced
himself to relax.  He had held his breath! He exhaled slowly and
luxuriated in the long forgotten sensation of warm air through his
nostrils.  He was alive.

He opened his eyes and immediately shut them, then opened them again more
slowly as the room grew sharper in his vision.  It was dark, but the
hallway cast a bright shaft of yellow light through the partially open
door.  Turning his head slowly he looked beside the bed and his eyes
filled with tears of joy, blurring his vision once more.  There was Mary,
asleep in a chair, as yet unaware that he had awakened.  Beautiful Mary,
the voice that had stayed with him when he was otherwise lost.  His
dearest love.

With an almost unbearable joy he watched her sleep for several minutes.
How would she react when he awoke her? He looked down at himself and saw
a sorry looking body covered with wires and pads.  He tested his arm and
found that he could still move it.  Though his muscles and joints ached
from their stiffness, any feeling was better than none.

With an uncooperative hand he peeled the wires from his chest.  It was
the least he could do to make himself presentable.  A shrill sound
started up from somewhere in the distance but he did not even notice.
Slowly and gently he reached out to touch Mary's cheek.



Mary awoke with a start, then relaxed, blinking into the light as her
eyes tried to adjust.  Murmuring softly, she asked the nurse what the
time was.

'Hello.' A voice said.

She spun her head around in its direction and froze with disbelief.  She
was too scared to even hope, until she saw the hand that was reaching out
to her.  Great shuddering sobs of joy shook through her as she leapt
forward and hugged him, calling his name over and over.  His gentle
caring voice spoke softly in her ear, calm and soothing and full of love.



So overwhelmed were they with joy, they did not even notice the woman
bursting through the doorway, stopping to stare at them in disbelief.
They did not see her face soften and her eyes growing moist as the
dreadful scene she had anticipated was transformed into something that
would live with her always.  Nor did they see her quietly back out into
the hallway beyond.  They saw only each other.

====

Copyright (c) Julian Renard, 1996
All rights reserved.
Permission is granted for this work to be archived or redistributed in
electronic form as long as this notice is included and no modifications
whatsoever are made. It may not be distributed in printed form or for
profit without the author's prior written consent.

julian975@yahoo.com
http://www.asstr.org/~julian

