A/N: This would be my first Wuthering Heights story. This book is just so fantastic, but so melancholy, that it drives me nuts. I won't explain how it makes me feel here, because no one really cares. But this is the take I have for it, and how it could have also been. Here goes! I do not own this beautiful characters, and my first couple lines are going to be directly from the book (but I omitted just a little bit, because I didn't want to take too much from the book. I stop the quotes at 'alarmed intruder'.) But asides from that, much of it will be made by me.
"I must go, Cathy. But, if I live, I'll see you again before you are asleep. I won't stray five yards from your window."
"You must not go! You shall not, I tell you."
"For one hour."
"Not for one minute."
"I must- Linton will be up immediately," persisted the alarmed intruder. Had she let go of him, and not quite so fierce about his exit, he would have fled the sight immediately, keeping true to his promise and not wander away from the window for a moment. But she held fast to him, and he dared not pry himself from her, and damage her heart further; he would just have to wait and see what that lamb, Linton could say.
"Ah-too late, Heathcliff, he is already quickening his paces up the stairs. Go-go right away, and leave Cathy. You do not –and did not, bode well, upon your coming here. Hearken away from here this instant," Mrs. Dean implored of the man.
"By the devil –oh, stop your wincing, I cannot leave her. Look, look at her, see how she is. She gets worse after I leave. And you all, letting her alone to think on it, giving her solitude from the only thing she wants."
"She has everything she could ever dream of."
"Then she does not dream of me." Mrs. Dean looked at Heathcliff with a calm fury. How dare he think that? Her head quickly turned at the sound of the latch on the door; Linton had arrived, coming to see Mrs. Linton, would in turn see Heathcliff.
On opening the door, Edgar Linton ran over to where Cathy was, but saw Heathcliff.
"What in damnation are you doing here? Go, and leave Catherine be. She needs not see you –ever, for you make her ill." Linton began saying, to Heathcliff astonished face.
"I! I make her ill! Why, it's you lot, all of you who worsen her condition, and tell her falsehoods of me," he said, looking back towards Cathy. "Look, she does not care for any of you. It's I whom she cares for."
"She is not in her right state of mind, sir. She is not fit to stand up, had she the ability." Mrs. Dean said.
"Oh, I beseech you Ellen, you know that Cathy, could never in all her days, truly and fully love this lamb," he gesticulated vehemently towards Linton, "with as much love that she has encompassed for me," and Mrs. Dean's sigh resonated through the deathly silent room.
"Oh, Mr. Linton, as much as I dearly abhor Mr. Heathcliff's promotion, I do agree –she would be much happier is Mr. Heathcliff were to stay for a little while until Cathy becomes better again." Edgar Linton cast his head down, and refused to meet anyone's eyes; he despised this man for his worth, and knew deep inside, that Catherine loved the brute more than himself.
"Heathcliff," Cathy's small, quiet voice called out to him, waking him from his fretful dream; after which he looked around, saw Catherine, and let out a reassured sigh. "Heathcliff, do come by me," she repeated, a little louder yet.
He walked over and sat by her bed, holding her small, pale hand.
"Yes, Cathy? My dear, dear Cathy?" she sent him a tiny, but warm smile.
"Tell me about the Heights. How was it been? I wish to feel the cool air of the moors about me, and be upon the openness of it all, but every time I ask of Ellen to open the window, she beleaguers me, and tells me it will make me ill. Is it still the same? And that withered lone tree, is it still standing?"
"Hush, hush now Cathy. Wait, and I will tell you all," he said as he rose with intending to open her large window. He opened the latch, and threw open the windows. The cool air from the moor swept into the room, and settled in, rustling the covers and drapes gently.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much. I haven't felt it in the longest time."
He made no reply, and sighed.
"You cannot see the Heights from here; how did you bear it?"
"I could not –still, I cannot. Do come back over here," he walked over, looking around the room with earnest. "Some times, in my time of worst, I would pretend –sometimes, I was not pretending; just really seeing, Wuthering Heights. Oh how I long to be up, and to be well again to ride horses and walk; all about the moors. Oh, it breaks my heart."
"Sh, lay back Cathy. The Heights are unchanged, with scarce more than a few sheep, and one less servant. The winds still blow, same as ever, and the lone tree stands. The bouts of heath about the Heights are still there, and Zillah stays."
She looked unsatisfied, and noted a mask of feigned calm reassurance upon his face; what was he hiding? What secrets could he have to hide?
"But, is there not much else? Is there not more of which you could speak about; tell me about?"
"Not as much as you would hope."
"How so?" the invalid girl replied weakly.
"Hindley," he said with a detectable vigor in his voice. "I detest him, as he does to me, and the entire house is clouded with unhappiness. You would come to detest me too, if you were to see my actions."
"I could never detest you Heathcliff. How could I hate my soul? It is unthinkable. Where are you going –please don't leave!"
"I am going outside, I need my air too."
"Then stand near the window, I could not bear for you to leave."
"I am not arguing with you again –let me go. I cannot be in this infernal room much longer." pleaded the man.
"Then take me with you," she said, begged. He looked at her imploring him with her soulful eyes. He turned back to the window touching the soft curtains as he spoke.
"Do you really want to come back?"
"Why would I not? And how could you think that I would not want to come and be with my love, my soul?" He was silent, only once darting a careful quick look over his shoulder. He stayed silent again, his breathing shallow and sparse, like a bird freshly caught. "Heathcliff? I wish to go back to the Heights."
"But –I know. I crave for you to be back as well. Except, how would that lamb take it? You'd be gone in an instant if I had anything to say towards it."
"But you do, Heathcliff, you do! How, how can you not think, that if for one moment if I were stronger, I would be gone from this place in mere minutes and be with you. Oh, how you have changed, you are not yet the same Heathcliff I knew."
The shadowy man turned his head around, his dark hair falling about his eyes weakly. His eyes gleamed with a fire behind them, his inky look never leaving Catherine's face. She recoiled slightly, pulling up the satin sheets a little tighter.
"You are afraid of me, aren't you? You don't really wish to come back to the Heights. It's only a pallid excuse to be rid of Linton and this place." He growled, the madness in his eyes heightening a bit. He bit his lips, and a bead of blood appeared. He licked it away, his actions fierce and deliberate. "Well then fine. You only break my heart all the more. A few more days won't make a difference. Alas, to you it may," said the dark shadow. His eyes softened as he saw how the poor girl sighed in her bed and closed her eyes. Her head lolled back carefully, and he took a step forwards to peer in her light face. Quite suddenly though, she snapped her eyes open triumphantly.
"A few more days? You do wish to kill me –and I wish to die," her voice fading out to a half whisper that the shadow couldn't hear until he had walked over to her bedside. Oh, she couldn't! She wouldn't! He thought his heart was tearing in two, but he dared not show it on his darkened face. She added as an afterthought, "Would you be happy, and forget me after I die? You'll have parties, I'm sure, and you'll hope that you had never met me, right?"
He went over to her and shook her shoulders roughly, making her head nod wildly.
"Cathy, my Cathy –how could you say that? Never in my wildest dreams would I dare to speak words like those. A life without you is not a life at all. Not even an existence. And even if we were to go to hell, well, I should like to think we would go together."
A/N: Ok, I understand that this is a horrible place to leave it off, because its like, er, that's in the middle of a conversation. But its not. I've been working on this chapter for a very, very long time, and this next one may take just as long. So, please be patient, and I hope you liked it! Constructive criticism taken with pleasure.