LTSV - Lost & Found 1 (Patreon)

Sometimes Mira wondered how common it was to not know how you died. 

In her experience, it was about 50/50. There were some deaths -illness, deprivation, and other slow endings- that she remembered in great detail and some where she’d only realized that she’d died until well after the fact.

As she opened her eyes in an unfamiliar bed with her heart in her throat, she realized that this was one of those occasions. 

There were some bits that she remembered surrounding the incident that made her think that -whatever had happened- it was at least quick. She remembered being stopped in traffic, on her way to work, not really doing anything except trying to find a radio station that had music and no people talking. Then? 

Nothing.

Whatever happened must have hurt because when she did wake up, she was so convinced that she was dying that it took several minutes for her to realize that she was somewhere else and that nothing hurt. It took a few more still before she realized she was someone else too.

Mira lay flat on her back, staring at a plasterwork ceiling rose overhead as she cataloged her circumstances. She was in a bed. That was good. She was dressed, even, in a high necked nightgown trimmed with (she lifted an arm to check) exquisite needle lace cuffs. The bed itself was a solid four poster canopy bed surrounded on all sides by heavy, light blocking and insulating drapes that hung from brass rods set into the ceiling. One side was parted slightly and gave a view of the room, which was small and well-appointed—albeit impersonal. 

Something itched in the back of her head and whispered ‘hotel.’

She covered her face with both hands and fought the urge to groan, unable to deny it any longer. She’d died. Again.

The reason she couldn’t make any noise just yet was because someone was moving about the room, trying to stay quiet, but in the way a servant would as opposed to an assassin. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t have to worry about the latter, but she didn’t manifest in living bodies. She entered the body almost as soon as the former occupant left it, so whatever killed them, either accident or illness, was usually still around when she woke up.

Mira lay quietly and watched the gap in the bed drapes until a young woman passed by in a neat, yet practical blue dress with a peter pan collar and long cuffed sleeves under a loose charcoal-colored cross back apron that was designed for comfort and ease of movement. 

She wore her light brown hair braided away from her face so there was no disguising the reddened rims of her eyes as she carried a tray to Mira’s bedside. On the tray was a pitcher of water, a small tureen of thin soup, and an invalid’s cup. The woman didn’t have the busy demeanor Mira tended to associate with nurses so this was a maid, or however they referred to domestic staff in this new place. 

Sometimes Mira got very tired of learning how to live in new places. Her last life had been comparatively long, but had started in infancy. She’d woken up in the NICU that time. At least she was a bit older this time around. Being a baby might seem relaxing if you’d never been a fully conscious adult trapped in a body that couldn’t even roll over on its own, but the reality of the situation depended entirely on the circumstance you were born into and Mira hated feeling helpless above all things.

In any event, the maid seemed unhappy, but not like she resented her work so Mira didn’t bother with pretending to be asleep when the girl set her tray down and opened the drapes. 

“Oh!” the girl chirped, surprised when she saw Mira’s eyes were open. “Miss, you’re awake!” It sounded like that came as a surprise. She crouched down at the bedside. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? You’ve been unconscious since yesterday. Do you think you can take some water?”

Mira was still settling into her body by degrees. She knew from experience that it took a little bit before she started to receive those usual bodily communications everyone takes for granted like hunger, thirst, and pain. Her tongue was dry in her mouth. It wasn’t very bad right now, but she was certain that she would feel much worse later if she didn’t drink something now. “Yes, water,” she rasped. 

The girl filled the invalid cup and hitched her hip up on the edge of the mattress to help Mira sit up in bed. They took it slowly, letting Mira first wet her throat and then hold mouthfuls of water until her tongue stopped feeling like leather. 

She’d been a little worried about having servants again, but her host body had either treated this girl well in the past or hadn’t treated her so badly that she took it personally.

“Do you think you can try to eat a little, miss?” the maid asked hesitantly. “I have a thin potage for you to try.”

“Was I nauseous before?” Mira asked. The one place where a person in her situation could get away with asking strange questions was the sick bed and she intended to make full use of this opportunity. 

“You don’t remember?” the maid asked, sounding worried.

“It’s fuzzy,” Mira dropped her gaze so she didn’t have to guess at what the original owner of this body would have done. The women whose lives she inherited tended to follow a certain trend so she had a vague idea of what to do, but the devil liked to hide amongst seemingly inconsequential details. “What happened?”

“You had a seizure, miss,” the maid explained in a halting tone.

That stirred something in her head. Mira closed her eyes and let the memory wash over her, relieved to be getting any memory at all. Sometimes she didn’t and those lives were especially hard. 

She remembered waiting in a small, well-appointed sitting room as she stared at the door with her fists clenched in her lap. Finally the door opened, admitting an older woman in a severe suit dress with a tall collar that was softened only slightly by the black-on-black cabling down her front. Her lips were pursed and pale with tension as she came over to stand in front of Mira.

“They’re not coming, Miss Violet,” she said. “Sir Fenby has decided not to pursue the connection between you and young master Gawain. There is no welcome letter.”

The memory didn’t convey the exact thoughts Mira’s host had about this welcome later, but she could feel Violet’s simmering anxiety boil over into a full fledged panic attack that spiraled and spiraled and spiraled until the memory cut off altogether. Presumably that was when the seizure hit.

Mira was in luck, though, because that memory triggered others and finally fleshed out the most immediate details of her present situation. The maid’s name was Annette Byrde, called Anna, and she was Violet’s chief attendant. The woman in the dark suit dress was Matron Clotilde Byrde, Violet’s housekeeper and former nanny. 

The sitting room in her memory was decorated in a style close enough to this bedroom that Mira suspected it was part of the hotel suite she was staying in. Anna said she’d been unconscious since yesterday. Mira wasn’t sure yet why she was in the hotel or why she’d been so afraid before the seizure, but one thing at a time. What she had been able to piece together from the remnants of Violet’s tumultuous feelings was that Violet had been a very sheltered young woman and had never had only herself to rely on before. 

‘Poor lamb,’ Mira thought, not without sympathy. Given all the clues she now had at hand, she was able to hazard a guess about what had happened to her host body. Violet had been alone in a stranger place and scared with only a few servants for support. She had been counting on a marriage to save her from her uncertain future and that marriage did not materialize. Normally, she should have survived a little upset. Humans were resilient, but she’d already been stressed and had a medical condition; possibly even one she didn’t know about. The seizure had come as a brutal surprise in Violet’s final memories. She hadn’t understood what was happening to her.  

“Has a doctor come?” Mira asked. That was the important thing right now. She wasn’t a sheltered child. Given two assistants and a little bit of money, she could probably conquer the world. However, a seizure disorder wasn’t something Mira could handle without specialist care. 

So, the good news: her room and the quality of her servant’s clothes suggested this society had been through or was in the midst of an industrial revolution. 

She’d come to learn that fabrics, especially fabrics that the middle and lower classes could afford for an ordinary work day, were a good signifier of a culture’s technological capability. Her most junior servant was wearing machine-woven cotton with machine-stitched seams, which usually started out expensive and then got very cheap once there were enough factories to make it accessible to the masses, so the medical technology around here couldn’t be too primitive. General medicine and mass production tended to develop at around the same pace in her experience. Mira was actually surprised there wasn’t a doctor in the room already. It had been a day, at most, since the seizure.

Actually, that was a worrisome thought. Was there no money for a doctor? Mira had been hoping that this body was wealthy, just going by her gown and this room. Her host bodies were almost never poor and even when that did happen, it was more like a rich person’s idea of poverty than the real thing. 

Violet had been very scared for herself before the seizure took her. She may have come from a privileged background, but Mira knew that even the best fortunes could turn sour with very little warning.

Anna nodded, though. Thank goodness. “Yes, Doctor Lister gave us instructions to let you wake up naturally and said you’d be fine afterwards, although he did show me how to help you drink if you slept for too long. He said you should try to eat a little when you wake up.”

How strange. There’d been an attending doctor, but he didn’t notice his patient’s heart had stopped? Mira wasn’t very familiar with the processes that her host body went through before she was injected into it since her hosts tended to be neglected by their guardians, but medical professionals could usually tell that something bad had nearly happened to her if they examined her in time. She’d woken up under defibrillator paddles before, in other lives. 

Maybe she was expecting too much from a house call? 

Mira nodded to herself since that did seem reasonable and let Anna help her up. She ended up needing the help too. Something was wrong with her coordination and her grip was weak so her attempts to hold the cup by herself didn’t go at all well. Of all the ways she and her host bodies had died, seizures were new to her so she didn’t know if this was normal or not. She knew what to do in an emergency for someone else, but that was a far cry from actually managing an epileptic condition by herself. Anna patiently fed her until Mira felt like she’d had enough for the moment. Then she helped Mira sit all the way up and arranged the bed cushions so that they supported her back. 

“I’ll alert Matron Byrde as soon as she returns,” Anna said as she picked up the tray and bobbed a small curtsey. “She is picking up your mail from the post office.”

“Call a different doctor to examine me when she returns,” Mira instructed. She was too weak, even after water and a meal. Something was wrong. Whatever relationship Violet had with that other doctor, he’d clearly blown her off. Mira couldn’t trust any diagnosis from someone like that. “I’d like a second opinion.” 

Not only did Anna not argue, but she agreed with enough speed that Mira got the impression that she wasn’t the only person unhappy with the quality of service they’d received. That made her feel a bit better on Violet’s behalf. At least someone had cared about her welfare. That wasn’t usually the case for her hosts. 

Anna drew back the bed curtains when she returned and revealed the rest of the room. The sight of it didn’t stir any memories beyond ‘this is a hotel room’, but it was pleasantly situated with a sturdy little cast iron stove across from the foot of her bed. The presence of two matched floor lamps with silk fringe and incandescent light bulbs further confirmed Mira’s earlier suspicions about Violet’s background and the level of technology in this society. They had electricity, which meant they probably had the crucial comfort of interior plumbing. If she never saw another chamber pot ever again in any of her future lives then that would still be too soon. 

Anna opened the grate on the stove to toss in some table scraps and, to Mira’s surprise and delight, a little fire elemental popped its head up out of the black belly of the stove to snap them out of midair. It looked like a little axolotl with blue flames for gills. She recognized it as a common Salamander phenotype.

Mira felt her heart start to race and clenched her fists under the cover of the blankets to keep from showing her excitement.