When Beatrice pulled him away from the controls, Morgan's head was hurting badly.  His vision was darkened from the blood that spilled out from the open wound in his forehead.  As she laid him down, the one thought prevalent in his consciousness was the fact that he no longer had the flight stick.....was no longer in control of what went on on the ship.

Her words went in and out of his ear amidst a cacophony of ringing noise.  Trying to rise, he struggled to get to his feet.  His head spun, and spun, and spun, and spun......

Outside the cockpit, the darkness of space went, transmogrifying into the blueness of the sky as the pod entered the atmosphere.  He felt the temperature rise as the pod continued to hurtle down, coming down, down, [i]down....[/i]

[i]"Brace for impact!"[/i]

He heard that loud and clear.  

[b]"Beatrice...."[/b] he gasped, struggling to find the words.

And as he tried to rise unsuccessfully once more, as his exploded into bright light as he slumped back down, Morgan wondered if this time he had pushed it too far, and whether this would be the time that he died.  His mouth turned into the slightest of smiles at the thought....  [i]I've earned this.....this rest.  I deserve this.[/i]  Closing his eyes for a second, Morgan lay his head back down, ready to join the ghosts that haunted him.

[i]What is the point in living when you don't feel alive?  

Every night since it had happened...... It was always the same. Terrible, terrible dreams that haunted his subconscious like a dark angel hovering over him, bloody scythe in its hand. The dream always took him back to the same place. The place they had met.  Yet here, now, in this hollow mockery of a place conjured up by the darkest recesses of his diseased mind, there was nothing. Nothing but an empty wasteland inhabited by ghosts and shadows.

Echoes of what once was, but could never be again. And so he searched. He searched for her, and although his dreaming mind conjured up a hundred or more ghosts, each bearing her face.....her body, they were nothing but empty, decaying husks. And although these spirits looked like her, his Vanna, although they moved like her, spoke like her, told him that she loved him, it was all a whispered lie. She was gone, and Morgan could no longer be sure that it wasn't he who was the husk. 

Although these ghostly doppelgängers stole her face and body, they could never be her. Vanna was gone now. Gone forevermore. And Morgan wondered, deep down, why the dark angel's scythe had not fallen upon him.[/i]

He jerked up sharply at impact.  Yet he did not die.  They did not die.  In fact there was no impact.  Blinking, trying to ignore the pain flashing in his head, he looked out the cockpit......to see water.  Lots of water.

[b]"Beatrice,"[/b] he whispered.  [b]"We're underwater...."[/b]