Intro: To refresh your
memories: I mentioned in "Never is a Promise" that there was another story
that was paired with it. This is it.
*** *** *** *** You'll say you'd never let me fall from hope so high
*** *** *** *** From far away, a bird
shook his head sadly. He had foreseen so many different things.
He knew so many of the differing paths, and he had led the girl--woman,
she was a woman, he reminded himself--specifically down the path she was
on, hoping that she would chose the right path. After all, the chance
that she would end up where she was going now had seemed so incredibly
slim...How could he have guessed this? He was the God of Wisdom,
true...but even he wasn't omniscient.
"Gentlemen!"
I had been on edge
for so long that I was almost becoming used to it. The last few weeks...something
had gone wrong, somewhere. I could feel it. But what was wrong,
I just didn't know. It was as if I was being Hunted, as if they were
somewhere close, but hadn't yet shown themselves. I had been Hunted
for so long that I had developed the shameful instincts of the hunted,
knowing when they had become prey; able to feel the foe in the air.
The sensation, what I felt, was very different, but I had no way to describe
it.
*** *** *** *** "Your mind tricked you to feel the pain
*** *** *** *** She needed Owen.
This was *way* more than she could ever hope to handle. Belinda knew
it. She didn't even know if Owen would be able to. But after
what she'd seen on the news, she knew. Even before, she knew.
Something dark and hidden that had always been within her sister had come
roaring out and god only *knew* what would happen if it wasn't contained.
Only someone who knew better just what exactly was inside Christine would
be able to stop this.
*** *** *** *** And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
*** *** *** *** The Norns said nothing
when Thoth entered.
*** *** *** *** He knew, as did she,
without words, that this would never extend beyond this night. Just
as a night like this would never happen again. It would not be mentioned,
not even eluded to. It was something that simply would be in their
memories, on the edges, not even allowed to color their perceptions, like
that night so long ago. Never would this happen again. This
was over, done, and they would return to their lives as best they could.
Fate, he knew, had not weaved for them to be together more than this one
night. So there was this one night, and that was all there could
ever be.
*** *** *** *** ***
To be continued.
This story originally
had a completely different title and was originally meant for an *entirely*
different situation. It was originally "Credo" and was paired with
a story called "Bacio." "Bacio," as you know, became "Never is a
Promise" and this became "And I'll Never Need a Lie." Yes, in many
ways, these two stories are still linked to each other, in some ways this
is the continuation of parts of "Never is a Promise." "And I'll Never
Need a Lie" is therefore told in the same style--parts of it are in first
person. Although it switches with no discernible pattern at all.
Welcome to my head.
This story, as well
as "Lightning Crashes" have become...interlude pieces. Think of this
as the calm before the storm and of "Lightning Crashes" as the eye of the
storm. Yeah, I *know* I'm setting up the fifth story, "Revelations,"
a lot with that analogy. There's not much action (just a warning
to all of you expecting the Twilight right here and right now, with Christine
getting her ass to Avalon and toasting Oberon's,) but there's a *hell*
of a lot of character development, and it's probably one of the most important
stories in the series. As for "Lightning Crashes," well, it's...cute.
Oh, and thanks to
Jared Koon and Scott Iskow for beta-reading and giving me last minute ideas!
Thanks muchly! =)
Legal stuff: the gargoyles,
the fey (aside from Thoth, Hecate, and the Fates--this conceptualization
of them is mine), the Quarrymen, and Alexander belong to Buena Vista.
Mark Adams is Scott Iskow's. The Athenians belong to Ryan Stout.
Everyone else is mine.
Oh, and for you Owen-philes:
He's baaa-ack! And with a vengeance--he's returned to all his former
prominence in my stories, starting with *this* mofo... heh heh heh...Just
remember my little lesson from "Never is a Promise": no emotions are ever
purely one or the other; they're all muddled and confused. Nothing's ever
nice and nothing's ever simple.
But never is a promise
And you can't afford to lie
...You'll say it looks as though I might give up this fight
But as the scenery grows, I see in different lights
The shades and shadows undulate in my perception
My feelings swell and stretch, I see from greater heights
I realize what I am now too smart to mention--to you
...I'll never wake up knowing how or why
I don't know what to believe in
And you don't know who I am.
You'll say I need appeasing when I start to cry.
But never is promise
And I'll never need a lie.
-"Never is a
Promise"
And now his hands were tied. The Götterdämmerung
had come. He could only watch. The bone was cast; the bones
were set. He could do nothing but watch.
And weep.
I was staring out
into space. I don't know why. After all, it was a night, like
no other. The skies were clear, and there was a thin, crescent moon
in the sky. A perfect night.
But... Something
was wrong. There was something...what, I had no idea. I only
could feel the night, feel something secretive and oppressive in it.
Something heavy, something dark, something that made me fear for leaving
my empty home, that made the comfortable shadows frightening, haunting.
Something that made tears run down my face.
This night...I was
afraid of this clear night, this beautiful night. Afraid of the shadows,
afraid of the way that I remembered so many things that had happened, that
I had done. It was a night where all the reasonable explanations
for everything I had ever had to do suddenly seemed not enough; seemed
as if the ghosts of my past where coming for me, as if their silent screams
and frightened voices would never be silenced. The silent screams...the
silent screams in the night that I could feel...
This night would swallow
me.
I was very afraid,
and I have not been that in a very long time.
"What do you mean,
they're dead?"
Belinda lowered her
head. She had been waiting for me outside the house, wringing her
hands and shaking. I had felt so on-egde and jittery and just...*wrong*
before I had even gotten home from the hospital that I knew something was
far more wrong than I had imagined. "Christine...they were dead when
I got here...All of them...I...oh, god...!"
There should have
been a storm coming...something, anything. The night shouldn't have
been this pretty.
"Christine...Christine,
will you say something? Anything? Christine!"
I guess I had been
staring out for a long time. Long enough to scare Belinda.
I just swallowed. "Oh, God." I heard come out of my throat.
My voice sounded strange to me. Vaguely, I wondered how it sounded
to Belinda. But I really didn't care.
"It...it had to be
the Quarrymen." Belinda said. I could sense the anger radiating out
of her. "Quarrymen. It's the only thing that makes sense, the
way they were killed. Even the fey wouldn't...Angelica's...oh, god...she's
alive. But...but..." Belinda said, beginning to cry again, leaving
the rest unsaid until she eventually forced it out. "She...she had
a seizure. It should have killed her, but it didn't...she's in a
coma. When...when I tried to reach her, telepathically...she...it's...it's
too soon to tell, yet...can you...?"
I said nothing.
And I could tell that it was beginning to scare my sister, but I just didn't
care.
I smiled. I
have no idea why, really. But I didn't turn around. I just
stood there. It was all vague. Dreamlike.
My family was dead.
It didn't hit me.
It didn't seem real. It just didn't. There was no way that
they could be dead. After all, it wasn't supposed to end like this.
But...but I knew it
was true. I don't know how I had known. I had known before
Belinda told me. Feeling like I was underwater, I finally moved.
I wasn't thinking
of much of anything. I just felt kind of...numb. Totally numb.
It would have scared me, had I been capable of feeling anything right then.
I turned on my heel, walked away, and headed right back to the hospital
I had only just left. Funny...I must have passed them bringing Angelica
on my way back home. Funny, that.
I walked in, ignoring
everyone, and asked where the morgue was. Where else would they be,
after all? So I went down there. I asked the doctor there to
see Mark. I looked at his body for a minute, then told the doctor
thank you and left.
And I went back home,
ignoring the police tape all over the place. I got there and walked
over to the piano, resting my hands on the keys while I tried to wake up
from the fog I suddenly found myself in. I think the place could
have gone up in flames around me, and I wouldn't have noticed.
I'm not sure how long
I stayed there. Long enough for the police to come and go.
Long enough for the sky to begin to change from black to navy to pale blue.
I stood up and walked to my bedroom, not really aware of doing it at all,
ignoring the blood all over just about everything. I don't remember
laying down, or going to sleep.
But I do remember
waking up.
It was another day
of going through the motions but not really being aware of doing anything.
People were calling. I would hear the phone ring, but getting up
to answer it required an almost Herculean effort. So I would sit
there and watch it ring. I would hear people's frantic voices, telling
me to pick up. I suppose they were worried about me and how I was
handling this. I don't know why they were worrying; I was fine.
I wasn't crying or anything. I wasn't ranting and raving and I wasn't
a wreck. I figured that I was handling this just fine.
That was when I saw
Angelica's stuffed lion.
There was blood on
it.
The next thing I knew,
the dream-like state I'd been in crashed and burned. It all turned
nightmarish as I stared at that toy. Everything began to fade in
and out around me, and this sudden gaping black emptiness seemed to fill
me. I felt my throat tighten and saw my hands shaking. I felt
tears in my eyes. The bizarre, dreamlike haze was gone like it had
never existed.
M-Mark was dead.
My...my *baby* was dead. And my daughter...
I don't know how long
I cried. I remember waking up from the table and the first thing
I saw was my wedding ring shining at me. And I remember crying again.
He was dead.
I've seen death before.
I've seen it more times than I even want to think about.
But it wasn't supposed
to end *like* this.
The phone rang.
I glanced at it.
Answering it required moving. And that just wasn't going to happen.
"Christine...Christine,
pick up the damn phone, will ya?" I heard my sister yell. "Dammit,
Christine, I've been trying to reach you for three fucking days!
I even tried telepathy and all I get is the mental equivalent of an answering
machine! Dammit, pick up the phone! The funerals are tomorrow!"
I picked up the phone
and immediately hung it back up. Then I took it of the hook.
I went to sleep.
I woke up to the sound
of my sister literally breaking the door off of its hinges.
"Christine!
Christine!"
I could hear her yelling.
She stomped around looking for me. I heard her, but it sounded very
far away. She finally stalked into my room.
"Shit."
I cracked open an
eye and started to go back to sleep. It was easier to just be asleep.
Doing anything else required more effort than I could pray to give--even
opening my eyes was so hard.
"When the hell was
the last time you ate?"
Belinda's voice became
annoying. And she was dragging me out of bed.
"Go away." I mumbled.
"You didn't answer
me."
"I ate...I don't know.
When did you call me last? It was to tell me about Mark's...and Joshua's...funerals.
I think...I think a day or so before then, so maybe two days?"
"Two days my high
yella ass!" Belinda yelled, paling. "Shit, Christine, it's been nearly
a week since then! What have you been doing, sleeping?"
Nearly a week?
When had time passed? Who cared? I wanted to just go back to
bed.
"Oh, no you don't!"
Belinda yelled, shaking me. "Get your ass in gear." She hauled
me down to the kitchen. I felt so light-headed, almost as if I was
going to pass out.
She sat me down and
got me food. I stared at it and felt my stomach turn at the sight.
I wanted to eat, but the thought of eating made me feel ill, and all I
could do was push it away. Belinda watched me stare at the food,
then sighed and got me a glass of orange juice. "At least drink *this*."
she said, making her voice sound as imperial as she could. I just
looked at it. My arm didn't feel much like moving, and I just didn't
care anymore. I just didn't. I just...couldn't.
Belinda stared at
me. I could tell she was at a loss and had no idea what to do.
Part of me knew that I was scaring the living daylights out of her, but
I didn't care. I just didn't want to do anything. I was too
tired to do anything. All I wanted to do was sleep. When I
was asleep, I got away from the horrible feeling I had inside me.
From the way I felt when I opened my eyes and it would hit me that he was
dead. But it wasn't over, it couldn't be. Then the pain got
worse, and I would go to sleep because it was quiet in my sleep.
I could get away from this living Hell. Just existing was too much
for me. It was easier to just close my eyes and sleep and let everything
pass me by; to escape from the pit I felt inside me. Oblivion or
pain. I wanted oblivion.
I don't know when
Belinda left. I suppose she had to leave. I didn't care.
I slumped out of the chair and curled up under the table, wrapping my wings
around me. Sleep came again, and I welcomed it.
The fey looked up
suddenly. Then gasped. "Th-thoth."
Thoth nodded once,
his ibis head bobbing slightly.
"Does Oberon know
you're here?" he said, still staring at the bird-fey. Thoth.
"No. I am independent
of our lord Oberon." he said softly. "I have a greater calling than
his rule. I have since I became the Scribe, since I became the Watcher.
I see far, little Trickster. And that is why I am here."
Puck's eyes widened
even more.
"I have a choice for
you, little Trickster." the god said. "A choice that will decide
the entire fate of the Götterdämmerung."
It was very dark.
The lights were off. That was fine. I liked the dark.
It was much easier to sleep in than the light.
I couldn't sleep,
though. I tried. God help me, I tried. And I was so tired.
But there was nothing. Nothing but blackness surrounding me.
I started crying again.
Dead. He...he was dead. He was dead. He was gone, now,
and gone forever. And my baby, my little baby...
I didn't know I could
cry like that, that it could take over my body so completely. When
I finished god only knows how much later, I felt like an empty shell, moreso
than I had before.
I was in that state
when the phone rang again. I listened to it ring, knowing I wouldn't
get up to answer it. I heard Alexander's voice.
"Christine...Christine,
I know you're there. Please, pick up the phone! I have to talk
to you! I have to...I have to tell you..." His voice cracked.
"Jesus," I heard him whisper. "You aren't going to answer, are you?
Christine, don't make me say this without talking to you; don't make me
talk to a machine. Please, answer the damned phone!" There
was silence on the other end. I could hear him breathing. "Answer
the fucking phone!"
The programming had
kicked in, I suppose. One minute, I was lying under a table crying
and the next I had gotten to my feet and was across the room; more movement
than I had done of my own accord in days. I hit the button on the
phone, answering it.
I didn't turn on the
lights.
I saw him squinting
into the screen, trying to see me. "Christine?"
"Yes?" I said, my
voice surprisingly steady. But then, I had trained myself, long ago,
to never let my voice quiver and shake when I cried. You couldn't
sing if your voice was thick from crying.
"Christine, thank
God. Are you all right?"
"What do you want,
Alex?" I said flatly, fighting to urge to hang up and go to sleep.
"Christine...it's
Angelica." he said. He gathered himself. "The Quarrymen...they tried
to kill her. She's all right!" he added quickly.
I listened to Alexander
talk. Listening was all I could do. I know I was shaking,
and I know that tears were running down my face silently. I could
feel them. But I couldn't really feel anything else.
"She's being guarded
now. Family, doctors, and nurses only. Christine, she's..."
I don't remember consciously
thinking to hang up. I just remember raising my hand to push the
button to hang up on him. I don't quite know how I did it; moving
seemed impossible for me. Just doing that seemed to exhaust me.
But I managed to get
up and wander out of the house. I don't remember anything after that,
really.
"They have killed
Mark and Joshua Adams."
Puck paled.
"No...what about Angelica?"
"She...is still alive.
But she will never be the same. She was allowed to live because she
prophesied the Götterdämmerung."
"She *what*?!!?"
"She saw the coming,
and added to the prophecy. She was allowed to live."
"How is Christine?"
"The Ma'at is why
I am here." Thoth said gravely. "She has...become unhinged.
She will remain thus. Unless you go to her."
"Well, in case you
hadn't noticed, I don't exactly have much choice in mobility right now."
the fey said sarcastically.
"I have a choice for
you, Puck. Listen, and listen well."
Puck's eyes widened.
"I will free you.
If you wish it. I will let you go to the Ma'at. Or I
can leave you here."
"Gee, lemme think
about that one."
"You must. Puck...the
role you play when you see her...it will decide the Twilight. If
you go, the Twilight will happen. If you stay, it will not."
Puck stared at him.
"You're serious."
"Yes, I am.
The role she plays...if there is no Christine, there is no Twilight."
"You're *kidding*."
"No, I am not."
"What happens if I
stay? To her?"
"She as lost her focus
and identity. She will go completely insane and become a killer because
it will give her focus. She will give into the weapon programming
within her."
"Let me out."
"Puck, there is more.
There are things you should know before you make a..."
"I've *made* my decision.
Let me out of this hellhole!" the Puck yelled.
"No. You must
think. Let me tell you about..."
"I don't *care*!"
Thoth stared at him.
"I will come back later. We will talk then."
"No! No, wait,
Tho...never mind." he said to empty air.
"What the hell do
you mean, she's gone?" Belinda yelled at Athena. "Where's my sister?"
"I don't know.
The door was open. She was gone." Athena said flatly. She was
trying not to let herself show the concern she felt. None of them
had heard from Christine since she'd found out Mark and Joshua had been
killed. They'd tried to reach her, but nothing. Now the woman
was missing, and God only knows where she had wandered off to. If
Belinda had been telling the truth about Christine's state...
But not you.
No, I don't get to
die. I'm not that lucky. No, I get to stay alive and see everyone
I love eventually grow old and die.
If they grow old.
How many have I buried?
How much blood on
these hands?
How many dead...and
how many would die?
Rosenkrantz.
Erik. Erika. Giovanna. And now Mark. Joshua.
Soon, Elisa, Goliath,
the rest of the clan, the Areses...
One day, Angelica,
Hope and Christian...they were young and alive now, but one day they would
stop breathing. One day, it would all end for them. I would
still be here, though. Watching. Still alive, still surviving, still
passing the time waiting for something that would never come. Trying
to keep going when everyone I would ever love would one day just...be gone.
How could I live like
that?
What choice did I
have?
And if I try to end
it, I have to kill. For me to die, my sister has to--and I have to
kill her.
What was the point
of loving, of caring about anything, if it would all end like this?
It wasn't supposed
to end like this.
I looked up at the
sky, feeling the tears coming out of my eyes and feeling my throat catching.
And a hate I had never felt before rising in me. Pain turned into
rage, and I reached for it, preferring the way it felt, the way it made
my veins pulse and made me aware of everything. The clarity it suddenly
gave me. "He always said that there was a God. Well, I believe
in You now! I want You to know that, You fucking bastard!"
Iago's "Credo" from
Otello came to mind. Arrigo Boito wrote the Credo, to add
to Otello when Verdi set Othello to music for his opera.
It had always struck me as a mildly disturbing piece, but now...
Now, I understood.
I believe in a
cruel God who created me in His image and whom in my hate I call upon.
From some vile germ or base atom was I born. I am evil because I
am Man; and I feel the primeval slime in me. Yes! This is my
creed! I believe with a firm heart, just as the widow does in her
church, that the evil I think and which from me proceeds was decreed for
me by fate. I believe that the honest man is a mocking buffoon, and
both in face and heart, everything in him is a lie; tears, kisses, glances,
sacrifice and honor. And I believe man to be the sport of a wicked
fate from the germ of the cradle to the worm of the grave. And after
this futility comes death. And then? And then? Death is Nothingness.
Heaven is an old wives' tale.
"Credo." I
whispered to myself. I believe. These words I believed far
more than the empty Latin I had recited for DiLorenzio.
I looked at the sky
again. I could feel God's presence, malevolent as it was. And
I could feel the hate at Him burning in me. "My fate is to suffer,
is it?" I yelled. "Mark tried to redeem himself, but You...You would
never let that happen, would You? I know now why You never helped
me; why the one time I called on You there was nothing! Was I in
Your hands, then, God? When I was being beaten, was that Your plan?
Was that why You would never let him find any peace? Were You manipulating
all of us for this pain? Is that why there's so much pain and hate
in this world? Because of You? And to think, people call upon
Your name for help! You, the sickest bastard of all; the fucking
sadist to end all sadists! Is this Your love? Is this what
you want for Your children?"
A rage I had never
felt before filled me. "Do You thrive on hate? On pain?
Oh, You must just love me, then, don't You? I'm glad they're dead!
Glad!" I screamed, feeling something in my throat catching and tearing
as I screamed, feeling myself doing damage to the delicate membranes within
that gave me the voice that people compared with the angels.
I didn't care.
I didn't care if I never sang again. "You can't hurt him anymore!
But no, that leaves me, doesn't it? Well, I won't play by Your rules
anymore! I won't play Your little game the way You want me to anymore!
Now we play on *my* terms!" I screamed, feeling blood in my throat.
The Feather of Ma'at
seemed to go supernova.
In my head, I heard
and felt something click.
Then the world went
black.
The Quarrymen looked
up with a start. The voice had risen effortlessly over the milieu
of the beginnings of the meeting. They all turned to face the sound,
which came from a window. Gracefully, the woman who had spoken entered
through the window, flipped, and landed on her feet on the stage.
"It's a gargoyle!"
one of them screamed. "Get..."
The look in her eyes
silenced him. "You can *try*." she whispered with a smile.
She flicked her wrist and he went flying backwards, the feather tied in
her hair glowing faintly when she did so. "Quarrymen! Listen
to me!" she intoned, her head raised, her words filling the hall easily.
"I am here with a warning. You know who I am."
All of them started
rumbling. Yes, they knew her. And they knew of her traitorous
husband who was dead. Not by them, unfortunately, but murdered in
the way he deserved. And that murder, all over the news, had led
the Quarrymen right to a nest of half-breeds and freaks. A nest they
would soon wipe out. An unsuccessful attempt to kill Adam's living
child had been made; a successful one was planned for the next day.
"Silence!"
At the words, the
hall fell silent. "I am here with a warning. You know who I
am and now you know my family. Do not come after us now that you've
found us." she said. "If you do, I will revisit the violence on you
and your own families." she said, her eyes dark and narrowed.
"Oh, so this is gargoyle
'justice'." one of the Quarrymen sneered.
The weapon smiled
again. "You forget I'm half-human."
Someone had pulled
out a gun. He carefully aimed at her head and fired. The bullet bounced
harmlessly away, the feather again glowing.
The weapon raised
her hand and the man holding the gun flew into the air. "Pathetic
little *human*." she whispered. "Weren't you listening at *all*?
Or did you feel that tonight *is* a good night to die?"
All of the Quarrymen
with guns pulled them out and began firing. When the smoke cleared,
she still stood there, untouched, her face still cold and unflappable,
the feather in her hair glowing like a supernova sun. A smile appeared
on her face, a strangely and frighteningly beatific smile.
There was a loud click
that all of them heard. It was the sound of the doors locking.
The weapon took out her sais and with a song on her lips, attacked.
I had been on edge
for so long, I was almost used to it. Almost. I still felt
as if everything where off-balance, off-kilter, as if the world had spun
into a tailspin and I had no way to right it again.
And then, suddenly,
it had stopped. It was as if everything had suddenly restabilized
itself. But in a way counter to everything before, as if everything
was in inverse.
I could not feel relief.
Because this scared me more than the way I had felt before. All I
knew was that something had gone terribly wrong.
There was purity in
fighting. In the whistle of the air around my sais as I attacked,
in the heat of the blood. My heart felt full and open as I fought
them, my body alive. The purity and truth in the destruction filled
me with a peace I had not felt in a long time. I had allowed myself
to truly give in to this only twice times, only twice...but never would
I sin again.
"To repeat our top
story: the bodies of twenty-five people, assumed to be Quarrymen, were
found today. Police on the scene describe it as a "total bloodbath".
The bodies were found in a known Quarryman meeting place. The victims
all seemed to have been either stabbed to death, beaten, or literally ripped
apart. Video surveillance of the event all failed before the attack,
although no physical cause can be found. Police are hesitant to say
what has happened, but there is speculation that gargoyles..."
There was a click
as Ares turned off the television. "You don't think Christine could
have...?" he began hesitantly, afraid of the answer he knew he would get.
Belinda's eyes were
dark.
Truly, I was made
in God's own image.
"Credo." I whispered,
feeling the grating in my damaged throat, feeling blood on my lips.
It was not my blood.
I laughed.
God laughed with me.
"Puck, again, listen
to me...if you leave here and go to her..."
"Will she be all right
if I go? Back to normal?"
"More or less."
"Then let me out.
Nothing else matters. Nothing."
"But..."
"I don't care about
'but's!"
Thoth closed his eyes.
"Done."
Shocked, Puck looked
down and saw that the iron shackles on his legs were gone. How...?
No. Better...better to not ask.
"OK, toodles." Puck
said, his stomach jumping. Then he was gone.
Thoth stared at the
empty space. The Puck should have let him tell him everything.
It very well might have changed his mind about what to do with Christine.
But...it was too late now. The Twilight was coming. The Puck
would bring Christine back to herself. But the cost to both of them...
I had turned on the
television. It was a distraction, something to silence everything.
For so long, everything had seemed wrong; I couldn't take anymore.
The remote control
dropped out of my talons.
"To repeat our top
story: the bodies of twenty-five people, assumed to be Quarrymen, were
found today. Police on the scene describe it as a "total bloodbath".
The bodies were found in a known Quarryman meeting place. The victims
all seemed to have been either stabbed to death, beaten, or literally ripped
apart. Video surveillance of the event all failed before the attack,
although no physical cause can be found. Police are hesitant to say
what has happened, but there is speculation that gargoyles..."
Everything, everything
made sense. Suddenly. There were no "gargoyles." It was
only one. Only one woman. I could see, like a memory, through
my own eyes, the blood. And I could feel, cold and warm in my hands,
pulsating and electrifying, metal daggers with three prongs in my hands.
And my throat.
It hurt, far worse than any pain I had ever felt there before. Almost
as much as the dull, empty feeling that the physical pain was doing its
best to mask.
I knew. I knew
what had happened. I whispered her name, the sound harsh and grating
in my throat.
And then I began to
cough blood.
Of someone close to you leaving the game
Of life."
-"Silent Lucidity"
Dear God, Christine
had killed so many... Belinda frowned, covering her mouth with her
hands.
She felt Athena's
hand on her shoulder. "Belinda...what if she...?"
"She's my sister,
Athena." Belinda said, stopping whatever question Athena had been
going to ask her. "You don't know her like I did...you don't know
what she's been through and how much she's always fought this evil that
was inside her, that never should have been a part of her...my sister's
not evil," Belinda said, raising her eyes to the android, "she's just alone.
And afraid. Trying to find her way. She's lost everything and
is so off-balance...never did she foresee this. All of this.
What else can she do?" Belinda said, tears beginning to fall down her checks
"What else?" Belinda choked, wiping her cheeks.
"She's a killer."
Athena said, her voice gentler now.
Belinda stared at
the woman. "No, she's not. But her programming is. Besides...I'm
no better."
"Belinda...what will
you do if you can't...?"
Belinda said nothing
for a long time. Finally: "The only thing I can."
She closed her eyes.
I began to laugh.
Nothing melodious now, no nothing, no gentle bell like sound that my laughter
used to be compared to. That was another life, another world, the
laugh of a weak creature who went where the winds buffeted her. Now
I flew, no longer that weak woman, unsure of who and what she was and how
she was supposed to fit into this world.
The God of Gianni,
of DiLorenzio, of all the people in the Bavarian village, agreed with me.
The God that had branded me a demon and a witch--to think, I had denied
it! Now I embraced it. Yes, I am a witch, I am the child of
evil, a true child of God.
I closed my eyes as
I flew, silent even though I did not wish to be. Silent because part
of me refused to sing. I should have sang, should have destroyed
the angelic thing that I had been cursed with. And Giovanna had thought
she heard angels in my voice? Ha! There was nothing but death.
And I was its angel.
I needed to sleep.
I didn't feel tired, rather I felt exhilarated and alive. But the
sun was coming. I could have used magic, but that was far too predictable
a thing. If I used magic, it would be far too easy to be found.
No, no, I would hide myself away, secret myself away in a place that I
had one conquered as a diva--the Met. I would use the Met, a place
I had avoided for years, as my sleeping place, certain in knowing the areas
where I couldn't be found, cloaking myself with just enough magic to make
sure I wasn't found.
Tomorrow, my voice
would be healed.
"I don't know.
She vanished. And she cut me off telepathically. I can't find
her. I don't even know where to look. Owen...you have to help
her." Belinda said, shaking slightly.
Owen stared at her.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" he said just as quietly. "How could I
not help her?" He closed his eyes for a minute, and looked outside
of the window. "How many people do you think she's killed?"
He had known when
he had arrived back to Manhattan what had happened. Known, and only
*prayed* to the Fates it was not too late to save her.
"I don't know." Belinda
said, biting her lip. "She just snapped. And that's why I'm
so afraid. If it was just revenge, I could understand, but this is
something different, Owen...there's something else, something frightening..."
she frowned. "I've seen her unhinged before, felt her unhinged before...but
nothing like this." Belinda whispered, her eyes unfocusing as she stared
off into space. "Nothing like this." she whispered again. How
to describe it? It frightened her. The way her sister's depression
had simply snapped like it had never existed, replaced with a rage Belinda
knew would make the gods tremble--the rage Christine had always buried
and denied, the anger over everything, over having no control in her life.
Christine had wrested control from events, but had no idea she was not
in control--that it wasn't her doing these things but a program, an external
forcibly made internal, masquerading around as something that was native
to Christine. The blackness she sensed from her sister frightened
her, reminded her forcibly of the one other time that Christine had lost
control to the blackness, the time she had killed Rosenkrantz.
Only this was worse,
this was far worse than that had been--Belinda knew that if Christine wasn't
saved soon, she was lost forever, drowning in the black and willingly so.
Strangely, Owen touched
her hand. "Belinda...we will save her. We will find her, and
we will drag her back from whatever abyss she's drowning in. We *have*
to."
She closed her eyes.
"I hope so...I hope you're right. Because if you aren't," he said
looking straight at him, "then this is only the beginning. And if
this is only the beginning, then God help us all."
If there is no Christine,
there is no Twilight.
Owen was suddenly
very afraid.
Knowing that it was
her frightened me. I knew then that I really would never be free
of a link that had happened almost fifty years before. I suppose,
in its way, that the link had settled me. Alexander Xanatos had once
stated it was the sacred linked with the profane. I wondered if maybe
he hadn’t been closer to right than I, or Christine, would have ever wanted
to admit. There was the idea of balance, of yin-yang. And now
the balance was tilted in a scary direction. And I was feeling it,
feeling as if I was drowning in the darkness.
I needed the balance
back. I needed it. Desperately.
"We have *got* to
find her." Owen said, a muscle in his face tensing.
"I can lead you to
her."
Both of them jolted
at the unexpected voice.
"D-Demona!" Belinda
hissed suddenly.
The cold glare from
the gargoyle stopped Belinda before she could even start.
"You want to find
your sister, I will take you to her. And I know I'm the only one
who can find her now. Not even you can find her." she said, smiling
coldly at Belinda.
"You know where she
is?" Owen asked, staring at her.
"Yes."
"Why are you willing
to help us?" Belinda hissed.
"Because I want my
head back." Demona snapped. "I feel her. I have for weeks.
I want my head back. I want her out."
Owen said nothing,
he just stared at Demona. His face was frozen, but his mind whirled.
The link...the link with Christine...the Fates had their hands in this,
somehow he knew. Vaguely, barely, he was aware for a brief moment
that perhaps they were all being manipulated by something higher, but it
was gone before he could fully actualize it.
Demona stared at Belinda.
"But not you." she hissed. "I won't show you where she is."
"Why the fuck not?"
Belinda yelled angrily. "That's my *sister*, and you, you little
bitch, won't..."
Demona smiled.
"You're far too unstable, *Belinda*. Someone who has just gone insane
does not need another nutcase around. He, at least, is stable."
"Bitch." Belinda hissed
angrily under her breath, but didn't move. She tensed, angrily, her
jaw clinching, but knowing there was nothing she could do. She could
try and find Christine on her own, but if Christine didn't want Belinda
to find her, she wouldn't She could hide from a telepath, but even
she couldn't hide from someone who could see through her own eyes.
"Go." she finally
hissed, hands clinched in a tight fist, so tight she was certain she was
going to be bleeding in a moment.
One day, she was going
to kill Demona for this...for *everything*.
One day...
I simply flew.
I flew, knowing it would carry me where I needed to go. I held on
to the human, ignoring him. Paying him any heed at all would have
taken attention away from finding the woman.
I wanted my mind back.
I wanted my balance back. I...I wanted that girl who had stood me
down in my own office, asking the simple question of "what might have been?"
to be all right. I knew she wasn't. I knew. But I had
lived under the shadow of that question for so many decades...I had tried
before to make amends, only to find I was out of my depth. So I had
left. Now...perhaps this was my last chance, to tell her all of this
hadn't been for nothing or just for her pain. To...to, in a way,
redeem myself for what I had done. There are few things I have done
that I can say, looking back, I completely regret my actions; that the
course I took was wrong. What I did to her had been one of those
few things. I had been going to kill a child. Yes, my maiming
her was an accident. But it had happened because I had reached out
to grab her so I could kill her and get her out of my head. That
is what kept me out of her life, all the times I had flashes of things
she was doing, her pain. I stayed out because how could I face her?
She had come to face me. I could not do the same.
I tried. I tried.
And I only made things worse. I didn't want to do this again.
I wanted my mind back. I wanted back the simple peace of knowing
my thoughts and my emotions were my own.
I wanted something
I knew that I could never have.
I knew they were coming.
I had felt Demona. I had felt her. So I was waiting.
After all, what could she do to me? She was coming.
Owen was with her.
I waited. On
that rooftop, I waited. The night was clear, hot, the beginning of
the dog days in the air.
I smiled.
Demona knew it as
well. He looked at her--the gargoyle's eyes were wide, her skin paling.
Everything was worse than even she had thought; than even she had felt.
"Demon..." she whispered. Demona backed away, eyes glowing red, nerves
on edge, afraid of the calm in the demonic child's eyes. She should
have killed her. She should have killed the child all those years
ago, should have killed her before she turned into this *monster*.
The demon smiled.
"Yes, Demona, I am a demon. I am what I am, what I always have been."
She smiled. "So how's it feel to stare through the dark mirror?
To see me as everyone sees *you*?"
Demona let out a faint
gasp. In almost horror, she realized that Christine was right; that she
was staring at...at herself as everyone else, everyone who misunderstood,
saw her. She was staring at herself, and this was a *monster*.
She began to shake.
"Demona...go to her
child. Please. Stay with her." Owen said, staring straight
at the demon. "You see through Christine's eyes...sometimes she sees
through yours. If she sees her daughter...*please*. If you
want to help at all, if you want to give me any sort of prayer, watch Angelica."
Demona said nothing.
Then she turned and jumped off of the rooftop, clutching her head in both
hands, flying as one blind.
Yes. I fled.
I fled from her words and from her. Like I always had. Like
I had no other choice but to do. I was overwhelmed by her, I always
had been.
I should have killed
her all those years ago. I knew it now. Killed her and stopped
her from becoming me.
Owen looked at her,
his eyes never leaving hers and his voice quiet. "Then kill me now,
child...because I can't and won't let this go on."
"Child. Child!
Always, always, I've been a child to you!" she yelled, suddenly shaking.
"I'm not a child, Owen! I'm not! I'm not a child!" she roared.
He continued to stare
at her. "Yes, Christine, you are a child." he said, still staring
at her. "A child who has gotten away with too much for too long.
It's time for you to grow up, Christine."
She glared at him.
"I did. A long time ago."
"No, you did not."
His blue eyes were piercing. "I thought you had, when I saw you all
those millennia ago, when I remembered you...for once, you seemed to have
grown up. For the first, and only time, I saw you as a woman.
Now I see you for what you are and always have been. A child.
A child breaking her toys because she's hurt. Only your toys feel
pain, Christine. Your toys weep and cry and bleed. I won't
let this continue. I will no longer permit you to be a child."
She stared at him.
"After everything I've been through..." she whispered, "You accuse me of
being a child."
"You are." he said,
staring at her. He remembered freshly first seeing her, millennia
ago. The mysterious hybrid, with the voice of an angel, who had captured
his attention with a mystery that he had wanted solved then and there.
Now her mystery was solved, but things had changed. It would have
been better if he had never remembered seeing her in Greece. An indelible
mark was left on his perception of her, a mark left by seeing her through
those unfiltered eyes of millennia ago and the memory of that. Seeing
her in a way he would never let himself before, because she had been a
child--only a child--when they had next met, when he did not remember her.
A child who had needed protection, not the mysterious woman who had so
easily ensnared his imagination with a smile and a voice. Did she
have any idea? No. Christine, his Christine, this child, this
woman, this destroyed being that so many had hurt...once again, she was
destroyed, buffeted around by a world she had never understood, seeking
again someone to cling to, to help her. He had been the first, but
she had had many since to cling to, to need, but now they were all gone,
all betrayed her by being gone. She had a pattern, his little Christine,
to withdraw and to cause herself pain. For her, it was cathartic.
Her nature to need, and to destroy the thing she needed because her need
became a necessity to the one she needed. She would destroy the ones
she needed by pulling away, in her attempt--always futile--to find her
own way. Her way was the way she was led, led by the one she would
cling to. Without that person, she was lost, completely and utterly.
She was a child that way, and always would be, and because no one had been
able to see her as the child and woman she was, they had all failed her.
And now she was lost, alone and afraid, her support ripped away, and falling
prey to the evil inside her that had always been both alien and native,
that she had always fought but raged for control. Without her support,
her ability to fight it was gone. It had sent her into shock and
the evil raged, the Turandot programming, and was in control. In
control while Christine, alone and afraid, tried desperately to find something
to cling to. Now it was her programming--her external support was
gone, and so she would go for what was steady and secure within her.
The only thing that was. And she would cling to it, tenaciously as
she did all her others, until a new one appeared.
Or perhaps, an old
one. The internal support was new, its hold not yet all-encompassing.
Not yet. But it would be soon, would be unless supplanted now by
something external. Something she knew was permanent. But was
it too late? Had she gone too far? What comfort did she find
in that programming, that was internal and could never leave--or die?
She would struggle. He would help her struggle. He would not
leave her, even if it meant his death, and with the Feather and the sais,
she could most certainly kill him. But he would not. He would
make her fight to find something new to cling to, something new to need
and to focus her. She was a child-woman, a child-demon.
And she was afraid.
It was written in her eyes, in the way she shook as she glared angrily
at him. She was afraid he would rip away her support and leave her
floating helplessly again. She knew that he was the only one, the
*only* one, who could do that. And so she was afraid. She was
half-right, this poor child-woman. He would rip away her support.
They looked at each
other, wordless, each waiting for a word from the other. Christine
stared at him, feeling uncertain. Why was he making her so nervous?
Because he wants to
take you away from your destiny, a voice whispered. And since you've
been away from it for so long, part of you wants to go back. Your
path is not an easy one...but it's yours, and you can't deny it.
Her spine straightened
and her jaw raised. "I'm not a child, Owen. I know what I'm
doing--what my path is."
"No. You know what
your programming is telling you."
"Yes." she said flatly.
"I know what it is."
"Do you?" he said,
his voice softer now. "Or are you listening to it because it's the
only thing that you can hear? Because it's the only thing you think
is secure and that you can never lose?"
"You're wasting your
breath, Owen." she said, her dark brown eyes never leaving his pale blue
ones.
"Am I?"
She glared at him.
"Give me a reason."
"You aren't a killer."
She threw her head
back and laughed. "I'm *not* a killer? I beg to differ, Owen."
"The programming is.
*You* are not. That's why I'm here."
"You're here because
you're an idiot who believes that I want to be 'saved.' I *am* saved,
Owen. I know what I am now."
"No, Christine...you
know what your programming wants you to be. You've always struggled
to prove you're more than your programming...do it now."
"I always struggled
to live a *lie*. My programming is *all* that I am." she hissed.
"I'm not fighting it anymore, and I've never felt better in my life."
"Christine...didn't
you feel them? Feel them die?"
"No."
"Yes, you did." Owen
said flatly. "I know you too well."
"All I felt was the
music in my mind and in me. There was nothing else."
He stared at her.
Was he too late? "What would Mark say if he could see you now?"
"He's dead.
It really doesn't matter anymore what he would have said or done.
I freed those people, Owen. Freed them."
"What gives you the
right?"
"I do."
He lapsed into stunned
silence. What had happened to her? So much...was it even possible
to reach beyond the programming, when even she didn't want to try anymore?
He had never dreamed she could ever reach this point--but she had her limits,
and she had reached it. She had reached a breaking point that would
break anyone.
That was it.
That was *it*. If he attacked this--the *symptom* of her breakdown,
he wouldn't get anywhere. The symptom was nothing. It was the
root he had to get to.
"So he's free, is
he? And your son?"
Her expression didn't
change. "Yes."
"But you're not free,
are you? You're still here."
"I know I'm still
here. I'll *always* be here."
"Unless you kill your
sister." he said flatly. "But you won't. And you know it.
Because killing her won't solve anything. It won't really make you happy.
All you know right now is how much you hurt. But you don't want to
anymore. You don't want to face all that pain anymore. So instead
you're causing others the same pain."
"It won't work, Owen."
"Christine, I care
about you. I will *not* let you do this to yourself. You're
hurting. I know it. I know you are. And part of you does,
too. Part of you...the *really* part, the part you've always struggled
to let express itself, is crying. That...that small child inside
of you is crying over what you're letting yourself become."
Her voice was icy.
"No part of me is crying at all, Owen. Nothing." She raised
her chin, the Feather of Ma'at glowing, the light reflecting out of her
dark eyes. "And there is no child. Not anymore."
I went to see the
child. Secretly, of course. Very secretly.
I don't know why I
went. It wasn't because he had asked me. I had left, intending
to go home. Instead I was here. I was looking at this sleeping
child. She seemed so incredibly small in all of that sterile white.
She was pale. Very, very pale. And the entire left side of
her face was bruised. Her brown hair was spread out around her pale
hair, shining.
She looked so much
like her mother had when she was ten years from the egg...five, for the
human years. Dear God...I could imagine that this was much
as Christine had looked after I had injured her.
She was sleeping.
Her chest rose and fell. I touched her forehead, brushing the hair
out of her face. She looked so much like Christine. So tiny.
She was so tiny. She slept.
I watched Angelica...Angelica,
like Angela, asleep. Had that had any part in her decision to name
the child that? Was it coincidence? After all this, could I
believe that it was just a coincidence? My daughter had been raised
without her mother...could I dare let this child have no mother as well?
Could I? And could I let this child...could I let her die?
Could I let her die like her mother should have? This little...Angel?
Angel. That
come into so many things. I had been the Angel of the Night, my child
Angela. Christine...she had been the Angel of Music, her child Angelica.
This...I wondered
it there was a chance.
And I wondered if
she could she see this.
I stared at him.
I felt the wind blow through my hair, felt the Feather of Ma'at brushing
against my face. He stared back at me. I waited for him to
make a move...say something. I knew he would. And I waited.
"There is still, in you...still...that
child." he said, moonlight glinting off of his glasses. Light glinted
off of my sais, the two lights gleaming together, opposite, in the moonlight.
"No," I said back,
"There is not. And what I am is an assassin."
Kill him.
Kill him. Kill him. Oh, the voices, they sang in my head.
It was that voice, that still, small voice that had told me what to do.
Kill him. Set him free and then you never have to doubt again.
Never. You'll be free. Free. He wants to take it all
away from you. He wants to take you back to that place...he wants
to take you all of this away from you...
I heard the scream
in my throat. The sais in my hand was warm; it knew...oh, it knew
he was fey, and it wanted to kill him.
He never moved.
Never. I ran at him, sound tearing out of my throat, feeling the
blood coming back. He never moved as I came closer and closer and...
If he had moved, moved
in the slightest, I would have killed him. But he stood there.
Owen....Owen, this
was *Owen*!
The voice was drowned
out by that realization. I stopped short, the sai at his throat,
eyes wide. My hands were shaking as I stared at him, screaming.
I...I couldn't...it
was *Owen*...I...
Kill him!
He grabbed my hand,
holding the sai over his chest.
"Christine, it wasn't
the *Quarrymen* who killed them. It was the *fey*." he hissed, his
eyes staring straight at me. "They killed your family. And
if you want to kill them all for it, fine. But if you do...they may
have exiled me and denied me, but they are still my family. If you
want to kill all of the fay, then you have to start with me." he said in
a flat monotone, the grip on my hand tightening, pulling the sai closer,
the end beginning to stab into him. Blood began to well out of the
cut, his face never changing even when the sai warmed and sang, his eyes,
the eyes I had known all of my *life*, in my face, no expression aside
from a brief moment of pain. "Because *I* am fey."
The sai fell out of
her hands. And she stared at him, shaking, frightened, confused.
When the sai dropped out of her hands, he could see that something in her
had broken, the programming broken. He wrapped his arms around her.
She struggled, then went limp. She leaned into him and began to cry.
He tightened his arms around her, feeling her body shake from her crying
as she gave totally into the grief that had overwhelmed her. "My
babies..." she whispered. "Mark...gone, just gone...oh, god, Owen,
why? *Why*?" she said, clutching at his shirt, burying her face into
his chest, and crying. Her whole body felt limp, weak, and she was
overwhelmed by how her life had suddenly been ripped out from under her
feet.
He stroked her hair
as he held her, comforting the weeping woman as best he could. "Why...the
why is difficult and impossible to understand. It simply *is*." he
said, laying his head on hers while she cried. And she did cry.
He held her, let her cry, rocked with her as she wept.
She suddenly looked
up at him, her face tearstained and her dark eyes puffy and red.
"I just don't understand...what did I ever do to them? What did Mark?
My...my babies? They were just babies, just children...Angelica...Joshua...they...just
babies, and they... And Mark, they took my family...*why*?"
Her eyes tore at him
and he felt ashamed of what he was for the first time. Shame to be
a fey, to be of the same race as the ones who had so coldly hurt her to
protect themselves, and who didn't care if they were right or wrong.
Thoth had said the fey were destroying themselves, and it was true--and
for the first time, he was *glad* the Ragnarok was coming. In fact,
he wanted it to come! Wanted it to destroy all of them, for what
they'd done and the arrogance they'd had! "Because they're afraid
and they're stupid." he said sadly. "They're trying to stop the future,
the Ragnarok. They...they wanted *me* to kill them, Christine.
I refused. And because of it, they would have locked me away in Tartarus
forever, had Thoth not freed me...but it was too late...too late..." he
said sadly, shaking his head.
"They...Oberon?"
He nodded once.
"You refused?"
"Yes. He offered
to end my banishment from Avalon...but the price was too high." he said,
looking at her. "The price was far too high. I only wish...I
only wish I could have gotten here sooner..." he said, wiping the tears
from her face. She looked at him, never taking her eyes away from
the man she had known all of her life, the man who had given her a name
and given her hope in her dark little world lifetimes away--someone who
had loved her unconditionally and who she knew always would. But
there were things...things she knew were better left unsaid but that she
knew were going to be said anyway. It was that kind of night...one
night, and nights like this happened from time to time; nights that muddled
and confused and...nights that changed everything, or *could* change everything.
There were things, things better left unsaid. But unsaid, on nights
like tonight...the unsaid were said and things...things would be confused.
"Do you remember,"
she began hesitantly, "do you remember when I first came to you, Owen?
All those millennia ago?"
He nodded. "Yes.
Clearly...very clearly." He let it lapse into silence, knowing not
to say anymore. Yes, he remembered. Remembered seeing her as
something other than a child--her dark eyes searing him. It overrode
many other memories, infused them with something different, touched a latent
nerve that had always been buried because it seemed safest that way.
But now he knew that nerve was exposed, open, and in many ways it frightened
him--for once, he was not on the more secure footing he normally was but
in a different place, one of uncertainty, one that he had often danced
around when she had first become an adult and had not since because he
was afraid to, afraid of where the waltz might lead. Once he had
first danced to one night long ago, when she was still very young despite
her age, once that might have led them in entirely different directions
had not the guards...those stupid guards...not come. Now he knew
he was at that place again with her, only it was stronger now, different
now because he was different and she was different.
The band had struck
up and begun, was he ready to dance this waltz?
"Do you remember,"
she began again, her voice far quieter now, from both her lowered voice
and the fact that she had buried her face into his chest again, "that night,
the first time I tried to escape?"
He closed his eyes.
Yes, he remembered that night. The night seared forever in his memory,
the night when so much had been decided but not by them. "Yes." he
whispered, his voice strangely harsh in his throat. Part of him wanted
to scream at her to be quiet, to get away from him and to let things return
to normal because tonight was a dangerous night--but they had put this
off long enough, had they not? Their relationship spanned millennium
by now--no, it was time to end to waltz. But he wanted to pull away,
to let excuses end all of this and to let this pass into memory much as
that *other* night had. A night lifetimes away, generations and deaths
away. A time when there really had only been them, only been them
and the truth of what he was and what she was. A time when things
had come so close and yet had been so impossible, a night when their paths
had been set and a way of thinking forced onto them...because it was safer,
because it could be understood, because it wasn't messy. It made
everybody more comfortable.
So what if it was
a lie?
"Christine..." he
began, then stopped, not knowing what else he could possibly say.
What *could* be said. There was only silence now, between them, silence
because words were dangerous. So dangerous, this dance they danced
now. A dance more dangerous than any she had danced before, dangerous
to both of them. Fate was fate. He knew, somehow, as he had
always known, that he was slated to play some part in the Götterdämmerung.
Thoth had reaffirmed that, and then shattered him by saying this woman
was the most important member of that Ragnarok. She was the key,
this created being of woman, gargoyle, and science, this innocent child
of cruelty and destruction. She was to bring about the Ragnarok--had
he always known? Had that been what had always drawn him to her?
He wondered. Twisted fate, *twisting* fate, that had put them together
in the first place.
She looked at him,
her face close to his, her wide, reddened eyes staring into his eyes.
Those eyes he knew so well, knew from a woman millennia ago and a child
half a century before.
"What do I do, Owen?"
she whispered. He looked at her, knowing then that she needed him
more than she had ever needed anyone in her life--needed to be guided and
saved from herself and the darkness she knew she was drowning in.
Her eyes were wide, open, desperate like a child's. The same eyes
that had more power than she knew, power to have people die for her--die
or kill, wasn't it all much the same? The eyes were the window to
*her* soul, and that was what made people want to protect her from harm.
This child, this woman, this killer...
He took her face in
his hands and looked at her, seeing her as the woman standing in front
of him, fragile and shattered, begging him silently to rebuild her, in
some way, give her a direction and a purpose now that she had lost *everything*--begging
him to love her, somehow, in any way, it didn't matter how, only to love
her.
And he did, Fates
help him. He did. He always had, in his ways. But the
few times this way that he felt for her now dared to come to the surface,
he'd slammed it away before it became unsafe for this thing that was never
meant to be to surface. Once millennia ago, when he had first seen
her, the mystery, the enigma. And once on a night half a century
before, when they had stood much like this, this close, and then the guards
had come. They had taken her away and she had looked back at him
once, her eyes boring into him before he shut his eyes and slammed away
the emotions so he could become what she had needed him to be and what
he needed to be for her. Once when she had gone from child to adult
thanks to Oberon, laying small and pale in a hospital bed, her eyes large,
as she said that she remembered *everything*...and he knew she remembered
that night, so he had left before things became dangerous, wanting to go
back to what was secure and stable and in some ways a mutual self-delusion.
And then, when he had nearly been killed, but had carefully chosen his
words to try to plant himself firmly in the role she had put him in when
she had been a child and that had been easy when she was child...but was
somehow far more difficult on some nights like tonight.
But now...she was
open, exposed like before. And he...could he slam it down again?
He had to. He knew after this night it would never return, whatever
this was--it never would because he could never let it, she could never
let it. There was this night and nothing more, because there could
never *be* anything more between them, and he knew it.
His hands were shaking.
Her large eyes stared
at him. And knew that he should let her go, back away, and be what
he was supposed to be.
But Fates help him,
he couldn't. Not now. He *couldn't*, much as he should have.
Desperately, willing himself not to but unable to stop, he kissed her.
She didn't move for an instant, then raised her hands and rested them against
his chest, still again before clutching at his shirt desperately, pulling
herself to him.
or the moment of truth in your lies.
-"Iris" Goo-Goo Dolls.
"It has begun." Clotho
said gently.
"I know."
Lachesis traced
the thread in the ancient tapestry with one finger.
Atropos sighed.
"We knew this was coming. Knew for a long time. 'Tis a pity, though.
Better that they had not been."
"Not simply because
of the Ragnarok," Clotho said, staring straight at Thoth, "But for them."
"I fear for your Ma'at."
Atropos said, watching as Lachesis measured the life a child not yet born.
"I know what she will do," she said, taking the string and cutting it where
it was destined to be cut, "but I fear for what she will become to do it."
"As do I." Thoth whispered,
watching as they wove the strand into the tapestry of Fate, much as they
had done from time immemorial. "As do I."
So be it.
Some part of me knew.
Just as it knew now that this was concluded. In a way, it had been
necessary. Cathartic, I guess. My mind was now clear, the demons
inside me silenced--it was strange, this sudden disconnection I had
with everything--it let me look at everything clearly, now. Strange
and sudden, this disconnection, as if I was an outsider to my own body,
standing outside of it and able now to gather myself and return to normal.
A moment of quiet lucidity before reality came again--reality and emotions,
and the grief that I knew, standing as this unbound outsider now, would
rip me apart when I connected again to it. One night of lucidity
before the dawn and my life had to take up where it had shattered.
Owen had always been
there to try to keep me sane, to try and protect me, and he had again.
I wonder if it was in a way that anyone would really understand, and I
knew it wasn't. I didn't fully understand it myself, but I simply
knew it was true. One night, I knew. One night, an end to secret
buried emotion that had always been there...or rather, a facing of them.
A long overdue one. It was done, settled, and now it would all be
buried again, but this time, it would rest far easier. One night.
I stared out into
the sky which was still inky black with night. Dawn, I knew, was
hours away. Dawn, and the closing of this one night in my life.
When the dawn came the path I had to take in the role I was meant to take
it, a dawn that would put Owen and I on the paths that we had been given
for each other and that this night had transgressed.
One night.
I felt as if there
were something in the air, something heavy and something far larger than
he or I, and it frightened me. He sensed it too; I knew from the
sudden way he tensed and held me closer to him, protectively. He
knew. He didn't know exactly what, I don't think, but he knew, and
I was suddenly very afraid.
Something...had happened.
I didn't know what. But something had happened.
Everything was back,
the balance was back. But...oh, this night frightened me. I
stared down at Christine's Angel child. This broken angel...if she
opened her eyes right now...
I could not stay here.
Yes, Christine seemed
whole again. She still looked like shit and Belinda knew her sister
would be in mourning for a long time. She hugged Owen before he returned
to the Eyrie, and he hugged her back, closing his eyes and letting her
cry for a moment.
"Sshh, child," he
said. "Everything will be all right, eventually."
"I know." Christine
whispered, then let him go and walked away, looking back for a split instant.
Owen watched her, then turned and left.
"Owen." Belinda said,
grabbing his arm. "Is she...?"
"She's a survivor,
Belinda." he said in his normal monotone. "But even she has to grieve.
Tell her I will come by tomorrow, to see how she is doing. How is
Hope?"
"Crapsville." she
said flatly. "She took a *major* turn for the worse. But I'm
hoping that Christine seeing her will do her some good."
"As do I." He
paused. "I think I will go see her now, Belinda. Tell her that
Christine is...better."
Belinda nodded tiredly.
"Yeah. Good idea. Christian's there, too. Let him know."
"I will."
Belinda let go and
Owen began to walk away. "Owen!"
"Yes?"
"I...I...I just wanted
to thank you." Belinda said awkwardly. "I don't...I don't think anyone
else would have been able to reach her. Thank you."
"Don't thank me."
he said flatly. "I...did only what I could for her...what I had to,
because I couldn't let her stay like that. Even though...even though
perhaps I should have. I betrayed my kind for her, Belinda.
I will never see Avalon's shores again and I have undoubtedly put my life
at risk. Because I could no more do otherwise than you could have."
And with that, he left.
Owen stared straight
at the boy. "She is in pain. But...but at least now, she is
home. And...and all right."
"Thank God." the young
man said, shutting his eyes with relief. "Hope needs to hear that.
She's been a wreck." he said, frowning in is own pain. "Why, Owen?
Why did they kill them?"
"Fear." he said flatly.
"Fear for what is coming and that she has a role in."
"And what *is* coming?"
"The end." Owen said
flatly, and went to see Hope.
"Yes."
She stared at him.
"Because of you."
"In some way." he
said.
She looked at him,
her eyes unfocusing for a moment. "One night..."
He jerked in shock.
"And I know that it
was something that should never be spoken of again. It was not merely
your doing...but Fate. Fate led you both to this point." she whispered.
"I understand, Owen. I do." she whispered, her eyes still unfocused.
Her eyes focused suddenly, and she smiled a sweet smile that reminded him
of Christine.
"It'll be all right,
Owen." she whispered. "In the end of all of this...but I think that
this is just...it's just..."
The rest she left
unsaid and he was grateful for that.
I know a lot of things
now. I know that there really is goodness in the world, so much light.
But where ever I look, I see the shadows. And I know that the shadows are
inside me and will eventually rise again.
After all, it's the
dark that makes the light even brighter.
I was staring out
into the night. The sun was going to rise soon. I looked out
into the sky, staring out far away.
There was peace, now.
I could feel it from her. Peace. The balance was back.
Balance...the demon was gone. For now, at least.
I should have killed
her. And now it was too late.
I turned the lights
off as I left the room in my home. The sun would rise and I had a
life to live.
But...I would
never be free.