Something Just Like This

It was well after midnight by the time he got back home. Julius, alert as ever, bless him, had the door open before he’d even made it up the deliberately dimly lit driveway. The house itself was dark and silent, the others clearly having had retired for the night.

Ruilian allowed the large man to take his thin coat off his shoulders, which he did as gently as he always did. The familiar gesture soothed some of the restlessness that had been clamouring in his soul all evening, and he almost sighed out loud. As much as he loved the Langs, he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with them right now. They’d helped him when he was at his worst, and he would never forget that. But Julius was the only one that knew who he used to be, before. Before his hands, and his soul, were tainted with this darkness that seemed to rub off on everything and everyone he came close to…

“Will you be wanting dinner?”, asked Julius, breaking Ruilian out of his rapid descent into melancholy. “Depends, are you planning to cook?”Ruilian’s tired and near automatic attempt at banter earned him an unamused look in return. Julius’ cooking skills, or rather lack thereof, were a common running joke in the household. “Lee already did. And Lin insisted on putting some of it upstairs for your friend too, since you were clearly running late.”

Ruilian picked up on what was being implied. He’d shown up two days ago with an armful of bleeding broken boy, and it was only Lin’s medical training that had made sure he hadn’t ended up dying on Ruilian’s living room floor. Afterwards, Julius had carried him upstairs and laid him on Ruilian’s bed – it being the only room fitted with electricity so far. And it was Lixin who had since been looking up and cooking up every kind of healing broth that he could think of. Ruilian might have been the one to bring the kid home, but it was too late for him to be asking the others not to get involved. Cop or not, he wasn’t just Ruilian’s problem anymore.

He expected the guilt, but not the accompanying rush of gratitude, and had to actually blink away the surge of emotions that threatened to suddenly overwhelm him. He cleared his throat, “Thanks, no, I already ate.” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he felt. “How is he?” He wouldn’t dare be so candid in front of anyone else, not even the Lang siblings, but Julius didn’t even blink. “He was still asleep when Lin went up there. Though it’s been a few hours…”

Ruilian turned to the stairway, and Julius bowed, “If there’s nothing else…” “Yeah, I mean, no”, said Ruilian. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep.” One curt nod, a concerned glance that they both pretended hadn’t been leveled, and Julius was gone. Leaving Ruilian with nothing to do but go up and see how his newly acquired mystery charge was faring.

Dante, the boy had said his name was. Ruilian wasn’t sure if that was a fake name. And, frankly, at that point, he had hardly cared. The boy had finally woken up that morning, after a day and a half of teetering on the edge of a more permanent kind of sleep, even as Ruilian alternated between pacing the room and perching on the edge of the chair that a concerned Lixin had dragged upstairs, mentally cursing the Golden Tigers throughout. This kind of mindless brutality was precisely the reason he had never considered joining them, despite the obvious advantages.

What he tried not to do was wonder how and why he had gotten so involved. Fine, he could justify not leaving the boy to his death. But why did the thought of him never waking up again leave him feeling this cold inexplicable dread? He didn’t even know the guy.

In his years with the Company, despite playing a role that had him barely on the frontline, Ruilian had seen enough men die. Some mere boys, just as young or maybe even younger than the one breathing so shallow before him. But there was something about the way the boy had obviously fought through the kind of odds Ruilian could barely stand to think about, only to leave himself at the latter’s mercy.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about that smile.

The only rest he’d had was when he nodded off in that uncomfortable chair a few hours before dawn and woke up to Lin standing over him with fresh bandages and insisting he leave the room for a bit so that she could work in peace. He knew she was only trying to trick him into getting some real sleep, but he was tired enough not to argue. He’d stumbled into the newly delivered couch that was still lying at the bottom of the stairway and actually managed to sleep for a few hours until the morning sun climbed high enough to shine its rays through a high window and directly on to his face.

At which point he’d stumbled back upstairs, ready to argue with Lin if she tried to send him away again. Except she’d taken one look at him, quietly nodded to herself and gathered all her equipment, telling him that she had done all that she could and that the worst seemed to be in the past but that she couldn’t promise anything. It was the gentleness in her voice that had scared him more than anything.

So when the boy finally opened his eyes, only to squint them against the late morning sunlight streaming through the window, Ruilian found himself rushing about to draw the curtains and help him to some water, more relieved than he wanted to admit even to himself. And when the boy identified himself in a low groggy voice as Dante, Ruilian accepted it without question.

He had been prepared for all sorts of awkward questions himself, ranging from his identity to why Ruilian had decided to bring him to what was obviously his home instead of taking him to a hospital or, god, a police station, but thankfully the boy had had nothing to say beyond a quiet thank you. Worrying that perhaps he was worse off than he appeared (- as if that were even possible, said the voice in his head harshly recounting Lin’s clipped account of three broken ribs, a gunshot wound, all the accompanying blood loss and a concussion)- Ruilian asked if there was someone he could contact for him, family perhaps? Dante had sat there looking blankly into space, for long enough that Ruilian grew even more concerned, before shaking his head softly and then wincing as if even that little movement hurt. “No, there’s no one.”

Not knowing how to react to that, nor to the complicated tangle of emotions he was feeling, Ruilian had excused himself from the room, only to return with Lin and all the food he could carry. Introducing her as the doctor that had patched him up, Ruilian watched him shrink from her even as he dutifully repeated his thanks. Lin seemed to pick up on his discomfort and assured him that she only wanted to make sure that he was out of danger so could she please just check his vitals. Dante seemed as surprised as Ruilian felt – she had most certainly never asked his permission before poking at him – but assented. By the time she was done, he even managed a polite smile, though it was a shadow of the one Ruilian remembered.

“Well?”, asked Ruilian, following her into the corridor.

“He needs to eat. And rest. I don’t even know how he’s awake, let alone sitting up.”

“But he’ll be alright?”

She looked at him, exasperated. Then her expression softened. “Yeah, long as he doesn’t move about too much and lets the worst of his injuries heal. He’s a tough kid, wherever you picked him up from.”

A pointed pause. Ruilian smiled his sweetest smile at her. She waited another second before snapping, “God, Zan, tell me he’s not a Golden Tiger.”

“He’s not a Golden Tiger.”

She stared at him for a little longer, obviously trying to tell if he was lying to her. “Whatever”, she finally growled. “Get him to eat A-Shin’s soup. And then sleep.”

“Yes, doctor”, said Ruilian, giving her a three finger promise. “Any other instructions?”

“Yes. Be careful.”

Ruilian almost laughed at that. The boy was practically covered in bandages. Like some sort of mummy. “Of what?”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. “Never mind. Just… be careful.”

And, with that, she was gone. “How can I be careful when you won’t tell me what of??” he called after her. Of course, she neither paused nor looked back. Ruilian wondered if he should have told her her that she’d probably just helped save the life of a cop. Knowing her, though, it wouldn’t have made too much of a difference. Hell, she was so nice to him even when she thought he was part of the Tigers. Cops were better than tigers, even if only marginally.

He reopened the door to find Dante sitting up and staring at nothing. But his flushed face made his attempt at eavesdropping obvious. Adorable, thought Ruilian before he could help himself. And suddenly Lin’s parting warning seemed a lot more reasonable than it had moments ago. Making up his mind, he set the tray piled with bowls of soup and bread in front of Dante, and bade him eat up, retreating to the doorway and fully intending to leave after he was done chattering about how Lin was better than any doctor he had ever met and how certain she was that as long as he ate well and rested, he would be fine in no time.

Dante had sat with his long fingers wrapped around the wooden spoon that Ruilian had thrust at him along with the tray, listening without a word, until Ruilian finally stopped rambling long enough to ask what he was waiting for.

Dante’s face flushed. “I don’t like eating alone”, he’d all but mumbled. And despite the rational part of his brain telling him to walk away and to do it quickly, Ruilian found himself pulling up a bowl for himself and settling down on the chair by the bed. He spent the next half hour talking about the most absurd inanities, ranging from the weather to the antics of the short legged cat that had declared itself master of his overgrown garden. And was rewarded by the occasional smile from Dante that never failed to remind him of the one he had given him when they had first run into each other – literally. He was dying to know what that had been about, but knew no way to even broach the topic without all the dangerous context.

Regardless, it was worth it. By the time Ruilian had finally talked his way through one small bowl of pork rib and lotus stem soup, Dante had had at least three and was struggling to keep his eyes open. Gently tugging the dishes away, Ruilian had insisted he get some more rest and promised to wake him up for dinner.

Looking a lot less troubled and more human than when he had first woken up, Dante had given him another wan smile, the memory of which Ruilian safely tucked away with all the others, and fallen asleep almost before his head had even hit the pillow.

That, thought Ruilian, guiltily for some reason, was nearly ten hours ago.

First encounters and final thoughts

Dante was pretty sure that he was dead.

Or, at the least, dying.

Not just because he had been shot, no. Even at nineteen, this wasn’t the first time he’d been blessed with that fun experience.

But, he thought ruefully, this was definitely the first time that he had fucked up so bad. He’d been had, no doubt about it. Thought he was heading for a regular stake out, only to end up walking -no -waltzing straight into an ambush. Suddenly, going alone to what was most likely the den of the Golden Tigers, as they unironically called themselves, didn’t seem like the wisest of choices.

He was well aware that the only reason he hadn’t been killed off immediately was because they were convinced that he knew more than he did. And it was nothing but sheer luck that a rival gang, (the Crows, most likely, as far as Dante could tell from all the black clothes and the actual feathers in their caps), had apparently decided to make a move before his “interrogation” had ended. And his life with it.

The chaos had been all the diversion he’d needed to make his escape, even with the broken rib and the concussion he was sure he had.

Except, he seemed to have made said “escape” straight into said rival gang’s vanguard – and the crossfire between the two.

Under normal circumstances, this would have only been an ordinary problem.

But, considering Dante hadn’t slept in days, most of which time he had spent being kicked around for answers he would never have given up even if he had had them to begin with, to say that these were not normal circumstances was an understatement of epic proportions.

Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure he’d been shot, at least once, even as he fled after tricking his panicking guard into unlocking the tiny room they’d hastily shoved him into once the attack began.

The same attack he had apparently just wandered into the midst of. Armed with nothing but a pistol wrested – from the said guard – with God only knew how many bullets left in there.

And as if that weren’t enough, the first person he literally walked into, even as he stumbled for cover from the bullets raining down around him, was this ridiculously handsome man, dressed in so much black, yet looking down at him with the face of an angel. The man steadied him instinctively, even as Dante looked up at his slightly out of focus expression and vaguely determined him to be about a head taller. A very pretty head, he thought, clearly losing all ability to think rationally.

His right hand was still gripping the stolen gun tightly, but he felt his finger relax around the trigger. There was no way he could shoot someone this good looking. Not without great reason. And a rapidly slimming chance of survival suddenly just didn’t seem worth it.

Maybe, he thought deliriously, even as the gun slipped through his numb fingers, maybe he was already dead, and this was the soul reaper sent up to collect his soul. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought, and at the man still staring down at him with his large clear liquid brown eyes.

All things considered, there were worse endings to be had.

Firsts

By the time Ruilian was done with his debriefing with the core committee, there were only minutes left to midnight. Walking out of the nondescript seemingly abandoned building, he paused for a decidedly casual moment before choosing a random direction to start walking in.

As much as he was itching to head straight home, he knew better. Especially now, when he had finally managed to save up enough to get a place he actually liked living in. With such a lovely garden too, even if he hadn’t yet had the time to do anything with it. Thinking of the garden got him thinking about the stray cat that had wandered in one morning as if it owned the place, and since refused to leave. And just like that, he was suddenly thinking about the boy again.

He tried reminding himself that he had left strict instructions with his small but loyal staff to make sure the guest sleeping on the top floor of his new little mansion was left undisturbed – but that was when he was expecting to be home in a couple of hours. Not six. The poor kid was probably starving.

He’s not a kid, the annoying voice in his head pointed out. He’s a man. And not just any man, but a POLICEman. What the hell are you even thinking?

Gritting his teeth against the burst of unwanted rationality, he turned abruptly into a narrow alley, where he discarded his oversized shabby coat in a lopsided bin in one fluid move, even as he pulled out a cap from its pocket and jammed it low on his head, all without breaking his stride. He already had a much thinner jacket on underneath, a little light for this time of the night, but as long as was walking briskly, he didn’t think he’d feel the cold.

He only hesitated for a second at the next crossroad, making sure to choose the darker street. The paranoia came naturally to him. The randomization of routine, not so much. Ruilian had always been a creature of habit. Which is why, he supposed, his bizarre actions over the last few days had him feeling so unsettled.

The job itself had gone off smoothly. The top brass was suitably impressed. A promotion was in the offing. Was it that heady mix of success that had led him to make the strange choices that he had?

Thinking of the cold pale boy with the tousled hair that had pretty much fallen into his arms two days ago, Ruilian didn’t believe that was it. Or, at least, not all of it.

Of course, he had had no way of knowing for certain that the kid was a cop, and not just because of how shockingly young he looked. But he would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn’t guessed. Then what was it that made him pick the boy up – surprisingly heavy for someone so skinny -and drag him to his car? And then take him home?

Ruilian couldn’t be sure, but he guessed it had something to do with the way the boy had blinked up at him before lowering his gun. Sure, it could have just been blood loss, for the boy had obviously been shot. And beaten up. Probably tortured. But Ruilian couldn’t help but think of how easy it would have been to shoot him in the moment they first collided. After all, Ruilian hadn’t even had his own gun drawn. But the boy had simply looked up at him, blinked twice, and then dropped his gun at his feet, giving him the smallest wan smile before crumbling next to it. And with only seconds to decide, Ruilian had decided.

And that was how he had ended up with a cop in his bed.

The first time, anyway.

Waking Up

The room was dark, except for the silver light of an oversized moon streaming in through a shattered window. A young child stood in its path, with tousled brown hair that rustled with the wind, his shadow looming ahead of him.

The boy’s gaze was fixed upon a single object on the floor. A woman’s shoe, white, but spattered with something that glistened red in a sudden flash of lightning.

Just beyond the boy, and his shadow, and the shoe, was a door, slightly open. Barely an inch. The boy knew he should go to it, but couldn’t seem to get himself to move away from the only source of light in that dark and empty house. Even as he stood there with his fists clenched, as if trying to will the very sun into rising in the middle of the night, the faint light around him began to grow even fainter. With terror writ large on his tearful face, he turned slowly towards the window, only to watch the last of the storm clouds blot out the moon, leaving him alone in the absolute dark.

The thought of crying out for help didn’t even strike him.

There was no one left to call out to.

Dante woke up with a start, only to let out a gasp-turned-hiss as the sudden move twisted something at his side. Heart thudding furiously, he tried to blink away the pain, his mind simultaneously registering the light of a soft lamp burning beside him. His first feeling was one of overwhelming relief. Quickly followed by confusion. He didn’t own a bedside table. Come to think of it, the bed he was in was a lot softer than he was used to as well.

He tried sitting up again, slower this time, exhaling gratefully when he managed to do so without feeling like his insides were tearing. Wincing at the returning memories of the previous evening’s encounter, and berating himself for his foolishness, he glanced about him, taking in the room that was both familiar yet not. Spacious, but still barely furnished, with the large bed he was occupying and two small tables on each side of it the only real pieces of furniture. There was an armchair by the window, but it looked like it had been dragged in from elsewhere. He then noticed the glass of water by the lamp, – what he assumed was water, anyway – and grabbed at it gratefully. He’d just finished gulping it down when the door opened (with an audible click, noted Dante), and Ruilian walked in.

“Oh, good, you’re awake”

“Hi”, said Dante, sounding just as sheepish as he felt in that moment.

“Hi, yourself”, said Ruilian, walking up to his side and shooting him a wry smile. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” He paused for a moment, forcing Dante to tilt his head up to look at him, before carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed so as to not shake it.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

Ruilian raised one shapely eyebrow before shooting a pointed look at his freshly bandaged side.

Dante flushed and waved it away. “It’s nothing. Just got into a scuffle. Umm, sorry for the trouble.”

“A scuffle”, repeated Ruilian, in a voice so mild that Daniel wasn’t sure if he was imagining the underlying fury. Damn. He couldn’t even blame Ruilian. Dante was quite furious with himself too. Of all the places he could have dragged himself to, why did it have to be this door? And it didn’t help that his memory of the previous evening was disjointed at best. The last thing he remembered was knocking on Ruilian’s door. He had been pretty certain he had passed out immediately after. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Yeah… I… Sorry, but I don’t remember much from last night…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling unfairly small, as he often did in the older man’s presence. I am a Police Officer, he reminded himself. Graduated with the highest score the Academy has ever seen. Promoted twice in a year. Have the highest arrests second year running.

But somehow, under Lian’s withering glare, none of that seemed to matter.

Something in his face must have reflected how he was feeling, because Lian’s face abruptly softened before he turned away, staring into the light of the lamp.

Dante followed his gaze. That lamp was lit for you, his brain supplied helpfully, even as he struggled with piecing together what had happened last night. He remembered how much you hate waking up in the dark.

“You showed up here, just after midnight, slurring. I thought you were drunk.”

Dante felt the blood rushing to his face. “Sorry.”

It was Ruilian’s turn to wave Dante’s words away. “Don’t worry about it. Makes us even.”

Dante looked up at him sharply. “How?”

Ruilian seemed taken aback at the intensity of Dante’s question. They stared at each other for a moment that slowly seemed to stretch out too long.

Ruilian was the first to look away, “I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in telling me how you got that?”

Reunion

He had just finished getting the evening’s blood off his clothes, and was pouring himself a much needed drink, preparing to head upstairs for the night, when he first heard the knock on the door.

So faint a rapping, that for a moment he wasn’t sure he had imagined it. After all, there weren’t too many people that would dare approach this manor. Especially not after dark.

And those that did weren’t the kind to knock.

Then he heard it again. A little louder than before, but still muffled, almost as if someone was pressed against the door even as they knocked.

Picking up the pistol that was still lying holstered on the table before him, he quietly made his way to the window, not sure yet if he was relieved that he was the only one home at the moment. He had briefly considered – then dismissed – the possibility that it was Julius or one of the Langs returning unexpectedly. Not only did they have their own keys, of the three of them, only Lin ever used the front door. And that was not the kind of knock he expected of her.

Using his free hand to slightly lift the heavy dark curtains from one corner, he peeked outside. It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the darkness, but then his eyes widened at the sight.

Swearing under his breath, he strode to the door in five long steps and yanked it open, only for the person standing outside, and apparently completely leaning on it, to stumble into his arms.

“What are you doing here, detective?”, he asked the brown haired teenage boy that was now blinking up at him, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

“Hey, Rui”, the boy said, voice slurring enough for a bit of his usually well suppressed accent to creep in to his voice. “No detective tonight. Just Dante. Suspended.” He pushed himself up straight until Ruilian was left holding just one elbow, no longer certain who he was trying to keep upright. Dante started as if to say something, but stumbled again.

Ruilian frowned at him, “Have you been drinking?”

It was then that he noticed the ever widening pool of something dark and sticky at their feet, dripping down his arm from where it held on to Dante’s. His eyes snapped back up to the boy’s face. Dante grimaced, now swaying slightly on his feet. “Something like that.”

Then his knees buckled and he fell, Ruilian barely catching him before his head hit the floor.

Late Goodbyes: First draft

It was a cold winter evening, the full moon already making its way slowly up into the stormy sky, sometimes hidden, then shining brightly through angry clouds. There was no other source of light in that cold English graveyard. Something that sounded like a clap of abnormally loud thunder startled a young owl into abandoning his hunt with an indignant hoot, immediately followed by a mad scrabbling sound, eerie until identified as badly laced shoes shuffling through the fallen leaves and twigs scattered all around, and over, the unkempt graves.

A girl scrambled out from behind an old twisted tree, and her eyes were wide with fear. She clutched at her side as she stopped to catch her breath, and the owl gazed sympathetically at the still-bleeding cut on her forehead. A muffled shout in the distance made both girl and owl turn warily towards the distant church, long abandoned to the elements. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, and as the moon shone momentarily from between the clouds, it reflected off the steel he carried in his hand.

The girl seemed to have frozen in her place, and she watched the hooded man slowly make his way towards her.

“Don’t make me hunt you down, sweetheart.”, he called out, and she trembled at the toneless sound of his voice.

He kept moving towards her, a deceptively relaxed finger poised above the trigger. She no longer believed he would not shoot her dead if she ran.

“Why are you doing this?”, she asked him, eyes full of grief and confusion.

He was close enough now for her to see him glaring at her, and her eyes widened as he raised his arm slowly until the gun was pointed at her, but she made no other move.

He smirked at her, and then fired.

The bullet flew off into the open sky, and the Owl took flight. She couldn’t stop her heart from sinking at that fitting final act of betrayal as she stood alone before him.

“You don’t have to do this”, she whispered, voice low and steady.

The hooded man took another step towards her, “You know you left me with no other choice.”

She bristled at that, “Don’t pretend like my choices had anything to do with what happened! That was all you!!”, she snapped at him, stepping forward herself.

He waved the gun at her gently, “Stay still, babe.”

“You don’t get to call me that”, she muttered under her breath; nevertheless keeping still, her eyes fixed warily upon his gun.

A moment of silence passed, and the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

The girl watched him as he took one out, lit it and inhaled deeply.

“Are you really going to kill me?”, she asked, plaintively, after he was halfway through his cigarette.

He looked at her thoughtfully, “I think so, yes.”

The girl glared at him, then looked sadly at the ground, “In that case, can I have one as well?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I thought you weren’t supposed to be smoking.”

A moment of silence, and then the both of them burst into laughter, the sound echoing strangely across the empty graveyard. They held their sides as they laughed, and she had to kneel down and he had to lean against a tree, and yet they could not stop laughing.

Until she rushed at him with something she had pulled out of her boot, and he instinctively raised his weapon and shot her. She cried out, then smiled, then fell in slow motion to the ground. He kicked over her outstretched hand to find a red rose clutched so tightly that the thorns had poked holes into her skin and embedded itself there, even as she bled around it. And around the bullet wound in her chest. She tried to speak, then coughed up some blood, painfully, and he stared down at her with eyes full of horror.

He knelt down then, cradling her blood soaked hair in his hands, “Why did you do that?” “Why did you make me do that?!”

She smiled at him, and tried to speak again.

He leaned in and pulled her closer even as she whispered something over and over again.

But understanding the 9 words she said in quick succession until he lost her to all the blood seeping into the earth no matter how hard he tried to keep it all inside her, that understanding drove him mad.

And after that night, his face lived under a cloud that never seemed to leave, his laugh never sounded quite the same, and at night, it was said that you could hear him cursing and raging through any thunderstorm, though curiously enough, he appeared perfectly calm and composed the next day, and his loyalest circle of servants made no mention or explanation of the absurd quantities of chinaware, mirrors and glasses they would constantly be acquiring and disposing stealthily off.

And the women he was involved with, only they knew of the nine words he would whisper in his sleep after a tiring, fun-filled evening at home. (Though the ones who mentioned it to him, or anyone at all actually, they never saw him again)

“I love you, I forgive you, We are free.“

Mr. Ebenezer Brightside

You watch her walk up the stairs, her hair so much longer than it used to be that you almost don’t recognize her. You wait until she pauses, then walk up to her and clear your throat. She whirls around so fast that her hair is still falling into place around her startled face when her eyes widen in recognition. “You”, she breathes, and holds out her arm – you aren’t sure if it’s to steady herself from the turn or to protect herself from you.

“I need to talk to you”, you say, and nearly cringe at the hoarseness of your voice, but her eyes are darting to the stairway and the elevator just visible in the lobby, as if calculating her chances of escape. You wait patiently as she fiddles with her hair, a different shade from what you remember too, and then sighs, “Alright. But, not here.”

Your relief quickly turns to confusion, yet you keep the expression on your face characteristically blank. “Okay..”

She knows you too well though, and answers the question you did not ask by holding up her hand before her face. It takes you exactly six seconds to notice; if the diamond hadn’t been shining so brightly in the sunlight, you’d probably have taken longer. Her hand trembles and she lowers it slowly, your eyes falling with her fingers as they clench into a fist. You look up to her to notice her looking at your face, waiting for your attention. She won’t say your name. “I have to go now.”, she says, and silences your protest before it has begun, “I’ll meet you tomorrow, by the War Memorial. In the evening, at six.”

Six. Once it was dark. She didn’t wan’t to be seen with you. She turns to leave and starts to walk away, and you can’t help but call out her name. She stops, but does not turn around.

“Who is he?”, you ask.

A strangled noise makes it way from her lips as she whirls around, her eyes wild and hair framing her face like the flames of hell, and you remember her from your days together at the war. She seems to struggle with herself as you stand firmly before her, wondering how things could have gotten to this point, until a cloud passes over the sun, distracting you into breaking eye contact, and by the time you look back, the moment is gone. She is standing tall before you now, the expression on her face eerily serene, and more so in contrast to the anger you could have sworn threatened to consume the both of you just moments before. She gives you a tight-lipped smile, her face pale, but her eyes are bright. “That is none of your business.”

She turns and walks away.

“It used to be.”, you call out to her retreating back. “You remember? When you begged me to help you? It used to be. Until you left.”

She pauses again. “Yes..”, she says, thoughtfully. “It used to be. But it is not anymore.”

And, with that she is gone. And the flowers you brought on your way here are suddenly too heavy and dead in your jacket, And the ring on her hand is now shining in your mind, blinding in its meaning.

You walk out of the complex in a daze and almost don’t see her across the road, swallowed up whole in the too-large jacket she has on. Someone walks up to her and hands her a cup of something warm and steaming, and you see her lift up her head to smile at him in gratitude and loyalty. You recognize the smile because it used to be you she once smiled that way for. And you watch as she adds sugar to both their cups, the wind carrying snatches of conversation towards you amidst this sleepy corner of the city.

She is speaking of Christmas as she hands him his cup of coffee; and the man leans forward and kisses her forehead.

And you turn away, suddenly sick.

Excerpt: The Cursed

“Why’d you do it?”

Her voice was small, but steady as she stood before Norflus and the bodies of the three young children.

“I had no choice, Saya.. You must believe me.”, said Norflus, taking a step towards her.

“You sick bastard… You murdered them! Your own children!”

“I only did it to save them! They were sick! You know that!! You’d seen Maya and Aliana yesterday! They could barely stand. And Ria hasn’t opened her eyes in 4 days! They’re at peace now, and I’m not sorry for what I’ve done!

The sound of a gun cocking made both of them turn around in time to see a disheveled Shade standing at the door, his eyes sweeping across the ransacked room.

“Saya, what the fuck is going on?”

 “Shade!”, Saya exclaimed, instinctively moving towards him, “What are you doing here? You need to be resting! Where are Tonya and -“

She stopped in her tracks as Shade pointed the muzzle of the gun at her, “I asked you a question.”

Saya stared at him in disbelief, dismayed at her training having seemingly failed her at this crucial juncture. She had no idea what to say to him. Besides the fact that it was dangerous for him to be here.

She watched his eyes sweep over the room, pausing over the bedsheet strewn carelessly over the bodies of the three young children. Oh, no.. Aliana…

Norflus now stepped up to Shade. “My Lord, I did what I thought best. Now you must do the same.”

Saya’s heart began to race. The Imperium would never forgive such a transgression. Already the walls were tainted with the blood of three innocents. Shade would be held responsible. The council was waiting for just such a transgression. The last thing he needed was to kill the one man who could offer proof before the Most Honorable Assembly of The Highest Justice.

She moved closer to him, and Shade drew back his pistol, cracking Norflus across the face with it. It took all of Saya’s training to not gasp out aloud at the sudden violence. Norflus fell to the floor in a faint, and Shade swayed himself.

“Shade!”, exclaimed Saya, slipping her arms around his waist to steady him. “Guards”, she called out into the hall, cursing the Others for letting him out of the Healing Ward and into this mess. He must have followed her. But why was he alone? His body was tense against hers, and she resisted the urge to dig her nails into his back, shocked at the suddenness of the thought.

In anger or in love? she asked herself, suddenly miserable.

Shade looked down at her, “I’m fine. You can let me go.”

Reddening, she stepped away from him. “You tried to shoot me.”, she accused, already aware of what was going to happen next, as if she had seen it all happen before. In the ghost of a dream, she thought, feeling her skin tingle as she watched Shade turn away from her and walk towards the murdered children.

Even though he wasn’t supposed to have entered the room before dawn. By then the girls would have been prepared for the ceremony. And he wouldn’t be walking towards their still-warm bodies on a floor slick with their blood.

It wasn’t your fault, she thought, her heart aching for him. But she couldn’t say that out loud. Because it wasn’t what she was supposed to say. He will curse now. Swear vengeance on the Introducers of this Vile disease. And Norflus.. And even me..

He stopped before the outstretched hand, that would have tugged Saya’s heart right out of her body were it not for her lessons in Momentary Isolation Techniques. “They need a proper funeral”, she said, finally, because that was what she was supposed to do, even though it was six hours earlier than when she was supposed to be saying it.

He will curse now.

A sudden movement on his part drew her out of her reverie, and she saw him on one knee, hand hovering around the youngest child’s hand, which stretched out from below the bloodstained sheet, fingers curled around a crumpled piece of paper. He took the piece of paper with his left hand, then covered her hand with his right.

She took a step closer, concerned with the different direction the situation was taking, and then stopped as she heard him speak. The Ancient Tongue! Tears sprang unbidden in Saya’s eyes..

He was praying for the children.

What had they done?

The Cursed – Excerpt: Nova

(c)

The ground trembled beneath them again. Yonas ran through the carnage, pushing his red hair out of his eyes as he craned his neck, trying to locate any of the Nine. To his right, he could see the brave Sir Richmond battling two creeps all by himself. He tried to catch his eye as he passed, but did not dare to linger. Ahead, in the mass of dust and sweat and blood, something bright and white caught his eye. The Queen of the Lost! He rushed forward, darting through the feet of men and beast caught up in a lust for battle that his young mind could not yet fathom.

He struggled to keep her in his sight, heart soaring with pride as he saw the Lord Shade and his young squire flanking her as she cast devastating spell after spell at the charging enemy lines, only pausing to summon up protective shields around her friends. The elven archer grinned as he spotted the boy, and yelled out to the Queen. But he need not have bothered, for she was already looking at him, a worried smile lighting up her tired features. She swayed, and the Knight and his squire simultaneously leapt forward to catch her, swords at the ready in their free hands, daring anyone around them to come seek a challenge. She smiled at them reassuringly and steadied herself on the forest floor, preparing to cast once again.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through his spine, and he dropped to the trampled grass, confused. He could barely make out the Queen’s distant screams as she lunged forward, only to be held back by Ether, even as Janek and Shgyar moved in closer and assumed defensive positions. Lord Shade and the Mhak man charged forward, but a tightening feeling in the pit of his stomach brought forth the sudden realization. He had been stabbed. And he was dying.

He could hear the Queen calling out to him, much like the first time he had met her on the bridge outside the town, her dark hair blowing about her pale face, even as Lord Shade spoke to her in low urgent tones. She had caught sight of Yonas perched on the tree growing on the riverbank, and she had smiled at him causing Lord Shade to turn about to investigate the source of her humor. For some inexplicable reason, he left his hands and hung upside down from the tree, reveling in her gasp and the pretty laugh that followed. She was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. And, as he swung upside down on the tree, offering to pluck her some fruit for one of the pretty stones around her neck, he noticed the Lord watching her as she fingered the green gems about her neck, and when she screamed in delight at the berries Yonas tossed her, he saw that the Lord was smiling. Yonas had never before then even seen the Lord of Shade smile since he returned from the first Crusades.

But now she was crumbling to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing and pointed at him. He wanted to reassure her about his place in the palace of God, but did not know how to. He shivered violently, and felt rather than saw her helplessness and fear.

Another tremble took over the ground, and the last thing Yonas saw was the Mhak man peering down at him intently, even as Lord Shade cursed out loud. The trembling intensified, and the two sword wielding men turned just in time to see the burst of flames heading out towards them at a rapid speed.

“Nova”

Beware the Rose’s thorns

 Her Last Letter to Lord Stone

In this world of pain lies betrayal, you were the only person I ever fully trusted with myself. The only person who learned the truth about me. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why you loathe me so. Because of a weakness I shall never have the chance to correct. Because I had already disappointed you before you had ever even laid eyes on me, even though I redeemed myself from the image of the life you once thought I’d lead… Even though you were straight fingered and caught in your own pots of honey back then. While I, while I drowned in endless rain.

Sinister thoughts overcome my mind sometimes. Maybe that’s why I hate white. Or maybe that’s why I prefer the color of skin when it is devoid of any color except undertones of blue and white. But then I remember other paler faces, and I know that that’s not true. (Is this when I’m supposed to feel relieved?)

Remember when we were flung out so far in that distant painted phony looking sky? When we laughed so hard that I began to cry, like I always do when I can’t stand how happy I am, and you wiped away every last tear even as we fell freely to the ground that was so so so far beneath us. Whispering over and over, Don’t cry, sweetheart, I’ve caught you.

Except I took too long to fall, and the ground was actually an ocean, and the ocean swallowed you whole, and made you see me from a whole new point of view, and you could tell how broken and damaged and worthless I truly was. And I could not find you. Can not find you. Because you do not want me to, and no one can reach you while you’re gone.

And I’ve followed you into this ocean, beloved. This ocean of ash and dust. You cannot turn your back on me now. Not after all this time. Not after everything we’ve been through together. Not after everything I have been through in your name!

But now I see just how this test was designed for me to fail. How the past year was designed to lead to no other outcome but this. It was clever of you. An almost automatic response, I would assume. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it happening. But I thought I had more time. I thought I had at least as long as some real betrayal.

If I had known that this is what it would turn into. If I had only known that the easier path would be all that attracted you, that you would rather run from something as simple as pain than stand your ground and be the man you swore you were, if I had known that you would actually choose mediocrity over meaning, as long as it meant the stabilization of your dominance and authority…

…

My father was right about you.

And this is the price of my disobedience.