halavert

[halavert]

Night Fishing.

           The night was dark; dark enough at least. The moon was gone, and for once she felt as though she couldn’t as easily be seen creeping through the silent monastery grounds. Despite the fact she had her fishing rod, she still preferred not to be caught; not that wishing for that had done her much good a few days earlier when she had tried to vanish from the monastery and into the woods beyond without anyone’s notice. That had very much failed, although she hadn’t been dragged back to her room screaming by the guards, who would have alerted Lady Rhea to her attempt. Instead it had been him, of course, it had been him.

           Tonight she was hoping that if she were caught once more, it would be by the hands of the same person. With a sigh she adjusted her fishing rod a bit as she carefully and quietly trekked on, a small shiver rushed through her body; the nights were certainly cooler than before. Given the exhaustion and odd waves of dizziness that had frequented her lately, she knew very well she should have been in bed, resting. But sleep was hard to come by when uncertainty rattled every corner of her mind.

           “What ever are you doing out and about so late? Not much of a teacher you’ll be if you start falling asleep in the middle of your lectures. Dealing with you is sometimes much like that of trying to handle a stubborn child.” Sothis’s voice rang through her head in clear irritation and exhaustion, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

           Byleth didn’t offer a reply, just shrugged and continued on her way; until a slight trace of movement between the greenhouse and the stairs she was approaching caught her eye. That was all it took to cause her to shuffle over, subtly maneuvering her way into the bushes as to not be seen. She felt like a kid, trying to hide from a parent making rounds to assure their weary mind that their child was very much in bed and not awake playing at such a ridiculous hour.

           “Oh, so you’re once more sneaking about like a thief in the night; I do hope you are not planning another escape as you did a few mere nights ago. Nonetheless, here you are, throwing yourself into shrubbery like a prisoner trying to avoid her guards. Which almost seems fitting.”

           Byleth had to grit her teeth to stop herself from telling Sothis to shut up, stomach knotting up as she realized the figure passing by was none other than Dimitri himself. She had always known he was one for sleepless nights, but he was perhaps the last person she wished to encounter. Things were already strained of late between her and the students, there was no need to make matters worse, and undoubtedly her late night movements would. She held stock still as she watched him walk towards his part of the dormitories, barely even daring to breathe.  Something about him unsettled her, as though there was something underneath the tragically naïve and polite façade the prince put on display. It wasn’t as though she could judge, all things considered. The Ashen Demon was just as much a part of her existence as her new role of professor; everyone had their secrets, and dark sides.

           She waited a few minutes after he left before pulling herself from the unfortunate shrubbery, stretching a bit before she resumed her trek to the pond; her awareness of her surroundings now felt piqued upon seeing Dimitri, and she moved with a cautious haste the rest of the way down the steps and to the small pier at the pond, heels of her boots clapping against the stone far more loudly than she would have liked.

           A gentle breeze pulled her hair from her face, and carefully she settled down on the edge, feet dangling above the water’s black depths. She pulled the bait from her container, taking extra care to attach it to the hook in the darkness of the evening. Once that was finished, she flicked her wrist back, before jerking it forward to send the line flying. It hit the water with a soft ‘plop’, and from there out all that was left to do was wait.

           There was plenty to think about; Remire Village was facing some kind of epidemic, a place that had housed her and her father many a time on their jobs. The people were kind, and the thought of trouble befalling them was no small unpleasantry.

           “You somehow believe this tragedy is your fault, do you not? A silly idea, but I must admit I am perturbed by the situation myself. The coincidence is perhaps a bit too much for even one such as myself to swallow. And yet despite all of that, your mind keeps wandering back to that boy. He is not even your student and still you see him more frequently than those whose tutelage you find yourself responsible for. I know that feeling; how long before you finally admit to yourself just what his significance really is?”

           “That’s none of your business,” Byleth muttered, giving her line a little tug to test it. Nothing tugged back, so the line was clean.

           “What’s none of my business, Teach? Or were you talking to the fish?”

           The sound of his voice was enough to make her jump, nearly dropping her rod in the water from surprise. A quick jerk of her head revealed his figure, casually standing beside her with that constant smile, and eyebrow arched. Even in the dark she could tell that. Or perhaps she just felt it.

           “Speak of the devil and he shall appear, a charming one indeed.”

           Byleth bit her tongue again, a surge of heat hitting her face at the hands of Sothis’s teasing, and his sudden appearance. She had been too distracted by her strange headmate to take notice of his approach; wasn’t that just as it had been the other night?

           Claude gave his head a little shake, casually settling himself on the dock beside her, letting one foot dangle as he propped his elbow on the knee of the other. His nonchalance was so strangely disarming; and it kept her intrigue more often than not. “It’s fine, the look of surprise on your face was more than enough to tell me you were probably conversing with our fishy friends. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

           “…You’re fine, I just didn’t hear you walk up,” Byleth admitted softly, reluctantly looking back at the pit of pond before them.

           “Wouldn’t be the first time, eh, Teach? I was kind of surprised to see you again the next day; although far from disappointed about it.” His nonchalance was on display again; lightly bringing up a subject she wasn’t sure how to approach herself. Her grip on the fishing rod tightened slightly, and she kept her gaze set on the midnight waters, struggling not to return her attention to him.

           “Yes, well. My father is still here after all, on top of a few other things.”

           “Jeralt? That’s a good enough reason to stick around, I suppose. You never did explain why exactly you were, um, trying to bail on your archbishop given job. Blue Lions getting a bit much to handle? Miss the old life of a mercenary? As for the former, you wouldn’t have that problem with my house. Don’t worry Teach, I’d keep them in check for you.”

           As light and joking as his last sentence seemed, she for some reason believed he would. Disarming; always disarming. She wished something would tug at the end of her line, give her a reason to not even contemplate a reply and focus instead on getting whatever poor fish naively took the bait out of the water.

           Instead she found herself heaving a tired sigh, shoulder slumping just a little. “…It isn’t that they’re too much to handle. More along the lines of… I’m not really sure if I’m the one they need. They seem so keen on getting to know me, but, it doesn’t feel right. I think they—and I—would be better off if I wasn’t the one in charge of them.”

           “If you wanted to head the Golden Deer, I don’t think anyone would bat an eye. You’re definitely more popular with our group than Professor Manuela. Did you know she came to class drunk two days ago? Ended up snoring on her desk while we all took a self-study day. And by self study day I mean I at least spent the time mixing up a new poison.”

           She didn’t dare open her mouth to reply, knowing good and well whatever came out would be regrettable on one front or another. Sothis, held nothing back from the corner of her mind she inhabited. “You do want to be over his class, don’t you? Do not lie to me, I know your heart better than even you.”

           “…I think I made a mistake when I chose that house. But it’s a little too late to do anything about it now, even if they can tell,” she muttered in a muted tone. Beside her, Claude held his silence for a rare few moments.

           “I had a feeling the whispers had gotten to you. Not that I’m exactly surprised. I know they’re just talk, but I get it.”

           The whispers; of course she had heard them talking when they believed she wasn’t within earshot, muttering about how their professor spent more time with a student outside of their class than with any of them, about how odd it was and how perhaps she would be better elsewhere. Dedue had been a little more direct about it, relaying his concern over one Prince Dimitri’s initial rise in mood when she had taken over, and how it had slowly started to drop since something in her attitude had changed. It wasn’t an outright warning or accusation, but Byleth could tell it was meant to be, nonetheless.

           All because of how strangely drawn she was to the boy of noble blood at her side. She had caught his glances from the first night they had met; curious and amused, but unafraid, whereas the prince and princess of their respective countries had watched her with wary intrigue. That was the type of stare she was accustomed to. Even upon arrival at the academy, his demeanor hadn’t changed. He remained light and somewhat frivolous in her presence, daring to tease her when others hadn’t, as well as just simply and casually approach her. It was hard not to take notice of that; even harder to not be drawn to it; to him.

           That was how the lunches had started; taking her own students had been fine, they had been polite and gracious enough, but never quite unguarded. The silences were awkward and she couldn’t help but feel that was her fault. Until she had crossed paths with Claude one day on her way in; and she had mustered some trace of bravery she didn’t know existed (or that she needed) to ask him to join her. For a moment he had looked surprised, but his easy smile quickly replaced it and he had in jest asked why she hadn’t asked sooner. That was the first lunch she had shared with any student that kept her engaged, his light teasing edging her somewhat out of her usual stoic silence, as she offered a few short and clipped replies, as well as a few sharp looks. Claude didn’t take them personally, though. Instead he seemed to rather enjoy the attention. It was curious to have someone able to bring out a bit of her personality as easily as he managed, and soon enough she found herself asking him regularly to join her. Not once did he turn her down; not once did she feel as though she was a source of discomfort during their meals together; not once did she feel uncomfortable.

           Lunches soon evolved into regular conversations outside of the dining hall as well; sometimes she would find him casually waiting for her outside of her classroom or the training hall, and he would walk her to her room, or occasionally their strolls would end up with them in the library, or even the dock of the pond. Time with Claude was easy; it was simple and enjoyable. She always found herself getting lost in those instances. The only issue was, others saw it as well.  That was when there had been a shift in the demeanor and atmosphere of her class, and that was when the whispers had started.

           She had no one to blame but herself for the disquiet she had left to settle around her class; their feelings of inadequacy they wouldn’t voice directly to her, but toss around amongst themselves without hesitance like a hot potato. But again, it was her fault they didn’t feel comfortable speaking to her about such matters. Even if they did, she wasn’t exactly sure how she would respond. Even some of the staff had started to give her odd looks. So there had come a night when she thought it perhaps best to leave; leave the monastery and the students, before she did more damage.

           She had gotten as far as the greenhouse when he had caught her, sliding out of the dark like a cat stepping out of the shadows. That had stopped her, his light, unaccusing tone, casual curiosity as to what she was doing. She hadn’t responded, but the bag slung over her shoulder had been enough of an explanation. What had slipped out of his mouth immediately thereafter was exactly what caused her retreat not long after, back to her room and the confines of the monastery.

           “If you go, I’m going with you.”

           That was it; that was all it had taken to blow her plans down like a house of cards. He had smiled as he said it, but his eyes were anything but mirthful; bitingly serious and determined. That boy had every intention of following her to the ends of the Earth; and she didn’t understand it one bit.

           The end of her line gave a sudden and harsh tug, pulling her back to that late evening and the rod in her hands. She gave a tug back, only to have the line go slack; her bait was probably gone.

           “So, is midnight fishing the viable option over running away now, Teach?” Claude teased.

           It only took her a few moments to respond, not daring to look over as she did so. “With the right company, yes.”

           Claude gave a quiet laugh. “A midnight rendezvous with your favorite student? How scandalous, Teach. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

           “If you were in my class, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

           “You have no idea how much I wish I was. But as it stands, I’ll take what I can get. And if this is what I can get, so be it.”

           The need to look over was so compelling she couldn’t fight it; unsurprisingly his vivid green eyes were already settled on her. They were the trap, and she was absolutely snared. “…Why?”

           It was Claude’s turn to pause, tilting his head to the side slightly before he spoke again. “C’mon Teach, I know you’re not that oblivious. It’s no fun if I have to spell it out.”

           “This boy clearly overestimates your emotional competence. And while you might be an idiot on that front, I certainly am not. He would not be out here this late with you if he did not harbor similar feelings to those you seem so far unsure of how to grasp.”

           She liked having him around, his company, his nonchalant demeanor and unabashed interest in her. Next to Jeralt, she had never found another person who had taken to her with so little reserve. She knew she was too quiet and emotionless; odd, and just not quite right, and most people found it off-putting. Not that she blamed them. But Claude had been different; from the very first night in Remire Village she had known that. What had made her choose the Blue Lion house to begin with? It was so hard to remember.

           A small shiver rippled through her, and with that Claude shifted to stand up, before holding out his hand. “Alright, Teach. It’s late, and you’re cold, we can continue this discussion tomorrow. Promise.”

           She stared at his hand for a moment, before offering a small sigh. It took only a few moments to get her line in and wound, and once that was done, she did reach out and take his hand. With a smile, he gave her a little tug up.

           “Oh—“

           The feeling hit just as Sothis uttered a small cry of surprise in her mind; the dizziness came in a sudden and harsh wave, and even in the dark, she could see the black spots dotting her vision. With the dizziness came exhaustion, and the sudden awareness her body no longer wanted to support her weight; Byleth felt herself going down, just like she had a week earlier in front of Jeralt.

           But this time something caught her, firmly grasping her arm before attempting to steady her. “Teach—“

           “…Dizzy.” Was all she could manage, closing her eyes as she tried to get her bearings, but the feeling wanted to persist.

           When his voice came again, it was strangely laced with caution, and concern. “Let’s get you back to your room. I knew you looked a little pale lately, even for your standards, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

           It was hard to object when he pulled her off of her feet and into his arms with a little grunt; she was too exhausted to care, dropping her head against his shoulder as they began to move. He was warm, though, and smelled clean and woody. Her right hand instinctively gripped at the front of his shirt gently.

           “Don’t worry about your fishing rod; I’ll go back for it once I get you in bed. I’ll bring it by in the morning. I’d take you to Professor Manuela but there’s no way she isn’t four drinks in and absolutely useless right now.”

           She had a feeling Manuela wouldn’t be of much help anyways; and gave her head a little shake against him. In turn, she felt something gently brush against the top of her head.

           The rest of the trek to her room went by without incident; the world never seemed to stop rocking the entirety of it, though. And before she knew it, the click of her own door sounded before his footsteps against her wooden floors replaced it. He was gentle when he put her down, but her hold on his shirt remained. His physical contact was suddenly missing, and she… didn’t like that. Something akin to a groan sounded in her throat.

           Claude gave a quiet laugh, and she opened her eyes enough to see him move his hand to her head, ruffling her hair a little. He was so terribly close. “Hey, as much as I’d love to stay and keep you company, I do have to go get your rod, remember? Not to mention if anyone found me in your room, those whispers would probably only get worse. I don’t mind personally, but since it bothers you, I do. I’ll come by first thing in the morning to see how you’re doing, okay, Teach?”

           Reluctantly, Byleth let go of his shirt. She needed to rest anyways, it wasn’t an option at that point. Claude gave a little smile, and then paused. It was the first and only time she had ever seen him hesitate in his movements, but, after a careful few moments he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on her head.

           “Get some sleep, and if it’s not any better in the morning, I’m dragging you to the infirmary whether you like it or not. Goodnight, Teach.”

           She watched him go without a word, and once he was out of her sight she slowly curled up into herself. She had made such a mistake.

           “…Sothis?”

           Somewhere in the corner of her mind she felt the imp stir; not very much. But enough. Enough at least to prompt her to ask what Sothis perhaps already knew was coming.

           “How far back could your Divine Pulse go?”

[halavert]

           Keeping her eyes down had become habit; public outings were an unpleasantry she despised almost above all else.  But the fridge was near empty, and despite the fact her appetite had waned to near nonexistence, she recognized the necessity of such an excursion.  At least she’d have something there if the hunger got the better of her; even if it necessarily wouldn’t stay down long.  It had all been small things; microwaveable meals, cups of noodles or mac and cheese. Pineapple juice and coffee had been the only things she’d really wanted, but. Some sort of actual sustenance was unavoidable.

           Her fingers idly strummed on the top of one of the ramen cups, sparing a small glance up to see if the line had moved at all.  Unfortunately, it hadn’t; the front of the line was held up by a middle aged woman, cart full to the brim as she pulled out coupon after coupon to use with what Izuru could only assume to be each and every item.  Late nights at the store were supposed to be quick and painless. This was neither of those things.  She chewed the inside of her lip a bit, taking a slow breath as the sound of the scanner continued to process barcode after barcode.  

           It would be a lie to say the thought of setting her little basket down and leaving the store hadn’t crossed her mind; it had, and the pros and cons of doing so were battling it out in her mind.  She could easily come back another time; grab something small from the corner gas station to tide her over until she returned to the store the next night. She’d be back home in a matter of twenty minutes or so. But as her eyes settled on the coffee, she couldn’t help but frown.  She’d scraped the bottom of the container this morning, using the last precious little bit to make one final cup of coffee.  If she left now, she sure as hell wouldn’t have any when she struggled to wake up the next day.  God knows getting moving was hard enough with it; she didn’t want to imagine without.

           The headaches left her bedridden a fair bit more frequently than she cared to pay mind to, and other days it took an upwards of half an hour to get her mind working properly. How many times recently had she stared up at the white ceiling, struggling to remember her own name, or even where she was? Things always seemed to move slightly faster once she managed to get a cup of coffee, even if she fumbled with the damned coffee maker for a bit before she could get it working.

           With a sigh, she decided to stay in line--despite the fact her head was beginning to throb. She had ignored the headache for the most part that day. Honestly, she was getting good at it.  Days without them seemed to be more abnormal than days with, lately.  The only time she allowed herself to take anything was when the throbbing pain seemed as though it was going to make her ill, or even the slightest sound of her breathing seemed to cause an unbearable amount of agony to rip through her skull.  Only then would she give in and take something, although it never seemed to help much.  

           Her brow furrowed a bit as the pressure in her head seemed to worsen; teeth clamping down on her cheek as her fingers shift, gripping the handle of the basket a little tighter.  How annoying. She couldn’t help but glance up again only to realize that the world was finally silent and the woman in front of her was gone. The cashier settled her with… a funny look. ��She’d probably been standing there a bit too long without realizing the woman had moved. Izuru dropped her gaze once more, setting the basket on the counter before digging in her pocket for her card.

           “Uh… Miss? Your… your nose is…”

           Most of the time she ignored being spoken to, pretending she’d never heard a single word from anyone who gave her so much as a “hello.” But, the sudden dampness on her upper lip caused her to look up ah the young man, slowly wiping at her nose before pulling her fingers back.  They were stained red, and she blinked a few times, staring fixedly at the substance.  It wasn’t the first one this month, or in the last few months even, but. It certainly was the first one in public.  

           The boy had muttered something, words she hadn’t bothered to really listen to, but, he held up a handful of tissues and she took them without question, pressing the slightly scratchy material against her nose. Izuru took a deep breath, only then noticing a slow heat that had seeped throughout her body.  It was unpleasant; smothering almost, and when coupled with the rapidly increasing throbbing of her head, definitely concerning. The only movement she managed was a small step back from the counter before the world took a quick and unexpected cut to black.

 ***

             There wasn’t much to stare at; everything was some shade of white—or close enough to it. Perhaps a bit more dingy.  She had numbed it out though; the memories of white rooms and doctors, the flashes of her time there. Or. Maybe it just didn’t seem to matter anymore. She was tired, after all. And fighting and shedding the blood of whoever she had to in order to leave just… didn’t even have the appeal it once did.  It would have numbed the panic, and the fear.  But she couldn’t even remember the last time she had been able to muster those feelings. There was nothing to numb this time. She’d slipped past the point of needing that defense mechanism.

           Her gaze flickered down momentarily; the needle in the back of her hand the only thing that really seemed capable of making her feel much of anything.  It was a squeamish, queasy discomfort, so she averted her gaze back to the opposite wall, swallowing the sickening sensation rising in her throat.  She took a deep breath, counting to three as she attempted to think of something else. Anything, really.  So instead, she opted to mull over the conversation with the doctor.  All things considered, it hadn’t really been a conversation.  He spoke; she listened and said nothing.  Honestly, there hadn’t been anything to say.

           Something was wrong; he wasn’t exactly sure what, but. There was something. There had to be. And it wasn’t just her weight; although the malnourishment was a severe concern—it wasn’t the only issue.  She knew that; or. She had known that.  It was a thought she hadn’t paid much mind to; the slow deterioration of her physical state over the past year and a half, the increased headaches and nosebleeds; the time she’d passed out in the shower, and then at the grocery store.  The damage from being a product of genius was done, and as far as she knew, irreparable. That’s all there was to it; no more, no less. Death was inevitable, after all.  It was going to happen sooner or later.  The matter of ‘when’ didn’t make a difference.  He’d made talk of treatments, for a brief period, giving up and shuffling from the room once she’d kept her silence, shifting her focus to look out the window at the dark of the night.   They couldn’t keep her more than a day or so, she figured. She’d be out soon enough; not that it mattered.

            Kamukura Izuru dropped her head back against the pillows, heaving a small sigh. From that point on it would be a waiting game, one of deterioration. It would be slow, it would probably be miserable. The only slight curiosity she could manage at that point was wondering if she would just wait it out, or end things early?  There was no feeling behind the half smile that pulled at her lips shortly thereafter; the answer was far more obvious than she liked to admit.  

           There wasn’t really a point in waiting for the inevitable in such a mundane existence.

[halavert]

           Garbled screams from the next room over served as a most startling wakeup call; the good doctor’s frantic attempt to scramble out of his chair only led to him hit the floor with a short grunt.  Damned be rolling chairs and their temperamental natures. Yet, the screams continued to fluctuate in intensity as he hastily heaved himself to his feet, old joints cracking and popping with a promise of regret to come.  But that wasn’t even a thought in his mind as he grasped for the door, tearing it open as the screams faded to a series of excruciating wails.

           The shock of what lay on the other side of that door was enough to render him momentarily immobile; the pallet of red on white that coated the room was more like a sight from a horror film than a private practice. It was splattered across the floor, a distinct line sprayed across the far wall.  The room was drowning in a stuffy chaos, mind failing initially to fully process just what lay before him.

           Slowly, it began to register for the man.  The most horrific aspect of the nightmare-ish scene lay at the heart of the room; the central focal point of the disaster taking place was in the floor, just beside the patient bed.  A slow, struggling man writhed on the floor, formerly white lab coat dyed red with his own blood.  A pathetic gurgling noise left him as their eyes met, crimson stained fingers reaching out desperately towards the elderly doctor while a thick, red liquid poured from the laceration across his throat.  His body suddenly jerked and spasmed as the sharp blade of scalpel repeatedly plunged into his chest, and only then did the old man really take notice of the figure sitting atop his dying colleague.  The beads of red brushed across her face perfectly matched the color of those unfocused, desperate eyes.   He had heard rumors—namely from the doctor who had helped train the dying man on the floor; he had heard her threats the day before when he had merely suggested bringing out the other existence she shared a body with.  Her reputation far preceded her.  But despite that, both doctors had been unable to genuinely consider just how serious of a danger her presence could truly be.  Only now that she had slipped into such a state here before him, could he even bring himself to take her rumored instability and harrowing nature seriously.

           Hands shaking, his gaze flit around the room, looking for something—anything—to bring an end to the surreal scene at hand.  

           Sedatives.        

           His eyes shot to the cabinet above the counter at his side.  He knew this office well enough to know that’s where the possible solution to the deadly situation was kept.  Unsteadily, his fingers fumbled with the case, a small bottle of liquid in his hold as his other hand shakily grasped for a needle from the drawer below. Sparing a small glance back, he took note that the girl still seemed focused on slamming the scalpel into the unmoving figure below her.  Her breath came in harsh gasps, cheeks damp from blood and… Were those tears?  His focus settled on her disposition, still grasping the items with a vice grip.  If it was a look of madness on her face, it was fueled by something deeper; terror.  There was nothing short of pure terror consuming this patient.  It resonated with every breath; every trembling movement.

           There had been a momentary thought of giving her an overdose, but the idea suddenly gave him a biting, bitter feeling of disgust. With a deep breath, he did his best to steady his hands, managing to draw out a reasonable dose.  Not enough to kill her, but certainly to put her to sleep for a time.

           He offered only a moment’s hesitation before approaching the girl.  Luckily, her attention shift to him only as the needle pressed into the soft skin of her neck. Then came the sudden, searing pain of the scalpel in his arm. It didn’t deter his actions, only moving back once the injection was complete.  She grasped at her neck, eyes settling on the needle in his hand before shakily shifting herself from her victim and moments later collapsing into a pile of bloodstained hair on the floor.

           The doctor took a few moments to attempt to calm himself, carefully examining the wound to his arm.  If that was all he would receive, he was lucky.  After patching up, he focused back on the girl.  At his age—even with the burst of adrenaline still coursing through him—it took some effort to move the girl from the bloodstained room and into the office.  He distinctly remembered how the term “malnourished” had popped up on her report the day before. It certainly was the case.  But it made the affair no easier on his aging body.

           Moments later he was back in the crimson painted room. One, lone blood-splattered file on the floor caught his attention.  Gingerly, he picked it up and flipped through the contents.  It was the results of their tests and… those from years ago. Just after her initial procedure. His stomach seemed to drop as he mulled over the comparisons. Perhaps… Her deadly outburst had rhyme and reason. And perhaps he needed to make one seemingly necessary phone call.

[halavert]

           He wasn’t gone long; or. Maybe he had been.

           She wasn’t quite sure.

           It was all a rapid, hazy blur, really. The alcohol had hit and she could feel it; the dulled senses, the slightly suppressed pain from her arm. But mostly the sudden wave of nauseating emotions. They bubbled up and over in a weird, choked sob; fingers grasping for her spinning head as she tried to heave a few breaths. Her throat felt constricted; an unpleasant heat wrapped around her as she struggled to take a few seemingly smothered inhales. It felt like breathing through a pillow.

           She teetered forward as her feet hit the ground, a few fumbling steps preceding her grasp for the doorframe. She managed to hold on to it, steadying herself the best she possibly could under the influence.  Honestly, it didn’t seem to be going too well.  Well enough for her to trip a few times before wrapping her shaking fingers around the doorknob and yanking it open, though.  The cool air of the evening seemed like a relief as she nearly toppled out, accidentally slamming the door closed behind her.

           Fuck. She didn’t have the key, did she? Her fingers felt numb as she groped around her short’s pockets with one hand, lint and nothing else leaving them. Slurred curses pulled from her lips, haphazardly pushing those heavy, dark strands of hair from her face.  There was a distinct stinging in her eyes, squeezing them shut for a moment as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She had fucked up. Again.

           She shouldn’t have provoked… she shouldn’t have even considered that an option.  But god those occasional bursts of curiosity were nearly impossible to refuse. And of course she had lied to herself. It was for their safety, all those innocent… faceless, nameless people. All of those people she would sooner shove in front of an oncoming train without a thought on the right day. It had been for /their/ benefit.

           “Kh. Bullshit.”

           She had wanted to see how far she could push him; and that was the first opportunity that had presented itself.  She was… Awful.  Overconfident; careless, a menagerie of things she’d been in that subway. But none of them the one thing she had needed to be: helpful. Even she was amazed by how much worse she had made things, and once the damage was done it was far too late to take it back, or fix it. A knife in her arm had proved a good testament to that.  

           Her fingers danced over the bandaged stitches; there were no doubts she had deserved that; pushed them to it.  The look on his face; the stillness. The lapse into silence. They had crossed that line; and there wasn’t any going back.  A taste of blood was a slippery slope; even if she had tried to run damage control. Show nothing; don’t panic, don’t cry, don’t let him know it hurts, that you’re upset. Keep it suppressed, keep it neutral. And she had. But if it made a difference, she wasn’t sure. Probably not. But that wasn’t exactly easy to give a yes or a no to in this state.  Jumbled thoughts and an almost surreal view on the world.  It felt like a nightmare; but there wasn’t any waking up from this. It had happened, and there was no chance of pretending otherwise.

           The bile in her stomach wasn’t going to ease up, and the sudden heat in her throat gave her enough forewarning to make it to the bushes, upchucking a significant amount of alcohol.  She probably needed to get that out, anyways.  The sooner the better. Or. Something.  A few more shaking heaves, and she managed to push herself back upright; leaning against the side of the house for support. Maybe. If she got far enough away she could convince herself this wasn’t happening. Not permanently; just a temporary break from reality.  Away from people, though. Away from bustling streets and crowded areas. Those were out of the question.  

           She wobbled like a toddler as her steps started, unsteadily making her way across the street to an old wooden fence that ran the length of the block. Temporary support. It would do for the time.  

           Walls, fences, she leaned on anything she could until all that was left was a maze of thick trees; grasping hastily for branches and trunks as she focused on the tricky underbrush. Briar plants and leaf covered holes seemed to get her every time. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the thorns snagging in her hair, though, barely feeling the jerks and yanks as she forced her way through the woods. No matter how far she walked, those images wouldn’t leave her mind; words she had uttered on repeat in nothing less than a sickening loop.  She was sick a few more times, her retching the only noises in the still, dark woods. How long had she wandered? Minutes? Hours? Tracking the time was beyond her; not to mention her cell was somewhere back in the house. Even her current location was unknown, but that was fine. She could manage. Once the alcohol wore off she could find her way.  But she didn’t want to find or be found, then. More than anything she wanted to fix, fix or forget. But those weren’t plausible options. She knew that even in her inebriated state.

           There was no fixing what she had unleashed.  No point in lingering on the ‘ifs’ and ‘should haves’ that crossed her mind in rapid, and near constant succession. Eventually the trees thinned, whereas the chaotic ramblings of her mind remained in a constant, unsettled state.

           The world smelled… salty. And the noise was almost an inconsistent static as she stumbled out of the dense forest. As her blurry vision adjusted, it took a few moments to process that there weren’t actually two moons parallel to each other; instead, just one hung high, reflecting off of the black, choppy surface of the ocean. The beach; she’d wandered this far unwittingly, and a few scratches aside, without injury.

           Her steps were slow, trying not to wobble too much as she found her way into the dunes, soft sand doing nothing for her already-shot balance.  The pier was a mile or so down; wasn’t it? She shook her head.  Not a place she wanted to go. Bad memories on top of what she was already feeling wasn’t even an option.

           The sudden cold sensation around her toes threw her off balance, a grunt hitting the air as she stumbled over with a few splashes into the rising tide. Soaked, stunned, and still drunk she could only sit there, staring blankly at the long inky strands of hair that seemed to ebb and flow with the shifting waters.  A noise left her throat, a sound she could only equate to despondent laughter. Fuck. Fuck.

           She had fucked up in the worst way. How could she have done that?  She knew what a struggle it was for him and still she.

           It was strange to hear her own almost silent sobbing, a horrible, uneven wracking noise, vision watery from the warm tears finally boiling over. Maybe now was the best time to let it out; no one to see. Especially not him. She could get it out. She could be fine. That would make it easier, wouldn’t it? God knows she didn’t want to add any further fuel to the situation. Be it his guilt or that unspeakable urge. She didn’t want to make it worse. She’d done enough already.  

           The tide could take her tears and frustration with it, tug it out to sea and drown it in some unexplored trench. She could leave it all here. All of it, but the new mistrust for herself. She wasn’t going to let that go. That was to be kept as a reminder of how she had broken their peace, let the monster they’d both kept under wraps come to the surface. It was going to linger; much longer than she would in the shallow coastal waters that night.

           In turn, so would that bitter self-loathing.

[halavert]

Revenant 6: Confession of the Murderer

           “I want to hear you say it.”

           Lou’s frantic breathing echoed through the silent room; flashes of lightening from the storm outside illuminating his fear drenched features as he stared up at me.  I could see the tears flowing down his cheeks, leaving water marks on the pillow case. The lines that had become etched in his forehead over the past few months were a beautiful sight.  I had worn him down, but my patience had ended with Nelson’s final act.

           The composition I appeared to have was barely holding on, smile drawn on my face partially in satisfaction, partially because I wouldn’t let him know how much he had gotten to me.  He wasn’t going to see the internal chaos he’d thrown me into; void of emotions or not, I knew there was chaos.

           “Isn’t it strange?  I was your obsession before and it put me in my grave.  Now you’re mine.  Guess where you’re going, Louis?”  I asked calmly. “Oh, well, actually, you’re lucky when you think about it. I was obsessed with making you miserable, making it impossible for you to function on a day to day basis because I was there, in the back of your head or the forefront of your mind.  But now?  Well, I think it’s time to move on, for both of us.  So, I want to hear you say it.”

           A pathetic sound escaped his lips as he fervently looked above his head, jerking carelessly at the bonds that tied him to its corners.  Forehead crinkling he glanced back at me, letting out a pitiful cry.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  I had made my final play; keeping myself out of sight for the day, and once he had lulled himself into a deep sleep I had tied him there, waiting for his awakening as the day turned to night and the rain turned into a full-out storm.

           I sat atop him then, straddling him at the waist as my nails dug painfully into the skin of his torso.  Leaning down I whispered into his ear, “Say it Lou; tell me you killed me.”

           “I…I… Oh god,” he wailed, struggling profusely, fruitlessly. “I’m so sorry, god I’m sorry, Greer. Please…”

           “You’ve taken two lives, Louis,” I said, holding up two fingers. “With my death, you at least had the fire of scornful revenge fuelling me to torment you, but keeping you alive all the while.  Then came Nelson.  And I lost interest.  One life is already too much to be stolen away by one person, but two?  I don’t think I can let this go on any longer. It’s nice to know you work alone, and there’s no second person I have to hunt down for helping you dispose of my body. So come on, say it.”

           “I didn’t touch Nelson!” He screamed below me.  His eyes were a crazed mixture of fear and despair. “I might have killed you but I never—“

           Oh, there we go, you said it, didn’t you?”  I reached down, grasping his chin as I leaned closer to him with a malicious smile on my face.  It was beautiful in a strange way to hear his confession; to hear admittance that he had in fact taken my life.  In some way, it was freeing.  Another flash of lightening showed the utter terror dancing across his face as my nails scratched down the sides of his face, settling on his neck.  He was going to feel me just as I’d felt him in my final moments.  “Nelson’s death was the result of what you did to me.  And your death?  That’s also going to be a prime result of what you did to me.”

           Louis began to plead, desperately, without any shame as I smiled down at him, fingers and nails running roughly across his neck.  Slowly, deliberately I began to place pressure on his flesh.  His struggling increased, and I found a strange serenity I stared down at him and the compression of my fingers increased.

           “Sit back and breathe, Louis, after a few minutes you won’t feel a thing.”

[halavert]

Revenant 5: Promises Not Kept

           Nelson Grover arrived at Lou’s front door one morning with the force of the storm that had been pounding at the walls all night. If I had been living—his mere appearance would have caused my breath to hitch in my throat.  Instead I found myself looking on intently as my bedraggled murderer met the fair-haired boy at the door.

           It took me only a moment to realize Nelson Grover looked as though he was the one I had been haunting.  The windswept rain had soaked him to the bone, clothes sticking to his slimmer figure like a wet suit.  I could see slight traces of his ribcage through the sopping grey shirt; jeans sagging not only from the burden of the water they held but an indisputable loss of weight.  The dark circles under his eyes ventured into unfamiliar territory—Nelson regularly slept well past the normal time for most people; if there was one thing he valued, it was the time he spent alone with his bed.  The blonde hairs atop his head hung low against his neck, unshaven face coated in fair stubble.  Nelson’s appearance brought to light the realization that my death had affected those outside of Lou’s house.

           “She said she was coming over.  She never bails.  No matter what she says to me, she never bails,” Nelson said.  His words caused Lou to tense, knuckles turning white as he held onto the door.  

           “I was supposed to see you that night, wasn’t I?” I asked, stepping up to stand beside Lou.  There was no reply; but of course it was the truth.  I had intended to meet the boy for tea at a local café despite the typically off-putting attitude I presented to him.

           “What do you want?” Lou finally managed.  For once I didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence.  For once, Louis Petrelli was not in my line of sight.

           “She’s coming back, isn’t she?”

           My dark-haired killer offered no reply; and with a slam of the door the barrier of wood stood between Nelson and I; it seemed fragile in comparison to the boundaries between life and death that separated us on an entirely different level.  So I did what I hadn’t since my demise; I stepped through that flimsy blockade and left Louis Petrelli alone.

           Murder was a strange thing; it made me forget there was a world outside of Lou, a world where I had a family, a world where my fruitless efforts to keep my distance from one charming Nelson Grover had failed miserably.

           And he hadn’t even known.

           His old car wasn’t in the driveway, or anywhere to be seen. So after a few minutes of remaining on Lou’s front steps he retreated, and I followed in his wake through what seemed to me to be phantom rain.

           “I had no intention of bailing on you,” I stated. “But then again I had no intentions of letting you get close, either.  I’ve failed at both of those, wouldn’t you agree? And then I failed at outliving you; that one seemed like a guarantee, didn’t it?”

           I remembered frustration as I followed behind, watching the boy fumble through the woods.  I remembered the first day I had met him, when he had tried unsuccessfully to recruit me to the school’s skydiving club.  I had declined, only to have him give me dimpled smile and state, “Life is too short to live without taking risks.”

           I hadn’t thought much of it as I walked away with an eye roll.  But it quickly became apparent as the weeks went by that encountering Nelson was inevitable.  It was in two of my six classes; smart and articulate, always popping up in the desk next to me even when seconds before someone else had been there.  That was Nelson; charming and kind to a point where someone would give up their desk if he just asked politely and gave them that magnetic smile.  Eventually he cracked me, and I made my way to the drop zone—never to jump, just to observe and hang out with him—weekend after weekend.  

           It was a surreal sight to watch the parachutes blossom into the sky, floating almost like letters waving their way down to Earth. So I came, and I watched with a silent fascination every weekend he was there.  I listened to him speak about the experience almost as though he were in another world, eyes set on the bright sky.  He loved it more than I could understand; and in turn I slowly but surely fell for the boy whose white parachute resembled a letter gliding gently to the ground.

           I kept my eyes on him more an more on those trips, and his landings were some of the most graceful there; a hop and a skip or a few quick steps always balanced him out as his feet touched down on the soft grass—unlike some of the others who fell face first almost exclusively on landing. But then one day, he stumbled and fell, tripping unsteadily on the ground.  I laughed a bit for a moment; Mr. Perfect-Landing made his first misstep in front of me.  But then, as the parachute deflated on top of him, he didn’t move and a burning realization that something wasn’t quite right washed over me.

           It was at the hospital I learned the truth; Nelson Grover had a heart condition that could put him in his grave at any time. The last thing he needed to be doing was falling out of planes, but he did it anyways against all doctor recommendations.  I fought the new wave of pain and fury with a stone mask and a quiet demeanor as I sat by his hospital bed, hand in his.  After hours of silence I finally found my voice.

           “Why?”

           “Falling has always been my greatest fear; and I figured if I could master that, then I’ve got nothing left to be scared of, not even death.”

           “Before, when you fell out of that sky I knew you were going to come back to me,” I had said quietly, eyes settled on his large hand clasping my own. “Now I’m not so sure.”

           He squeezed gently, and I looked up to meet his tired smile and bright eyes. “For you, I will always come back.”

           I pulled myself out of my thoughts, watching as Nelson stopped at the edge of a familiar drop.  It hadn’t even occurred to me where we were walking, but it was nowhere near his house.  We had trudged through the woods, finding ourselves on the edge of the embankment Lou had tossed my body from.  It was almost as though he knew—he knew what had happened to me and he knew where I had been.  He knew; I just wasn’t sure what, or why.

           “I thought,” he said, pausing momentarily. “I thought you were coming back to me, like I always did for you.”

           I willed myself a voice then, a voice not like the demented whispers I left Lou with, a voice that wanted to be heard and acknowledge. Because I wanted this; I wanted him to know I was there.  It was the first true human feeling I had since my death. “I don’t think there’s a way back from this, do you?”

           He looked back.  He needed to see me; I needed him to.

           “It looks like you’ve managed it.”

           I let out a short scoff, wanting nothing more than to cry. But the dead don’t have tears. The dead don’t have much of anything, really.  “I can’t ever really come back to you, you know that right?  I’m a shadow of my humanity and nothing more.”

           “So you are dead, then,” he stated, looking back over the edge.  “Maybe, just maybe, if you can’t come back to me, I can come back to you.”

           It hit me then that he didn’t know what had happened to me after all; he had come here of his own devices.

           “It wasn’t a choice for me,” I snapped.

           “I’ve been dying since the day I was born, Greer. Do you think I’ve got a choice, either? It’s going to take me one way or the other; I think I would prefer to do it on my own terms.  Now I’ve really got nothing left to fear; not falling, not losing you, definitely not death.”

           And Nelson Grover stepped over the edge.  The rain continued to fall as a silent scream filled the air, my thoughts rapidly switching from no, no, no to you’re coming back to me, you’re coming back, like a letter in the sky you always come back, you’re coming back to me.

           I waited in the quiet of the woods, staying rooted in place, hoping with the most desperate of hopes that maybe just maybe, he would come back, pop his head over the ledge and give me his fantastic smile.

           But Nelson Grover did not come back, and I realized that before he had always been falling towards me, this time he had fallen away.

           It took not only him, but also any trace of humanity I had managed to hide away with it.  I was cold; I was dead; and I was alone.

           It was time for Louis Petrelli to die.

[halavert]

Revenant 4: Warnings Unheeded

           June had always warned me to be wary of Lou; that as the days and weeks slipped by his infatuation was growing to something that made her nervous as he spoke more and more of his irritation with my behavior and my ‘inability to see the potential we had’.  My next encounter with Lou after those conversations always included a discussion of how much I appreciated his friendship but saw nothing more.  It did the trick for a few weeks, or months, but eventually June would once again return to me with the same concerns, and once again I would react with a laugh and an eye-roll in her presence.  That pattern continued up until her final warning before my demise.

           Two days before my death we had met after class at a small bookstore downtown.  She had unconsciously picked at her ivory nail polish she while I perused the local history section; a nervous tick of hers I had picked up on as the years went by.

           “What is it this time, June?” I had asked off-handedly as I flipped through the pages of a book detailing the town’s history during the Civil War.

           She had frozen briefly, before heaving a large sigh, “We need to talk about Lou.”

           “If he’s going to ask me out again we all three know the answer to that.  How many times have I rejected his advances now?  You’d think he’d pick up on the fact I don’t see him like that at some point, wouldn’t you?”  I had muttered with disinterest.

           The air had been still, then, she sucked in a large breath, and pushed some stray strands of black hair out of her face. “Did you know he was watching you outside your bedroom window the other night, Greer?”

           My gaze had left the page immediately, settling on her dark, almond eyes.

           “He let it slip accidentally,” she had continued, satisfied to finally have my attention. “So he tried to play it off like he was just passing by, but you live on the opposite side of town, don’t you?”

           “What did he say?”

           “Same thing he always does, except a bit creepier,” she admitted. “That he wished he could have been there for you as more than a friend because you looked so lonely, and that one day your bedroom or face won’t look so bleak anymore because he’ll have your heart.”

           Irritation over Lou’s ceaseless infatuation was nothing new; the boiling fury towards the boy I felt at June’s words as well as a nipping hint of alarm were unfamiliar territory.  She had calmed me down, convinced me that nothing good would come of a direct confrontation in the heat of the moment.  I had finally agreed, promising to give myself a few days before I even attempted to speak to him.  

           The next day, June received news that her grandmother in Alaska had passed in the early hours of the morning; that evening she had boarded a plane with her parents and younger brother to go attend the funeral and work out the will that was divided between five siblings.

           The day after I found myself at Lou’s front door; still a bit angry, but not near so much as I had been.  He had been pleasantly surprised, letting me in and leading me down to the basement living area we always frequented when I came over. I took my place on the sofa, as he plopped carelessly onto the loveseat that helped it form an L-shape.  The first thirty minutes were peaceful, idle chat with awkward pauses laced at every turn.  Sparks of electricity began to dance in the air around the time he jokingly mentioned going on a date.

           “Haven’t I made it clear enough that I’m not interested, Lou?” I had asked, tone a bit sharper than usual.

           “But you won’t even give it a chance, Greer, I mean, come on, one date?  Why not try spending some time with me as a man than as just a friend, could it really hurt?  I know if we give this a try that you’ll see how good we can be,” he had pleaded, eyebrow furrowed and eyes piteous to give it the full effect.

           June’s words sprung forth to the front of my mind further negating his already useless attempt.  

           I had snapped. “And just why would I want to date someone who was watching me from outside my bedroom window, huh, Louis? If you don’t respect me as a person, as a friend, why the hell would I want to date you?  This is not going to change over time.  No means no; no, I will not date you; no, I am not interested in you; no, we will never be anything more than—“

           Lou’s movements had been lightening quick, crossing the small space between the two couches before I even realized what was going on.  I had felt the sudden pressure of his fingers against my throat, tightening without mercy as they constricted my airflow.  The weight of him straddling my chest felt like nothing compared to the stifling sensation of my lungs desperate for air and the terror that brought.

           “I won’t let you do this again, I won’t fucking let you turn me down so easily again!  Goddammit, Greer, you’re going to see how fucking great we could be together!” His voice had been crazed as his fingers continued to press relentlessly into my throat, eyes colored with a blinding rage as his assault continued.  The panic had stayed in my system until my last moment of consciousness, as his enraged figure faded into a fuzzy black and the guttural screams that had ceased to be understandable fell mute to my ears.

           After my demise my thoughts often drifted back to that day, and the encounter with June a short time before.  It made me realized I had possessed Lou’s heart in a way he could never have mine; so in turn he had possessed my life.  

           I watched his sleeping figure with an ever-present distaste.  It was the first night he had slept through my wails and harsh whispers in over a week; his unshorn face seemed pallid, disheveled curls long past needing a trim. Even the bars couldn’t save him then; my presence was extinguishing any ties he had to the outside world.  He had locked himself in his house, and resided mainly in the tainted sheets of his bed even during the day.

           I couldn’t help but offer a small smirk as I reached down, fingers scratching harshly along his scalp as I ran my fingers through his hair.  I was going to possess his heart until the very bitter end.

[halavert]

Revenant 3: Reflections of the Dead

           Lou’s mother had been a gifted harp player. From a young age she had trained him in the art as well.  To no one’s surprise, he had taken to it like a fish to water.  It never amounted to much though, just a hobby for him on the days he had nothing else to do.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t spectacular at it, though; Lou playing the harp was one of the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed.  I had always envied the way his fingers found just the right strings, and the way the notes echoed with such vivid emotions as they flowed together under his control.  In life, I couldn’t recall anything I had taken to as Lou had to the harp.  In death, I discovered I could pluck the strings his senses as easily as he did a harp—with a little practice.

           Six months after my passing I had learned that it wasn’t only my voice that could reach him—and even that could be projected as more than just a phantom whisper as I had originally believed.  He could feel me, he could hear me, hell, he could see me if I wanted him to.  My haunting of Louis Petrelli stepped up a notch.

           It started with footsteps that followed him through the halls of his little house.  He would turn, curious and confused to see just what had left the sound of heels clapping on his old oak floors.  I would stand unseen in his wake, silent and still until he continued along his path; only then would I move again, footsteps once again trailing him in his empty home.

           I could see the cracks forming in his demeanor as I began my new assault, I watched his sanity wane as I learned to make myself visible—just for a second or two though—just long enough for him to question whether or not his eyes were playing tricks on him.  I made sure it was always in the mirrors; I wanted him to catch a glimpse of me over his shoulder, while he was brushing his teeth, or shaving.  The shock it gave him had resulted in multiple nicks with his old razor, and the crimson trickle would flow down his throat as his gaze was fixated on the spot he had seen me by the clear shower curtain in the mirror.  

           “If only that had been an inch over, Lou,” I would say in that whisper he could never be certain existed. “Just an inch, and maybe you’d be joining me on this side of things.”

           He’d catch glances of shadows in the mirror at the head of his hall; a floor to ceiling thing that was undoubtedly an antique, lined in tarnished brass and intricate leaf patterns.  Oh, the mirrors were my favorite; especially that one.  Sometimes he would catch my image there, my fingers running along the hand-shaped marks on my neck.  I would smile and he would whirl around, nothing there.  But upon facing the mirror again I would be closer, just behind him with the same placid grin locked in place.

           “This house is full of memories, and you’re going to stay here with them.  You’re never going to forget.”

           The brush of my fingers around his neck sent him tripping and spinning into his room, where he would lock the door and remain for the rest of the evening or day.   His sobs could be heard through the walls and swayed my goals no more one way than the other. A simple plaster barrier wasn’t enough to put my image to rest.  The glass fixture on his mother’s old dresser worked just as well as the one in the hall.

           He smashed the mirror in his bedroom a month after I started appearing, after the footsteps chased him down the hall and the echoes of my voice resonated off alleyway walls on his way to the bar.  The bits of glass were never swept up, just pushed under the dresser they had fallen from.

           I watched his sanity begin to teeter as I plucked the strings of his fear with the same level of skill I had once envied in him.  Death became me, and would hopefully soon become him as well.

[halavert]

Revenant 2: Voices in the Light

           At night he found his escape.  At night he found a way to block out the whispered voices he could never quite hear, yet never in full certainty claim weren’t there.  The hazy bars of town would wait for him with open arms just as the women in them opened their bedrooms to him on a nightly basis.  He couldn’t hear my words then, the hazy voice he so often pinned to his guilty conscious, a thing of his imagination left to torment him for what he had done. The alcohol and heavy breathing of his lovers would overwhelm his senses and pull him far from my reach.  All of the fear and guilt were far beyond him in those moments, even if just for the briefest periods of time.   He would forget about me as they wrapped their arms around his neck and their legs around his waist.  But it didn’t matter; I always came back.

           He would lose himself in the throes of passion, the pleasure of his nameless lover for the night.  But I would be there after all was said and done, as he lay next to them in their beds, and I would speak to him.  I would be that voice in the back of his head again, an afterthought, a dark memento he would never lose.  I was the girl he couldn’t escape, the one he wished he were lying next to instead; the one who he had left with no stone in the graveyard or no known whereabouts as far as the authorities were concerned.

           The days were hard on him; I made sure of that.  I made sure in the hours of the sun I was never far from his mind.  The weeks following my murder, that hadn’t been too difficult.  The cops came to him multiple times, but never once got anything out of him.  I had left in a rage, he said, when he had rejected my advances, and from there he hadn’t seen me since.  I had laughed at those words, remembering just whose advances had really been shot down and how the reaction had been hands around my throat as opposed to a quick flight from the scene.  His skin had prickled and a wave of goose bumps had erupted across his skin.  That was the first time I realized he could—if only faintly—hear me.  

           From that point on I hadn’t strayed far from his side.  My time was spent reminding him of how I had passed, how tightly his fingers had pressed against the soft flesh of my neck, and the marks he had left there after he was done.  I also often reiterated how much I had detested him when we were alive, how my thoughts had flitted more often than not to how badly I wanted to fuck his best friend and how satisfying I would have found his reactions to such news.

           My words had kept him up at night, the whispers like voices that weren’t really there, and a month after he had disposed of me he first took solace in the bars and the girls he found there.  Of course morning would roll around and their beds would cease to protect him.  I made sure his thoughts always returned to me, I made certain he had days where he broke down and begged in the sanctity of his room for me to come back, for his actions to be undone.   Other times he’d walk back to the place where he left me, looking over the edge and down at the dark waters below.  His hands would shake; his eyes would glass over in the dull light of the day.

           “Please,” he’d beg.  And for a while the sounds of nature would be his only response.  Minutes would pass where I would allow him to believe he was alone, to believe he was free.  But that voice he always imagined to be at the back of his head would eventually return and the black cloud that was the truth would once again loom over both of us.

           “There’s no going back, Lou.” I’d stand beside him and trail my fingers lightly along his shoulders, back and forth. “There’s no taking back what you’ve done.  And you’re never going to forget it, are you?  Because I’m going to make certain I live on in your memory until your last breath. I’m going to be your cancer.”

           It was with certainty I knew that just as his love had destroyed me, it was going to destroy him as well.

           As the day would fade to night though he would once again retreat to the alcohol and women who made his head swim and my voice fade into the background.  And at night I would patiently stand by, watching and waiting.

[halavert]

Revenant 1: Remnants of Humanity

           The quiet of the basement was sterile, void of feeling, empty of any noise, lacking any trace of life.  We were a perfect match.  

           It was hollow; it was nearly barren.  The light above cast a florescent glow on the two couches made of an old, faded taupe fabric.  I felt as still as the room appeared, until he shift, giving a trace of life to the bleak space.  His shoulders heaved slowly, head downturned as his breathing picked up.  I wondered what kind of expression he wore; I wondered if it was fearsome or fearful.  I then tried to remember just what those felt like.  

           Fear was the sensation of constriction tight around my throat, hot and relentless—no, that had been terror, fear was too weak a word; fearsome was the blind rage in his eyes, the pain that had his mind locked in a vice grip like the fingers that had circled my throat.  They made so much more sense then, unable to process in one way but much more understandable by the same hand.  What I had felt was horror and fear in their purest forms. But it wasn’t the same then; they felt like memories of things gone past, things that didn’t really exist anymore.

           I can’t say that upset me.  Emotions were dangerous.  Feelings were human; human could be deadly.  

           He turned his head; lips parted slightly, eyes unfocused as he stared at the beige carpet.  He only looked back below him for a moment before he shift completely, pushing himself off of the couch with trembling limbs and a vacant gaze.  

           “There was nothing wrong with how you felt, Lou.”

           He slid onto the loveseat in front of me without a reply, head dropping to his hands as his silence held steady.

           “Love, pain, fear, those were normal,” I stated. “But there was nothing wrong with how I felt, either.  I felt those things, too, just not for you.  Funny thing is, he always forgave me for how cruel I was. But you never accepted the kindness I was offering.”

           The sobs started then, slow and heavy, low and figure quaking.  I could only watch, crouching down to his seated level, forearms resting on my thighs.

           “Maybe I should have ignored you that very first day like I had planned.  Maybe I should have been cruel to you like the other girls.  Would this have happened then, Lou?”  I asked softly; his sobs grew, knuckles becoming white as he grasped at the black curls of his hair. I scoffed, shaking my head. “Well, no point in thinking about the beginning, now is there?  Not much dwelling on the past can do for us at this point. What’s done is done, no matter how horrible, and it can’t be changed now.”

           I felt nothing as his moans continued, as a red tint took up residence on his skin.  My eyes rolled down to my own hands, slowly rubbing my fingertips together. I could feel them pressed together, moving back and forth, the tiny ridges of fingerprints smooth against each other.  But there was no warmth, no heat.  It was just there, and nothing more.  Pressing my nails into my palm I only managed a minuscule sensation of pressure, no pain, no stinging or sharp sensations.  I exhaled slowly, barely noticing his sluggish movements towards the other couch; hardly acknowledging the blanket he pulled up and over the figure there.  I stood, following him to the back sliding glass door as he carried the motionless figure unsteadily.  A few golden brown curls escaped from the top of the blanket, settling atop the crook of his arm as he made his way through the crisp, grey leaves that covered the ground between the trees in his backyard.  Every once in a while his head would jerk around, scanning the area behind us, before he would readjust the bulk in his arms and continue at a hastened pace.  

           Twenty minutes passed before we reached the familiar edge of a rocky valley, a drop that fell forty feet down towards a raging river.  He paused before it, out of breath with hesitance and uncertainty ringing out in the air. But I knew it was only temporary. I knew before he did that the thing in the blanket would soon topple down that hill and towards the rushing waters below.  I almost felt a shock of pain as he let it drop from his arms, slender, pale fingers escaping the folds of the burgundy throw before it disappeared completely over the edge.  We both stood in silence for a few minutes; the sounds of the waters below almost deafening while the cries of the birds seemed more like screams of desperation. Beads of sweat clung to his blemished face as he turned back, trudging past me at a slowed pace.  

           I held myself, the pressure of my fingers against my arms nothing more than nearly a phantom sensation.  

           “You were one of the most beautifully human people I ever knew, Lou, because of your feelings, because of all of that love and pain and fear.  What you did with them, what you did to me?  You shed your humanity like a snake sheds his skin and let yourself become a monster.  You took mine from me without a thought.  You turned your humanity into something darker, and you left me with just a shadow of my own. Now neither one of us can go back.”

           He left me there, speaking words he would never hear, alone in a world where I’d never be seen.  I stepped back, looking over the edge of the cliff down into the racing waters below.  The merciless currents had taken my body into their depths as easily as Lou had taken my last breath.  I remembered pain, I remembered panic and betrayal, I remembered fear; I remembered anything that would make me feel a little more human.  I had never appreciated how much those emotions had meant before, and when I couldn’t hold on to them anymore, I realized I needed them more than ever.

           I was a dead girl with nothing left; no home, no grave, and no burial.  I was going to hold on to the only thing there was that made me feel alive; the humanity that seemed like a distant reality.

[halavert]

Space.

           So close.  They were so close.  The tip of her nose brushed his; breathing light as she kept her gaze steadily on his eyes.  They were such a bright blue; like the clearest lagoon water on an uncharted island.   And they were so… fixated on her. As if there was nothing else in the world as fascinating to him as she was.

           And by any regard that may have been true.  

           “No… No, you’re my equal.”

           That was how he viewed her; a compliment she doubted anyone else had received. To him, she was on par; an impossible feat in itself.  That was how he saw it. It was his truth.  But not hers, no.  

           He was… the closest thing to an “equal” she would encounter. In her infinite boredom and distrust, he was the only one even close to grasping at how she worked; how that rewired, damaged brain ticked on a daily basis.  He was the only one who took her chaos and destruction and found beauty in it.  

           She recalled the night those memories had surfaced; the waves of raw emotions washing over her in torrents. It was overwhelming; it was too much. And before long she had stood in a kitchen gleaming with shattered glass. It looked like a field of diamonds strewn before her; each piece reflecting the face of a girl who was long gone.  He had found her sitting among the broken shards and had marveled at the scene, praising her “Stunning work.”

           He said he could feel the emotion in what she’d done; whether it be the glass covered kitchen, or the broken corpses of the drug addicts two houses down.  He had been the only one not to condemn her actions with disgust or fear; if anything he had embraced them. And she… needed that. Undoubtedly.  He was her validation; her safety.  Just as she was his.  While she worked off of emotion; he worked to feel it.  The bitter taste of despair was his drug; his euphoria. And it was known that the sweetest taste of that came from the destruction of those he held most dear.  

           His allure brought people to him, like moths to a flame. The relationships he built always the basis for his pyre of personal destruction.  When the opportunity arose, he would seize it without hesitation, plucking the ripe fruit of despair as he brought about the physical, emotional, and mental destruction of those he held closest.  But she wasn’t as simple as they were; a labyrinth of emotional barricades coupled with her understanding of him left her as a most appealing—if not unobtainable target.  She could tell when the spells hit, and blatantly refused to make it anything close to easy for the boy.  He knew that, and a part of him was grateful.  Just like she appreciated his ability to help her calm down from a destructive fit, even at the risk of his own physical well being.  

           But this wasn’t a scenario where either of them was in a volatile state; something was certainly palpable in the air, but it wasn’t ruin, it wasn’t chaos and pain.  It was a tension of different sorts, one that had happened multiple times a day for the last few weeks. His hands cupped her face, thumb tracing lightly along her jaw as her own arms twined around his neck. One of his hands slid down her side, resting on the small of her back to pull her further up on his lap.  She found herself pressed flush against him; something—strangely enough—she didn’t mind. Any other person would have been long gone if they had so much as laid a hand on her.

           The mere thought of contact with… people, was nothing short of appalling, if not panic-inducing. But he was the exception. Perhaps it was the mutual understanding; perhaps it was a strange desire she kept securely pressed into the darkest corner at the back of her mind recently.  A curious thrill had grasped her senses during these encounters; a hint of a rush when he would mutter brief replies to her in a low tone, and her fingers would find the front of his shirt of their own accord.  Nothing seemed quite as appealing as these close exchanges; even if it was just his fascination with her eyes.  Did he understand how transfixing his own gaze could be?  The utter, focused intensity so utterly capable of holding her focus like no one else could?  She wasn’t sure.  Regardless, it didn’t matter.

           In an instinctive motion, her fingertips gently brushed the strands of shaggy hair back from his face, not missing the momentary flicker of his eyes to her lips and then back. The distance between them was minute; easily closed if either of them leaned forward just the smallest bit. But that minuscule bit of space had held it’s place for weeks, the hair’s breath gap never fully closing. She wasn’t sure if it ever would.

           A swirl of ideas as to what would happen began to swim around in her mind, and for the first time the girl realized, she certainly wouldn’t mind if the space between them one day slipped into nonexistence.