#christine is somewhere between customer service worker and doctor who doesn’t take your symptoms seriously

[niennandil-me-writes]

owed a life

CN: gore, violence, murder, war, trauma, gaslighting, characters in this writing voice opinions that go in the direction of the “trauma makes you evil” trope

Not a spell gonna be broken With a potion or a priest When you're cursed you're always hopin' That a prophet would be grieved Oh, Lazarus, how did your debts get paid? Oh, Lazarus, were you so afraid?

The Brothers Bright – Blood On My Name

Only when he had already opened the tent flap and walked inside, and the elf sitting hunched over the table looked up in disdain did Teo consider that maybe he should have asked if he could come in first. He cleared his throat.

“Christine Lys?”

“That’s me.” She stood, setting aside the knife she had used to dissect something placed on a wooden board set on the table. “Is there something I’m needed for?”

“You are the one who…” Teo needed a moment to find the right word. “Who brought me back?”

She was looking at him more attentively now, her eyes lingering on his face – and probably the big new scar stretching across it – a moment longer. “Yes, I remember. If you want to thank me – “

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Her brows furrowed again. Teo tried to remember if he had thanked her after he had woken up, but he couldn’t tell. It had all been so blurry then, and he hadn’t even known what exactly had happened. That he had been dead. He didn’t even remember her face afterwards, had had to ask around the camp if anyone knew which cleric it had been. Even now, it was hard for him to focus on her features, like it was often these days, like trying to hold on to fog. It felt like sleepwalking, in a way, impressions drifting past him without touching him. Ever since then, he couldn’t sleep, but he felt awake only half the time as well.

“I think something went wrong.”

Lys narrowed her eyes. “You are alive, are you not?”

This was a very loaded question.

“It doesn’t exactly feel like being alive,” he said, hesitantly.

She sighed. “Oh,  get it. We are years into a war that has been going on way too long, we are all stretched way too thin, I am assuming this is affecting you people just as much as us. I get an average four hours of sleep each night, and that’s not even counting the all-nighters I have to pull, trying to keep your comrades alive or – “, another sigh, “bringing people like you back to life. It’s hard work, and your higher-ups apparently expect me to work miracles. I have no doubt you feel similarly exhausted by all this – seeing all that violence and death sure can’t help.”

He tensed, but she didn’t seem to notice, just continued on: “So, if you don’t have any specific reason to talk to me, I’d suggest –  ”

“I don’t have a heartbeat,” he interrupted her.

She sucked in the air through pursed lips. “That is one side-effect resurrection can have. There is sometimes a quasi-undead residual to patients who were resurrected under sub-optimal conditions.”

He looked at her in confusion. He understood some of those words. “Undead?” he asked. “Like a zombie?”

“No, no!” Lys lifted her arms defensively. “Like someone who was already dead and got brought back. It didn’t affect any of your other bodily functions, did it?” She waved her arms at his general frame. “So I don’t see a problem.”

“But it did,” he said. “My senses are all wrong.”

“Uh huh…?”

“That’s the first thing I noticed. I don’t taste anything. Or rather, I do, but it doesn’t… feel like anything? It’s the same with smells. Textures. Anything, really. It’s all muted.” He struggled to find the words to describe it. How did you even describe something that was missing? Especially if you hadn’t even noticed it until it was gone. He had needed days to realize something was off, and even longer to be able to put his finger on it.

Lys didn’t seem impressed. “You have to excuse me for saying so, but that just sounds like trauma, and a pretty usual reaction at that, given the circumstances. You will have to forgive me my lack of empathy, but I really don’t have the means to handle this.”

“I thought that as well,” he said, still hesitant. “But that can’t be the only thing. I don’t think it is.” He thought for a moment. “I can’t sleep. I haven’t in two weeks. But it’s like my body doesn’t even need that anymore.”

“Well, that seems like an advantage – ”

“But it isn’t normal. Something changed in me when you brought me back. Something more than a missing heartbeat.”

Just another sigh, even more annoyed now. He only now realized what he must sound like to her with his voice flat and emotionless. She must think he had no urgency, just minor complaints.

“I don’t feel alive,” he repeated, searching for a way to make her understand. And then the words he hadn’t wanted to form before: “I don’t feel human. I don’t feel anything at all.”

“Now, you listen to me.” She walked around the table, leaning against the top, arms crossed. “I tried to have some patience here, but you came in here without even asking or knocking or whatever the hell you’re supposed to do before entering a tent, making accusations about how I do my job, when all I wanted to do is get my work done so I can finally catch up on some sleep. Do you know how long I sat there scratching every bit of your brain off the ground and reassembling it like a fucking 1000 part puzzle?” She pointed at the scar on his face.

“And did I even get a thanks from you?” she asked. “No, of course not. It’s back to battle, back to kill more people or get yourself killed so I can resurrect you right again. It’s all ‘Christine, resurrect this person, resurrect that guy, heal that battalion up quick’ so they can get back to bashing each other’s brains in like there’s no tomorrow. Never fucking mind that I don’t get any sleep, that I’m working overtime, that half the times they don’t even give me all the materials I need. And here you are, having the fucking audacity to complain. You would be dead without me, have you spent any thoughts on that at all? You know how many people die each day, how many people me and the other healers can’t save? Of course you know, you’re there when they drop like flies during the battles. So maybe show some fucking gratitude that you were one of the few deigned too important to be allowed to die. Not everyone’s that lucky!”

Teo waited for her to finish her rant. There was no anger in him. That still surprised him, but he was slowly getting used to that. That was the part that worried him the most.

“I have a family at home,” he said then. “A husband and a daughter. People I used to love more than anyone else. Now I have to strain to even remember their voices. All of that was just gone when I woke up.”

Lys rubbed her eyes. “You think you’re the only one – “

“It’s the same with people here,” he interrupted. “People who I used to consider friends. One of them died yesterday and all I thought – “ He stopped himself. “It’s like I’m all numb. Like I can’t feel anything, for anyone.”

“That’s what war is like. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you this, but that’s what it’s like when you’re surrounded by death. You start shutting it all out because – “

“Because you can’t carry the burden of everyone you fail to safe and everyone you’re forced to kill.” He rattled it off flatly. “I’ve been doing this for years, Lys. I know what that feels like. It isn’t this.”

She still looked unimpressed, tapping her fingers impatiently. Fuck it then.

“The only times I feel alive right now is during battles,” he explained. “I don’t remember the faces of the people I used to call friends, but I remember the faces of the people I’ve killed. Every detail of it.”

“Well –“

This time he didn’t even let her start the sentence. “When you start being a soldier, you remember the first person you killed. The second as well. You’re horrified at yourself. Around the tenth, you stop counting and start shutting it out, as you put it. No sense in carrying that with you. But I’ve started counting again. I’ve started looking them in the eyes again. And this time it’s not horror I feel, but joy.”

It was silent in the tent for a long while, as he waited for her reaction. She took a deep breath.

“Isn’t that what makes a soldier?” she asked then. “That you take joy in killing.”

Again, he wasn’t angry, but there was another thing rising up in him. He couldn’t place it yet, but he liked it. It filled the emptiness.

“A lousy soldier at best.” That’s what he used to think, anyway. Now his retort just sounded like a hollow phrase, even to himself.

“To me it just sounds like you got a lot better at doing your job. If you have a problem with murder, maybe you shouldn’t have joined.”

He stared at her. “There has to be something you can do. It was your – “

“No!” This time she interrupted him. “This has nothing to do with me. I’m exhausted, tired. Sick and tired of your accusations. I saved your life, that’s all I did. I’m a healer. And if you think that something changed, that there’s something wrong with you – well, sorry to say, but that was probably there before.”

He clenched his fists. “This isn’t normal. I can’t even look at anyone without thinking about how I want to kill them.” He stared her in the eyes.

“Are you threatening me?” she asked sharply.

Yes. “No!” Yes! “I’m asking for your help.”

Her body tensed. “There’s nothing I can do. Maybe you are fucked in the head, but that’s not my doing.” The disdain in her icy blue eyes was slowly replaced by fear. And oh, after all her bullshit seeing her afraid was so satisfying. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll inform your higher-ups of this.”

He stormed forward, closing his hands around her throat before a scream could escape from it. He squeezed until she was gasping for air and her eyes were bulging out.

“Let me go, you bastard”, she whispered with what little sound she could muster. She grabbed his arms, clawed at him, tried to get him off herself, but it was no use.

A part of him knew he should be horrified at himself. But he wasn’t. There was just that relief, feeling returning to his fingers right where he was cutting off her air, and spreading through his entire body from there. It felt like he was in a battle again, adrenaline rushing through him and making him feel alive for a short while.

“Do you still think that’s just normal for a soldier?” he said. His voice was trembling with excitement. He felt a grin stretch over his lips.

And there was that sweet fear in her eyes, asking how far he would take this, and he realized he didn’t know the answer. He knew he had proven his point. He also knew she’d start screaming for the night watch the moment he let her go. This would have consequences. None of that mattered to him right now. All he knew and all that mattered was the feeling that he hadn’t taken it far enough yet.

He threw her backwards, bashed her head against the table. A choked-up scream. For a moment her eyes rolled back into her head. Blood was streaming down from the laceration, clotting her long silky hair, and soon tears followed.

It was beautiful.

Suddenly, her arm shot to the side, and then the knife was in her hand. She stabbed at him, pierced his arm. Pain shot through him, making him let go, just long enough for her to catch a breath, but before she could call out, he was crushing her throat with one hand again, closing the other around her wrist. He chuckled, even as blood was running out of his burning wound. Her struggle was making this even more enjoyable for him, he realized. He twisted her hand until she let go of the knife and then grabbed it himself.

He held the blade to her throat. “If you scream, I’ll kill you,” he said.

He could see in her fear-speckled eyes that she believed him.

“Now tell me: Do you know any way to fix me?” He loosened his chokehold just enough for her to be able to suck in some air.

She sobbed: “I don’t know. It’s not my fault. I brought you back. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me. This isn’t my fault. Please!”

Her answer didn’t really matter. Teo had never killed anyone outside battle before. Had never ended the life of someone who hadn’t intended to do the same to him. This was new. This was exciting. He felt the resistance of her skin, her flesh, her windpipe against the steel as he pushed the knife down. When Lys started her last scream, he clamped his hand over her mouth so the blood bubbling from the gash was the only sound escaping her.

Teo took in every detail of her death. A murder, he noticed, gave him so much more time to pay attention, much more than a battle where after one kill he had to turn right to the next enemy. It gave him the opportunity to watch her body shutting down. Her hands cramping one last time around his arms and then letting go, arms falling slack. The slowing and then end to her attempts of breathing. The ceasing of her blood flow. And finally, the light in her eyes vanishing.

As he watched her skin grow pale and felt the warmth leave her body, Teo realized his mistake of making her death this quick. He should have cherished this, taken his time. But it was what it was.

He was trembling. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks. He held on to the feelings flooding through him, even as the first rush of euphoria left him and the consequences of his actions dawned on him.

If they found him here, he’d be tried for murder, found guilty and executed, there was no doubt about it. He found he wasn’t that upset by the idea. It wasn’t like what he currently had felt much like being alive anyway. If there was no way to fix him, death might be the better option. Maybe he should just turn himself in. That might even be seen as honorable, even if he didn’t give much of a damn about honor anymore. They might let him choose how he’d be killed, though. Might make his end a bit more fun. He wondered how they’d explain what had happened. What they’d tell his family.

He halted. His family. Dexter and Fey.

How would they react if they heard he was a murderer? He found he didn’t care that much. But he knew he should, and he knew – he hoped – he would care about them again, as soon as he returned.

That had to be it. He’d wait out the war, enjoy every battle and feel alive while he slaughtered the enemy soldiers. And then he’d return home, see his family again, and make new memories, memories that meant something to him, and he wouldn’t be this empty anymore.

But all of that couldn’t be if he was found with this corpse now. This had been a mistake. He regretted what he had done – at least he told himself he did. But what would it bring to be punished for it? What would it help Dexter or Fey if he was executed, and they were known as the family of a murderer? What would it help Christine Lys?

He got up, pulled the knife out of her wound, wiped it on her jacket and laid it on the table. The candles had fallen on the mud ground during their struggle, but some were still burning. He kicked them over to the tent walls, making sure a fire was spreading before he left.

He took care nobody saw him on his way back to his tent, cleaned and dressed the wound on his arm before he went inside, where everyone else was sound asleep, and laid down on his bedroll. He could hear screams outside as others became aware of the fire, but they were distant enough that nobody in his tent woke up, and nobody called for them, so he just ignored the noise.

Unable to fall asleep, he spent the hours until sunrise staring at the engravings on the axe lying on the ground next to him, while the high of the kill slowly faded away, along with all emotions and sensations it had brought.  

#my writing #oc writing #teo dagger #christine lys #gore #violence #christine is somewhere between customer service worker and doctor who doesn’t take your symptoms seriously #this whole story hinges on the idea that there is no competent murder investigation at this military camp