by Ryan Attard
I scoffed. “Ain’t that cute.” I pushed the coffee away. “What do you want from me, Abi?”
“I want you to go see her.”
“Why? I saw her already,” I said. “She died in my arms. I saw her last breath leave her body, and then she was dead.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “She died because of me.”
Abi’s hand snaked out over the table, reaching for mine. She changed her mind halfway through and retracted.
“Akasha was many things,” she said, “but she was no one’s fool. If she was in that fight, it was because she had her reasons.”
“I was her reason, Abi,” I said. “I was the one dating her.”
“And she fought for what was important to her,” she said. “She fought for those who mattered.”
“She died.”
“A price she knew she could pay,” Abi said. “She died. Just like you died.” Now it was her turn to scoff. “You’ve been given a second chance, Erik. And you’re squandering it.”
“It’s been a week, Abi,” I said. “Give me a break.”
“Would you have given yourself a break?” Her eyes were hard and once again I was reminded that the Abi I had left was not the Abi sitting before me. This one was harder, tougher, and had clearly spent a lot of time in a very dark place.
“I’m not talking about the eating or the taking a step back,” she went on. “I’m talking about the sleepless nights, the nightmares you think you’re hiding from me. Something is not right with you, Erik.”
She had hit the nail on the head, but I was not ready to hear it. Living in denial is easy. I wanted to keep my head in the sand, to tell myself that I was back and everything was okay now.
But I had died, and no resurrection spell could fix that. You lose something when you die, period. One battle was over, and I was back, but now I was faced with a second battle to find out what I had lost and if I could still live without it.
But was I ready for that battle?
No.
No, I was not.
“I died, Abi,” I said. I couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry anymore. I was just exhausted. “That’s what's wrong with me.”
This time her hand grabbed mine. It was strong and warm, both a comfort and a push.
“Go see her,” she said.
I closed my eyes.
Fear, that was it. I just wanted to lie down and sleep, to gorge myself and fill every moment of my existence with a distraction.
But that’s not reality — at least, it was not my reality.
“Okay,” I said.
And we left.
HERE LIES SHE WHO MATTERED AND SHE WHO INSPIRED. MAY WE ALL WALK IN HER FOOTSTEPS.
I read those words over and over again. Akasha’s tombstone was just a simple slab of white with those words etched in black. Simple, elegant, much like the woman herself.
Birds chirped overhead, leaves rustled, and small animals darted from their hiding places. This was about as one with nature as she could get.
“Who wrote that?” I asked Abi.
“Your sister,” she replied, smiling at the words. “I guess she had the right idea.”
“Never knew Gil could be so poetic.”
“A lot has changed, Erik.”
I sighed. Yeah, no shit.
I heard Abi step away. “I’ll give you a moment,” she whispered, before making her way back to the car.
And just like that, I was alone watching the grass grow above my dead girlfriend’s tomb.
That lump came back in my throat.
“Hey.” My voice was cracked and I felt tears, but I still spoke. “Um… nice place you got.” I laughed to myself but there was no happiness here.
“I’m sorry.” Suddenly I was on my knees, one arm holding the tombstone. There was no holding back the tears now. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
When I stopped talking, the only sound left was the rustling of the trees. I scoffed.
How selfish of me. I wanted a sign, something to tell me it was all going to be okay. Maybe her ghost would appear like in Star Wars and reassure me that I was a good person and that I had done the right thing.
But this was reality.
And reality is a bitch.
So instead I did the next best thing. I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember. People are never truly dead, not as long as they live within our memories.
I remembered her smile, her funny accent that she was self-conscious of, the way she slept. I remembered us making love, sneaking around so that Abi—and my damn cat—wouldn’t catch us. I remembered the fierce warrior, the second-most powerful magic-user in existence, the de-facto leader of the Grigori.
I remembered, and when I smiled it was not a from despair, but from joy. I remembered and laughed and she became real in my mind. She was still alive within me.
I reread the words on her tombstone. Gil had the right idea. I would walk in her footsteps. I owed her that much at least.
When I walked back to the car, Abi was on her phone. She put it away and I hugged her.
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded.
Sometimes there was no need for words.
Chapter 33
The nightmare took place in the dark and cold. The low light from the street lamps illuminated the two bodies at my feet. Their guts were spilled, bellies torn asunder with something sharp and jagged.
Judging by the look of horror petrified on their faces, it had not been quick.
From their collective pool of blood, I saw footsteps leading further into the dark alley. It was pitch-black, a dark spot devoid of any indication of the horror that lay waiting.
Squelching echoed, followed by the sound of a body dropping.
Clang. Clang.
Two footsteps brought the horror to the forefront. Amber light glinted off the metal adorning its body, which I recognized as armor. Not the bulletproof kind.
The Medieval, fantasy-novel, kind.
It was darker than black, the pieces smooth like running ink but constructed in multiple edges and angles. The guy looked like you might get injured if you stared at him too long. Spikes covered his pauldrons and vambraces, along with his leg armor and greaves. I would have compared him to the Shredder, but the Shredder was a cartoon meant to look scary.
This guy was a nightmare in human form.
As he came out into the light, I saw his helmet covering his entire face. The slits on the mask provided no indication of what was inside.
Crimson blood dropped from his hands, the claws at the end of his gauntlets covered in gore.
A black aura rose from his shoulders like a noxious cloud from an industrial chimney. From within the aura, streaks of red energy snaked out like lightning. For a horrible second, I likened the aura to Dark Erik, until it assumed a shape that was far from human.
Six insect legs jutted out and clicked against the armored figure’s shoulders. Its body swelled like the thorax of a spider until it squished in the front, just like a tick. Teeth and fangs snapped at me, while crimson eyes, the color of spilt blood, zeroed in on me.
In the background, I heard Dark Erik’s voice as he struck down the Necromancer who tried to claim him.
“I am his wrath.”
I woke up in a sweat. My chest hurt and I clutched it, thinking I was about to have a heart attack. As I did I felt something wet and viscous against the naked flesh of my chest. My hands felt clammy with a foreign substance.
Forcing myself not to panic, I pushed back the covers and extended my arms towards the moonlight coming through my window.
I went cold as I confirmed my morbid suspicion.
Blood.
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You’ve reached the end of Nemesis but Erik’s adventures aren’t over just yet. Check out the rest of the Legacy Series and find out how the saga began.
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Firstborn
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About the Author
Ryan Attard is the author of the Legacy series, the Pandora Chronicles, and the Esper Files.
Hailing from a faraway island, it wasn’t long until Ryan began creating his own imaginary friends and writing down their adventures.
As Egan Brass, he writes the Esper Files — a tale of super-powered individuals set in a steampunk universe.
He also dons a cape and a mask, and spends his free time learning Victorian insults in order to both confuse and enthrall his foes.
He’s also one to write his bios in the third person.
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://ryanattard.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RyanAuthor/