by Drue M Scott
Chapter III
Moving Forward/Backwards
White-Washed
A thunderous clap rang throughout the entire valley. Raging down the mountain side, a wall of white overtook everything in its path, leaving Mikale staring up with a cemented expression of terror. Faster than what seemed possible, the snow and debris crashed upon small shacks left from the old days of mining and destroyed them as though they were made of match sticks. The eerie haze of clouds, thickening the sky, blotted out direct sunlight, but lit the scene enough to bear witness to nature’s devastating power. A sudden rush of emotion flushed through Mikale as tears from the onslaught of such intensity welled up within him. Like the pounding rush of thousands of waterfalls, the avalanche’s deafening sound rumbled in his ears and vibrated in his chest. He could hardly breathe.
“Run, Mikale!” Stewart’s voice broke the deep rattle, which hummed throughout their body. Neither of them, though, appeared to have enough strength to break the trance-like fascination of the coming wall of white. Stewart could, at times, control Mikale’s limbs, but awe-struck flesh weakened the possibilities of physical motion, quite nearly draining them both.
The wall of frozen white was still at least a mile away, but its speed was sure to catch them within seconds. Running seemed moot, but staring blankly at the rushing wall of snow felt like giving up. Mikale hated the idea of giving up.
“Where would you have me run to?” His question seemed like a waste of time, but in truth, he knew there was nowhere they could escape to. They were in its path, and the only hope at this point was to pray that, by some miracle, the title wave of ice, trees, splintered wood, and fractured earth did not take them into the abyss. Stewart’s panic rose within Mikale causing a twitch in every muscle within his body to fire off in succession from foot to head. Erratic glances searching for a safe haven further assaulted his eyes with horrific images of the devastation racing towards them. The once serene mountainside with its picturesque slope would have been perfect for skiing but was now nothing more than a nightmarish blur of crashing white. The deep-cut valley, obviously the remnants of a glacial giant carving the earth as it moved over the centuries, created a perfect chute funneling the snow into their path. A path, from which they could not flee, and one they were clearly meant to stand at the head of. Ideas as to the “how” and the “why” were still eluding them both, but this was clearly a declaration of power they were meant to see and feel. Tracking Brennan had been difficult, and when they did happen upon him, it was never an interaction that left much hope their friend could be saved. Mikale peered down momentarily at his snow boots half covered in freshly fallen powder and sighed. He watched as the vibrating ground danced the specks of white from the water tight shell of his newly acquired boots. It felt eerie and yet, held some fascination in it. Covered in all black, cold-weather gear, he stood out against the bright white world that surrounded him. Except for the patchy rugged peaks showing their rough solid earth at the highest points, it seemed the entire environment was blanketed in a soft, colorless glow.
“Stewart,” a calm, still voice fell apathetic against his conscience. “You can leave me. As energy, you can escape this and return to Idir.” There was no emotion in his tone.
“I can leave at any time, my friend.” Stewart was far more emotive and deeply caring with the tenor of his voice. “I will stay here with you and share whatever fate has planned for us. We will find a way to break free once the madness has come and settled.”
Mikale knew that Stewart would not flee. He could sense the fear that Stewart felt but also knew that his guest soul would not leave him to die alone. He and Stewart had spent a great deal of time intermeshed since the murder of Jason and the loss of Kyna. Neither of them could fathom the idea of living without their truest loves. Both Kyna and Jason were two of the most beautiful souls; each had unyielding love for their eternal mates. An unimaginable turn of events and extreme violence had ripped them from existence far too early. The horror of that day in Jason and Mikale’s apartment home played back through memories every time Mikale closed his eyes and sometimes, even when they were opened. How Devin had arranged such a perfectly placed deception and set such an elaborate trap racked Stewart’s mind nearly every hour of the day. Devin had thought of everything: the perfect time to reveal Melissa as Brennan’s other half, murdering Jason in front of his love to weaken the steadfastness of all involved, and forcing the memory on Brennan of how Stewart had killed Brennan’s entire family and fractured his soul. It was quite nearly a cosmic aligning of events that Devin had laid out meticulously; however, he did not count on the one variable that would be his undoing—Brennan. Brennan was, and there was hope that he would still be, one of the most empathetic and caring souls Mikale had ever come into contact with. They had spent time together intermeshed, and Mikale knew Brennan; he understood his pain and desires. Brennan was, to Mikale, a never-ending wellspring of emotions. It was through his emotions, though, specifically his anger, that Brennan lost sight of who he was. Can he be reeled back in? Mikale hesitantly pondered the thought. The uneasiness of it transferred to Stewart instantly. After all, Brennan was the one that killed Kyna, the most powerful energy source for good in the universe. The thoughts pierced Stewart hard and felt as though someone had shoved a splinter into his energy. This shook Mikale with a sudden force that caused a surprised gasp of air sucked in so hard that he coughed on the frigid vapor.
Stewart, still only energy, shared head space with Mikale regularly. They were both on a quest to soothe the pain that was left when Brennan was lost to rage. The two had become deeply connected and shared a great many details of their personal lives with one another, as is normal when a physical being shares space within their soul for another entity.
Mikale knew Stewart was, and would continue to be, there for him. It was a friendship born out of need but had flourished into something far more emotional. Mikale frequently missed the feeling of having an extra soul within him whenever he and Stewart were separate, which, thankfully, was not often. Frequently, he found himself longing for the first days of discovery when he and Brennan had shared their initial intertwinement: a day that felt euphoric and peaceful. He still felt euphoric when intermeshed with his new friend, but the peace had somehow slipped away. In its place, sorrow festered, and he knew one day it would be uncontainable.
The ground shook harder. Mikale stumbled, balancing himself with his right hand to the shuddering ground and quickly returning, as best he could, to a full stance. This pulled both men from their momentary lapses into memory. It had felt like hours recollecting, but as soon as their attention was hurled back to the current space and time, only a single second had passed. Shifting a foot back to brace more steadily, Mikale smiled upward at the coming shadow of white and pulled a long hard breath into his lungs. It wasn’t a smile of satisfaction, but rather, one of contentment, knowing that if today was the day he was meant to die, he would be passing into Idir accompanied with one of the nicest men he had ever known. Though Stewart was hell-bent on finding and stopping Brennan, whether out of revenge or from a place of guilt Mikale was unsure, he did know that the soul, which shared his thoughts and physical form, was a man that could be trusted implicitly. Stewart had proven his worth many times in the altercations that had plagued them after the massacre at Mikale’s house. Mikale had always thought of it as a massacre. He knew it was far from being as atrocious as the wars nations waged, and it wasn’t as widespread as the terror of some religions. Nonetheless, it was a day of infamy in his mind, and it tormented him regularly. He could still feel the emptiness within him, which was left when Jason had died, even though Stewart’s soul shared his body more often than not.
At first, Stewart had only possessed Mikale in order to prevent death. The damage done to his physical form had taken a hefty toll, and Stewart couldn’t bear to lose another soul to a fracturing because of Devin’s hellish plan. Mikale was pliable and easy to recharge—physically speaking
—and Stewart hoped they could, somehow, work together to bring balance back to the universal equation. Though his plan did not play out how he had imagined it would, Devin had certainly brought about enough negative energy to send Brennan hurling towards the abysmal black of hatred and revenge. Stewart and Mikale had been following a trail of chaos in hopes of reaching Brennan before he took the final steps over the edge of sanity and plummeted towards eternal derangement.
Clearly, Brennan was throwing a childish temper tantrum while exploring the limits of his newly acquired power, but Mikale’s fear, and Stewart’s, too, was that it would eventually spill over into areas where people were present. For the six months prior, it had remained in desolate places where humans wouldn’t be, generally, but his boisterous shows of power were definitely worsening. If or when they would spill over and inflict grievous harm to souls weighed heavily on both Stewart’s and Mikale’s minds. They had arrived at the secluded mountaintop too late to execute any haphazardly devised plan to save their friend. Instead, they found themselves now victims to the power Brennan was amassing. It seemed often that Brennan could be found isolating himself in vast landscapes of indescribable beauty, but the reasons for his choices were still unknown.
Mikale grounded his thoughts in the moment and tried to pull in another breath. The air around him seemed to be vacuumed up and away towards the avalanche, making it consistently harder to breathe. This, however, did not stop him from trying to fill his lungs with the frigid air. The thunderous roar booming in his ears silenced all other sounds. A chaos of tumbling colors, intermixed with the blinding white of the churning snow, came in shades of green, black, and rotting wood as it rolled in densely. It would be over soon.
The wall approached. The white engulfed. The world slipped away. The avalanche wasn’t pounding up against him, though. It was pouring around him like a flock of birds redirecting a fraction of second before colliding with an immovable object. Up, over, and around, it rushed past carrying the carnage of destruction it had laid upon the land. Broken trees, fragments of wood and stone floated past in a collage of chaotic images. Turning on his heels Mikale pivoted in all directions to see he was somehow safely confined within a bubble of invisible protection.
“Stewart,” he paused taking in a full breath; it did not sting with cold, though. It was comfortable and refreshing, yet carried with it an uneasiness that quivered in his chest. “Are you doing this?” His question seemed almost panic-driven as he spoke it out loud. The words vibrated off the energy encompassing him and created an electronic echo.
“I do not have the power to redirect such a force. I could only have dreamed to protect you in such a way.” Stewart’s answer brought no comfort to Mikale and resulted in a nervousness, which spoiled his gut.
“Then…”
“I could not allow you to pass so soon.” A voiceless choir of sound interrupted Mikale’s coming question. “Do not think me weak, though. I’ve only the desire for you to witness the aftermath.” Equal parts Brennan and Jason, the words had no real vocal presence. It was as though they were being written on Mikale’s auditory nerves. It wasn’t hearing, in any traditional sense of the word, but it had some semblance of what Mikale would have believed was Jason speaking through Brennan. A clever trick played by the sadistic nature of a soul pushed beyond its breaking point, of a man once whole and good who had become something far eviler and more malicious. Its voice—his voice—was more like knowledge being downloaded faster than words could be spoken with a lingering sense of who conveyed the information.
The earth and snow settled. It was over. The flood of white had lost its energy and come to rest thick and heavy. A solid twenty feet of debris and hard pack separated Mikale from the sky above, but the energy field held firm and protected him from the weight of it.
“I don’t suppose you could manage a path up and out could you?” The question came off more sarcastic than sincere as Mikale took a seat on the snow-covered ground. His heart ached for the voice to play upon his brain sounding more like his lost love. He longed to hear him one more time, to touch him just one more time.
“Does your guest not have energy enough for such a simple task?” The response was heavy and loud within the small circular field of protection. The words were now vocally spoken but did not carry the desired tonality Mikale was hoping for. Stewart laughed with aggravation behind Mikale’s consciousness.
“Stewart is tired and not fully recharged from our last encounter with you,” Mikale lowered his voice, “asshole.”
“Careful lover, you might find yourself buried as opposed to rescued.” The snow above them suddenly split and opened itself up to the dimly lit world. “I will be making my exit sooner rather than later, so,” Brennan’s voice faltered momentarily, “I would recommend finding some energy fast if you want to avoid a few thousand pounds of ice,” pausing again, the ominous voice slathered with malicious amusement quickly took over, “comes crashing down on you.” Reverberating back and forth his comments clearly held Jason’s accent, at times. It was a soft, barely recognizable, draw on the vowels. Jason had a very distinct way of sounding out his letters. It wasn’t all that distinguishable to the average person, but Mikale was far from the average person in matters related to his one true love. He could spot the soft inflections in his lover’s words from across a room, and he was certain he was hearing them within Brennan’s harsh remarks now.
“Ken!” Mikale called out to his dearest. It was the sweet name he had given Jason, and he hoped using it now might trigger something. “Are you there, baby? Are you with him?” Tears started to well up. “I love you.”
“We’ve gone over this before Mikale. Jason died. Your loving Ken has left the dollhouse and cannot come out to play. You watched as I drained him completely of his energy. Well, actually, Stewart watched. You were too busy being all passed out and pussy-like.” His voice took on a harsher tone totally devoid of anything that resembled Mikale’s love. “But trust me, your boyfriend is well and truly gone, dead, pushing up daisies, food for the worms, blah, blah, blah.” His words pierced Mikale and tore at Stewart’s soul. Though Stewart didn’t love Jason, he could feel the love Mikale had for him almost as though it was his own. “I do believe it’s time you found a new man to satisfy your dirty little desires, lover boy.” A crack in the snow tunnel rising up from their protected bubble broke off the conversation as chunks of ice and debris fell.
“Hurry!” Stewart shouted. The force of his words startled Mikale as much as the falling pieces of rock and snowpack caving in on them did. “Climb!”
An Angel in Devil’s Clothes
Floating up through the thick clouds gazing upon all that he had destroyed seemed, somehow, anticlimactic. The energy expenditure was far greater than first thought, and a sickening sense of weakness ached throughout Brennan’s form. What was meant to end in the death of Mikale, and by extension Stewart, had not played out in the manner his original desires first detailed. Despite his anger, and wish to act upon it, there was something else there; something more desperate for non-violent resolution. Brennan’s thoughts fell heavily on what was happening, and before he even realized it, he was laying prone in a peaceful meadow surrounded by perfect trees with soft cottonwood blooms floating like slow-motion snow. With his face in the earth, energy swelled up and filled him. The scent of grass and fertile soil overpowered his senses as he rolled over to peer into the sky.
“Is this place real?” The simple question slipped past his lips. He spoke it as though he expected the trees to answer. It was a memory of a place, a beautiful place that eased his first assignment into one of Melissa’s many victims. She was such a violent adversary. Brennan let out a half chuckle. She was half of me and I the other half of her… guess that makes me a violent… something. The thought lingered for a moment before giving way to the realization of just how surreal the meadow was. He began to remember how this place was the filter, through which he first experienced being hurled into another hum
an shell before its life was extinguished. Melissa took great pleasure in torturing and killing men. And having really crazy sex with them, too. Another chuckle broke the tranquil silence around him.
“Kyna must have fashioned this peaceful place in this reality.” Brennan quite nearly startled himself with his own words as he spoke them aloud. Her memory flooded his thoughts. The questions were no longer important; he could only think about how kind and beautiful Kyna was. She had befriended him, lifted him up; she was the one peaceful constant in all the turmoil, and yet, he destroyed her. Her energy was the balance to all that was bad in the universe, and now, he had made certain that balance would be offset. It was not my intention. He bargained with himself trying to get rid of the guilt that had suddenly plagued him. It was anger. It was… just… He broke his own thought process watching the cotton-snow dance by his face. It moved as though it were choreographed to fascinate. It succeeded.
The memory of Kyna was strong and frequently filled him with regret when he was alone and had time to think. Many times, since her departure—his murdering her—he had wished there was a way he could take back all that had happened that day. Anger usually broke the guilt and set strong desires for revenge raging. She had lied; he had lied. Brennan could not dam up the rushing waters of hate when he pondered how they must have known the whole time that Melissa was his other half, brutalizing Anchorage men and leaving them to be food and decay in the wilderness. Kyna must have known that Stewart had killed Victoria, the one he adored the most, his younger stepsister. She had to have known the viciousness of Stewart and his torture: how he played with his victims before slaughtering their physical bodies and fracturing their souls. She spoke nothing of it, though. Why would she leave this to be discovered? Crackling within him like a half-lit fire threatening to surge up at any moment, Brennan felt his anger rising. Replays of the night when Stewart acted out his murderous desires jumped more quickly to his mind than they had for the past six months. Something in him was changing. He became angered far too easily. There were times when vengeance was all he could feel. Maybe that was why he frequently left clues to his whereabouts so that Stewart and Mikale could find him. It was, at first, a game of sorts to lure his once friend into situations that ended in destruction and near death for the pursuers. It could have been a show of strength, of pure anger. He wasn’t sure of anything; nothing made sense. One minute the desire to see both Mikale and Stewart dead was stronger than any emotion he could remember, then, almost instantly, it would be the opposite.