by M. P. Reeves
"I set and wrapped your fingers. The ribs, I can't do anything about that other than to tell you to take it easy, breath light. Those monsters, what in the devil could be worth torturing a young girl like this."
Three times she had been brought into 'questioning'. Three times she had refused to crack. The last round had brought news that almost broke her. Their mocking laughter and sly grins as they showed her the local paper. Her father's death and her own disappearance had been reported by the media as two deaths in a tragic early morning car accident. Both bodies burned beyond recognition. Funeral arrangements and a sympathy fund had already been set up. For all intents, she was dead already. No help would come to a corpse already in the ground.
"They can do what they want to me, I'm already dead." Her eyes watered, imagining her mother and brother's grief at the news. Her grandparents...hopefully papa's heart hadn't given out. The death of an only son and granddaughter was known to do that sort of thing.
"Hush now, no you aren't. Neither am I."
"What does it matter? We may as well be. Only way we leave this hell is in a body bag...if they even bother with the bag." Bile rose in her throat at the image of her battered corpse tossed in a ditch, left out for the crows.
"You have to have hope. Rick is still out there, I'm sure he's looking for both of us. After all, I doubt he'd ever believe you to have died."
That was the second time she'd done it. Funny that the first completely passed her ears but she had been in a panic at the time. With her love for investigative journalism she had quite a knack for detecting patterns...patterns that often revealed more than the purveyor had intended.
Elizabeth's stomach growled, the sound became a roar against the echo of the high ceiling. "I'm starving." Liz mumbled rubbing her eyes. "Sure wish we were back home, I could really go for some of his fav meatloaf. The kind you made when Matt and I came over to study for the chem final? Oh and those mashed potatoes...oh those were delish."
"I would make you more meatloaf than you could eat if we had an oven in here dear, but unfortunately all we get is bread and water." Mrs. Smith rose, walking over to the shadows by the doorway. She came back with a tray. "They brought this earlier. I haven't the stomach. You eat up."
On the tray was a small loaf of some kind of bread, olives, oil in a cup and a bottle of water. What passed for the free stuff you got at a restaurant while waiting for the real food was mana from heaven to her empty stomach. Stale bread beat dried blood on her palate, she devoured the entire loaf in less than ten minutes. As she thought about it she hadn't eaten in two or three days if not longer.
"I've been thinking, if I put you on my shoulders, you may be able to reach the skylight. Maybe we can break off a piece of the bedframe and cut at the bars?"
"Won't work, the bedframe is bolted down and is solid steel. We just have our flesh."
"Then I'll tackle the guards when they come back, give you an opportunity to run."
"Run where? We don't even know if we're still in the states." Liz shook her head. "No...they'll keep us alive as long as their looking for it." She smiled wide. "And they'll never find it." She whispered.
"Find what?"
"The book." The crickets in the night beyond the bars grew quiet.
"Where is it? Is it safe?" Where is it? Tell me. Tell me now. WHERE IS THE BOOK? Words that preceded the crack of her bones...
Liz's heart sank, how she hated being right. In a soft monotone voice she answered. "Yeah after I found it in the apartment around the corner from yours I tried to figure out what it was. It didn't match any of my internet searches so I mailed it to the Harvard Linguistics department for analysis."
Mrs. Smith smiled, she touched Liz's cheek with her finger tips, now ice cold. "Thank you child." Her voice had shifted, her words elongated carrying a sharper pitch. In two steps she was at the door, striking it in a quick knock.
"What..." Elizabeth whispered, shock giving way to confusion.
"Yeah?" Came the call from behind the steel curtain.
"We're done here." Maureen's voice was positively alto, her stance masculine. The cell door opened immediately, and 'she' marched out. No one stopped her. In fact, the guards seemed to yield to her. Soon as she was clear of the doorway she turned around, her gaze landing squarely on wide eyed Elizabeth.
"Dispose of the girl." The look on her face stayed with Elizabeth long after the door had sealed behind her. Mrs. Smith’s eyes had been glowing, burnt umber orbs that pierced the darkness as she had condemned her to death.
24
Screwed. That was the only word that came to mind. Carrick's eyes bounced around the cabin in a panic. One on one, he thought he may have had a fighting chance against a fell, but they never traveled alone. Erik had told him they moved in trinities for everything had a beginning, middle and end. Blah Blah. Perhaps it was just a way to overwhelm the enemy. Perhaps it was a way of making sure one person could get away if they found themselves in hot water. No matter the reasoning, it left him in one very horrible situation. Alone, outnumbered, and no one even knew he was out of Dre'ien.
Totally screwed.
Carrick knew there was no sense in hiding, if he could feel them they could definitely feel him. He debated on concealing his appearance for a moment, pretending to be a fell and sneaking off into the woods when he could, however there was still so much he didn't understand about their methods. They might see through such an attempt and kill him on sight. Closing his eyes, Carrick tried to calm his mind.
A man well over six foot kicked in the back door to the cabin. In a dark grey suit his eyes were hidden behind expensive looking sunglasses, a futuristic looking gun clasped tightly between pasty hands. A wicked smile revealed teeth that had been filed into fearsome points. Then he pulled the trigger, decimating the cabin in a shower of bullets that pierced Carrick's arms, legs and torso. Collapsing in a bloody pile of shattered flesh on the stone floor, Carrick's eyes darted wildly around the only home his family had ever known together as he took his final breath.
His eyes flicked open, Carrick was still very much alone in the space, crouched down by the front door in the corner. Another premonition. One that left phantom pains in his limbs. He did not want to go out that way not now nor ever. Which left him only one option. If they were going to come in the back, he'd have to go out the front.
Heart pounding, he dashed for toward the door. His eyes locked on the rear entrance until his body was fully out the front door.
He made it ten paces.
Taking form out of swirling black ash, two stood before him. The thick grass and wild flowers beneath their feet withered and yellowed, spreading outward until the whole clearing was nothing but dirt and death. One wore a shiny vinyl trench coat over a mesh black tank top, neon blue vinyl pants were tucked into thick combat boots and held up by a chain tied at his waist. Fingerless gloves covered both hands, hiding part of the tattoos that crept over his entire pale skinned body. The brows over his sunken bloodshot eyes were pierced multiple times as were his lips, ears, chin, nose and hollowed cheeks. Gross. However, it was the other one that worried Carrick, for he was far more disturbing. It wasn't his appearance, at first glance he came off as a stock broker with a terminal illness. Lean, pale, clothed in an expensive black suit. Stringy black hair tied at the base of his neck.
"Well well...look what we've found." The one to the left purred while the pierced one on the right pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, texting quickly.
"Leave now and I'll let you live." Carrick stood his ground meeting their sinister stares head on. In one clean motion he drew the short sword his uncle had given him before L.A.
His foes only chuckled. "You're adorable." Taking off his sunglasses Bad Businessman folded them, placing them gently in his breast pocket of his suit. Then he smirked at Carrick with iris-less eyes, black voids that promised unending nothingness. Pale purple spider veined skin wrinkling around his soulless orbs accentuating the deep bags beneath them. "Tell
me child; your name and house."
Pierced Face scoffed. "I say we just kill'em Ciar. Let his bones send a message." Carrick knew that word, the man's name meant literally darkness. How fitting.
"Now now Reilg," Ciar shook his index finger at Reilg, as one would scold a five year old. "Death is always an option, but living have more leverage."
"Bu-"
"We were sent to search a cabin one hundred miles from any living human and we find a young druid and," the fell closed his eyes taking a deep breath, "a nymph. Now, you wish to kill the boy before we know the why's? What would master say?" Turning toward Carrick he sneered. "I will ask you once more child. Name."
"I am Carrick Slaine, son of Brannon." Carrick readied a fighting stance. "The harbinger of your death." It was a bluff, a hardcore one. Still, the one who had been so eager to kill him paled slightly, if such a thing were possible on his already virtually translucent skin. His vile eyes darting to the other one for guidance.
"My my...the heir of the seat." Ciar licked his lips.
"Shall we present him to the master?" Reilg asked excitedly, his voice raising a full octave.
"Yes." Ciar sneered, revealing black gums and missing teeth. "In pieces."
In tandem they lunged at Carrick. Had he not spent countless days in the meadowlands with Erik he would surely be dead in this moment. Instead he countered, shifting his footing he missed their grasp, swinging upward with his blade he severed the pinkie and part of the index finger on Reilg's left hand. His scream was one of surprise as recoiled, clutching his injured limb.
It bought Carrick enough time to focus on Ciar who had drawn a gun from under his jacket and was raising it to fire at him.
Close range he stood no chance. Crap crap crap...
Interlocking his thumbs he did as Erik had taught him, willing the breeze to aid him. The wind knocked Ciar from his feet, throwing him backwards.
To his right he saw black mist swirl, the cloud moving behind him. Reilg materialized, a massive metal tube in his hand aimed at Carrick's head. Diving to the ground the blast missed him by inches, engulfing the cabin his parents had called home in a fiery explosion. Wood and debris rained down from above in a fiery hell storm. As soon as it registered that his shot had missed, Reilg charged him, a vile war cry on his lips. Carrick rooted him, entangling his legs in thick vines that snaked up his torso, wrapping around his neck. It wouldn't hold long. The black blood that poured from the stumps of his severed fingers acted like acid on the vines. Decaying them as they grew.
The third appeared from behind the remains of the cabin, gun in hand just has his precognition had shown. Using all of his will, Carrick pulled a six foot tall wall of earth up between them as the fell unleashed a storm of bullets into the clearing with little regard for his own people. Closing his eyes momentarily he willed more vines to entangle the nameless. Growing weak from so many evocations, Carrick knew he was running out of time. Eying woods he debated making a run for it, perhaps he could lose them among the trees.
Before he could act he was tackled from behind. "Alright playtime is over kiddo." Ciar rolled him over, sitting on his chest. Much to his horror, Carrick found his arms and legs would not respond to his command. He was limp as a rag doll, unable to do anything but watch. He couldn't even blink his eyes. A sinister smile graced the fallen druid's face as he pulled a switch blade from his pocket. "Ever wondered what your heart looks like?"
As the metal came down toward his chest Carrick braced for the pain. This is it.
A sharp howl cut through the air, it was the man who had been atop him. Although no longer. He had been lifted away by something Carrick could not see. Desperately he tried to turn his head but his body would not comply.
Then as quickly as he had been paralyzed, it was over. His body jerked up so quickly it startled even him. Carrick saw the fell being carried through the air by a massive creature, its talons punctured both of his shoulders leaving a stream of black blood on the grass below them that withered all it touched. It dropped Ciar into the un-named one who had just managed to untangle himself from the roots Carrick had sown.
To his right he saw Reilg, a spear sticking out of the center of his chest from behind.
At its mast was Selene, a look of calculated anger on her face as she ripped her weapon free from the fell. As Reilg crumpled before her, she sliced his head from his shoulders. Charging Ciar before the head hit the grassy floor. In a flurry of motion she cut down the two remaining fell in less than a minute. Her form as graceful in combat as it had been in the home.
When it was done she stood up straight, squaring her shoulders, then in a fluid motion slid her long pole arm into a thin leather carrier on her back.
The owl that had attacked Ciar landed beside him, hopping about on the ground. Selene's familiar was odd looking, like someone had cut a tree in half and glued googlily eyes and a beak in the center. Even the feathers on its body were mottled to resemble bark. Still it was impressive, the massive flying tree stump had a wingspan greater than he was tall.
"What are you doing here?" He asked her, not taking his eyes off of the weird bird.
"You're welcome." He knew that tone, she took it as an insult. Carrick threw up his bloody hands in defense.
"No. No, I mean like, how are you here? I must be thousands of miles from Dre'ien."
Selene laughed. "Not quite. Although we will have to take a boat back to Iona." She bent over Reilg's corpse, going through his pockets, taking a wallet from his pants. "Check that one. We have little time."
Carrick made a face at the mutilated corpse, although recently deceased the scent of decay was so strong it seemed as though he'd been dead for weeks. "Why don't they return to earth, like druids, when they die?" Carefully searching Ciar's suit pocket as not to get any of their oily blood on him, Carrick pulled out a wallet and a disposable cell phone with a cracked screen.
"The earth does not want them. Blight is unwelcome in the soil." Rising from the second body, she quickly approached the unnamed one. Quickly extracting her pole arm she slit its throat open wide before bending to examine it.
The body at her fingertips contorted, causing Carrick to jump. He watched in awe as it bubbled and darkened, skin melting into a black liquid running over exposed bone and sinew. The skeleton then crumbled inward until all that was left was a foul smelling oily stain in the grass.
"Nothing will grow here again."
"How long have you been following me?" He asked again.
"Since Erik asked me to watch over you." Looking up to the sky she frowned, sheathing her weapon. "Damned bloody nymphs..." Standing she smoothed out her skirt, brushing a few bits of dead grass off. "We must make haste." With that she headed due east from the clearing, pausing by the edge. "Oh and to answer your inquiry, Noctua carried me here."
Without waiting for him she disappeared into the wood, the screech of the massive bird carrying overhead. He struggled to catch up, cursing under his breath as she bobbed and weaved through the thick trees, her long dark hair flowing behind her reflecting almost blue hues in the sun. Physically and mentally exhausted, it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep moving.
To make matters worse, she lectured him the whole way.
"Never trust a nymph. Never travel with a nymph, didn't they teach you anything? Ask me how many young have followed those silly sprites out onto thin ice and plummeted to their deaths? How many have followed the water lilies only to be taken to tide? You do not covert with them. They place no more value on our lives than they do that of this tree or that blade of grass."
Despite the constant ribbing, he found himself smiling as she prattled on. Of all the times he was pissed off, feeling manipulated, betrayed or controlled, being followed by Selene had actually saved his life. Well, honestly Erik had too. However, this day had brought with it a delightful turn of events. He may indeed have a chance to save his mother's life.
25
The sun had set and they had yet to come ba
ck for her. Whether it was out of procrastination or higher priorities she would never know. During her time on death row she knew she should be recalling her life fondly, making peace with her maker, coming to terms with what lay ahead.
She never was good at following the playbook.
Elizabeth alternated between cheated rage and sleep. The latter due to her deteriorating physical condition. After she gave them their 'intel' they had stopped providing her with food and water. She could understand their cruel logic, why feed something only to kill it? At first in her waking moments she'd been upset with Rick, lamenting if she never would have met him than this wouldn't have happened. Then she blamed Matt, for talking her into sneaking into that damned apartment building. In the end she blamed herself. In looking for the truth an innocent man, her own father, had lost his life. Now she would lose hers. It wasn't Rick’s fault, he'd saved her at the bodega many months ago. It wasn't Matt's fault, she went of her own free will. It was solely, wholly, on her shoulders.
In that midst of that revelation, the door opened. Two large men in dark suits loomed in the poorly lit concrete hallway. Neither she recognized from her abduction nor interrogation, must have been the cleanup squad. One took a step forward, his six foot and a hand full of inches tall body stuffed into a regulation style suit; black coat, black tie, black pants, white shirt and shined shoes. What little light hit his face brought attention to a few scars in his skin, high cheekbones defined in an unnatural way that screamed plastic surgery. His hair, she had initially mistaken as dishwater blond was actually quite pale; just full of gel to keep it slicked back.
"Come with me." His hooded eyes were surprisingly kind, as though on some level he regretted what was about to transpire. Or perhaps he was leering and she misinterpreted it with wishful thinking.