by Tim O'Rourke
“Unmask him!” someone roared from the crowd.
“Show us the traitor’s face!” another yelled.
“Unmask him! Unmask him! Unmask him!” the crowd wailed as one.
The guy with the speaker teased the audience by shouting, “What was that? I can’t hear you!”
“UNMASK HIM! UNMASK HIM! UNMASK HIM!” they now screamed.
Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, the guy with the speaker stepped forward and whipped off the prisoner’s hood.
I looked in shock at my brother’s emaciated face. Jack Seth looked defiantly at the crowd.
“KILL HIM!” the crowd cried.
Then, from somewhere deep in the audience pressed into the town square, what looked like a big red tomato was hurled at Jack. It splattered into his chest, and ran in a thick, red stream down the front of his denim shirt. Once one item had been thrown, more followed. Jack’s face and body became covered in red... red... oh, my God... the crowd was throwing human body parts at him! I looked to my right and watched in horror as the Skin-walker standing next to me produced a severed human hand from a carrier bag he was holding. He hurled it at the stage. I watched it fly through the air like a giant flesh coloured spider with five legs. The hand slapped against Jack’s face, leaving a bloody red handprint behind.
“Hey, you haven’t brought anything to throw?” the Skin-walker with the carrier bag said.
I looked at him, desperate to hide my revulsion, so as not to give myself away.
“I’ve got plenty of stuff in here if you want something to throw,” he smiled, waving the bag in front of my face. “I’ve got fingers and toes. There are two hearts in here someplace, and some brain. Brain is always good at these events – it sticks so well!”
“No thanks,” I said, turning away, fighting the urge to puke my guts up.
“Suit yourself,” the Skin-walker said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a human eyeball. He then tossed it at the stage towards my brother.
Jack stood defiantly. Even though his entire face and body dripped red with blood, guts, and body tissue, he stood with his back straight, face turned towards the crowd. A severed foot shot overhead and smashed into the side of his face. His head rocked momentarily to the left.
“Now that was really a kick in the head!” the guy with the speaker yelled.
The crowd roared with laughter. When they had run out of human remains to hurl at Jack, the executioner shoved him back across the stage towards the guillotine.
“Off with his head!” a Skin-walker screeched from behind me.
With his hands manacled behind his back, Jack could offer no resistance. The executioner made a swiping kick at Jack’s long legs. They buckled beneath him. He sprawled onto the stage, and the executioner forced Jack’s head beneath the guillotine.
Why were they doing this to him? Jack was one of them. I edged myself closer to the stage. I had to save him, but how? I was one against five hundred or more. Still I started to push myself closer to the stage. But there were just too many people. I pushed harder, desperate now to save Jack’s life. But I just couldn’t reach him. The stage didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.
“Take off his head!” another of the Skin-walkers whooped.
They then began to chant over and over. I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd. I reached the stage as Jack suddenly looked up. Our eyes met. His were bright and spinning.
“I love you, sister,” he whispered.
There was a sound of metal slicing against wood as the blade dropped at speed. Throwing my hands to my face, I watched Jack’s head drop into the bucket before him.
Chapter Thirteen
Potter
“Wake up!” a gruff sounding voice bellowed in my ear.
I opened my eyes to find Murphy peering at me through a haze of blue pipe smoke. It smelt pungent, making my eyes water.
“I’m glad to see the little chat we had last night worked,” he grunted.
“What are you talking about?” I groaned, swinging my legs over the side of the sofa and planting my feet on the floor.
“I can see you’ve been lying there all night, crying your eyes out,” he said, shoving a mug of strong black coffee into my hands.
“I’m not crying,” I said. “It’s that fucking thing you have constantly dangling from the corner of your mouth. The smoke is making my eyes water.”
“Bollocks,” Murphy said, turning away and heading back towards the kitchenette. “You’re nothing but a big girl’s blouse.”
“Look, I’m really not in the mood for your theatrics this morning,” I sighed, squinting at him through the trail of pipe smoke he had left behind. “I went and saw Kiera last night.”
“It didn’t go well, then,” Murphy said, pouring himself a mug of coffee.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“You’re sleeping on the couch, aren’t ya?” he said with a grin.
“I’m glad that the fact my life is in fucking ruins amuses you,” I said, looking down at the mug of coffee and taking a sip. My throat still felt sore. I looked at my trembling hands as they gripped the mug of coffee. The cracks were back, like faint, watery veins beneath the skin, but they were there.
Slowly, Murphy came back towards me, and leaning against the wall by the door, he said, “Okay, I’m sorry, Potter. What really happened?”
“Not a lot really,” I said with a shrug. The room felt cold. My coat was on the floor so I put it on, covering my bare chest and arms. Then reaching into the pocket, I pulled the last bottle of Lot-13 out. “I think I’ve truly blown it this time.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Murphy tried to say in his own unique way to comfort me. “Look at it like this, Kiera is still here, isn’t she? She hasn’t split on you.”
“She’s only tagging along in the hopes we will find Kayla and Sam,” I said, unscrewing the bottle cap. “Once we’ve reached the Dead Waters, I think she’ll be gone.”
“We’ll see,” Murphy said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could talk to her for you?”
“No thanks,” I said, tilting my head back and taking a gulp of the red stuff. It tasted bitter and I grimaced. I handed the bottle to Murphy.
“Why don’t you want me to talk to her for you?” Murphy asked.
“Because somewhere deep inside of me, I hope there is a chance, however remote, that we might get back together. I don’t want you fucking things up for me,” I said, pulling back the curtain, peering out of the caravan window.
“Thanks,” Murphy grunted, then drank from the bottle.
“Save some for Kiera,” I reminded him.
Murphy took the bottle from his lips, and replaced the cap. A third of the gloopy-looking stuff sloshed around the bottom of the bottle. I took it from him and placed it back into my pocket. “So what’s the plan, Sarge?”
“We head for the Dead Waters,” Murphy explained. “If the snow holds off, we could make it by nightfall. Some of those mountain passes are going to be treacherous, so our progress is going to be slow in places.”
“Couldn’t we just fly?” I asked.
“You know it’s too risky,” he said. “We’re all slowly cracking up. Flying could be dangerous.”
“Any more dangerous than navigating those roads in the snow?” I said, looking back out of the window at the snow-covered world beyond it.
“It’s not just the cracks that bother me,” Murphy said, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe.
“What then?” I quizzed, taking a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. A thick fog of smoke settled over the room like a low-flying cloud.
“The statues,” he said, looking at me through the smog. “I think they’re following us. I think they always have been, ever since we got pushed here.”
“Even more reason to up, up, and away then,” I said.
“No,” Murphy grumbled. “I think, like us, they are trying to get to the Dead Waters. I think that’s why they are following us.”
/> “What are they?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ve taken a good, close-up look once or twice, and although they are as solid as a pervert’s hard-on, I think there is a living soul inside.”
“Kiera thought she saw one of them move,” I told him, taking down a throat full of smoke.
“Where?” Murphy asked, sounding startled.
“Back at Hallowed Manor,” I explained.
“What did this statue look like?”
“A statue,” I shrugged.
“I know it looked like a fucking statue!” Murphy barked. “What kind of statue? Male? Female? Vampyrus...?”
“A girl,” I said.
“A girl?” Murphy said, fixing me with a hard stare. But it was like he was looking through me rather than at me.
“Kayla said she was chased by one on the grounds of Ravenwood School,” I continued.
“Another girl?” Murphy pushed.
“No, a boy, I think,” I told him.
Murphy looked slightly disappointed on hearing this. It was like he had a secret theory about the statues, and by me telling him that one of them had been a boy, it had shattered his beliefs somehow.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“We don’t fly,” he said, looking at me. “We drive and take it slow. If my hunch is right, then we don’t want to leave any of the statues behind.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer. Murphy pulled open the caravan door and headed outside. I followed him to the doorway then stopped. Way off in the distance, I could see Kiera heading out across the field which stretched away at the back of the campsite. Her head was bowed low against the wind, her hands thrust into her coat pockets. I knew at once she was looking for an animal – she was going in search of some of the red stuff. As I stood and watched her, I had a sudden idea. I would have to be quick. Working fast, like a blaze of shadows, I put my plan into action.
Chapter Fourteen
Kiera
I had been up early. I had hardly slept at all. What little snippets of sleep I had managed to find, had been haunted by Potter. So I gave up with the idea of sleeping and had got up at first light. I had taken the opportunity of having another shower, and once dressed, had left my caravan. Just like it had been for days, there was a chill wind, but it had stopped snowing at last. With my hair blowing about my face, and my hands thrust into my coat pockets, I headed towards a small, wooded area which circled the land at the far corner of the campsite. The skin covering the backs of my hands, arms, shoulders, and back had started to crack again. My flesh felt taut and brittle. I knew that if I didn’t get hold of some red stuff, and soon, it would only be an hour or two before I completely turned to stone. I knew there was only one bottle of Lot-13 left in Potter’s pocket. I wouldn’t go to him for it. Not because I was stubborn or didn’t want his help, but why should I have it? Wasn’t his need as great as mine?
As I had lain curled beneath my wings during the night, I had decided that I would no longer fight with Potter. I wanted the little time we had together to be happy – not fraught with bad feelings and tension. We wouldn’t be lovers again, but we could be friends. So I wouldn’t put upon him, I would find some of the red stuff for myself. Reaching the treeline, I knew I could easily find a squirrel, muntjac, or rat to feed on. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than feeding on a human. I would never do that.
“Are you looking for some of this?” I heard a voice say.
I turned around to find Potter standing amongst the trees. He was holding up a bottle of Lot-13. I could see that it was a third full.
“It’s all we have left, but I saved the last for you,” he said.
Although I felt the sudden urge to run to him, snatch it from his hands, and swallow down the last of the thick, sticky liquid, I stopped myself and said, “It’s okay, I can find some of the red stuff for myself. You have it – you need it as much as I do.”
“Suit yourself,” Potter said, unscrewing the cap.
I watched him lift the bottle to his mouth and drink the last of it. He tossed the empty bottle into the undergrowth as he stood in a shaft of white sunlight which cut through the branches high above. The tails of his long black coat flapped about his legs. The coat was open down the front, revealing his naked upper body. I looked away.
There must be some kind of woodland animal nearby. I tried to focus, set my senses straight, but with Potter standing only feet away, I just couldn’t concentrate.
“Did you listen to the song?” he asked, taking a step closer to me.
“Yes,” I whispered, continuing with the pretence that I was looking for food. “It was nice.”
“Just nice?” he asked, edging his way closer, the sound of his feet crunching over broken twigs seemed almost deafening.
“It was nice,” I said again. What did he want me to say? Did he want me to tell him I’d spent the night crying my eyes out at the thought of him being in the arms of Sophie? Is that what he wanted to hear? Did he want me to tell him how the words of that song had broken my heart? I couldn’t tell him that.
“So is it over between us?” Potter asked, his voice suddenly so close I could feel his warm breath against my cheek.
I shuddered. “It has to be,” I whispered.
“It can’t be over,” he said, so close now that I could feel him brushing against my back.
“Why not?” I breathed, scared of turning to face him.
“We never had that date we always dreamt about,” he whispered into my ear.
“It’s too late for that now,” I said softly.
“Come with me,” he said, taking my hand gently in his and guiding me deeper into the woods.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, letting him lead me away.
Without saying a word, Potter led me into a small, open area surrounded by tall pine trees. I couldn’t help but gasp with delight. In the middle was a tree stump. On this, there was a glass, which had been filled with a fistful of wild woodland flowers. I could see beautiful white snowdrops, star-shaped flowers coloured blue and mauve, and bunches of sweet violet. There was one more glass and this was filled with a deep red liquid which looked like wine. A blanket had been laid over the snow before the tree stump.
“It’s not much, I know,” Potter said, leading me into the secluded patch. “But it’s the closest I could get to a date in the middle of nowhere and at such short notice.”
“It’s wonderful,” I murmured as he guided me down onto the blanket. “Where did you get all of this from?”
“The glasses I took from the kitchen in the caravan, the flowers I found nearby.”
“And the red stuff?” I asked, looking at the glass of blood.
“That came from me,” he said, covering a small open wound on his wrist with the sleeve of his coat.
My stomach summersaulted at seeing the glass of blood within my reach. My throat burnt and went dry.
“A date isn’t a proper date without some music,” he said, holding out his hand.”
I took the iPod from my pocket and handed it to him. He pressed the screen with his thumb as he downloaded tracks. I looked at the glass of his blood again, my stomach cramping. Potter placed the iPod on the tree stump next to the glass of flowers. The song When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars filled the small enclosure. Potter could see me staring at the glass of his blood.
“I can’t drink it,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the glass.
“Why not?” he asked softly.
“Because I can’t have you,” I said, turning to look at him. “You’re not mine to take.”
“I am,” he said over the soft sound of the music.
“You belong to Sophie,” I whispered. “The Elders showed me.”
“What do you mean?” Potter said, startled.
I looked at him and said, “They showed me a statue of you and a woman. You both looked really happy together. You looked in love. But that woman wasn’t me, P
otter. It was Sophie. The Elders said it is her you will be with.”
“And you really believe a single word those twisted fucks say?” he asked me.
“Why not?” I said, taking my eyes from the glass and looking at him.
“Because they are fucking with us,” Potter said. “Can’t you see that? This whole pushed world – the fact they’ve brought us back – is to punish you for not making that decision. They know how much you care for your friends; that’s why we’ve all been brought back too – so you can see us suffer. But more than that, they know how you feel about me. What better way to hurt you than tell you it’s Sophie I’m going to end up with?”
“But what if they are telling the truth?” I said, not wanting to have false hope for fear of being hurt.
“They’re lying,” Potter insisted.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked him.
“Because I know how much I love you, Kiera,” he said, taking my hands in his. “I love you so much. More than I have ever loved anyone. How many ways have I got to tell you that?”
“But what if we love each other only to find out that the Elders are right?” I said, looking into his jet-black eyes. “I don’t think I could bear losing you all over again.”
“It’s my choice who I want to spend the rest of my life with,” Potter said. “And I chose to spend it with you, Kiera, not Sophie. It’s you I want. It’s you I’ve always wanted.”
“But you don’t understand,” I said, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. “I won’t be coming back with you, Potter. I have to stay here.”
“Then, I’ll stay with you,” he said, gripping my hands tighter in his, as the music continued to sweep all about us.
“If you stay, then I think you’ll die,” I whispered through my flowing tears. “You’ll die just like me.”
“If I can’t be with you, Kiera, I would rather be dead,” he said, pulling me close. “My life has no meaning without you in it. I’m not going back without you, and that’s a promise. We live together or not at all.” Slowly, Potter gently placed his lips over mine and kissed me. I kissed him back.