Dark Destiny

by Thomas Grave

  “Oh,” he murmured, but he was no longer scared. A warmth filled him and serenity washed into him, a beautiful peace he had never felt before. A tear slid down his cheek.

  “But—my—my dad. He—”

  “Would you like to say good bye to him?”

  Grayson swallowed. He nodded. “Please.”

  “I can do that for you.”

  Sebastian walked around the bed, no longer blocking Grayson’s father. He would give this family the closure they deserved. Sebastian placed his hand on Grayson’s forearm.

  “D—Dad?” Grayson called, barely opening his eyes. Weakly, he tried to put his hand up.

  His father took his hand. “Grayson, everything is going to be okay. They’re about to take you into surgery. I need you to be brave like you always have been. Can you do that for me? The football team is counting on you,” his father said, holding back tears.

  “The—the car came out of nowhere…” said Grayson, his voice wavering.

  “I know, son. The police told me everything.”

  “It—it wasn’t my—”

  “It doesn’t matter, son. You’re here, alive and that’s all that matters.”

  “I—I want to tell,” he could barely speak.

  “Son, you listen to me. I’m counting on you,” his father whispered, wiping Grayson’s face gently. “You fight, boy. You hear me? You fight. When you were born, the doctor said you wouldn’t live because you were born four months early. But I knew you would. It’s because you’re a fighter. You always have been. You fight now, son. Just like you did then. You fight.”

  “D—Dad,” Grayson whispered to him.

  “No, son. Please, don’t,” his father said, holding back his fear. “Just fight for me. Please, you’re all I have left. Please.”

  “I—I love you.” His eyes went unfocused.

  The loud blaring of an alarm went off somewhere in the room. His father frantically searched for the source and found the heart monitor had flat lined. He quickly shot a wide eyed look to the doctor, who in turn looked down at Grayson with desperation in his eyes.

  “Grayson! GRAYSON!” his father yelled.

  The code team of nurses rushed in with a crash cart.

  “Push one of Epi. Hold CPR,” said the doctor as they surrounded Grayson’s bed, ready to do all they could to keep him in their world. They faded away.

  Sebastian snapped his fingers as a Purgatorium ripple flooded the room, bringing back the haunted world he was getting accustomed to. Grayson’s body was shaking, his mouth trembling.

  He stepped closer to Grayson. “Don’t worry man. I got your back.”

  He placed his hand on Grayson’s shoulder and, as before, the fear melted away. Grayson nodded, giving his complete trust to Sebastian.

  Grayson’s eyes glazed over, clearly unable to focus. This was good. Sebastian didn’t want him to see the horrors that Purgatorium brought. Shadows moved unnaturally along the walls. One paused and a pair of yellow eyes opened up, shimmering out of its shadow. It growled, displaying some jagged teeth in Sebastian’s direction.

  Another hiss came.

  In return, Sebastian gave them a dark stare that sent them cowering back into the recesses of Purgatorium.

  Grayson didn’t deserve to see that.

  Sebastian was beginning to feel comfortable with his new role and with his powers to understand them better. He kept one hand on Grayson’s shoulder and put his other hand toward the ceiling. He retracted all of his fingers except his index finger, resembling a gun. In response, the place he was pointing to shot a tunnel of light. The light ignited the once invisible mist which surrounded the hospital bed.

  He stepped back and watched Grayson leave.

  Tuesday, 11:18 pm

  As he walked out of the hospital lobby and into the parking lot, life teemed around him. The world of the living was a very different place from that of the dead. Around the corner, some people were having a conversation about a successful surgery. Insects buzzed and clicked in the bushes. He paused when something occurred to him. Something was different. Things were brighter, sharper. Not only that, he could hear every word in amazing detail. And they were whispering.

  Also, he felt different, like he was finally waking up for the first time in his life. Stronger. Physically refreshed. Down the block of the hospital, he smelled freshly planted roses. Ten miles down the road, a dog barking. No detail escaped him.

  Energy flowed through him. Instead of the fatigue he should have been feeling, every part of his body felt alive.

  “I feel different. Better. Like I could do anything.”

  This is what happens when you assist a Soul into the Light. This is the source of your power. Every time you help a Soul, you will become more powerful.

  “It refreshes me every time?”

  All the way up to full power.

  “Nice.”

  But still, he couldn’t escape the feeling of dread that hung over him. Grayson had been a good person and at the funeral had been there for him when Sebastian needed him. Grayson had the courage to do and say things that Sebastian could not. True, Grayson was in a good place, but that didn’t make up for the fact that this was Sebastian’s fault.

  Sebastian looked up to the star filled sky, cold mist exhaling from his mouth. “Did you know that by bringing Sara back, I would sentence another person to die?”

  Yes, the Elder replied.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Would it have made a difference? Would you have brought her back if you’d understood someone else would die in her place?

  After a few moments’ hesitation, Sebastian replied, “No, not at the cost of somebody’s life. I really thought I had figured out that pact thing.”

  Doubt is a powerful thing, Sebastian. It would have always lingered. You would have wondered ‘what if?’ What if I was wrong? What if I was lying to you? With me, there can be no doubt. I have no reason to lie to you. I never will. You needed to learn this lesson.

  Sebastian remained silent, looking down at the snow covered asphalt.

  The only way to truly learn something is to go through the motions and either succeed or fail. All actions have consequences, either positive or negative. You have just learned this tonight.

  “Harsh lesson,” Sebastian said in an undertone.

  But a necessary one. Here is another one for you: A wise person once said, ‘Accept the things you cannot change. And have the courage to change the things you can.’

  Tucking his hands in his jacket pockets, the words reverberated in the back of Sebastian’s mind.

  You have been granted this power and you have a responsibility to help those who deserve to pass over to the Light. They need you, Sebastian. What you just did for your friend, Grayson, was something special. He is finally at peace. That is because of you. And if you had not been there to help, he might not have made it.

  “What do you mean?”

  Not everybody gets into the Light. But many Souls still like to try. Though each tunnel of light is created only for its intended person, many Souls are unaware of this and often try to get in. Such as the ones that have gone off the rails. Most times, the person who is going into the Light is robbed of that chance. This is where you step in. To protect the Souls who deserve a chance in the next life.

  “The Souls that have gone off the rails? Like those Stalker things that were in the room.”

  Exactly. Those are some. You saw them in the hospital tonight. But there are others more dangerous who would also try to prevent those Souls from leaving.

  He nodded. “Looks like I have work to do.”

  Indeed.

  A chill spiked the back of his neck and a cold liquid slithered through him. The hairs on his arms stood tall. A harsh wind blew, messing his hair and causing him to wrap his arms around his body. An area of shadows seemed to call out to him, a warning.

  Sebastian glared in that direction, his eyes glistening in the night sky. He balled
his fist, ready to call his scythe. Before he could make any decision, a streetlight nearby flickered on, flooding the shadowy area with brightness. Nothing there. Only a dull, cold cement walkway with the hospital wall behind it. The light extinguished a second later, casting a blanket of darkness over the area once again.

  Relief swept through him.

  After everything that had happened today, he understood he was just a little jumpy. He blinked home.

  A pair of violet-colored eyes opened up from the shadows. The streetlamp flickered on, shining down on Amber. Her arms were crossed, one leg bent with her foot flat against the hospital wall. Dressed as always in her usual black, she wore a deadly grin as her eyes focused on the spot Sebastian had just been.

  He was gone, but the warmth of his living body still lingered. Amber grimaced and gazed up at the winter sky, so dark, so vast. She felt the sky’s coldness descend, wiping out the last remnants of the presence of Sebastian’s warm body. Nothing left. Just barren coldness.

  The light flickered again. This time, when it came back on, Cleo stood next to her.

  “So far, my lady, everything is going according to plan,” Amber said.

  “Very good,” Cleo replied. “Very good, indeed. Soon, our plan will be completed and this world will finally get exactly what it deserves.”

  The street light flicked on and off once again. This time, when the light returned to illuminate the area, Amber and Cleo were gone. The sky above, star-filled only a few moments ago, hung black and barren over the fleeting, vulnerable world below.

  II

  Purgatorium

  Great Britain: 1514 AD

  Cole’s heart pounded hard and rapidly. His eyes were opened wide, the whites standing out, his lips pulled back in a grimace as he sucked in air in great gulps. The thin leather soles of his boots slapped puddles of water as he raced through the muddy streets of Elton, splattering himself with the brownish liquid. He fled past crumbling limestone and rotted wooden buildings, some with collapsed roofs. This section of the town was quiet except for the falling rain and his wet footfalls. He took in a deep breath and pushed harder as he could see lights ahead through the misty rain. He shot furtive glances behind him as he ran, eyes straining to see movement through the falling water, his face shiny with rain and sweat. He could now see the three dark shapes, much closer than they’d been before.

  Cole ran even harder, breath straining as mud splattered his sodden linen shirt. He ran through various options in his mind on how he was going to get himself out of this one. Quickly turning left around a corner of a still functioning building, he accidentally splashed mud on a local blacksmith he shot passed.

  “Hey, watch it!” the blacksmith bellowed as he wiped muck from his brow.

  Cole slid, almost falling off his feet before finally catching himself. He couldn’t stop. If he did, he was dead. And not the swift, merciful kind of dead.

  Since this was most likely the poorer section of town, many of the torches weren’t lit, leaving large areas with pools of darkness. In back of a small butcher shop about half a mile down the road was one of these spots. If he could reach the shadowed building he could go around behind the shop to where a rubbish heap most likely lay. The stench would be horrendous, but if he could hide under it he would be safe.

  Gasping with breath, he tried to leap over an overflowing trough, but smashed into it instead flipping completely over it. He landed hard on his back, Pain shooting up his spine.

  “Ouch,” Cole muttered.

  A wide-eyed, chestnut brown mare stared down at him and snorted. She continued to chew her damp hay.

  “What?” Cole asked the horse as he sat up gingerly.

  Behind him, heavy footsteps splashed, growing louder with each step. His pursuers made no attempts at being quiet.

  Three roughshod men ran past the blacksmith’s shop and spotted him sitting by the trough.

  “Get him!” the largest of the three men yelled. His wine barrel belly jiggled fiercely from the hard run. The buttons on his shirt seemed to fight a never-ending battle to keep from popping off. Strapped to the outside of his brown leather boot was a large knife. Cole heard the others call him Gavin.

  Cole struggled to his feet and stumbled into a painful run. The three men still followed, now no less than twenty feet behind him.

  Anxiety filled his belly, leaden with panic as he struggled for breath. Pain shot through his back. He stumbled again, looking up to see he had mistakenly run into a more populated area of town. Cocking his head, he managed a small smile. This might actually work out to his advantage. At least he hoped so.

  In the town center, a dark-haired gypsy woman danced and sang on a wooden platform to the melody of a young male viola player while a dense crowd of bystanders looked on. Some of the townsfolk clapped along politely.

  Others, mostly men, drank and shouted lewd comments. A few threw coins to the performers. A small group of gypsy men held torches to give light to the area. The woman, her dark brown eyes flashing with excitement, spun around, her unbound hair flaring like a dark halo. With a flick of her wrist toward the audience, her colorful dress twirled just enough to show her shapely legs.

  Many of the men stared with open lust, the older townswomen tut-tutting in disdain, while the younger women gawked in admiration and jealousy.

  Every eye was on her as she sauntered her hips, her back arched just enough to display her ample bosom, and her movements timed to the highs and lows of the viola player’s tune. Cole slowed down as he approached the crowd, ducking down as he slipped through the press of warm, sweaty bodies to use as a cover. Once he felt he was clear of the thugs’ line of site, he stood tall, shook off his brown cloak and placed it on the shoulders of an old man who reeked of ale. The old man’s rheumy eyes were focused on the fluid movements of the beautiful gypsy dancer.

  “For you!” Cole exclaimed.

  “Yay!” the intoxicated man slurred. The drunk bobbed his head a couple of times as he swayed in place. His eyes never wavered from the gypsy’s body. Cole hurried away, ducking back into the crowd.

  At the edge of the masses, a local clothing merchant stood by his stall engaged in trying to convince a potential customer to buy a large heavy cloak.

  With deft fingers, Cole snatched a periwinkle blue shirt off the merchant’s cart and made off with it undetected. He ripped off his green shirt, tossed it onto the ground and quickly donned the new shirt without stopping.

  Cole felt bad about stealing. It was not his style. Once he got himself out of this situation, he would return and pay for it. That was a promise.

  He looked back into the crowd and spotted the giant, Gavin, who stood one and a half feet taller than the people around him. The brute had grabbed the drunk wearing Cole’s cloak and was shaking him. Realizing it wasn’t Cole, Gavin spit on the ground as he pushed the poor man off his feet and into a mud puddle.

  Cole had bought himself a few minutes. Barely. If he could just make his way through to the other side of the crowd he would be home free.

  He bobbed and weaved through the masses of people, trying to keep his bearings. A large, sweaty, wine soaked drunk laughed as he snagged Cole in a far too affectionate embrace.

  He looked up into huge hairy nostrils and was assaulted by the smell of wet dog. Cole didn’t struggle as that might cause undue attention. Staying alive at this point was more important than a sweaty dog-loving man hugging him.

  Off in the distance were loud, excited cheers. The big sweaty man spun him around a couple of times and finally released him.

  Cole rushed away, determined not to be caught up again, but he’d lost track of the direction he was traveling. Still, he pushed on. He thought he was almost at the edge of the crowd and squeezed himself past a final group of villagers into a clearing.

  His eyes shot open wider. “Oh, bloody brilliant, Cole!”

  The reflection of the large bonfire shone its bright, bouncing glare on his face. He was completely exposed in th
e very center of the street. Not good. The panic bubbled inside him. No time to get sloppy. If they see me, I’m dead!

  He brought his arms up to cover his face but bumped hard into a young man’s arm. The young man had been carrying a wooden mug filled with a thick drink of some sort, likely stout, and it spilled all over the young man’s shirt. Cole didn’t have time to deal with another potential enemy. He took off.

  Sebastian wheeled around, looking first on the ground at the remains of his drink, the mug top-down in a puddle, and then at his expensive, red woolen shirt. Idiot!

  This was one of his favorite shirts! Elizabeth of York had offered it to him while begging for her life. When Sebastian had told her no, she gave him the finger. He’d kept both.

  Now the finger bones rattled in a leather pouch around his neck as a trophy. He frowned. This was going to smell, and stain.

  To make matters worse, the human didn’t even apologize. Rudeness was a human quality Sebastian simply could not tolerate.

  A moment later, a rather large human rushed past him, along with two smaller ones; probably minions. They seemed to follow the idiot who’d jostled him and spilled his drink.

  Sebastian’s eyes trailed after them.

  Before flipping over the horse trough, Cole had been running at top speed for almost a quarter of an hour. He was exhausted, winded, close to panic. And now with pain spiking in his shins and a deep ache in his back, he knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer.

  “OVER THERE!” Gavin yelled out with his surprisingly squeaky voice.

  Cole turned into an alley. Right into a dead end.

  Cursing, he stopped in front of the cracked stone wall and hung his head.

  Behind him, the men approached.

  “Finally got you,” the balding, skinnier of the three cronies croaked.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to—” Cole started.

  “Forget to invite me to the celebration?” a voice said from behind them all.