Chapter 6
Bernard Winter entered the room, with two armed men at his side. As soon as he did, his eyes found Damion. The two men stared at one another, their gazes never wavering and Jane wondered how often they had looked at each other this way as Damion was growing up and then she wondered how it was possible that Damion became who he is, despite having the father that he did. She couldn’t speak much to parental influence as she had never known her parents which meant that they had more impact on her in death than they ever did in life. Then a thought occurred to her. It wasn’t untrue or even unkind to say that Damion shared certain qualities with his father. Both had a certain amount of ego and arrogance and neither seemed keen on emotional displays. But the core of them was different. Beneath his cold exterior, Damion was kind and warm and he cared for others. Bernard Winter on all accounts was none of those things and was instead a manipulative man with a penchant for cruelty when it suited him. So in a way, Damion wasn’t a reflection of his father, but a reaction to him. Growing up with a man like Bernard Winter had possibly shown Damion everything that he didn’t want to be.
“Are you ready?” said Bernard Winter.
“To come home?”
“Yes. To come home.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Long enough, wouldn’t you say?”
“Why now?” said Damion. “What changed your mind?”
“Oh Damion,” said Bernard Winter as if he were talking to a child. “I would think that you would know your father better by now. I was always going to let you come home. But first you needed to learn your lesson.”
Jane saw Damion grimace. “Five years is quite a long lesson.”
“The length of any punishment should be matched to the transgression that inspired it. Five years may have been long, but it was what you needed.” The man couldn’t be anymore condescending and paternal if he tried, thought Jane.
“Ah, so it’s a punishment now. Not a lesson.”
“It was both,” said Bernard Winter, his voice flat and authoritative.
Damion closed his eyes and bowed his head. Jane appreciated these extra flourishes. He was trying to make his father believe that he had been defeated. The only question was whether his father knew Damion as little as he accused Damion of knowing him. Otherwise, if he knew his son, he would know that Damion would never admit defeat to anyone.
“I’ll go with you” he said.
“Good.”
“When do we leave?”
“Now. You can say your goodbyes to the girl and then we’ll go. Make it quick.”
Damion turned to Jane. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“I suppose so” she said.
“We had a good run, didn’t we?”
She smiled at him. “The very best.”
“Goodbye Jane” he said.
“Goodbye Damion.” As soon as the words left her throat, she tried not to cry. Even though they were pretending, she knew that depending on what happened next, these might really be the last words they ever spoke to one another.
Damion turned to face his father. “I’m ready” he said. His father motioned to his men, both of whom began to move towards the door. Bernard came over to Damion and put an arm around his shoulder, drawing him close.
“I know you’re still angry with me. Not just about these last five years. But about her” he said, talking as if she wasn’t even there. “But you’ll meet other girls. Ones more suited to you.” Damion looked at his father then, his eyes clear and unwavering.
“There are none better than her. And you’re right. I’m still angry” with that, he twisted his father’s arm behind his back while he reached down in one smooth motion to pull out the small blade that he kept hidden in his boot. He brought it to his father’s neck, pulling him close against his body. The two men turned around, their guns raised.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Bernard Winter, all sense of superiority or control having vanished from his voice.
“Oh that’s rather simple father. I’m holding you hostage so me and Jane can escape.”
“Are you fucking mad boy? You’d kill your own father just so you and that harlot can ride away to live small, meaningless lives?”
“Yes, I would,” Damion whispered in his ear. “And insult her again and I won’t bother with an escape. I’ll just kill you right here and now. By the way, you might want to put your guns down” he said, talking to the two men. Both of them looked at one another.
“Don’t you fucking dare put your weapons down,” spat Bernard Winter.
“I wouldn’t listen to him if I were you” said Damion. “I grew up with this man and I know when he gets in a rage, he doesn’t always think clearly. He’s saying don’t put your guns down, but at the same time, I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t want to die.” Damion pressed his blade into his father’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood. The two men set their guns down on the floor and backed up. Jane went over and picked one up while using her foot to slide the other across the floor to the far side of the room. She pointed her newly acquired hardware at the two guards.
“Get out of our way,” she said. They complied, moving out of the entrance to the cell and into the hallway beyond. Damion went first, with his father still held in his grip and she went second, her gun raised. Exiting their cell, they found themselves in a long hallway which stretched far in all directions. Damion turned to the two men who were standing several feet away, both looking unsure of what to do next.
“Where’s the nearest exit?” said Damion. There was a moment of hesitation between the two men, perhaps as they felt like they had already assisted in their escape too much and were loathe to do anymore. Jane decided to push them in the right direction. She aimed her gun at the one on the right.
“Five seconds to tell us or I’m taking your arm off at the shoulder” she said.
“Alright fine,” one of them said. “There’s an elevator just down that hallway. It will take you to the ground floor.” They moved quickly, leaving the two men behind to no doubt pull the alarm. Sure enough, within minutes, they could hear distant throngs of shouting.
“You really think you’re going to get away, do you?” said Bernard, still being pulled along by Damion’s iron clad grip.
“Yes we do,” Damion said, right as they reached the elevator. Jane punched the call button and the doors slid open. They stepped inside the elevator and Jane pressed the button for the ground floor. There was a flash as their atoms dispersed and their physical beings were undone like threads being unspooled, only to be pulled back together again within a second’s time at the bottom of the elevator, the doors sliding open and revealing the streets of Cordovia.
“Well here you are,” said Bernard Winter. “But it doesn’t matter. You think we won’t find you in the end, no matter where you go? And when we do, it will be no different than if you had agreed to my offer in the first place. Except for one thing of course. You’ll still be going home, but this poor girl who you’ve roped into this mess will die and you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life.”
There was a look of rage that burned in Damion’s eyes as he pulled his father close and pressed the knife against his neck. For a moment, Jane thought he might kill him. That thought passed as soon as Damion threw his father back into the elevator shaft and reached inside to press the button. The doors closed and all at once, Bernard Winter disappeared, his matter being transported back to the top of the building they had just left. Damion turned and took her hand in his.
“Run,” he said.
Chapter 7
It was night on Cordovia as they ran through its streets. Overhead, two of the planet’s three moons shone down on them.
As they ran, Jane noticed she was actually able to keep pace with Damion. It hadn’t been that way back on Vrune when they were being chased by the Umbra. Back then, she had barely been able to keep breath in her body. But Savannah Tallbright had been training her. Not onl
y in how to use weapons, but also by putting her through a basic exercise course. It seemed to be paying off.
“Where are we going?” she said.
“Back to the ship,” said Damion.
“Do you know where that is?”
Damion slowed down a bit. “I was hoping you did.”
“I do and I also know we’ll probably be caught before we get there.” We’re better off hiding until they’ve passed this area, then we can double back to the ship in the morning.”
“That sounds great, but where are we going to hide?”
“I have a……friend. She can hide us.” Quinn, Jane thought. A girl she had met on these same streets almost a lifetime ago and not so much a friend, but an associate. Despite that, Jane knew she would hide them.
“Is she close by?”
“Yes,” said Jane, pulling him to the right and into a nearby alleyway. They ran for several minutes more, crossing from alley, into street and back into alley again. At last they came to a small wooden door embedded in an alley wall, a tiny light on top of it which illuminated its wear. Jane knocked on the front of it while Damion stood behind her. There were several long passing moments that succeeded Jane’s knock and for a second, she thought Quinn might not live here anymore. Then the door opened and a pair of blue eyes stared at her through the dark. Jane breathed a sigh of relief.
“Quinn, it’s me,” she said.
“I don’t know any ‘me’,” Came a sharp, cautious voice.
“It’s Jane,” she said. She should have figured that Quinn would be difficult. It was in her nature.
“I’m afraid I don’t know her either.” Goddammit Quinn.
“I saved you from Mr. Ogolapolis. Does that ring any bells?”
Mr. Ogolapolis was a street merchant with a penchant for maiming anyone who tried to steal from him. People had lost fingers, hands and in the case of one poor soul, his life. Quinn was more or less a street urchin at the time who made her way through the world by stealing anything she could get her hands on. One day, Jane had been walking through the streets after having escaped the Sisters and the orphanage by climbing out her bedroom window. It was Mr. Ogolapolis she had seen first. His large frame shaking with rage as he screamed and in front of him was the object of his rage, a poor hapless Quinn.
Jane had heard the stories about Mr. Ogolapolis by then and she knew what Quinn might be in for. She had approached as quietly as she could and picked up a nearby stone, hefting it in her hand. That’s when Quinn had seen her. Their eyes met for a brief moment and then Jane had thrown the stone. It caught Mr. Ogolapolis in the back of his head and sent him stumbling a few steps, which was all the opening that Quinn needed to get off the ground and run. Without thinking, Jane ran in the same direction as the girl she had helped. Several minutes later they were breathing heavy in an alley and Quinn had turned to her. Whatever you need and whenever you need it, I’ll be there. Quinn had told her where she lived then and reiterated her promise. Jane had never forgotten and now here she was, praying that Quinn would remember those words spoken years ago.
“Jane,” said Quinn opening the door. She was tall, athletic and blue, with small slanted ears on the top of her head. Her curves were obvious in the short pants and black tank top that she had on. Jane had always thought that if she were attracted to girls, she would have been head over heels for Quinn. At this thought, she took a quick glance back at Damion whose face was impassive as it always was.
“Can we come in?” Jane said.
Without a word, she opened the door and let them inside. It was dark except for the small fire in the middle of the room. It was a falsafire, a device that imitated the look, feel and warmth of a fire, but without the actual burning, smoke and ash that went along with the real deal. As for everything else in the room, it looked clean enough if a bit barren.
“Come take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the fire in the middle of the room. Jane sat down, followed by Damion and then Quinn. Jane felt the warmth from the fire against her face and for the first time since the Museum, a sense of calm settled over her.
“I haven’t seen you in quite a while. I used to see you out walking with those scary looking women dressed all in black. Not lately though,” said Quinn.
“No, you haven’t. I ran away from the orphanage.”
“Well, good for you. So, I guess that begs another question. Why are you here?” Her tone was not unfriendly, but Jane could tell that she wasn’t thrilled that she had to live up to a promise made in an alley to a girl she didn’t know that well.
“We’re being chased.” As a thief, Jane thought Quinn might be able to relate to this.
“By who?”
“A group of men. And those scary looking women” she added.
“Ah. Weren’t so keen on you running away were they?”
“No. Not so much.”
There was silence in the room for a while, as the three of them enjoyed the quiet crackle of the not quite real fire.
“What about you?” said Quinn, looking at Damion. What’s your story?”
“I have no story,” said Damion, looking into the fire, no doubt his mind still back in the several minutes that he had held a knife to his father’s throat. Jane wondered if he would have killed him if push had come to shove. Damion was probably wondering that too.
“Everyone has a story,” Quinn said.
“I’m with her. That’s my story.” Damion’s words made her whole body feel lighter. At the same time, she also knew that Damion had said it, not just to please her, but also to rebuff Quinn’s attempts at getting any sort of information out of him. He wasn’t the sharing type. Certainly not with people he didn’t know. Perhaps sensing this, Quinn stood up.
“Well, I’m going to bed. Crash here for as long as you like. Unless of course you bring trouble to my doorstep. In that case, you’ll need to go ahead and get the fuck out.”
Jane smiled. “Thanks Quinn.”
The girl looked at her. “This means we’re even.”
“Yes, it does,” Jane said. Satisfied, Quinn retired to the adjoining room, leaving Damion and Jane alone by the still burning (but not really burning) fire. There was silence for a while, no doubt each of them lost in their own thoughts about what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. Then, Damion spoke, breaking the spell of quiet that had fallen over them.
“So before the orphanage, you lived on this planet with your parents?” he said. Out of all the things that they needed to talk about, this is what he wanted to start with? Although, perhaps it was best to take a break from what had been going on and change the verbal and mental scenery that had dominated them ever since Victor Braggs had stabbed them in the back at the museum. Nothing like talking about her dead parents to help change the subject and relax the mind.
“I think so,” she said. “It was only for a few years. After that, I was at the orphanage up until I ran away and found you.”
“Do you remember anything about that time? With your parents that is.”
“No, not much,” she admitted. “It’s funny. I have memories of that time, but all they are is just vague shapes moving back and forth. I know they’re my parents, but I can’t quite see them.” She didn’t even remember what they looked like. A ghost of a memory was all that was left of them.
“I’ve never known exactly what happened to them,” she continued. They had just disappeared from her life, just as they had disappeared from her memory. “I know they’re dead though. I know they’re never coming back.” Perhaps, they had been mugged coming home. Or maybe they had been in an accident. Her imagination had come up with so many scenarios over the years but never ones in which they were alive and well somewhere, and that’s because, in her heart, she knew they were gone.
“Do you miss them?” He was looking at her now and she realized that his eyes now held a deep sadness. For the first time, it felt like she was seeing inside of him, his emotions completely on display. He was, for once, completely
knowable. The thought gave her comfort and she felt a surge of her own sorrow, enough perhaps, to match his.
“As people? No. I never knew them. I miss the idea of them though. I miss what they could have been to me.”
He nodded. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? You never knew your parents and miss the idea of them while I had a father, but miss what he used to be.”
“What he used to be?”
“He wasn’t always like this,” he said. “There were times when I was younger that he was, maybe not a different sort of man, but at least a softer version of what he is now.”
“What happened?” She said.
“My mother died.” His voice was flat as he said it, but it wasn’t the typical absence of emotional affect that was typical of him. Instead, there was an empty, hollow tone lying beneath his words, like something unknowable and dark hiding below the surface of a still pond.
“I’m sorry,” she said, remembering the first time that he had told her about his mother, all those months ago when they were starting to get close to one another. As if on cue, Damion pulled the locket from his pocket. The one that he had showed her before. The one that his mother had given him. He played with it for a few moments, running his hands over it before putting it away.
“It was a long time ago. But when it happened, something changed in him. All of his bad qualities got that much worse, while all of his best, began to dim. In a way, knowing that, it makes it easier to forgive him. But at the same time, it makes it worse. Because I know he was capable of something better.”
They pulled close to one another, her arms going around his back while his went around her waist. She put her head to his chest and listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart. Then she looked up into his eyes and they kissed. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time, the kiss lasted a little longer until the third time, when she felt him pulling off her top. She helped him do it and then returned the favor. He got on top of her, the weight of his muscled body relaxing into her soft, supple one. Then she felt him moving down her body, kissing her as he went. When he reached her opening, he pushed one of his small horns into it, using it to stimulate the area. She felt her breathing come in ragged gasps as he maneuvered his horn in and out of her. The horn itself was firm but also had a rubber like texture which made it perfect for its current purpose. She gasped as she came, her body shuddering as pleasure ran through her. She had begun to sweat all over her body and Damion took notice.
Rise of Winter Page 3