Desmond lifted his head, closing his eyes, and let the water fall over him. Without doing anything.
Not this time. Earlier he had lathered carefully and rinsed three times, so he supposed his shower could be said to be finished, but only in the strictest sense. The physical. Which wasn't the most important.
It wasn't because he'd told Amy, completely seriously, that he'd never needed anything so badly in life.
He needed this moment of relaxation. Of being able to not think or feel anything except the warmth of the water falling on him, the luxury that was.
That he had earned by killing, by accomplishing his mission. With one mistake he could now be rotting under the moonlight instead of relaxing under the flowing water. It was sobering to think about that.
He could also be showering wherever Abigail was staying, or outside, under the stars, in some river. Wherever. Wherever it took, because it would be with her, and that was more important than any other detail.
Anticipating not an awkward, hard conversation with one of his teammates, but the warm embrace of his mother as he drifted off to sleep, perfectly at peace.
That's what he didn't like to think about so much. It was too late to lie down now.
Besides, as he had suggested, he would only be at Abigail's side now had he made a mistake. It was so hard to do the right thing, instead of going for the easy thing.
Because it appealed more than anything else. No person liked true adversity.
Just an illusion of adversity that stimulated them without being more than they could handle.
At least that was what he had observed. And he believed he wasn't wrong about that, even though he had and had admitted that people weren't his thing.
A portal would open in the ceiling above the bathtub when he felt a spark of magical energy. And that was where the water fell from.
This was the first time in his life that Desmond considered that a nuisance, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Because he would have liked it to be hotter. He would have liked it to burn his skin, almost, that hot.
But he had to make do with what he had. And not think too much.
Fidgeting about something as insignificant as the shower wasn't exactly what he intended to do, he didn't think about anything. But better to think about that than literally anything else he could think of.
This... mechanism, for lack of a better word, was the responsibility of mages with an affinity for water, primarily, but they also had the cooperation of other mages.
Underground, water was constantly created and traveled to the points marked by the portals when someone activated them.
Unlike many things, perhaps too many, in their society that was developing in leaps and bounds and in one direction, it was a system that at no point depended on machinery. It depended on magic from start to finish.
And he had no idea how that was possible.
Desmond was a focused man, that was one of his strengths. But he only directed that concentration to what mattered to him.
All he needed to know about the showers was that they worked, so he'd never bothered to find out how. What the hell did it matter?
If he kept thinking about such a boring subject, he was going to over"relax and fall asleep on his feet. Then, of course, he'd wake up lying down. And with a headache.
But, as he had said, better than nothing. Which proved to be the case soon after. When he spent too much time thinking about nothing, literally nothing.
Consequently, the memories came to fill the void.
The problem is that you don't like what you're hearing. That you and I are not so different.
Desmond grimaced. He could remember Laura's face perfectly well at that moment. Her smirk, and something more human in her eyes. Something he hadn't wanted to put a name to.
Just as he hadn't wanted to admit how he saw his savior, and what that might say.
I did what I had to, believing in my cause. Just like you.
Desmond put his hands to his ears as if in that way he could block out a voice that existed only in his head. That woman, Laura, was dead and, unlike him, she wasn't coming back. It was not possible.
Why?
Well, because...
The enemy is not like us. It is not human. It deserves nothing but death.
He had killed her with his own hands. He'd smashed her head in like a piñata, and she wouldn't come back. Yes, so what? His hands were dirty with the blood of countless people.
He had killed many times, and not just tonight. During the attack on the academy.
Before too, during his time on the streets. Killed or severely wounded humans on top, not dogs of the Empire, to survive, for a little food. For territory.
That was truly serious. He didn't feel guilty about any of it, he had done it out of necessity, but he would never be able to forget the things he had done in those years.
Still, he was acting like a child now because he had let the words of that snake, Laura, get into his head.
And the ravings of his shrink surely hadn't helped.
Had he forgotten why he had come this far, why he was a soldier instead of an ordinary boy with an equally ordinary life, with nothing to draw attention to himself?
That day ten years ago, he had seen everything he needed to see about his enemies.
How they had laid waste to everything. People pleading for their lives, which was answered with gunfire. The screams of people burning alive. The cries, the women being forced. The roar of the fire...
They were animals. From the first to the last of them. And he had killed them like animals. Because that was what had to be done with rabid animals that couldn't live with them. Put them out of their misery.
They weren't human. No. As much as they looked like it, they were nothing more than animals. Their resemblance was just a coincidence.
With his hands still over his ears, Desmond slowly dropped into a ball until he was on the floor, his back against the wall.
Maybe Laura was right. She was partly right.
Maybe she was. But that was because, despite the fact that something had died in her, that there was no light in her eyes, Laura had been a human being. She had had a soul, the thing that differentiated human beings from animals.
From their enemies.
But that said nothing about those enemies, only about Laura herself. He couldn't let himself be confused. Laura was the first human being he had killed in eight years, or was it seven, and perhaps that was why he had had such a strong reaction to what he had done. Something that should have been normal for him.
I mean, he already had an explanation for that, that he had taken away Abigail's opportunity to get vital information out of her for both of them.
But he believed that could have contributed as well.
Even then, that only applied to Laura. She was the exception, being a dog of the Empire even though she had been born on the opposite side of the world. Even though she should have been more sensible, knowing that wasn't a good idea and couldn't turn out well, no matter how disillusioned she was with her government.
The rest, though? Animals, all of them.
The existence of the Empire's people was like a dark reflection of their own. No, more like a cruel joke.
So he had been right, too, with the words he had spoken tonight, while Laura had chained him.
That he would kill them all.
That he would not spare a single one.
Because he wanted this to end and that was the only way to end it all.
How long had he been in the shower, wallowing in his misery?
It was too much, he decided, had he spent a couple of minutes or several times that amount, if he had to ask himself that question.
There was no longer any point in him being here. His efforts had fallen apart, and things were going to get worse before they got better. So Desmond opened his eyes, stepped out of the tub, feeling the portal closing behind him, narrowly missing slipping on the wet floor.
And then he realized that there was nothing in sight, except for the toilet.
I mean, there was a pile of clothes laid out on the toilet bowl, but that one was tattered and bloodstained, reeking more or less like it had fallen into a mass grave. Which wasn't too far from the truth.
In his haste, his mind elsewhere, he had forgotten to bring clothes to change into.
Desmond sighed.
As far as trouble went, this was nothing. Less than nothing. But he felt it as if it was a hard blow. He really needed to rest, even though he was sure he wasn't going to be able to sleep a wink for the rest of the night. No way.
He walked over to the bathroom door and knocked several times with his knuckles. He waited for the answer.
The answer was unwelcome. Nothing but silence. So he repeated the motion.
"Are you calling me?"
"Yes. Uh, sorry, I forgot to bring clothes to change into."
"I'll get them for you," she said matter-of-factly.
The first day Amy had arranged her clothes in the drawers warily, looking over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't looking in that direction, that he couldn't see anything.
Was she embarrassed by that and couldn't understand that he felt the same way about the same thing?
Or maybe she thought it wasn't the same because he was a man and she was a woman.
Well, not that he was embarrassed by it, exactly. But it wasn't that he liked the idea of Amy reaching into the drawer where his clothes were, either.
"No need for that. Just... close your eyes and give me a moment."
It took her a long time to answer.
"If that's what you want."
Desmond plucked up his courage, opened the door a little, just enough to stick his head out, and only his head, and looked around.
Okay, Amy's eyes were already closed.
Still, as he walked past the girl's field of vision to get to the closet, he felt anyway like he was doing something horribly perverse.
Something like exposing himself in front of an innocent blind girl, just to indulge himself.
He wasn't that kind of pervert. He wasn't a pervert at all.
He hurried as fast as he could, grabbed the first thing he caught " well, as usual " and with the same speed took refuge inside the bathroom. Only then did his heart resume its normal rhythm.
On second thought, it would have been better if Amy had taken the clothes. Then she would have been the one to be embarrassed, not me.
Why did he only come up with good ideas when it was too late to put them into practice? He should work on that. On his planning skills, long and short term, outside of a battle.
"Okay. You can open your eyes now," said Desmond, as he pulled on his pants.
He hadn't taken a pair of underpants, but it didn't matter too much.
"Confession time: I've done it before."
"What? Did you see anything?"
"Not much. You should get that pimple on your ass looked at."
"So it's true! His voice came out a little too high"pitched, slurred. What had she opened her eyes for? How had that occurred to her? Had she seen... something else?"
But what was he saying? If she'd seen his ass, she had to have seen the other thing. It was literally impossible that Amy hadn't seen it.
Oh, gods. Gods. Desmond's head was burning like it was going to explode from too much pressure.
If only this was one of those surprisingly mundane, yet still shocking, nightmares. If only he would wake up in the interrogation room, free of this embarrassment.
He hadn't even kissed a girl yet, and one had seen his... member.
"Do you have a pimple on your ass?" Amy asked, with disbelief in her voice.
"Do you want me to admit it or something? You've seen it and more than that, a lot more. Please, let's stop talking about this."
"I haven't seen anything. Really. I was just kidding, I didn't expect you to... Wait, are you messing with me? Was I the one who screwed up?"
A joke? And had she been right?
Well, he supposed weirder things happened. No, he told himself, Amy hadn't seen anything. She just said so. Nothing. Not normal, not strange. Not disappointing. It was of a... respectable size. Probably.
"It didn't even cross my mind that you were joking," he admitted, grunting, pulling his shirt over his head. Then down his arms. "You've been lucky. I'm not so lucky."
This was one of the embarrassing memories that would keep him up for more than one night.
That is, when other memories didn't do the job.
He walked out of the bathroom, trying to pretend that absolutely nothing had happened to make things weird between them. Which he completely failed at. Of course. He even coughed a couple of times like a suspicious person, for no reason.
He was not good at it. Few things he was good at, apart from killing.
With each passing day that became rarer. It was like a curse. If only he could blame a hundred percent of the colossal blunder earlier on lack of sleep, tiredness, and injuries, and the fact that since he'd talked to Abigail his head was in the clouds....
But he was an idiot. The external circumstances certainly didn't help, but he didn't need anything more than to be himself to fuck it up.
He'd probably never get what he wanted.
Desmond sat on Christina's bed, face to face with Amy.
"Sorry about earlier. When I feel... like that," there wasn't a word that encapsulated what she was going through, what everyone was going through, including Christina "I tend to do stupid things. Like that one, for example. Don't hold it against me. My sense of humour... it's not very developed."
Not long ago, Abigail had said more or less the same thing to her.
Was that funny?
Well, no. More like curious.
"No, I'm sure it's my fault. It's because I didn't know how to respond because I'm a freak.
"Well, you don't have to go that far..."
"The truth is the truth," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Why should I delude myself? Anyway, to cut to the chase, she.... That woman... She was the one who saved me that day. And the one who gave me the power to defy even death. It wasn't Christina who saved me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now. I hope you won't be offended."
"I'm not offended. Well, I'm actually a little offended that you felt you couldn't trust me. But I understand that. The problem now is that you haven't explained. I already knew about the woman."
"You already knew?"
"That's what I said. You told us before we split up. When you and Avery and that woman and you talked."
Avery? Avery? Ah.
"It wasn't Avery. It wasn't Avery. Her name was Laura and she had an affinity for changing her appearance. Among other things. She impersonated her for... I don't even know. Weeks, maybe months."
"It's... good to know. Her name was, you say. So you managed to kill her."
"Otherwise I wouldn't be here. And, well, I'm sorry again." He swallowed. "If I'd stayed with you... It wouldn't have changed anything, but I should have stayed. I shouldn't have..."
"Please don't start that again. That woman means a lot to you. It's only natural that you went to save her. Even if she had been a stranger, I get the feeling that you're the kind of person who would have risked himself for her just because it would be the right thing to do."
If that was the feeling Amy was getting, he'd like to know how or when.
Amy was getting weird ideas about him.
If Abigail had had nothing to do with him, he would have left her to her fate without a second thought. He probably would have been too scared of her powers to pursue her and try to help her.
"I saved her... "He wanted to be honest with her, with both of them, now that he had made this final decision. But could he tell them everything? Should he? "And I got answers. I got what I was looking for..."
"What?
Desmond shook his head.
"It doesn't matter. That's not what you want to hear. The answers... Well, they're fewer than I'd like. But at least I know it's not over. That there are more bases. More cells, all working towards the same goal. To capture Abigail by capturing me first, because it's easier, I'm her only vulnerability."
It sounded arrogant, but it was true. Someone like her, hunted wherever she went, the most valuable prize one could dream of?
Surely he was the most important person in her life, just as she was the most important person in his life.
And how happy that made him. How happy.
He wanted her all to himself.
"I see," Amy said, serious, expressionless. "What about what you found? Are you going to leave me curious?"
"I understand it sounds suspicious, but it's personal."
Love.
That was the answer, plain and simple. When the two of them had embraced, both bathed in blood from head to toe, he had felt happier than he ever had before in his life.
"It 's okay. I'm not going to force you or anything. It 's your right."
Despite her response, she looked uncomfortable. Because she didn't want her side of the conversation to end? Because she didn't want to have to say out loud what was going on with Christina, as if that would somehow make it more real?
It made sense. It was a surprisingly good guess, in his circumstances, and for him in general.
And, additionally, Desmond was wise enough to keep quiet instead of asking her about Christina again, immediately. He waited for Amy to look capable of it.
To Desmond's surprise, he didn't have to wait long.
"She' s in bad shape, Desmond. Alive, but not stable, not out of danger. They made me leave, and before the doors closed, I could have sworn... for a moment I could have sworn she was dead. But she had only stopped breathing for a few moments. I don't know how she is now, I don't know if she's alive, but it didn't look good."
Desmond nodded slowly. She hadn't been able to tell him anything new. Even before they parted, Christina had looked very bad, and had seemed to be on her last legs.
He corrected himself. Now at least he knew Christina was still alive.
That was new.
He had seriously feared that his teammate had died while he was answering the policemen's questions, the headmaster's questions, or on the way back.
That she would die and that he wouldn't even be able to be there with her in her last moments.
To tell her thank you.
To tell her I'm sorry.
To tell her...
To tell her... many things.
More than he could put into words, and in such a short time, while she was dying.
It was still possible that this fear would come true. That Christina would breathe her last breath before the sun rose, and away from them. At least he would have liked to have been there with her.
He imagined the girl was in one of the hospitals in the nearest town, whose name escaped him.
Names, among many other things, were not his thing.
But she could also be at the academy. In theory the infirmary staff was trained to handle any emergency, or should be, but hey, better safe than sorry, and he supposed that the hospital staff would be better trained regardless of how many talents Jacob had managed to assemble.
And that Christina would consequently be in one of those hospitals, not right here, very close by.
If Desmond left right now, would he be able to get to her before she died?
If she died. If.
He was talking as if her death was predetermined or something. Nothing could be further from the truth. Christina... She was strong. Christina would fight and she would win.
He trusted her.
"Thank you. Thank you for being with her and not giving up. Although not as bad as the two of us, you were in bad shape too. If you had fainted, you would have survived, but not Christina. That's what gave you the strength to go on, isn't it? Thank you."
■
Did Desmond think she was a saint?
The truth was this. That she hadn't thought of Christina once, not once, during the long run through the dark forest. Her thoughts, her emotions, her actions, all had been consumed by fear.
Amy had run through the forest, seeing death in every shadow, thinking only of herself.
That was the truth.
Out of fear, she had thought only of herself. Out of fear, she had forgotten that she held a girl who needed her in her arms, her presence had been only the vague sensation of the weight her arms held. Nothing more.
She wouldn't have been at all surprised if she had dropped Christina through carelessness.
For forgetting that she had something in her arms.
She hadn't, but it could have happened.
Amy had gone all the way, until she got help, because she didn't want to die. Because, no matter how she had to live, just living had been important to her for the first time.
Not even the attack on the academy had made her feel that way.
But of course, she had spent most of the time unconscious. She had been one of the survivors, and she knew she could wear that survival in extreme circumstances, especially at her age, like a badge of honour.
But she hadn't experienced the attack fully. Like Christina and like Desmond and like the other survivors.
Tonight was the first time she had experienced real fear. And she had discovered that it left much to be desired.
What she called strength, her spirit.
She was disappointed in herself, for forgetting herself and her circumstances. Yet this boy was looking at her with shining eyes and talking to her as if she had done something noble. Worthy of admiration.
If only that were true. If only she had found it within herself, at that moment, to think of Christina.
"It's what anyone would have done," Amy answered at last, modestly.
Lying to Desmond and lying to herself.
■
"Love."
"Huh?"
"That's what I was looking for when I went after Abigail, leaving you behind. That day ten years ago I lost everything... even my mother's face and her voice. I forgot those things. Or I purposely banished them from my memory, I couldn't say. But not Abigail, even though I haven't seen her since, and I just found out her name tonight. I've remembered her perfectly well all this time. I guess I started to see her as a sort of... replacement."
"It 's natural. If you don't have a family, if you lose one, then you find one. Out of necessity."
Desmond sighed and flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched at his sides.
Only when his back touched the sheets did he realise that this wasn't his bed, but that he was acting as if it was. With the same freedom.
Why was he thinking that way? Why was he so uncomfortable, nervous?
Surely Christina wouldn't give a shit if he was lying on her bed. Not just because she had something more worrying to deal with now. In general.
"I suppose it's natural," he said at last. "What I mean is, I saved her for what she could give me, and did give me. And I wish I had had a reason as noble as yours, for doing what I did."
"That's all." Desmond smiled sadly.
■
Christina opened her eyes and found herself alone, in the dark.
This was not heaven or hell, nor was it some other place that had been given no other name than hereafter by human beings, of which she had no conception.
Without a doubt, she was alive. She was still alive, even though she had thought she would die without a doubt when she closed her eyes and knew that she couldn't take any more.
That she wouldn't fall into the limbo of unconsciousness, but the embrace of death.
She felt like she was dead, though.
She felt like just another shadow among the shadows of the night... which, by the way, was coming to an end. But was it the same night she had fallen on? How long had it really been?
No, it had to be the same night. If they hadn't managed to heal on the same night, she would be dead by now.
Looking at the sun rising over the horizon, through a window that looked out onto a very different landscape to the one she had grown accustomed to in a matter of a week and a half, Christina wondered what might have happened.
With Amy and Desmond, of course. And with the mystery woman at the centre of it all.
If she was in a hospital, Amy was probably fine too. Since she' d depended on her to get anywhere, due to her injuries.
But it was also possible, maybe not likely, but possible, that something had happened to Amy and someone else had rescued her.
Not to mention Desmond. Desmond had been headed for certain death.
Not that Christina had to worry about him staying dead, perhaps, but dead was far from the worst thing that could happen to him. If he had failed, if he had been captured....
Not only would she never see him again. Not only would she have to live every second of every day with the knowledge that Desmond would be experiencing a living hell.
For a week and a half now, she had never been able to rest, not really. Or relax, even just a little.
This whole mess felt like an extension of the attack on the academy, even though it wasn't really. As if she had been living in constant danger all this time.
She'd had enough of feeling this way.
But she would either have to get used to it or harden her heart, which might be the same thing. Because that was what awaited her in this life she had chosen.
It was a time of war. It hadn't broken out again, not really. But it was only a matter of time.
It was only a matter of time before the bloodshed of innocents and sinners alike was resumed.
That it would resume the killing, the raping, in both a physical and a spiritual sense.
How many years could she spend feeling this way until she went mad? Oh, but Christina didn't even think she could stand even only this whole year, at this rate.
Christina had been so close to dying that she'd taken it for granted. That she would have asked Amy to put her down so she wouldn't be a hindrance to her escape, if she'd had the strength to even speak, towards the end.
Her life was like a miracle. And the sunlight coming through the window bathing her increased that miraculous feeling.
Which was just the opposite of what the soldiers of the Empire who had almost sent her on to the next step thought.
She knew it for sure because she had felt it. As she always did.
They hadn't thought twice about pulling the trigger, about trying to kill a teenage girl. Which was natural, to be expected. They were both soldiers. She wasn't a child.
She would have done the same, in their place, if she had found herself face to face with a soldier her own age.
She wouldn't have hesitated. But at least... What she meant was that at least she would have attributed due weight to that act. Either by her nature or because her magic forced her to.
One way or another, they had not. Not a single one of them had given the slightest thought to her life.
They had attached no weight to the act. As if they were trying to swat a fly.
So it was not correct to say that they thought of their existence as the opposite of a miracle, i.e. a curse.
However...
What?
She had lost her train of thought. She no longer knew where she wanted to take this. If she had intended to get anywhere in the first place. The natural human instinct was to seek answers... but some things were unanswerable.
What?, she said to herself again, insistent.
Yet everything in life, as much as Christina as the soldier's, a mere tool, was not a bad thing.
After all, Christina had found what she wanted, hadn't she?
She had thrown herself headlong into this life because her affinity was not suited to anything but battle, but mainly because she had seen this as the only chance to save herself.
She wasn't afraid of dying physically. She was afraid of her heart dying, or of discovering that it had already been dead, more or less.
So she'd been willing to risk everything for a chance to... to define herself.
So she had been prepared to risk everything for a chance to... to define herself. And she had found it. She'd found that she was right, that was just what she needed.
Despite her power, she had risked everything for Desmond.
And that hadn't been a reflection of the boy's feelings about herself, the natural fear for her life that anyone would have, because he hadn't even been there while she'd made crazy decision after crazy decision, as if she were chasing death.
She had committed a folly that had almost led to her death for herself and no one else. Desmond hadn't influenced her.
And she hadn't been alone. No, there had been someone with her. Fighting by her side, protecting her.
She had returned the favour. If it hadn't been for her, Amy would have been the one who would have ended up impaled. But she had pushed her away, out of the way, and she had fallen instead.
That was a more dubious moment because it was perfectly possible that Amy's feelings of self-preservation had made her risk her life for the life of this girl she barely knew.
But, for some reason Christina couldn't explain, she didn't believe that.
She believed that she had risked her life over and over again for two people she didn't know, and would continue to do so in the future, of her own free will.
Her own self.
That should have made it worth it. All the pain and the fear and everything. And it did. Didn't it?
No.
It wasn't true.
The night before she had felt weak, vulnerable, at the mercy of others for the first time in her admittedly short life and as a result she was no longer sure that this life was right for her. Of being able to endure it, even if it was.
Because Christina was afraid.
Because for the first time in her life, she was afraid not of living with nothing real, but simply of dying and returning to nothingness.
Life, with nothing extra, was a miracle she wanted to cling to with all her might, even if she had to live in a way she couldn't tell from a doll.
Despite her fear, she hadn't made a decision yet. But she would, it was only a matter of time, it was inevitable, and she knew which way the scales were currently tipping. At least she knew that much.
Covering her eyes with her forearm, Christina laughed to herself.
As warm tears ran down her cheeks, one after another.