Desmond was in class.
Just a month ago, well, a little over a month to be more exact, he hadn't been able to wait for classes to start. He had seen his life as a narrow tunnel, with only one destination, and in the dark of course.
Light awaited him, but only at the end of the tunnel. Only if he made it to the other side.
Even though the darkness hid everything. Even though anything could crawl and live in that darkness.
Happiness would come to him after passing through this tunnel.
So, naturally, he was in a hurry to get it over with. He wanted to. Now, however, time seemed to move slowly and sticky, like a snail.
Yes. Sticky.
It was as if he was trapped in the moment, as if time was coiled around him, viscous and with an iron grip, refusing to allow him to move even for a single step.
And this was just the beginning of the morning. The first of several classes.
At this point at least, he wasn't sure he could get used to this. To doing this almost every day, for four years. If a single class was taking forever, then four years, almost half a decade, would truly take forever for him.
Even he recognized that he was being dramatic. Like one of those kids who had knotted up the academy, who had nothing better to do but make noise. And complaining. Especially complaining.
He could get used to this just fine except that he had the near-fight in mind, which would probably lead to a fight in the future, this time for sure, between Christina and Amy.
And that his savior had totally ceased communications, of course.
After the night of their long-awaited reunion, they had had several conversations. He worried that this was because of something he had said. That he had inadvertently ended it all.
Everything.
Desmond closed his eyes and concentrated on calling Abigail as he had done countless times these past few days.
She had taught him that he didn't need to utter words aloud for her to hear him.
That the connection they shared went beyond that.
Of the voice, of the words. And of distance.
Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten the hang of it, not yet. Something was eluding her. So she could only hear him if he spoke out loud, which put him at risk of being labeled a madman. Or worse, that someone would take him seriously and what he was doing would reach the ears of the teachers.
But he didn't care. He was too desperate to worry about things like that.
He needed to hear her voice. Whatever happened.
Nothing else mattered.
"Come on. Please. I'll do anything for you. You know that, so why aren't you willing to give me the one thing I want? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please. Please, please, please, please, please, please."
He spoke as if to try to convince her, or maybe convince himself that this time he would succeed. And then everything would be all right.
But he didn't succeed.
There was only silence on the other side, even though he could hear her heart beating.
And nothing was right. Nothing.
Desmond put his hands to his head, clenching, and swallowed a sigh of resignation.
■
The theoretical classes, without exception, numbed him and went cruelly on forever - he didn't even know what half of what they were saying was for!
Still, Desmond listened and stuck with what he had to hang on to. He was good at memorizing. And if this was a necessary step, well, he would do it.
It didn't mean he had to like it.
But when they moved on to the practical parts, everything got better.
Especially when the only team lesson of the day finally arrived. Not just because he could finally see Christina and Amy again, but because he could finally get in on the action. It seemed like it would take a struggle for him to fully wake up.And, why not say it, taking out his frustrations on someone in the best way he knew wouldn't hurt.
He was almost disappointed when classes ended for the day. Because there was no longer any way to delay the inevitable, and the conversation was complicated. It could lead to a lot of good things, yes, but it could just as easily go wrong.
Just as easily?
He laughed at himself.
If the chances of going right and going wrong were equal, he wouldn't be so worried. He was shitting himself precisely because things would most likely get worse, after that was over.
Right now he was less concerned about what they might tell him about Abigail and more concerned about where the tension between the two might go.
It wasn't at the level of anything that could be called enmity.
No, certainly not.
But negative emotions could explode at any time and for any reason, turning into something more dangerous. Amy had exploded before, with him. She could do it again-why not? She had proven herself capable.
If something like this happened, whether it was Amy's or Christina's doing, he wasn't sure it would be so easy to fix.
And that, of course, scared him.
After class, they met in the one place at the academy where they could be sure they were talking privately.
That is, the room.
"What can we do?" Amy said.
The three of them were sitting on the same bed. It might seem a little odd for someone to suddenly walk in and stumble upon this scene, but there was nothing odd about it. It's not like they were cuddling like lovers.
They were keeping their distance.
That is, as far as possible, considering it was a not particularly large bed. Like the other two. Exactly the same.
There was room for all three of them, but just barely.
If anything about this would make anyone raise an eyebrow, it would be that they were a guy and two girls. As if men and women couldn't be friends.
As if men only thought with their dicks. Only had room for sex in their minds.
He had to admit that they were both considerably attractive, but he didn't think of them that way for two reasons. That they were much more than that to him. That he respected them.
And, even if he got his hopes up like an idiot, they would never bear fruit.
A friend was fine, but who would want him as a boyfriend? They were too intelligent to pay attention to him.
Besides, even if he had a chance, why would he want to "take it"?
This wasn't just enough.
It was exactly what he wanted, not something to settle for.
"I don't know what you..." Desmond said, with a knowing smile on his face that probably made him look like an idiot.
"Well, I'm trying to be practical. If she's in trouble, what can we do? Do you have any way of finding her? Did she tell you where she was?"
"I can feel her. Ever since that night, I can feel her heartbeat. As if we were one," he admitted, feeling rather as if he were confessing a shameful secret, or too intimate. Something perhaps he should never have said, as until now. "But, finding her... I don't think that would do the trick. I'm almost certain."
"I see." Amy accepted that with surprising ease.
Even though such a thing, like immortality, was unheard of.
Still...
"But it's strange, isn't it? I see it in your eyes. I see what you want to say. That, if she were in trouble, she would have called me for help by now. I hate to say it, I hate to even think about it, but that's what really worries me. The idea that she suddenly doesn't even want to see me. That she's... disappeared from my life, and I'll never know why."
That's it, he'd already blurted it all out. Did he feel better?
Of course he didn't. Desmond felt like shit. Ah, the magic of group therapy... But he was the one who had asked for this. He shouldn't forget that. That it was for something.
He hadn't wanted to do this for nothing. Precedent had taught him that, in the long run, this was a good idea.
Besides, now that he'd aired all that shit, things couldn't get any worse with regard to him and Abigail. Cold comfort, perhaps, but comfort all the same.
Christina leaned back, curling into a ball, resting her chin on her knees.
It was a slightly ridiculous thought, but it crossed her mind that she had made that move on purpose, to draw attention to her subtly before starting to speak. It's not like it would be a bad thing, even if Desmond were right. No, it would just be... curious.
That things like that were so natural to her. Curious, nothing more.
He supposed it made sense, considering her position.
"Let's be practical, like Amy said. I don't quite believe it... to be honest, but if that woman needs you to die, if for no other reason than that, why would she just abandon you? It just doesn't make sense. But it's not just that. She clearly cares about you."
"I don't know. But there's a point to it. Because she's alive and unresponsive. No matter how hard I try to think, that's an immovable fact."
■
Abigail rose from among the corpses, slowly, leaning first on precisely one of them, then on a car that kept howling. In one of the cars she was surprised they hadn't been blown up during the fight.
She had taken a few moments to rest, but now she felt more tired than after the end of the fight.
As if she had spent that time still fighting.
Mentally, that is.
Her body showed no signs of it. Like everything else, it had been reversed. She didn't look at all like she had been involved in a battle to the death until recently.
If anything, she would look like one of the "victims". A victim who had somehow survived even though everyone around had died.
A victim without even a drop of blood on her body.
Yes, that would raise more than one eyebrow.
Abigail angrily snatched the knife without looking and walked away amidst the devastation she had caused.
Her curse was very handy for some things.
When she said everything was reversed, she meant everything. Her hair would always be the same size it had been when she was cursed, it wouldn't grow an inch, not a lock would fall out, and even the dust and dirt on her and her clothes was considered an alteration from her original state.
Damage that had to be dealt with.
That hadn't stopped her from bleeding every month. Much to her regret.
Back on topic, her power would always keep her clean. She didn't need to wash, didn't even need to change her clothes. Technically. But she wouldn't do a very good job of hiding if she went around in the same clothes.
Leaving the butcher shop behind, to retreat to her lair, she got another call.
This one wasn't like all the others, though. This time, the call had the force of a hammer blow. The blow knocked her to her knees. It knocked her to the ground again, struggling to breathe. Since it wasn't a physical blow, it went through all defenses.
Abigail put a hand to her head.
With effort, she composed herself again.
She let out a cry of rage. She didn't understand. Desmond just kept trying, over and over again. Don't you understand that I'm doing this for your own good?
But apparently she didn't understand it herself, because she received that thought with surprise.
Is that what I'm doing? What am I going to do?
No, no.
Did she think she was some kind of saint or something? How many people had she killed simply for being in her way?
How many people had she killed for the sole crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Yes. Abigail wasn't a saint, she wasn't a heroine.
And she wasn't going to throw away her one chance to put herself out of her misery just for a passing sentiment, for a whim that she would regret for the rest of her very, very long life, if she really was stupid enough to go so far as to do that.
It was all true.
Still, she kept silent. She didn't appear before the boy.
Abigail walked on.
And, as usual, she walked alone.
■
■
-Desmond... -said one of the two of them, couldn't even tell which one, not knowing what to say because there was nothing left to say. Everything had already been said. He felt out of his mind.
Not out of rage. Literally out of it, like he was floating outside his body and watching all of this.
A deep sense of disconnection.
With respect to them, the world and even himself. It wasn't the first time he felt this, of course. In fact, the frequency of these experiences was increasing all the time.
-Christina was right. This was a bad idea.
He stood up and almost ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind him as if putting a barrier between him and the world. But behind that barrier wasn't the world.
It was just his teammates. The people he was supposed to trust almost as much, if not more, than himself. And he did. He did, so why was he turning away from them as if they might wish him harm?
-Desmond. You're not going to do anything silly, are you? -Christina asked. There was a slight tremor in her voice, almost imperceptible.
Was it his imagination?
No. He was being very unfair.
Again.
He didn't deserve his friends. How could he deserve the grace of his savior? He wasn't worthy, just as he hadn't been worthy of being saved while so many people were dying around him that day, in the middle of hell.
He had waited too long to respond.
-I think I'm going to throw up," Desmond said, and that's what he did.
He bent down in front of the sink, clutching the pottery as if his life depended on it, and emptied the contents of his churning stomach.
It was the worst possible place, he thought dazedly. Apart from the floor.
But it wouldn't have given him time to lift the bowl, he'd known instinctively, so....
Desmond kept throwing up, even though he had nothing left to throw up but his guts.
He thought: Dry retching. That's how you say it.
He thought: And who gives a fuck?
His eyes were full of tears. Cold tears that gathered behind his eyelids, but would soon run down his face.
In contrast, in his stomach there was a fire.
■
"I'm sorry. I just needed a moment... A moment to..."
To finish his sentences he needed more than a moment, it was clear. Desmond couldn't even finish his sentences. Like a child just learning to speak.
"We know," Amy said. "You don't have to say anything, we know. Come on, sit down. Come on."
Desmond obeyed unconsciously. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed. He still felt as if he were floating.
One would assume that such physical and intense sensations as the burning in his stomach, or his raw throat, would be like anchors to this world. But no.
Still, he felt like he was floating adrift.
Far away. Far away.
But it's not like he couldn't notice anything. He noticed, though it didn't make him think, that Christina was staring at him as if as stunned as he was.
It was a very different expression from the one she usually showed. A pure vulnerability.
Her expression was like a festering wound.
If he had really noticed that, Desmond might have been able to get what he was looking for. Connect with Christina more deeply. Understand her as he understood himself.
But, as had been said, he didn't think about it.
Desmond simply registered it because it was in his field of vision, and it was impossible not to notice such an extreme emotional reaction, especially on the face of a person who rarely showed her emotions openly.
"Water. He needs some water," said Amy, repeating it, raising her voice a little, to wake the girl up.
It had the desired effect.
Christina shook her head as if to clear her mind.
"Yes. Yes, of course." She went to get a bottle of water from her backpack. She approached him and held it out with some hesitation, her hand trembling slightly, as if she were committing the folly of trying to feed a lion in a zoo. Here.
"It's your bottle."
"Okay, I'll empty it and refill it with...."
"No. That's not what I meant, I just... Whatever."
Desmond took the bottle, uncorked it and took a small swig. That wasn't enough, far from enough, of course, to take away the bad taste in his mouth. Besides, it was true, he was thirsty. Very thirsty.
So he took a swig. And then another. And then a third, long one, with which he emptied the whole bottle, without stopping.
The bottle hadn't been full when he got his hands on it. But almost.
He felt better. The burning hadn't left him, and he still tasted his own vomit, but he felt a little better.
It all counted. Little by little, step by step.
Day by day.
As always.
"Thank you. I don't think I can stand this for too long. If she doesn't respond, I'll have to... I'll have to drop everything and go after her. I don't even know where to start, though. I'm sorry, but I will."
"And I'll go with you."
Desmond's eyes opened wide. Those four simple words managed to wake him up from his lethargy, dragged his consciousness back into his body, and not only that.
But, despite that, they also made him forget that he felt like shit.
Now he only had eyes for her. The same thing was happening to Christina, it was clear.
She looked at Amy as if she wasn't sure she had heard what she thought she heard.
"I didn't ask you..."
"And I'm not asking you for anything either. I'm simply informing you of my decision."
"Listen, I understand how you feel...." Christina told her.
"Yes, you've made that clear to me," she replied with an acid tone.
"But you have to think about your future. If you leave..., if you do the same as him, you're not coming back. I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't do. I don't have the right. But at least hear me out on this: think it through, don't act impulsively. You have influence, as a Sunderland. You could… You know. Do something about it, without resorting to such drastic measures."
Yes. This was his decision and he alone should pay the consequences. It was unreasonable for her to feel compelled to do such a thing for him.
Because she really would, when the time came.
It was not a passing impulse as Christina believed.
Of that he had no doubt.
If he made that decision, though making was saying too much, she would walk the same path.
Maybe she would regret it, in the long or short term, but she would do just what she had said.
It wasn't even an attempt to make him come to his senses by blackmailing him with what Amp would do to herself. If so, he could at least have been angry with her. Instead, he was speechless, looking at her as if it was the first time he had laid eyes on her.
"I have no such influence. My father," Amy added, with a peculiar inflection in that word, "wouldn't let that pass. But, since you brought it up, it's not like I'm the only special person here. You're a living miracle. No academy would want to lose you as a student. I'm sure you could arrange something, if the time comes."
"I hadn't thought about it," Christina said slowly and after a while. "I suppose it's worth a try."
She didn't sound too sure.
That's how it was supposed to be.
Amy was asking her to put her future at risk. Amy could answer that that wasn't much different from what they did the night he was kidnapped.
Technically, it wasn't. To risk your life was to risk everything.
But, after that big risk, they had been able to simply return to the academy. Resume a more or less normal life.
In this case, that wouldn't happen. If he allowed any of them to follow him, then he would be allowing them to abandon their lives for him.As far as he was concerned.
Would Desmond selfishly choose to abandon them for his savior and they were supposed to follow him anyway?
Was he supposed to be okay with that? See it as something not so different from what they had done before?
No, of course not.
It was entirely different. And he wouldn't allow it.
When Desmond left, he would do it alone. If. If.
The rest... It's not like he could stop them from making their own decisions, so the rest would be in their hands.
Sitting at the academy, not knowing anything about Abigail, was out of the question.
Whatever consequences Desmond's decision might bring, there would come a time when he couldn't take it and he would run.
Desmond didn't even have the right to feel bad. If he felt so bad, why not back out?
Selfishly, Desmond would make the decision that was right for him if the time came. And, selflessly, at least Amy would follow him on his path to ruin.
Because, even if they found Abigail, they would be caught up with no way of escape in the whole affair. The organization that was after her, seeking immortality.
Desmond had no right, but he would do it.
"I'll try to hold on," Desmond promised.
Knowing, as the girls knew, that it was only a matter of time.
And that he couldn't hold on much longer. That he was already on the edge of the precipice.
■
Had he known the misfortune that awaited him, that his misfortunes had only just begun, he would have been grateful for everything. Of his doubts. Of the fear. Of feeling like shit, from head to toe.
Because it all paled in comparison to what came next.
In just four days, which he somehow endured.
He didn't even have time to get used to the rhythm of their new daily life before misfortune befell them again.
And what happened?
What was it like?
It went like this:
■
They were relaxing in the room.
They didn't get along with any of the other students. Coming from him it was no surprise, but Christina and Amy seemed to be surprisingly unsociable.
On second thought, it wasn't that surprising. They couldn't get along with the survivors of the massacre and that relationship would be nothing more than a reminder of that day.
As for the mass of new students? These were normal people who had led normal lives so far, for the most part.
They sure were.
It's not as if Desmond was unique.
The war had devastated many towns and cities, leaving nothing but the ruins of buildings and families behind. He was far from the only one who had lost so much.
Nor the only one whose humanity hung in the balance because of it.
But it was a matter of common sense that led him to think that most of the people who had ridden that train were normal, drunks with ideals that others had sold them as important, not themselves.
Those who experienced such pain...those who had to live among the ruins of everything they once had and once were....
In general, they would not want to become soldiers.
They weren't in any hurry to run into the very hell that had spit them out.
In that sense, he was one of the few exceptions that confirmed the rule.
Ignorance of pain and loss, of what this work really meant, was commonplace in normal people. How could they connect with people like that, when it was as if they lived in different worlds?
The time to connect, if it ever came, would be on the battlefield.
When they all had their feet in the same world.
So they stayed among themselves as if there was no one else in the academy, and right now they were just hanging out.
To be more specific, Amy was teaching him how to play chess.
It wasn't a particularly complicated game, and it was fun.
It wasn't something he would do every day, but it wouldn't hurt once in a while for a change. He wished he could assume that all his games for years would be here. Not having to worry in a few weeks, or more likely a few days, maybe just one.
But at the moment, that worry was in the back of his mind and seemed to be someone else's business.
Then it all came crashing down.
There were several knocks on the door.
"I know you're here. Open the door." It was a man's voice.
Desmond didn't recognize it, but Amy did.
The change was instantaneous. She seemed to have gone to a faraway place, inside herself. her eyes were like the darkness of a well. Her chin trembled slightly.
Then she knew who the man waiting on the other side of the door was. How could she not know? Even Christina, as she lifted her head from her book and looked at her face, must have known even though Amy hadn't shared the story with her.
It couldn't have been more obvious.
The knocking became louder, more insistent.
As if trying to break down the door.
The person behind the door was not used to being kept waiting and disobeyed. Quite the opposite. As if he was the absolute emperor of the world.
Desmond rose to his feet. The embers of vengeance in his heart flared up again, creating a great bonfire.
He wanted revenge.
Not for himself, but for her.
He approached the door. Amy saw his intentions.
"No!" she cried, leaping out of bed, staggering forward. Her voice was like that of a frightened little girl.
He ignored that heart-breaking plea.
He opened the door.
That man was indescribably disgusting. Like a mountain of garbage with legs. In reality, his appearance should be quite normal, but Desmond was only able to see what was inside him. What he really was.
An abomination...
"That's you."
Whose only fitting fate was death.