He didn't want to separate. He really didn't. Desmond felt too comfortable in that embrace. But all good things had to come to an end....
They broke apart.
Besides, now they were together again. All together. They could embrace at any moment. Even such a small thing as that to him seemed like a miracle. Because, thanks to the time they had been apart, the weeks of constant fighting, he had realized that something like that was not small at all.
Quite the opposite. Big, very, very big. And fundamental.
The human warmth. Being surrounded by people you could count on, even if only a few. People who really loved you.
He had thought he didn't need anyone but Abigail.
But, in a few moments, Desmond realized he'd been lying to himself. Or... not exactly. Maybe it was true that he didn't need anyone else. But he wanted more than that. He wanted more.
The hug had been too short for him. Desmond shifted his gaze between Amy and Christina continuously. As if he didn't know where to look. Or as if he was looking for something, maybe. Differences? Similarities?
Maybe, instead, he secretly had it in his mind that this wouldn't last long. And he was looking at them to burn their faces into heart.
Yes, that.
That was what it was all about.
They'd only been apart for a few weeks, and even so, hearing Christina's voice had surprised him.
And it wasn't like he'd never been through anything similar. He knew how easy it was for things to slip away and disappear.
His parents had given him life and raised him for many years. There had also been a boy who had played with his big sister, so long ago. But they had died.
And there was nothing left of them in his heart.
Everything was gone.
Their voices. Their faces.
Even their names.
There was no trace of them left in his heart, the last part of the world in which they had been able to reside.
This need not end badly. Things didn't have to go awry again, and he saw no reason why they should be forced to part ways. But they were leading a dangerous life. And with this it had become even more dangerous.
So, if that day should come.... I will remember you, he vowed inwardly.
Desmond took his promises very seriously.
"Well." Desmond swallowed. "Let's go. Let's go home."
Let's go home. At those words, something changed in the girls' expressions. And in his own too, surely. Only he couldn't see it.
Home.
Home is where the heart is, he thought.
They left the station, setting out on the journey home. There was a flock of crows perched on the roof. As if his gaze had frightened them away, they flew off immediately.
"We have a lot to talk about," Christina said, "But none of it can be talked about in public. I understand."
"Not all of it," Desmond said thoughtfully. "But I'd still prefer it if we could walk home quietly. If you don't mind."
"No," Christina replied, though it took her a while to do so. Then...
"Of course not," Amy said. And she seemed more sure of it.
It would be easy to start favoring Amy simply because she didn't seem so angry with him for what he had done that day. However... Looking at it another way, Christina was angrier because it had hurt her more.... And, anyway, he didn't want to be unfair. They were both important teammates.
And Christina's anger... was not unjustified.
And it was fixable.
If she had come this far, accepting the offer, that was because it was fixable. If she was really that angry, if she really... as she said that night, didn't want to see him again, then... she simply wouldn't have come.
So it was fixable.
It was in a precarious state, though. So, just as he could fix it, he could also break it beyond repair. And make sure that no one would be able to put the pieces back together again even if they tried.
But… Desmond preferred to be optimistic as long as circumstances allowed. There was nothing to be gained by lamenting or assuming the worst. At least that was what he believed.
Walking. Walking peacefully through the city. In silence. Silence was like a blanket, it hid everything bad underneath and allowed him to focus on the moment. This way he could pretend, though not for long, of course, that everything was fine. That there was nothing to talk about. Nothing unpleasant, at least.
A cowardly attitude. Running away from the reality he would have to face, sooner or later. He was well aware of that. But no person could be fighting all the time. As far as he was concerned, he deserved this moment of reprieve. There was nothing wrong with a little respite and dreaming that things were better than they were.
The respite was really small.
Cruelly small.
It was over much sooner than he had thought it would be. Suddenly, with Abigail's voice cutting through the silence like a razor.
"We're being followed," she said.
It didn't even cross Desmond's mind that she might be wrong. Partly because it was Abigail, her word was law to him.
But partly because of the confidence in her voice when she said that.
She was so convinced of that fact that she convinced him too, as soon as he heard her confidence. Christina stiffened. But she didn't stop walking, nor did she look around recklessly, trying to find whoever was following them. Just like him, of course. Except Christina didn't need to look around to find them.
She had more than five senses to rely on.
And in the end, she gave her verdict.
"I don't notice anyone." She didn't notice the presence of an observer.
And, now that he thought about it, she must also be referring to feelings of hostility towards them.
But...
"It's daytime," Abigail said. "Just because you can't detect them doesn't mean anything."
It was a good point.
Just because they were following them discreetly didn't mean they were doing it from the shadows.
Christina had almost absolute power, but only in the shadows.
Now it was broad daylight, the sun was shining brightly.
The pursuer or pursuers could walk through dark alleys. They certainly could. They could.
But just because they weren't doing so right now, at least, didn't mean they didn't exist.
"That's true." Christina conceded the point without further ado.
Well, there was nothing else she could do.
Now, the important thing was, who was following them? And why? Those questions were easy to answer. The same answer as always, of course.
Desmond was... pissed off. How else could he be? Wherever he went, he couldn't be left alone.
Wherever he went, the same thing happened over and over again.
He was fed up.
His heart was pounding. It was not surprising. The last time he had been involved in a big fight, it had been just Abigail and him. An immortal and him, who was practically immortal.
What had been at risk had been their freedoms, not their lives.
But then there was Amy and Christina.
Now he had more to lose. Now he had twice as much to lose. So that was why his heart was pounding so hard. Like it was screaming.
Nothing need happen, really.
They were being followed.
That didn't mean it would go any further.
That they would dare to try something in the daytime and in the middle of the street. They could just be watching them, waiting for an opportunity. Something didn't have to happen.
Not today, at least.
They kept walking as if nothing had happened.
Desmond supposed the real question was not whether they would try something today, now or soon, but who was following them. Dogs of the Empire, trying to finish what they had started in the capital? Or actually the princess's men, working behind her back? There was no way of knowing and he didn't want to look around suspiciously, trying to find them, because that would let them know that they knew they were being followed.
It was better that when the pursuers made their move, if they did, they didn't know that they no longer had the element of surprise.
Any advantage was best kept up their sleeves. Until the most opportune moment.
"Who or who are they?" Amy said in a low, almost inaudible voice. Asking what they all wanted to know.
Except, perhaps, Abigail.
Maybe she could give an answer.
It doesn't matter who they are, Abigail answered mentally. He guessed that answer had also been given to Amy, who had asked the question in the first place.
So she didn't know. Maybe.
At least she had confirmed that it was 'they' and not a single person. And she was right, of course. It didn't really matter. Regardless of who was following them, the point was that that was what was happening. And they were potentially in danger. Desmond took a deep breath, gathering his strength for what was coming.
He decided to take a more philosophical approach to the matter.
If something happened...well, let it happen. Desmond would deal with the sons of bitches, however many there were, right here, right now.
Without letting them lay a finger on the people most important to him.
He had... they had the backing of the princess of Albion, nothing more, nothing less. A massacre in the middle of the capital was something he could afford.
The princess intended to use them, but they could use her too.
That was what it meant to maintain a mutually beneficial relationship. So there was nothing to fear. It took more than a few pursuers to pose a threat to them. If they wanted to capture them, they had better have brought an army. Then they might stand a chance.
Desmond smiled to himself.
"What are you thinking, Desmond?"Christina asked.
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, because you seem excited."
Excited?
That gave him food for thought. Excited? Well... He shook his head. No, of course he wasn't excited.
"Nothing in particular. Just... lost in thought."
"I see," she said, slowly and after a while. Looking sideways at him.
Why did I lie, he thought.
What do you see in the first place, he thought.
They walked on. Hardly speaking. He wondered if that would attract the attention of their pursuers for a few moments. He came to the conclusion that it was silly.
A symptom of overthinking things, as usual.
They returned home. He hadn't been here long, just a few days, so he didn't know the way yet. But Abigail did and she had led them all here.
They entered the house.
Desmond closed the door behind them.
They all went into the living room. Abigail peeked through the holes in the shutter, as discreetly as possible.
"Are they still there?" Amy asked.
Abigail was slow to respond. But she answered, after lowering her hand.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" Desmond repeated, more surprised than anything else. He had expected a definite answer. Yes or no, anything would do. But no ambiguity.
"It's not like I have a sixth sense or anything," Abigail said. "Can't be one hundred percent sure they've left."
As she spoke to him, she wasn't looking directly at him. She was looking in the direction of the window actually.
"I'm just sure they've been following us, at least," Christina said.
"That's right," Abigail confirmed. "I have no doubt about that. But proving a negative is more tricky."
Yes, it made sense. It wasn't what he expected, but even Abigail couldn't work miracles. Everything and everyone had a limit. Christina sat down on the couch and, covering her face with both hands, began to make sounds.
At first he thought she was crying.
But then it became clear that she was actually laughing and her voice got louder and louder.
Amy looked at her as if she had gone mad. Desmond, looking at her...
He didn't know what to feel, really.
Desmond only knew that her heart had constricted as he heard those sounds that didn't sound like laughter at all, even though they were supposed to be. Finally, Christina stopped. She dropped her hands, revealing her face. Revealing the tears glistening in her eyes.
They're not shed yet. But... Gods, did she already regret the decision she had made to come here? If so, he didn't blame her. Of course.
"Life is full of thrills with you," Christina said, out of breath from laughing so hard.
Desmond didn't know what to say.
"It looks that way." So, like an idiot, he said the first thing that came to his mind.
It would have been better to keep quiet. For a change. Amy tentatively walked over to Christina and sat down next to her. Desmond thought Amy would do something. That she would put a hand on her shoulder, hug her, or say something. Or all three actually. But the girl just stayed where she was. Staring at her.
At least for the moment.
"We haven't even been in this place an hour and already something like this happens. Anyway, I guess I should have seen it coming. But it's just..." She snorted.
Apparently she felt like exploding. In tears or screaming.
To burst out somehow. No matter what form it took.
Again, he didn't blame her....
He didn't really blame her...
He just wished he could do something for her. Anything at all. Offer something more than empty words.
But his mind was blank, and.... No, it wasn't exactly like that.
His mind wasn't blank, but anything he could think of would in all likelihood make things worse. So it was pretty much the same thing. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say. So he froze like an idiot.
"Christina," Amy said, finally. "We said we'd give this a chance.
Christina was silent. Thoughtful.
And while many things passed silently between them, through those eyes, through those faces, he could only stand on the sidelines. Watching. As if he wasn't there. As if he were just a ghost. An image from the past. He felt... He remembered his conversation with Amy, what she had suffered, feeling like she was left out.
And then he really understood.
Only now did he truly understand what it was like to feel this way.
Desmond had no real reason to feel this bad, but it hurt anyway. Feelings were unreasonable and people... people were so unnecessarily complicated, in general.
"Yes. You're right," Christina replied at last. " In the end. That's what we said... But more like..."
Christina fell silent, biting her lip, maybe her tongue too.
That is, figuratively but also literally.
What exactly had she been about to say?
He'd never know, he supposed.
Desmond wasn't sure he wanted to hear it in the first place. Maybe he'd already heard...more than enough.
Say something. Come on, already. You've got to say something. His head felt very light, as if he were dizzy.
Desmond swallowed.
"Whatever happens..."
Christina raised her head to look at him. Amy, worried, didn't take her eyes off Christina.
"I won't let them hurt you."
Christina clenched her fists.
"You'll try. That much at least is clear to me."
——
They didn't talk much for the rest of the day. Awkwardly, stiltedly, and....
About anything but... Well, but...
His one attempt to talk about what happened that night had been harshly rebuffed by Christina.
So he hadn't brought it up again, quite simply.
He could have. But he'd lost the courage to do so.
Night fell. Desmond thought they would want to take advantage of having a room to themselves, but no, they wanted the same as at the academy.
Desmond didn't even ask if he could bring a third bed there.
It had made sense at the academy. They were soldiers and should naturally lear to work together, to sleep together, even, putting aside the differences between the sexes.
There were no such things as men and women. There were only soldiers.
But this was not the academy. And regardless of that, it would be best to give them their space.
Leave space for both of them, not just Christina.
He couldn't fool himself and tell himself that Amy was on his side, that Christina was the one he 'had to win over'. He had done something horrible.
He had hurt both of them deeply.
And he would have to work to fix that, fill the holes, for a long time.
Desmond retreated to the room he shared with Abigail.
She was already there.
Sitting on the edge of the window, one leg raised and folded against her chest, wrapping her arms around that leg.
Her expression as she gazed out into the darkness of the night was filled with melancholy. For no particular reason, he stared at that scene in silence. He didn't want to disturb her. He didn't want to interfere.
It's like a painting. A perfect painting.
Even the way the moonlight wraps around her, swims through her hair, reflects in her eyes.
It's like a painting.
A painting.
But, in the end, she noticed his presence anyway. She turned her head to look at him. Which was fine. Because if it were up to him alone this would have gone on for quite a bit longer, for sure.
"There you are. Are you all right?"
"I could be better, but yes. I'll be fine."
"In time," Abigail added.
Time, which was always on his side. Ha! That was only when it came to survival or, for that matter, the fight for freedom.
But time would not help him fix what was between Amy, Christina and him.
Quite the contrary.
Time was working against him. The countdown had started from the moment he left that night, causing a serious wound.
He didn't know how long that countdown would last.
But the fact was that it was going down. And that someday it would end. Explosively.
That is, if he didn't do something about it.
But... he was so poorly equipped to do something about it.
"I hope so," he said at last.
"I think so," Abigail said. "I can't say for sure, I don't want to lie to you. But there's a reason they've come this far. Whatever was there before... it's still there. Even if sometimes it's hard to see it. Like clouds blocking out the sun."
Desmond nodded his head.
"I know that here," he touched a finger to his forehead, "but not here."
He put the same finger over his heart.
"Understandable. It can't be helped."
"I wish it could."
"I wish I could protect you from everything," Abigail said, "even that kind of pain. Unfortunately," Abigail shrugged, "despite all my years of living.... Anyway, I have my limits."
"I don't think so. "
"You don't think so? You've spent enough time by my side to know it's true. In that sense, I'm no different than anyone else. I can't be. Although sometimes... I don't even think of myself as human."
"That's because you're not human," Desmond said, and strangely Abigail reacted as if he had hit her. "I mean you're something better than that. Most of us are little more than animals. But even the best of us, compared to you... are dirty."
Abigal was silent.
"I didn't know you still had those kinds of thoughts about me."
"Still?" A long pause. "Does it bother you?"
Abigail narrowed her eyes, smiled to herself. She was beautiful. She was beautiful with any kind of smile and with any kind of expression.
Not human. If not something more than human.
He was right. Even Abigail herself should know that. She was just too modest, he supposed.
If that could be called a flaw, then it might be the only flaw Abigail had.
Desmond climbed into his bed, pulled the covers up to his waist. He remained seated. Looking at Abigail.
"It's going to be a hard road. It's not something you can just apologize for; after all, you're not sorry. Nor should you."
"Yeah. I know."
"But it's off to a good start."
"What do you mean?" It didn't seem like a good start to him, really. Generously speaking, it had simply been a start, neither good nor bad. Had Abigail seen something he hadn't?
"What I just said. You look... happy. Livelier. Smiling without realizing you're doing it. Reason enough to make me happy."
"Oh," Desmond said. He felt himself blush.
But that's not a good start, he was going to protest. That's just me deluding myself...like a complete idiot. Nothing more than that. Nothing to get my hopes up about, though, really. He was going to protest, but chose to keep quiet. He didn't always realize that silence was the best option when it was too late.
"Thank you... Do you think they're still out there?"
Abigal averted her gaze, glancing out the window again. Well, maybe not again. He had the impression that before she became aware of his presence, she hadn't been looking at anything in particular. Just perched there, at the window.
"I couldn't tell. Maybe. Maybe not. I'm sure they'll be back soon. Of that at least I'm sure."
"When they do, we'll be ready."
"Of course we will. But for now..."
Abigail climbed down from the window. She walked toward him. She walked straight to his bed. And Desmond began to sense that something was going to happen, no, was already happening.
"What are you doing? he asked in a quiet voice..
Abigail crawled into her bed, pulled her covers over herself.
"What's wrong with it, Desmond?"
"No, nothing. Of course not. "But? Was there a but?"
"So? We don't need two beds. Tonight at least, sleep in my arms. I think you need it."
Abigail lay down. Desmond did the same, not taking his eyes off her. Of his mother. Of his… Goddess. I've been calling her goddess a lot longer than I've been calling her mother. That thought seemed almost like some sort of profound revelation, to him.
Desmond embraced her. He buried his head in her long hair and closed his eyes.
Not long after, tears began to fall.
——
Darkness. A pulsating darkness.
It felt like he was in the depths of the sea. In its dark depths.
Not alone, of course.
Not alone. He couldn't see anything or anyone. But he wasn't alone. He could feel it. Moving somewhere in the darkness. Approaching, slowly approaching. The moment was getting closer...
Suddenly, he saw Abigail lying on the floor at his feet.
Dressed, as usual, in white from head to toe.
She looked at him and moved her lips.
He heard nothing. But he read them. Clearly, she had said: kill me.
He heard that word like an echo inside his head. An echo with the force of a gunshot. Over and over again. A word that, on its own, had the power to drive him mad.
A gunshot.
A gunshot.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
One and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one again.
Suddenly...
He had a knife in hand.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
Desmond raised the knife, stared at it, stared at his reflection in the metal.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
His hand was shaking.
And he certainly didn't want to do this. He had never wanted to. To stain his hands with blood. But most of all, with the blood of the person most important to him. That he really didn't.
But...
You have to let me go.
Their gazes met.
Half a heartbeat later, Desmond plunged the knife into her heart.
He watched from very close, painfully close, as her face contorted in pain and her eyes widened. He watched as blood began to flow from the wound and from her mouth, knowing that this time there was no turning back.
That this time would be the last.
Because he was
(letting go)
releasing her, as she had wanted him to do from the beginning.
Desmond was shaking as much as a building on the verge of collapse. But still he didn't let go of the knife.
Abigail's lips, painted blood red, gave shape to a smile.
Thank you.
Those were her last words. And then...
Then there was nothing.
——
He screamed.
A deep scream that seemed to come from the heart of the very earth itself. In agony, the earth reacted.
"Desmond?" Abigail's panicked voice.
First, she began to tremble.
She vaguely felt the sensation of someone putting their hands on his shoulders. The warmth of another person.
"You have to calm down!"
But Desmond was too far gone for those sensations, or anything that reached his ears, to have any real meaning.
Bursting.
Windows exploded, scattering broken glass everywhere.
The curtains shook as if pushed by a wind that was not blowing. Birds sang in the distance. The house groaned as if it were folding in on itself, every inch of the wood.
Desmond turned around, unintentionally. He felt his clothes tear. As did his back.
The black wings stretched out to their full width, brushing the ceiling.
A thud. Wood, too.
Light coming in the shape of a triangle. Two undulating shadows.
"What's happening?" The echo of an echo of an echo. Couldn't even tell who that voice belonged to.
It didn't even matter.
One of the shadows collapsed. In the midst of his burning agony, amidst a haze as if a fissure of madness had opened in his heart, he regained some lucidity: that shadow was Christina.
Trembling like him. As if she had been hit by something.
He saw that...
He saw that she was foaming at the mouth. Amy knelt down beside Christina.
Her voice rose.
She was scared.
I'm scared too, I'm so scared..... Tears streamed down his cheeks. Mom, Mom, please.
But he couldn't even find the strength to ask for help.
Desmond heard an answer, very clear. A voice inside his mind, but one that didn't belong to him.
I'm here. It's okay, I'm here.
It didn't help.
Something had happened... and he was falling apart. He wasn't sure he could recover from this.
——
"Christina! Christina, gods!"
Amy was shaking her as if the point was to make her 'come to her senses' or something. Like she was helping in some way.
Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. What's happening to her?
First Desmond, then her.
She... She seemed to be slipping away in her arms. Right in front of her eyes. Without her being able to do anything. Her eyes were open and they saw, but not the same thing she could see. It was like she was having a seizure or something. And she was so scared, she was sick and tired of being scared..... Amy went completely rigid. She lifted her head and looked in the direction of the door, with Christina shaking painfully and clearly in her arms.
"What was that?"
The other woman in the room gave her the answer. With her face covered by a shadow.
"They've broken down the doors. They're here."
They. The pursuers, they had to be.
At the worst possible moment. Of course they did.
In the middle of the night, in a situation like this. It was as if they had planned it.
Maybe it was like that.
She didn't care.
Christina was dying, or at least it looked like it. And Desmond was... She couldn't even tell how he was, in any case, it wasn't good.
Now, how were they going to get out of this?