by Ireland Gill
His jaw clenched, and he looked at me intently. “It never stopped.”
I had a feeling that this would finally be the moment I heard his story. I didn’t want to make him feel awkward by just sitting on the porch and listening, so I unpacked my knives once again and stood to start throwing with him.
It was around his tenth throw when he finally spoke again.
“I needed a fix one night.” He shook his head, as if remembering his stupidity. “It was the fourth of July. We could see the city’s fireworks from the front yard. Me and the ex got into a big fight when I wanted to leave for a bit to go meet my guy at the usual spot.” He sighed and swallowed hard. “I couldn’t even wait until after the fucking finale to go for that fix.”
We each threw a few blades at our respective trees. I listened intently.
“I was furious with Rachael because she wouldn’t shut up about the house payment and no food, and all this other shit like utilities getting shut off.” He scoffed. There was a long pause as he looked out blankly to the targets. “My son was at the end of the driveway when I backed out into the street.”
I stopped in mid-throw. I watched Blane for a moment. He looked down at the pile of knives in his palm. He took one and threw it at the target, then angrily threw each knife at the bullseye in rapid succession. The last blade went straight to the center, knocking several of the others out of the same spot.
I only imagined the outcome of his backing out of the driveway. I didn’t need the details, and I didn’t think Blane wanted to share those with me either.
“The last time I used was the day of his funeral. I went home and fixed my own batch the final time I shot up...mixed with fentanyl. A quantity I knew would kill me.”
He pointed to his right arm with one of the blades. “I suppose they always want me to remember the mess I made with these fucking tracks in my arms.”
It was my chance to look a little closer this time, his arms. Literal tracks in both of them, like stains from a bad memory. Ink that would never disappear or fade, just like his guilt.
He stared out to the trees for a moment. “You ever seen how fucking small a four year-old’s casket is?” His head lowered, and he spun one of his knives around in his hand very slowly, catching glints of what was left of the dusk sunlight. “The Middle Realm is your own personal hell – probably worse than the Dark Realm, if you need a comparison.” Blane went to fetch our knives and handed mine to me.
I kept silent, taking the blades.
We began throwing again for what seemed like a solid ten minutes. I could be wrong. Oddly enough, it wasn’t uncomfortable, because even though I hadn’t known Blane that well or for that long, I just knew he wasn’t one of those types of people who expected sympathy. He didn’t even expect a solution or a reaction. He just simply wanted me to know.
Nonetheless, I had to say something. I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved with all your being. I may not have known how it felt to carry the guilt the way he was, but I knew the pain and how it never went away. Ever.
“I’m sorry about your son, Blane.”
He shrugged, finally looking me in the eyes for the first time that evening, just briefly. His shrug indicated his reaction to my empathy, not in a way that was meaningless to him, but that he knew that I knew how brutal witnessing death was.
We continued to throw our blades.
“I guess you could say I bought myself a one-way ticket to the Middle Realm before I even died that day.” He laughed darkly. “I’d been stuck in a darker world than I was before, but this time a complete eternity of it.” He shrugged. “Or so I thought.”
I waited for his last throw, then walked to the trees to fetch all of the knives for us.
“There was no color. Nothing but gray stone walls surrounding me, with a small window ten feet above my head, just big enough to let some sort of light in...from outside, maybe. I don’t even know what the fuck was outside of those walls. I just knew I was inside them, and that I was dead.”
He grabbed his knives and threw a few.
“So, after spending probably about a week wallowing in my own guilt and shame, I became angry. I was pissed at myself that I’d literally set my own sentence in death – I’d never get to see my son again.” He paused. “I started punching, hitting, kicking, and screaming inside those stone walls. I got violent enough one day and ended up chipping some of the stone pieces. Big chunks fell all over the place. It was like the walls were breakable all along, but only in pieces. So I started making tools out of the broken pieces. I sharpened them and would grind them against the bigger stones that jetted out to get them to perfect points.”
Blane held up one of his knives to me. “I got them really fucking sharp. I don’t even know why I was doing it. Maybe I was thinking about cutting myself up to stop the pain...but what good would that do? I was already dead.” He pursed his lips, throwing the knife from his hand. “But not one day, not one hour would go by without the thought of what I did to my son.”
“One day, I just start throwing the pieces of stone.” He stood completely still, staring out at the trees and targets. “I just kept throwing, and throwing, and throwing. I blinked one day, and this big circle of thick green moss as big as my head started growing on the middle of the stone wall in front of me. It was like the cell was changing.”
Blane threw the last of his knives and pointed. “So I threw all of my handmade knives at it...and they stuck.” He went to fetch the knives and threw them all down onto his coat, lying in the grass. “Over time, new moss patches would appear on different walls. That was all I did for all those years. I broke and chiseled those stone walls a little bit at a time, made more blades, and threw them at the moss targets.”
We walked together over to the porch step. Blane lit another cigarette and offered me the same. He even lit another match for me.
“After some time went by, I woke up one day and found real blades lying along the stone floor. Six of them. The moss targets were gone. They changed into real wooden targets with red bullseyes. All around me.” His hand gestured to the trees. “More time passed and all I did was throw. It was as if I couldn’t live without throwing. It was my air, my way to keep living in death. The targets became worn in all the spots that counted the most. I’d thrown so many times that the red paint was no longer there.”
I flicked the ash from the end of my cigarette. “So, that’s why the Guardian Council wanted you. It’s all you did, and they knew you’d never miss.”
“They groomed me for what they wanted, then bribed me with my son. Said I had to hunt this Phantom fucker down, then I’d get to go where I’m supposed to go.” He shrugged. “World of Light, whatever they call it. That’s supposedly the deal.”
I looked at him incredulously. “You were already breaking those walls. It was your own hell. Isn’t that what the Middle Realm is? You put yourself there. You could have gotten yourself out of there any time.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I would have kept myself there forever. They came by with an offer I couldn’t refuse...which hopefully isn’t bullshit.”
I thought about that comment. Blane’s guilt never would have let himself out of those stone walls. Ever. Much like I never wanted to forgive my mother’s murderer, Anton Carter, for taking her from me; Trevor Blane refused to ever forgive himself for the death of his own son. So the Council gave him a way out. A way to hopefully help to forgive himself in the process.
“You sound like you don’t believe that this deal with the Council is legit,” I said. “It’s like you don’t believe they’ll keep their word.”
Blane looked down and pulled another smoke out of the pack, rolling it between his thumb and finger. “I don’t trust easily.”
“Hmm.” I put my smoke out into the ash tray. I ground it into the raised center of the glass until the cotton butt of the cigarette puffed out. “I guess I can relate.”
I stood up and grabbed my knives, making my
way to the door. “Hey, Blane?”
He lit a match and inhaled deeply to light the smoke in his mouth, finally turning to look at me.
“Thanks for talking today. You didn’t have to.”
He took a long drag on that cigarette. Longer than his usual. Then he leaned his head back, blowing out the smoke and clouding up the clear night air above him.
“Don’t expect it to happen again,” he said.
I smirked as I headed inside.
After the day I’d had, I was ready for bed. I promised Jaxon he could watch a save tomorrow before Rose’s visit with her “I’m-sorry-apple-pie,” so I’d need to save my energy for that next encounter anyway.
I’d already mangled her face enough on those targets. I laughed at myself darkly while I headed up the steps. Poor Rose.
Chapter Fourteen An Unexpected Hurdle
I’d had a good night’s sleep after my long evening of knife-throwing with Blane. I’d gotten up and started the day with a bowl of cereal, tossing out just one new castor to “fetch” a new soul. I’d made a promise to Jaxon, and I wanted to be sure we did the save early enough before Rose stopped by with her pie later on that day.
It was still quiet in the house by the time the castor was back. The red one was sitting on the window sill by the time I’d returned to my room. I examined the object closely as soon as I noticed a dent in the perfect sphere. It was strange to see, as I’d never seen so much as a scratch on the new castors Elliott had made for me. I laid it down on the nightstand and went to get Jaxon and Hayden.
Hayden passed me in the hall as I walked to my brother’s room.
“You already have returns today?” he asked. It was clear he already knew I was up and avoided me in the kitchen earlier.
“Yeah,” I said. “Looks like a rough trip back for this new one.” I held up the red castor. “I haven't opened it yet though. I was waiting for you.”
“As you should,” he said, heading to my room.
I rolled my eyes after I turned down the hall.
"Jaxon," I peeked into my brother's room. "It's time."
His head popped up from a small sketchbook. “Sweet!”
He followed me to my bedroom where Hayden waited patiently in the chair by the window. He looked up as we both walked in.
"What's this?" Hayden gave me a disapproving look, gesturing to Jaxon.
"I promised Jaxon I would let him watch a save."
Hayden, who for days was acting like nothing more than a distant work associate, looked at me incredulously.
"Are you sure?" He said it almost as if a warning.
I raised an eyebrow and nodded, pointing to my brother. "He’s curious." And then I almost added something like “I don’t want any secrets in this house anymore,” but I caught myself immediately. Guilt had already consumed me whenever I started to think about Alysto’s visiting me in my dream not long ago. I still hadn’t figured out how to I’d approach Hayden about it, and now that we were still in our little tiff, it was the last thing I wanted to add to the drama. It was bad enough that I didn’t really know how to resolve the issue he had with my sketch of him and his broken wings.
As for handling the audience of one, aka my brother, I felt like I'd done saves a thousand times. I’d lost count, but I'd seen shit over and over again. Bad shit. And even though every trip into the darkness was different, I still managed to come out as me again. At least I’d thought so: Plain ol' me.
I thought about the story I'd told Blane earlier, about the woman who'd cut out a baby from a nineteen year-old girl. I wondered how I'd become so desensitized, so callous to the world I was thrust into, this new job. A Soldier of Light is what I was to be, but it felt nothing like light; so far from it.
Hayden snapped out of his current stare down at me and smiled at Jaxon.
"Come on in, Jaxon. We just had some returns from this morning." Hayden pulled out the castors from the bag on the floor, then slid the rest of them to the side with his foot. He held out the red castor up to examine it, turning on the bedside lamp.
"You’re right. Looks like this one had a rough return," he said, looking up at me. He pointed to the multiple dents around the sphere. One dent was pretty deep, and very close to the parts where our hands met to open it.
I cautiously took it from Hayden's hands. "This has never happened before. What does this mean?"
I stared down at the castor full of dents and was immediately reminded of the dents in my Mustang’s bumper. God! Why?
"Maybe we should send out a new one and just have Elliott check that one out later," Hayden said, reaching out for the red castor.
"No." I pulled it closer. "I'd rather know what's in here now. Maybe the Drones were playing baseball with it or something." I practically snorted at my own joke, nudging Jaxon, who suddenly froze at the thought.
I laughed again. "Kidding, little brother. Those things haven't been around for months."
Jaxon forced a smile, glancing at my neck. "As cool as it looks, I don't really think I want one of those." He pointed to the scar by my collarbone, which was indicative of my very first encounter with one of Alysto's demonic creatures, a Drone.
I turned back to Hayden. "Ready?"
He gave me an unenthusiastic gesture with his hand, beckoning me to sit on the bed with him.
I opened the castor and inhaled the contents. I leaned into Hayden's chest as my senses took over and it went dark. I first recognized a cologne. It was the most familiar of all colognes to me; Old Spice. It was obviously a male. He'd only been dead for about 3 months or so, so it felt new to him. He was still frantic, scared, much more so than the others. It struck me as odd that he hadn't been a Seeker for long at all, especially after feeling the severity of the guilt he had within him. It was a heavy weight that I could feel already, even before his image appeared.
Then, the image came to me as if I were looking into a mirror. I saw him standing there looking directly at me. He had a medium build and looked to be in his late thirties; his short hair was brown and thinning, with a round face sporting a five o'clock shadow and a small goatee above his broad chin. His sunken-in eyes looked desperate and fearful. Pity had almost swept through me until I inhaled just once more. Old Spice and cigarettes this time. It was then that it hit me. I knew this man. I loathed this man. I panicked as my heartbeat sped and I lost my concentration. I needed out of this state of mind, back to my world. I clutched to Hayden's arm and gasped, unable to control the chaos that had begun in my body and inside my mind.
Everything started to spin as I hyperventilated. “No,” I was frantic. “No, no, no, no, no, no!”
“Evika! What is it?” I heard Hayden call to me. “Come out of this, now!” His arms enveloped me tightly at that moment and I felt the calm he sent through me. One, last deep breath and my eyes opened to the blinding sun from the window in the room. Hayden scooted me into his lap and rocked me, stroking my cheek with his thumb. I hadn't noticed, until I tasted the salt, that I'd been crying.
“Evika, what did you see?” I heard the worry in his voice.
“This is wrong,” was all I could say.
“Evika, please talk to me. What's wrong? What did you see?”
“Hayden, I can't do this one. Let me go.” I felt my normalcy restore and the wrath had begun. I shoved him away hoping he'd comply, and he did. I needed air. I needed to clear my nose, my eyes. My head. The image. My mind.
I rushed past my brother mumbling something like “I’m sorry, Jax” and walked outside to the front porch step to hang my head between my legs as I sat down. This was no longer easy. This was becoming too much. I was angry at everything. Angry that I'd seen him. Angry that I'd reacted and pushed Hayden away. As if I hadn’t done enough of that already! I was angry that I'd become this catalyst between the dead and their damned destination; my destiny of saving these dead beings that had done so much wrong in their lives that they'd become prisoners in the undead world. I started envying Alysto and his position i
n this whole game. How easy it was to be the bad guy.
I should have known before opening that castor that something was wrong. The severe dents in it should have warned me enough not to open it. How could I have been so stupid? Why didn’t I just shut up and listen to Hayden? God, and my poor brother, standing there back in the room wondering what the hell went wrong.
I heard light footsteps behind me as they stepped out onto the wood boards.
“You were only in for less than a minute; not enough time to have seen the sins yet.” My angel’s soft voice calmed my breathing instantly. “You know this one, don't you?” he concluded.
He knew me too well. I sighed and just closed my eyes, squeezing out the tears I realized only then were there. I buried my face in my hands, cheeks hot, full of tears and sweat.
“It's him, Hayden.” I tightened my fists near my temples and felt my nails digging into my palms. The pain made me clench my teeth. “Anton Carter. He....he killed my mother.”
Silence filled that room. It was a blanket of quiet so tense that it was smothering.
So many things ran through my mind once I realized I had just seen Anton Carter. First and foremost, whatever hell he was suffering - he deserved every bit of it, and more. I wanted so badly to keep him away from any kind of good that could fall upon him. He took away the best part of my life. My mother was an angel; my human mother, I mean. She was as close to perfection a human could ever be, and he stole her from this world, from me. Anton Carter deserved his death, and he also deserved an eternity of pain – not the measly few months he’d been dead. That was bullshit.
Once again, since I started this new role, I could relate to Alysto and his ability to become so callus to these Seekers. They were at his mercy until someone like me would save them. I understood. I’d tried to bury those feelings of hate a long time ago, the abhorrence I felt toward all of the Seekers I was forced to save. Why? Because I was supposed to. I had to. But this time, it was personal. And that changed everything.
