Grave Intent
Page 18
“Where are we?” I asked Sophie. She smiled and opened her mouth to speak as I was ripped away from her. I heard my own protested shouting as an echo that faded away too fast. Everything was happening all at once and not at the same time at all.
The chopper raced down to the ground. I remained inside it. That was where I belonged at that time. The people inside where screaming. Everyone but Winter. Fear was etched on his face as he clutched to anything he could in there as if that could help against the forces that were pulling them all to the ground.
The crash was violent and destructive. Metal bent and screamed around the people as they were shaken, hit and crushed. I felt them all go. In one moment there was a vibrant energy that kept duplicating itself, in the next, it was snuffed out. In all of them.
And then he came back. Clearly in pain and confusion, but he came back. I saw Winter wake up and try to force his way out of the twisted fuselage, screaming in pain as the flames got hold of him and the smoke snuffed out everything this time. He had begun escaping through an opening. The fire died down, and he came to again. Hurting and struggling, but healing. The same furious anger that had overcome me before took over and I screamed – a sound that could never escape a human body. A raw, deep and twisted sound.
I drew breath as Ben’s body struggled against pain and shock. The floor was cold under me, Sophie’s body to my right, still warm. The black fog was everywhere, but somehow I could see the approaching movements of a body, arms raised, intent on hurting me.
I saw a beautiful and broken face then. A woman who looked straight at me. Her filthy and once colorful dress ripped and crumpled. It revealed deep gashes and bruises on her dark skin, some old, some new. She lay on a thin mattress on a dirt floor, locked inside a dank small cell. Her body shook with the pain inflicted upon her, but her eyes were still alert despite the gradual loss of consciousness.
She looked right at me then, her beautiful eyes showing no fear as she recognized me.
“They call me a witch,” she said, her voice rasping, “but I know you will come for them too one day. So they are wrong.”
I nodded at this though I was not supposed to. She smiled back and welcomed me, leaving the foolish stupidity of those who had done this to her behind. That was for them to live with.
The floor under me still felt cold. In fact, it was freezing. The fog was gone, but I could see no further than a foot away from the body. And something was happening to it. I could scarcely lift the head to see, and I felt it more than saw it. Energy leaving the prison of flesh that had trapped me. Soft tendrils of a dark shade were leaving the corporeal form. No smoke moved that slowly and I knew that was not what it was. It was an entity, something living, and I belonged with it. I was it.
The human brain is not designed for something like that. I felt myself pulled into the floor, screaming in panic this time, as I opened the eyes and saw that I was yet again in Winter’s office. The metallic smell of blood hit me as I saw him lying on the floor. The life-inducing fluid was leaving his body as Okanov stood above him, stabbing him one last time and twisting the knife for good measure.
Again, I felt the sensation of this thing in the room, this living thing that lost all force behind it. I felt him go like I had felt all the others go. This time I didn’t let the anger take me when he came to again. I expected it; had seen it before. I felt the fury but didn’t let it control me.
Fear took over then, as I saw that the black fog had come back again. I could no longer see the energy floating around Ben’s body, but I could sense it as I was still tethered to it, hovering above and waiting for the opportunity to do something. And somewhere above me, the threatening figure melted completely with the rolling tendrils of darkness.
I stood at the foot of a large bed in a room with no electricity. A warm light emanated from a few candles. Again, I had the sensation of having moved across large bodies of water. The bed took almost the entirety of the room. It was a log cabin, the air a little raw as I could feel the draught from the closed window. But the two people in the bed looked warm under their blankets with the additional rays from the sun warming them a little through the glass. A man and his wife. Old, the both of them. Very much so. Their shock-white hair and wrinkled faces spoke of long lives lived.
The man went first. Peacefully in his sleep, as a young woman came into the room with a tray in her arms. She didn’t notice.
The next time I saw them, the sun had set outside. There were several people in the room as they knew the old man was no longer with them. The old woman held on to his hand now and refused to let go. So no one had moved the man’s body. I felt her pain then. And her happiness at having known him. Was I supposed to do that? I didn’t think so. The old woman joined him shortly after my arrival. There was no violence here, only love and respect. It brought tears to their family’s eyes, but also a sense of gratefulness at the way it had happened, as they knew it had to at some point.
The agonizing flash blinded me again and I found myself in a deep forest, large trees all around. A man sat against a thick trunk of a pine, a lifeless shape in his lap, no movements, barely a frozen breath escaping him. A thick cover of snow dominated the forest ground, making it possible to see well as the moon was out. I was close enough to sense the demise of this man, and more curious still when I recognized his face. It was the same blue eyes, sharp, and straight nose. The sandy-colored hair was short, but a little longer than I was used to seeing through the form of Ben. What surprised me the most was the look of relief on his face as he gave in to the cold and let it take him. The woods were quiet for a long time after that as Winter’s body began to freeze.
I was ripped away again as he opened his eyes, only to see the same exact man walking down a cobbled street. Carriages pulled by horses went past and flowing gowns on women and the long elegant coats of men told me I was again not seeing him as I was used to. A village rose around Winter. It was made up of small whitewashed wooden houses. Again I realized I had traveled far as this was not Ashdale. It was too old.
A man stepped into Winter’s way, shouting he would have his revenge while waving a pistol about. He staggered a little, clearly drunk, as spittle sprayed from his mouth while he screamed his discontent. I saw Winter stop and assess the situation, but there was nothing to be done. The man wanted no discussion; no reason. He fired his one shot, and that was all he needed. Winter fell to one knee for a moment, before forcing himself up. I followed his staggering steps in my weightless form, yet still in the shape of Ben, as I saw him head into an alley. I understood that action at once now. He was bleeding profusely from a painful stomach wound. He had no chance without the aid of modern medicine. No – he would die, and dying in a public street would not help this particular man. It would cause too many questions when he came back. So, he sank down on the ground in a lonely alley, dirty and shaded in the daylight, and waited out the agonizing pain with no solace to be found, until he could finally find some relief.
And I felt his connection to this place severed. I felt… myself doing it. He was no different than anyone else. It was the same end of the life inside him, what was part of all of him. Like any other human. This was no fabled monster. This was a man.
I doubled over as the screeching sound and dizzying light interfered again. The brain was not handling this anymore. I could feel it collapsing as the entity that had taken it over demanded too much.
I found myself before a bed again. A narrow one this time, placed next to a wall. A man was laying in it, awake, but weak. Dressed in a white shirt and covered by several blankets from his chest down. He was surrounded by loved ones, women, men and children. They were all there for him, and he managed a true smile despite what was happening to him. He saw me, like the imprisoned woman had. Looked straight at me as it was time to go, and gave me a little shrug as if to say, “it could have been worse.”
A child’s scream broke into the peaceful scene, and everything around me shifted again. I found myself
in the barley field that would one day become a part of Ashdale. A boy screamed as a dog attacked him, the sound strangled and cut short as canine teeth closed down on the boy’s soft throat. I turned, the eight shadowy figures still there. Like they had been standing patiently between the barley sheaves since the last time I saw them. I walked toward them and was not taken away this time.
They consisted of a moving and twirling shade, dark and sometimes see-through. The sun had no say in the presence of these entities. It couldn’t shine through them.
“Who are you?” I said as I stopped in front of one of them. It didn’t move, nor did it answer me. I felt no fear at the sight of it. Only a familiar sensation. I stepped closer to peer into its face and saw only nondescript features that could resemble a face.
Then the features moved and changed into something that resembled me. For the briefest of moments, I saw Ben’s face looking back at me. An angular face, slightly narrowed with alert eyes shaded under the brows. Then it changed back to the undistinguished visage – the way it was supposed to be. I took a step back and considered this. I didn’t quite agree. Not everything was the way it was supposed to be.
If I ever got an explanation for that, I didn’t hear it. A bolt of pain pierced the brain and knocked me to the ground. I felt the barley’s soft scrape against the skin, and then it faded under me until I was falling. I saw water beneath me, and Ben beside me. Saw the fear on his face. The determination faded as he lost confidence in what he had done. Saw him look straight at me, confusion written all over his young face as he was no longer sure he had done the right thing.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice gentle.
And then he crashed into the water, the cold river brutally washing away all that was him – before I took over.
I felt it all then. Not only the two-legged humanoids finding their end. Everything. Every creature, four, six, eight legs; every cell, as connections to this place were severed. It happens to everything. It all fades into obscurity.
A face came to me from the darkness. An angry, confused and frightened face. Dirty, gray beard and a white scar from temple to cheekbone. Halfway laying against a wall under a window, in a nicely furnished and rich house. A unique face, and one like any other. Man or woman, rich or poor. It doesn’t matter in the end. I don’t care. I am not the cause, only the outcome. I sever the connection. That is all.
“Ben? Do you remember now?” Sophie’s voice was soft, her fabricated accent gone.
I looked at her and smiled. The lush and verdant landscape around us so harmonious and tranquil. I knew we were not in a peaceful place. Not really.
“I remember most of it,” I told her.
“You need to decide.”
I nodded and felt her squeeze the hand for comfort. Then I looked down, a small effort since I had little control over the body. I saw the hand in Sophie’s lifeless one, her unconscious body next to me. I had made my decision. I was there to do something. To right a wrong.
The black fog receded a bit as I heard a female voice shouting for it to be removed. It was impossible for her to see. Somewhere in the back of the exhausted brain, I knew the woman – Esme – was out to kill me.
I didn’t need to see to feel the energy hovering around me. My energy. If I focused and severed the weak threads keeping it there I could do what I had longed for since I woke up by the river. But I remembered now. Why I had taken over Ben’s body. What I was there to do. I inhaled deeply and pulled it all back around me, and inside. Felt the connections again. Nerves and neurons fighting violently against this intrusion. It hurt. More than anything I had felt so far, and yet I lay motionless and silent as the connections were forced upon the flesh. Until I was imprisoned again.
I opened my eyes when it was done. Not much more than a minute or two could have passed since I fell, paralyzed from David’s ability. The figure of Esme came closer, stepping out of the now gray fog as it thinned to allow her to see me. Her arms were raised. Did she have the same gift as David I wondered as I lay there, aware that I would never have the time to get away from her.
And then I saw my printer come swinging out of the waning fog, held by Peter, as he rammed the thing into Esme’s head. She gave a shocked grunt as she fell sideways and crashed to the floor. The printer flew through the air as Peter lost his grip on it and landed on her back, knocking her out completely.
“Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he shouted at the sight.
I got to my feet, a little slow and dizzy from the strain of it all. Then I heard the steps of someone bolting for the door. I didn’t have the strength to follow. If Alex decided to run, that was fine by me. I could deal with him later. The fog dissipated quickly as he was not there to maintain it.
“Oh my God, I killed her,” Peter said and stared at Esme in horror. “I killed her, Ben. What am I going to do?”
I looked down at her and then closed my eyes as a familiar feeling made itself known. The sensation of pressure spread fast from the nape of the neck as usual as I felt a presence in the room. I looked at the three bodies on my living-room floor before my eyes rested on David. He was pale and not breathing. Even from a few feet away it was clear there was no movement. There was a pool of blood around him as Esme must have hit an artery when she shot him.
“No,” I told Peter. “He’s the one who’s dead.
I knew my voice sounded different. Could hear it myself now. Knew it didn’t come from my physical form. I also knew from what they had told me that my eyes changed. But despite all that, Peter didn’t look scared anymore. He simply nodded and took my word for it, grateful that someone would know.
Chapter 31
Peter looked at David and saw that Ben was right. There was so much blood. It had kept expanding from the wound in his thigh until there was nothing left to exit the body. Why did that make him feel relieved? Esme lay hurt on the floor, but she was not dead. He was so relieved and yet his heart would not stop thundering in his chest. He could even feel his pulse in his ears; it melted together in a deafening roar.
What the hell had happened?
Guns? Shadow fogs and whatever it was David had done to Ben?
They wanted to kill me, Peter thought as he stared at Esme; seeing a wound on the side of her head. There had been no hesitation in her eyes. Nothing. Peter had been worth nothing to her, had been someone to be snuffed out like a bug. How did someone end up like that?
“Peter?” Ben’s voice seemed to come from far away, trying to push through something. “Peter?” Ben repeated and grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around and look at him. “This is not the time to panic. Do you hear me?”
Peter nodded, feeling numb and confused, relieved and in shock. How could so many things be going on inside a head at the same time? At least Ben’s eyes were a normal blue now. Maybe that meant there would be no more deaths? Peter could feel his own mouth begin to twist into a grim grin as the hilarity of it all struck him. How the hell was he and Ben mixed up in something like this? This didn’t happen in real life. Your friends didn’t have special talents that went against the laws of nature… but here they were.
“Peter. Sophie needs our help,” Ben pressed on. Those words were all it took for Peter to snap out of it. He blinked hard and looked over at Sophie’s unconscious body on the floor. His heart still raced in his chest, but his focus returned. He had acted on survival instinct earlier, but now his compassion returned in record speed.
“Oh my God. What do we do?”
“Call for help,” Ben instructed him. “They’ll know, won’t they?” He grabbed a blanket from the couch and walked over to Sophie. There was blood around her head, but not nearly the same amount that had come out of David.
Peter got his phone out and then hesitated. This was due to the Yorov group, wasn’t it? People hunting and taking those with special talents. Like Ben. None of them liked the police – that much was clear.
“Should we…?” Peter began, his voice dry.
“Should we call Winter? He can fix this, can’t he?” Peter had his text log up, saw the number that he had used to contact him earlier. Winter could help, couldn’t he? He knew exactly who had broken in and attacked them.
“No.” Ben’s voice was decisive as he looked back at Peter. “We will owe him nothing. Call for an ambulance. I’ll call Olivia.”
Peter found himself doing exactly that. Relayed information about how to help Sophie until the paramedics came bustling up the stairs a few minutes later. Noticed Ben’s certainty in his own decision. Something had changed. Yesterday he would have leaped at the chance at getting Winter to help them as it would have provided a chance to talk to him. Ask about his memory loss. And now he didn’t worry about it. In fact, Ben seemed more in control than ever since the accident as he did what he could for Sophie, called Olivia and generally held it together. It was like there was a new fire to him. Peter had only ever seen Ben like that when a new idea for a book came to him. He would begin those new ventures with such eagerness then. Although it wasn’t really eagerness he was seeing now, it was more like a hard determination.
Sophie and Esme were taken to the hospital, and at some point, Peter and Ben were moved over to Sophie’s apartment. After that Peter sank down into a soft chair as police officers flooded the place. The night went by in a haze. Olivia came quickly after Ben’s call; one of the first to arrive. Hours went by. The sun rose outside, promising a nice day for those who cared. Peter noticed Ben and Olivia talking together in low voices as the other officials went through Ben’s living room. Eventually, David was also taken away. Peter watched from the doorway then as David was carried between two men on a stretcher, covered in a dark bag. Without a word he went back to the chair and stared at a painting of a wood nymph that hung on Sophie’s dark wall. The nymph looked lost between the trees, staring back as if trying to remember something. Peter glanced over at Ben again, still in deep conversation with Olivia. He didn’t have that bewildered look anymore. It was not like he had his memory back, but he looked like the confusion had left him; like he had accepted it.