Distractions
It had been two weeks.
Two weeks since she'd been standing there with shaking hands and blood on her pale, blank face. Two weeks since she'd run from him, listening to the voice in her head. Two weeks since he'd heard her echoing screams, since he'd seen the bodies, since he'd seen the blood….
Two weeks since he couldn't save her.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, as he pushed the memory away. He did not need the distraction, not when there was so much to be done. He needed to focus on one task at a time. He needed to do something productive, something to get him through the hours, the days without losing his mind. (Again.)
Luckily, they'd gotten a lead. Or so he'd heard. His temporary…partner (of sorts) had called him, told him to meet it—her—at Gordon's right away. He was in the Bentley and departing from Roarhaven mere seconds later.
Valkyrie.
Mm?
Valkyrie, look at me.
It was quiet when he pulled up to Gordon's mansion. The sky was gray, and the air, he imagined, was cold. The grass was wet, too, and he could feel the water seep into his shoes as he walked up to the front door. He hesitated, and then knocked before opening it anyway.
He walked in, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coatrack beside him.
"About time you got here," a voice behind him said.
He turned. Valkyrie, his partner, his best friend—she was standing there, at the end of the entryway. Not her reflection, but her. She stood with her clothes torn and dark hair bedraggled, but she was smiling. He could see that her eyes were wet, he could see that dimple…. It was her. He knew it was.
He didn't remember moving. One second he was standing, frozen in the doorway, and the next he had his arms wrapped tight around her, and he felt hers around his neck—
"Skulduggery? What are you doing?"
He stumbled forward, startled. He turned, saw Stephanie standing in the living room. He looked back where Valkyrie had just been standing, and then back at her tense reflection.
A hallucination.
But he hadn't had one of those since—
Boo!
Hands shaking, he took a seat on the sofa in the living room and shook his head at Stephanie. "Nothing. It was nothing."
"If you say so," she said, frowning and sitting down in the chair across from him.
This was where they had first met. This was where they had said their first words to each other, when they assumed they'd never see each other again. She'd been shorter back then, and not quite as…hard. Less like him. He truly had expected never to see her after the reading of the will—why would he?—but then that night he'd been breaking down that door, he'd been fighting that man who'd tried to kill her, he'd been catching her after she'd fainted, laying her down on this very sofa.
At least he died doing what he loved.
Yes. At least there's that.
He made a sound like he was clearing his throat. "Now, what did you find? What did you call me out here for?"
"It was on the news," she said, leaning forward. "There's a small town in Brazil that was completely leveled. Sounds like her, doesn't it?"
He sighed, lifting his hat and rubbing a hand over his skull. "We need a bit more than 'sounds like.'"
She glared at him, and the familiarity of it forced him to look away. "I didn't have to come to you with this, you know. I could've gone to China, or even Vex. It'll be a miracle if they haven't heard about this already, but they're swamped with problems at the Sanctuary. Or what's left of it anyway."
"Comforting. Did you learn anything else that perhaps made this more convincing?"
"Yes," she said, proudly. Pride was not an emotion a reflection should have. "The news didn't give many details, but I looked into it more and apparently a 'dark-haired girl wearing strange clothes' was seen around town a few days earlier. Is that convincing enough for you?"
He was already standing. It was her. Of course it was her.
"Where are you going?" Stephanie asked, following him to the door. "You're not going there now, are you?"
He pulled on his jacket. "Of course I am."
"That's ridiculous! It's already getting dark, and I'm betting the next flight won't be until tomorrow, not to mention how long it takes to get there—"
"I'll find another way," he said, absently, opening the door.
Valkyrie was leaning on the Bentley, this time looking just as she did the night of the Requiem ball.
"Valkyrie," he whispered without thinking, falling a step forward.
"Finally. Are you ready to go? I've been waiting forever. Don't I look gorgeous, though?" She did a little twirl in her dress and looked at him expectantly. He'd bought her that dress.
You're late.
I'm beautiful.
You're always beautiful.
I'm always late, too.
A sharp jab in his side and Valkyrie was gone.
"Skulduggery," Stephanie said, poking him again. "What the hell are you staring at? Valkyrie's not there."
"I must be seeing things."
"Right…Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little off. Are you tired?"
"It's impossible for me to feel tired. But I'm fine. I'm going to Brazil."
"No, no, you're not."
Ten minutes later, he was gritting his teeth, still standing in Gordon's doorway. "Fine. I am not going to Brazil. But you aren't either."
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Right."
"Now that I think about it, it's clearly some kind of trap."
"Is that so." He wasn't paying attention anymore, but words were still coming out of his mouth.
"Yes. I don't think she has any reason right now to level a whole town in Brazil of all places. And why would she do something that would draw attention to her? It doesn't make any sense."
"Her entire existence doesn't make much sense either. To the average mind, anyway."
"Fair point," Stephanie said, nodding. "So…where are you going now, since you're not going to Brazil?"
He brushed a spot of dirt off the Bentley, not answering.
"I think you should go home."
"Do you now."
"Yes, I do. You don't seem to be feeling very well. I think maybe you should…meditate for a while or something. You really do seem exhausted. And sad. And I'm pretty sure you're hallucinating that Valkyrie is here…It's just…I feel bad for you. You should take a day off."
Are you…OK?
Not even remotely.
"How kind of a reflection to pity me," he said, dryly, and yanked open the car door.
Stephanie bristled. "Fine. I'll contact you if I hear anything else."
And with that, she walked back into the mansion and slammed the door.
He did not want to go home. Not to that empty house. Not when there was still a chance that Valkyrie could come home with him.
He really didn't need sleep. He was dead after all. Dead people didn't need much of anything—that was something he'd noticed over the years. But he imagined if he could feel tired, if he could feel the lack of sleep weighing down his bones, he would have collapsed by now. Maybe he could use a break. It wouldn't help Valkyrie at all if he wasn't at his best when searching for her. He couldn't risk ruining his chances of getting her back.
You never have anything to eat or drink.
I think I have some leftover pizza from last time you were here.
That was two weeks ago.
You think it's gone off?
I think it's walked off.
He drove home.
The house was empty, of course. But it was also haunted.
He hadn't been to his house Cemetery Road since before the war had started, months ago, but her things were everywhere. There was an open, but empty pizza box on the table. Her toothbrush in her bathroom. Her half-eaten bowl of cereal in the sink. A spare pair of her shoes by the front door. A jacket flung over the back of a chair.
He closed the front door, mind dull. Blank. Not blank enough.
You're being too hard on yourself.
That's always been a flaw of mine.
He couldn't help it. He went to her room.
The door was closed. He hesitated, hand tight on the doorknob.
He opened it. He walked in.
It was dark, but the light from the hallway cut across the room. The bed was unmade, like it just been slept in the night before, and there were clothes all over the floor. There was a book about horses on a dresser and the thought of her reading it (or even reading at all) made him laugh, a sharp sound in the quiet room.
"What are you doing in my room?"
His head drooped. Not again.
He turned. Valkyrie was wearing a red, fuzzy robe, something she'd brought over after Christmas. Her eyebrows were raised, her head cocked at an angle as she dried her hair with a towel.
"Please…please stop," he whispered.
She straightened. "Stop what?"
"You're not supposed to be here."
She laughed, throwing the towel at him. She started picking through her dirty clothes on the ground. "You're being weird. I practically live here, you know, or haven't you noticed? We're literally standing in my bedroom."
If he had eyes to close, he would have closed them now. "I'm hallucinating. You're not real."
She stood, holding a pair of black shorts and a wrinkled, gray tank top. She never liked sleeping in her regular black clothes when she was over, and insisted on bringing a few things over. "Skulduggery," she said, dark eyes wide. "Skulduggery, I'm real."
He sat heavily on her bed. She'd said those words to him before.
"No, no, you are not, my dear. But I wouldn't worry about it. I'll take care of it," he said, quietly. "I'll get you back."
Years. It'd been years since he'd been…there. In what was, for all intents and purposes, hell. He'd hallucinated many people while he'd been there. Ghastly. China. His wife. His child. Occasionally even Nefarian Serpine would appear, laughing in his face.
He'd seen Valkyrie the most, until she was truly there. To get him back.
Please say something. Please. I've missed you so much and I've worked so hard to find you. Please.
He left the room with renewed determination.
Valkyrie appeared by the front door, this time wearing her usual black attire, with her dark hair perfectly straight. "Where are we going?"
"Just me this time, I'm afraid."
She sighed, blowing the bangs out of her face, and crossed her arms. "Where are you going then?"
"Airport. I need to book a ticket to Brazil."
You save my life. I save yours. That's how we work.
Until the end.
Until the end.
That's how they worked.
He'd find her, he knew he would. Just like she'd found him.