Hello everybody!
Sorry for the delay, I had no access to Internet yesterday and for most of today, and therefore was unable to post chapter 20.
Said chapter is kind of a filler.
And it's an experiment of mine. It is kind of complex and might require some analysis, but I believe that its evolution is nonetheless comprehensible.
Now... Do you want to play a small, silly game? Apart from Clint - whose presence is clearly stated - every Avenger (and two of my own characters) make an apparition in this chapter. Do you want to try to guess who is whom?
Enjoy!
Chapter 20: Fire and Ice
Waking up. Just like emerging from water, gasping for air.
"Where…?" Voice thin, rough. Throat itchy, raw.
Where am I?
"Hello Alexanne."
Clint.
Blinking blearily, trying to remember.
A beat.
A sharp intake of breath.
"I had a nightmare."
Vanessa… Dead… Still and cold and white like snow, like marble.
A wince. A silent question adverted by eyes turning away.
A beat.
Another.
"It wasn't a nightmare."
The answer: curt, cold and distant.
No… No, please!
Hot burning tears roll down slowly flushing cheeks, but everything is cold.
Vanessa is dead!
*o*O*o*O*o*
"The fact that Miss De Bellefeuille was still awake when the Inter-Parallel Teleportation Portal self-destructed saved her life."
Cold, clipped, professional.
The slow burn of anger. A spark of fire, rising from its ashes.
"If you knew… If you actually fucking knew, why the hell didn't you wake up Vanessa!? It's your fault! This whole damn mess is your freaking fault!"
It hurts. Everything hurts so much!
A pause.
A boiling volcano on the edge of exploding.
"We didn't know. We had not considered this possibility."
Words turning into ice bullets. The phoenix is shot down, crumples back to ashes.
The dam breaks. The ashes are swept away and everything is cold.
*o*O*o*O*o*
"Don't you want to see her?"
Words softly spoken, uncharacteristic from such a usually brash character. Brash like silver, nickel, iron…
They brush against fragile crystal that is already on the edge of breaking.
No white, only black. The glowing blue of life barely visibly under the layers of black that cover it up like a secret, like a tomb.
No answer comes. The crystal is too fragile, suspended in time. Its sharp edges have dissolved; its protective walls have crumbled to dust.
"She looks as if she's sleeping…"
Words like rocks. Crystal words exploding on a scream coming from the bottom of a bleeding soul.
"She's not sleeping! She's dead! Dead! I don't want this illusion of life! I want her back!"
She's never going to wake up…
Red eyes that have been burning for days are flooded with water.
It burns even more.
*o*O*o*O*o*
The harsh mocking sun turns dark brown to chocolate and auburn. Colors everywhere around, as if paint has been dropped carelessly on a black and white picture.
Black is the only protection against the glare of a far, cold, indifferent smile. But black is tiredly hot, greedily drinking in the heat of the sunshine.
A broken heart hiccups through constant pain. Blood of ice, but everything else suffocates from the unrelenting heat.
Drowning in fire.
A rattling breath in, a rattling breath out. An attempt at soothing frayed nerves, at keeping a modicum of control.
A hand presses against a tensed back. The next breath is cut in half; held half-in, half-out.
A lost look is thrown over a shoulder clad in suffocating darkness. It meets blue eyes that haunt the only dreams that are not about death and ice.
Why?
So many answers. The hand stays, pushes gently. Coaxing.
Move.
There is a hole in the ground that seems to have overcome the sunlight. It is dark, humid and smells of fresh, overturned earth. It's not that deep –
Only six feet…
– but it seems far too deep, the mouth of hell, when the casket – that horrible, costly, rectangular box – is lowered an inch at the time into it.
She's gone. Truly gone.
They're taking her away from me!
"No!"
A desperate jerk toward the pit as the first ball of dirt falls into it.
But the gentle hand morphs into a constricting arm that wraps tight, that stops the movement.
Brought back against a solid chest that smells of sunshine and warmth, another arm joins the first. Twin manacles.
Locked in a hug where there is no comfort to be had.
Heat seeps in everywhere, but it cannot reach the cage of ice around the wounded heart. Cage that locks shut when dirt completely recovers the dark wooden box.
Even once the arms have given back a bitter freedom, the cage remains shut.
*o*O*o*O*o*
Not hungry.
Everything tastes like ashes.
There is a murmur that fills the room. It sounds foreign.
People are like shadows. They come and go at the edge of a blurred vision, inconsistent shapes of darkness in the dim light.
The corner of the too big room is a safe place, tucked away from those misty presences.
Yet, it is not hidden and one person slips out of the mingle of shadows to head toward the corner.
All clad in darkness but crowned by a halo of fire; like an angel of death.
No words are said.
A gift is offered… and is taken by a hand that cannot stop trembling.
A single black rose. Its stem has been stripped of its defenses. It is smooth, green, the line of life, pure and vibrant, that blooms into the soft, endless night of death.
Something tightens; air becomes difficult to breathe in. The injured rose is brought against a cold cheek, its sweet perfume touching at the injured heart in its icy prison.
Two defenseless beings share their pain and misery under the watchful eye of a fiery angel of death.
*o*O*o*O*o*
"How about a smile, Little Leaf?"
It is too much effort.
"Alexanne, you have to eat something."
Not hungry, stomach still tied up in knots.
"Lex, it's been almost two weeks… Please, you need a real night of sleep."
Sleep doesn't come. Exhaustion forces restless naps that are filled with ice, fire, darkness, and pain.
There is a sigh. Restless fingers are constantly spinning a black pen; spinning it round and round, again and again. The motion is fascinating, easy to follow, somewhat soothing.
"While I can understand your friends' concern, Alexanne, there is nothing psychologically wrong. This is how you grieve and you need to deal with it on your own. They can try to help, but there is not much they can actually do."
Another sigh. One of concern, this time.
"However, I must insist that you take care of yourself. Small, but full meals are still necessary to your health. And you need complete nights of sleep too, since you won't be able to live forever on those hour-long naps you have favored for the last weeks. Do you need sleeping pills?"
No! No drugs!
The black pen's spinning motion stops as hands rise peacefully in surrender.
"Alright. Come see me if you need to talk or write to someone, okay?"
A slow nod, a croaked "okay."
The professional mask slips, soften to honest sympathy. "You will heal. You will return to your "usual" state, eventually. But you need to give it time. And you must try not to swallow down your emotions. It will only cause harm in the end."
"Okay." Soft, broken.
The words have barely registered.
But…
I need time.
*o*O*o*O*o*
The mocking sun that has ruled over a blue sky for days is finally forcefully hidden behind growling clouds. They are black, heavy with tears and anger.
They bring a forceful wind that is both hot and cold and that shows no mercy. It is a slap in the face, something that wakes up a body and a mind that have been handled like fragile porcelain.
They bring loud noises that grate painfully against ears that have been living in murmurs and silence.
It is like an awakening.
Tears lose themselves in the heavy rain that quickly drenches the city. There is no protection from the storm to be found outside. The miles of red cloth that have been thoughtfully offered as a meager protection against the fury of the elements weigh heavily upon trembling shoulders that are already soaked. Trembling from the heat and the cold, from the noise and from the powerful wind.
Blinding white light tears at the dark cloak of the sky, like a revelation. The sound of it echoes around, making the world shake at the edges.
In the middle of it, offering himself without a care to the rage of the elements, stands the master of the storm. An unusual artist with a hammer for brush, keeping a thoughtful eye on his creation.
He turns around. "Was that what you desired?"
His voice is as clear as the answering rumble of thunder.
Make it disappear! Make the sun disappear, please!
The answer is barely audible, a hiss of breath carried away by the wind.
"Yes… Thank you."
The rain washes the tears away. It isn't healing, not yet; the wounds are still too raw, are still healing. But it makes the cage of ice melt a little.
There isn't just pain anymore.
There is also something freeing.
*o*O*o*O*o*
Hot green tea with just a hint of honey.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
A warm breeze, stirring the curtains. It curls around everything it encounters, just like a very soft blanket.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
Soft music. Waterfalls and birds and a harp. With a flute. It is soothing, relaxing.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
Tears roll down flushed cheeks. Cleansing tears. They fall freely, silently, like raindrops.
Like melting ice.
A small smile, the first hint of light in far too long, curls at the corners of a mouth that has been tight-lipped and silent in grief for weeks.
A light, high voice, thin from disuse, picks up the flute's melody.
Eyes open. They meet brown irises, warm and calm. Those wrinkle slightly at the corners in a smiling expression. Relief battles with quiet concern for a moment and a shadow of green clouds the brown for a second.
It is gone the next second, however.
There is some gentle coaxing to lie down, a warm hand pressing gently on sagging shoulders.
"You need sleep."
A slow nod. Grabbing for a pillow, then lying down.
The music settles around like a second blanket and thus cocooned in a very quiet and peaceful environment, it is easy to give in the tug of sleep.
It is the first restful sleep in a long time.
There is still pain and darkness and ice, but they are dulled.
There is the whisper of soft, enchanting music.
There is the light touch of a warm breeze.
There is the sweetness of honey.
The heart still aches, but the ice has melted.
The world moves like waves. It breathes calmly.
Everything is warm.
It's quite a short chapter when compared to the previous ones, but I think the quantity of stuff to analyse and understand makes it quite heavy.
A lot can be said with a few words.
Truly, my experiment was a pain in the ass to write. But I like the result. What about you, dear readers? Did I manage to lose you? ^^"