Twenty-five
.
"Go to bed, Andy."
"I'm awake," I say as my head jerks up
Thanks to the look he gives me, I understand I'm not fooling anyone. Have I been dozing off for long? I clear my throat and sit up straighter, firmly settling my eyes on the flames. The witch sits next to me now, our backs against the sofa – maybe one day we'll decide to sit on the sofa. He hasn't taken the habit of waking me when he goes downstairs, so now I basically keep watch until it's time to get up. I know it comes across as caring, but there is this implicit rule, now that we're stuck here, to basically look out for your only cellmate; just enough for them not to hang themselves while you sleep, that is.
He scratches the back of his head and adds, "Seriously, go back to sleep."
"No, I'm good; I can wait."
"Wait for what?"
"For you to– feel better," I venture with a slight frown. "Isn't what we usually wait for?"
"Not exactly."
"Then… what do we wait for?"
The witch sighs. "I guess we wait for me to be too tired to stay here, but there's no actual… feeling better."
His voice is a whisper and I see him swallow hard while looking back at the fire. He looks exhausted, I'm starting to wonder whether he even gets any sleep after going back to his bedroom every night. He couldn't… actually die of exhaustion, right?
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
He snorts. "Do I need to remind you that you don't actually care?"
I can't help nodding in agreement. Fair point. On the other hand, we've been stuck here for weeks now; don't I get to know why we watch the fire for so long after bedtime, considering that we can actually do that during the day? I don't really know what to do here. Usually, Luke and Liv would find a way to tell me what's going on or at least give me a clue so I can understand. With their brother however, I feel kind of useless. But then, his feeling better is not my responsibility so I guess I can let him deal with his crap.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he whispers to the fire, "what I'm supposed to be…"
His chin shakes, as if he were about to cry, and he clenches his jaw.
"So you basically expect this fire to solution your existential crisis?"
He has this sad, weary snort that I instantly hate. He rubs his eyes, wiping tears away and sniffing.
"I just… stare at it until there's nothing else to think about. Being trapped doesn't allow a lot of distractions; it makes the nightmares even worse."
I chew on that for a moment.
"You've been having nightmares?" Like, does he go to sleep and come down whenever he has one? Cause… he's been doing that literally every night. Dude, I'd throw myself out of a window. Please, don't have this idea.
"About that night," he whispers, still absorbed by the fire, "I keep reliving it, over and over again, and I always… I can't stop it."
He closes his eyes, exhausted, and I remain silent. I'm pretty sure he's talking about the night he killed most part of his family. The younger twins never elaborated on that; they mentioned once that their dad had erased any memory of that night, and of Kai. It was probably too difficult to live with. I see a tear at the corner of his eye and I can't help but frown. Does he really feel that bad about it? How weird. I remember how he used to own this careless side of himself, how he would find murder attempts basically amusing. Who are you and what did you do with my emotionless killer? I guess Luke's empathy has been working wonders.
"I'm guessing that remembering it now is more difficult. Now that you have feelings, I mean."
He snorts bitterly. "You say that like I never had feelings before."
"Well, no offense but… isn't that the whole point? Of being a– sociopath, I mean."
Dangerous territory, Andy. He opens his mouth but catches himself before talking; he rubs his weary eyes and shakes his head. "You're right." He shakes his head again, seeing things in that fire that I can't begin to imagine. "I just– It also brings back a whole lot of things I was better off not remembering; not feeling."
"Like what?"
He exhales painfully and keeps his eyes shut, saying nothing for a while.
"My family. My parents. The whole no-touching-Kai thing."
"What was that about?"
He wipes a tear and keeps silent for a moment. I shouldn't be asking; this is obviously too painful to him. But then, how on earth can this be happening? How can I be sitting next to Malachai Parker, crying about the family that he cold-bloodedly murdered eighteen years ago? This is beyond me.
"I'm a siphoner," he finally says bitterly, "I was born without the ability to produce my own magic and I can only absorb it from others."
I nod; I know that. Even now that he's head of the Gemini coven, his powers result of the merge with Luke and the complement he got from Jo.
"We found out very late what I was; Jo and I were always together when we were kids. We were always holding hands and playing around; my mom was always after us for a hug and even my dad was affectionate, you know. I always had magic at my disposal, so we didn't realize…"
He lowers his head and holds his knees tighter against his chest, his chin shaking.
"I way eight when they did. They– completely freaked out and that's when all the shunning began. I mean, you find out that your eldest son, possibly the one who will be in charge of your coven someday, is not even able to possess his own magic, that's embarrassing."
His voice is bitter, but you can hear the wound beneath it, and I sense a lump forming in my throat. I don't really know Joshua Parker, nor his wife, but I'm not sure shunning an eight-year-old for his lack of magic is a good parenting thing to do.
"And just like that, I became the black sheep; the defective twin that nobody wanted. I didn't even understand why they were being so harsh, at first. I mean, Jo and I had always shared magic, it was normal to us; we didn't…" He sniffs and closes his eyes. "And then, all of a sudden, I'm not part of our family anymore. I'm there, little eight-year-old-me and I'm not allowed to touch anyone. No squabbling with Jo, no holding my dad's hand on our way to school, no kissing my mom goodnight. She wouldn't even look at me, she–" I watch tears pour from his closed eyes and there is nothing I can say to that. "She said I was an abomination."
Somehow, I don't even need to wonder whether any of this can be true. When I got back to campus after Thanksgiving, Luke told me his dad had attempted to kill Jo when he heard there was a chance Kai might come out of his prison and merge with her. His own daughter. That's all the grain of salt I need.
My chest tightens, as I can't help but imagine a blue-eyed little boy crying himself to sleep because his parents won't hug him. Like, he had a normal family and then, because of what he was, they started refusing him any tenderness. I try to imagine that for myself for a second; I try to picture my mom or my dad denying me a comforting kiss when I would scratch my knee or have a nightmare. I mean, this is basic human touch. I can't even picture Alice denying me her bed when I was afraid of the dark. This is so cruel. What kind of parents do that to their son?
"I wasn't thinking straight," he whispers. "I knew it was a mistake but I did it anyway… I just– I needed the pain to stop; that's why I did it."
I look up at him and glare through my tears. "That's why you killed them?" I mean, I'm trying very hard not to judge and keep an open mind but I know my mind is already made up about this; though I don't know the whole story, whatever crap might have happened, I'm definitely standing with my two friends – who were four when this lunatic chased them around the house with a baseball bat. How's that for cruelty? No crappy childhood excuses that.
The witch turns his face to me and I swallow hard I as try to keep in mind that these eyes full of tears and pain are the ones of a killer.
"No; that's why I suppressed my feelings."
.
.
Shock overtakes my face as I try to register the information. Wh– What?
"But… you don't have feelings." Hence the word 'sociopath', right? "I mean, you didn't– You have Luke's empathy now but you don't–"
"I thought it was just that. But my own feelings have been coming back too and I…" He closes his eyes, letting two more tears drop. "I should never have suppressed them."
"But what do you mean, you 'suppressed' your feelings? It's not like you're a vampire who can turn it off."
He shakes his head, trying to find the words and I listen intently, very unsure about all this, but then he shakes his head again.
"You wouldn't believe me. No one would."
"Parker," I spit. He shall not leave me hanging after dropping that kind of bomb.
"I used a spell. It was supposed to put my feelings away temporarily, it was not supposed to–"
He closes his eyes again and purses his lips, trying very hard not to cry. I stare for the longest time, not realizing right away that my mouth fell open.
"I don't understand," I say, trying to make sense of the witch's words and tears. What the hell is he talking about? He doesn't speak for a long time, but I can't let him stop here. He started talking, now he needs to give me the entire story. "What the hell happened?" I articulate in a low voice.
"I just needed some peace and quiet," he whispers, his eyes still closed. "No one was supposed to get hurt, but I– I did this to us; this is all my fault."
I open my mouth, close it when no word will come out. Wow. Wait. What? No. What? I did not hear that right.
"But you–" I close my mouth, trying to gather my knowledge and order my thoughts. "You wanted to be leader, that's why you went after–"
"I wanted to be part of my family," he cuts me off bitterly, now glaring at the fire. It's like I don't exist and he's having this conversation with himself, or with the fireplace. His weary mind must have been going through this over and over again. "Merging with Jo was the only way for me to be part of the coven. I wanted to be a good leader." He has this delusional smile, as if he were saying that to an old version of himself. "And I would have been the best they'd ever seen, just to spite them; to prove them wrong."
"You're saying you didn't want to kill them?" I finally ask, just to make sure I'm following.
"They were my family," he says, turning a slight frown to me as if I'd asked a silly question. "I was a good person," he reminds the fire, tears clouding his eyes, "I was a normal guy. And I ruined everything."
Shock. Utter shock takes over me. What is this? What does this mean? I can't help remembering our previous fights, how detached and cruel he could be, how psychotically deranged and evil he always was. Is he saying that none of this was true?
"I don't understand," I repeat to myself.
My witch sniffs, remaining silent for a moment, before saying in a low, shaky voice, "I was… arguing with my mom that night. That's just what it was, an argument. My dad wasn't there to regulate us and we said the worst things to each other. I wanted to break her heart, just like she'd broken mine; I wanted her to care, but I would never have laid a hand on her, on any of them…" He trails off, coming short of words, and closes his eyes again, allowing more tears to roll down his cheeks. "It was supposed to be safe."
"You mean the spell suppressing your feelings was supposed to be safe?" At my skeptical tone, the witch turns his face to me, but lowers his gaze almost instantly. Shame. And guilt.
"I'd been using it for years, I– It was the only way I could get through it all. I mean, it was not ideal: it would only act for about a day, and then all the strong, negative feelings would rush back first and it would take an entire hour to settle down, and I was… horrible to anyone during that hour; I'd say horrible things to my parents and to Jo, and I hated myself for it afterwards, but it was the only way not to feel the pain, it was the only not to feel anything for an entire day, so…" He trails off, shrugging painfully and sniffing, and right now he looks like a powerless child who knows he didn't do the right thing, but who genuinely didn't have the answer.
He goes back to staring at the fire and I don't say anything, processing the news. Like, he was not even mean? But… I mean… Wow. No. No way.
"If I'd been stronger, none of this would have happened. They would all be alive."
"But… I don't get it. If your spell wasn't supposed to last, then how come you…" I trail off, trying to find the words. How come you became what you became?
"That's the thing. The spell didn't work like it was supposed to. Instead of letting me be for a day, it worked for less than an hour, and then… all the anger and resentment and rage that I had ever felt, it all came rushing back and it just… locked. I didn't care for anyone anymore, I would have hurt anyone who would so much as piss me. I– I had no control."
"You're saying you didn't do this?" I say rather coldly.
"No, I– I remember doing it; every awful second of it. But there was no emotion inside then, nothing to stop me from– I mean, my little brothers and sisters… They never did anything to me; I loved them so much… They were so young and I… I did this to us. I ruined everything."
Whoa. Deep breaths. This is not– not something I was prepared for.
"Sometimes it doesn't feel real," he whispers, absent-mindedly watching the fire as if he weren't really here. "Sometimes I wake up, and for a second, it's like it never happened. Like I didn't cast the spell and I didn't hurt them, and they're all here and they're fine, and it was all just a terrible, terrible nightmare. But then I remember it did happen; they're all gone, and there's no way to go back."
A part of me wants to deny all that I just heard. How can this be true? How can this be right? This entire story is so sick and twisted, how can I decently believe it? I mean, I do believe it, but how can I accept it as the truth? I let him stare at the flames, seeing things that I can't see; he looks so tormented, it's almost like saying the words made him realize once more that it did happen. After all these years, his emotions have come back and he finally gets the horror of what happened, and not only did his family die, but he's responsible for it.
"You were still under that spell when you merged with Luke," I state, needing to make this clear.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, shutting his eyes tighter, "I loved him too. I loved them all. And they're all gone because of me." He sniffs again, pressing his thumbs to his eyes. "God, I almost killed Olivia too. I just wish someone had killed me before I could hurt anyone else. I wish I could go back and just… undo it all." His chin shakes and he buries his face in his knees, his body trembling as he cries silently, his hands almost convulsively tugging at his hair. He was never crazy, but the pain is making him lose his mind.
I swallow hard, blinking my own tears back, and stare at the fire. I remain silent for a long time, going over what I just heard, processing it. The longest time passes by until the witch next to me stops crying and draws a long, shaky breath, looking too exhausted for more tears.
"But… you didn't say anything. To anyone, you just–"
"And how am I supposed to do that exactly?" His voice is bitter. "How am I supposed to look my sisters in the eye and tell them it was an accident? That I destroyed our family by mistake. They wouldn't believe me; and even if they did, they'd still hate me. I'm a monster to them. And that's what I am. I did this." He buries his face in his forearm, shaking his head to himself. There is no way out of this.
I stare for the longest time. I don't know what to say, I don't even know what to think. One thing he said to me before we got trapped here comes back to my mind and spins like a top; I remember why he accepted to open the portal and retrieve dangerous Lilian Salvatore from 1903: he was doing it because Damon was trying to bring Caroline's and Stefan's humanities back. He joked about having a soft spot for people turning sociopaths by accident, pretending he was doing it for his own amusement but he knew. He knew what it felt like to wake up and have to deal with the consequences of what this emotionless version of themselves did. He didn't open a Gemini prison and take the risk to unleash a ripper for entertainment. He did it to help them; really help them. Just like when he helped Jeremy save Bonnie. He's been trying to atone.
At some point, the lines of his face harden; he ends up frowning at the fire, and by the brief look he gives me, full of reproach to cover the pain, I understand I was never meant to hear any of this; no one was.
"There, you have it," he says more dryly, glaring at the fire and clenching his jaw. "My most pathetic, darkest secret. I'm not even a proper villain, just a… defective witch. I was never sick, not even evil; I was just a sad kid, who was too weak to handle being unloved, and I made the biggest mistake of my life."
His words seem to resonate in my head for a long time, as I watch him wipe the last tears. He never wanted any of this. What am I supposed to make of that? I keep silent, chewing on his words, and though I don't make a move, I want to reach out. For the first time, I seriously, genuinely want to reach out.
.
%
.
Kai shuts his eyes and inhales deeply. I cautiously reach for his arm and he gives me a look. I stare for a while, assessing, seeing nothing but a wounded man, and he hates it.
"Hey, we just need to get food; we won't be long."
He clenches his jaw and nods; and I know he hates that I get to witness that, just like I hated it when he got to see me break. I mean, I don't like to appear weak before anyone, that's a given, but there is also this extra caution to hide my weaknesses from my enemies; it's not even strategy, it's common sense.
But then, I look around and remember we are alone; there are no sides anymore, no enemies, no friends, nothing. There's only the need to cling to every little thing that can bring us comfort, and though I can picture Liv frowning at me for thinking that, I honestly don't care where that comfort comes from anymore. I'll just take anything that keeps me going, and if it means making an effort so my witch keeps going as well, then so be it.
"Don't look at me like that," he says unhappily.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm some sort of… pathetic, broken animal that deserves your compassion."
"Well, I wouldn't say you deserve my compassion, but pathetic and broken…" I trail off, fake-pondering, and he shoots me a look; but at this point, what does it even mean? Dude, I know you're not truly evil at heart; I even know you have heart, however surprising and unsettling that is. How am I supposed to look at you now and take pleasure in what hurts you? Luke's death, Liv and Jo's suffering; it's basically what hurts me too.
He casts another glance around, obviously not feeling well, and I can't help a smirk – well, a bitter one.
"See? You can't even properly act dangerous anymore." You're a wreck.
"Oh, trust me, I am dangerous."
"Still haven't killed me," I point out.
"Well, don't speak too fast, I might want to remedy that."
"And get rid of the only person who's here with you? I don't think so."
"Better be alone than with a dull."
I snort. "Sure. You're terrified of being alone here." I should know, I'm terrified of that too. He comes to a stop and looks down at me.
"Don't think that because you know what happened to me and my family means you know me. You don't."
"Well, to my greatest displeasure, I'm starting to know you, Parker. You're lonely, and sad, and despite this devil-may-care attitude, you're desperate for someone to care about you."
His face remains impassive – save for the set jaw – but I get to see the pain in his eyes before he covers it with cold anger. I didn't even say that in a mean way, but I'm getting a sense that I hit right where it hurts. And I'm awfully not embarrassed to get so much satisfaction out of this. You're mean, Andy. You're a terrible, terrible person.
Oh, well.
"I'm not weak," he grits.
"I didn't say you were weak. You're actually far from weak." His eyes narrow with defiance. "I mean, physically, you're pretty much indestructible. Emotionally, however… you're seriously vulnerable."
"Well, you can talk." Touché. Time to quit poking the bear.
"I never said I was perfect," I say with a shrug.
We resume walking toward the supermarket and I take his hand, which feels more than awkward and unnatural. I instantly regret it, but I can't really let go just now, it'll be even weirder. He looks away but doesn't recoil.
"I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity; I just so happen to need human touch." I shrug. "You're human, so it'll do."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
I squeeze his hand, feeling his rings press against my skin and I look forward. We purposefully talk about any other subject while we shop and it almost feels right; it almost feels normal. But then, I take another look around and realize one more time that we are the only two persons in this supermarket; we are the only two persons in the world. And this endless silence, this stillness that goes on and on and on, day after day after day, that's very creepy.
By the way he avoids looking at me, I can tell he regrets telling me. Being vulnerable in front of anyone is clearly not his thing; I think he'd rather remain the bad guy in the eyes of everybody than letting them see his painful truth.
I wouldn't say everything has changed since last night, but I think my perspective on the witch has. Would Luke still think him a monster if he knew what drove him to do what he did? Or would he understand what his brother has been through? I look at him now and I don't really see a crazy bastard anymore, rather a broken son. There are so many wounds folded in his character, it's like he rose from two-dimensional to 3D. I don't even know what to make of that, because I know I have a moral duty to hate him, and I still do despite our survival truce; but at the same time, in a twisted kind of way, I understand. I certainly don't accept nor approve, but I understand. Damn. I guess I do pity him.
.
%
.
"Hey, Parker," I call, "The weather will go mad soon; last chance for a walk."
The only answer I get is a guitar chord terribly out of tune. I roll my eyes as I put down my glass of water and head to the living room. The witch is sitting on the sofa, trying to pretend he can play.
"That's enough," I say, gently snatching it from him, "You're not fooling anyone."
"I'm learning," he retorts, acting indignant, "You're ruining my rock-star vibe here; give it back." Yeah, because joking around is easier and more comfortable than being a full-time mess.
"You and I both know you didn't bring that guitar back from '94 in order for you to play."
"True; but since you refuse serenading me, I am left with no choice but to learn by myself."
"Just– get your coat; we're going out."
He reaches out for the instrument but I'm faster at maintaining it away. He playfully sighs but obeys and we head outside for a walk. The air is brisk, cold; the snow scrunches under our boots as we leave the front stairs. I don't aim for us to be going very far; the sky has already clouded and I know the storm will be there in about an hour. I just want to make sure we get some fresh air before locking ourselves back into the house.
As we wander a bit around the mansion, our hands tucked in our pockets, I can't help but think back of our conversation from last night, of everything that followed his unexpected confession. After a while, I venture, "You know, I've been thinking of something."
"Should I worry?"
"No, of course not. It's just– it might not be easy to hear and it might not even be a good idea but it comes from good intention."
"Okay; now, I'm worried."
"Shut up", I smirk, "Just– hear me out, okay?" He nods and I exhale before saying, "Okay, 'remember how you wrote that apology letter to Jo?"
He slows down and I purse my lips; probably not the best topic for a walk.
"Yeah," he answers rather dryly, "I kinda do."
"Well– I may or may not have heard that it made you cry and– no, wait, just listen. I was just– I was just thinking that maybe it'd be good for you to write more letters."
"To Jo?"
"To– anyone, really. It's just that… after last night, it feels like you have all these things inside of you that you never got to say to anyone and maybe– maybe you would feel a bit better if you got them all out."
He stops now and cocks his head. I don't see the explosion coming.
"You want me to write apology letters to my entire family? Is that your big plan for fixing me?"
"I'm– no–"
"Yeah, 'cause I tried the letter thing once and it made me feel like crap. Is that what you want?"
"What– of course not–"
"You want me to feel like crap so you can rejoice in how much your best friend's murderer is struggling? You want to hear how bad I realize I don't deserve to be alive after what I've done? How guilt keeps me up at night? Or how much I wish I could just end it, but I can't even do that because then even more people will die because of me? Is that it?"
I've stopped walking as well now and an entire shield of tears prevents me from properly seeing. All I can make out now is his figure and his Light. This Light that I hate and love at the same time. Silence lingers and he lowers his gaze.
"Is that what you think, that I'm trying to make you feel even worse?" I ask in such a low voice that I wonder if he can hear me.
"Why not, it comes with the perks of a stay in hell, doesn't it."
I perceive the change in his voice. Yeah, he's realized he's gone too far but he won't even say he's sorry about it; he just uses that hateful, mocking tone to display a joke that will only make him more of the bad guy. I know this, because I'm starting to understand how he works. And though I don't want to buy it and enter the only pattern his knows, I do it anyway. Because right now, he doesn't deserve my help.
"I hate you."
He gives me a delusional smile. "You think your hatred can get to me? Try being responsible for the death of the people you love most and hating yourself every second of every day."
"You know what," I say, walking up so close to him that I have to lift my face up in order to lock eyes, "My best friend died because of you and I'll never forgive you for it. But part of his Light is still here; with you. I was not trying to make you feel like crap; I was just trying to help that last part of him find peace."
I turn around a walk back to the house, alone.
.
Aster's quick word: Hi! So here is where I strongly diverge from the canon story, I'd say. In this chapter, you have the main idea that led me to writing Lightbringer, this 'what if' that I wanted to explore. I hope you enjoy it so far, don't hesitate to tell me what you think :)