Chapter Fifty-Five


Many years ago…

Christopher sighed, his breath visible in the cold January air, curling upwards into the cloudy sky.

He hated this place.

It had been eight years since his mother had died, and it still hurt like a fresh wound. Christopher was fourteen years old and all alone in the universe, literally and figuratively. As he stomped through the snowy forest, all he really wanted was….he didn't really know.

After she'd died, they'd shipped him from the shores of Cape Breton to Fort Macmurray to live with his uncle, a man Christopher had never actually met. His mother had never spoken about her brother, and Christopher didn't even know he existed until he was standing on his front step.

That was probably due to the fact that his mother and his uncle had never, ever liked each other, or so his uncle had said.

And that was probably part of the reason Christopher despised this place so much. His uncle wasn't neglectful of his physical needs, nor was he abusive; but the man was a sheet of ice emotionally, and didn't care at all how Christopher did at school or how he behaved.

The boy was on his own with his emotions, as he had been for years.

So here he was, stomping through the snowbound pinewoods on someone's property, hands stuffed in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

Christopher didn't know if he was walking onto private land, and frankly, he wouldn't have cared regardless. It didn't matter. He was pissed off, so he went for a walk. It was just...what he did.

He wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, muttering to himself. Oh, the boys at school, the ones who called him fat and mocked his accent? Parasites. Fucking parasites, the lot of them. He hated them all. They'd all pay for their mistakes when he was old enough to make them, no doubt about it. And his uncle…well, his uncle didn't care that he'd made the honour roll. His uncle just straight up didn't CARE.

Christopher was so lost in his own fuming that he almost walked straight into the corner of the cabin.

He looked up and swiftly did a double-take, eyes locked on the slumped building before him. Deep in the woods, surrounded by a freshly-fallen sheet of undisturbed snow, sat a little log cabin with a slumped wooden roof. The door was closed and looked like it had been jammed shut; but the windows had no glass in them, and it looked pretty well abandoned.

It was pretty cold out there, regardless, and Christopher shrugged his shoulders. It wouldn't hurt to get out of the wind for a bit, so…what the hell, right? Worst case scenario, he scared some homeless guy asleep in there.

The door was indeed jammed shut, and pretty tight too; but a few shoves with his shoulder was all it took to snap the rotten latch that must have fallen closed at some point in the past. The door flew open, and Christopher stumbled inside, barely managing to catch himself before he fell onto his face.

The cabin looked like it had been vacated in a hurry. There was a table and some chairs, which looked sound enough to sit on, after he wiped the dust off; there was even a pile of logs in the corner, next to the fireplace, as though whoever had once lived here had been planning on lighting the hearth before leaving.

He cautiously took another step into the cabin, looking around. This wasn't his place…but whoever had lived here before hadn't been home in quite some time.

Christopher considered this. He couldn't stand being around his fucking uncle, or even under that man's roof; and here was a little space that, with a bit of elbow grease, could probably be a space all his own. The door itself was solid, it just needed a new lock on it; and some glass for the empty windows, too. Easily manageable on pocket money.

He pulled one of the chairs aside with the intention of sitting on it, only to disturb something on the floor. There was a soft scuttling under his feet, and the raven-haired boy grabbed for it, swift as lightning.

He soon found himself clutching a small brown mouse, squirming in his mittens in fright. Christopher held it by its tail and watched it twitch in pain- clearly, it didn't like being held like that.

A strange thought popped into his head.

He could…he could kill this mouse.

He could kill it.

He could also…injure it. He could pull on that tail hard enough to rip it off. He could do that.

There was a knife in his pocket. He could cut this mouse's tail off.

A strange feeling overcame him. All the frustration and anger he'd felt had vanished, replaced by a feeling of power over this tiny creature. He walked over to the table and pressed it down against the dusty wood, experimenting with yanking at its limbs and tail; the mouse squeaked and screamed in pain, and Christopher watched with a cold fascination. This mouse…was at his mercy. And he could make it suffer, if he wanted to.

And he wanted to. Watching it twitch and writhe as he wrenched on its paws hard enough to dislocate the bone…it was….interesting.

His uncle had no pets, and he'd never really been alone with any animals smaller than himself. He'd never had a live mouse in his hands before, either; probably a good thing, Christopher mused. If someone saw what he was doing to this mouse, they'd think he was insane.

But was he really? It was a mouse, for fuck's sake. Who gave a damn what he did to a little mouse for fun? Cats did worse to the animals they caught, after all.

Those little black eyes stared up at him pleadingly, and Christopher didn't care. He reached into his pocket and fished out his pocketknife, deftly opening it up and turning the blade on the little rodent experimentally-

Oh. Oh, that was interesting.

This…was fascinating.

He'd need to give this further consideration.


Saskatchewan's eyes fluttered open, and then fluttered closed again.

He felt awful.

The fuck…happened?

There was…we were….

He'd been in his hotel room with BC, looking over the outfit that Calgary had provided them for the show. And then something had started hissing…

Out of the vents. Something was hissing out of the vents. Gas. They filled the room with gas.

It was colourless and odourless, apparently; they'd only had a few seconds warning before they were both sinking to the floor, unconscious.

So…where am I?

He tried to move, only to feel his arms and legs push against something hard; his mind was still too foggy to really process what was going on around him.

The farmer could hear muffled voices, could faintly hear them murmuring about…something. Listening to them prattle on made him feel a lot less nauseous than moving around did, that was for certain.

"…Very glad that pilot didn't decide to take Calgary up on his harebrained offer. He's going to get it for that, mark my words."

Was that…That sounded a hell of a lot like Corvus's voice. If he wasn't feeling sick already, that man's voice would have turned his fucking stomach.

"Very good, sir."

"Yes, yes…Oh, I hope you two don't mind carrying those boxes. We're nearly there, but it'll be another fifteen minutes of hiking once we're to the parking area…"

"Sir…this place isn't in a park or something, is it-?"

"No, no. Goodness, no. You'll see."

The faint rumbling underneath him told Saskatchewan that he was in a vehicle, headed….someplace he didn't want to be. That much was certain.

The vehicle went quiet for a while, and it gave Saskatchewan time to focus on his breathing and keep his rising nausea at bay. As time passed, both the grogginess and the ill feeling in his guts faded, leaving him…well, not quite fully awake, but certainly much more cognizant of his surroundings.

The vehicle came to a stop, and Saskatchewan once again made another attempt to move.

This time, he was sure of it. His legs hit against something hard and very close by. He was curled up in a ball, and whatever the hard thing was…

He opened his eyes, only to be greeted with yet more blackness. Oh. Oh…oh no. Oh no no no no-

Saskatchewan tried to move, to get up, to stretch out, only to hit his arms and legs against the hard walls of a metal prison. He was in a box. A metal box. He was trapped in a fucking metal box. They'd stuffed him in a fucking SAFE-

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm STAY CALM STAY CALM-

I'M GONNA FUCKING SUFFOCATE NO NO NO NO NO

He was starting to hyperventilate. Enclosed spaces. TRAPPED IN SMALL DARK SPACES WHERE HE COULDN'T MOVE AND COULDN'T BREATHE AND COULDN'T-

Saskatchewan was about two seconds from screaming, punching his fist against the steel of the thing he was trapped in frantically, as if that would help.

And then the thing he was in moved.

He was being carried, being hefted and lugged around by some outside force, and that plus the feeling of entrapment-

Saskatchewan screamed.

"LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT PLEASE PLEASE OH GOD PLEASE I CAN'T BREATHE I CAN'T BREATHE I'M GONNA DIE PLEASE LET ME OUT PLEASE LET ME OUT HELP ME-"

Saskatchewan started banging his fists against the nearest wall, heedless of any bruising he might sustain in the process. He screamed and shouted as he thrashed around in there, desperate to be allowed out, out, OUT-

"…Interesting."

That was Corvus's voice, coming from somewhere outside his prison. And the man did not sound particularly kind. He sounded…. fascinated, and delighted, and neither of those things boded well for Saskatchewan.

Needless to say, this did not help calm the province's rising hysteria.

At all.

Saskatchewan kept struggling frantically, words lost in favour of screaming like a panicked animal. He needed out RIGHT FUCKING NOW-

The sound of metal screeching against metal was accompanied by a sliver of light entering Saskatchewan's prison. Instantly he quieted down at the sight of it, gasping for air in desperation- light air light means air air means life-

"Listen here, boy. You're going to stay in that bag for another fifteen minutes. I'll let you have a little bit of air on the sole condition that you stay quiet. I would let you walk, but I don't want you knowing where you are. Am I clear?"

Corvus's words were met with silence and panicked breathing.

"Good. I'm glad we could agree."


Meanwhile…

What's he doing all the way up in Fort Mac?

Wasn't Sasky going to give a speech? I thought…

Corvus is up there and he's got Sasky and BC. And they vanished off my radar for an hour, which means…

They were on a plane. He took a flight up there. What the fuck is he doing all the way up there?

I…Corvus told me to stay out of shit like this, but-

I have my orders. I…But I can't- I can't obey them, they're-

He…He tortured my brothers. He tortured my brothers. What's he- oh god- WHAT'S HE DOING TO SASKY-

Orders. Orders. Must follow my orders. Must obey the people-

But Manny- Manny said-

GAH! Fuck! God, what the fuck do I do!?


Rough hands placed the box on a hard surface none too gently, and Saskatchewan winced as his elbow struck the hard steel wall he was laying on. He'd spent the last…fifteen minutes? staring out the tiny hole made by the open slot, desperately trying to keep himself calm so that the light wouldn't be stolen from him again. Even if he'd had the presence of mind to keep listening to the conversation outside, Corvus didn't say anything else for the remainder of their journey, so he wasn't missing much.

Saskatchewan blinked at the harsh light hitting his eyes so suddenly, sitting up and looking around. And as he did so, his heart sank.

They were in some… dank underground basement, with a cold concrete floor and concrete walls. A set of steps against the far wall lead up to…god only knew where. All that mattered was that he'd been released from that horrible, horrible, horrible box, and he had no intention of getting trapped in there ever again.

A second glance around the room turned Saskatchewan's relief at his freedom into ice cold terror.

Against the far wall stood the rack.

Steel clamps for wrists and ankles. Propped up against the wall on its frame, bolted firmly in place. It gleamed malevolently under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the basement. Staring straight at him.

Saskatchewan shuddered, unable to tear his eyes away from it. There was a table nearby, a table with all sorts of horrible things strewn across it, and what looked like a gunsafe in the corner of the room, tall and upright.

And deep down, he knew. He knew full well why he was here, and what Corvus wanted with them both. And then the full magnitude of what he'd done really started to sink in.

He'd failed.

He'd failed to save his sister.

He'd failed to save the country.

He wasn't going to give his speech. Calgary was going to execute Slate, Canada, Ontario, Manitoba, and Quebec. Something which was his idea.

I murdered my brothers.

I murdered my Prime Minister.

I didn't save my sister.

They didn't want to kill them. They weren't going to kill them. That was my idea.

What have I done.

Oh, god…

Oh, God, what have I done!?

He was trembling, not out of fear at what Corvus was going to do to him, but out of shame and guilt and terror at his own actions.

The click of the gun behind him refocused Saskatchewan's attention, and he remembered that he wasn't alone down there in that dank dirty basement.

"Now then, my boy. We're rather short on time here, so I'll dispense with the theatrics and make this nice and simple for you. Strip naked and get up on the rack, or I'll shoot dear BC through the head."


A/N:

Jesus fuckbasketing Christ did I ever get writer's block on this one. But we're almost fucking there. I know I must have been saying that for the last twenty chapters but it's all plotted out and ready to fucking go. And on top of that, I'm off uni starting tomorrow, so that means I'll finally have time to type up the ending. On the other hand, I don't really like to write on airplanes, lest my fellow passengers start asking questions like "What the fuck is wrong with you, you sick bastard?"

That and I'm going to be a sleep-deprived zombie as well, so, y'know. Fun times ahead for me.

Next chapter soonish.

Don't forget to leave a review if you liked it!

Oh, and also: This summer. I'm going to post a bigger, badder, longer version of West Wind, almost certainly. Nice and freshly edited, with more Corvus flashbacks, trimming off the fat…Look forward to it. The West Wind Howls: Reloaded. Or whatever you wanna call it.

Get Hype, possibly?