For Kat.
Chains of Fate
Do you believe in fate?
I never did. I never wanted to. My mother'd always said that if she'd felt something when she first saw my dad, it sure as hell wasn't Fate. If it had been, would he have run off with his secretary? Would she be forced to work two jobs? Would we have had to move so many times?
I don't know. Maybe she really did feel Fate that day. No one ever said that Fate and dreams have to go hand in hand. Not even my mother. I think she was too scared to admit it.
What it all comes down to is believing. You need something to inspire you, convince you, help you. Something to make you believe.
My something was Moira. And I never will forget it. Even when I'm beyond hope, even in the midst of despair, I have Moira. I can think of her; hear her voice; imagine her eyes looking into mine. Those brilliant green eyes, they haunt me all my life. Moira is my hope, my love. She is my dream, the one dream I always keep. And even if dreams don't go hand in hand with Fate, I still have her. I still think of her.
Moira…
Forever.
~:~:~
The brakes squeaked a little as we pulled up, Loren backing into a parking space. "Here we go, Ethan," she sighed and flashed me a weary grin. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I returned dryly, grabbing my backpack. "On the up side: if it sucks, we'll prob'ly be moving in a month anyway."
"Yeah, how upbeat." Loren rolled her eyes. "Come on."
We made our way together across the parking lot. A few kids were already clustered around the doors and parted, whispering, as we passed. I was used to it by now. New school, new kids, same old deal.
"Ethan and Loren Harrison, I presume?" The smiling secretary dug through her files. "Here are your schedules. Ethan, someone in your first class will show you around; Kurt, I believe. The same with you, Loren."
"Thank you very much." My sister nudged me and I nodded in wordless agreement. Leading me out of the tiny office, she frowned. "Now, Ethan, try to do well here? Last time…well, just forget about that. New start. But be good, won't you?"
"I'm plenty old enough to look after myself," I reminded her, scowling. "I know."
"But you're my little brother!" At my look, she stopped teasing. "All right. Have fun, I'll see you after school."
We parted, she heading for the stairs; I for down the hall. And that's when I saw Moira.
I don't know what it was, but somehow she caught my eye. Dark hair shining, eyes bright, she laughed with a friend, oblivious to my gaze. I fell in love in an instant; in love with her voice, with her movements, her eyes, her smile. They say it doesn't happen that way; there's no love at first sight, only attraction. But I say Fate rolled her dice and changed my life, brought this angel to me. Attraction, yes, maybe it was; she called to me like the flame calls a moth. But all that I was attracted to, I fell in love with. And some love, even Fate cannot destroy.
"Hey, you! New kid!"
I whirled, finding myself face to face with a blonde-haired jock; you know the type. The guy that always acts tougher than he is. "Ethan, right?"
"That would be me."
He clapped me on the shoulder. "Nice to meet ya, Ethan. I'm Kurt. Gonna give you the grand tour." Waving a hand around the halls, he chuckled. "Welcome to Lincoln High. Soon enough you'll learn to hate it."
"Uh, if you could just show me where my first class is…"
"Lemme see that." Kurt grabbed my schedule, glancing over it. "Hey, cool, I'll see ya second period, right?" He turned around and grinned. "Moira! Hey!"
I turned, too. Yes, it was her, my dark-haired goddess. Moira. I savored the name.
"Hey, Kurt." She smiled, turning those vibrantly green eyes on me. I swallowed. Reaching out a hand, she beamed. "I'm Moira."
"H-hi." I shook her hand hesitantly, quickly letting go.
"She's got your first period class," Kurt told me, handing my schedule back to me. "You'll take him, won't you?"
Moira smiled. "Of course! See ya around, Kurt." She waved to him, then turned back to me. "So, what'd you say your name was?"
Idiot, I silently berated myself. I hadn't even told her my name. "I'm Ethan."
She kept smiling that dazzling smile. "So, you're new, huh?" I nodded, feeling foolish. This was the second time I'd switched schools just this year. "I hope you like it here, Ethan. We're a small town, so we always notice the new kids, but it's all right. We're friendly people."
I laughed, hesitantly, more caught up in watching the way her dimples appeared when she laughed that way. "So, um, English, huh?"
"What?"
"Er, English. First period. You have first period English?"
"Oh! Yeah." She reached for my schedule, and I handed it to her. Scanning down the paper, I watched as her smile reappeared. "Wow, look, you've got Chem and Study Hall with me, too. Aren't you lucky." She handed it back, but kept talking. "Meyers is a total blowoff, but I'll tell you, Chem is hard. You'd better be good at it."
"Are you?" I ventured.
Moira grinned. "Not really. Kurt helps me out; he's like a genius at science. He could probably get you started there; it's so hard starting in the middle of the year, isn't it?"
"I'm used to it, I guess. We change schools a lot; my sister and me, I mean."
"Oh, you have a sister?" She looked politely interested.
"Mm-hmm. Loren." We fell silent for an uncomfortable second. "Uh…you?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Do you? Have any siblings?" Could I have possibly felt any more inept? I couldn't even talk to her without looking like an idiot.
Moira laughed. "Oh, yeah. Four brothers, all younger. Lucky me, huh?"
"Oh, definitely."
We shared a brief smile and then she gestured to the doorway. "We're here; English class. I really like it. Writing, I guess, it's fun."
"Yeah." I followed her into the classroom, startled as she suddenly took my arm and led me towards the front of the room.
"Hey, Mrs. Jenkins. This is Ethan; he's new?"
The woman smiled kindly at me. "Yes, I've just got a memo about it. Welcome, Ethan. Why don't you have a seat there by Moira, and we'll see if we can get you caught up."
I slid into the empty seat she gestured to, and Moira sat down beside me. "We're doing grammar," she whispered, rolling her eyes. "Adjectives. You'll get it real quick, I'm sure."
"I hope."
"Well, if you're good at grammar." Moira grinned. "Don't worry, I'll help you out if you need it."
"Thanks." I fell silent as the rest of the class filed into the room, and Mrs. Jenkins began class. But somehow, adjectives or not, all I could concentrate on was the girl sitting next to me. The thoughtful look in her eyes, the way she doodled in the margins, the way she seemed so pleased when she got an answer right.
Moira, I thought. Moira.
She was beautiful. Oh, if she could only be mine. But that would never…that wasn't possible, not Moira…
But she could be yours, Ethan. Oh, but she could.
At the time, I was too preoccupied to hear the voice. Perhaps it was better that way.
~:~:~
"So, what do you think?" Kurt grinned at me, having just run up and punched me in the arm. Jock he definitely was, and strong, too. I rubbed my arm thoughtfully.
"Er, about what?"
"Moira!" He sounded impatient, as if I was expected to know. "Pretty, isn't she?"
"Er. Yeah." I stared at him, uncertain. What was he getting at?
"Don't be an idiot, Ethan, 'course she is. Got the whole playing coy thing down, too; one day she's all mine, the next she'll barely give me a smile." Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "Everybody knows, though. It's inevitable."
So. Kurt and Moira. I should have known. "Inevitable?"
"Yeah." Kurt shrugged. "Anyway, see ya tomorrow. There's my car."
I waved and turned away towards our car where Loren was sitting, preoccupied with something. She looked like she was reading. Behind me, tires squealed as Kurt pulled out of the parking lot, jolting out onto the street. If possible, his car was in worse condition than ours was.
"Friend of yours?" Loren asked, looking up as I approached.
"Y - I don't know. I guess."
"Well, it's good to have friends, little brother." She gestured towards the back seat. "Toss your stuff in and let's get going, okay?"
"I'm going," I grumbled, yanking open the door. That's when I saw her, waving goodbye to a friend, setting out across the schoolyard. Inevitable…
"Moira?" She looked around, bewildered, until she finally saw me. I could see her smiling, even from over there. "You, uh…want a ride?"
She was walking towards me. Green eyes smiling. "Oh, Ethan, that's so nice! You don't have to, you know; I walk home all the time, it's no big deal."
"No, really. Get in." I didn't dare risk a glance at Loren.
Moira beamed at me as I held open the door. "Thanks, Ethan. Is this your sister?"
"That's me." Loren looked around, smiling at Moira, raising an eyebrow at me. "Loren. Nice to meet you."
"I'm Moira." She held out a hand, which Loren shook, giving me a grudging smile. I climbed in after Moira and shut the door, pulling my bag onto my lap as we pulled away. "So, what do you think?"
I glanced quickly over at her; half-afraid she was going to clarify, "About Kurt." It was so much the same as what he'd said to me.
"About school, silly. How is it?"
"Oh! Right. Um…not bad."
"Was I right? Chemistry sounds super hard, doesn't it."
I nodded. "Yeah."
"How're your classes, Loren? What are you, a senior?"
Loren smiled, "Yeah. They're good, but it's still pretty hard, switching schools mid-year. But that's how it goes, I guess. Er, where do you live, Moira?"
"Oh, right on Elderwood. Right over there, it's 381." She glanced over at me, then out the window. "Thanks again for the ride. I'll see you in school tomorrow, Ethan."
Loren pulled in her driveway and I watched Moira get out. "'Bye," we both called to her as we pulled away again, turning back into the street.
"So." Loren glanced over her shoulder at me, looking amused. "Friend of yours?"
"Definitely."
She laughed. "Moira seems like a nice girl. Just don't make it a habit of inviting strange girls into my car without asking, all right?"
"All right." I grinned back at her as we pulled into our own driveway. I shook my head, wondering to myself. Moira…
Loren went into the house but I stayed there for a moment, thinking. Would things be different this time? No more changing schools, no more constant moving, could we finally have a normal life? The thought was too tempting. I'd almost given up hope. But something here was different; something here inspired me. Something…
"We'll see." Maybe I had reason to hope. You never knew.
The air was cool; it was definitely November, and all the leaves were gone. Winter would be coming soon. I glanced towards the street. Winter…Moira would want a ride home then, wouldn't she? After all, it would be rather far to walk. Inevitable.
Grinning, I walked inside.
What's the difference between inevitability and Fate? I'm not sure. Maybe they're the same; maybe they mean the same thing. Who knows? All I know is, I can still feel the tug of it - whatever you want to call it - when I look into her eyes. Even imagining those eyes, I still feel it. No matter where Fate leads me, Moira, I still feel you. I still love you. You will always be in my dreams.
~:~:~
My hand shook a little, hovering over the phone. I picked up the receiver, then put it down. I shook my head. "I can't do it, Loren."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Ethan! Don't be a wimp."
"I'm not." I sat back down at the table, where she was doing her homework. "It's not a big deal."
"Oh, yes it is." She stood up, walked to the phone. "It's easy, I tell you! You pick up the phone, dial, and say, 'Hi, is Moira there?' Then Moira says, 'Oh, hiii, Ethan! I've been waiting for you to call!' And you say, 'Will you go to the winter dance with me?' And she says-"
"I think I know how it goes, Loren." Staring pointedly at my math homework, I wrote down a few figures on my paper. "It's not like I've never done it before. I can handle it myself."
I suddenly found myself facing the receiver. "Good," she smirked, holding it up. "Then do it."
Putting the phone to my ear, I found to my horror that it was ringing. She hadn't…
"Hello?"
"Umm…hi, i-is…Moira there?"
"Yes, hold on a moment." I couldn't do this with Loren staring at me. I waved her out of the kitchen, scowling, pacing back and forth as I waited.
"Hello?"
"Er, Moira? It's Ethan."
"Hi, Ethan!" She sounded so happy. I could picture her smile, just think of her and I could imagine her infectious laughter. "How are you?"
"I'm all right."
"That's good! Did you have a question about homework?"
"Um, actually…"
"I'm working on algebra right now." Yes, I could almost see her eyes, the way she'd be nodding, phone tilted against her shoulder as she frowned at her math book.
"Me too."
"What a coincidence." Moira laughed. "So anyway, Ethan, what'd you want to know?"
"I - actually, I was calling…" Loren popped her head back in the room, mouthing, "Ask her!" I scowled and turned my back on my sister. "I…Moira, would you go to the dance with me?"
The silence on the other end seemed to last for a lifetime. I could practically hear my heart beating. "Oh, Ethan, I'm so sorry!" She sighed. "Kurt already asked me. I would've liked to go with you, though."
My voice sounded so hollow. "Yeah. Okay. No, no problem. I'll see you."
"Wait, Ethan-"
"'Bye."
I hung up the phone, a rush of humiliation flooding me. Kurt. Of course. Why was I so stupid? And she'd tried to sound so sympathetic, so…
"Hey, Ethan?" Her hand was on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you call."
"It's all right." I had that cold, trembling feeling, like my heart had just stopped beating and I was only going through the motions of living. "No problem. She probably deserves Kurt, anyway."
"Kurt?" Loren frowned. "You mean that kid that-"
"Loren?" Finally looking up from my math book, I met her eyes. "Please. Go meddle with someone else's life."
She bit her lip and nodded, turning away and walking out of the kitchen. I looked out the window, stared into the dismally lit sky. The twinkling stars held no solace. Nothing did. Kurt. I should have known. Why hadn't I asked her sooner? I could have beaten him. She'd said…she'd said, "I would've liked to go with you." Did she mean it? Really?
I stared at the wall blankly. I'd cry, but what was the point? I couldn't cry, anyway. Nothing I did would change things. There was Kurt; always Kurt. Kurt, the macho jock, Kurt, the laughing friend, the cute, friendly… He was always there, no matter what. I tried; he tried harder. I did something, he did it better. No matter what I did, Kurt was always first. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt! It was always Kurt.
Standing up, I grabbed my jacket from the chair beside the door and stepped outside. I thought I heard Loren call my name, but I didn't care. I needed to get out; go somewhere, somewhere else.
"I was a fool," I said aloud, eyes fixated on the dark shadows of the street. "How stupid. How naïve. I should have known!"
I should have. But, they say, hindsight is always perfect. I guess people make mistakes. Even Moira. Especially me. Things change, things slip away. There are things I regret and will always regret, and a select few memories I'll forever cherish. The way I first saw her, laughing, happy. The way she says my name, so sweetly, as if I'm the only person in the world. The way she looks at me and smiles so spontaneously, so freely. Moira…if only.
And the thoughts of Kurt having that, owning that…would he even know? Could he realize? How special, how precious my Moira was. Did he take her for granted already? His words echoed in my mind. It's inevitable…
So it was Kurt. Of course, it was Kurt. I found myself walking through the streets, clutching my jacket around me, cold. Cold all over. It made me wonder what would have happened, if Kurt weren't really here? What if he'd never been born? Would Moira love me, would she be going to the dance with me? Who knew. Maybe not. Maybe Fate would always pull us apart.
I looked up and found myself across the street from Moira's house, watching the lights in the windows. I was suddenly afraid, suddenly worried. I wasn't…stalking her. It's not like I was…looking into her windows, or any such thing. It was just peaceful out here, under the sky, only me. No unpaid bills, no arguments, no reminders of the past. No homework, no mess, just the night's sky and the lights, the distant lights of her house, amongst the stars.
In the quiet, everything seemed so far away. Everything seemed so much simpler. Somehow, I just needed to eliminate Kurt from the picture. I'd been so sure that Moira liked me, at least a little bit. Couldn't she feel it, too? The way it felt, when we were together…
Except for Kurt. He was in the way. He was the problem.
Kurt.
Sometimes, it's the little things that change your life. One moment, a few simple words. One person, one decision. And without that little detail, how different everything would be. How different my life would be, if only…
There are things I regret, for sure. A million things that I wish I could change. But they're all the little things. The big ones, like Moira?
Never.
~:~:~
There was a new car in her driveway.
I stared at it, because I knew her house now. I knew the way the moon rose behind it, and the way the stars shone around it, and the way sometimes smoke would curl from the chimney. I knew the way the shutters stayed open, and how their Christmas lights hung. I knew the way the lights shone, and the way they parked their cars. It was something like my solace, to be there. Alone. Outside. Watching.
No one ever noticed. It was creepy, I suppose, but I never considered it. I never really thought about it. I just knew I'd never been more at peace. It was calming, somehow. It gave me something to hold onto.
That's when the door to her house opened and I jumped up, startled. No one ever came out at this time of night. It was probably close to eleven, maybe even midnight. The figure was tall; shadows spilling onto the sides of the house as light flooded the porch. Not Moira. Then who…
He ran down the driveway to the car and yanked open the door, pausing. And then he saw me. That's when I knew.
Advancing, I could practically see his confusion. I could have run, I could have hid, or…
But no. I waited.
"Hey, you! What are you…" He stopped. He looked incredulous. "Ethan? Is that you?"
"Hello, Kurt." I was calm; too calm. Something about this meeting seemed…so…inevitable.
"What are you doing here?" He advanced on me, grabbing my shirt in fury. "You…you little creep! You're following my girlfriend around, aren't you?" He shook me, angrily. He was about half a foot taller than I was; yet he never intimidated me. Not now. Not ever. "You pervert! You're fucking stalking Moira!! My Moira!"
"Your Moira?" I stared at him, very composed, despite the fact that my feet were about seven inches off the ground. "Since when, Kurt? What right do you, you, have to her? What do you know about her?"
"I know more than you do!" he shouted, face inches from mine. "You…you who stalk her and…I thought you two were friends!"
"You don't know anything, Kurt. Do you know the way she smiles; have you memorized the light in her eyes, the way she looks thoughtful sometimes for no reason at all? Can you tell me her favorite color and why she loves English so much? Can you…tell…me…that?" He was slowly choking me, choking me by my own shirt. I struck out wildly with my fists, but he only stared at me.
"You're sick, you know that? You sad, sick pervert! Leave her alone!"
Hurt him.
I barely noticed the voice, only the idea. I struck him hard enough where it definitely hurts and he released me, wincing. Staggering to my feet, I didn't waste any time and punched him solidly in the face.
"Oww! You bastard!" He reeled backwards, clutching his nose. "That's it!" He dove after me, face red, blood dripping down his face. I saw his fist coming for me, and then everything went black.
Swimming out of the shadowy haze that enveloped me, I staggered woozily. He was standing before me, breathing hard, his hand over his nose. "Had enough yet?" he gasped, voice ragged. "Learned how to respect my girl?"
"Not until you do," I retorted and swung at him. He grabbed my arm and twisted, slamming my body brutally to the ground in the process. I didn't care. I felt no pain, paid no attention to the blood dripping down the side of my face. Rage, adrenaline, coursed through me, pounded with every beat of my heart. "You don't deserve her!"
"Neither does a sick freak like you!" He grunted as I kicked out wildly at his legs, toppling to the ground but landing atop me. The result was a tangled mess of limbs, both of us cursing and grabbing and scratching, blood and spit everywhere.
"Give up?" His face was inches from mine, the look in his eyes most likely mirroring the rage in my own. At one point I suppose I'd scratched his face. Blood dripped down his cheeks, running over a split lip. He looked crazed, ready to kill.
I was, too.
"Never," I hissed back, scrabbling on the ground. That's when the lights behind us went on, almost heralding the inevitable curious neighbor. Kurt leapt off me, managing to provide me with a parting kick before running for his car.
"Coward!" I screamed after him, voice unrecognizable even to my own ears.
"You're the fuckin' stalker!" he yelled back, out the window.
His tires screeched somewhere in the back of my mind. I was faintly aware of the fact that doors were opening, and someone yelled that they would call the police.
Kurt was gone. People were coming.
I fled, limping, back home.
~:~:~
I could barely catch the murmurs of disapproval she made as she moved around me, folding a towel around the ice pack. "Boys," Loren snorted, shaking her head. "I thought you were smarter than that, Ethan."
Of course, she'd known. Loren knew me. Knows me. Inside and out. And anyhow, it wasn't as if it was incredibly difficult to guess.
"Does it hurt?" she finally asked a tad sympathetically, holding the coldness to my black eye. A finger traced one of the cuts on my cheek, and she watched me wince. "Ethan, how could you? What'll I tell Mom?"
"Nothing," I muttered sullenly, taking the pack from her and turning away. "Leave me alone."
"Ethan-"
"Go away! Nobody needs your help, Loren! Just go away!"
She swung around to face me. "Stop brushing me off, Ethan! You're screwed up! Don't you see it? We can't keep on living this way, in and out of the house, silence and lies! Stop it, Ethan! We're a family!"
"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice was still rasping, my throat raw. The words came out cold, and the feeling did not even touch me. "The family ended when Dad walked out, Loren. Every day with the bad cooking, the old bills and the dirty dishes…can't you see it? We aren't a family, stop pretending!"
"I'm not-"
"You think you can fix it up like you do everything, come in with your help and kindness and all that, and guess what? It doesn't do shit, Loren! You can't change anything! That's the way this is! We're not a family and we're not going to become one with your meddling, so leave it, all right?"
She stared at me. Stared and left the bag of ice melting on the table as she stalked out of the room. A moment later, I heard a door slam down the hall. For some reason, I didn't care.
Maybe I should have been sorry. I know I regret it, now. But the only thing I knew then was the glassy feeling of cold rage, the calm that sweeps over you before the storm. Before the attack comes, before the adrenaline rushes again.
I knew, then, that it wasn't over. And I didn't care.
I wanted to feel his blood on my hands, wanted to kneel in it, feel it slippery on my skin. Wanted to watch the life flee his eyes, wanted to have the savage joy of ripping into his flesh. I wanted it, at that moment, more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
Even Moira.
Death. It would come. And by the time it claimed me, I would have the blood of thousands on my hands. My soul would never be clean.
And I wanted it. Wanted it then and perhaps even want it now. More than Moira, more than death, more than salvation: the rush fills me, and I can feel it. Calling. Blood. Rage. Revenge.
It called.
I answered.
~:~:~
I awoke from my hazy slumber to the sound of a familiar voice; a voice I would recognize anywhere. I could hear her from my room, hear the sweet tone, the recognizable laughter. Oh, Moira, what are you doing here?
"…thanks, Mrs. Harrison. Tell Ethan I said hi, all right? I hope he feels better."
My mother said something, some sound of agreement, and a moment later I heard the door click shut. Groggy, I stumbled from bed, bruises on my side and face protesting every motion.
"Mom?"
"That was Moira," she called back. "She's brought your homework. I've got to go to work now; you'll be all right, won't you?"
"I think I can manage," I said, stumbling down the hall. "It's not like I never have before."
"You know I'll be working night shift tonight," she said, wincing as she saw me. I raised a hand to my eye. Was it really that bad? "Find something to eat; I don't want you dying from starvation. Loren should be home after nine; she's at a friend's."
"All right." I sat down at the kitchen table, head in hands. A pile of papers and my Chemistry book were before me, and I stared at them balefully. Had she come by at the request of some teacher? Or did she really want to stop and say hello?
My mother left, shutting the door loudly as she did. I could see that dark had already fallen, the clouds drifting lazily to obscure any sight of stars. My head ached.
I pulled my work forward, but the numbers were making me dizzy. Besides, my stomach was distractedly growling.
Standing up, I turned to the refrigerator. There were a few leftovers. Pulling one out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window. What is this, Halloween? Scratches marred my cheeks, and my black eye stood out noticeably. Hair in disarray already, eyes burning feverishly, I must have resembled one of the living dead. At least Moira hadn't seen. That was, at least, some kindness.
That's when I made up my mind. Stuffing a bite of the unidentifiable casserole in my mouth, I left it on the counter and reached for my jacket. This was it; no more wimping out, no more hiding in my room. It ended - no, it began - here.
"I'm coming, Kurt."
And as I slammed the door shut on the empty house, somewhere, someone smiled. I didn't know what I was getting into. How could I have? But I gave in, that was the important thing. That was what mattered. That was what cursed me for the rest of my life.
I gave in, gave myself up to the madness. And it reached out for me, opened its gaping arms and swallowed me whole. There was no turning back, no regretting, no absolving myself. I was caught. I was taken. It was I and I was it, filled, captured, consumed. It was in me.
It had been there, all along.
The streets were cold on that wintry night, and my breath puffed forlornly on the still air. My anger kept me warm, hummed fuzzily just under my consciousness. I was calm. I was composed. I was ready. This time…would be the last.
I knocked. The door swung open.
"You."
I smiled in what was meant to be an amiable fashion. Mocking, of course. I had some idea of what I looked like, bruises and cuts, sardonic grin, crazy light in my eyes. I saw all of it reflected on his own face.
"Oh, hello, there. Can Kurt come out and play? Or is he too scared he'll fall and hurt himself?"
"The only thing I'll be hurting is some wimp who's stalking my girlfriend," he growled, slamming the door as he stepped out. "What do you want, coming around here?"
"I thought we had some unfinished business, Kurt." I smiled. "Don't you think so?"
His arm shot out, unexpectedly. I staggered, clutching my stomach, staring up at him with hatred stronger than I knew I had. "Yeah, I think so." He smirked back, the same light in his eyes. "Come on. Not here."
I backed up warily, wondering what he was doing. He tore off down the street and, without thinking, I followed him. For a few moments, the only sound was our pounding footsteps on the pavement, each of us burning within over the thought of the other. Of course, he wouldn't want to fight me in the street before his very house. And surprisingly, I was keeping up with him. Was the adrenaline that powerful, or was he going easy? Letting me keep up, so that…
My world exploded. All coherent thought fled as I tripped to my knees, clutching my face. Kurt'd punched the already hurt eye, and all I knew were flashes of black and unexplainable color.
Staggering to my feet, feeling my back against an unfamiliar brick wall, I shoved myself forward. I missed Kurt entirely and went slamming into the opposite wall, a few feet away. I could already smell the blood. It only encouraged me.
Both of us were breathing hard, panting, gasping, the air no longer cool but constraining. I dove for him again, this time colliding, ripping, bleeding, spitting, screaming…
My head hit the pavement and he crouched over me, his face an unrecognizable mask of twisted hatred. Rage filled his eyes. I recognized it, embraced it, took it for my own. I could feel the blood trickling slowly down my scalp.
"Leave her alone," he growled, voice issuing from deep in his throat. I could hear the savagery; I could see the burning fury in his gaze. "You leave us alone and I'll let you go."
Somewhere, I knew that wasn't what he wanted. He might leave me alone, for Moira, but I knew what Kurt wanted. My blood bathing his hands as he knelt in it, the shadows creeping around our forms. We were strangely alike, Kurt and I. I could tell. The same need shone in his eyes. It wasn't explainable. We were both caught up in the primordial rush, the ancient pulsing desire for fulfillment. The need. The feeling, the all-consuming hunger.
Entangled limbs, panicked breathing, both our eyes meeting in one second of undeniable hate and sudden understanding. All I saw in him, I knew was there in me. And from the sudden comprehension mingling with his fury, I knew he saw it too.
It was no truce. No sudden connection, no friendship. Animal recognition. Acknowledgment of another, perhaps, but no fading rage. I knew him, understood. He saw the same in me. And we both still hated each other with the same livid, roaring passion, still craved something fulfilled only by the stilled beating of another's heart.
Maybe it was luck. Maybe some higher power was on my side. Maybe it was Fate. Either way, I moved first. For Kurt, it was an unfortunate mistake.
The sound his head made on the pavement was a sickening crack. The look that flashed across his head was fear and undeniable pain. His blood seeped crimson, slicking the ground with a red-black sheen. It was on my hands, in my clothes, the scent in my nostrils. The taste of my own on my tongue. I grasped at his hair, our skin slipping with blood, and slammed his head again on the ground. Again, and again, until my own blood and tears mingled and dripped on his face, tumbled down my cheeks and tainted my mouth with the coppery fluid. I scrabbled at his skin, overcome, wild, raging, mindless.
Sometimes survival takes over, and it's all you can do to just flow with it. Then again, sometimes it never lets go. You have to ride it, ride the flood, or maybe fight it, maybe die trying. Is it worth it? Moreover, will I ever know?
My haze of mindless crimson slowly slipped to black. The one thing I knew was the overpowering feel and smell and taste of blood, ruling my senses, until everything else faded away.
~:~:~
The first thing I was conscious of was the presence of something slimy and heavy in my palm. Blinking, gingerly flexing fingers sticky with blood, I sat up.
The bloodied mass clutched in my hand was Kurt's heart.
I screamed. Unable to hold it back, I screamed. It echoed back to me, mocking me as I dropped the organ hastily. No matter how much I wiped my hands, they would never feel clean. Soiled, always, with his blood.
Crimson-stained tatters were scattered over the cement, along with what may have been flesh. I dared not look too close. There was a gaping hole in Kurt's chest, stained sanguine, here and there a bit of shining white. It was a long moment before I realized that it was bone.
Choking on my own bile, I stumbled away, hands slipping as I steadied myself on the blood-slicked bricks. Tripping over myself, stumbling, scrambling back up, dashing from the alley and the haunted look in his eyes, the waxy pale and blood-flecked skin of his cheeks. It would chase me forever, I knew. Some ghosts never find enough revenge.
Only a few steps away and I staggered into the bushes, the little I'd eaten recalled. Gasping, panting, I knelt on the grass, heaving as the sights of the alley flashed through my mind.
"What's this? A killer who can't stomach a little blood?"
My head flew up, eyes wide, frantically searching. There was no one there. I leapt to my feet, scrambling through the bushes, lurching forward onto the sidewalk. "Who's there?"
"I am your greatest ally, Ethan. I helped you. Don't you see?"
"Helped?" I stared, hollow, into the empty streets and cold sky above. Kurt was dead. Dead, and I'd done it. I'd killed him. More than killed, I'd mutilated him, ripped him apart…and worst of all, enjoyed it.
"Look in the mirror, Ethan. They can't see the murderer there in those innocent eyes of yours. They can't see it. Can you?"
Another wave of nausea overcame me and I choked, gagged, leaned forward and threw up. It was a long moment until I recovered and then realized that I was standing at my bathroom sink. The mirror before me showed a gaunt-faced, wide-eyed boy, but a boy whose face held no scratches or black eyes, no telltale stains of blood.
I reached a finger carefully forward; afraid the entire room would dissolve if I contemplated it too much. "Who are you?" I whispered slowly, trying to see something else in my own face. I wasn't sure who I was asking: myself, or the mysterious voice I'd heard. Had I heard anything? Was I only dreaming? A terrifying thought occurred to me. Perhaps I had dreamt it all. Maybe I'd just woken from a long sleep of nightmares and had only just walked to the bathroom. Maybe Kurt was alive. Maybe we'd never fought to begin with. Had I ever walked to Moira's house? Had I even asked her to the dance? Had I even started school yet?
Stumbling to the window, I pressed my face to the relief of the cool glass. Shoving it open, I reached out my hands into the frigid night air. It was certainly winter.
"Ethan!"
I jumped, glancing around, afraid of the unknown source of that voice that so haunted me. A tense second later, and I realized that the voice was familiar and, moreover, was coming from downstairs.
"Wh-what?"
"You've been up there for ten minutes! You're missing the movie!"
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the frenzied beating of my heart. How much had I dreamed, how much of this nightmare was the creation of my own mind? Where was I, what time was it? What had happened?
"I'm coming," I called more confidently back to Loren. I wasn't a murderer. I'd had a strange dream. That was all. No blood, no death, no ripping out of anyone's heart. An extremely explicit dream, but a dream nevertheless. Nothing more. I was safe.
"Ethan!" She sounded frantic. "Oh, my God! You've got to see this; the news came on, just now! They just found this kid in an alley, eugh, it's terrible! Oh, my God, Ethan, I can't believe…! You should see…oh, my God! I think…I think it's…"
It's Kurt, I finished for her, silently. My heart thundered back to life, thumping so loudly I could almost hear it echo. My stomach threatened to heave again, but I had nothing more to throw up. My skin felt cold, clammy.
"Ethan!"
"Yeah, I'm coming," I called back shakily. Stepping out of the bathroom, I went into the hall, shadows clustering like midnight around me. They can't see the murderer, the unknown voice had assured me. The question was, could I?
~:~:~
No one had felt much like celebrating anything after Kurt's death, especially not Moira. I felt no satisfaction in asking her to the dance again, especially not considering the part I'd played in the murder, and so kept silent. She seemed to avoid me, too, although maybe that was just my imagination. She seemed to avoid everyone, after Kurt.
Maybe that's why I was so surprised when the doorbell rang that night, that night when I'd opted to stay home instead of going to the dance. I didn't see much point. Apparently, neither did she.
"Hi," she said shyly, looking almost nervous as she stood there waiting. "C-can I come in?"
"Of course!" I moved to let her in, almost self-consciously glancing down at my hands. I'd scrubbed them again and again, despite the lack of blood, unable to rid myself of the feeling. "Um, how-"
"Actually," she interrupted, "can we go outside? It's a warm enough night."
"You know what they say about walking outside at night," I teased, remembering the recent newscast warning about the possibility of a lurking murderer. It was odd, how I could joke about it, yet felt such terror at the thought. She gave me a quick smile, then beckoned me outside. I followed. "It really isn't too cold," I said, though my arms felt the breeze through my worn jacket. Had it been colder then, when I'd run after Kurt? Had it been colder then, all those nights when I'd sat outside her house, watching the lights from the lawn and wishing I could be part of it, part of any of it?
We walked in silence a moment, each contemplating the sky. The stars glittered, like so many tears ready to fall. Eventually, Moira spoke.
"Didn't want to go to the dance?"
I shrugged. "Didn't feel like it."
"Yeah. Me either." She hugged herself against the breeze, eyes focused somewhere else. "I'm sorry, Ethan."
"Sorry for what?" I stared at her, almost alarmed. "Moira, are you all right? Everyone's been wondering, you know, how you're doing. Everyone's so worried."
Moira looked over at me then, eyes fixed upon my face, and I fell silent. She waited for what seemed to be an eternity before finally speaking.
"It's weird," she sighed. "I don't know, Ethan. It's not that I'm not ready to date anymore, after Kurt. I just keep thinking that he's up there, somewhere, looking down on us. And if…it's just weird, I guess."
I nodded wordlessly, my own thoughts streaming wildly. If Kurt could somehow see us, he must be upset. I'd be upset, if my murderer was walking around with my girlfriend. If my girlfriend was talking about dating my murderer. If…
But when I was with Moira, I didn't feel like a murderer. I didn't only see some worthless kid, some average, ignored teen. I was someone. She made me real.
"So you think he is 'up there?'"
She glanced over at me quickly, a thoughtful look clouding her face. "Of course. Kurt was a great guy: really nice, always friendly. I miss him, yes. But he's happy, don't you think?"
A great guy. I wondered. I'd seen him only inches away, panting, scrabbling with me, that fire in his eyes, clawing at my skin, grasping for any hold. I'd seen his face, watched it freeze in the same expression of consternation and rage as his blood leaked over my hands. It wasn't an expression of peace, of everlasting salvation. He'd been nearly snarling, blood gleaming on his teeth, dripping down his cheeks like crimson tears of fury. I'd looked in his eyes, just before they glazed over, and his last expression was not of tranquility, but of hatred.
Animal instinct. That ancient, primordial urge. In the end, had I truly killed a man, or a beast? He too was ruled by that darkness inside, the darkness I recognized so well.
"Ethan?" Moira was frowning at me, perplexed by my pensive silence. "Don't you believe in salvation?"
"I - I don't know." Meeting her startled gaze, I shrugged almost apologetically. "I mean, who knows, really? Are we here for a reason, or is it all a mistake? Are any of us so…well, worth saving?" I recalled the slippery feeling of Kurt's blood on my hands, the coppery taste of my own flooding my mouth. Was it in all of us, lurking, waiting, plotting to ambush us and turn us into this monster? Or was it only me; was I the weak one, the one who'd let go and had run with it?
"I think so," she countered bravely. "Seriously, Ethan. We're all human. People make mistakes."
"Not all of humanity is so nice." Didn't I know that all too well? There was darkness inside of me, and I was too weak to resist it. "I think everybody has that…that dark side."
"Even so, there's that balancing bit of goodness. In everyone. You've got to give it the chance to prevail."
I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. "And if - if it doesn't?"
Moira looked troubled. "I don't know. It's nice to think that in the end, everyone's happy."
We stood there, together against the cold and empty streets. After a long moment of silence, she slipped her hand in mine. Feeling her skin soft against my wrist, holding tight to the warmth of her fingers, I found my own salvation.
"It's nice to think that," I agreed softly, eyes fixed on the distant stars. Up there, somewhere… "But are they really?"
~:~:~
I ate in silence, listlessly swirling the soup. It didn't look overly appetizing. I used to eat with Kurt and his friends but after the murder, it didn't seem exactly appropriate. None of them even seemed to notice my absence. Maybe Kurt's death had left them too shaken. Or maybe I'd never mattered to begin with.
A tray clinked on the table before me. I glanced up into a familiar green gaze.
"M-Moira!"
She grinned. "Hey, Ethan. You look lonely."
"I guess." Shrugging, though I was sure my foolish smile gave me away, I added, "So, um, how've you been?"
She sat down, opening her milk carton. "Oh, I'm fine. I got an A on that English exam!"
I watched her face, her features, tried to memorize that infectious look of joy. Indeed, I couldn't help but smile back. "You're good at it. English, I mean, and writing."
Nodding, Moira looked embarrassed. "Well, you know. I like it."
"Moira!" We both turned to see a cluster of others approaching us. Mike I knew vaguely from my History class, but the two girls were unfamiliar.
"Hey, Ethan," Mike nodded, settling onto a stool next to Moira. "What's going on?"
"Moira was just telling me about her English skills," I joked.
"Nothing new there." The taller girl laughed and nodded to me, introducing herself as Julie. "This is Hope," she added, gesturing to the other. I smiled politely.
"We interrupting something, or can we sit down?" Hope asked wickedly, eyes flicking from Moira to me. To my surprise, Moira actually blushed.
"Oh, sit down," she said, making a face at her friend. "Enjoying the benefits of cafeteria food again, I see, Mike."
"As is Ethan," he winked at me, catching sight of the viscous liquid I was still trying to coax myself into eating. "Ah, the joys of Lincoln High."
"Dubious joys, to be sure," Julie grinned. "Haven't you learned your lesson about lunch yet, Mike?"
"Well, you could always share." Mike grinned back at her, hinting, laughing as she shook her head. The simple conversation seemed so unreal, as if only another figment of my imagination. Was I truly going that crazy, to question the truth of people sitting next to me? Was I so far gone that I couldn't even relax, only for an instant?
You're a murderer, my insidious mind reminded me. Always running, now. Got to keep on that mask to hide the blood, don't you? Murderer, murderer.
"Ethan?" Moira waved her hand in front of my face and I jumped, eyes widening fearfully. "Are you okay? You blanked on us."
Mike chuckled. "Take Julie's advice and stop eating that stuff," he warned, gesturing towards my soup. "You see what it does?" Smile never fading, he spooned a bit of his own lunch into his mouth.
"I - I'm fine." Glancing around, the cafeteria lights felt hot, spotlights shining down on me. Singling me out. Showing me. Trying to calm my rapid beating heart, I took a deep breath. "Uh, maybe I'm getting sick, I feel a little feverish."
Moira reached across the table to me, putting her cool palm over my forehead. "You do feel a little warm," she agreed, frowning. "Maybe you've been too worried lately. A lot's been happening."
Julie and Hope exchanged sympathetic glances. Moira didn't see, but I did, and wondered. How was she holding up? She never said, always talked about Kurt being happy, always tried to be so strong. She was strong, my Moira, my hope, my unwavering light. Strong enough to hold back my weakness?
"I'll be okay." I stared down into my soup, stirring the thickened broth, swirling the stringy objects that were supposedly chicken. After a long moment of contemplation, they could have been…they could have been flesh, Kurt's flesh, hanging from his bones, could have been…
I glanced up, gasping, but luckily the bell rang and saved me from any questions. Before any of them could stand, I nearly dashed out of the cafeteria, racing towards my locker and thinking as hard as I could of more normal images. The ocean, where we'd once gone on vacation, before Dad had left. The puppy we'd had, before Dad had taken it. Moira's smile. Were there so few things that leapt to mind when I tried to think of something 'nice?'
Fumbling with my lock, I glanced up and saw a familiar face. Keith, I thought I remembered his name being. The enviable guy. A typical good-hearted kid, sandy hair, blue eyes. Track star, A student. A good boyfriend, the generally likeable acquaintance.
Kurt's best friend.
He approached my locker, looking a little nervous. "Um…hey. You're that kid, Ethan, right?"
How flattering. I nodded. "And you're Keith."
Keith looked a little embarrassed. "You, uh, don't sit with us anymore."
"You noticed."
"We all…we're a little shook up, y'know, but you're welcome to…"
"I know." I was intimidating him, I could tell. I felt a bit more confident in myself. Knowing I killed someone filled me mostly with horror, but also with a feeling of power.
"Er. You sit with Moira now." He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. So that was what this was about.
I nodded. Gave him nothing. Waited.
"You…look, Kurt was my best friend, right? I know how much he loved her."
Enough to die for her? I wondered silently.
"So, uh, you know. Maybe you could…respect his memory a little. Just…just saying." Keith still looked unsettled. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, man. Not my business. But I know he would've done the same for me. I guess I owe him."
"Why don't you leave that up to Moira, Keith?"
"Sorry, I just thought…"
I glimpsed a flash of brown hair up ahead, heard the familiar laughter. Giving Keith a sweet smile, I waved and slammed my locker shut. "I'd better go catch up. See you around, Keith."
"Uh…"
I walked past him, reveling for an instant in the lost and almost embarrassed look on his face. For once, I wasn't the one carrying that expression; the one left behind as everyone turned their back. Moira turned as she heard me, grinning. I could almost feel Keith's eyes on me as I walked away with her, could almost picture his expression. Didn't he know? Couldn't he understand how much Moira was to me?
I love her, I thought quietly, walking beside her in the busy hall. I would have died for her, you know, all of you, do you know that? I would die in an instant for her!
But instead you killed for her, my mind reminded me. Killed. Survived. For her? Or for you?
Maybe it had been for both of us. Maybe it had been for the chance, the hope for the two of us. A defiance of Fate, a desperate grasping. Had it worked? Had it been in vain, or was it, too, predestined? Are some meant to meet only to be torn apart, forever tempted, tortured, stolen moments and ever after promises only ending in silence? Is there any difference between now and then, when everything somehow turns to dust?
Now, I know how much my sacrifice meant. I would have died for her, of course I would have. Still, I lived, and every moment is like torture when the past is so unreachable. Moira. If I had died for you, died without the horror and the terror I brought, could we have been happy? I will never know. Because I lived, and living apart like this is worse than any death.
~:~:~
Just looking at her, the flushed cheeks, the brilliant smile, I knew I would always remember her that way. She was laughing, holding on to my arm, eyes sparkling brighter than the lonely stars. I love you, echoed in my head, but I was too afraid to tell her so. Instead I contented myself with watching her, amazed.
"That was fun, Ethan," she beamed, glancing over at me with that dancing grin. "Don't you think?"
"Yeah," I responded, smiling back at her. You couldn't help but smile when she was happy; it was something so infectious about her. Something like champagne, intoxicating, making you giddy. A bit of pure light cast among the shadows, and she was with me. "I'm glad you came."
"Me too." Moira leaned against me, breath hovering like an angel in the cold night air. "It's good to get out, once in awhile."
"Only once in awhile?" I teased her.
"We'll see." She grinned, however, as we crossed the lawn and mounted the steps to her door. The familiar home had changed little from when I'd sat opposite, memorizing its details, though my - well, Loren's - car had become a more frequent part of the scene. "Thanks, Ethan!"
"I'll see you in school," I replied, resisting a sigh as she released my arm and reached for the doorknob.
"Don't forget that English test!" Moira reminded me, then leaned over for one brief but somehow meaningful second and kissed my cheek. Unable to avoid the foolish grin that leapt to my face, I watched her walk inside and stood there in the dark for a moment. My heart was thumping loudly in my ears, and I grinned up at the stars as I walked back to the car. I couldn't help pressing a hand to my cheek. She'd…
"I told you I'd take care of it, Ethan." I whirled, back against the cool metal of my car door, eyes turning from dreamily glazed to paranoid. He was…everywhere. I could see no one, yet I could nearly feel him. I could close my eyes and see him in my dreams, that eye that sought me out, caught me, watched me until I succumbed to its bloody power.
"Y-you…"
"Don't you like the way things turned out? I'm hurt. I would have thought you to be satisfied."
"I - I am, but-" The truth was that I really was satisfied. The truth…the truth was that my life had been better since Kurt's death than anything I'd ever come to expect. So what was that? Was that some condoning of murder, did that make it acceptable? What if…the truth was that…I was a murderer. I'd gotten away with it. And I was better off for it.
"That's very good, Ethan. Rationalization of your sins. I like that." The voice sounded distantly amused. "Anything to escape blame. But you don't have to worry. I told you I would take care of it."
"Take care of what?" My hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I wondered what someone would think were he or she to drive by. Another insane teenage boy, talking to himself or perhaps some unseen imaginary companion. The car slowed as I pulled into the garage and turned the keys in the ignition. I sat there for a moment in the darkness, wondering if I could turn the car back on and just let it run until I died. Would that be another murder on my hands, or would that be a favor to the world?
"Blessed is he who knows what he wants," the voice mocked me as I slowly climbed out of the car. "Blessed is he who follows it ruthlessly. Blessed is he who says, the ends will justify the means…"
I shut out the voice, or maybe it just faded away. Still, his words haunted me as I walked inside, left me feeling emptier than before. Moira kissed me…at what price?
"Ethan? Is that you?"
"It's me." I put my keys on the table and walked into the living room, taking off my jacket in the process. "Loren? What's up?"
She was staring at the TV, eyes hollow, gaze horrified. "Oh, God, Ethan…what kind of world are we living in?"
"I -" And I couldn't answer. My world, Loren. My blood-soaked, twisted, mad world where violence is rewarded with love. Get out, Loren, God damn everything, get out!
"You can swallow a pint of blood before getting sick," Loren said. "I read that somewhere." She looked terrible, the dark circles beneath her eyes accenting the brimming tears. And she stared at me accusingly. "You can swallow a pint of blood."
I gagged. Literally gagged, dashed to the sink, lost all the dinner I'd had earlier to the floor before I even reached the sink. A pint? How much was in the sewers, on my hands, over the alleys on the walls everywhere couldn't they see it? Inkblots of crimson spilling over the world, oh God, couldn't anyone see it?
"I can see it, Ethan."
The eye. The eye was on me, in me, around me, staring not blinking watching accusing sheltering encouraging being seeing everything…
I screamed. Screamed and fought the sheets that were twisted around my legs like shackles until my room finally settled and I saw the walls - white, they were white, not red, not stained crimson, but blessed pure clean white - stabilize. A dream. A dream, it was a dream.
My cheek was burning where she'd kissed it. Or had she? I rubbed it thoughtfully, worriedly, wondered if she'd remember even if she had, how much was I remembering, imagining, forgetting in my delusions? She kept me sane, Moira, but each time I was with her I was only reminded of how she would never have been mine if I hadn't killed for her. Each time I was with her I saw the blood, imagined it, pictured it…
Everywhere.
~:~:~
"You can swallow a pint…"
"NO!"
"What?" Moira touched my arm gently, concernedly. "Did you just say something? Ethan?"
I stared at her, her innocence, my bloodshot eyes meeting her concerned green ones. I was losing my mind. Oh, Moira, run away, run, before it's too late… "I'm going crazy," I whispered hoarsely. Déjà vu. Couldn't she see the madness in my eyes?
No, in fact, Moira seemed oblivious to the danger and instead clung to me as if we were going to protect each other from everything and anything ahead. Couldn't she see? It wasn't even safe to know me. I would…I would… But then, maybe this was another dream, yet another delusion of mine. How could I know? Maybe I wouldn't know, not until it was too late.
"Did you hear? Julie and Mike are going steady now." Moira was grinning. "Took them long enough. How many times has Julie talked about him? Only about a million…"
Her words blurred into a lulling melody, her familiar lilting voice washing over my ears. The emerald haze of her eyes, the sweetly familiar tilt of her chin and innocent smile. Was I taking her for granted already? The warmth of her arm against mine, the gentle puff of our combined breath in the air, her simple presence. I would have died to stand beside her in the beginning, and now we walked together almost every night.
"What?" She looked vaguely amused. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"I'm trying to memorize you so I'll always have you, even when you're gone."
Her mouth twisted in a startled half-smile, but I saw her eyes crinkle with that sudden laughter, and she hugged herself closer to me. "That's sweet. Kind of creepy, but sweet." She stopped walking and I stopped too, letting her look up into my eyes. She seemed to see something there, and she leaned against me, a quiet sigh slipping from her lips. "I know, Ethan. I know. I'm scared, too."
Scared? But then, as I thought, maybe I was. Only, she was scared of an unknown bloodthirsty murderer, a hulking, dark, imagined nightmare. I knew the truth - I was scared of myself, me, Ethan the pathetic, wimpy little teenager too obsessive to know where to draw the line.
"They'll catch the murderer," she said confidently, though her eyes betrayed a doubt that her voice did not. "They say every night on the news how much closer they are, you know, they're getting more clues and all."
"Four." I stared into the emptiness of the street, saw the shadows clustering, feeding off the fear growing like a malignant tumor. I barely remembered the others, after Kurt. Keith, of course - he'd crossed me. Only the memory of killing him hadn't rushed back until I'd seen the body on the news, only then had it occurred to me that I'd actually done it. And who were the other two? Random, unknown - I hadn't even recognized the girl when they'd shown her mangled body on the eleven o'clock news. Her name was…Sandy? Sandra? I didn't even know.
"It's going to be okay, Ethan." She smiled reassuringly at me.
"Sometimes I think we're all trapped," I said softly. I wasn't sure if she even heard me clearly. "Do you believe in Fate?"
Moira pursed her lips, thinking. "Well," she responded slowly, "I - I guess so. I believe in something. I mean, that we're all predestined for something. But I guess there is some choice. Our lives aren't exactly laid out for us, are they? Otherwise, what would be the point in living?"
"But we only have so many paths to choose from." I glanced at her, trying to avoid showing the bitterness in my voice. "I couldn't exactly get up tomorrow and 'choose' to be the President of the United States."
She laughed. "That's true. But we're the ones that control the way our life turns out."
"I don't agree." Would she say the same if she knew who I really was, what I'd really done? Would she still believe in choice and free will? "There are things that all of us are 'predestined' to do, like you said. Outcomes we have to arrive at. We're trapped in that, no matter what we choose, our lives take us to that point."
Cocking her head, she inquired, "Do you really think so, Ethan? That's so pessimistic - looking at life like a role we have to play with a set ending."
"'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,'" I quoted quietly. "You're the one big on English."
"Doesn't mean I agree with every word out of Shakespeare's pen." She shrugged, arms wrapped about herself - and me - in the cold. "Jaques said that, anyway. The notorious pessimistic critic needed to offset the lighthearted comedy of the play. Don't you remember Mrs. Jenkins discussing As You Like It with us?"
"Vaguely." Truth be told, I had probably been staring at Moira. There was something soothing about her presence, however - I felt saner than I had in days. Even if she did indirectly believe that my murderous nature was just that: mine.
"'Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings,'" she quoted back, winking at me. "Caesar."
"And am I Brutus, then?" I asked quietly. So had the murderer Cassius boldly proclaimed, using the absence of fate to rationalize his actions. And I? Could I blame my situation fully on the work of some distant deity, some far-off power that directed my life like a puppet master? Was there such a thing, some omnipotent creature that pulled everyone else's strings? I frowned. If anyone was jerking anyone else's strings, I wanted to be the hand and not the puppet. I would be in control; I would not be victim to the whim of others. And, a part of me wondered innocently, would you still be a murderer, then? Of your own choosing, Ethan, would you be a killer?
"Brutus wanted freedom for his people," Moira mused, leaning against me. "Part of him wanted the fame, perhaps even the power he was robbing Caesar of, but - he was a noble Roman, as Antony recognized."
"And murderers can then be noble?" This was getting a bit too personal.
Her face fell. Perhaps she was thinking of the pictures flashing on the news nightly, the mangled bodies that were so familiar. "To take someone else's life and will - that is never noble, Ethan. Never. You can't rationalize it. Cassius, Brutus - all of them had reasons, yes. But Caesar's murder was a murder; no one can change that. Glorious it may have been, necessary, perhaps, but they took away his life. No one can tell me that is noble."
Necessary. Was it, Ethan? You may not be noble or glorious, but have you been lucky?
And I was reminded, again, of the unseen voice that haunted and mocked me. Who, exactly, was pulling my strings?
"Anyway," she sighed sweetly, "I never thought I'd find someone else to quote Shakespeare with. It's nice."
"I never thought I'd be quoting," I returned, marveling at the way her head fit so perfectly into the curve of my shoulder, the way her eyes shone as bright as the evening stars. Yes, I replied silently, I have been lucky. I am lucky.
She was with me. She was in my arms, she was talking with me - debating Shakespeare, no less - she was beside me. And she was looking at me with adoration for me alone.
I leaned down, she tilted her head, and our lips met somewhere in between. Clichés, however trite, could only begin to describe the way we melded into one. I could feel her heart beating against mine, her warm lips yielding against mine, the space between us melting away in our communion of breath. When we separated, even for an instant, the winter chill invaded us, split us into our respective bodies. It was too cold, too lonely, too painfully empty, without her. Wordlessly, she leaned back in-
"And how long does your lucky streak last, Ethan?"
I jumped, startling Moira in turn. Her look was both hurt and quizzical; I could still feel her heart beating beside mine. "Did you - did you hear something?" I whispered as if afraid to be overheard. The way one whispers in the dead of night, fearing they will disturb some unspoken equilibrium.
"No." She frowned. "Ethan, are you - are you all right?"
"I have to go." Curt, now - I laid my hand on her cheek; for a moment my resolve melted. "Moira, I'm sorry, but…"
"What's going on?" She grasped my hand, staring urgently into my eyes. "Ethan?"
"Moira - I love you."
And before she could respond, even react, I was gone. Tearing down the sidewalk, cutting through hedges; I had to get away, get somewhere, before something happened. It was inevitable. Not even Moira - not even Moira - could save me.
What would have happened if she had caught up to me? What would have happened if I had stayed? I don't know - never will know, but my surmising is all too detailed. Oh, Moira, if I never save myself, at least I tried to save you.
My footsteps pounded on the hard concrete, rhythmically even with my short breaths. Ending, panting, in my driveway, I bent over with my hands on my knees.
"Now what, Ethan?" The voice echoed about me, terribly, yet meant only for my ears. Was I simply imagining it? Was I mad, now: had the murder driven me so insane? The world seemed to throb impossibly with every heartbeat, every breath I took, a pounding spectrum of red that kept on beating even when I closed my eyes. His words - whoever he was, real or imaginary, myself or another, did it truly matter anymore? - haunted me. Now what? Now what? Now what, indeed? Where could I go, where could I hide?
Deep inside the answer throbbed, and it horrified me. No matter how far I ran, no matter how long I denied it, there was no escape. There was blood on my hands and murder on my conscience; neither could ever be washed clean.
Grasping the doorknob, I shoved the door open, praying - to anyone that would listen, I suppose - that Loren was out. The studious head bent over her books sent my hopes crashing and I tried to -
"Ethan, is that you? Back already?"
Sneaking past the kitchen would be hopeless. I sighed, leaning into the kitchen, wondering how I could possibly avoid further questions.
"Don't you ever bring Moira around anymore? You two don't have to hide outside, you know." Grinning up at me, she added, "I don't even want to know what you do out there."
"I-" What did I want to say to her? Run, Loren, run away from me? Your brother is a monster? Your brother is a murderer? I wanted to hold out my hands, show her the blood that glistened there, but I knew - had enough sanity still doggedly persisting that I knew - that only I could sense it. Oh, I had scrubbed my hands so hard they nearly bled once again, but I could still feel it there. Looking down at the pale skin, I could nearly imagine it. Kurt's. Keith's. Sally's, or Sandra's, or whatever her name had been. Collecting, like a room collects paint, a new layer to cover the old.
Murderer.
Loren shut her calculus book, getting up from her chair. "Ethan? You look pale, are you all right?" When I didn't answer, she came to press a hand against my forehead. Couldn't she hear my heart beating? Couldn't she see the guilt? "Catching cold, are you? I knew you shouldn't have been wandering outside with Moira all those nights. It's no wonder you're sickly; I'm surprised she isn't, either."
"We keep each other warm," I croaked, wondering how much more the sound of a few simple words gave away. Surely someone would notice - hear the guilt in my voice, the criminal culpability oozing all over?
Loren laughed, though her amusement quickly faded when she saw the look in my eyes. Worry flitted about her puzzled smile, creasing her eyes not with lines of mirth but of concern. "Maybe you…need to lie down," she said hesitantly. "You're burning up."
Yes. Yes, I was burning up; the flames of Hell were already securing themselves about my heart. The stake was already tied to my back, wasn't it, the wood piled about my feet? It's inevitable… What is? Fuck, what is inevitable? Everything? Nothing? Inevitability is inevitable. Predestination laid a path for me and it was up to me to walk it. No shortcuts, no escape routes, no side paths through the woods. Follow the goddamn path, Ethan. One foot, then the other. Walk. Down. The. Path. Of. Fate.
"Ethan?" she queried again, unaware of the internal struggle seething beneath my skin. My ghostly white skin, untainted, unstained - was that fair? Was it? Even the bloodstains I imagined so clearly were unseen to the rest of the population, while Kurt's blood was still drying in the alley and the remains of his shredded flesh were being picked apart by confused detectives. I took care of it, Ethan. So he did. So I did. So…
Laughter rang in my ears, echoed back to me as if through a long tunnel. Loren seemed oblivious; was oblivious, truly, to the other presence. Or was he? Was he, truly, so separate from me? Who was pulling my strings? Who was decreeing my path? The powers that be, the all mighty hand of Fate? Or…
Me?
"Stop it!" My scream tore through the house, ricocheting off the walls and rattling my mother's prized porcelain plates. A family heirloom: one of the only things, oddly, she kept about.
"Ethan? What is the matter with-"
On the walls, the ceiling, the tiles on the floor - red, all red, any name you want to call it. "Crimson," I recited in a singsong monotone, like a schoolboy reading from a thesaurus. Mrs. Jenkins, are you proud of me now? Caesar died, but was he murdered or mercifully given a place of glory in the history books? Brutus - oh, noble Brutus. "Ruby…scarlet…carmine…ver-mil-i-on…"
And she was mercifully silent, staring in horrified fascination at my blank gaze. I saw nothing but the red. The red, yes - it coated everything, the tables, the chairs, it even slicked the cover of her closed calculus book and oozed down the sides of her empty glass. Drenched her hair, dripped from the ceiling, trickled across the kitchen floor like an unstoppable tide.
"Enjoying yourself?" The voice was amused. Oh, yes, of course the voice was amused - the voice liked blood, did he not? I liked blood. I bathed in blood. I breathed it. My life was painted in it, lovely shades of crimson, ruby, scarlet…you could pronounce it so easily, emphasize the words, focus on its mindless syllables: ver-mil-i-on…
Why did it feel like I was drunk? Why did it feel like I was out of control, reeling and staggering, grasping at anything to hold on to, reaching out for the one solid thing that kept my world sane -
- I love you -
- and missing.
I reached, I missed, I slipped, I fell. The paths that Fate weaves get slippery when it rains, did you know that? And the deluges of blood make the sweetest mud of all.
No voice reached my ears that wasn't choked and drenched in blood. I could not tell the difference any longer, could not differentiate between any - who was speaking, me? My voice? His voice? Loren's?
"…Ethan…what are…you…"
"All I wanted-" ragged gasps- "was recognition, love, damn it, another chance - is that so much to ask?" Hysterical, now, unsustainable levels, voice cracking. "Don't we all deserve that chance? Don't we? Don't we? Don't we all deserve to-" deep breath, cough, shake away the blood-red tears from my eyes- "direct our own life? Don't we all deserve to pull our own strings?"
"…E…tha…you're…cho…k…i…"
And again, "How long does your lucky streak last, Ethan? You've lost your lucky charm…tried to save her, tried to love her…poor, poor Ethan…"
"Ethan," I grated, willpower dispelling the blood and the haze of crimson droplets, everywhere, everywhere, "is no more."
Ethan was a weakling, Ethan was a puppet. Ethan was the fool that fell in love and paid for it. Ethan would be back; of course he would, simpering, whining, Fate had dealt him an unwanted hand. Well, fuck, you draw your own cards from the deck, don't you?
And the merry faces on the cards, oh, how they laugh.
The cards spin, twirl, the white-as-snow cardboard merging with the red and creating a tiny whirlwind of candy cane fog. Vermilion, it is indeed, and all red eventually fades to black.
Black as blood long since dry, encrusted on a forgotten grate in a forgotten alley.
Black as the back of my eyelids that never allow oblivion.
Black as the sky over a nonexistent boy and his dream girl, littered with abandoned lights.
Black as a soul stained and torn to pieces as thoroughly as any mutilated corpse.
Black as the mud made by a tempest of blood, churned by the passing feet.
Black as the wrinkled skin that marks a murderer's reflection. They can't see the killer; can you?
Black.
~:~:~
"She died. I strangled her. She died."
"Not in this timeline, Ethan." He smiled cruelly at me. The eye. The blood red eye. It mocks me eternally, taunts me, haunts me. I know that, had I a mirror, I would see the same gleam if I looked into it. "Not without her charming brother, she didn't die. Oh, no, Loren lived."
"Why?" The question was empty. Did I care for an answer? Truly? What did it matter, now that my path had ended? Was I to go on caring, pushing and prodding every tiny ant on every tiny pebble of a planet for the so-called good of all? No. I was not the Ellimist, and I did not hide in illusions of self-worth. Toys can be broken, discarded. Used. And what did it matter any more, those that mattered so much to the Ethan I was then? Was I to care for Loren, for my mother? Was I to watch over my father, cheating on his former secretary with his new one, forgetting about the children he left behind? Was I to - was I to love?
"Because-" sneering - "as the Ellimist might indulge in pretending, you puny humans have purposes. Kurt, Keith, all of them - their pathetic lives have meaning. To someone, at least."
"Not you."
"No, not I," Crayak agreed, endlessly amused by the jest that was my life. "All of their lives - for yours. A rather good bargain, wouldn't you say? I always fancied a servant as horribly disfigured as you. The Drode, eh? Because Ethan is too weak to pull others' strings."
I stared down at the girl, laughing, hanging onto Kurt's arm. Picture perfect, unmarred by specks of blood or tainted words. Would they quote Shakespeare to each other? Would they go to a winter dance together, happy, content? Would they study together, reminding each other of upcoming tests? Would he walk with her at night, indulge her beliefs in the prevailing goodness of humanity? Would he love her; would he die for her? I wouldn't. I couldn't. I didn't exist.
I am the puppet master and I am the toy. I dance to his bloody tunes and what hope do I hold onto, what hopeless figment of time that exists now only in my memory? Am I to love, even now, when anyone who looked upon me would see not a human but a disfigured monster? Moira. You did not save me. I saved you. I damned you, I rescued you. From what?
Do you believe in Fate? Well?
It doesn't matter. Not when Fate believes in you.