Part 17 ^_^
They were called the Impossible Brothers, even though each of them
went home to a different house. They spent as much time together as they
could, going everywhere together.
Kurti, Andrei and Stefan. Inseperable and indivisable.
They were best friends, even when respective sisters attempted to tag
along. For years, the trio were like that, and they swore that they'd be
friends forever.
Then came the year that Stefan Szardos started seeing monsters and
phantoms. He'd slash at them with sticks or throw rocks at them, but
they were monsters only he could see.
Andrei was spooked by it, and the number of rocks that went winging
over his large shoulders, and started avoiding the boy.
Kurti, far more sympathetic and empathic than his Centaur 'brother',
would deliberately make time to see the sorceress' son.
That day, when he found Stefan, the Gypsy boy had a knife.
"Stefan!" Kurti was shocked. "That's your mother's! She'll be upset
that you've got it; and you shouldn't be playing with knives anyway..."
"I'm *not* playing, Kurti," said Stefan. "This is deadly serious. I've
seen them. Demons masquerading as men. They have to be stopped."
"Why? Are they hurting people?"
Stefan continued walking. They were heading down the mountain, to a
town that neither the villagers of Heirelgart nor the circus ever
visited. It showed up on the local maps as Winzeldorf.
"*Stefan*..." Kurti persisted, tagging along. "I asked you a question.
Are they hurting anyone?"
"They're *demons*," said Stefan. "They have to be stopped. I'm
righteous enough to see the truth. They hide inside the skins of normal
people. Where do they *get* the skins, eh? Did you think of that?"
"I'm scared," Kurti admitted. "Can't we go back? You can take some of
your Mama's tea and you'll feel better."
"The tea clouds my vision, friend. It obscures my sight, makes me
weak. Demons gave Mama that tea so I wouldn't be able to stop their foul
plans."
Kurti was *really* scared, now. He'd never *been* here, before.
Everything was new and strange. "What plans, Stefan?" he asked.
Sometimes, if he asked enough questions, Stefan would realise he was on
the brink, and turn back.
"They're body snatchers," he said. "They feed off us real people and
live in our skins. Until they need another skin. And another. And
another... And no-one notices because the murders happen years before
the dead people move on and lose touch. It's brilliant."
"Have you seen it happen?"
"You think I'd want to *watch*, when I could strike them down?"
Kurti swallowed. This was getting *frightening*. He'd never *seen*
Stefan so wild in the eyes. "I just wanted to know how *you* know," he
said. "I mean, it's all very well *saying* this stuff, but how do you
*know*?"
"Shhh!" Stefan placed a finger over his lips. "We're nearly there. We
need to be *quiet*, now."
They emerged from the woods in someone's back yard. It was scattered
liberally with the sort of toys that very small children enjoyed. All of
them were plastic and brightly-coloured.
Kurti's heart hammered in his chest. "Are we gonna break in?" Kurti
whispered.
"It's not really a crime," hissed Stefan. "They're *demons*, remember?
The real people they're pretending to be are long dead." Knife in his
teeth, he lifted himself up to look through a window. He dropped back
down. "Great. Its Dam and Sire are out. They've got a real person
babysitting. They're probably going to murder her, later. Open the
window. I need to get in."
"I dunno, Stefan..."
"We're doing God's work, Kurti," he said. "I'm righteous. I was *put*
on this Earth to strike down the demons. I was *made* to be his weapon
to cleanse this Earth of Satan's filth. If you won't, I will."
Maybe he wouldn't go through with it. Kurti crossed himself and
climbed the wall. _God help us. Guide our hands to do the right
thing..._ he prayed.
The window wasn't locked.
Inside the room, a child lay peacefully slumbering. He was barely past
a year old. A picture of innocence incarnate.
Stefan saw the kid with different eyes. "There it is," he whispered.
"The demon spawn."
"It's just a *child*," whispered Kurti.
"What? You want me to wait until it grows up and breeds? They had to
kill a child to get that skin, to make it look normal. What I'm doing is
evening the score. I'm working God's justice. I'm righteous. God will
stop me if I'm wrong and he's innocent."
"I pray he will," hissed Kurti. He meant it with all his heart. And if
God wasn't inclined to do anything, Kurti planned to do it for him and
claim divine intervention.
Stefan raised the knife.
Kurti tensed, ready to pounce, and then found himself unable to move.
The kid woke up, blinked, and stared at them both.
"Die, demon," whispered Stefan.
The knife came down.
Kurti's right hand shot out and stopped him.
The kid started crying.
"What?" said Stefan. "How could you? I *stopped* you..."
"I don't understand either," said Kurti. "It just - *moved*."
"Let me *go*."
"I *can't*."
The babysitter got up, and approached. Kurti could hear her footsteps
in the hall, getting closer.
"Let me *go*," repeated Stefan.
"You let me go, first," bargained Kurt.
The babysitter took one look at them and screamed.
Kurt began to feel strange. For months, he'd been having bizarre
nightmares about falling up, and through somewhere, to get somewhere
else. And at times of real terror, he could smell sulphur and sort of
see places that were really far away, as if he was there. Those spells
were always accompanied by this feeling, like something *just* behind
his shoulders was going to swallow him up.
He could 'see' a clearing near a cliff. He *knew* it was closer to
home. This time, he let himself 'fall up' and he took Stefan with him.
{Bamf!}
There was a vision of smoke and flames, and then they were in the
clearing, and Stefan was unconscious, and he felt really sick.
Really, *really* sick.
The last thing he did before he blacked out was toss Stefan's knife as
far as he could. Considering the state he was in, that wasn't far at
all.
He hoped Margali wouldn't be mad at him for getting it dirty.
When he woke up, it was raining. Not hard, just a light shower. Stefan
was somewhere, mumbling to himself. The ancient phrases of Romani magic,
or some snatches of it, could be heard. Kurti sat up.
"Damnit! The circle isn't complete..."
"Stefan?" said Kurti. "What are you doing?"
"I *was* gonna do this the easy way," he said. "Because you've been my
friend... But you had to wake up and ruin my lines."
Kurti looked. There were mystic sigils everywhere, drawn in the dirt.
"I don't understand," Kurti confessed. "What are you *doing*?"
"I finally saw it. I saw the real truth. All this time, I was worried
about the hidden ones. The ones that sneak and creep in the night, in
broad daylight, and imperil mortal lives. When *all* this *time*, the
biggest demon has been right in front of me. Out in the open. Bold as
brass. *You*. Daring to pretend to be just a kid, worming your way into
people's hearts and enslaving them to your will! I *see* you, demon! I
*See* you at last! I finally know what to do. I *was* going to send you
back to Hell with a portal, but now--" the knife flashed in the half-
light, "--I'm just gonna have to kill you."
"What? *Why*? Stefan, I'm your *friend*. We took first communion
together. We sang in the choir together. We - we *everything* together.
What's wrong with you?" Kurti stood up. "Can't you see your friend?"
"No more, demon," said Stefan, circling around him. "You lost your
chance to enslave me when you took me through Hell itself to get here."
"*What*?"
"When you took me from the demon's house - ha! Protecting your own
kind! When you took me from there to here, I *Saw* the place you took us
through. Fire and brimstone. Hideous beasts. All it needed was the souls
of the damned, writhing in the lakes of fire! You're a demon and you
took a shortcut through your own *true* home to get us here! You're a
demon and you deserve Hell!" He leaped.
"Stefan! No!" Kurti ducked out of the way. He still felt ill and unsure
of his feet. His muscles felt like they'd all been pulled at once. And
he was *hungry*. So very hungry. Weak, too. "I'm still your friend. I'm
still Kurti. *Please* don't do this? Let's just go home, yes? You can
have your special tea--"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Have my eyes fogged over again. Have
me blind again to the truth. To the real facts."
"Stefan, you're not well..."
"I'm better than I've ever been, Demon. I'm stronger. More powerful.
More than I've ever been before... And *you*, Demon, are not going to
enslave *any* more innocents!" He leaped again.
They'd played at fighting, before, when all they needed was to say the
right word and all would be forgiven. Not this time. No words would make
Stefan stop and help him up, dust the dirt from his fur, and go home for
a snack. No friends were there, either, to act as referee.
He was alone with a madman who had a knife. He was fighting for his
life for the first time. Against one of his best friends. Against his
'brother'.
Words wouldn't stop him.
Neither would tears.
Nothing would stop him, short of a miracle.
The way Kurti felt, he guessed he was fresh out of miracles, right now.
All Kurti could do was try to hold him off and pray that the hysterical
strength would eventually leave him.
But that wasn't what fate had in store for them.
Their tumbling bought them to the edge of a cliff. *Over* the edge of
a cliff, in fact. Together they fell, but Kurti caught the edge of a
root with his hands, and his 'brother' Stefan's vest with his feet. It
hurt. It hurt like Hell, but he wouldn't let go. He couldn't let go.
This was his 'brother'.
His tail, always wont to wrap around things when he was afraid, curled
itself around Stefan's neck.
Kurti concentrated on a better grip before he tried to force his tail
to let go.
"Come *on*, Stefan!" he shouted. "Grab my legs! Climb up me!"
Stefan just stared at him. He'd gone completely mad.
"Come *on*," Kurti urged. "Grab *hold*! You're slipping..."
A long moment of silence, which Stefan spent staring past Kurt's
shoulder. "So you came for me, eh? You were always coming for me."
"*Stefan*..." Kurti urged. "Grab *hold* of something!" His tail
wouldn't let go. He tried to make it, but it wouldn't let go.
"Don't be so tentative, demon," said Stefan. He sounded so *calm*. One
hand reached up and tightened Kurti's tail around his neck. "You snug it
tight, like this. And then you let go. Like --" the knife flashed and
cut Kurti across his legs, "--*this*!"
He was forced to let go.
Stefan fell.
His other hand held tight to the tip of Kurti's tail.
Kurti barely heard the sickening crack of a human neck breaking above
his own screams of pain. His entire spine burned like fire.
He howled, unable to stop the sound.
Stefan spasmed once. Twice, and then let go.
His tail, now limp with agony, slid from its forced grasp.
Tears mingled with rain.
There was a sickening thud from far below, where Stefan hit the bottom
of the cliff.
For a long time, he hung there, wondering how he had the strength to
do so, yet too afraid to follow his near-brother down. So he stayed
where he was, between the worlds of the quick and the dead, and wept.
Stefan was dead.
He wanted to follow.
And there was a pale hand, above him in the gloom, throwing out a
rope. A little figure in the bright clothes of a sorceress' trainee,
clambering down with all the expertise of a fellow tightwire-walker.
"Jimi," Kurt breathed in recognition. "What are you *doing* here?"
"Trying to save your blue fuzzy butt," she said. "Come on. Climb up."
"But Stefan..."
"He's dead. He can wait. You're not. Come on."
"But--"
Jimaine Szardos bought out the big guns. "Kurt Ignatious Wagner, you
climb this rope *right* *NOW*, or I'll have Mama stuff and mount you!"
The threat, the voice of authority, and the dreaded middle name worked
their magic. Made him move.
At least until he got to the top of the cliff, when he broke down and
howled out all his misery for all the world to hear.
Jimaine, his twin sister, didn't bother consoling him. She was busy
cutting up the rope. One piece, she notted into a noose, and tossed over
the edge.
"If you want to keep your hide out of a museum," she said. "You and I
will say that Stefan went mad and hung himself. You tried to stop him by
cutting the rope, but it was too late."
Kurt kept weeping.
"And if you want *me* to keep quiet about what I saw, you'll do what I
say."
"Of course," he said. He didn't want anyone thinking him a murderer.
God forgive him, it was his fault that Stefan had died. All his fault.
"Anything. Just don't let them think I--"
"Killed him?" Jimaine purred. "Promise me that you're mine.
Betrothed."
"Jimi?"
"Promise!" she ordered.
The crack of thunder and lightening was God's work, but it spurred
Kurt's fear. "I promise to marry you when the time comes, and swear
myself loyal to you."
"Good," she gave him the noose. "Now climb down that cliff and tighten
the noose around Stefan's neck. Remember to leave his body lying exactly
the way you found it."
Kurt gulped, but obeyed.
Stefan was a mess. All broken and bloody, but he was smiling, somehow.
Laughing at an invisible joke.
Kurt swore he felt Stefan's ghost settle on his shoulder like a
vulture as he followed Jimaine's orders. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to
his friend's corpse, and touched a kiss to his dead cheek. "Forgive me?"
The ghost just dug its claws in.
He climbed back up, feeling dead inside.
"You're loyal to me," said Jimaine, pulling him away from the cliff's
edge. "You *owe* me. You owe me your life. Remember that."
And Jimaine never wept.
"I'll remember," Kurt whispered. "I'll never forget."
They were twelve years old.
They were called the Impossible Brothers, even though each of them
went home to a different house. They spent as much time together as they
could, going everywhere together.
Kurti, Andrei and Stefan. Inseperable and indivisable.
They were best friends, even when respective sisters attempted to tag
along. For years, the trio were like that, and they swore that they'd be
friends forever.
Then came the year that Stefan Szardos started seeing monsters and
phantoms. He'd slash at them with sticks or throw rocks at them, but
they were monsters only he could see.
Andrei was spooked by it, and the number of rocks that went winging
over his large shoulders, and started avoiding the boy.
Kurti, far more sympathetic and empathic than his Centaur 'brother',
would deliberately make time to see the sorceress' son.
That day, when he found Stefan, the Gypsy boy had a knife.
"Stefan!" Kurti was shocked. "That's your mother's! She'll be upset
that you've got it; and you shouldn't be playing with knives anyway..."
"I'm *not* playing, Kurti," said Stefan. "This is deadly serious. I've
seen them. Demons masquerading as men. They have to be stopped."
"Why? Are they hurting people?"
Stefan continued walking. They were heading down the mountain, to a
town that neither the villagers of Heirelgart nor the circus ever
visited. It showed up on the local maps as Winzeldorf.
"*Stefan*..." Kurti persisted, tagging along. "I asked you a question.
Are they hurting anyone?"
"They're *demons*," said Stefan. "They have to be stopped. I'm
righteous enough to see the truth. They hide inside the skins of normal
people. Where do they *get* the skins, eh? Did you think of that?"
"I'm scared," Kurti admitted. "Can't we go back? You can take some of
your Mama's tea and you'll feel better."
"The tea clouds my vision, friend. It obscures my sight, makes me
weak. Demons gave Mama that tea so I wouldn't be able to stop their foul
plans."
Kurti was *really* scared, now. He'd never *been* here, before.
Everything was new and strange. "What plans, Stefan?" he asked.
Sometimes, if he asked enough questions, Stefan would realise he was on
the brink, and turn back.
"They're body snatchers," he said. "They feed off us real people and
live in our skins. Until they need another skin. And another. And
another... And no-one notices because the murders happen years before
the dead people move on and lose touch. It's brilliant."
"Have you seen it happen?"
"You think I'd want to *watch*, when I could strike them down?"
Kurti swallowed. This was getting *frightening*. He'd never *seen*
Stefan so wild in the eyes. "I just wanted to know how *you* know," he
said. "I mean, it's all very well *saying* this stuff, but how do you
*know*?"
"Shhh!" Stefan placed a finger over his lips. "We're nearly there. We
need to be *quiet*, now."
They emerged from the woods in someone's back yard. It was scattered
liberally with the sort of toys that very small children enjoyed. All of
them were plastic and brightly-coloured.
Kurti's heart hammered in his chest. "Are we gonna break in?" Kurti
whispered.
"It's not really a crime," hissed Stefan. "They're *demons*, remember?
The real people they're pretending to be are long dead." Knife in his
teeth, he lifted himself up to look through a window. He dropped back
down. "Great. Its Dam and Sire are out. They've got a real person
babysitting. They're probably going to murder her, later. Open the
window. I need to get in."
"I dunno, Stefan..."
"We're doing God's work, Kurti," he said. "I'm righteous. I was *put*
on this Earth to strike down the demons. I was *made* to be his weapon
to cleanse this Earth of Satan's filth. If you won't, I will."
Maybe he wouldn't go through with it. Kurti crossed himself and
climbed the wall. _God help us. Guide our hands to do the right
thing..._ he prayed.
The window wasn't locked.
Inside the room, a child lay peacefully slumbering. He was barely past
a year old. A picture of innocence incarnate.
Stefan saw the kid with different eyes. "There it is," he whispered.
"The demon spawn."
"It's just a *child*," whispered Kurti.
"What? You want me to wait until it grows up and breeds? They had to
kill a child to get that skin, to make it look normal. What I'm doing is
evening the score. I'm working God's justice. I'm righteous. God will
stop me if I'm wrong and he's innocent."
"I pray he will," hissed Kurti. He meant it with all his heart. And if
God wasn't inclined to do anything, Kurti planned to do it for him and
claim divine intervention.
Stefan raised the knife.
Kurti tensed, ready to pounce, and then found himself unable to move.
The kid woke up, blinked, and stared at them both.
"Die, demon," whispered Stefan.
The knife came down.
Kurti's right hand shot out and stopped him.
The kid started crying.
"What?" said Stefan. "How could you? I *stopped* you..."
"I don't understand either," said Kurti. "It just - *moved*."
"Let me *go*."
"I *can't*."
The babysitter got up, and approached. Kurti could hear her footsteps
in the hall, getting closer.
"Let me *go*," repeated Stefan.
"You let me go, first," bargained Kurt.
The babysitter took one look at them and screamed.
Kurt began to feel strange. For months, he'd been having bizarre
nightmares about falling up, and through somewhere, to get somewhere
else. And at times of real terror, he could smell sulphur and sort of
see places that were really far away, as if he was there. Those spells
were always accompanied by this feeling, like something *just* behind
his shoulders was going to swallow him up.
He could 'see' a clearing near a cliff. He *knew* it was closer to
home. This time, he let himself 'fall up' and he took Stefan with him.
{Bamf!}
There was a vision of smoke and flames, and then they were in the
clearing, and Stefan was unconscious, and he felt really sick.
Really, *really* sick.
The last thing he did before he blacked out was toss Stefan's knife as
far as he could. Considering the state he was in, that wasn't far at
all.
He hoped Margali wouldn't be mad at him for getting it dirty.
When he woke up, it was raining. Not hard, just a light shower. Stefan
was somewhere, mumbling to himself. The ancient phrases of Romani magic,
or some snatches of it, could be heard. Kurti sat up.
"Damnit! The circle isn't complete..."
"Stefan?" said Kurti. "What are you doing?"
"I *was* gonna do this the easy way," he said. "Because you've been my
friend... But you had to wake up and ruin my lines."
Kurti looked. There were mystic sigils everywhere, drawn in the dirt.
"I don't understand," Kurti confessed. "What are you *doing*?"
"I finally saw it. I saw the real truth. All this time, I was worried
about the hidden ones. The ones that sneak and creep in the night, in
broad daylight, and imperil mortal lives. When *all* this *time*, the
biggest demon has been right in front of me. Out in the open. Bold as
brass. *You*. Daring to pretend to be just a kid, worming your way into
people's hearts and enslaving them to your will! I *see* you, demon! I
*See* you at last! I finally know what to do. I *was* going to send you
back to Hell with a portal, but now--" the knife flashed in the half-
light, "--I'm just gonna have to kill you."
"What? *Why*? Stefan, I'm your *friend*. We took first communion
together. We sang in the choir together. We - we *everything* together.
What's wrong with you?" Kurti stood up. "Can't you see your friend?"
"No more, demon," said Stefan, circling around him. "You lost your
chance to enslave me when you took me through Hell itself to get here."
"*What*?"
"When you took me from the demon's house - ha! Protecting your own
kind! When you took me from there to here, I *Saw* the place you took us
through. Fire and brimstone. Hideous beasts. All it needed was the souls
of the damned, writhing in the lakes of fire! You're a demon and you
took a shortcut through your own *true* home to get us here! You're a
demon and you deserve Hell!" He leaped.
"Stefan! No!" Kurti ducked out of the way. He still felt ill and unsure
of his feet. His muscles felt like they'd all been pulled at once. And
he was *hungry*. So very hungry. Weak, too. "I'm still your friend. I'm
still Kurti. *Please* don't do this? Let's just go home, yes? You can
have your special tea--"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Have my eyes fogged over again. Have
me blind again to the truth. To the real facts."
"Stefan, you're not well..."
"I'm better than I've ever been, Demon. I'm stronger. More powerful.
More than I've ever been before... And *you*, Demon, are not going to
enslave *any* more innocents!" He leaped again.
They'd played at fighting, before, when all they needed was to say the
right word and all would be forgiven. Not this time. No words would make
Stefan stop and help him up, dust the dirt from his fur, and go home for
a snack. No friends were there, either, to act as referee.
He was alone with a madman who had a knife. He was fighting for his
life for the first time. Against one of his best friends. Against his
'brother'.
Words wouldn't stop him.
Neither would tears.
Nothing would stop him, short of a miracle.
The way Kurti felt, he guessed he was fresh out of miracles, right now.
All Kurti could do was try to hold him off and pray that the hysterical
strength would eventually leave him.
But that wasn't what fate had in store for them.
Their tumbling bought them to the edge of a cliff. *Over* the edge of
a cliff, in fact. Together they fell, but Kurti caught the edge of a
root with his hands, and his 'brother' Stefan's vest with his feet. It
hurt. It hurt like Hell, but he wouldn't let go. He couldn't let go.
This was his 'brother'.
His tail, always wont to wrap around things when he was afraid, curled
itself around Stefan's neck.
Kurti concentrated on a better grip before he tried to force his tail
to let go.
"Come *on*, Stefan!" he shouted. "Grab my legs! Climb up me!"
Stefan just stared at him. He'd gone completely mad.
"Come *on*," Kurti urged. "Grab *hold*! You're slipping..."
A long moment of silence, which Stefan spent staring past Kurt's
shoulder. "So you came for me, eh? You were always coming for me."
"*Stefan*..." Kurti urged. "Grab *hold* of something!" His tail
wouldn't let go. He tried to make it, but it wouldn't let go.
"Don't be so tentative, demon," said Stefan. He sounded so *calm*. One
hand reached up and tightened Kurti's tail around his neck. "You snug it
tight, like this. And then you let go. Like --" the knife flashed and
cut Kurti across his legs, "--*this*!"
He was forced to let go.
Stefan fell.
His other hand held tight to the tip of Kurti's tail.
Kurti barely heard the sickening crack of a human neck breaking above
his own screams of pain. His entire spine burned like fire.
He howled, unable to stop the sound.
Stefan spasmed once. Twice, and then let go.
His tail, now limp with agony, slid from its forced grasp.
Tears mingled with rain.
There was a sickening thud from far below, where Stefan hit the bottom
of the cliff.
For a long time, he hung there, wondering how he had the strength to
do so, yet too afraid to follow his near-brother down. So he stayed
where he was, between the worlds of the quick and the dead, and wept.
Stefan was dead.
He wanted to follow.
And there was a pale hand, above him in the gloom, throwing out a
rope. A little figure in the bright clothes of a sorceress' trainee,
clambering down with all the expertise of a fellow tightwire-walker.
"Jimi," Kurt breathed in recognition. "What are you *doing* here?"
"Trying to save your blue fuzzy butt," she said. "Come on. Climb up."
"But Stefan..."
"He's dead. He can wait. You're not. Come on."
"But--"
Jimaine Szardos bought out the big guns. "Kurt Ignatious Wagner, you
climb this rope *right* *NOW*, or I'll have Mama stuff and mount you!"
The threat, the voice of authority, and the dreaded middle name worked
their magic. Made him move.
At least until he got to the top of the cliff, when he broke down and
howled out all his misery for all the world to hear.
Jimaine, his twin sister, didn't bother consoling him. She was busy
cutting up the rope. One piece, she notted into a noose, and tossed over
the edge.
"If you want to keep your hide out of a museum," she said. "You and I
will say that Stefan went mad and hung himself. You tried to stop him by
cutting the rope, but it was too late."
Kurt kept weeping.
"And if you want *me* to keep quiet about what I saw, you'll do what I
say."
"Of course," he said. He didn't want anyone thinking him a murderer.
God forgive him, it was his fault that Stefan had died. All his fault.
"Anything. Just don't let them think I--"
"Killed him?" Jimaine purred. "Promise me that you're mine.
Betrothed."
"Jimi?"
"Promise!" she ordered.
The crack of thunder and lightening was God's work, but it spurred
Kurt's fear. "I promise to marry you when the time comes, and swear
myself loyal to you."
"Good," she gave him the noose. "Now climb down that cliff and tighten
the noose around Stefan's neck. Remember to leave his body lying exactly
the way you found it."
Kurt gulped, but obeyed.
Stefan was a mess. All broken and bloody, but he was smiling, somehow.
Laughing at an invisible joke.
Kurt swore he felt Stefan's ghost settle on his shoulder like a
vulture as he followed Jimaine's orders. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to
his friend's corpse, and touched a kiss to his dead cheek. "Forgive me?"
The ghost just dug its claws in.
He climbed back up, feeling dead inside.
"You're loyal to me," said Jimaine, pulling him away from the cliff's
edge. "You *owe* me. You owe me your life. Remember that."
And Jimaine never wept.
"I'll remember," Kurt whispered. "I'll never forget."
They were twelve years old.