The Ties That Bind
Chapter Seventeen
Chris tugged on the ropes that bound his hands. Behind him the rest of his family were enclosed behind (another) stone cage.
And in front of him? In front of him Kalister finished mixing a series of colourful liquids and other strange ingredients into a cauldron and poured the final potion into a glass vial.
"I hope you're thirsty Christopher." He said, striding over the few metres between them, "Drink."
Chris clamped his mouth shut and stared stonily at the man he almost got to know. Would have got to know if Wyatt hadn't broken him beyond all moral sense. As far as Kevin was concerned, Chris was beginning to doubt if there was any of him left at all. Kalister was too strong.
"Drink."
Chris remained unfazed, and if Kalister showed emotion he still wouldn't have looked surprised. He still had Kevin's memories after all. In one swift motion he threw one hand into Chris's stomach and the other onto his nose, stopping him from drawing air in through there.
It was about five seconds before he had to gasp for air and the (very much vile) potion was forced down his throat -not bad considering he'd just been winded.
"Time to share, kid." Kalister paused for breath and threw a companion potion at the wall facing them.
"Show out clear,
Replay them here,
What I wish to display from him
Ones by choice not by whim."
Chris blanched. "What have you done?"
Kalister ignored the younger mans question. "Where to start, Christopher? Close to the beginning? And whenever from then?"
Bile rose in Chris's throat.
The memory spell. Of all spells. His past on display for his parents to see. For his Aunts to see. Why did Kalister change the potion ingredients? It tasted different to last time.
The assassin took up a new leaning post as images sped by, halted, and formed like a movie on the wall facing them. "Watch and learn, Mrs. Halliwell."
"Wyatt this ain't funny no more…" Six-year-old Christopher stared with wide eyes at the mirror in the bathroom, involuntarily taking a step backwards into the closed door.
Eight-year-old Wyatt Matthew Halliwell, Philip to his grandmother and great-grandmother, pulled a face at his younger brother.
"You're such a wuss, Chris!"
"Bu' what if it's real?"
"Then I'll kill it, I've been doing it since I was a year old, haven't I?"
"Bu' it's the Candyman, Wy! It'll kill us!"
"Wuss."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Prove it then! You do it!"
A childish misgiving aside, to be a wuss was a Very Bad Thing. Daddy always told him not to cry, to be strong. Like Wyatt.
To not be a wuss, so…
Sticking out his chin Christopher Leo Halliwell (Perry to his dead relatives, excluding his father, obviously) took long steps over the short space to the mirror and levitated up to it defiantly.
"Candyman candyman candyman."
Wyatt smirked, "You have to say it five times doofus."
Chris swallowed the lump in his throat and finished the chant, only to be thrown against the opposite wall for his troubles by the swirling black and red vortex that appeared in the mirrors place.
Chris felt his jaw sew shut in fear, preventing his urge to yell 'told ya so' at his oldest brother from escaping. This was very very very bad!
"I do believe that would be your first memory of being lured into something, isn't it Christopher?"
Unease penetrated his sense as soon as the memory finished. He felt… guilty? Unhappy? Just like in his memory. Ashamed… except bigger… more grown up.
He wasn't given any more time to dwell on how, or why, or anything at all really: Kalister was already pulling out the next segment of history. His baritone voice faded into the background as the new scene took over everything Chris knew.
"Let's find a better one, Lord Wyatt doesn't like to be kept long."
Chris held Ben and Brennan's hands tightly, putting himself in front of the twins, hoping to shield them from Wyatt's madness. They didn't shed a tear, but he felt their hands trembling in his. To his left, and also just behind him, Ryan held their baby sister Caden, trying to quieten her cries.
"Wyatt what have you done?"
"I'm gaining powers, Chris, what does it look like?"
At twelve, Chris had been dealing with his brother's evil for eight years, but he knew Wyatt was never good. He simply only showed it to Chris five years ago.
"It looks like you just murdered an innocent, Wy."
"She was just an elf nanny. Grow up, Chris, open your eyes to the true world."
"And that would be what? Where everybody worships you?" Ryan spat.
Wyatt glowered, blue eyes hard as steel, "Shut your mouth or loose it."
"What's your true world, Wy?" Chris asked. If he could buy time, placate him; they would get out of this in one piece. They would think of a story to explain the dead nanny, the one who had helped look after all of the Charmed one's children. They would take whatever Leo gave them, for not being like Wyatt. They would get through this because they had too.
"The true world? The true world, dear Christopher, is one above all petty, archaic principles of good and evil. It's all about power, and those who have it."
"And you have it?"
"I'm the Twice-Blessed child, I not only have power; I have the leeway to do anything and everything to get more."
"Don't look so shocked, Mrs. Halliwell. That became a normal occurrence, didn't it Christopher? Coming home from school with your brothers and cousins to find that kind of scene. Knowing that you were too weak to do anything about it."
Kalister gave him no chance to recover from the feelings of his memory. Still reeling -
Wyatt stood in front of the closed doorway to their bedroom, shaking his blonde head; he was disappointed about something.
"I can't let you keep interfering like this, Chris."
Chris closed his History book with deliberate accuracy. It gave his hands something to do.
Wyatt continued.
"You're too smart, better than the others, and I can't risk you becoming a liability: I like you too much for that."
At thirteen, Chris knew how to deal with a lot of things most teenagers didn't even know existed, but he suddenly found himself feeling much smaller than his actual stature. Wyatt had a way of doing that. Butterflies danced in his stomach, jumped about in apprehensive acrobatic motions making him feel ill.
"What are you going to do, Wy?"
"This witch before me,
Charmed blood running in thee,
Bind his powers, bind them now,
Every and all, save last two,
Just do it so there's no coup."
"That was crap, Wyatt."
"Well I only had five minutes. Just out of interest, you do know what I've left you with, right?"
The tone, so conversational, so relaxed…it was almost enough to convince him that this might not be happening. That his brother hadn't just bound his powers. Maybe it was all a joke, and Wyatt wasn't as far along as Chris was now fearing he indeed… was. Time would tell, although the butterflies were usually right. Their dances, so lively and energetic, bounced around faster and faster and faster and faster and faster and faster… they said this was bad.
This was very very bad.
"You're thick but you're not stupid. We both know mom only knows about my orbing and telekinesis."
"Of course. I was only checking. See you later, Chris."
What was real? Chris felt the full extent of the emotions his thirteen-year-old memory self felt, but in his twenty-two year old way. With all the hindsight he was now afforded included. He'd done so many things wrong… he thought he could persuade Wyatt to be good again… but he was too far gone by then.
A freezing fire, now the familiar feeling of guilt, settled in the pit of his stomach.
He battled the raging winds with a gathering sense of dread. The winds couldn't have been natural, not in the sense that they built up due to forces of such that drive the weather. These were made by magic, an out of control magic; like a magical mood tantrum.
"Ryan, keep Ben and Brennan out here, just for a sec' will ya?"
"Sure." Ryan didn't question it, and for once the twins were quiet, eyes wide staring at him to fix whatever was wrong inside the house. It wasn't like Wyatt would. It wasn't like Wyatt ever had.
His hands felt heavy, like they were lined with lead, making putting the key in the door and turning it a difficult and clumsy task. What was on the other side of the door? It had to be Caden, only she made things like this happen (on a much smaller scale), but what had sent her so crazy? Chris hoped with every fibre in him it was just a temper caused magical tantrum.
A deafening roar launched from all around them, and lightning ripped through the sky in a blue-white blaze as he pushed open the door.
"Caden? Caden! Where are you?"
Something splashed onto his grey sneakers as he stepped through the threshold, at the same time a coppery smell tingled at the back of his throat.
Aunt Phoebe, for all her premonitions and psychic powers, was impaled on a table leg.
Nothing hit like a tonne of bricks. He felt nothing. He kept walking. Past Uncle Jason, the fireball wound still smoking on his stomach. Past the burning photographs fallen from the walls. Past splattered demon bits. Past Aunt Paige, neck at an unnatural angle and another fireball wound on her side. Past Uncle Richard, horribly deep claw slashes over his stomach and leg. He could see the bone in his thigh. Past Danny's latest A-grade homework, stained in blood of red, human or demon?
In the end he saw the result before he saw the reason.
Caden sat, legs pulled up to her chest, rocking in the far corner beside a smouldering armchair.
Chris tried to move his mouth, to get his jaw moving and voice box working but found it strangely unable to do so. He kept walking, to her side and that's when the Nothing slipped away and the hole began to gape inside his chest. Minus the fireball.
His mom, dead.
Murdered by a demon.
Dead.
The ground shook.
Dead.
Dead.
Thunder cracked.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
The ground screamed in protest.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Hurricane winds blasted past the windows.
Dead.
Dead.
"Dead."
Kalister nodded in emotionless satisfaction.
"It was your fault Chris. It was all your fault."
"She's dead."
"She's dead because of you. If you'd have stayed home, listened to your instincts about Wyatt, you could have protected her."
"I killed her."
"Wyatt didn't do it. He may have held the gun, but you fired the trigger, Chris. It's your fault your mother is dead."
"I killed my mother."
"Your own father believes it was your fault, remember that day? How he made you feel?"
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Author's Note: See! A nice long chapter! And the next one will carry on from where it left off, for a change :D
Review Thank You's and Replies To:
Sparkling Cherries: Aw hun don't worry 'bout it, my compy does stupid things at times -like loosing files :S
--joins in with the grumbling about art-- trust me. at a-level, it's much worse.
Me? Leave Chris in situations? Me?
ilovedrew88: ye-ah i thought it was quite funky ;)
Pruedence.Halliwell: that's quite a theory, i never thought of it like that before... i like playing around with the names. Any fairly main character i event has a meaning. The only one in this story is Caden so far cause she has a middle name too -they all do - but that won't come out until about Twenty-Two/Three. ;)
Queen of the Elven City: Ironic, that ;)
