Chapter Summary: A slightly longer chapter. Ethan Winters arrives in the village. As a result, Karl is forced to perform an unspeakable task.
X
2021
Ethan opened his eyes.
The first thing that he saw was his bloody fingers laying limp in the snow. He flexed them slowly, taking note of the nettling pain traveling along his wrist. A phone was ringing, somewhere to his left. The sound of it was muffled, and then suddenly sharp as he pushed himself up.
His phone….he had to get to his phone.
Maybe it was his job calling, asking him to come in and do a bit of overtime. But, no. That wasn't right. It had to have been the doctor calling about Rose's results.
Rose.
Where was she?
He had to get to his phone.
"Jesus," he muttered. He rolled himself over with a groan that seemed to take everything out of him. A body lay before him in the snow - geared up for war or some other violent catastrophe. There were papers everywhere. Manila envelopes scattered across the ground, briefcases split upon busted gold hinges, bloody imprints stomped into the snow. His phone was ringing, ringing, ringing. It wouldn't stop. The sound of it made him clench his teeth and shove his palms against his ears.
Where was he?
Where was Rose?
What the fuck was going on?
There was a neon green light flickering in the snow. Panting, one hand still braced against his head, he crawled forward until he was inches away from the slain body. Moved by instinct, he pushed the limp hand away and lifted his phone to his ear.
"About damn time," said the man on the other line. "What's your status? Is the package safe?"
He ran his tongue along the corner of his lip and froze at the taste of blood. It wasn't his own. This, too, he knew instinctively. It was all starting to come back to him: images of wine sloshing back and forth against crystal clear glass, Redfield turning his head to stare at him, the hand-me-down kitchen carpet quickly soaking through with blood - not his. Mia's.
"What are you talking about?" He choked over his own words and gave a frightened cough. "Where's Redfield? Where's Rose?"
"Who is this?" The male voice said in alarm. "This is a secure channel. You are not authorized to use this-"
The phone died. He stared at it uncomprehendingly before tapping anxiously at the screen. No luck. The pixelated image of a battery and charger port flashed before the screen fell dead again. Still, he held his thumb against the power button. Every blue moon his phone would rouse itself from its deadened dormancy with a half-hearted buzz and turn on with a groggy slowness that infuriated him. But there was no time to try and coax it into working. He had to find Rose.
The ground had become mushy beneath the warmth of his body. He clawed his way through the muck-stained snow toward the overturned vehicle in front of him, feeling every inch of his body weighed down by his sodden jacket. Fuck, he hated the cold, and just then it only served to add to his infuriation. And he was becoming infuriated. Ethan Winters was a man used to being in control but something had happened. Or maybe it had been happening, right under his nose, but he had been too caught up in work to notice it.
"Fuck," he hissed between clenched teeth. Red lights from the vehicle flashed across the snow, illuminating a small slip of paper. He swiped it up and read it dazedly.
Mission objectives: eliminate target, recover body, secure Rosemary Winters and Ethan Winters, move the two Winterses to Site C for investigation.
He didn't like the sound of that. Not at all.
The doors to the overturned vehicle stood wide open. The inside of it had already been covered in a thin layer of frost. Something - or someone - had broken out, and quite violently. Teeth chattering, he yanked the vinyl from the inner seats and tore apart the compartments. But to no avail. Whoever or whatever had broken out of the vehicle and killed the men in the snow had also taken his daughter.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn,
The thought of someone taking his daughter and possibly harming her made him ball his fists in front of his mouth and roar. He decided then and there that his revenge would be bloody and merciless. Ethan was no punk, and squeamishness was not easily found in his bloodline. He'd start with that bastard Chris Redfield and end with anyone who dared to put their hands on his daughter. All he needed was a gun.
Before him lay a trail of mangled crows spread out across the snow. They were lining a faint pathway stamped into the snow by many years of use. He didn't know where the hell the path would lead, but it was a start. He just needed to find people, get his bearings, and figure it out from there. There was a throaty croak coming from somewhere in the trees. Grimacing, hand braced across his aching shoulder, he peered up into the trees. A single crow was perched upon one of the branches, watching him with its glinting beetle-black eyes. The crow tilted its head mockingly and then gave a robust caw. In response, Ethan sucked his teeth and leveraged two fingers in the crow's direction.
"You mind telling me where my daughter is?" He growled. The crow tilted its head the other way and gave an unimpressed chitter. He sighed. "No? Then do us both a favor and stay out of my way."
The crow gave another chortle before flushing its wings and flying away, leading him straight in the direction of his next bout of catastrophic misfortune.
X
Thunk…thunk…thunk…
Alcina Dimitrescu took a long drag from her cigarette holder and blew a smoke stream at the ceiling. Her movements were slow and deliberate, conveying contentedness and relaxation, but there was tension hanging around her shoulders. He could see it from across the room, that slow curl to her blood-red lips.
Thunk…thunk…thunk…
"So. Donna. How are you faring with the weather? I'd imagine that it's quite cold in the Beneviento estate…"
Thunk…thunk…thunk…
Alcina knocked the tip of her cigarette holder against the arm of her chair. Her eyes shifted quickly to the corner of the room and then cut back to Donna.
"It's the…" Alcina closed her eyes against the sound of another thunk and then slowly let her breath out from between her teeth. "The placement of the estate upon the hill…it does not allow for any sort of buffering against the - damnit, Heisenberg, will you stop that God-forsaken noise?!"
Karl shot her his widest grin before bouncing his finger emphatically upon a black piano key. Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk.
Alcina closed her eyes and took a deep, deep breath in.
"Come on now," he said as he continued to hammer at the piano key with his pointer finger. "No need to get all whiny about it. You could have just asked me nicely!"
"Heisenberg. Will you please…stop…that damned noise?"
"Well, well, doll." He swung himself around the piano bench to face her and laced his hands over his crossed legs. "Did those big city lights shine too bright in your eyes? You're still a dih-mee-tres-coo. You should be able to pick out a ripe Romanian tune when you hear one."
"It's dahm-ih-tresk, Heisenberg, you know this. Besides, what would you know about 'ripe Romanian tunes'? You've spent your entire life pretending to be some bawdy American showman-"
"Bawdy American showman?" He repeated in humored disbelief before throwing his head back and giving a raucous laugh. "I'm not the one who spent several years taking my clothes off on grimy New York stage for drunken sailors three times my age!"
She puffed up at this. "Sir! I protest the indelicacy of your childish insinuations. I never -"
"Took your clothes off for drunken sailors," he parried right back at her, wiggling the tip of his cigar in her direction. "Then tell me, Alcina, how the fuck did you end up here? I read the papers. You took your clothes off in front of the wrong drunken sailor and his even drunker wife found out."
"Oh, you read the papers, do you? What a lovely surprise." Smoke came pouring from Alcina's nostrils with unnecessary force. "I didn't think you villagers could read anything other than the labels on whiskey bottles and the marking of syringes."
"You wanna talk about reading? Then read my lips: go fuck yourself! And while you're at it, take off that damn hat. It's making your head look even bigger than it already is."
"And just what would you know about big heads, Heisenberg? I don't dare to read those gauche American newspapers that you claim to peruse, but I have heard the bedmaidens' gossip-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! J-just hold on, now! Don't you dare even talk about the size of my head. It's been cold out. That kinda weather does things to a man's-"
"Stop-"
"Alrighty then!" He roared before swinging back around the piano seat and banging haphazardly against the keys as he sang as loud as his grating register would allow. "Schöne Grüße von hier unten zu den Himmelhunden rauf! Wir halten hier die Stellung! Sind längst nicht abgetaucht, die Welt steht grad auf ihrem Kopf!"
"Heisenberg!"
"Der Wind hat sich gedreht! Ein grauer Schatten liegt auf unserm Weg-"
"Heisenberg!"
"Unter den Wolken wird's mit der Freiheit langsam schwer! Wenn wir hier und heute alle wie betäubt sind-!"
"Heisenberg, for the love of all, cease your caterwauling!"
Everyone jumped except for Donna as Miranda came blazing into the room. Miranda cast him a scathing glare as he almost toppled off of the bench in an attempt to collect himself. She stopped a few feet from the piano and simply stared him down as he brushed the wrinkles from his shirt and tipped his hat in her direction.
"Mor-nin'," he cooed as she readjusted the bundle in her arms. "I was just preparing the room for your gracious presence!"
"I can tell by your 'singing' that you have exerted yourself in my honor. So I thank you for that, son, but please do not feel inclined to exert yourself any further."
Alcina gave a dainty giggle as Karl's cheeks grew hot. Miranda climbed up the stairs and briefly placed her hand on Donna's shoulder before looking around.
"Where is Salvatore?" She asked and Karl shrugged.
"Probably still out trying to find the difference between his ass and his elbow."
"Karl!"
"Apologies," he said with a humbled dip of his head. Miranda was on a rampage today but, for what, he couldn't tell. "I meant to say that he's probably jacking off."
Perhaps having recognized that there was simply no use in reprimanding him, Miranda sighed and set the bundle down on the chair. She was being deliberately careful with her movements and this, above all, piqued his interest.
"And just what the hell is that?" He asked and Alcina gave a snicker.
"I'd imagine it's the quite literal embodiment of responsibility." Her golden eyes flashed at him from across the way. "Oh, dear brother, do not exert yourself trying to decipher the meaning of that word."
"How about I exert myself showing this hammer up your a-"
"Alcina! Karl, please," Miranda cried in exasperation. "This is a serious matter, not a child's bickering contest! Pay attention!"
Slowly, she unwrapped the blankets on the chair. All members of the congregation stepped up onto the raised platform and peeked down upon the bundle. Below him lay an infant, but not like any that he had ever seen. There was pale calcification covering its skin like an icy frost, and it lay completely still. Karl didn't know much about babies, despite perhaps having unintentionally fathered a few of his own, and he immediately recognized its unnatural stillness. It was almost as if the child was dead.
"Rosemary Winters," Miranda said as if answering his unspoken thoughts. "The offspring of Ethan and Mia Winters-"
"E-than Winters," he repeated curiously. He leveraged the tip of his pointer finger along the infant's head and dragged it down to its neck. "Ethan. I've heard that name before. In my dreams or whatnot." He looked up at her. "A few years back, I asked you if you had ever met someone named Ethan before. You said that you hadn't, Mother Miranda."
"I am a busy woman, Heisenberg," she said tiredly. "I can not rightfully recall the name of every American man that I have met."
"But this one must be special. Or why else would you be in possession of his 'offspring'?"
From someone behind him, he heard Alcina suck her teeth in disgust. No doubt she disapproved of him peppering Miranda with his questions. It was all fine and dandy for her, he supposed. She hadn't been the one who had lost a loved one to Miranda's cold and calculating ways.
"Something on your mind, princess?" He growled back to her, never once taking his eyes off of the infant.
"Why don't you humor us both and take a good guess," Alcina hissed back. Miranda dipped her head and flushed her hand at them in irritation. He drew his eyes back to Rosemary. The damn thing hadn't moved an inch since Miranda had set her on the chair.
"What's wrong with her?" He asked, tossing his chin at the baby. Miranda shook her head distractedly as she dug around beneath her shawl.
"Nothing, nothing," she said a bit too quickly before retrieving a few medical instruments and placing them around the infant. His eyes were drawn to a serrated blade attached to the end of a handle. It was an electric one, and fairly modern. Its proximity to the infant's head made him nervous. "Consider it a temporary calcification. You are aware, I'm sure, of the hybridized species of brine shrimp known as Artemia? They are made to go through a cryptobiosis process and then sold as children's novelty pets across America."
"Well, sure," he said back. "But you're not considering selling this calcified child as a children's novelty toy in the village, are you, Mother Miranda? Though I'm sure it'd be a hit-"
"No, no. No," she said quickly, somewhat nervously. Something about her was off - they could all see it. She was fidgeting with her shawl and adjusting the blankets around the infant with an unnaturally anxious vigor. He dipped his head and watched her over the rim of his glasses, taking note of the fact that she was steadily avoiding all of their eyes. "This child is special. And powerful. She will be my last attempt at resurrecting my daughter."
"Mother Miranda," Alcina said carefully. "It's been over a hundred years-"
"I am well aware of how many years have passed since my child was cruelly taken from me," Miranda spat back. "Eva was nothing like your daughters. She was human."
That shut Alcina up quickly. She stood there with lips pursed in fury as Donna inched towards the child and then picked it up. She was a natural at cradling an infant, and Karl couldn't help but think that she would have made a fine mother if she wasn't so unstable in the head. He stood there watching her veiled figure bounce the seemingly-lifeless baby in her arms and cooing indecipherable words to it behind her veil. Miranda watched her for a moment before turning and casting a searching gaze around the church.
"Where the hell is Salvatore?" She repeated. Karl shrugged.
"I told you-"
"Do not bother repeating your vulgarities. This is not the time for your crass humor, son."
"Yeah, alright," he said, putting his hands out defensively. "Then, pardon me, but…m-maybe the time is better suited for a couple of questions. For one, just what makes this Rosemary so special?"
Miranda seemed to snicker at this. "Have your ties in America abandoned you? Or did they perhaps lose interest in following me around? I'd assume the latter, as-" her eyes flashed at him. "-prostitutes are quite unreliable. You would know."
"I was only making sure that you were safe," he lied between clenched teeth. His hammer was only a few feet away. If he was less of a coward, he would have picked it up and smashed her into next Tuesday with it. It was true. The intel that he had been receiving regarding Miranda's doings in America had gone dry. Whatever secret operations she was a part of had been locked down and zipped up tight. Not even the best of his girls could get a word out of the men that Miranda had been working with. "But, going back a little, to my original question-"
"There was an incident," Miranda said slowly, drawing her gaze back to the infant in Donna's arms. "Back in 2017. It pertained to the chaos brought upon by a human bio-weapon called Eveline. Several people were infected with a weaponized version of my mold. Ethan and Mia Winters being two of them."
"Shit," Karl said in amusement.
"Ethan was pronounced clinically dead but, unbeknownst to him, the fungal invasion within his body had created a resilient infrastructure that defied death itself. He is both human and…not."
Both Karl and Alcina glanced at each other. Neither of them had missed the implication of Miranda referring to Ethan Winters in the present tense.
"Certain factors working in my favor alerted me to the birth of Rosemary Winters, and the location of the Winters's home," Miranda continued in a faraway voice, her gaze sliding along the boarded-over windows of the room. "And I thought to myself…this is it. This is the one. A child born directly of the mold. I had to have her. And so I infiltrated their home, took on the form of Mia Winters. It was easy. I had already taken a sample of Mia's DNA and had used it to assimilate myself into her form. The damn fool Ethan suspected nothing. I would have gotten away with it…would have slipped Rosemary from right under Ethan's nose had it not been for…" she paused, lost in the memory of whatever had happened prior to that day. Slowly, her hands began to curl into fists which she swiped across the black rivers spilling from her eyes. "That dog Chris Redfield-"
"Mother?" Alcina said. Her eyes met Karl's again and she quickly looked away. "Where, exactly, are the child's parents now?"
"You need not concern yourself with the mother. I have her here in the village, locked away for safekeeping and…other things. But Ethan-" Miranda looked up and around at her children. "I do not know where he is. I was able to break free of the convoy carrying us. My main priority was transferring Rosemary to the village. I do not know of his fate, but it is highly likely that Ethan Winters survived."
"You sound frightened, Mother Miranda," Karl said, watching her carefully.
"And I am! You have no idea what that man is capable of. He is different. Do not forget, son, that I am well versed in the wrath that comes from having a child taken. Just as I will do anything to have my daughter back, he will do anything to have his. I need time to think this through. And until I come up with a plan, I need a bit of insurance from you all. We will divide the child into pieces, and you shall all hold on to one part-"
"WHAT?!" Both Alcina and Karl cried at the same time. Karl ducked his head and held his hand against his hat as a sudden gust of wind rocked through the room. They all turned and stared at the hunched figure shuffling through the open doorway. It was Salvatore, trudging through the flurries of whistling snow with a thick rope slung across his shoulders. He was wheezing terribly as he moved, and Karl realized that the rope was attached to a large bundle dragging across the ground. He squinted his eyes as Salvatore made his approach then, recognizing what he was dragging, he startled and stumbled backward across the platform.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He roared as he made a beeline for the other man. Salvatore's cheeks briefly ballooned out before he spewed a stream of yellowish mucus across Karl's shirt. Karl stumbled back and patted frantically at his clothes. Whatever was in Salvatore's bile was stinging his skin, momentarily distracting him as Salvatore shuffled over to Miranda.
"Mother," Salvatore said in a guttural whine as he hefted the rope higher along his shoulder. "You'll never believe what I found in Heisenberg's factory! Look! Look!"
"You ugly ass phlegmatic mutant freak-" Karl roared again. "What the fuck were you doing snooping around my factory?!"
Salvatore's cheeks ballooned out again and Karl was forced to take a step back lest he was sprayed again. Miranda cast him a curious glance before descending the steps towards Salvatore and peering at the bundle dragging behind him.
"What is it?" Miranda asked as Alcina peeked over her shoulder. "Some kind of…human experiment?"
"He calls it a soldat," Salvatore gargled and Miranda looked up at Karl in surprise.
"A soldat?"
"German for soldier," Alcina offered before blowing smoke out the corner of her lips. "Or something like that."
Karl stood some ways behind him, breathing heavily as he stared Salvatore down. It was true: the bundle that Salvatore had been dragging was actually the lifeless body of one of his decommissioned experiments. How Salvatore had got his hands on it and managed to drag it all the way to the church, Karl did not know. All he knew was that he had to find a way to damage control the situation, and fast. For the past six years, he had been working on building an army of mechanical soldiers to aid in the execution of Miranda. If she found out…
"Look. I-it's not a big deal," he grumbled, swiping his hand irritably against his upper lip. "I-"
"There's hundreds of them in his factory," Salvatore whined. "Just like this one b-b-but worse!"
"What the hell would you need a hundred mechanical soldiers for, Heisenberg?" Miranda asked in an unusually high-pitched voice. Miranda rarely cursed. Her use of curse at that moment was indicative of her affronted suspiciousness.
Damage control, he reminded himself as he took a deep breath in, that's the name of the fucking game.
"Why, just a little bit of curiosity," he said between grit teeth. It was with some difficulty that he held Miranda's eyes, all the while aware of Alcina's calculating gaze over Miranda's shoulder. "Maybe a little bit of boredom-"
"Curiosity and boredom do not lead a man to create an army of fortified mutants that he calls soldiers." Alcina said. "What battle do you think you are going to wage in this village?"
"Ohhhhh - the fuck would you know about battles?" He cried back. He thrust his hand out and his hammer came flying toward him with an aggressive force. "You ain't fought a damn battle in your life! You've been spoon-fed privilege ever since you were born, you supersized bitch! Nowadays you probably couldn't even lift that same spoon to your mouth, you're so fucking-"
"You gaudy little Americanized bastard," Alcina roared back. A set of wicked-sharp talons sprung up from her fingers as she slung her arm back. "I will not be slandered by a man desperate enough to bed the daughters of the very same women that he impregnated some forty years ago-"
The implication was so vulgar that even Donna gasped. Karl gave his hammer a spin before winding it behind his back like a baseball player wielding a bat.
"Open up wide, sweetheart," he warned theatrically as he wound himself up for a strike. "This hammer is about to be the last thing that that ugly little mouth of yours chokes on-"
"Miranda is abominable. Her deceit knows no bound," came Salvatore's quiet voice. Karl froze in place, simply listening in horror as Salvatore recited the words that he knew so well. "We're merely a bunch of failed Cadou experiments to her. I was just lucky I had more affinity to the stuff than the other poor shmucks in the village-"
"S-stop," Karl begged.
"So she still calls me her "son." What a joke. I'll never forgive her for what she did to me-"
"I SAID STOP, DAMN YOU!"
Karl dropped his hammer and began to run after Salvatore, who was holding Karl's diary in his hands. The man was surprisingly fast, considering his mutated state, and he was able to weave and duck away from Karl with ease.
"That crazy bitch has never been right in the head. She can't see a difference between
"experiment" and 'family'-"
"SAAAAALVATOOOOORE!"
"Miranda didn't just change my body, she took my dignity. If I don't kill her then my life will never be my own. See, Mother? He hates you! It's all here, in his diary!"
Salvatore came to a panting stop before Miranda and held Karl's diary up to her. Karl fell to his knees with a twisted expression as she swiped the book up and perused its pages. Her face was oddly blank as she took in his words, each one betraying his most private and innermost feelings. There was no use trying to damage control anything anymore. The damage done by Salvatore's deceit was irrevocable.
"Is this true?" Miranda asked in an oddly musical voice. "You want to kill me, Karl?"
"Mother-"
A strange sensation began to envelop his body. It began at his feet and traveled up his legs, seemingly mummifying him inch by inch. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but words failed him as his throat was constricted by an otherworldly force. Slowly, something began to lift him off the ground, as if a hand was at his neck and suspending him in the air. He coughed and raked his fingers along his skin, but the sensation was everywhere: strangling him, coursing through his blood, budding along the edges of his innards. Miranda's hand was in the air, guiding his ascent as black tears poured from her eyes. It was the mold within him. Somehow, she was controlling it and forcing it to rebel against him and wreak havoc in his blood.
He had never been more frightened of her in his life.
"God gave his creations free will," she croaked in an ethereal voice that was not her own. She clenched her fingers into her palm and something within him suddenly collapsed upon itself. "Not because he wanted to, but because he wanted to give them a choice in loving him. Forced love is not real love, after all."
He sputtered, spewing black rancidness across her face. Even Alcina seemed frightened by this abnormal display of Miranda's power. She had taken Donna by the shoulder and guided her into a corner. Salvatore was perched upon his knees, watching the events unfold with a gaping mouth.
"God-duh would rather his children obey him out of love, rather than fear. And, due to his lapse in judgment, his children rebelled. I will not be inclined to make that same mistake. Karl. Must I instill fear in your heart or will you choose to love me of your own free will?"
"I-"
"I made you who you are, child. And I will tear you right back down if I must."
He dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap. Her footsteps echoed away from him as he sat there grasping at his throat. There was an electric tingling all along his body, like pins and needles pricking his insides. He didn't know what had happened - all he knew was that he was scared shitless of it happening again. Warm dampness had spread across the front of his pants. Maybe that's what was making Alcina stare back at him in horror.
"If you love me, keep my commandments," Miranda said as she climbed the staircase leading to her throne. She took the infant from Donna's arms, smiled into its face, and then carried it over to the worn table. Then, she retrieved the serrated blade and placed it next to Rosemary's body. "Karl?"
"John 14:15," he croaked.
"Do you love me?"
He had no choice but to relent. Forced love is not real love, after all, she had said. How ironic. "I…I do," he mumbled.
"Then keep my commandments. The child's body must be severed into four equal parts - one for each of you. Son. You are a medical man, are you not?"
It took him a while to figure out what she was asking of him. The realization made him gasp, and he quickly stood up. "Y-you mean-? You want me to-"
"Torso, head, legs, and arms."
"Mother Miranda, she is an infant," Karl pleaded. He had never been overly fond of children, but something about the whole situation was making him queasy. Crystallized or not, cutting into a baby's flesh was simply not something that he was willing to do
"Haven't I told you before? Sentimentality does not suit you, Heisenberg."
"But-"
"No buts. Do you think that your Lord and Savior Jesus Christ stood around crying, 'but!' as thorns were being driven into his head by the Romans? No, he knew that he had a duty to fulfill scripture."
"You're testing my loyalty," he mumbled in defeat. Miranda nodded.
"You give me no choice. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, son. And those pages of your diary have left me feeling very scorned. Four severed segments, Heisenberg. Torso, head, legs, and arms"
"And if I say 'no'?"
"Do you remember that story you told me about having to shoot the dog that bared its teeth at you? I think about that story quite often." Miranda came up to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his temple as the other three Lords watched in silence. "Start with the head."
X
Alcina.
So it had been done.
Alcina had watched it all unfold from the corner of the church, for once too petrified by shock to do anything but stand there with her hand upon Donna's shoulder. The sight of Miranda lifting Karl in the air with ease - as if he was nothing but a limp rag doll - had frightened her. It was his fault for planning to kill her, she had told herself as she watched her brother crumple to a heap on the floor. It was his fault for being a disobedient bastard of a son, she had told herself as he lifted the blade and stared at it dazedly for a few seconds. His fault, she had reminded herself as she watched the glistening cords of Rosemary's throat unspool across the table, for daring to slander the woman who had blessed them all with her miracle mold.
She had accepted the flask handed to her in silence, that old feeling of queasiness overtaking her as she peered at the soft folds of flesh rounding beneath Rosemary's lashes. The severed head had rocked gently against the glass walls. The flask had felt so heart-breakingly light in her hands.
Miranda had squeezed her shoulder and said nothing as she made for the door, leaving the four Lords alone in her empty kingdom. Karl had been the first to leave, rushing out of the door with his fists balled before his lips. Donna had followed, trailing small sniffles behind her, and then Salvatore. Alcina had watched the bloated-flesh thing go with disgust. His fault for betraying Karl, his fault for failing to bear the glory of Miranda's gift, his fault for being an ugly and stupid fool-
Or maybe that was all that she had been manipulated into thinking. Maybe it wasn't their fault. None of them had asked for this, after all. They had been indoctrinated into a program of forced martyrdom and made to believe that they were serving the greater good. Miranda's greater good.
Miranda is abominable. Her deceit knows no bound. That's what Karl had written in his sad, little diary. All of this time she had staunchly believed that the man was unfortunately unstable in the head. But something about what he had written struck an uncomfortable chord of truth.
Maybe it was none of their faults. Maybe it had all been the fault of their wicked surrogate of a godhead that they had been forced to call mother.
She found him sitting on the steps leading to the church. His face was turned to the falling light of the sun and his lips were moving around words that she could not hear. She was overwhelmed by an unquenchable desire to know what he was saying. Karl had taken off his had and odd-tinted glasses. With his face illuminated by the fiery failing gold of the sunset, he looked different than she remembered. Yet again, she had never been inclined to look too closely at him. Something about Karl teetered precariously between two realms: one humbler and down to earth, the other unworldly and unnaturally stately. A village-born boy turned mutant against his will.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her without saying a word. It may have been the last rays of the sun but his eyes weren't as green or devilish as she remembered. They were like hers: flashes of deep gold, like moonlight behind a jar of honey. In the chaos and terror that would soon be her demise, she would remember Karl's eyes as Ethan tore her violently from the pedestal of her world.
He said something and she bent down closer to hear him.
"Miriam," he repeated in a voice so fragile that it broke her heart.
"I don't understand."
He dropped his head towards his splayed legs and began to tug tensely at his gloves. "The first female prophetess," he whispered. "One helluva a woman-"
"I don't-"
"A few years back," he started with some difficulty. "Sometime after I had taken over control of my father's factory. Marianne used to complain about all the things wrong with her body. 'There's a lump in my tit.' 'My stomach hurts.' 'Look at this mole on my leg - do you think it's melanoma?'" He chuckled mirthlessly. "And every few years, she'd swear that she was pregnant. Would say that she could feel it in the heaviness of her ankles or the bubbling in her stomach. Shit like that. Used to piss me right the fuck off.
There was this one time. She was over in America doing God knows what. It had been a few years and I had damn near forgotten what she looked like. Easy enough, she wasn't the one to stand out in a crowd. But she sent this letter to the Duke to give to me. And inside of it was this picture, taken by one of those fancy ultrasound machines that they had only just invented some ten years back. And at the bottom, you know what she wrote? 'Congratulations, asshole. It's a girl.'"
He paused. They both watched as the sun finally surrendered to the heavy veil of the night sky. There was a chill in the air, unnaturally sharp for the village's signature coldness. She wrapped her fur shawl tighter around her shoulders, hoping that this wasn't yet another one of Karl's wayward, inebriated stories that had no true end. She wanted to make it back to the comfort of her castle and her loving daughters before the memories of Rosemary's dismemberment found a foothold in her mind. Karl was still tugging his gloves between his fingers. Any second, she figured, they would rip.
"Uh," he stuttered. "I...I wasn't in the right headspace for that sort of news. Sure the powder didn't help one bit. I sent her back a letter...rambling bullshit nonsense telling her to get rid of it. We weren't fit to be no parents, as I'm sure you could've guessed. Besides, who knows if it was even mine?
I sent that letter. Months passed and I didn't hear back from her. I tried to lose myself in my work, y'know, build those soldiers that Salvatore told you all about. But I couldn't stop thinking...what if? What would be so wrong with raising a kid of my own? The idea grew on me. Just because I was the son of a bastard religious fanatic didn't mean I had to act like one. I figured atonement meant doing more than sitting on aching knees waiting for the Lord to shove more bullshit scriptures down my throat. Maybe I had it in me. Maybe I could right those wrongs.
So I thought to myself - Miriam. Now there's a pretty name for a girl. I had the Duke get me some of those old Sears catalogs, just to get a little inspiration for what a baby's room should look like. Didn't think I would do anything with 'em, but there I suddenly was building baby cradles and little toys and whatnot with my servant. Heh. I wasn't sure what color Miriam would like, but I went on ahead and painted one of the rooms in the factory yellow."
Despite trying her hardest, Alcina could not imagine the infamous Karl Heisenberg pouring over a Sears collection baby catalog in the dim lighting of his office. The image was endearing but somehow wrong at the same time.
"Before I knew it, I had built up an entire room dedicated to a baby that probably didn't even belong to me," he continued. "I had the, uh, tassels hanging on the wall and brand new window pane and little spinning toys that I built myself. You probably wouldn't believe but I sobered up real quick, shaved off the whiskers, cut my hair short - y'know, trying to look the part of a father.
And then one day Marianne came. And I saw her standing there at the door to my office with this look on her face like she had seen Death rise and place a hand to her throat. And she didn't have Miriam with her. She had the fat hanging around her cheeks and the belly to match but...she didn't have my baby girl.
It was a b-blood thing," Karl continued. "Caused by a negative batch of proteins that get passed on to the baby from the father. If the mom is positive, her body will see the baby as a foreign object and attack it. Kill it, you know. I didn't doubt the baby was mine, then. Only my luck would be so unfortunate as to give a child traits that would cause its mother's body to reject it. If that baby had been born to anybody else, she probably would have survived. But she just had to be born to poor, pathetic lunatic Heisenberg.
Ethan and Miranda aren't the only ones who lost a child, Alcina. They're just lucky enough that they can wage their vendettas against each other. The only person I got to wage my vendetta against is God. And that ain't a fair fight, isn't it?"
Now she understood. Her folly had been falling prey to the communal delusion that Karl Heisenberg was incapable of loving anything but his ego. It made sense why his sin against Rosemary had torn him apart. Once, long ago, he had been a man on the verge of fatherhood. No doubt Rosemary reminded him of his lost baby girl. Miriam: the biblical female prophetess killed by her father's blood running rampant through her veins.
She wasn't sure what to say. They had rarely exchanged more than heated words and venom-charged banter. Besides, words of comfort did not come easy to her. A simple apology did not seem appropriate yet it was all she could muster from her cold, mold-infested heart.
"Heisenberg," she tried. "I am sorry. Truly. Mother Miranda should have never made you do what you did tonight."
"Mother Miranda only made me do what I did to Rosemary because she knew that no one would stop her. You fucking cowards." Finally, the gloves tore in his hands. He balled them into his fist before rearing up and throwing the tattered pieces of leather at her feet. "You could have stopped her. You could have said something. Anything. Instead, you stood there shivering like a little mouse as she forced my hand. Do you want to know what I'm sick of, Alcina? People bearing witness to my suffering and then apologizing after the fact. But it's alright, really! Just scamper back home to your daughters and I'll go back to my factory left bereft of mine."
"Heisenberg!"
A sharp clang reverberated throughout the air. The hammer flew towards Heisenberg and he wrapped his hand around it with crushing force. There were tears in his eyes and rage on his face as he smiled back up at her. Gone was the humble village farmer boy that she had seen only a few moments ago. The anger and loss of the mutated soul within had once again revealed itself.
"You are welcome to come visit Miriam's room any time that you like," he hissed. "Just so you can see what it feels like to be on the losing end of Miranda's plight. Because that's how it is, daughter of dih-mee-tres-coo. When you got a heart like mine, Miranda will find a way to break it a thousand times over."
She turned away right as Karl hefted his hammer above his shoulders and slammed it upon the stone steps hard enough to shatter them all. He roared as she walked away. The anger forcing its way from its throat hadn't been directed at her but the cold and devastating hand that life - or Miranda - had dealt him once again.