The Last Message

Chapter 2:

Suddenly nothing feels quite right. The dress is laced too tightly in the back, my hair is heavy and hot, and my ring finger aches beneath the weight of the diamond. Today is my wedding. The moment I've looked forward to my entire life. It should be the happiest moment of my life; and it was. Up until now.

How can I go through with this? Would it all be a lie?

I continue to stare at the words, drink in their memories. I cannot let myself forget.

The first kill was the hardest. I was ten years old, playing in our yard with a couple friends from school. It stood at the end of the lane just watching us. I would never have noticed, if not for Father. He came out of the house, with his old hunting rifle in hand. He approached it, cocking the gun. Instinctively, I knew this was not my silent and should be killed on sight. But I couldn't forget the image of my friend, lying wounded and alone, plastered with gun shots and knife wounds, no doubt the work of another father like mine.

My heart ached with the remembered sadness and I swore to prevent the same fate falling to another silent. I called out to Father and he turned instantly, worried for my safety.

I could see his face fall into blankness as memory faltered and left entirely. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was misplaced. In the moment Father was defenseless, the silent struck.

There is nothing more painful than the ear shattering grief of a child who watches the death of her father, knowing it was her fault. The never ending electricity coursed through his body, coming from that awful creature. How could I ever have thought that thing, that monster was anything like my friend?

Through half-thoughts, terrified screams, and absolute hatred, the gun ended up in my hands and the bullet ended up in the silent's chest. Over and over again, I shot until the creature collapsed, releasing my father from the current. I dropped to his side, sobbing over his body.

My father's eyes found mine just before he died, and there was a kind of proud smile in them that not even the silents' tampering could take from me. I was lucky, I guess. Most children whose parents are killed by the silents, don't even have a body left to remember them by.

When the police finally arrived, his hand was cold in mine. They ruled his death due to freak electric storm in the area. Of course no one could contest it.

By the time I was thirteen, killing silents came easily to me. After that day, hesitation was out of the question. If memory would have allowed for it, I probably would have become some sort of silence hunter, bent on revenge. As it was, when memory did allow, I killed ruthlessly, sometimes with crude weapons or traps if I could manage it. As encounters became more and more frequent, I began to see patterns. I never saw more than two and they always watched silently in the background, especially at school. They watched the other kids with a religious like search, hunting for something. They stayed out of sight, for good reason of course. But if there was one thing I was good at it was teaching myself to notice the smallest of triggers for my memory. A dark corner no one ever looked at, a smell out of place, the sound of throaty, unnatural breath.

It was December when the pack came. I don't know what else to call them, for I'd never seen anything like it.

Mother was at work and I had to wait in the car for her to finish every night before we could go home. It was late and the wind whipped anxiously across the parking lot. I huddled in blanket and several layers of clothing. Half an hour. Half an hour and then I'd be nice and warm at home.

Across the parking lot, I saw a flash of clothing and dark hair. I peered out, recognizing a girl from my school, running backwards, a pistol in her hands. Mels was a known trouble maker, but I had to admit I was surprised to see her with a gun, looking for all the world like a run-away criminal. Shots fired and I jumped in my seat. Was she out of her mind? What was she shooting at?

A minute later I saw a crackle of electricity and realized exactly what she was shooting at.

Frantic, I dug through the glove compartment for Mother's pistol. She put it in ever since she took a job in town, always worried I might get threatened while waiting late at night. Now armed, I bolted from the car.

I reached Mels side, but she glared at me even as we began firing shots.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asked.

"I've dealt with more of them than you think," I answered, leveling three shots into the approaching silent even as I spoke.

"Well you better save your ammo, there's at least… " she paused to look at her arm which was marked with thick black tallies. "Ten of them. Nine now, I guess."

As if sensing her words, the remaining nine glided from the ally way, silent and foreboding. I gasped aloud, shock filling my body with lead. I had never seen so many silents in my life. I had thought, with everyone out to kill them, they would be an endangered species by now.

"I can take two at a time," I whispered numbly.

"And I can take three, maybe four if I'm lucky."

The street lamps were already starting to flicker as the electricy drew towards the creatures. My hands shook on the gun and tears threatened my eyes. Well, if I had to die young, at least it was in pursuit of something heroic right? How sick, that those were the last thoughts of a teenage girl, that I carried a gun like most kids carried candy, that I myself had become a sort of child monster.

The crack of the pistol fired a few rounds and one silent fell. Mels was already in the game; she had probably skipped the last foray into philosophy. As the creature fell, it tripped another behind it with its awkwardly large body. I had a sudden, crazy idea. It would most certainly get me killed, but it might save Mels.

"Cover me," I said and then took off at a run.

The first silent with enough energy shot electricity at the spot I had been standing, but I was already half way towards them. Mels nailed it with a few rounds and I knew it would be out of commission. I slid feet first into tight group, knocking one or two to the ground. I rolled out of reach, firing shots into anything that moved. I counted on Mels taking the ones who had tripped. My daring act of stupidity had earned us each three dead, leaving only three still standing. Somehow, miraculously, Mels and I managed to each shoot one more. I took it upon myself to kill the last one and trained my gun on his head. Suddenly I was shot through the heart with memories of flowers and bloodstains and friendship. I stopped in my tracks, the gun falling limply from my hand.

"Impossible," I whispered.

"Coralie, Shoot him!"

Mels' voice frightened him and my silent began gathering electricity as protection. In response, she cocked her gun, pointing it directly at him.

"No! Wait!" It was no use; she had probably been killing silents since she was old enough to walk. Her finger tightened on the trigger and I found my body suddenly shielding his.

It was a strange feeling to have a bullet rip through me. First a tearing, awful pain, sharper than the first breath of cold air and longer than a minute without air. I fell to my knees clutching my shoulder, screaming aloud. I was aware of cold, unwieldy hands lifting me, supporting my head, cradling my body into his. Then, blissfully, I was aware of nothing at all. Gun shots feel surprisingly a lot like being dead, I guess.

I was in the hospital when I came to. Mother was anxiously bending over me, smoothing my hair, kissing my cheeks.

"Don't ever do that again!" She cried, wrapping me in a hug. "You had me so worried!"

"What happened?"

"It was that Mels girl, you know, the trouble maker. There was a gang fight, somehow the two of you got in the middle of it. Cora, What were you thinking?!"

"I honestly don't know," I said, shaking my head. "I don't remember."

"Shock, I guess. The Doctor's said you'd be fine though. You're lucky you weren't hurt worse."

Yyeah…." I said, still not convinced with the whole situation. I begged off, citing the need for more rest and she left with another bone-crushing hug and a kiss.

I studied the hospital room, as if it might answer my question. But the real question came when I looked down at my hands and saw blood on my hands. Not my own, from the sudden heart-attack my memory experienced.

"Sorry about that," his voice coincided with the door opening and my eyes widened. "I meant to get all my blood off before you woke up, but it's a little tricky navigating a human hospital you know."

"You were bleeding?"

"Your friend still had one more bullet left after she felled you."

He pulled back his suit coat to reveal a bullet hole in his side, it was blood stained, but none of it seemed to be fresh.

"I put a band-aid on and it was good as new." He laughed easily.

I reached out and he obliged by stepping closer. I touch a hand to his impassive face. Cold skin over misshapen bones, it yielded no more secrets upon touch than it did to look at. How was he alive? And what was he doing here? Could I really trust him? His mind was as alien to me as his appearance.

"You saved me," I said at long last, letting my hand drop. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you saved me. Twice now."

"I've killed dozens of your kind."

"And, I, hundreds of yours."

I shuddered; I couldn't help it. Once, it would have been impossible to reconcile such a statement with my friend. But then Father happened.

He turned, perhaps in shame, maybe regret. I don't know.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you."

"No. I get it."

"I'll wash off the blood and I promise you won't have to remember anymore."

I studied the blood stains, recalling similar ones on my knee years before. Sometimes I missed the girl I was then. But did I really want to forget everything, including my friend?

"Cora?" he said, hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

"Mum says I'm in shock," I teased, trying to hide my morose feeling. "I'll be fine."

"Good."

Unironically, silence sat easily between us. He watched me with those strange, small eyes. And I watched him with undisguised curiosity. How could such a puzzle exist? And how could we, a doomed friendship, ever hope to have some semblance of normality. Coralie, a normal human girl and her silent who didn't even have a name. Or did he?

"Do you have a name?"

"No."

"May I give you one?"

He laughed again. "I would be frightened to know what it would be."

I reached out for his hand and he gave it, if a little reluctantly. I had no blood to help him remember, but I suppose he wouldn't need it, so instead I wrote with careful fingers, F-R-I-E-N-D into the skin of his arm. He watched my hand move, but he grunted in confusion.

"What?"

"Nevermind." I said simply. "I need rest now."

He touched my cheek with his hand. I held perfectly still, allowing the rough uneven fingers to rest on my own human skin.

"You're right, little one. Get some rest. Tomorrow, you won't remember a thing."

"I wish I could."

"No, it's safer this way."

"Safer?"

"Nevermind," he parroted. "Just stay away from Melody. She's dangerous."

"Is that why all of you were there, for Mels?"

"Yes. Promise you'll stay away?"

I narrowed my eyes, weighing my options. One friend vs a psychopath who shot me. The choice was not so hard.

"I promise."

"Good girl."

He left then and as promised I didn't remember a thing in the morning. Mels and I never spoke again.

A/N There's not much to say I suppose. The classic, please leave review ploy. A disclaimer since I forgot it last time. I really don't own Doctor who. Surprise! And next up: another encounter resulting in death, a fight, and rent.