Chapter XII

Enantiodromia

Outlines blurred together as rain continued to fall, washing out discernment until all became one shadow. He stood watching the world melt together, looked down to see himself flowing into it, soaked through. The flickering light from the window behind spilt out onto the ground about the twisted, swirling shadows. Following the patterns back he turned his head, his long bangs dripping into his eyes. Faintly, beyond the metallic pounding of rain on the rooftops, he heard his name. Without a second glance, he stepped back into the dorm.

Lit candles were placed randomly about the small space. The light bulb was now only a few shards of glass clinging to a frayed cord, the shattered remains of a short-lived outburst. Taylor glanced down at the sparkle of candlelight reflecting off the scattered glass strewn across the dirt floor.

"There you are. We thought you were trying to drown yourself," Dover remarked, voice somewhat strained from the shouting match that had resulted in the untimely demise of the light bulb. He pulled away from Cody's bunk, where the three-year-old sat rubbing tears from his eyes.

Without glancing up, Taylor asked, "Where's Cale?"

"Right here," came the muffled response. He was hiding away on the other top bunk, voice worn out. The fight had been beaten away and the self-assured lies unraveled.

Taylor contemplated retiring to his own bunk, to forget and dream away all of this. As he gazed at his own bloodstained mattress, he saw himself moving on. He felt the emotional tick of regret add on to a long line on a mental wall; saw them fading back into that existence as if nothing had changed; heard their last breaths in turn, until the slow heartbeats faded into silence...

He looked away. "Cale..." His voice was subdued, mellow. A washed out, plaintive cry. "Cale... I'm ready to go now."

Dover sighed. "Leave him alone, Taylor. Just sit down." He collapsed beneath Cale's bunk, hand pulled over his face.

Taylor stepped forward, glass shards crunching under his feet. "Cale..." He stood in front of the bunk, giving Cale a light shove on the side. "Cale. Come on. I'm ready to go. I want to go home. Please take us home."

Cale stirred, shifting away from him. "Quit it, Tai," he muttered.

Taylor just stood there, eyes unfocused. His hand slipped off the railing.

He let go into a deep, face-splitting scream.

All at once Dover struck his head on the wood, Cale spun around, and Cody clutched at his tiny ears. The scream held and died away. Tai opened his eyes, contorted muscles shifting back into place. They were all staring at him as his hands curled up into fists at his side, shaking. His whole body trembled, the candlelight sparks dancing in his eyes.

There was a pause, a tense and drawn-out silence. "No," he bit out at last. "I won't do this anymore. I can't go on like this. Not anymore."

Cale tilted his head. "Tai... I gave that guy my word... I lost. It's over. You know how it goes."

He glared at Cale, teeth gritting. "You... you... I warned you. I tried to warn you." His heart was pounding in his ears, punctuating his words like a drum.

"What are you playing at, Taylor?" Dover interjected. "What d'you want us to do, huh?"

"We're getting out of here. All of us. Now," he growled, looking at each of them in turn. "I have a plan... there's something I have to do before we go. But I'm gonna need your help."

Dover began to laugh. "'Help'! No, I'm done. You're FUCKING NUTS." He jumped to his feet in front of Taylor, who did not flinch. Irritated, Dover swung back his hand.

Dover was slammed against the bunk with a crack, Taylor's hands clenched around his throat. Taylor's lips were curled into a snarl, watching Dover struggle for a moment. Underneath his palms he felt Dover's veins pump and saw terror flash across his wide eyes. "That's why this is going to work, Dover," he whispered at length. "And why you're going to help me." He let go.

Dover gasped and staggered against the frame, massaging his throat. Cale swore, pressed against the back wall in alarm. For a brief second the room flashed, burning silhouettes into their eyes as they stared at Taylor, white-knuckled and panting. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

No one spoke as he caught his breath, looking away if they saw him staring back. "What I need you to do," he began, with less ferocity now. "is create a distraction. A diversion – god –anything, I don't know, just do it. Just to buy us time. I think I can handle the rest."

"'The rest'?" Cale spoke up. "What do you-"

"If I don't make it," Taylor interrupted loudly, moving on. "You guys take off without me. Either way we'll meet up at the trees."

"And then what? We can't take the road, we'll never make it back to the city."

"The canyons," Dover muttered, dropping his hands. "We can go through the canyons. They won't check there, at least not right away."

The room flashed once more, and the thunder succeeding it came quicker and louder. Cale bit his lip, glanced back at Taylor, still standing resolute in the middle of the room. "How can you be so sure we can pull this off?"

Taylor smiled, tilting his head downward a little towards the broken shards. "We have nothing to lose."


They stood together underneath the scant overhang of the roof, water pouring off the edge. Cody clung to Dover's shoulder, trying to take shelter under his hand. Cale peered out from under the hood of his sweatshirt, though there was nothing to be seen.

"What's going on?" Cody asked, tugging on Dover's shirt. "What's wrong with Uncle? He's scary."

Dover sighed, glancing down at Cody's wide, miscolored eyes. "Taylor's going to be okay, Cody. Everything's going to be okay. I just... I need you to stay with me right now, alright? We'll see Taylor later."

Cody nodded, setting his head against Dover's shoulder. Dover hesitated for a moment, then grabbed Cale's sleeve with his free hand, pulling him obstinately towards the manor.

"Whoa, wait a minute, where are we going?" Cale pushed Dover's hand off his sleeve, picking up the pace on his own.

"To create a diversion," Dover replied sharply. He was shifting through memories fast, uncovering a part of himself he had almost forgotten, the echo of a boy who would know exactly what to do. He let the faces and voices guide him, Cale tagging along lost in confusion, until they stood outside the padlocked door of the freestanding garage.

Dover glanced from the lock to Cale, making a vain attempt at blinking the rain from his eyes. "Got any bright ideas on this one?"

"Me? Uh..." Cale took a closer look at the heavy, rusted chains, studying the lock. He then began rummaging through his pockets, pulling out an assortment of credits and soggy lint. He was just stowing it back, growling impatiently, when his hand struck something metallic and sharp. Cale pulled out a length of thick wire he had hastily stowed away only hours before as he toiled away at the rigged bet.

Fumbling he began to twist the wire inside the lock. Dover glanced nervously over his shoulder as a light flicked on in the manor. "Come on, hurry up, hurry up!" he hissed.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Cale snapped back. "All this rain, I can't... damn!" The wire slipped out of his hand, lost in a void of mud. Frustrated he punched the lock. It snapped open.

"Yes! Well come on, move!" Dover cried, tearing the chains off the doors and swinging them open. Cale scrambled to his feet and hurried inside.

An old truck sat dejectedly at the end of the garage, half covered with a rotting cloth and leaning on a flattened tire. Tools and wires lined the walls above dusty boxes and canisters. The whole shed reeked of mildew and swollen wood as the storm leaked through cracks in the roof, forming little rivers and pools on the dirt floor.

"Okay, there's gotta be something here we can use," Dover said, setting Cody down and heading to the wires on the wall. "When we were kids we used to come in here all the time to play jokes on each other, and Master sometimes, even if he didn't really think they were funny."

Cale took to looking over the farming tools, running his hand over a shovel. Cody was patting the boxes, rubbing the dust from the labels, though he couldn't read them anyway.

Brow creased in thought, Dover glanced down for a moment to watch Cody, who had just swept the veil aside from an old canister of motor fuel. Dover kicked the dirt, muttering to himself. "Damn, I'd killfor a smoke right about now."

He stopped. Glancing back at the gasoline, Dover broke into a grin. "Wait... I think I've got an idea."


Finding the back door locked, Taylor stepped back a little, clenched his jaw, and threw his shoulder against it. Far off he felt pain slap against the side of his body. The door began to splinter around the old bolt as he continued to swing himself at it, and with a final heave it flung open. He fell down against the kitchen floor, striking his head on the linoleum. With a hiss he blinked the shock out of his eyes and quickly pushed himself up, looking around, eyesight straining in the darkness.

Counters, drawers, and shelves wrapped around the kitchen walls and appliances. Old food stains littered the floor and visible spaces on the walls. A closed door in the back wall lead out to the dining room, while another on the end of the right wall to the hall. There were nicks and scrapes on the wooden cabinets, and pots and dishes of all sorts were scattered, dirty, around the sink and stove. The stuffy room carried a musty, pungent odor, and Taylor wrinkled his nose as he got up and stumbled against the island in the center of the room.

Always a hopeless cook, he had no sense of direction as to where things were placed. Squinting and growling to himself, he moved frantically from one drawer and cabinet to the next, studying the contents just long enough to fling it shut and move on.

He was tearing through the kitchen at such a speed he almost missed what he was looking for. As he pulled open the drawer he caught the faint gleam of dozens of cooking knives piled on top of each other.

Taylor began picking the knives out carefully, feeling the weight of them in his hand, studying the edges. He would do this and toss each one back, disgruntled, until he found the knife. It was a carving knife with an eight-inch blade. He pulled it out, eyeing it for a moment, and set the long blade against the side of his hand. Pressing down, he watched a perfectly straight, red line bubble up along the edge. He pulled the knife away, blinking at the sharp cut. He clenched his fist, watching the blood run down. For a brief moment, he smiled.

Footsteps moved across the floor upstairs. Taylor's head jerked up to the ceiling, ears catching the sound of muffled voices. He turned back to the door leading outside. Water had begun to spill across the floor, and in his haste to leave he almost slipped. Steadying against the doorframe with his free hand, he pushed himself outside, stumbling into the mud. Lights were on in the manor now, and with a sting of panic he looked around for somewhere to run. Unable to decide he flattened himself against the side of the building, heart pounding in his ears and rain striking his head and arms.

In the kitchen, Taylor could hear a door slam open. Heavy footsteps crossed the linoleum, and a gruff voice swore. There was a pause, and the footsteps ran towards the door. Taylor felt his heart jump into his throat, and stayed just long enough to see his master come tumbling into the dirt after slipping on the wet floor.

Taylor flung himself in front of the porch, crouching down near the edge, both hands clutching the handle of the knife down against the ground. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. A gnawing rage began to work its way up, clawing into his veins, sensing the man closing in on him. It shook his arms and seemed to split open every part of his body in blinding pain, echoes of wounds dealt. He let the anger consume him, curling his spine, flooding his vision and ripping his insides. The knife moved behind his back as he stood up to come face to face with the man.

Dripping mud and water, the master stood in front of his slave, aggravated at being out in this storm and surprised at finding the boy so immediately. The surprise wore off quickly and the man snarled.

"What the hell are you doing, boy? What'd you do to the kitchen door?" He shouted, gesturing wildly. The boy stood silent, still smiling, looking up to meet the man's livid eyes. Frustrated, the man grabbed Taylor by the collar of the shirt, shaking him. "Answer me, you piece of shit!" Taylor began to laugh hysterically, giving no discernable reply and with a bellow the man flung him against the dirt.

"I shoulda killed you when I had the chance, you little fuck!" he seethed. The boy's laughter was choked with coughs and gags, sprawled on the dirt with his arms tucked underneath him. The man bent down and grabbed the back of Taylor's shirt. The laughter stopped abruptly.

"... yeah. You should have," Taylor said, and within a second had spun his whole body around, swinging his feet against the side of his master's head.

He staggered sharply to the right and fell. Taylor sprung up after him, completely engulfed now. Again Taylor kicked the man in the chest, ignoring the pain that shot up from his toes to his leg. The man coughed, pushing himself up to lean his back against the side of the house.

Taylor stood looking down at his former master. Another flash of lighting glinted off the edge of the knife that hung from his right hand. His face melted from a snarl to a manic grin. "Now it's my turn."

The man's eyes darted to the knife, and for the first time Taylor saw fear in him. "What are you doing with that thing? P-put that down," he sputtered, the anger and irritation draining out of his voice as fear seized him. He made to stand up, but Taylor leapt forward, slamming him back against the wall. The man's head connected with a thud, and for a moment his vision blacked out.

Taylor's snarling face was now very close to the man's. He could see the rain dripping down the man's face, mixing with sweat and blood. He could hear the rattling breaths. "How does it feel now? Pretty shitty, huh?" Taylor whispered. Getting no reply, he leaned in closer. "It's worse. Oh, so much worse than that." Idly he raised the knife and began to slowly swipe it across the man's skin in a line. On the first lick of pain the man made a startled movement forward but Taylor pressed the knife against the man's throat, and the body froze. He pressed harder, until blood ran watery across the blade of the knife. The man cried out and made to push the knife away, but Taylor leaned backwards and thrust the knife straight through the man's left shoulder, driving him back against the wall, both hands clenched on the handle.

The man screamed, his voice sinking into a clap of thunder. Taylor continued to clutch the handle of the knife with one hand, leaning his other hand against the opposite shoulder, shoving the knife further in until it would not move. He let go and held his hands against the man's chest as the man groped for the handle, the heartbeat explosive under Taylor's palms. He panted, shaking violently, and watched until the man looked up into his eyes again. "That's for her," he whispered.

Suddenly the night was ablaze. Taylor's head swung back over his shoulder, and they both watched as flames burst out the windows of the barn, smoke billowing up into the stormy sky. As they watched, the buildings began to catch one by one. Taylor moved away.

"You... you'll never make it out of here alive," the man spluttered, gripping the dirt, blood leaking from his nostrils. "I'll find you. I'll find you and kill you all, you little bast-" His words were choked off with a cry of pain as he clawed at his shoulder, legs scraping the ground.

Taylor stared down at him, expression stony. "Not if I've killed you first." He looked down at his hands, covered in blood, up to the numbers on his left wrist. He paused, and held them out for the man to see. "These... are not... me. I have a name. It's Tai."

With that he turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows.