Protect and Follow
By: MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Now in Vega Alex finds Claire; Michael and Pete confront their worst nightmares; and Noma finds the amphora.
Thank you Manidefronsac for your kind review! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Twenty-two: Darkness Within
Vega was out of control. The city wailed; burned; and imploded with sounds of destruction. The screams, crackling fires, and grunts of pain echoed all around them – bouncing off walls and stretching deep into alleyways. Alex could feel her anguish – her torment; and wanted to weep with her. This is what he had wanted to prevent – this unmerciful downfall that left its people in madness and despair.
If Vega could not be saved – how would he be able to live with it?
Was he not the chosen one? Wasn't it his destiny to save their city – to keep alive mankind's way of life; their humanity?
As he and Pete raced through the streets the faces of the people passing them by were either stunned in stupor or lit up with insanity. There was nothing in between. He recognized not one person who could help them fight the coming army. The few soldiers they encountered, either tore at their faces in terror or huddled in corners – weeping uncontrollably.
When they reached the outside of Claire's hotel residence, Alex stared up toward the top floor windows and suddenly that sense of loss and dread he had felt back among the willow trees all those many days ago came back with a vengeance.
He clutched at his heart and almost doubled over with the pain of it. What would he find here? Was he already too late? His breathing became fast, ragged and shallow – so he bent over to take in long calming breaths; attempting to gather his reserves and keep himself together.
Pete ran into his back at the sudden stop and grabbed a hold of his arm. "What's wrong?" he hissed with fear – afraid the darkness had infiltrated his friend.
Alex shook his head to clear away the sensation. "Nothing", he panted out through clenched teeth. He stood tall then, pulled away from Pete's concern and ran for the stairs. Pete gripped his weapon and quickly followed – the gun an extension of his hand, but his tire iron tucked tight into the loops of his pants provided a comforting weight.
Once inside the lobby Alex rushed for the elevator and pushed the glowing button for up. He held his weapon close to his chest; rocked on his heels and waited impatiently as the numbers atop the elevator doors descended down toward their lower level. The pace was excruciatingly slow – but he knew he and Pete did not have the energy to climb the many stairs to reach the top.
The quiet, serenity of the lobby was eerie and grated on Pete's nerves. No one was about – the luxury hotel was the complete opposite of what hell was going on outside these doors. Why did Alex think Claire was even here? If she was here was she even coherent enough to help? Was she still alive? He dismissed the negative thoughts – understanding that Alex needed to know one way or the other her fate.
Attempting to ignore the surreal surroundings, Pete stared into the shiny, mirror like door of the elevator and saw a fleeting image of himself tinged in blue – his eyes rimmed in red. A creature that looked like him, but wasn't him reached out a hand as if to pull him into his realm of existence.
He looked to Alex beside him to see if he noticed the threat – but Alex was turned away, and seemed mesmerized by the numbers above the elevator door – soft bells ringing as each floor disappeared one after another.
Pete went to look again, but the doors slid open; Alex grabbed his arm and they tumbled in. Alex reached over and pushed the button for the pent house. Bland instrumental music filled the small space as they ascended to the top floor.
Noma and Michael rushed toward the hospital where the eye of the storm seemed to be emanating from. Black, thick smoke curled around the building in waves and reached out beyond – into the city.
They stopped just outside the perimeter and gazed at one another – determination eking from every pore. "The amphora is here somewhere", Michael voiced as he looked to the building and tried to block out the screeching of human suffering behind them. He could sense Gabriel smirking in his mind's eye and closed down on the impression that his brother was laughing at him.
Noma nodded in agreement and hefted her weapon in front of her. "I'll take the front – you move around to the back. If you find it, don't touch it - move toward me and I'll do the same" he continued, narrowing his eyes to keep focused.
As Noma made to move away – Michael placed his hand at her shoulder. "Watch yourself Noma", he urged. She gave a light smile in return and they set off in opposite directions.
As she moved toward the back of the building, Noma could sense the flutter at her back and stopped to look. She wanted to break down and cry. It felt so real – her wings there at her back – giving her a sense of wholeness. With her wings, she could be herself again – an angel; God's special creation.
With her wings – she would be able to go home to heaven – be among her kind; find favor with Father. With her wings she could close the amphora for Alex and begin their journey to save humanity.
A noise by the dumpster caught her attention and thoughts of her wings drifted away to be replaced by heightened awareness of the dangers around her. The noise clanged again and she lifted her weapon ready to defend herself from crazed humans taken over by the darkness.
As she moved closer a screeching cat, chasing a defenseless mouse – leapt from the trash receptacle as if possessed. It hissed and scampered by her hot on the tail of its prey. Noma lowered her weapon and took a deep, cleansing breath- her nerves frayed and her heart beating fast.
She shook her head – admonished her thoughts of phantom dreams and moved forward. And there, miraculously, right in her path sat the amphora – Black Death spewing from its breach.
Michael searched the front of the building to no avail and made his way to the side. Debris flew around in erratic circles and the cascading winds caused dust to enter his eyes. He swiped at the dirt and blinked to combat the irritating sting.
Up ahead to his surprise was Noma leaning over Alex – who was sprawled out on the ground, fear evident on his face.
He frowned in confusion and spread out his wings on instant alert. "What are you doing here Noma – what is happening?", he called out – an uneasiness creeping into his voice. He couldn't understand why Alex was here. Hadn't he and Pete gone to search for Claire at the hotel? Hadn't they decided the meeting place would be the Stratosphere Tower? He scanned the area and saw no sign of Pete.
When he focused back on the scene before him, Noma – now dressed in battle armor, her hair loose and blowing about her face – pulled out her rapier – grabbed Alex by his hair and without hesitation; pierced his heart in one smooth motion. Her face was hard with disdain; eyes dark and devoid of life.
When she withdrew her weapon – the blade was stained with Alex's blood and dripped on the dirt at her side.
Michael could not comprehend the act even as she did it. Even as she killed his boy – his mind could not wrap around this sudden, violent turn of events. He held out his hands toward his fallen, beautiful boy – knees trembling and croaked out beyond the growing lump in his throat – "Noma – what have you done?"
She let go of Alex's hair and watched him fall boneless to the ground in a heap of uncoordinated limbs and blood that pooled beneath him as if he lay in a puddle of tepid water.
"I'm ending this war Michael", she yelled out. Her voice - strong and spiteful carried over the swirling wind and shifting black smoke. "This is something I should have done twenty-five years ago – smothered the babe in his sleep; ended this charade, before it even started!"
Michael could feel the wetness on his cheeks and his body trembling with grief. He covered his face and breathed shuddered breaths into the palms of his hands. He was unsure of what to think and of what to do – his faith; his love for Alex shattered before his eyes. "Father's markings – gone forever – my boy, gone forever", he murmured breathlessly.
Noma sneered and bellowed out in harsh, unforgiving tones, "It's over now Michael – you have failed."
And then she was gone – leaving Alex in the dirt – lifeless; cold – dead. He rushed to him, fell to his knees and lifted his boy up into his arms and held fast. He cupped his cheek; shook him firmly and called to him – hoping to get a response – but there was none. It was as if he were tired; and now slept in his embrace – too weary to rise up, and complain of his hovering.
He gazed lovingly down, shifted Alex up further into his arms; pushed the wayward curls from off his forehead and kissed him there. "I'm sorry Alex", he mouthed into his ear – rocking him back and forth with care - as he had so long ago when Alex, the child - would cry with hunger, pain, or joy. He then asked God for forgiveness and wept in the hollow of his neck.
Disbelief and horror invaded his heart and mind - his worst nightmare come true; Alex dead because of him.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ping; and Alex was immediately hit with a well of sorrow. There, lying on the carpeted floor was his Claire – pale; lips slightly parted; her skin translucent. He blinked back a tear; and took in her dark hair fanned out beneath her like a pillow.
He rushed to her side and descended slowly to his knees – afraid to touch her; to feel the coldness of her – to know her dead.
He laid his weapon down at his hip and shut his eyes to block out how utterly still she was.
He reached back into his memories; and caught her smiling at him; teasing him – loving him. Claire was the first real love of his life – the mother of his child; and now she was gone – both of them, gone. He opened his eyes to look down at her face and she stared unseeing up at him – lost.
He scooted closer, and saw that her wrists were slit; blood cascading into the palms of her hands and pooled beneath her fingertips. A small knife was within reach. He picked it up – and threw it with force across the room; and watched it smash against one of the many windows – causing Pete, who stood behind him to jump with a start.
Claire – his strong, resilient Claire had taken her own life – died here alone on the floor. What terror could she have witnessed in her darkness that would cause her to resort to this?
He tentatively reached out and pressed the lids down over her sightless brown eyes. He was going to be sick - the accusation in those eyes, causing his guilt to rise up in his throat like bile. He coughed, covered his mouth and fought the reflex to choke on the sourness bubbling up from his belly.
This was his doing – he was too late – he would never forgive himself. He laid his ear at her abdomen and moaned with grief. The heartache of this moment would stay with him forever.
Pete stood over his friend and didn't know what to do or say. Here was Claire Reisen, lying dead before them. Here was Alex's reason to reenter Vega and attempt to save this city. Now she was dead – taken by the darkness.
He squeezed Alex's shoulder and moved away to give the man space – for a moment, because that's all they had – a moment. They needed to get back to the others – meet at the Tower and close the amphora.
Pete moved toward the well-stocked bar; and stood still as a statue – taking in the pained sobs of his friend. He turned away when Alex leaned over and laid his ear at Claire's stomach, and then whispered words of apology. When he looked in the mirror over the bar, he saw watching him with interest an eight ball with a slight smirk on his lips.
He turned around quickly to confront the intruder and frowned with confusion. No one was there. It was only he, a grieving Alex and lifeless Claire here in this room. He whipped around to the mirror and there he was again – only this time he recognized the face obscured by the blue veins; black eyes and serrated teeth as his own.
"Do you not know me Peter?" – The eight ball hissed to him from the other side. "It is me – Menathis , and I want to come home."
Pete stepped back from the menace – took aim with his firearm and screamed out, "No – I won't let you in. I am me, and I've been saved by the chosen one."
Menathis walked through the glass and laughed. "Saved you from what Peter? Pain – disappointment – uncertainty? Let me come home and relieve you of such pain as humanity."
Pete shook his head in disbelief and fired on the approaching eight ball – once, twice – again; but the apparition crept closer until they were face to face.
Pete brought the gun up to his temple with a trembling hand; felt the heat of the discharge; and held the trigger tight – ready to pull it. "I won't let you take me!", he called out with fierce determination. Tears streamed down his face, mixed with spittle and mucus. He thought of Alex; his friend and his efforts to save him from Lyrae and a life of violent servitude. He would be sorry not to follow Alex; be by his side and bring about change to this world.
But he could not be taken – not again.
He closed his eyes, ready to end his life. He would rather endure eternal darkness than to be possessed; a mindless slave at the mercy of some demented powerful being. Maybe then – he would know peace.
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