Annika Northman: Part Two

Chapter 29: Gone

It won't stop.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no . . ."

I don't know what I'm talking to, but I know it's horrible, and I know it won't listen to me, no, it won't stop. It's doing something to Eric, something bad, something I can't picture, something I can't help.

". . . no, no, no, no, no . . ."

My elbows press harder into my knees as I curl into the couch, the bottom part of the couch, because I slipped to the floor at some point, of course, the floor is where I go when I'm sad, yes? My hands, I press my hands into my head, squeezing and squeezing, and it won't stop, and I've been here before –

– no, this is worse –

– and it won't stop.

". . . no, no, no . . ."

It's an ending, you know. Eric is ending. Slowly. Slowly, slowly, Eric is ending slowly, Eric is suffering, feel it? Feel it?

I feel it like the sting of a scraped knee after it's been treated, after some nice, cooling medicine is put on it –

– by Eric –

– but you can still feel the sting, not so much, but you can feel it. I feel that. I feel it all over me. From Eric. And I feel it sinking deeper into my skin, this sting, deeper and deeper.

Slowly, slowly, Eric is ending slowly –

". . . no, no, no!"

I tear at it, at the sting, but really I just claw at my chest. But that burns enough that I don't have to feel the sting so much, and what's more, what's more, I don't have to feel the other thing. The hole. The gaping, screaming hole in my gut, the hole, the hole that's simple, pure despair.

So I claw and claw, and claw harder, and say no, and wish for Eric, and maybe wish I were dead, although that last part is very far off and vague. Better to say, more accurate to say I wish I were gone.

I feel it less, the stinging. I feel it less, it's pulling back, because of the clawing, so I use both hands to claw now. Maybe I'll dig all the way into my chest and tear out my heart and whatever else feels things in me, all these things, all the time –

Wait, wait.

I stop clawing.

Yes. Yes, the stinging – it stays like it is. Less, I mean, less than what it was, and it's . . . it's pulling back. Pulling back, pulling out of me, bit by bit. I don't move, I just feel it, feel it leaving. Creeping away, like roots being drawn back into a tree.

And something covers the hole. Just like that, like putting a lid on a jar. I press my hand to my chest – it's wet, that's strange – but not to claw anymore, just to hold in the relief, just to keep the relief from pouring out of me. It's my relief, it's mine, it's my own feeling, and without the pills, it might have been too much, but with the pills, with the pills, it's the most wonderful thing I've ever felt, and –

He's safe.

The storm has passed.

My hand slips to my shirt and to the floor and my head falls against my legs. I sigh, long and crookedly. Everything is okay now. Somehow. And I might cry, I think my eyes are trying, but – no. I think I'll just rest.

"Annika."

My head is slow to come up, but my thoughts rush around – they try to rush, at least, but they keep bumping into each other and none of them really get anywhere. But they know that voice, I know that voice, and I know I shouldn't be hearing it now.

Godric stands over me. He's glowing, a little. He did that the last time I saw him, too. He's dressed in white, also like the last time I saw him. But he was on the edge of my bed the last time I saw him. I was asleep the last time I saw him. It was a dream the last time I saw him.

Oh, of course. "I'm asleep."

"I once told you that, someday, Eric might need you to fight for him," says Godric. I've never heard his voice like that, have I? Tense. He doesn't feel my relief, poor man. Ghost. Poor ghost, or dream, or vision. "That day has come."

"No . . . You're wrong. Forgive me, I mean, but . . . Eric's safe, Godric, I feel it." I tap my chest, where the relief is, and sort-of scold myself for talking to this Godric as if he's real.

Not-real Godric, he says, "Eric is making a mistake. He is choosing vengeance over mercy, and it will only lead to suffering. You can give him time to realize this, time to choose a different path. You're my last hope, child, please. Stand. You must use your gifts."

I float to my feet. "What are you . . . No." No, Annika, no, you're being silly. I press my hand to my forehead. "You're a dream."

"Annika, listen to me." Godric moves closer, though he's still out of arm's reach, I think. I consider trying to touch him, but that would be rude. "You have telekinetic ability. You've seen it."

"Telekin . . . With the magister? That was one time." And how does Godric even know about that . . .?

Because he isn't Godric. He's in your head. You're dreaming. Maybe this has all been a bad dream. Right down to Edgington . . .

"You reached that part of you once," Godric says. "You can reach it again."

Something prickles inside of me. Far off, of course, but it's there, it just . . . prickles. "No. I can't."

Godric, he seems to sigh, but I'm not sure ghosts or dreams can sigh. His shoulders drop, I can say that much. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." And although I could explain further – maybe remind Godric that my abilities haven't fully manifested, that I can't just will them to manifest or to work or whatever, exactly, they need to do for me to be as powerful as everyone wants me to be – frankly, I don't want to explain anything to Godric. I want to . . . I want to either sleep –

– if it's a dream, you're already sleeping –

– or see Eric. Yes, see Eric. Not talk to his dead maker, who, no matter who he is, has no business telling me how to control my powers, certainly not in this moment, this moment that should be happy and peaceful, just happy and peaceful.

"I can't do it," I say, to make sure Godric gets it. "I can't use my – I can't use telekinesis. But Eric's fine, Godric. Really."

"He's not, little one. And I am sorry to do this, but I see no other way to help him."

Sorry to do this . . . Sorry to do . . .?

Godric's arm stretches towards my head, and it stretches quickly but I still see it coming, and I just . . . I just watch it.

"Try to relax. I will be as careful as I can."

I understand, just before his hand arrives, that I don't want Godric to touch me. But it's too late. I don't feel his fingertips brush my forehead, or his palm press into my skin. What I feel is a lovely, overwhelming warmth in my skull and then in every inch of my body. Then nothing. Nothing at all.

I'm gone.