The Epic Tale of Cregan

Chapter 9: The You I Love

He leans his head against the wooden wall beside the gate and stares off blankly. He closes his eyes and tries thinking about better things that don't fill him with this emptiness, but even thinking about good memories only adds to the hollow feeling.

But he made the mistake of closing his eyes.

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The sky is black and the once rainless storm is now pouring, pushing wind all around and rumbling thunder through the void. He's now on the very edge of the cliff, fighting to keep balance against the storm to keep himself from falling.

He tries to move away from it but he can't. He's frozen in place.

His metal arm is back. He holds no weapons and hears no cries in the distance. There's only silence mixed with the storm rushing with wind and rain.

He stares off over the cliff, keeping his head up as he's too afraid to look down. He tries to prepare himself for what sick scene his mind will conjure up now. The hidden reaches of his mind are places he never wishes to tread, fearing the demons that would wake as the beast is enraged.

He hears footsteps behind him and slowly turns around.

He has no words for what he's met with, not that this tormenting illusion will allow him to speak anyway.

He's not met with the face of someone who now lies dead because of him.

He's staring at himself.

A mirror image with only one difference. This version of himself has both arms.

"Tyrell?" he somehow manages to speak. Maybe it wasn't actually him who said it, but just what his mind told him to say and he couldn't stop himself from complying. He tries to understand. To piece together what his mind is trying to tell him.

In a moment, he blinks.

Suddenly, standing in rows behind Tyrell are those faces. The men and women who died by his hand. Only a few he actually knows the names of, but their faces are what have been burned into his memory. That torment him whenever silence of night makes its way to haunt him. John and Conrad are among them. They stand at the front of the wall of ghosts but behind the face that haunts him most.

The face of Tyrell. Himself.

Neither he nor his duplicate hold any weapons.

For once in his nightmare, he can feel. He can feel the fear and apprehension, the anger and the guilt. It eats away at him, making him wonder what he can do to stop it. What would finally make this pain go away.

Then Tyrell pushes him.

He closes his eyes as he falls, letting the mist of the void take him.

The pain stops.

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Cree snaps his eyes open with a small gasp, but as he wakes, he feels no more fear of the nightmare.

The sky is still black, dotted with stars and lit up by the moon. Regan and Reela are still fast asleep beside the fire with Romeow. The horses are sleeping peacefully near the tents.

Cree sighs and grabs his knife, returning it to its sheath on his belt. He slowly stands up and rolls his shoulders back. The fatigue still weighs him down and burns his eyes, but he doesn't care. He needs to think. He needs to get away. He glances back at his backpack and considers taking it but decides to leave it behind. He has everything he needs.