xxiv. ALL OUT IN THE OPEN
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CARTER WASN'T HEALING. Her wounds felt mortal on her body.
Over the pain in her abdomen, she felt a strange and quickly growing ache in her upper jaw. And her warm blood spread across her stomach with alarming speed. She could feel it soaking the tops of her jeans, hear it dripping on the wood below. The smell of the blood suddenly twisted her stomach.
Carter swallowed and felt her own blood trickle back down her throat. She ran her tongue over her teeth and almost cried out in pain. Her canines were so razor-sharp that she was afraid that if she applied anymore pressure against them she would slice her tongue. She stiffened and Malakai noticed. He peered down and lightly touched her jaw. Carter's back arched, mouth open in a silent cry as the pain intensified.
Malakai gasped. Her fangs were extended and throbbing. He knew exactly what her body wanted—he'd known for months that this was bound to happen because it happened to Raeven. He tried several times to bring the subject up to Carter, but she always went on about how she didn't want to be anything like Raeven. But as she writhed in his arms, he couldn't stop himself from slowly bringing his wrist up to her open mouth...
Carter tried to swallow and then sighed, closing her eyes and tried to push his wrist away. Malakai was persistent; he was silent but she could hear it in his mind. Insistent that the blood would heal her. She shook her head and attempted to close her aching mouth but stopped when her fangs lightly rested against her bottom lip.
It was only by the grace of her love for Malakai, and their connected minds, that she didn't bite down and pierce his skin. Ancient undead urges that were becoming untamable were screaming at her to do just that.
But she loved him, and they were one—and besides, she could barely move an inch. She was frozen in pain; it seemed to radiate from everywhere on her body. Her fangs had never extended so far or become quite as sharp, and without her doing a thing the razor edge of her teeth had cut into Malakai's wrist. Blood was trickling very slowly down her throat. Malakai's blood was...indescribable. It was charged with power.
To Carter, the blood flowing down her throat was a pleasure as sharp as anything imaginable to a human. She also knew that her body had been craving blood, but refused to divulge in the instinct because she was afraid—afraid that she would become as hungry as Raeven, that she would be taken over by an uncontrollable thirst.
Carter's heart was pounding out of her chest.
She could feel his satisfaction as the tiny sacrificial pain turned to pleasure, because he was linked to her. Raeven had once told her that sharing blood with someone who you shared a deep bond with wasn't painful, but pleasurable.
Hot shivers traveled down her spine, Malakai's blood still making the world spin.
All's right. All's well...Malakai chimed telepathically.
And right when she was about to sink her teeth into a small vein in his wrist, she heard Scott and Stiles enter the Sheriff's station. The ache in her gums instantly faded and she pushed Malakai's wrist away. The pain that had faded in her jaws was immediately replaced by the agony of her abdomen. She looked over at Lydia and saw the tears in her eyes, Kira pressing hard on her wound.
Carter felt her. Sensed her and Carter was suddenly flooded with anger. She walked in and her face confirmed everything Carter already knew. Raeven was literally shocked to see her lying there—and it wasn't the happy sort of shocked—it was the "I just buried the devil and then he shows up in my house" sort of shocked.
She's with them, Carter told Malakai mentally. She's working with The Dread Doctors.
And as if Raeven could hear what was being said about her, she turned and ran out of the station.
The clarity that came with Malakai's blood quickly dissipated. Her mind grew fuzzy once more. Her eyes closing. She heard, as if from underwater, footsteps pounding toward her. She could see, through the long tunnels her eyes had become, a dark shadow coming toward her. Her eyes closed, and she drifted.
As Carter drifted, she dreamed.
Where she floated, under the dark water, she heard the happiest sound her mind could conjure up—as beautiful, as uplifting, as it was ghastly. It was the undead sluggish movements of her organs.
She was brought back, almost to the surface, by a sharp pain slashing her chest, but she couldn't find her way back far enough to open her eyes. And if she hadn't known any better, she would've thought she was dead. Again.
"Oh no, Carter, no!" the voice cried in horror. "Carter, please! Carter, listen to me, please, please, Carter, please!" he begged.
Yes, she wanted to say. Anything. But she couldn't find her lips.
"Scott!" he called, agony in his perfect voice. "Carter, Car, no, oh please, not again, no!" And he was sobbing tearless, broken sobs.
She tried to find him, to tell him everything was fine, but the water was so deep, it was pressing on her, and she couldn't breathe. It was as if she were reliving the night she died. It was all coming back in flashes. Her screams. Her stomach in her throat. The ice cold water against her hot skin. It was in her mouth, her nose. She was drowning all over again.
She could see it.
She could feel it.
The angry water was black in every direction; there was no brightness to direct her upward. Gravity was all powerful when it competed with the air. She fought to keep her breath in, to keep her lips locked around her last store of oxygen—of sanity. The cold water was numbing her arms and legs. She didn't feel the buffeting so much as before. It was more of just dizziness now, a helpless spinning in her own mind. What was the point of fighting?
She didn't want to fight anymore. And it wasn't the lightheadedness, or the cold seeping in her lungs, or the failure of her arms as the muscles gave out in exhaustion, that made her content to stay where she was. She was almost happy that it was over. It had been an easier death than the others she'd faced. Oddly peaceful.
There was a band of pressure around her ribs. It hurt. Then, as that pain broke through the darkness to her, other pains came, stronger pains. She cried out, gasping, breaking through the dark pool.
"Carter!"
"She's lost a lot of blood and she doesn't appear to be healing," a calm voice informed her.
Carter felt a stabbing at her side. But the sharp pains were fading. There was a new pain, a scalding pain in her chest that was overshadowing everything else. For a moment, she thought someone was burning her, but thought different when the fire spread through her veins. The Pheanix in her was raging against the pain.
"Stiles." She tried to call him, but her voice was so heavy and slow. She couldn't understand herself.
"Carter, you're going to be fine. Can you hear me, Car? I love you."
"Stiles," she tried again. Her voice was a little clearer.
"Yeah, baby, I'm here."
"It hurts," she whimpered.
"I know, Carter, I know."
She felt Scott's presence coming closer to her and there was a strange presence beside her, applying pressure to her ribs. She could also hear Scott's heart and it raced faster with each step he took toward her.
"Carter?" Scott asked, his voice faint and unsure.
She opened her mouth but all she could was scream, finally breaking through the last of the darkness, her eyes fluttering open. Her eyes were open but she couldn't see any of their faces, all she could do was feel their presences around her—their hands touching her—their fingers sliding through her blood. She faintly heard the sound of Lydia being picked up off the ground and walking out of the room.
The fire in her chest blazed hotter as she continued to let out unadulterated wails. She mentally begged Malakai to kill her, before she had to live one more second in that new level of pain. Burying her in the flames that were chewing their way out from her soul now, spreading with impossible agony through her shoulders and stomach, scalding their way up her throat, licking at her face.
Her mind was unbearably clear—sharpened by the fierce pain. All she wanted in that moment was to die. The whole of her existence did not outweigh the agony. And, for a never-ending space, that was all there was. Just the fiery torture, and her bloodcurdling shrieks, pleading for death to come. Nothing else, not even time. So that made it infinite, with no beginning and no end. One infinite moment of pain.
The first time she had felt the Pheanix breath with life in over six months and all she wanted the creature to do was die.
Scott's voice was frightened. "Carter?"
"The fire!" She screamed as it burned her.
"Scott! What the hell is happening to her?" The person that was pressing against her ribs yelled through her screams.
"It's the Pheanix." It was Deaton's voice, above her. "It's awakening."
"Well, what should we do!" That was Stilinski. "Is it killing her? Because she sounds like she's dying!"
"We can't do anything," Scott whispered, close by her head. Cool fingers brushed at the wetness in her eyes. "It's not killing her. We just have to let it take its coarse."
"Scott," she moaned.
She could feel more pressure on her ribs, something tugging and tightening around her. The pain of it was lost in the pain of the fire.
"Why is this happening?" Logan's voice was strained.
"Nobody really knows for sure," Malakai said. "It just...happens."
"Scott, I..." Logan hesitated. "I don't know if I can watch this." There was agony in his voice and she could practically feel him wincing every time she screamed.
"Stiles—Scott!" Carter screamed. She realized her eyes were closed again. She opened them, desperate to find their faces. And she found them. Finally, she could see their faces, staring at her, twisted into a mask of pain.
She felt Scott's cool, strong fingers on her burning abdomen, locking it in place. Then Deaton was bending over it, and his cold hands pressed hard against her skin.
At first the pain was worse. She screamed and thrashed against the hands that held her back. She heard Malakai's and Stiles' voices, trying to calm her. Something heavy held her legs to the floor. She looked up and saw that Theo had her head locked in the vise of his strong arms.
Then, slowly, her writhing calmed as her body grew more and more numb. The fire was dulling, focusing into an ever-smaller point. She felt her consciousness slipping as the pain subsided. She was afraid to fall into the black waters again, afraid she would lose them in the darkness.
"Mal...Stiles," she tried to say, but she couldn't hear her voice. They could hear her. "Scott..."
"We're right here, Caterina."
"Stay, please, stay with me..."
"Of course, we will." Stiles' voice was strained, but somehow triumphant.
Carter sighed contentedly. The fire was gone—the beast sedated momentarily—the other pains dulled by a sleepiness seeping through her body.
"We need to get her to the hospital," Deaton said. "She's still not healing."
"No, we can't take her there." Malakai announced.
"And why the hell not?" Stiles snarled.
"Did any of you forget to part where she died?" Malakai said. "Don't you think her checking into the hospital will raise a few red flags?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Sheriff Stilinski assured. "All that matters now is making sure Carter doesn't die a second time."
"It's settled then? We're taking her to the hospital?" Scott asked.
"No, I want to sleep," she complained.
"You can sleep, Carter, I'll carry you," Scott soothed her.
And she was in his arms, cradled against his chest—floating, all the pain gone.
"Sleep now, Carter" were the last words she heard.
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Carter's eyes opened to a bright, white light. She was in an unfamiliar room, a white room. The wall beside her was covered in long vertical blinds; over her head, the glaring lights blinded her. She was propped up on a hard, uneven bed—a bed with rails. The pillows were flat and lumpy. There was an annoying beeping sound somewhere close by. She hoped that meant she was still alive. Death wasn't this uncomfortable.
Her hands were all twisted up with clear tubes, and something was taped across her face, under her nose. She lifted her hand to rip it off.
"No, you don't." And warm fingers caught her hand.
"Jordan?" Carter turned her head slightly, and his handsome face was looking right at her. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching something on the television. She realized again that she was alive, this time with strange gratitude and elation. "Jordan, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry that I never told you that I was alive."
"Shhhh," he shushed her. "Everything's all right now."
"What happened?" She couldn't remember clearly, and her mind rebelled against her as she tried to recall.
"Well, it appeared that we were almost too late, again." He whispered, his voice tormented.
"I need to talk to Scott and Stiles," she realized through the haze.
"They were here all night. I was only able to get them out of here after I told them that Lydia was out of surgery and that I would stay in here with you until they returned." Jordan said. "Logan and Liam are here, as well—here in the hospital, I mean. They're getting something to eat right now."
"Liam's here?" Carter tried to sit up, but the spinning in her head accelerated, and his hand pushed her gently down onto the pillows.
"They'll be back soon," he promised. "And you need to stay still. We still don't know why you aren't healing."
Carter frowned. Why wasn't she healing? She'd never had that problem before. She pulled back her hospital gown enough to see that her wounds were covered by a thick white bandage. Peeling the corner of it back slowly, she saw that her skin was stitched together and bruised.
"Did I go into surgery?"
"Yeah, you should've seen how everyone reacted when Scott carried you in." Jordan paused. "It was like they had all seen a ghost—the hospital went completely silent."
"But what are they saying about me?" She panicked. She had no interest in being interrogated by the police and by the doctors.
He pursed his lips. "They aren't really saying anything. I think they're all too shocked to gossip and speculate."
"Wait, you're in your uniform, what are you doing here?"
"Officially, I'm here to gather eyewitness testimony. Unofficially, I'm trying to find something to watch. But the only thing that comes in is this kung fu movie." He looked back at her. "You like kung fu movies?"
She cut in. "Eyewitness testimony from a dead girl, doesn't sound very reliable to me." He flinched at the underlying malice in her voice. "I'm sorry. I haven't been around anyone other than Malakai in a long time."
"Speaking of Malakai...how do you know him?" He asked, bright green eyes searching her face. "I know for a fact that I saw him at your memorial service, but before that, he didn't exist in Beacon Hills. So, where did he come from and why is he here?"
"You and the Sheriff believed that there was some form of foul play in my death because my body had been pulled out of the car and brought to the shore." Carter paused, gaging his reaction. "Jordan, you believed that I was murdered and that whoever caused the accident pulled me out because they wanted me to be found."
Jordan's body tensed. "So are you saying that you were, in fact, murdered?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying." She lied, quickly. "But what I am saying is that Malakai was the one that pulled me out of the water—"
"Wait, how did you know that the Sheriff and I thought there was foul play?" Jordan asked, but his voice quartered no defiance. "We never told anyone about that, not even your brother because we knew it was a long-shot."
Carter decided that the truth was the best option. The news about her being alive has probably already spread throughout the entire town, so there really wasn't any point of lying. "Because I heard you and Stilinski talking about it."
"When?"
"The day of my memorial."
Jordan's eyes grew round with horror—or was it anger?
"That was four days after you died, Carter." He pointed out, voice rising. "You've been alive this entire time, haven't you?"
She sighed, and it hurt. She stared down at her body under the sheet.
"Yes." She said.
"You've been alive for six months and didn't tell anyone?"
Carter visibly winced when the words left Scott's mouth. Looking away from Jordan she saw Scott standing in the doorway a hurt expression on his face. But through his sadness she could see that he was angry—angry that she had been alive and never once tried to reach out to them. Not a single time. How cruel does someone have to be to do something like that to the people they love? Scott knew that Carter was going to try and make him understand why, but he felt too betrayed to understand.
"I couldn't tell anyone, Scott." Carter said, voice strong and sure.
Jordan looked between them. "I'll give you two a minute."
Scott stepped further into the room as Jordan walked out. His eyes zeroed in on her and widened. She read the emotions as they scrolled across his face. Shock. Disbelief. Pain. Loss. Fear. Anger. Suspicion. More pain. She bit her lip. It felt funny. Her new teeth were sharper than her human teeth had been.
"It really is you, isn't it?" he whispered, his previous question forgotten. "I don't know anyone other than you that can sound bitchy and sad at the same time."
Slowly, Scott walked across the room until he was a few feet away from her. The warmth of his body heat beat against her with each pulse of his heart.
"Carter?" he asked again, wanting to be completely sure.
She spoke in a lower voice. "It's really me, Scott. I swear."
His jaw locked.
"I'm so sorry, Scott," she said.
"You look..." he shook his head "...so different. When I saw you lying in the Sheriff's station, I thought your skin was pale because of the blood loss, but it's like you're glowing. And your hair, its—"
"I know," Carter said, knowing exactly what he was seeing when he looked at her.
It was silent for a long moment. Scott decided to change the subject.
"I heard the doctors say that you lost a lot of blood. They gave you a few transfusions. And for some reason, I didn't like it—it made you smell all wrong." He explained and Carter furrowed her eyebrows, not completely understanding. "After you died, it was like everything that had a scent reminded me of you and now that you're back, your scent has changed. And I liked how you smelt before. Now, you smell like you're—"
"Dead?"
He nodded.
"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that I was alive." Carter apologized.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Now that I think about it, that's one thing you shouldn't have to apologize for. You shouldn't have to apologize for being alive."
"What should I apologize for?"
"For very nearly taking yourself away from us forever—again. When I saw you lying there bleeding out in Malakai's arms, it felt like you were dying all over again."
"I'm sorry," she apologized again.
Some very unpleasant memories were beginning to come back to Carter. She shuddered, and then winced.
He was instantly anxious. "Carter, what's wrong?"
"What happened to Tracy?"
"After we brought you here and made sure you were safe, Stiles and I went back to the station." There was a fierce note of regret in his voice. "When we got down to the basement, it was too late. Malia was standing over Tracy's body."
This confused Carter. "Malia killed Tracy?"
Scott ran his hands over his face. He was tired. No, he was exhausted. The past twenty-four hours had proved to be the hardest he has gone through in a long time. "She says she didn't kill her, but there wasn't anyone else down there that could've killed Tracy."
"So you don't believe her?"
"You weren't there, Carter," Scott said, meeting her eyes. "After we found Tracy at the school, we brought her to the animal clinic. Malia was insistent on killing her; that we shouldn't have been wasting our time on trying to find out what was happening to her. Malia didn't think Tracy was worth saving."
Carter chuckled lightly, despite the horrible timing. "And you believe that everyone can be saved."
Scott's eyes narrowed as his face contorted into confusion. "What's that supposed to mean? We saved you, didn't we?"
Something painfully twisted in Carter's chest. "I died, Scott. You may have saved me from myself but you didn't save me from them."
"Them? Who are you talking about?"
Why couldn't he just figure it out? Why was he going to make her say it? When it's out in the open there's no going back—she would never be able to unsay it. The words would hang in the air forever. Her blood was beginning to boil. She mad at his obliviousness. After all the bad things that happen in Beacon Hills, why was it so easy to believe that her death was an actual accident—so easy to believe that nothing supernatural was involved.
"W-When I died, why didn't anyone dig any deeper? Why was it so easy for all of you to believe that my car went off Dead Man's Bridge because a storm? How come my death got swept under the rug? Why didn't anyone consider that it wasn't an accident!" Her voice continued to rise until she was almost yelling at Scott. Tears were brimming in her eyes and she didn't care that she could feel Malakai's mental voice trying to console her.
Scott stared at Carter, wondering why she thought her death was linked to something supernatural. The teenage boy only frowned at her words, his hand going out to grab her hand, careful to avoid the IVs. Her skin was so cold that a jolt shot up his arm, shocking his nerves.
"Carter, why do you think that your death has something to do with the supernatural?" Scott asked after a long moment of silence, his words strained. "Do you know something that the rest of don't?"
Carter nodded before glancing over at Scott, immediately noticing just how adamant he was on getting the answers out of her. Without needing much thought, she grabbed ahold of his hand and squeezed. A flash of painful images from the last time she'd seen Tracy stirred something in her mind. There has to be something more to her death. "Scott, before I answer your question, I need you to tell me something."
"What? Anything."
"Did Malia mention anyone else being in the basement when Tracy died?"
He sighed. "Actually, she did say something about some people wearing masks. I think she said there were three of them and that they stuck and needle in Tracy's neck. Malia also mentioned something about her condition being—"
"Terminal. Her condition was terminal."
The Dread Doctors killed Tracy. Carter's body went completely rigid. They were getting closer and it wouldn't be long before they found her—had her back in their grasp. Her eyes filled with tears and she closed them tightly. She opened her eyes and blinked hard several times, willing the tears away. She couldn't fall apart. Now now. Not when she had just found out that they were killing people. Now she would push through and remain strong. Later she would collapse, indulging in the sharp ache inside her, and let herself sob.
After all, she had all the time in the world to mourn her own death, because losing her own life would never, ever stop hurting.
"Carter, do you know something about them? Who are they?"
"They're the ones that took me. The ones that tortured me—experimented on me. They're something even the Devil wouldn't touch."
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not edited
okay, so, i know that this chapter completely sucks and im so sorry that it's taking me so long to get back into the rhythm of this story. i don't know why writing this story has become so difficult for me to write, but im trying to work it out. and i feel like all of you are losing interest in this, so please, comment!
anywho, let me know what you thought!