Trent's sophomore year could be going worse, all things considered. There was suspicion, of course. People who knew his relationship with Nadjia hit the rocks wondered. That's how the rumors started... then there was that nosey punk cop Polovatski asking all those questions. When he saw her last, what their friendship was like, and where they were in their friendship.
It did not matter.
There were questions about his facial injury from the faculty. Did someone at home do this? How bad was the injury? Did he want to talk to a guidance councilor?
No, no one at home was abusing him (badly); the injury wasn't all that bad... he just texted took a nasty fall while hiking; no thank you, a guidance councilor was unnecessary.
His refusals did little to calm the rumors going on about him, but at least school was more interesting. The people who used to start trouble did so now only from a distance; the people who used to dislike him now kept their distance entirely, and those curious of who he was we're almost like a fan club. Being seventeen and a sophomore did little to help him make friends, before... but being seventeen and a sophomore, and a killer?
It was like being a rock star.
♚ ♚ ♚
Mother and father did catch wind of all the news eventually, toward the end of February. He was surprised they showed up home at all.
Mother wanted him on home study.
Father wanted him to take the belt across his hindquarters... but Trent was well past that.
Father's face was priceless when he caught the belt, the stunned expression when he tore it out of his hands, and the abject fear in his eyes when Trent raised it up was delicious. It also gave him insight on his father's opinion.
That, and the fact that his father outright asked him.
"You did it, didn't you? You finally snapped!"
Trent stared the man down without a word, and his father stayed there in his home office, cowering behind his desk as Trent stood there staring at him quietly, eyes hard, his expression hard; this silent terror lasted a good ten minutes before Trent grew bored, and walked out on his father.
"You, and mother... don't be here when I get home."
♚ ♚ ♚
"I'm proud of you, Trent."
Trent sulked in the mid-evening gloom, sitting against the ruins from the outside. "What do I need to do to St you free?"
"I'm not Djinn, baby. You can't just make a wish and set me free. You have to die to do that, and I can wait. What's a lifetime to me? Time no longer means much to me."
"I can't just do nothing."
"You can stay here from now on. Jonathan is looking for you. I've seen it. He will go to your house and try to take what is mine."
"How can I stay here? It's cold at night, and it rains so much since you died. Since I killed you."
Nadjia appeared next to Trent, sitting next to him in the natural compost of old skeletal oak leaves, and pine needles. She stared at him, tilting her head. "I've forgiven you for that. Now you need to forgive yourself."
"I don't know if I can. I was so sure you deserved it, that it wasn't really my fault. I was sure that I was only the tool... that Jonathan was the one who made me do it."
Nadjia was quiet, and Trent sighed. He climbed to his feet, and went around Nadjia, into the MacAllen ruins. Darkness would soon fall over Driftwood, and as often it was, rainfall was expected any time. Nadjia smiled a small, satisfied smile to herself, and appeared next to Trent in the ruins.
"Maybe it should have been our initial I carved into that valentine, but my thoughts were clouded, distracted with the idea of Jonathan, more than Jonathan himself."
"I know when it looks like when someone is in-love. I saw it in my reflection every day, and I saw it in your face as often, but it wasn't me."
"Then I was a fool."
Trent shook his head. "You were fine just how you were. I could have waited. Jonathan wouldn't last, and all I had to do was let nature take its course."
"It's in the past. Now is our time. Our future, is our time."
"I can't touch you; I can't hold you; I can't do anything. When you secret away your sadness in small glimpses, when you think I don't see it, I can't console you."
"Life is a short passage, darling. Just as these ruins we're once whole, time and effort took its toll. The woods don't care that someone lived here once. They encroach, and will one day reclaim the territory that was theirs. The sky doesn't care that someone once loved this place as their home. They'll rain down on it, slowly eroding away it's memory until only the foundation sits. So it was the same with me, so it will be the same with you."
Trent stared down at his feet, and nodded. He kicked away the leaf and pine needles littered on the floor of the ruins, clearing the heart Nadjia carved not so long ago. "I could stay here. Mother doesn't want me at school. Father doesn't want me at all."
"...but did you see the fear in him? He knows now who the master of the house is. You've become strong when he wasn't looking. They underestimated you. Everyone underestimated you."
Trent fell to his knees, and then back on to his backside. He lay down around Nadjia's valentine heart, and wept as Nadjia sat down beside him, tracing the outline of her carving with ethereal fingers.
"Rest up, baby. You'll need your strength."
♚ ♚ ♚
Trent woke to darkness, curled up on a pile of leaves and pine needles in the corner of the ruins. A barn owl stared down at him from the top of the ruins, its black eyes fixed on him. Trent stretched, and yawned as his eyes focused. Nadjia sat against the wall opposite from him looking miserable. She was staring into the darkness, rather than at Trent.
He rolled over slowly to his feet, crouching low.
Trent heard heavy footsteps on the floorboards and reached slowly into his pocket. He drew out his butcher's knife - the same that took Nadjia's life - and waited. Out of the darkness a tall silhouette appeared, wide at the shoulders, and confident in its stride. Trent held the grip of his knife, his palm resting comfortably against the butt of the grip and lunged at the silhouette, swinging his knife in a wild arc, and missed.
The silhouette dodged as though it expected the attack.
"Who are you?" Trent searched the darkness, his eyes unwilling to adjust. "Who is it?"
"I am the shadow, the breeze, and the rain."
"...I know your voice." Trent scrambled backward. Nadjia sat against her place on the wall of the MacAllen ruins, staring at Trent - no, staring past him - he was too late. "Wait! Wait! Please - please - hold on! I can explain!"
The silhouette of appeared too fast, rushing at Trent before he could react. He felt Jonathan's boot land squarely in the chest. Trent felt his feet leave the floorboards, and he landed flat on his back, sliding along the boards until slamming into the too well preserved wall of the ruins. "I am the cold of winter..."
"You're Jonathan, right? Right?" Trent's voice was desperate - more desperate than he intended, and he felt his flesh creep.
"I am the Spite of the burning desert sun beating down on you."Jonathan's silhouette circled around Trent, placing himself between Trent and the only exit from the ruins.
"I didn't mean to!" Trent's scream echoed beyond the MacAllen ruins, and into the cold night air. The owl perched on the ruins took flight, silently lifting off into the starless clouded sky.
"I am the whisper of your conscience... nothing more than a hint."Jonathan's silhouette advanced, pulling something away from its head. Even in the darkness, he could see Jonathan's green eyes in a furious blaze. Jonathan tossed it at Trent's feet. Past Jonathan, Nadjia watched.
She was smiling.
"Jonathan, I didn't want to hurt her, I didn't want to kill her!" Trent held his knife out, his hand trembling uncontrollably. "I just wanted a dance."
Jonathan's eyes narrowed, his angry gaze no less intense. "Now that you have seen me, too late is understated..."
Trent shook his head, and threw his knife at Jonathan hard as he could. The butcher's knife fluttered past Jonathan in a harmless, clumsy arc. It made a weak, pointless clatter landing sidelong against the floorboards. Trent rolled onto his side, pushing himself to his feet. Nadjia stood between he and Jonathan.
You let him do this. You give me this, you owe me that much.
Trent shook his head, bellowed, and decided here would be where he made his last stand. Jonathan was stronger, and faster, but Trent's luck held out long as it did so far. Maybe he had just a little more in him. Still bellowing, he made a headlong dash at Jonathan. He could tackle him. He could strangle the life out of the arrogant prick. He could beat him. He could still win.
There was a flashing glint of silver, and Jonathan dropped as Trent was upon him, and Trent felt a searing pain in his ankle. Trent lost his momentum, his foot giving out. He heard - and felt - the bone snap and collapsed into a messy roll, hitting his head along the way.
Trent crept along the floorboards toward Nadjia as Jonathan stalked in behind him. He reached for her. "Please, help me! God, please help me!"
Nadjia's smile faded, and she stared at Trent with a sad expression. She shook her head, and looked away from him.
I told you my Jonathan would come for you.
"God? I serve the glory of God. Beyond any balance, or natural order." Thunder rumbled through the thick black clouds in the sky above them. Jonathan sped his step only a moment, only a moment enough that he landed a heavy boot on the lower of Trent's back.
Trent felt the wind leave him, and grimaced. He sucked in a deep breathe, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to beg Jonathan. The noise that came out of him was more akin to bleating, a lamb begging the Schechita to spare its miserable life. "Jonathan... stop. Please! I'll give you anything! Anything you want!"
Jonathan lifted his boot heel from Trent's lower back, and stepped alongside him, kneeling to a knee. He gripped a handful of Trent's hair and pulled him up to his face. Jonathan whispered in Trent's ear. "Give me back my wife."
"I can't. You know I can't..."
"No. I imagine you can't." Jonathan dropped Trent, rolled Him onto his back. "Help me, Trent."
"Anything!"
"Help me understand what Nadjia suffered in her last moments."
Trent whimpered, and held his hands up over his face. Jonathan caught them, and held them down on Trent's chest. Trent screamed his voice cracking as he did. "What do you want to know?"
"Which of your eyes should I remove first?"
Trent's screamed as Jonathan's dagger cut into the socket of his left eye. "Why? What will this accomplish! Jonathan, stop! Stop! Ow! Oh, God! Jonathan!"
Jonathan put his knees into Trent's chest, carving around his socket until he made a complete revolution. He pried his blade, digging to the base of the socket until he found the optic nerve, and severed it. He pried, and Trent's eye came out along with the flesh around it. Trent's pleas faded to guttural wails. Jonathan repeated his process, removing Trent's second eye.
"It's more difficult than I expected." Jonathan dropped Trent's eyes next to his head. "I thought they would just come right out."
Jonathan pushed his knee into Trent's chest as he stood, leaning only to clean his blade on Trent's shirt. He stepped over Trent, and paced around him, his boot falls a heavy distant echo in Trent's ears.
Nadjia winced, and looked away. The sight of Jonathan torturing Trent, however justified, was too much to bear.
"I have to thank you to some degree. I can see the pain you're in - God knows I can hear it - and my only comfort is knowing she was long gone when you did this."
Trent heard the distant echo of Jonathan's voice, whimpering, and sniveling between screams. His throat was raw, and hoarse, and the pain in his face was beyond his ability for description, a white hot emptiness bleeding from the holes in his face where now he saw only black.
Jonathan paced a moment longer, and stopped. He stared up at the pale owl on the ruins, glanced at Trent, and returned his attention to the owl. "Did you know in the Middle East - that's where from Nadjia's family came before they were here in these United States - the owl is considered as a harbinger of destruction, ruin and death?"
Trent's screams came in ragged strained rattles through clenched teeth, his hands covering the ragged hollow sockets where once his eyes had been.
"...They're supposed to represent the souls of people who have died un-avenged. Nadjia, I like to think... though that will soon find remedy I think, right?" Jonathan turned away from the owl, and stepped toward Trent. Jonathan kicked him. "Shut up, or I'll cut out your tongue."
Trent grimaced, sucking in a deep breath. He held it, and released it in a slow whimper, breathing heavy between his moans. He wept, blood running dark between his fingers, down his face, his cheeks, and his hands.
"That's better. Seeing an owl at somebody's house predicts their death. I suppose I wish I'd known that when the damned owl was living in the tree outside Nadjia's window. Anyway, the list goes on a while. Seeing an owl in your sleep is okay if you don't hear its voice. Its call is supposed to foretell misfortune. I know you can't see it, but there's one here, now. For you."
"Nuh!" Trent pushed himself away from Jonathan's voice, pushing against the floorboard with his worn shoes, clambering backward on his elbows. "No! Please! I learned my lesson... please let me go!"
Trent's desperate escape stopped when his head hit the wall on the opposite side of the ruins. He ran his hands over the floorboards, and felt Jonathan's boots. Trent began to sob as Jonathan grasped him be his shirt. In an abrupt jerk he was raised up into the air, and Jonathan slammed him forcefully into the wall, the ruins shaking around them.
"Trent, I'm bored hearing you beg - I'm bored hearing your voice."
There was a strange, sharp sensation and Trent felt a cold rush of air down his throat, and a slow trickle of blood draining into his gullet. There was a sensation of floating a moment, and Trent landed hard on the floor at Jonathan's boots. He pushed his hands to his throat as he tried to seal his severed larynx. He felt Jonathan step over him, a boot on his each side. Trent struggled to breathe, gasping desperately. There was suddenly a fire in his lungs, first only one, and then on the other side.
Trent's mouth opened wide, but the more he tried to breathe, the worse the fire in his lungs burned. He felt his jaw twitching, and within moments, he felt nothing at all.
♚ ♚ ♚
Trent stood next to Nadjia, and watched Jonathan urinating on his body. "He's an animal."
"You can't say you didn't have it coming." Nadjia smiled sadly, and shook her head. "Whatever you think you suffered, it's over. His is only begun."
Jonathan knelt over Trent's corpse and began carving his forehead.
"Spite." Nadjia and Trent spoke in unison.
"Nadjia, it's over. Is that it?"
Nadjia nodded. "It is."
Trent smiled. "We can be together?"
"You're a nice guy, Trent... but I'd hate to ruin our friendship by complicating it with such things. I'm glad we got to know each other, I'm sorry you had to get so caught in the crossing." Nadjia stared at Jonathan as he hefted Trent's body over his shoulder. She smiled broadly, and flickered out.
Trent stood there alone staring into the darkness, alone.
Forever alone.