I can't stop crying, the tears and tremors lay siege to my body like anarchists and butchers, rendering my limbs useless, resulting in Chris having to carry me down the long hallway. No matter how hard I try, I am unable to cast out the image of Lumiere, writhing on the ground in a pool of his own blood while his eye was carried away like loot from a pirate ship.
Several times I've had to watch both Dustin and Lumiere get beaten by Donovan or other members, or other rivals entirely, and one time even by each other. But the toll has never escalated to this. Except for the raid on the compound, the reaches of this war have never called for a price so steep. But at this very moment, Lumiere is paying that price. He lost his eye.
Rosen took his eye.
What kind of monster can look at someone they once knew so well, and demand payment in the form of blood and agony? How could Rosen do that, especially since Lumiere used to be a Reaper? I would have thought, out of us all, Lumiere would be the safest due to his past ties with the Reapers. But I was wrong, I was so incredibly wrong.
And now ...
"Stop thinking about it." Chris ordered gently, watching me with close inspection as I gagged and nearly collapsed. His head hung low, his voice even lower, and those phantoms in his eyes accumulated with each passing second. Another ghost to add to his past, another body to the pile. Another drop of blood to add to the ocean he's spilled.
"Why didn't you save him?" I sobbed louder, my vision now blurred and my voice so hoarse it hurt when I cried out, "You could have done something, anything, but you just stood there and let it happen! Why didn't you help him?"
Chris sanctioned my accusations and sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face while he carried me farther away, "There was nothing I could do for him, Sadie."
I was choking on my tears, barely able to get out a single word let alone a coherent sentence, "There is always something, there is always a way-"
"Not here." Chris spoke this from experience and the amount of conviction in his detached statement reminded me yet again that the Reapers were nothing like the Tribe, "When Rosen gives an order, it's followed. No one disobeys because rebellion means death. I'm sorry Sadie, really I am, but at least this way he gets to live."
A ridiculous statement but I hadn't the mental vigor to argue.
I don't want to do this anymore, I don't want to be the hero. I thought being the hero meant I'd save my friends and make a sacrifice but overall I'd live, content, knowing that I saved those I loved most. But none of that is true. I haven't saved anyone, I've only made things worse, and now Lumiere is suffering because I'm the worst hero there has ever been.
This is all so wrong. I want to go home – no, not home. I want to go back. To a time before the pain and the torment and all the damn bloodshed. Back to when my mother was still alive; making pancakes in the mornings, taking me shopping with her on the weekends, singing to the radio and decorating the house for the holidays. I want to go back to a time that was easy and warm and innocent. Ignorant to what monsters truly dwelled in the dark.
After all this time and all the growth I thought I made not only as an adult but also as a person, a human being, none of it mattered. Because I haven't changed at all. I'm still just a scared little girl crying for her mother to solve her problems. But my mother can't solve this problem.
No one can.
One hallway led into another, on and on, seemingly forever. We took too many turns to memorize but I couldn't care less where Chris was taking me.
This place is my home now. This awful, rotten, repulsive place that would be decorated with the amputated fragments of my friends. I'll be plagued for the rest of my life by the sight of Lumiere's eye ... nailed to the wall –
I'm actually going to be sick.
Chris walked faster, nearly jogging at the sounds gurgling up my throat, leading us past a long hall of doors, then another, and another. Finally, we stopped and he directed me into a room, shutting the door securely behind us with a soft click.
Wasting no time, he pointed to a conjoined room and I barely made it inside before vomiting the contents of my stomach into the toilet. But there wasn't much in me and soon dry heaves took hold, jarring my body while tears rolled down my cheeks and I fought to breathe between my retching. Then shivers arrived to replace the heaving, lobbing away my convulsions and substituting them with sharp pricks of ice that penetrated my veins and coursed through my body like venom on track to my heart.
I could only hope that venom would kill me.
Chris leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed awkwardly over his chest as if he didn't know whether to offer his assistance or keep a safe distance. Eventually, he trudged into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub beside me. With unnerving composure, he reached over to flush the toilet and asked, "Did I hurt you?"
I couldn't speak, my emotions were too erratic and lack of oxygen was making me dizzy. I shook my head, even though my back was cramped from when he threw me against the door. That pain was irrelevant, only a bruise in comparison to the pain of others.
By chance, my eyes drifted through the bathroom door to the room that lay beyond and I realized with sharp horror that this must be Chris' room. The unmade bed and random clothes splurged throughout the area as though his dressers couldn't contain the material only confirmed my suspicions. I should have known this is where he'd take me, to carry out his orders.
Chris sighed from his perch, scratching at his forehead, "Listen Sadie, I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but we don't have much time. Rosen will be here soon to check on-"
Before he could finish, I was on my feet, backing away from Chris with Rosen's demands of rape ringing in my head like sirens from hell. Chris tentatively followed after me, reaching out to steady me when I tripped over a pile of clothes, but I shoved at him and let my nails shred down his arms, screaming through my tears, "Don't you dare touch me!"
Chris stumbled backwards at my aggressive demands, catching his heel on a sock and nearly slipping. Through his blunder, he said, "Calm down, I'm not going to-"
"I don't care what Rosen told you to do! Stay the hell away from me!" I shouted, sliding along the wall until I found myself inadvertently trapped opposite of the door with no clear path to freedom. Fear conjured rapid breaths, making me lightheaded in the wake of realizing that my virtue was about to be stolen in the worst way imaginable.
But Chris backed off, holding his hands high and keeping his tone soft, "Sadie, listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you and I'm sure as hell not going to force you to have sex with me."
The tears in my eyes obscured his figure but I managed to analyze the look of sincerity in his gaze. Still, I didn't move from my cautioned position near the wall, "You just said that when Rosen gives an order, it's followed. Why would this instance be any different?"
Chris shook his head, taking a single step closer to lower his voice, willing his assurance through our gaze as though that connected us despite the chasm between where he stood and where I shook, "I'm not the bad guy, Sadie. I told you I would help and that's what I'm going to do." He took another step, then one more. He was directly in front of me now, raising his hands ever so slowly to delicately wipe away the tears that had gathered under my eyes, "I couldn't help Lumiere, but I can help you." He meant it, "Please let me help."
"But why?" I questioned, lifting my own hands to rub at my cheeks because his touch felt foreign, "Why are you helping me?"
Chris paused then spoke carefully as to not offend, "What Dustin's father did to my sister was wrong, I think we can all agree on that. But my family got our revenge. Maybe a little too much. Killing Dustin's father was our right but killing the rest of his family was done out of spite. We were so warped by anger and sadness that we didn't see how Rosen was using us. We went too far that night." Chris shook his head, running a hand through his hair, "Our sister has been dead for five years, almost six, and we've been mourning her ever since. We can't move on like this."
His defenses were down and I saw into his world; past the tattoos and the scowls and the threats he gave out like candy. I saw his sorrow, half a decade old, from a murder he could barely remember but could never forget.
Chris wasn't a saint but he certainly wasn't like his father. Chris wasn't evil. He was a leader, and a friend, and a man. But above all, he was a brother, still protecting his siblings even after they lost the one they all loved most. It was heartbreaking to hear him admit their vulnerability and their weakness, because some part of me could relate.
I missed Toby but I knew he was somewhere safe, alive. Chris had to wake up every morning and stare at the same blank walls, the same corrupted people, and the same fractured family; knowing that the life he lived was the life that killed his baby sister. As the oldest, it was his responsibility to protect his family, just as it was my job to protect Toby. But in Chris' eyes, he failed. A constant reminder Rosen never let Chris abandon.
He rolled his lips inward, dropping his stare to meet the ground, "My poor sister would weep if she knew of the horrors we've committed in her name. I hate knowing that she would despise what we've become."
My face was still puffy and a headache now erupted under my skull from the events of these last few hours. It was late, my eyes and body heavy with exhaustion. But it would be selfish of me to complain when many others, Chris included, sustained this torture and so much more on a daily basis. My sorrows were swallowed and I questioned, "You're helping out of guilt then?"
Chris saw my question as the trap that it was, "I can't change the past, Sadie. What's done is done. All we can do now is hope for the future and learn from our mistakes." I detected the candor in his confession when he said, "My brothers and I are just as sick of this rivalry as Dustin is. It's time for a new generation to bury all this bullshit and move on."
I sniffled loudly, easing at his desire for amity, "How do we stop this? Once and for all."
"I'm still working on that one. Let's face one problem at a time, the first one being my father." Chris informed, stepping around me to the dresser on the far wall. He pulled out a pair of jeans similar to the pair he was wearing, bunched them up in his hands, then dropped them on the floor near the foot of his bed, "After making such a bold declaration, Rosen will want to make sure I'm following orders. I promised that I wouldn't hurt you, and I'm bound by that promise, but we have to put on a show for Rosen otherwise we'll both end up dead."
Chills crawled along my skin like spiders and I rubbed at my arms to bring back heat, "What does that mean?"
Without answering, Chris reached over his head and pulled off his t-shirt in one quick motion. My eyes snared on his bare torso for half a heartbeat before I looked away but that second was all it took for me to determine that Chris was well built, tall and lanky, with an assortment of ink splattered across his midsection that leaked onto his arms. The main piece was a colossal Reaper interpretation, shaded to perfection, darkened by a hood, and soulless eyes that peered out from behind the scythe he wielded as though his eyes were enough to kill rather than the weapon.
Some of his tattoos were newer than others but amongst them all, I noticed a familiar one. A blocky and faded letter 'R' surrounded by barbed wire.
The Reaper sigil; so similar to the sigil of the Tribe and yet, so very different. Worlds apart.
He let his shirt crumple next to the jeans before he turned to look at me, nodding towards my clothes, "Please tell me you're wearing layers."
I looked down at the outfit Corinth chose for me, scraps of clothing consisting of a skimpy tank-top and jeans too tight for comfort. Suddenly beyond self-conscious, I hugged my arms around myself to salvage what little dignity survived negotiations with Rosen, "I'm not."
Chris winced, "I'll admit that I'm embarrassed and apologetic and you can beat me later, but for this to work, you'll have to take your shirt off at the least." He went back to his dresser and opened up a small drawer at the top, "Luckily, my female companions tend to leave their clothes in here during parties. You can leave your pants on since your legs will be under the blanket but I'll need your shirt."
At this point, my mind was staggering to keep pace with his instructions and I threw out both hands to stop him, "Whoa, slow down. What exactly are we doing?"
Chris pulled out a random pair of black jeans and threw them across the room as if he had ripped them right off my body, "I told you, Rosen is going to be here any second to make sure I'm following his orders. We're not going to do anything, we're only pretending." He gestured towards the discarded piles of clothes omitted throughout the room, as if they somehow stuck out more than the rest of the debris, "Seeing bare skin will convince him more than anything."
When he came back to stand in front of me, waiting for me to remove my shirt, I felt my cheeks go up in flames and burn with humiliation at this uncomfortable predicament.
But I suppose it could be worse.
At least I get to keep my eyes.
With Lumiere's sacrifice still vivid and arduous, I rid myself of the shirt and tossed it towards the heap of clothes across the room. Corinth was half naked when I met her and she had no problem retaining confidence. I needed to be more like her, she wouldn't hesitate at a time like this. If I hoped to survive as a gang member, I needed to start acting like one.
Standing only in my jeans and bra, I felt extremely exposed but ... it felt a little freeing as well. Not the act of undressing in front of someone but the act of being unclothed, of being vulnerable but not being embarrassed. A strange phenomena it is to be comfortable in your own skin with your own soul, accepting yourself entirely, both victories and mistakes. A phenomena I hadn't the luxury of feeling until this moment.
Chris made a point to only stare at my face while he directed me towards the bed, which took a bit more convincing on his part. But once I was nestled under the sheets, Chris followed soon after.
"I really am sorry about this." He laughed nervously, trying to reduce the friction of this monumentally awkward situation, but the tension increased tenfold when his body came to rest over mine. He held himself up with his arms but his hips dug into mine in a way so intimate that I've only shared it once before, with Dustin.
I briefly wondered what Dustin would do if he were here right now. If this had happened a few weeks ago, Dustin would have strung up Chris like an animal just hunted and gutted him for ever laying hands on me. But now ... now I wasn't sure. Dustin came here to save me, he doomed his best friend because he couldn't make the choice to spare me but ... the look in his eyes is different. He doesn't stare at me the same way, as if I were only an imposter of the Sadie he once knew.
Or perhaps, it is Dustin who has become the imposter. I remembered the shadows around him, that darkness and rage so ready to consume him. Whatever happened in that jailhouse, whether it be the abuse or his belief in my betrayal, it changed him. Made him stronger but colder, gaining years of wisdom and trepidation but losing his sympathy along the way.
He felt nothing now, only that vacancy where his heart once held residence.
Chris pulled the blankets up over his waist to hide our bottom halves still clad jeans. To someone standing in the doorway as his father would be, it would certainly look like we were naked. My confidence in this plan was just as weak as my confidence in my own plan when arriving here, but our options were limited at best.
Just as Chris finished adjusting the blankets around our bodies, loud footsteps sounded down the hall from someone unconcerned with hiding their approach.
"Showtime." Chris mumbled as he let his body fall to cover mine fully. Panic rained down razors that cut deep into every inch of my body, sending galvanic quivers from my head to my toes. I tucked my arms between our bodies, using it as an excuse to cover my mostly bare chest, and Chris enveloped his arms around me to hide sight of me from his father. Then he dipped lower and whispered, "Look up and close your eyes, it'll be over before you know it."
I did as I was told and a moment later, I felt Chris' lips on my neck just as the door to the room creaked open. Although my heart was pounding and blood rushed through my ears like a broken dam, Chris' pulse was hushed, smooth. Like still water, he was calm. His kisses on my neck were mere alterations of air, practically nonexistent as though he weren't even touching me. His way of making such an appalling experience as easy for me as possible, and for that I'll always be thankful.
"How's it going?" Came a gruff question from the doorway. The tears in my eyes spilled over at the sound of that unholy voice, the same voice that ordered for Lumiere's eye to be removed and for my body to be violated. The same voice that taunted and ridiculed Dustin, blaming him for the death of Katrina and promising him the same fate would occur to everyone Dustin loved.
That voice of evil.
Chris remained silent for a moment before he responded, sensual and breathy, taking me by surprise, "You're interrupting."
Rosen only laughed, "Sorry son, I just wanted to make sure she wasn't giving you too much trouble."
Chris took it as an insult and hissed back, "I can handle her."
"I know." Rosen answered then added with snide enjoyment, "Be sure to mark what is yours, I know how you like that."
Chris grunted his response as his father stepped backwards, slowly closing the door behind him. But it remained open just an inch, waiting. Chris reacted with cool flexibility, adapting to his father's demands without a moment of hesitation. His light kisses turned to suction on my skin, furnishing a hickey to affirm that I belonged to him and no one else.
Somewhere deep, deep inside, I knew he had to follow orders or else his father would know this was nothing more than a scam. And yet, the idea of someone else marking me as theirs, besides Dustin, had my stomach twisting violently. Luckily, there was nothing left to throw up so I digested my anxieties and counted the seconds as they ticked by, one excruciatingly slow moment after another.
After another few minutes, the door finally closed and briskly fading footsteps signaled Rosen's retreat. The moment his father was gone, Chris pushed himself up but remained over me, listening. Another five minutes passed, maybe longer, where he didn't move. Neither did I, too afraid any sound would summon that barbarian once more. Eventually, Chris gave me a curt nod and rolled off of me with a grimace towards my neck, "Shit. I'm sorry, it's darker than I thought it would be."
I caught my reflection in a mirror across the room and noticed that even from where I sat, an evident purple blemish sat in bold contrast against the pale skin of my neck. My fingers brushed over the tender skin and I sighed in both woe and relief, "It's okay. At least it's over."
Chris grinned in feigned resentment at my defeated tone, "Come on now, don't hurt my ego."
An alleviated smile took hold of my face and I turned to him with authentic gratitude, "Thank you. Honestly Chris, I don't know what I would have done if ..." But I couldn't finish that sentence because the true nature of my punishment with anyone other than Chris would have been too devastating to recover from.
Chris' smile pacified in sentiment, "We've done a lot of bad things in the name of getting retribution. It's one thing to beat up a few bikers, it's an entirely different thing to drag innocent people into our problems. The raid on the compound was a mistake, one we'll never be able to atone for. But this way, at least I get to make up for some of that wrong by doing a little right. It's not enough, I don't think it will ever be enough, but it's a step in the right direction."
"More like a leap." I corrected.
There weren't many men who would have risked what Chris did. He didn't have to protect me but he chose to in the pursuit of moral justice. I guess there were good people out there, they were just hidden amongst the festering mongrels that overcrowded the masses.
"So what now?" I asked, dropping my hands into my lap, quite comfortable now that the immediate threat was gone.
He sat down on the side of the bed, letting his feet dangle over the edge, "Rosen is going to tell everyone that we had sex. From the way Dustin reacted before, I'm sure that news will hit him hard." Chris was uncomfortably serious in this moment, "It will either anger your boyfriend, or break him."
Dustin is strong, so much stronger than me. More than anyone. This false rumor will not break his resolve or prevent him from ripping Rosen apart. I imagine it will only solidify Dustin's intentions and vows of murder.
My hands twiddled in my lap, "Rosen said to consummate the marriage. Does that mean we are actually ... you know ... married?"
"Not unless you want to be." Chris joked but quickly cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, that was offensive. I'm sarcastic when I'm nervous."
So similar to Lumiere, perhaps he was friends with Chris back when he was a Reaper. I could only imagine their mischief. But it's been years since then ... did they even recognized one another?
"Nonetheless, my father isn't a licensed minister." Chris explained with a spiteful laugh, the thought of his father in a church near unbelievable, "He can't just snap his fingers and bind us legally. So as far as that goes, no we aren't married. As for the engagement thing, that's a little difficult but not impossible to break. Once we get past all this nonsense we can both go back to our relatively fucked up, but normal, lives."
I nodded along with his words, "And how do you suggest we get past all this nonsense?"
Chris scratched at the back of his head, "In a little while I'll go back out there to see what has become of your boyfriend and his Vice. I'm hoping that hearing of our endeavors will piss him off, we could use that kind of rage on our side right now. It might be the only thing that gives us an edge over Rosen."
Deceiving Dustin, especially with a rumor as horrible as this, sparked fire inside my gut that boiled. It hurt me to think of Dustin having to accept yet another hardship, it hurt me to hurt him. But Dustin's anger is the last card in our deck, the only advantage we have over Rosen. We didn't have the numbers or the resources to take out Rosen and his loyalists, all we have is Dustin.
While we waited for time to pass, Chris gave me a large flannel to cover myself that would be much easier to take off in the happenstance that Rosen returned. But no further visitors came, granting Chris and I some time to talk. He seemed legitimately intrigued about my adventures thus far with the Tribe and how I came to be in such a situation. While explaining it, I finally understood how moronic I acted that night in the ally. If I had only kept my mouth shut, none of this would have happened.
Then again ... maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
If Dustin hadn't taken me, I never would have got away from my father. I never would have found real friends, a real family, or been able to experience adventure most people only dream about. If Dustin hadn't taken me, I wouldn't have found love or freedom. My kidnapping, as twisted as it may be, saved me.
Or maybe I'm just as crazy as everyone says ... but I don't feel crazy. I feel lucky.
Chris and I talked for a while longer and after an hour, he stood from the bed to get dressed. After tugging on a new shirt, he prepared to return to the bloodbath outside. But the thought of him leaving me here only initiated fear. I wouldn't consider us best friends, or even acquaintances for that matter, but he has been the only kind person to me since arriving at this godforsaken location.
"You're going to come back, right?" I blurted as he started for the door. He must have heard the terror in my voice because he returned to pull out a small plastic bottle from the bedside table. When he handed it to me, I saw that it was pepper spray.
"If anyone walks through that door that isn't me, spray this in their eyes and don't stop until the bottle is empty." Chris explained, quickly demonstrating how to use it, "It hurts like a bitch and it'll buy you enough time to scream. I won't be far away."
My shaking hands gripped the pepper spray with white knuckles, "Thank you."
Chris cleared my face of stray hairs and graced me with a warm smile, "You're going to be fine, kiddo. I won't let anyone hurt you." He spoke this last part quietly ... as though he were speaking to Katrina instead of me. In his mind, maybe he was. I'm about the same age she would have been when she died, maybe Chris saw me that way too.
Surprisingly that thought brought me comfort.
I've always been the older sister ... it was nice to be a younger sister for a change.
With Chris now gone and the room eerily quiet except for distant shouts too muffled to understand, I found myself fighting unconsciousness. It's far past midnight now and the invitation of sleep was too compelling. I should stay awake, at least until Chris returns, but the Sandman was calling and my eyes drooped at his song.
*****
"Sleeping, at a time like this?"
I flung myself backwards, away from where the beast appeared directly in front of me. Those empty eyes watched with thrilling precision, his mouth carved upwards while fangs jutted past skinned lips to glisten in a light without origin. Still his carcass was dressed in scraps of archaic leather that scuffed around the edges from a millennium of wear.
But something was different.
His bones no longer sat untouched. Scraps of skin and torn slices of human flesh hung from his skeleton, dripping from his body like melted cheese. He has never had skin before, he's always been pure bone.
"Ah yes, you're correct, but things have been changing around here since our last visit." The beast stepped to the side, revealing Dustin's deteriorating figure. I almost felt guilty for leaving him here all this time, but the man I saw seated in that thrown wasn't the real Dustin. I have to remember that, he isn't the real Dustin, "Oh but he is. Take a look, tell me what you see."
My eyes focused harder, finding several patches of Dustin's skin that were sawed off as though someone took hold and ripped the flesh right off his body. Blood seeped forth from where raw tissue kissed air, covering the length of his arms in that crimson liquid.
Through it all, Dustin stared forward without expression or feeling, but the way his eyes glistened in the light told me his heart hadn't yet been devoured.
The skeleton hissed, "Correct again. His heart has proven to be quite difficult. But I have no concerns, time is running short for our dashing savior."
I barely heard the beast's rambles, I was too focused on the way Dustin's lips twitched. He mouthed two words, the only two he's ever said while in this abyss of darkness. Two words that left my own heart frosted with the beast's arctic chill.
"Kill ... me."
The skeleton jumped forward, perching himself on the corner of the throne while defying gravitational laws that clearly only applied on earth and not in this realm. The beast patted Dustin's head with his talons, locks of Dustin's hair shearing off at the slightest touch from those claws, "She can't kill you, kid. We've got so much work to do." The beast smiled down at me, towering over my figure like a mountain over grass, "I know you've noticed it ... they way he's becoming more like me."
The blunt force of revelation knocked me down, my knees hitting the floor of darkness with such might that I feared my kneecaps had shattered. He was right, I've noticed Dustin's changes; his growing rage and uncontrollable temper, the constant shadows and the waning emotion. He was certainly changing but I didn't think it was in reference to my nightmares.
I didn't think Dustin was becoming this thing ... this monster.
"Don't worry, my dear." The skeleton laughed, a deep cackle that circled and penetrated before tearing at my ear drums as if the sound were crystallized with needles, "I'll take good care of my apprentice."
*****
The door slammed shut, drawing my consciousness out of that hell and back into reality. Still hell but of a different kind.
I sat up, already pointing the pepper spray towards the room's entrance in case the time had come to fight. But it was only Chris, leaning heavily against the door with his eyes closed. Realizing that there was no need for urgency, I set down the pepper spray and used the sleeves of the flannel to rub at my eyes, removing both sleep and dread from the beast's warnings.
When I looked back to Chris, I found him half collapsed against the door, his grip on the knob the only thing keeping him upright. It was only then, with my sight now clear from the residual haze of my dream, that I saw blood consuming the bottom half of Chris' jaw.
"Holy hell, what happened?" I gasped, lurching from the bed to his side. Now closer, I saw that his bottom lip was busted, maroon liquid now dribbling down his chin from the split skin, and his eye was already swelling with hues both blue and black. He licked at his lip but that did little to stop the flow and only dressed his tongue in a darker shade of red. I searched for something to hold against the cut and settled for an old t-shirt laying in the corner.
Chris took it from me and pressed it tightly against his lip, and with a humorless laugh he said, "Your boyfriend hits like a girl."
Dustin did this?
Chris swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment before he pulled the shirt away to stare at the blood now staining the fabric, "I didn't even see him coming until I was in the dirt." His eyes were stunned, muddled by taunting unconsciousness that threatened to pull him under, "Damn. I haven't gotten punched that hard in a very long time."
"Don't you remember what happened to Oliver? Consider yourself lucky you can even stand." I gave him a sheepish smile, ashamed in one way but proud in so many others, "You did say you wanted him to be angry ..."
A mere breath of laughter and a nodding of his head, inhaling deeply through his nose to steady his senses, "You're right, I did say that ... but for the sake of us all, perhaps it would be best to diffuse a bit of that rage. He has more than enough after what happened to his friend."
My heart dropped and I felt all color drain from my face, siphoning heat as though the beast himself were to blame, and my words came out choppy in concern, "Lumiere? Is he ..."
Chris hesitated then cast his gaze downward, "I'll let Dustin answer that."
He stalked into the bathroom, hunching over the sink and running the old shirt under cold water before pressing it to his lip once again. His avoidance of my question told me Lumiere was in bad condition but still alive. I sent a prayer his way, lacing each thought with health and wellness that I hoped reached him, and helped him.
I followed Chris to the bathroom, the flannel hanging around my knees due to size, "What did you find out ... about Dustin?"
Chris watched his reflection as he nursed his lip, wincing at the pain then inspecting the blood stained on both his skin and the shirt. He used this distraction to keep our stares separate, "You won't want to hear it."
"Tell me anyways." I said rather harshly, even to my own ears.
I did not mean to be so uncivil but it is my right to know. I'm sick of being left in the dark, or always being the last to know. Oh, and my personal favorite, having other people make decisions for me because they think it will 'keep me safe'. None of this has kept me safe, and none of this has helped. Everything has gone from bad to worse and the cycle continues on, repeating over and over.
I'm tired of not being in control of my own life.
I expected retaliation but much unlike Dustin, Chris didn't argue, "Well I talked to my brothers and from the sound of it, seems like Dustin has challenged Rosen for your rights."
I wonder why that sounded so bad ... probably because it is. I lied, I take it all back, I don't want to know anything, "What does that mean?"
"When you lay claim to a gang, it's like joining a club. Most of the time is voluntary but one way or another, there is always a situation – like this one – where someone is forced into a gang unwillingly. So a long time ago, leaders were given the power to contest for a member's rights, any member. Even if they are of another gang." Chris' continued cleaning up his injury, "Originally, this was meant to keep the gangs free of slavery but ... well, a leader hasn't challenged rights in a very long time."
The way his tone clipped hazardously told me our situation was about to go from worse to worser, "Why?"
Chris met my eyes through the mirror and the angle at which I viewed him distorted his gaze and weathered his expression, "Because if a leader challenges for rights and loses, both that leader and the member they fought to liberate are put to death." I shouldn't be affected by such news anymore, but I was. Because not only was my life in danger but so was Dustin's. Again, "It means Dustin and Rosen will fight. If Dustin wins, you're both free and Rosen accepts defeat. If Rosen wins, you and Dustin both die."
How could he say that so casually? I was on the verge of hysterics, near nuclear meltdown, and Chris spoke of this event as though it were nothing more than an average night, "Who the fuck came up with all of these rules? Witnesses must die, Vice must fight; why does it always have to be this kill-or-be-killed bullshit? Why can't the punishment be a time-out?"
Chris shrugged, hiding a smile of amusement at my suggestion, "Death is our ultimatum, that's the way it's always been."
"Okay but who decided it is the ultimatum?"
This time, Chris went stiff, the slightest flinches of rigidity tightening his shoulders. My question must have chipped a tiny shard off the glacier that is the world of crime, and it sent my thoughts on a whirlwind. Of course there had to be someone in power above all others, I don't know why I never thought of it before! If all of these gangs lived by the same rules, there had to be someone enforcing those rules. If it were left up to each gang to regulate their neighbor, everyone would be dead by now.
But who was powerful enough to tame these animals?
Who would Rosen ever bow to?
"Anyways," Chris carried on before I had time to ask again, "Because Dustin has challenged Rosen for the fight, he's been detained. I can take you to him if you want-"
"Yes!" I exclaimed, already heading towards the door before Chris had time to finish his sentence. See Dustin, that's my only desire, see Dustin and know that he's okay. That he's alive.
And not becoming the beast of my dreams.
Chris exited the bathroom, dropping the bloody shirt onto the floor in neglect with the rest of his wardrobe, "We have to be careful though. You're a Reaper now but that doesn't mean anyone else wants you here. You'll be fine as long as you're with me or one of my brothers but if you get separated from us, for any reason, just get back to my room and lock the door. Understand?"
"Yeah, sure." I said dismissively, to focused on seeing Dustin's face to care about his warning.
But Chris latched onto my shoulders and forced me to meet his gaze, "This is serious, Sadie. The people here will kill you if given the chance. So I need you to fully understand what you're getting yourself into when you walk out that door."
Wow, Deja Vu.
I smiled at him, recalling an earlier time when Eli warned of the same thing, "Don't worry, this isn't the first time I've been forced into a motorcycle gang."
Chris nodded in understanding, needing no further persuasion though his grip squeezed tighter to exhibit his support. Then he reached around me and opened the door prudently, peeking out to take note of those who were nearby. After a minute or two, when the coast seemed clear, Chris opened the door wider and ushered me out, "Stay close."
He said no more as he led me through the halls, his long strides followed by my rapid ones. This warehouse was nothing like the compound, it was more like a labyrinth. We made our way into a stairwell that bounced our footsteps off concrete walls and echoed the cries of past victims. I tried not to think of the rust colored stains on the concrete around us.
Chris skipped down the stairs briskly, forcing me to jog behind him to keep pace. He maintained constant surveillance of the floors above and below, always on guard. We passed only two people, both men Chris greeted with murmurs though they didn't reply for they were too busy glaring at me. We left them quickly and I didn't look back, though Chris did and from the look on his face, I knew I didn't want to see what he saw.
The stairwell seemingly swallowed us, sending us further into its depths until I was sure we must be underground. Then the stairs came to a sudden end and a blighted metal door, once silver now brown from mildew and decay. Chris swung the door open, hinges squealing like nails on a chalkboard, and held it open for me. I stepped through but went no farther, waiting for him to retake the lead because I held no desire to walk first into this dungeon.
That's exactly what it looked like. Walls made of brick and ground comprised of compacted dirt. Rats squeaked in the distance and spiders clung to every corner, entombing the area as though they planned to absorb this level as their own. A dim light hung every several feet, illuminating portions of the hallway while other sections were blanketed in thick darkness. As we traveled deeper, my skin began to crawl from the stale air that drifted all around us in motionless aim, and I purposefully walked closer to Chris in the hopes that he wouldn't let me be engorged by the impurity that coated the walls as though years worth of torture and misery had manifested into physical forms and found residence here, in the dank obscurity of this forgotten empire.
"Where are we?" I asked through a whisper, my voice sounding too loud.
"The cells." Chris answered just as quietly. Even he was disturbed by this place.
At the end of the hall, a group of people rallied outside a door, huddled together with their heads bent inwards, lost in conversation. When we neared, one by one they each glanced up and I recognized them as the men who stood guard during the celebration earlier.
Chris' brothers, similar in structure and identical in build, each one a near exact replication of the others with a few discrepancies in hair color and age.
When Chris and I stepped into the light above this particular doorway, one of his brothers let out a long, low whistle that traveled the distance of these barren halls, "Damn Chris. Lucky you to be the one behind Dustin King's punch, eh?"
"Shit brother, you ought to be more careful. You look like you got hit by a truck." Another one commented with a playful shove to Chris' shoulder.
In return, Chris joked, "Well have you seen Dustin?"
"Aye, but I've never been dumb enough to piss him off the way you just did." A third one jeered, joined in laughter by the lot of them.
I too laughed and my presence became known. The brothers grew quiet, nodding their heads in respectful salutations, then stepped away from the door to reveal an entry just as moldy as the stairwell access. Chris nodded towards the door, "Dustin is in there, you ready?"
"As I'll ever be." I answered honestly.
Chris went in first and I quickly followed after as his brothers shut the door tightly behind us and picked up a conversation about football. Once inside, I saw that the room was quite similar to the hallway, constructed from brick and mud with musty antiquity embracing each of the corners. But the atmosphere inside this room was radically different than the hallway.
Out there, silence reigned supreme but in here, the air was loud with crackling fury.
The room itself was cut in half by metal bars, very similar to that of a jail cell. Inside this cage, as though he'd never been free to begin with, was Dustin, facing the far wall with his back to us but muscles that tensed and rippled when he heard us enter.
Chris reached for a set of keys hanging beside the door and unlocked the cell. The metal of the cell door whined under protest of what would seem like a hundred years worth of use and mistreatment. Chris urged me to enter and I did, the sound of my shoes landing softly on loose dirt was muffled though it still alerted Dustin to my approach.
He turned.
Our eyes met.
Then he was holding me.
He crossed the room in two short strides and had me in his arms before I could blink. My breath rushed out in one fast exhale as Dustin lifted me into the air, crushing me in his arms in a way that hurt too good to stop. His hands clawed at my back, his fingers danced through my hair, and I couldn't hold him tight enough to reciprocate how scared we both had been.
His breaths were fast and hot on my shoulder, his face buried in the crook of my neck, and his hold drew me close, still marred by the sight of me being dragged away. He stepped back and his hands were on my face, probably only to inspect, but we found ourselves lost in one another with a kiss worthy of divine disposition. Everything else, the room and our problems, it all faded away. All that remained were his hands and his lips, his kiss, that hunger still present but as was something so much sweeter. So much sadder. Desperation and affection and regret, all infused into the same expression of adoration.
All my love for this man bubbled to the surface, manifesting in desperate caresses and rushed tastes, blistering my skin until that heat gathered in my cheeks then focused on my mouth where my lips molded to his. My heart skipped beats and I breathed in his sighs of pleasure, feeling his rough skin brush against mine as his hands sprouted electrifying excitement along my body like moonlight against dark water.
It was in that moment, that hastened but lingering moment, in which I realized that this man was mine. And I couldn't live apart from him, nor him from I.
"Are you okay? Tell me you're okay, Sadie." Dustin demanded in a low, acerbic voice that aroused a primal instinct to obey. He set me back down, still holding my face in his hands like cradling a newborn. Then that bloodshot gaze of violet wreckage observed the hickey on my neck and a whole new wave of rage befell him, I felt it humming under his skin and surging through his growls, "I'm going to kill him, I'm going to rip his damn tongue out!"
As if on cue, Chris cleared his throat from the doorway, keeping his distance after hearing Dustin's threat, "You two have five minutes, make them count."
When he saw Chris standing there, Dustin's stare went cold though his eyes burned with hellfire, "You son of a bitch! After everything I've done for you and this – this – is how you repay me, you bastard?! I should have killed you during the ceremony you fucking piece of-"
"Stop!" I ordered as Dustin advanced on Chris with fists like wrecking balls, ready to deliver another driving punch which would undoubtedly leave Chris on the brink of death. I clasped onto Dustin's arm and held him back ... well, not really. All I did was slow down his assault.
Chris, being the intelligent man that he is, gave Dustin a quick tip of his head before retreating from the room. More than happy to excuse himself from this lethal environment.
Dustin whirled back to me, his eyes now cloaked in a shame so great that it stormed over him and swept away his rationale, "I'm so sorry, Sadie. For all of this. For not believing you at the jail house when you said you weren't working with your father and for being such a dick to you, and now for this. I should have fought harder, I should have found a way to stop him. Damn it, I'm so sorry he did that to you-"
This anger, this power, was too much for any mortal man to bare and even Dustin twisted under its relentless sovereignty. He turned away from me, directing that rage elsewhere, and rocketed his fist into the wall in an attempt to dull what terrorized him from within. Something snapped but Dustin didn't react, and when he stepped away, there was a dent in the bricks and ripped skin across his knuckles.
I rushed to his side, inspecting his fist first then cupping my hands over both of his cheeks, piercing his gaze with my own to center his focus on me when I said, "Chris didn't – I mean we didn't have sex. He's been helping me."
Dustin's eyebrows rumpled in confusion and I felt him pulling away from me as though I'd told him nothing more than a tasteless joke, "No, Rosen said-"
"We gave Rosen what he wanted." I answered quickly, walking forward as he stepped backward to keep him in my grasp and at the mercy of my integrity, "It was a scam, a hoax. To fool Rosen."
His stare plummeted to my neck where the hickey screamed lies against my oath, "But-"
"Listen to me, nothing happened. This," I pointed towards my neck, "Was only to make it more believable. I promise, Dustin, I promise. Nothing happened."
Even with me directly in front of him, Dustin found a way to reel backwards, his shoulder blades now braced against the crumbling brick, "Why would Chris help you?"
"Apparently, you aren't the only one who is tired of this rivalry. Chris said him and his brothers have plans to remove Rosen from power." I informed, letting my hands slip away from his cheeks to grip at his t-shirt, now stained black from blood. From the amount caked across his face, I didn't doubt most of the blood was his. But a ridiculous nagging at the back of my head reminded me that there had been another whose blood met air, and I felt my throat close when I asked inaudibly, "Where is Lumiere?"
If I thought Dustin looked broken before, my question completely destroyed him. His head dropped, his shoulders trembled, using the wall as a crutch to keep himself up, and he whispered, "He's resting."
The lack of reassurance in his answer had my heart pounding, "Is he ..."
This time, Dustin let the weight of the world yank him down, sinking against the wall until he was sitting with his legs bent at the knees and his arms resting limply atop, "He's alive, if that's what you're asking. But they took his eye, Sadie. They cut it out, right there." His face paled, "There was so much blood ... and he was in so much pain ..."
"Shh, don't tell me. Don't relive it." I begged of him, kneeling beside him and pulling his head into my chest to give him something – someone – to lean on. To hold on to. How many times would Dustin be cursed to watch such torture be committed to those he loved while being held down and forced to watch? The only difference between what he witnessed with Katrina and Lumiere was that Lumiere lived.
Barely.
"Rosen was right, I failed as a leader." Dustin said against my shirt, his hands suddenly at my waist and gripping tightly, trying to numb some of that inner torment unleashed upon him every time memories ambled through. His fingers dug painfully into my hips, "I couldn't protect him."
"Don't." I ordered through tears, overwhelmed by his guilt, "Don't do that to yourself. Rosen is the one to blame, he's the one you should hate."
"I do ... I hate him." He didn't sound like he hated him, he just sounded ... tired, "And I'm going to kill him. For Lumiere and for Corinth and for you."
"And for you." I whispered, kissing his head because I needed his touch. I needed to hold him and love him and feel him because I sensed he was so very close to slipping away. I traced his cheek with my fingers, letting my hand brush over his skin and up into his hair where I took a firm grip, "Chris told me how you challenged Rosen for my rights."
Dustin only nodded, too traumatized and scarred to speak.
My pulse beat sporadically out of control but I kept my voice soothing to prevent any further discomfort for Dustin, "You can't fight him, I'm not worth it. He'll kill you."
"There is no other way." Dustin replied flatly, vision locked on the far wall, replaying moments and flashbacks in real time as he struggled to find purpose in this hollow setting, "This is how we settle things in my world."
I combatted the shiver that worked its way down my spine, tingling and zapping at my muscles to jolt them into motion. I held him tighter, propping my cheek against the crown of his head while his hair skimmed my chin, and asked almost inaudibly, "Aren't you tired of solving conflicts through violence? Look where that has gotten us."
Dustin's gaze was so distant and lost, "My uncle used to tell me, you can't fight an army with only one bullet."
Couldn't he see, "Maybe you don't need any bullets."
"I'm sorry Sadie, I really am. I never wanted to rule this way. I always swore to myself that when I became leader, things would be different. I wanted to get us away from all this violence and death, back to a place where we were family." His grip pinched me tighter, ravished beyond repair by his losses, "But I've only dug us in deeper. Grave after grave, body after body." I actually saw the light draining from his eyes when he whispered, "I'm running out of people to bury."
"Stop, just stop Dustin." The way he was talking, it sounded so similar to his goodbye's of the past. But I won't let it end like this, not again, "We can still make the Tribe better. You and me, we'll fix the gang." I had to give him something more, something to look forward to – a raft while he drowned, a hope while he was faithless, "Toby ... yeah, Toby will come live with us. Once we make everything better. My brother will come live with us and everything will be okay."
My attempts were futile, "Nothing will be okay, Sadie. That's the problem."
"Yes it will." I kissed him for good measure, to seal my promise, "Please don't do this, don't fight Rosen." I kissed him again no instinct, as if even my body knew our time together was dwindling, "Don't do this to yourself."
"I don't want to be this." He gestured to his himself; to his muscles built over time merely from trying to survive in a world where men died young and women died younger, to his skin flawed by scars running so deep they were embedded in his soul and beyond, to his heart broken once too many times to be salvaged. To his body concocted from twenty-three years of doing what was necessary to protect and serve, always accepting that unfair burden but never finding closure. His head hung forward and it was in this moment that I truly witnessed the great Dustin King ... break, "It takes a monster to kill a monster, and so a monster I must be."
... my nightmare ...
Now tears dripped freely, like so many times before and so many times in the future, but these tears were not for myself or the suffering of my past. These tears were for the man, the champion, who sat before me. Broken and used, and empty.
So that's what this has been about? From the moment he told me that line in his room all those months ago, it's been about him preparing himself to become like Rosen? To become something he hated only to kill the thing he hated more?
"I won't let you." I decided, more determined than ever to convince him of abandoning this vendetta. It didn't matter whether he won or lost against Rosen, in the process of fighting, he'll lose the rest of himself, "You're not a monster. Not now, not ever."
"I am." That was all he said but in those two words, I heard it.
I heard him believe it.
Panic surfaced like the calm before a storm and it made my head spin, "Do you realize how much it hurt when you sent me away? I thought I lost you, Dustin. Don't make me go through that again. Don't fight Rosen. I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt anymore."
He had no argument left. He was tired, not just physically. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Everything about him screamed exhaustion and a desperate need for peace. Not rest, not sleep. Peace.
He needed peace.
But peace meant death.
"I don't know how this is going to end, Sadie. I can't make you any promises." He was quiet, distracted, "But I know that no matter what, I'm going to get you out of the Reapers. I'm certain of that much at least. Lumiere will take over for me, Corinth and Eli will back him up, and you'll sit at his table to finish what we started-"
"Stop!" I shouted at him, slapping my hands against his chest while my eyes burned and my heart cracked, "Stop talking like that."
He stared at me for a long time, seeing something I never could. His fingers trailed along my face, committing my features to memory in case this were the last time he saw them, grazing my skin with touches cotton soft and light as air, "You haven't lost your smile."
My smile? "What?"
"That's all I ever wanted, to protect your smile Sadie." Dustin pulled me in for another hug, his chest rising and falling against my own in deep breaths that were meant to calm him though each intake of air only riled him more. Because each breath promised to be his last, and each second counted closer to a conclusion I didn't want to accept, "Promise me you won't lose your smile."
More tears, more pain, ever present heartache, "You said not to make promises."
"I trust your promises." He whispered, pressing his lips to the side of my temple and holding his kiss there, "You make them good."
Fine, "I promise to keep my smile if you promise to keep yours."
He only chuckled in response, "My smile has been gone for a very long time."
"Dustin, please." I tried once more, holding onto his hands because my own were shaking. I kept him close, kept him near, because every moment threatened to rip us apart. Haven't we faced enough already? Don't we deserve happiness? "I am asking you to reconsider. I'll be fine here. Chris will help me, his brothers too. You don't have to do this, you don't have to fight for me. You can take Corinth and Eli, and Lumiere, and go back to the compound."
"But I can't take you." He shook his head, standing up and lifting me with him, "And out of us all, you shouldn't be the one left behind."
"Dustin-"
"Chris, we're done here." Dustin called out, kissing me once more before pushing me towards the exit while pulling the cell door shut. Separating us. Again.
I clung to the bars, ignoring Chris who neared from behind, "I'm telling you not to do this. I'm ordering you not to do this, Dustin King."
But he only smirked, the same half smile I have fallen victim to so many times before, and he said with lazy charm, "You know me, Dimples. I've never been good at following orders."
Chris' hands landed on my shoulders, "I'll keep her safe."
"Yes you will." Dustin agreed. Then he turned away from us, turned away from me, reclaiming his stance in the corning like a child being scolded rather than a man about to face his own demise. To save me, he was going to get himself killed to save me.
Chris dragged me from the room, kicking and screaming for Dustin to listen to my reasoning, but the door to the room closed and that ungodly silence choked back my yells, compressing my vocal chords until even my breaths came without sound, undetected. Outside, Chris' brothers were anxious, shifting their weight and uneasy with news, "Rosen is coming." One of them said.
"You should go." Said another.
A hand closed around my arm as Chris began pulling me down the hall, "We can't be here when Rosen arrives."
No, not we. Me.
My feet were unsteady, causing me to trip and fumble every other step. Eventually, Chris secured an arm around my waist and rushed us down the long, ominous hallway until we reached the entrance to the stairs. He threw us both through the doorway and took the steps two – three – at a time until we reached the floor his room was on.
Just as we reached his door, Rosen rounded the corner. Chris practically threw me inside before Rosen could see, and shut the door behind me. I lay there on the floor, surrounded by his clothes yet again, and listened, expecting Rosen to congratulate his son on his new toy.
But I heard nothing. Rosen passed by Chris without so much as a single word in the direction of his Vice. As though Chris didn't exist.
A second later Chris stepped into the room, taking in my sprawled figure still reclined within the mountains of clothes, "Sorry about that. I didn't want him to see you. Trust me, it's easier if you just stay away from him."
Sure. Whatever.
I didn't care whether Rosen made my life hell. Poor Dustin was in the darkest pit, alone and suffering, because he was still trying to save me.
I was crying again, not caring that Chris was there to witness me fall apart. I couldn't hold it together anymore. I've tried to be strong, for my friends and my family, because my perseverance encouraged their own. But it's not enough, Dustin is still going to fight and get hurt. He could even die and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I'm useless. Worthless. Just as much of a failure as Rosen claimed Dustin to be.
Chris reached down and lifted me upwards, delicately placing me onto the bed, holding me in a loose embrace. He offered no insights of positivity, no inspirations or clarity. He only held me and let me cry because we both knew there wasn't a force mighty enough in the cosmos to help Dustin now.
Come hell or high water, Dustin's fight will end this.
"You should get some rest." Chris eventually mumbled.
I replied with a dreary, "No."
Indeed my body pleaded for sleep but I ordered my eyes to stay open. How could I hope to rest? Dustin wasn't resting, Eli and Corinth weren't resting. The only one resting was ...
I slapped two hands over my face to hide from the thought, "How has this all gone so wrong?"
Chris shushed my sobs, rubbing large circles over my back, "It's going to be okay. It's not over yet, Dustin still has a chance."
But his lies were too transparent to believe, "No he doesn't. Rosen won't allow it."
"Have a little faith in your boyfriend." He shifted until he was sitting on the bed beside me, not laying as he urged me to do, just sitting. He tucked the blanket snugly around my body and fluffed the pillow under my head, "Try to get some sleep, you're going to need it for tomorrow."
"I can't-"
"Just try." He ordered gently.
And surprisingly, sleep arrived much easier than I thought. No monsters came in the night, no skeletal beast to promise of impending hardships. Only calming darkness that refreshed and revitalized. It was a strange sleep, because I could tell that I was unconscious while also being very aware of the noises in the immediate area surrounding me; the sound of the bed creaking as Chris eventually laid down to sleep, the sound of his even breathing, the constant ticking of the clock on the far wall, the thud of footsteps throughout the night as restless folks paced the hallways. Although I was unconscious, I was alert.
I wonder if this is how Dustin slept, required by the laws of nature to rest but trained by his lifestyle to always be cognizant of dangers-
That specific thought was sliced and my sleep was cut short by a violent shake that sent my limbs in a flurry to fight off whoever was attacking me.
"Sadie, stop. It's me."
Chris stood over me in the darkness of an early morning, the room and land still lilac with rays of a rising sun not yet unveiled beyond the horizon. I turned to him, groggy and drowsy, eyes still glued shut, "What's going on?"
"We've got a problem." Chris was already pulling me out of the bed and at his words, I felt my ears perk and my mind clear, "Rosen moved up the time table."
As he spoke, he directed me towards the door. I noticed that he was in a fresh outfit, already showered and clean shaven. How long has he been up? How long have I been asleep? Maybe he didn't go to bed as I thought.
The hallway was busy for this early hour, Reapers still drunk from the night before as they filed down the stairs and out into the lot. Grumbles sounded, shuffled and wobbly steps, then a rhythmic slam of a door downstairs as a person walked through every few seconds. Chris and I dissolved into the crowd, traveling with a sea of others who made a point of stay out of Chris' way. When we finally made it down stairs, I realized that all of the members were present.
Waiting.
Chris guided me forward, weaving our way through the crowd until we came to a small circle where only three of his brothers were standing. A sharp whistle caught the attention of the brother closest to us and Chris waved him over, instructing him to stay with me while Chris carried out his responsibilities as Vice. His brother agree, taking position beside me, then Chris claimed his brother's spot in the clearing.
The leader himself stood at the center of this mass, hands folded behind his back while he watched the warehouse doors intently, beady eyes bright in expectancy. Once all the members were in the lot, those doors opened again though this time, I recognized the men exiting.
Two of Chris' brothers led Dustin out, his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged with what looked like an old bandana. They held him tight enough to insinuate force though I caught their shared glances of concern. Through the crowd they pushed him, leading him to where Rosen stood. Dustin stumbled along, clearly deprived of sleep and weak from yesterday's beating.
As the crowd parted for Dustin's march, someone called out, "Deadman walking!"
Laughter rode through the crowd and Rosen grinned.
I feared this was the moment they would fight and hissed towards Chris' brother, "Where's Corinth and Eli?"
He shrugged, eyes locked on the unfolding scene, "With Gabriel - I mean, with Lumiere. I think. They've been with him all night."
The group of three reached Rosen and I waited for brutality to commence. But the leader didn't throw punches or divulge in aggression. He stepped sideways to reveal a crudely assembled wooden chair with leather straps bolted into the armrests. Dustin was brought to this chair and shoved into it, then his wrists and ankles were subdued in that leather.
Suddenly, vivid images of the Dustin of my nightmares flashed before my eyes. The force of such knocked me backwards into Chris' brother.
My nightmares, they're coming true. I saw it all so clearly now, Dustin perched in this throne as my nightmares depicted from the very beginning. They were leading up to this, they were always leading up to this!
Even now, witnessing Dustin in that chair, I understood what the beast had been warning of. Gone was the man I embraced in the cell last night, the one that I loved and mutually returned that love. That broken man was still locked away, hidden. The man I saw before me was one so similar to the beast of my dreams that I almost believed it to be him.
Almost.
There was only one difference between the Dustin I saw and the Dustin that threatened to take over. It was the way he composed himself. The Dustin in my dreams was slouched, shredded, bloody, and departed from the living.
The Dustin I saw now sat tall, confident, wearing his blood like war paint.
And he was pissed.
Rosen, with all eyes on him, stepped up to Dustin and removed the gag from around his mouth. Dustin glared up at him, working his wrists below the leather as if he could get free and kill Rosen in that very moment. Rosen laughed at Dustin's attempts and swung a wide right hook towards his face, catching Dustin with the broad side of his knuckles.
The chief Reaper leaned closer but spoke loud enough for us all to hear, "That was for attacking me yesterday, swine."
Dustin's lips cracked open, bestowing a murderous grin, "You hit like a bitch."
Rosen ignored his comment, turning away from him to face his dominion. Instantly, his eyes found mine and he injected heinous joy into his stare when he saw me so morbidly affect by Dustin's situation. He felt no remorse, nor emotion of any kind save for that depraved immorality that corrupted him in ways even hell itself rejected.
"My brothers! With the light of today, I ask that you drink and be merry!" Rosen cried out, throwing his arms wide as he smiled over his province, cheers and hollers exploding with his proclamation that tilted Rosen's head upwards in ecstasy, mad with power but lusting for more. Then he unleashed a sadistic grin towards Dustin's figure still tethered to the wooden throne, and bared his teeth, "At dusk, we celebrate the death of a King."
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So it took me FOREVER to edit and I'm honestly not extremely happy with the way it turned out but I know you all have by dying for an update so here it is! Let me know how you liked it ... AND WHAT ABOUT THAT TITLE REFERENCE THO?!
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