The moment my eyes drifted closed, I felt an odd tingle lick the length my body from my toes to the crown of my head, leaving mildew in the form of perspiration along the surface of my skin. It was this strange sensation which kept me from fully delving into the abyss and kept me grounded even though conceptualization of my surroundings blurred into distortions of reality.
Eventually, the compelling ache at my neck layered atop itself until it drove away the clutches of sleep and brought forth just enough pain to snap my eyes open. I found myself staring upwards at a condensed ceiling of sorts, too small to be the sky or the inside of the dry cleaners. It took far too long to realize it was the ceiling of a car and longer still to piece together why I'd be inside a car when my last sight was the barren stretch of empty roads and a sleepy little town in a forgotten area of southern California.
Though my head swirled and the ache just above my shoulders grew, I pushed myself up from where I had been dumped into the passenger seat of the car.
"Take it slow." A voice instructed from my side, "You'll need a moment to come out of it."
My head craned sideways to where the Brandon imposter was nestled in the driver's seat, one hand slung over the top of the steering wheel while the other rested casually in his lap. He didn't look at me when he spoke, his eyes trailed on the road in surveillance of the passing scenery. It was completely dark now, long past dusk with the earth now bathed in lovely shades of periwinkle that would have been quite beautiful to observe if I weren't being kidnapped by a psychopath.
With the sun already set beyond and his body silhouetted only every few seconds by passing street lights, again I was struck with this man's similarity to the man who was taken from me only three weeks ago. Dark hair, strong jaw, broad shoulders, and that trademark smirk like something out of a fantasy. If it weren't for their differing eyes, I may have thought them to be twins.
Perhaps this man's estranged tales of being Dustin's cousin weren't absolutely absurd ... but if he wasn't lying about being Dustin's cousin, did that mean the rest of his propaganda held merit as well?
No. I won't think such a thing. I refuse to think such a thing.
For now, my only focus should be to get as far away from this man as possible.
My limbs acted on their own, unlocking the door and throwing it open at the same time that my body flung itself sideways. Mercilessly sharp wind slapped at my cheeks and the passing ground glared up from where my face hung only inches above, promising an excruciating fall against grating asphalt should I choose to proceed with my escape. But no sooner had I made a move to jump, I was caught by the arm and yanked roughly back into my seat.
"Are you crazy!" The phrase came out as an insulting statement rather than a question as wide emerald eyes fell on me and his mouth dropped open, "What did I just tell you? You could have gotten yourself killed-"
"And yet, death sounds much more appealing than being in your company!" I answered, ripping at my arm despite his relentless hold, "Let me go!"
Using his knee to guide the steering wheel, he reached over to jerk the door shut and slam me into the back of my seat with an elbow that jabbed against my diaphragm, leaving me breathless and gasping for air. When he heard me wheezing, he huffed in what I could only consider as self-determined egotism, "Serves you right. I have been nothing but fair to you since the moment we met, I'd expect a little gratitude."
"Gratitude for kidnapping me?" I inquired though several coughs that rattled my lungs within my chest cavity like tennis balls against concrete. Of all things to be gracious for, this man's persistent deed of stalking me was not one of them.
"Kidnapping you? Is that what you think I'm doing?" His posture went rigid and I anticipated another lecture of my naivete because this man seemed one to enjoy the sound of his own voice more than anything else. But before he could speak, his figure brightened by sudden light that soon flooded the car from origins outside the cabin. Now fully illuminated, I saw a gentle grin slip over his face as his grip on my arm loosened, then vanished. And with his smile came an air of intrepid assurance that leaked into his voice like oil into water, "Fine. Off you go, darling."
His sudden change in mood had my heart thumping faster and moments later, I discovered why he had given up so easily on keeping me detained. He wasn't kidnapping me as I originally thought. In fact, quite the opposite.
He was taking me home.
Beyond hills cluttered with weathered stone graves both old and new, a large structure sat outside of age and untouched by the passing of time. Decorated with brick and built in the image of indestructibility, the complex was surrounded by thick chainlink fence that sparkled under dancing fire from blazing torches that sent spirals of smoke deep into the night. The familiar line of motorcycles met us just past the gate, each one polished and gleaming like manmade hellhounds begging to be released to raise carnage and quench eternal hunger. Archaic in style and primeval in structure, the building of soot colored brick seemingly scraped against the night sky as clouds drifted past and parted around the building in their pursuit, not daring to touch this pocket of land where even the devil himself claimed no responsibility for the actions of the deviants who dwelled within.
Where brotherhood meets mayhem and cruelty knows no bounds, this is the land of miracles and impossibilities. Where men fight bloodlust with steel and bow to the call of sirens more dangerous than what legends claim, this is the land where the Tribe takes refuge and satisfies appetites with banquets of bullets, alcohol, sex, and above all, loyalty.
This is the compound.
Our haven.
Our home.
Beside me, there was a gently exhale and I found that the stranger's grin had been softened by endearment. As though the sight before us were of cherished memories and fond remembrance. One might have judged he were merely feigning emotion, no doubt playing his role to further fool his passenger. But the way his eyes brightened as we approached the compound, it was almost as if he were in a trance shaded rose by adoration.
The warmth in his gaze was no trick, it was sincere.
Driving too slow for comfort, the stranger eased the car to a stop just outside the main entrance, parked in front of the motorcycles at equal distance to the garage. He must have guessed my next actions but made no attempt to stop me when I lurched from the car long before motion ceased and made a rapid sprint towards the doors, throwing myself through them the moment my hands made contact with chipping paint along the metal surface.
Once inside the lobby where pool tables, bar chairs, and empty dart boards sat untouched from lack of use, I slammed those doors shut behind me and bolted them with the lock. It wouldn't keep the stranger out but it would slow him down long enough for me to find reinforcements.
"Sadie? What's wrong?"
Or for reinforcements to find me.
So similar to the stranger I was desperately fleeing from, I found myself face to face with that same midnight black hair and startling emerald eyes although these features belonged to another besides the man outside. Poised with high cheekbones and sinful allure, Corinth King neared on long limbs saturated by inhuman grace that smoothed her movements and caused her body to glide like petals in the wind. I have always envied her; powerful but gentle, strong but empathetic, equal parts heaven and hell fused into a dainty body smothered by faultless elegance and feminine supremacy that kissed each of her curves.
I've always thought of Corinth as fragile. But not fragile like a flower or glass. Fragile like a bomb and temperamental like a loaded pistol.
Her beauty was timeless, otherworldly, and her rare attraction was further accented by natural rosy cheeks that were now flushed and puffy from weeks worth of crying. Dustin had been Corinth's only remaining relative and losing him only a few weeks after losing her father has destroyed Corinth in more ways than one. She was the most fearsome member of the Tribe, known for her wild temper, deadly charisma, love for violence, and downright terrifying skills in a duel. But in recent weeks, such attributes were put to rest and locked behind closed doors where this warrior of a woman has been teetering on the brink of mental oblivion after watching her entire family die in one way or another.
However, even in her malnourished state, she was stronger than I and she would have no difficulty handling my stalker. For this reason, I stumbled to her side and latched onto her arms with hands that shook, pulling her away from the door, "I need your help."
Though she was exhausted and broken, her body went tense with that same protective nature her cousin once displayed, "What's going on?"
But our conversation was interrupted by a tangle of arms that snaked tightly around my waist and lifted me high into the air, "Howdy darling, where have you been?"
I glanced sideways at Eli, warm brown hair and eyes offering a sweet greeting as he swept me up in a hug and pressed a deep kiss to the side of my temple.
Eli, the best of us all, with a heart of pure gold and tarnished innocence. He craved the taste of spilt blood and longed for the feeling of broken bones, but that hunger did not define him. He was better than us all, a fallen angel still radiating with righteousness and honest morality.
I once saw his death, gruesome and heinous beyond what imagination could manufacture. Luckily I was able to shift his fate and restore his life before it was taken. I'll never know how or why, but the constant nightmares of watching Corinth weep over his lifeless body remind me that each day is a gift and none should be taken for granted lest we lose what we love most.
Everyday I thank the universe for Eli. He has been Corinth's anchor through these swells of untold heartache and pain, helping her through the madness one day at a time. Without him, I know she would have given up a long time ago and succumbed to the overwhelming grief of her loses. He knows her pain, shares her pain, because he loved Dustin too. When Eli was at the lowest, darkest moment in his life, Dustin plucked him from a sea of anguish and offered him a home.
Eli never got the chance to repay Dustin for granting salvation, so he protects Corinth without fail because an unpaid debt is an awful burden.
When my feet met floorboards once more, Eli stepped back to examine my appearance. He frowned, "You don't look so good, Sadie. When was the last time you ate?"
Though his kindness was appreciated, my hands swatted through the air at the irrelevant question, "That's not important right now, we have a bigger problem. While I was at the dry cleaners, I met this man and-"
The lock clicked. Then the door swung open.
My stalker strolled in with his hands in his pockets and grinned wide, "Glad to see that my key still works." He shrugged, careless and deceitful, "Maybe you should get the locks changed, you never know who could just walk right in."
Tension exploded in the room and reflexes directed my stare towards Corinth who had gone still where she stood, rigid and stiff, staring in bewilderment upon a face she hasn't seen since receiving news of his death. Her previously fevered cheeks drained of color, leaving her translucently pale with a mouth unhinged in shock.
Her eyes filled and a single tear dripped, its plummet to the floor bringing a cutting gasp that rattled through her body like wind through dead branches. Then her lips pursed to form a word, just one, but in that word I heard all her suffering collide into a tone labored by memory of a man she knew to be dead ... and yet, that same man stood before her with a grin almost feline, "Brandon?"
He stepped forward, slowing when Corinth stumbled away from him, and I witnessed his smirk fall away to outward reflection of inner remorse and neglect, "Hey sis. It's been a while."
I could have listed several ways Corinth might react to hearing news of her brother's survival after thinking she lost him almost a year ago, but none of my assumptions included her launching a wide right hook across the side of his face.
Brandon stumbled to the side, hands holding his face while Corinth spun away from him, shaking out the hand which had made contact, cursing to herself at the pain. Then she turned on her brother again, monitoring his every move while he tended to his injured cheek. She must have seen something in him that I couldn't, something that made her strength wilt and her defenses fall.
Her hand rose to her chest and I saw her brows dip inward as if in pain, her voice shredded by an emotion I couldn't fully understand because I've never experienced what she was in this moment, "I don't understand ... it's been a year, and you've been alive all this time? You couldn't stop by, pick up the phone? Hell, you couldn't send a damn letter letting us know you weren't dead?! What the hell is the matter with you?"
It took him a moment to recover from her hit, then another gap of silence stretched on when he turned back towards her. For the first time since I met him, he was speechless.
But he rubbed at his cheek affectionately, remembering old times, "Must be losing your edge. A few years ago, a punch like that would have knocked me on my ass."
"A few years ago I had a brother teaching me how to fight." Corinth fired back, stumbling momentarily over her words.
But the venomous edge in her tone had no effect on the stranger who analyzed her with extreme scrutiny that only magnified a feeling of long awaited joy, "You look so different now. Less like dad, more like mom."
She hissed at his comment, "Yeah well you look exactly like dad." The connotation of her words were a secret only Corinth and Brandon understood, and he took them as an insult, "Exactly like him."
The stranger took one more step that Corinth mirrored in a fumble backwards, holding her hands out to keep him at a distance; not scared, more like dazed. Seeing his girlfriend in peril, Eli materialized in front of Corinth with clenched fists and a glare littered with needles and other obscenities that made the stranger uneasy, "Who are you?"
The man sighed in what appeared to be relief, and he smiled again though this time it was tender like a reunion between old friends, "Eli ... it's good to see you, man. Wow, you've really grown up over this past year huh? The last time I saw you-"
"Who the hell are you?" Eli asked again, reaching out for me to pull my body behind his where Corinth clung to me to keep herself vertical. Her eyes, still reddened from several nights without sleep were caught wide, puzzled but certain. Eli felt no such guarantee, "Pretending to be one of our fallen will only make your death that much worse. I suggest you drop the charade, or else I'll gut you first and ask questions later."
It was clear Eli and I were at the same level of doubt but Corinth was silenced by the presence of this man and his similarity to her deceased brother. She didn't blink or breathe, didn't move for fear of disrupting the scene. She stood beside me with her nails digging into my arm, lost to her hope that somehow this man was who he claimed to be.
"Please, let me explain." The man began, holding up both hands to exhibit his benevolent intentions.
But Eli held no patience for this fraudulent act of treason. He shoved at the man and pointed towards the door with an arm corded in agitated muscle brought on by undiluted fury, "Get the fuck out of here and for your own sake, don't ever come back."
"I really am Brandon."
Eli's tone dipped lower, "I swear to God-"
"What? You gonna kick my ass? We both know you could never beat me in a duel, kid." He laughed and the sound reminded me so much of Dustin, the same timbre that vibrated through his chest with a power both mighty and supple, "Come on Eli, look at me. Really look at me. You know me."
Eli faltered, his expression furrowing at the deception his eyes released upon him because surely he couldn't truly being seeing a deadman. His mind darted through the same several conclusions that mine had when I first heard this mongrel mention his identity as the man Dustin watched die in prison. It was improbable and damn near impossible but there was no doubt that the similarity and mystery of this man matched his story to some degree of truth, no matter how small that measurement may be.
Eli shook his head, blundering backwards which caused Corinth and I to follow since his body blocked ours from the visitor, "You can't be him."
The man followed forward, willing us to understand, "I am."
"You can't be!"
"He is." A deep voice commented from behind us all.
We turned, finding whom had spoken as they appeared under the archway that led to the bedrooms beyond. Fluffy blonde hair capsized into pale green eyes ... well, eye. Singular. Because this man only had one eye. The other had been lost the same night of Dustin's passing, its empty socket now hidden below a patch reflecting the deepest of pits in the darkest caverns of hell. The eye that remained fashioned a glare that marred the divinity of the face unto which it belonged. A face that has witnessed far too much death over the years, still teaming in residue of sarcasm that I barely ever saw now that his best friend is dead.
His brother in arms, the previous leader before bestowing that responsibility onto his successor.
Lumiere strolled forward in a demeanor almost bored and with his approach came a stifling sense of tranquility, a feeling I only encounter whenever Lumiere is around. Even with my world falling apart, he served as my center and acted as gravity when the weightlessness of my depression threatened to steal me away. He functioned as a replacement for the one I lost, a distraction to my pain but a necessity all the same. Without Lumiere, I wouldn't have survived these past few weeks.
During the funeral and processions following after, I truly thought I would die from sorrow but I never fully receded into that misery because of what I saw every time I looked over at the one-eyed man beside me.
He stood beside that casket for hours with tears on his cheek and more in his eye, but his lip never trembled and his voice carried dominating sovereignty. Under an exterior fashioned of the hardest of rock, he was crushed and defeated and nearly obsolete. Numb to the pain but never numb to those who shared that pain. He mourned for the loss of a man he has known for decades but it was always controlled, held back until the crowds went home and the doors held him safely away from prying eyes where he could yield to his anguish.
I considered Lumiere to be my friend and crutch, and I'd like to think that I served as his as well. When memories of that night left him weak, I supplied him with whatever remaining strength I had. When the tolls of taking over as leader clobbered him under weight only Dustin could bare, I helped him stand even though he desired to rest. Around him flowed false strength that he has molded into his character, a feature I consider as a blessing because I'll never know the kind of power Lumiere wields. Some people are considered strong, Lumiere surpasses them all.
He has changed a lot since the day I met him. Gone were the days of lounging in the sun, basking in warmth and voluntarily ignorant to the stresses of higher responsibility. Gone were the moments when we'd share a laugh, when we took for granted the days in which peace meant only temporary ease rather than eternal slumber. Like the impression of feet in wet sand, what once was a man of humor and playful amusement was now no more than a faded impression of the man who stood as active captain to the Tribe. Those little instances of sunshine were darkened by clouds that bombarded him with constant reminders of the man he couldn't save.
When I met him, Lumiere – true to his name – was nothing but light.
Now, that light was snuffed by loss and by sorrow.
"Lumiere, you don't actually believe this guy do you?" Eli interrogated, both disgusted and confused by what he knew to be true in conflict with the evidence standing in front of him. I abandoned Eli's hold to stand beside Lumiere, allowing Eli to curl his arms around Corinth to protect her from this fabrication, afraid that she'd find hope only to have it ripped away, "Brandon is dead."
Lumiere tilted his head in continued suspicion but his jaw set hard and he acknowledged the man with a sharp nod of his head, "That's Brandon, I'd know him anywhere."
Eli was at a loss for words, eyes darting back and forth between all of us in the room, "But-"
"It's him." Lumiere concluded and his tone indicated to Eli that this particular discussion was over. But the glint in Lumiere's eye implied his distrust, "Although I don't understand how."
Brandon inched closer, greeting Lumiere with a friendly smile and a firm clap on the shoulder, "It's been too long, brother. How have you been?"
Lumiere produced the slyest of smiles before tapping his eyepatch twice.
That was answer enough.
Brandon swallowed, nodding nervously, "Ah yes ... I'm aware of what happened to you while at Reaper headquarters. My apologies."
"I'm sure." Lumiere pushed me farther away from the intruder, towards the back of the room where he knew I'd be safe. Then he started forward in a leisure stroll, circling our unwanted guest, crippling whatever sense of confidence he retained after stepping foot onto Lumiere's land, "So what are you doing here, Brandon? The last time I saw you, well ..." Lumiere left the end of his sentence open for interpretation with an impish nod towards Brandon's neck.
Brandon scratched at the back of his head then swung his hand around to rub at the scar on his throat, "That's a long story-"
"I bet it is." Lumiere encouraged, looking around the room as if waiting for an excuse or an audience. When neither appeared, he turned back to Brandon and popped the joints on either side of his neck, answering in a singsong tone, "I'm waiting, Brandon."
Though it wasn't a threat, it might as well have been for the way Lumiere's teeth gritted and his aura inked black with devious intent. Brandon noticed, busying himself by flattening his sweatshirt and swiping at his jeans, anything to avoid eye contact, "Let's be civil shall we, although I know that must be hard for you Lumiere. You were never one to play nice with others."
"Things have changed, old friend. You see," Lumiere looped an arm around Brandon's shoulders, spinning and shoving him simultaneously, causing Brandon to trip over his own feet and fall into a nearby chair that rocked dangerously far on its hind legs from the momentum of Brandon's body. There have been very few moments during my time at the compound in which I was truly terrified of Lumiere. This was one of those moments. The look in his eye, the snarl on his lips, and the way his voice cut through the air like a bullet through flesh, "You'll find that I have even less patience now than I did when you think you knew me. So I'll ask once more, only once. How are you alive?"
There was no indication of intimidation on Brandon's face but the slight twitch to his relaxed composure told me it was forced. Underneath his facade, he felt just as tense as the rest of us because he knew Lumiere's threat was more than just empty words.
It was a promise.
Brandon narrowed his eyes, having to tilt his head upwards to view Lumiere, "You won't believe me."
"Try me." Our leader replied.
One side of Brandon's mouth lifted and suddenly, his expression reminded me all too much of a certain skeleton who once haunted my dreams, "The role of chief suits you."
"Don't patronize me. We both know I never wanted this." Lumiere responded, horrifyingly calm.
Brandon leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees, neither man acknowledging the proximity of the other, "What would you say if there were a way to demote yourself, to hand leadership back to the man who truly earned it?" His voice was smooth like satin but purred with specious deception, "The man to which it truly belongs?"
A stone dropped into my gut when I realized what Brandon was suggesting, but Lumiere spoke before I could, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The Council." Brandon said simply, leaning back in his chair with a sudden air of comfort, "They have returned."
The phrase meant nothing to me, offering no integrity or insight to provide explanation for the abrupt shift of mood throughout the room. Lumiere straightened and stepped back, face now blank in the wake of hearing what I can only assume was devastating news. Eli tightened his hold on Corinth who looked damn near comatose. The three of them weren't quite fearful and yet, the way they kept distance from Brandon was similar to the way people avoid calamity.
As if Brandon himself were a disease.
"You're lying." Lumiere insisted.
Brandon sneered in scorn, slapping his thighs while he stood in aggravation, "I wouldn't dare lie about something like this."
Corinth fumbled away from Eli though she still held his arm for stability, "Did they ... did they save you?"
Why did she sound so scared?
Brandon nodded, clearly understanding an underlying message hidden within her question that I couldn't detect due to my outsider status, "Yes. The Council brought me back." Then his eyes swung towards mine in a challenge, "And I'm not the only one."
"Don't!" I ordered, every nerve nearly frayed from the events this night has assembled, "Don't say it."
But my attempt to bully him into submission wasn't quite as effective as I had hoped, because Brandon only smiled and said rather smugly, "Dustin is alive."
The force of hearing those words yet again knocked me backwards and Lumiere leapt closer to catch me before I fell into the nearby bar. But once I felt him near, I gripped him painfully tight because if I didn't get a sense of something real, I might tumble head first into the delusions this man was spewing.
Beside us, Corinth's breaths turned shallow and her hands were at her cheeks; eyes wide and mouth open with an expression I have only see once before. In the mirror. My reflection wore the same look of consuming grief right after my mother died. Although, it looked different on my own face than it did on Corinth's. I was in tears and heartbroken, Corinth looked on in relative silence, no doubt trying to convince herself that this wasn't true even though – just like myself – somewhere deep inside, she knew Brandon couldn't be lying.
Between our two experiences, Corinth's was worse. I knew my mother was dead, irrefutable. But hearing that Dustin was alive even after everything we witnessed with his funeral and burial suddenly throws the very threads of reality into a frenzy.
Eli braced his arms on either side of Corinth, prepared to catch her should she collapse under the shock of this news. But Eli looked no better. His skin waned of color, leaking his overall appearance to one that was ghostly pale and flustered. Brandon watched them meticulously and relinquished a sympathetic gaze on his sister. But that emotion was diluted, as if he felt only a fraction of what he should be feeling.
Moments later, I realize that it was no longer I who held onto Lumiere for support but he who clung to me. His grip around my arms fastened likes belts, squeezing my skin which had gone white from his hold. But he wasn't aware of the pain he inflicted because his attention was directed elsewhere.
Lumiere buzzed with heated anger and his voice came out several octaves too low, "You better have some damn good evidence to back up that accusation."
Brandon rolled his eyes again, "You're as bad as the girl is. Honestly Lumiere, use your brain for once in your life." Holding no regard for the turmoil just established, Brandon faced us all and repeated, "Dustin isn't dead, he's with the Council."
"Prove it." Lumiere demanded, his hold on me now powerful enough to break bones. But it wasn't his painful grip which brought tears to my eyes. It was the way Lumiere looked to Brandon with so much hope.
It was heartbreaking.
Lumiere was desperate to believe it, he wanted so badly to believe that what he saw every time he closed his eye wasn't authentic. That he didn't watch Dustin get shot or die or have to bury him. He yearned to see Dustin again, he longed to express his guilt for not being able to save him and apologize. Just one moment, even if fleeting in time, would be enough for Lumiere. He needed that one moment and nothing more, because that one moment would release him from this unbearable torment.
He wanted to believe with his whole being that at any second Dustin would walk through that door and assure him that it has all been a hoax.
Nothing more than a bad dream.
But Lumiere has been hoping for this for three weeks and each day concludes with the same definitive realization.
No amount of hoping or wishing, or praying, could return what we have lost.
And yet, here we are with those very hopes and prayers being answered by none other than the man who has been dead for a year and a half. If he survived, maybe miracles really do exist.
Then again, sometimes miracles are simply devil traps in disguise.
"Prove he isn't dead." Lumiere stepped forward, understanding all too well the gamble he faced by placing his faith in this man. But there wasn't enough risk in the world to deter Lumiere from his wager.
"Fine." Brandon replied too quickly, already prepared to tackle this precise task. He motioned towards the door, "Follow me."
My voice didn't sound nearly as resolved as Lumiere's when I asked, "Follow you where?"
"To the mausoleum." Brandon announced, frank and to the point, then laughed at the way my face twisted in disgust, "If you think Dustin is dead then his rotting corpse should be right where you left it."
Corinth reeled backwards, shaking her head in firm denial, "We are not going to look at my cousin's body-"
"You're right, you're not ... because he isn't there." Brandon was beyond trying to explain, fed up with delivering the truth and being accused of prevarication. He strolled through the door, expecting us to follow like dogs. Just before he left, he glanced back at me specifically and the glint in his eye was one I couldn't trust. But also one that dared me to do exactly that, "You asked for proof. Don't tell me you're afraid?"
I am. Petrified.
But if there is even a slim chance that Brandon could be telling the truth, could I afford to ignore him as I have been? I didn't want to believe it but perhaps I don't have a choice. He said it before, if I truly loved Dustin I wouldn't hesitate to save him. Lumiere wasn't hesitating, he stalked after Brandon on legs that carried large strides without a glance backwards to see if anyone else followed.
"Lumiere, wait!" Eli shouted, demanding that he gain some sense before falling for Brandon's artifice. But with Lumiere already out the door, Eli turned to me almost desperately because he too couldn't fathom the treachery of believing such a lie. Like me, he was expending all energy into keeping the death of a king final, "Please tell me you're not falling for this."
My hands were in my hair and my heart was pounding, hammering faster and harder with each second that Brandon grew in distance from me. I didn't want to follow them for two very important reasons; I didn't want to see Dustin's corpse any more than Corinth did, but also because I was afraid that I wouldn't see it just as Brandon promised.
At this point, I wasn't sure which would be worse.
I met Corinth's broken gaze with a fearful one and I couldn't help but feel her pain, "I don't want to believe it either. But if it's true ... I have to go."
As I stepped up to the door, Corinth called my name and when I looked back at her, she looked so small; huddled on the ground, clutching Eli against her like a fearful child, and staring on with reddened eyes, "I can't go to that place ... I can't."
The doorknob felt cold in my hand, "I know."
"But what if it's true ..." Her voice came out barely audible and cracked, distraught in shame, and she spoke what I've been fearing since the moment Brandon told me his name, "That means Dustin has been alive all this time ... and we gave up."
I didn't want to say it before, because saying it made it true. But the self loathing that boiled in my gut at her sentence betrayed my thoughts; Corinth was right. Part of what helped me accept Dustin's death was the knowledge that he was somewhere better and that he was finally at rest after a long miserable life of unimaginable torment. From the moment his father forcibly branded him with the Tribe sigil, Dustin was marked for misery.
But with death came peace, long awaited and well deserved peace.
That's why I have placed so much energy into rejecting Brandon's lies. I can't believe him because if what he says is true, then Dustin has spent the last three weeks without us ... alone. The farthest outcome from peace.
We all gave up on him because we thought he was somewhere better. But now, not only is Dustin supposedly alive and wasting away somewhere by himself, but he's also enduring visions of torture without hope of salvation. Because we've been living in ignorance since the moment his chest deflated with his final breaths. Thinking he was finally safe when the opposite was true.
That's why I refuse to believe Brandon because if his lies are indeed true, I'm not sure any of us will recover.
It can't be true, it can't be.
But ...
I can only hope that it is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So many questions, so little answers. Let's hear some theories about what's going on, any guesses?
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