Hospital couldn't hold me. It'd probably win in a battle of wits with all the collective medical degrees, but I was determined. Typhon convinced me to stay long enough to get fixed up and got me out early with the promise of returning in a handful of hours, but only because we had no idea where Hemming would summon the Messenger. Cops had raided the warehouse and Hemming's place, but both were empty.
Besides, I needed some bandages. I'd ripped the fragile membrane over my arm and set it bleeding again. Then there were the shrapnel wounds, the thousand cuts from my falls, itchy skin like bees having a party under there (not fun, take it from someone who knows), and my fucking eyes still streaming tears. There was a lot of screaming involved prior to getting pumped with painkillers.
I didn't tell anyone the last thing that'd started to heal properly was my lost arm. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Maybe my regenerative ability had finally decided to quit after being pushed so many times. The shrapnel wounds kept bleeding long after they should've shut up, and my aching body wasn't any better when I left the hospital. The last crack in my skin from the torso hole was even seeping a bit, although I could feel the intestines had strung themselves so I could eat without backing up the pipes (yay!). Got a new health card that had a little 'ANEN' right next to my sex. Guess it's cool being the first registered anemone person.
We had three hours left.
Standing in the cool night air next to Typhon—me panting heavily, him trying to help me stand and getting shoved away—it felt like the finale. The stars, one of which was probably the last place the Old Ones fucked up, were glittering like powdered diamond on velvet.
"Know where Hemming will do the summoning?" Typhon asked, finally giving up on helping me stand.
"Not a clue. We weren't buddies, you know. We met four months ago, she tried to drown me, I didn't really wanna, here we are." I closed my eyes. "She'll probably call when it's getting close. She wants me to see."
"Quite the show person."
I let a slow smirk build across my face. If I'm gonna die tonight, I'd like to have a last drink. "We've got time to kill before the show starts. Smoothie?"
Typhon grinned. "Hell yes."
It didn't take long to reach the spot I had in mind. They make the best alcoholic smoothies in the city. Red and blue neon spilled onto the street, spelling eldritch messages in the gasoline. I wished I had an edgy coat collar to flip up and build that delicious noir vibe.
Typhon smiled faintly, but he didn't speak until we ordered our smoothies: me a pink one called 'A Hundred Sins and Berries' that definitely had fewer than a hundred of both, and him one accurately named 'Frothy Orange Vodka.' We settled at a table looking out the display window. I raised my cup. "To having a correct health card."
Typhon booped his against mine. "So when did you find out?"
"That I'm an eldritch abomination?"
He tried his smoothie before speaking. "You're nothing like those monsters."
I snorted. "I was eight during the First Coming." There had been the shaking and choking and then nothing. I'd woken to my moms trying to get me up, and the news yelling about the eldritch god that'd risen from the harbour and decided we weren't ready to worship him. "I guess I figured it out the first time afterwards that this happened." I dipped a spoon into my smoothie and dropped some on my exposed wrist. Then I buried my mouth and nose in my remaining drink. For a moment it felt like I was falling as my breath drained away, then a shock went through my body and we watched the pink smoothie disappear under my skin. The cold shook my spine. I came up for proper air and wiped my face, rolling my shoulders as my body switched back to lungs. "Weird trick, huh?"
"Surprised you didn't show me sooner." He stretched, back clicking like the many locks of someone hunted by the mob. Finishing with that, Typhon looked down, then eyed me suspiciously. "Stop stealing my smoothie."
I wiped orange from my upper lip. "Yours is better."
He sighed. "Fine. Switch." We managed not to spill either. I forwent the straw and gulped the better smoothie from the cup. Typhon cleared his throat. "Why are you going through with this? Why not go home and get drunk like usual?"
"I drink alone when I want it all to end." I met Typhon's eyes over the table. "I drink with others when I hope it won't."
"I'm touched." He tipped back the rest of his smoothie. "But you didn't answer. Why go to Hemming at all?"
"Hellgae has a hivemind. I let this patch die, and all hellgae not trapped in R'lyeh hunts me down for breaking my promise." I smirked. "And I can't let you have all the fun. I want to punch Hemming in her fucking face and see her lose her stupid cool when she gets arrested."
"You hate her more than everyone else."
"She tried to kill both of us and has definitely drowned and shot a ton of people."
"Fair." Something else I said clicked behind his eyes. "Hold on, you made it a promise?"
"To save your life." I poked the last vestiges of my smoothie with the spoon. "Promised to keep it from getting sacrificed so it wouldn't murder you. You know, when it'd just eaten the eldritch god possessing your ass."
"Have I thanked you for saving me?"
"Sorta."
He held my eyes. "Thank you." Out of nowhere, the barista appeared at my shoulder clutching the check. Typhon waved his wallet. "My treat."
I shrugged. "Sounds good for me."
"A woman on the phone paid for your drinks." The barista glanced over her shoulder and leaned in. "She also says to get in the car. Should I call the cops?"
Typhon and I exchanged a glance. "Yes," my detective buddy said. "Tell them everything you can: model, colour, license plate, anything. We'll be going though." His ID flashed. "Don't worry, you're doing the right thing."
I slammed back the last of my smoothie and stood. "What are we waiting for? Let's get kidnapped by the mob."
They traded us our phones and Typhon's gun for fashionable burlap hoods. The car sped away and did donuts for awhile. No, really. We made turn after turn until even Typhon's excellent sense of direction was fucked. Time passed. We rolled to a stop at ten to one in the morning. They didn't pull the hoods until we were kicked onto the curb. Car left to get torched.
Old-timey bulbs lined the theatre's tall sign, half of them dead. Still enough to read that it was under renovation. The eerily warm glow side-lit Typhon's face. The theatre. Why were we back at my own personal hell? IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE?
Typhon gave a disgusted sigh. "This was only a couple blocks away."
I sank to haunches. "No, no, Typhon, we can't be here."
"Hey." A hand dropped onto my shoulder. "Go home, Joanah. Nothing is making you stay. We can deal with the hellgae. Just leave."
His hand was the only warm spot on my shivering body. I grabbed his wrist and used it to haul myself up. "Not a chance." I clenched my teeth to keep the vomit back. "Knowing you, you'll fu—fuck up and Hemming will sic the Messenger on the city. I'd rather die fighting here than at my shitty place."
Typhon smiled sadly. "You have a good heart, Joanah."
"Ugh, take that back." I squared my shoulders. "Hemming won't punch herself." I shoved open the theatre doors. Light collapsed onto the street, then sucked back as the exit closed behind us. I could keenly feel my injuries: throbbing arm-stump, eyes still stinging, dripping back wounds. We moved towards the back, because knowing Hemming, she'd want a stage.
"No weapons," Typhon stated.
"Says who." I stopped in front of a display case, where some cool ancient knives were chilling. I grinned at Typhon. "Give the word, cop. May we arm ourselves?"
I got a nice razor-sharp stabby with a blue-green mottled look, and Typhon chose a chunky black knife that looked like a gun. The intercom coughed static, setting my stupid heart racing. "Do hurry along. The show is about to begin."
I exchanged a look with Typhon.
"Break a leg," he said, trying for a smile.
We entered the theatre proper just behind the few seating rows closest to the stage. Hemming stood centre stage, arms spread in welcome. Some sort of dark frame branched from her back, lending a sharply contrasting backdrop to her gold-swaddled body. The dress was something to behold, looping around and around in soft folds reminiscent of a goddess' stola. "Joanah, finally. Prepare to witness the beginning of an era. And do put the knives down. I'm afraid Cthulhu is not one to be harmed by mortal blades."
I closed my eyes. If only I could will back the flashes of last time. The child standing where Hemming was now. Actors sprawled on the stage in pools of blood and viscera. The dark forms of the measly crowd, dead in their seats.
Focus on something else. Hemming, look at her. She did look different. I hadn't had the chance to really look when she came to the cultist cave, but now... What was that dark patterning around her eyes? Old stitches? I squinted, and through sheer luck saw the moment Hemming blinked, the eyelids closing sideways.
I stumbled back. "What the fuck did you do?"
Hemming touched the side of her face. "Noticed my new haircut?" She gave a little laugh. "Or perhaps these?" With a flourish she threw back the curtain over the frame and—HOLY SHIT. I couldn't tear my eyes away. Huge draconic wings branched off her back. They were exactly like Cthulhu's, right down to the murky green-black scales. "The eyes were done shortly after you were supposed to die, but I got out of surgery for these a few hours ago. Not functioning yet, I'm afraid. This is just the framework for Cthulhu. If I play host, he simply cannot leave this time. I suppose my mind will be consumed, but I will be the immortal face of this new era. Your soul is a small price to pay for immortality, don't you agree?"
"Hemming, you—" I swallowed hard. "You—"
The mob boss laughed. "Speechless for once? I'm glad I could elicit that reaction at least once before your tragically young death." Her hand brushed the edge of one wing. "Impressive, are they not? I am quite interested to see how they will feel when the Dreamer makes them true limbs."
Typhon brandished his gun-knife. "So you're Hemming? Hate to bear bad news, but Cthulhu isn't coming."
That snapped me out of my stupor. "He's right. I destroyed the ledger and switched it to summon the Messenger."
Hemming was frozen for a second. "Well, this is a surprise." She folded her arms. "I have no desire to be the Messenger. I am the Dreamer of this world." The mob boss tilted her head back. "But I refuse to let all my hard work go to waste. What is a few thousand more souls for another ledger? This only changes the timeline, Joanah."
"Great," I said. "Come down here so I can punch your stupid lizard face."
She tutted. "Although if the Messenger is the last god I get to summon for awhile, I would rather like to see what it looks like."
"Hemming, stop being so fucking stupid. It'll kill you and everyone here. No summoning Cthulhu later, just dead."
"Ah, but you forget." Hemming smiled. "They like to kill their summoner last." Her hand went into a fold of her robe and withdrew a little indigo bottle. She began chanting in a low, pulsing voice that was deeper than should've been possible.
"No, no, no." I broke into a run and vaulted onto the stage. "NO!"
A black knife hilt sprouted from Hemming's shoulder. Blood ran down her golden arm. She barely faltered.
"NO!"
The hellgae collapsed into ash.
I pulled up short as a circle around Hemming burst into green light, the edge etched with eldritch writings. Hemming delicately stepped from inside it and met my eyes. "I suppose I should exeunt. A greater actor than I arrives."
Something to the side caught my attention, not movement, just a pattern. The outline of another, older circle etched in the floor. Exactly like the glowing one.
My heart stopped.
A twisting, shiny, milk-white funnel rose from the circle's centre.
Hemming turned to depart.
With the speed of the eldritch, the funnel streaked after her. It passed me, dropping pieces, and I realized it was made of writhing maggots. The funnel seized Hemming by the throat. Grubs poured into her mouth, nose, inched into her eyes. Hemming dropped to her knees, her chest bucking.
I couldn't move.
Her throat worked and a violent cough spewed maggots across the stage. Hemming's eyes rolled back in her head. The mob boss collapsed and lay still. The milky grubs inched away from her body.
The circle was still glowing.
Typhon's hand gripped my shoulder. "We need to run, Joanah."
"Kill me." I was shaking from terror, from what I could feel gleefully uncurling in my mind. "Before I kill you."
"We've escaped before, we can do it now. Please, Joanah, just lean on me. We can get you out."
Oh, I could feel it. It was everywhere and Cthulhu was coming and there was nothing we could do. We could try and struggle and fight but there wasn't a point. There was never a point. In the end, it would always end with bloodshed and horror and drowning. Nothing we did mattered. Billions and billions and billions of souls already succumbed to the eldritch across thousands of societies. WHY NOT JUST DIE TOO?
I retched and doubled over, burying my hand in my gut. Everything was cold—my hand was wet—Cthulhu would come and I was the messenger. My shoulders jolted like I'd been shocked, and I dimly felt a strange pulling sensation in my gut like a mouth opening.
Joy flooded my senses and any other trace of me was erased. A wide grin spread across my face.
I pulled the knife from my gut. Visceral chunks splatted to the floor.
I considered the blade and all the human souls around me. A tribute in blood for the Great Dreamer. Globlets of my flesh peeled back into maggots. They dropped at my feet, ready to embrace ignorant souls while I painted the world in their glorious crimson.
It was the end.
I went to step towards the nearest soul, a detective frozen in his indecision, but a sound like a keyboard beating someone's head reached my ears. Leaking from beneath the floorboards, dripping down the walls, dragging itself across the stage, an indigo circle closed around me.
The nest of maggots was devoured. It seized my boots and ascended my body, sliding into the unhealed cuts in my flesh.
I began to shake.
Horrible clarity punched me between the eyes.
I gasped.
The knife thudded into the stage. I clapped a hand to my gut as I realized what happened, that tugging feeling, why you shouldn't double over while holding a fucking knife. The Messenger was consumed, but the hellgae—the hellgae only put its hunger first.
"Vengeance," whispered the hellgae. "Drown the pact-breaker."
I staggered, slick intestines pressing against my hand, begging to be freed. My knees cracked against the floor.
Indigo took my vision. I could feel the hellgae filling my lungs.
I let go, releasing the gory tide to the stage, and stretched out my hand, for anyone. I choked one word. "Please."
The world didn't respond.
But one hand took mine.