Page 16 of In Death's Hands
I hear a curse from the first man who spoke and the hold on my neck relaxes just enough to allow a trickle of air through. My eyes water but I still look ahead to assess the situation. The man shrouded in darkness is backing away from what looks like people made of shadows.
Maybe the lack of air did more damage than I thought.
The man holding me starts to shake and lets go of my neck to grab my arm and drag me with him. A spark of fight I didn’t know still lived in me comes back with a bite. Literally. I bite down, hard, on his hand. A hiss comes soon after, but whatever curse may have come from the man’s mouth is somehow dampened. He drops me and I stumble forward. The air is thick and freezing cold. The hair on my arms rises and my heavy breaths become living clouds in the suddenly quiet alley. I look around but only see writhing shadows. They part long enough for me to glimpse the first man disappearing faster than it takes me to blink.
A roar comes out of my attacker. Anger and fear come to life. I scramble away from his reach so fast I lose my balance and fall on my ass. He keeps his eyes on me as he grabs something from the ground. A broken piece of wood with old, rusty nails sticking out of it.
Shit.Shit.
I move to get back on my feet but he kicks me down. Keeping my eyes on him, I stay down but crawl back, trying to put as much distance between us as I can.
His crazy eyes take in my rather pathetic move, and he seethes, “Why won’t you fucking die?”
I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to come to terms with his weird-ass question. All I focus on is the sound of footsteps getting louder, closer. I want to look at him, the man who hasrepeatedly saved me in the last two days even though a huge part of me recoils at needing to be saved, but I don’t move my eyes from the angry asshole in front of me, lest I alert him to his impending doom.
Before I can ask myself what I think will happen to him, what Nathan could possibly do to him, the cold feeling expands so much I feel my hands freeze on the ground. Shadows swirl in my peripheral vision and my head instinctively turns.
What I see does not register. Maybe after all that’s happened, I truly am losing it and everything those people said is true. I invent ludicrous things as a coping mechanism. I’ve believed a lot in my life, kept my certainties close to my heart, protecting them until not even respected therapists could convince me I was wrong. But what I’m seeing is too much. That corner of my heart where I keep my unbelievable secret is too small to welcome something of that magnitude.
Nathan is there, looking like himself yet like something other. He is bathed in shadows that seem to move in sync with him. His eyes are the vortex of his anger, so cold they burn a strange white colour.
I feel a movement above me, and before I can tear my gaze from Nathan, I hear the whistle of a hard object rushing through the air, rushing towards my head. I don’t have enough time to react, but Nathan’s hand comes up and hands made of shadows take hold of me and drag me away. I’m trying to understand why I’m not afraid when a thud sounds next to me. The piece of wood has fallen at my side, because the man holding it is gone. Nothing but a shadow dispersed in the wind.
I gasp and try to get to my feet, my eyes returning to and getting stuck on Nathan.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, the anger in his eyes seeping and giving way to something that looks a lotlike anguish. The black shades around him fade slowly until they’re completely gone. Until his eyes are back to their eerie yet comforting black. The sounds of the bustling capital reach me again, but all I am is stuck. Halfway between a crouch and standing up, my legs are shaking beneath me.
He moves closer, holding up the hand he somehow commanded shadows with, and I recoil.
He notices and flinches, quickly backing away with both hands up, trying to show me he won’t hurt me.
The craziest thing is that I believe him. Worse, my body knows he won’t hurt me. It just hasn’t told my head why we trust him that much. I want to blame the concussion again, but even I need to admit that excuse has run its course.
Right now, all I know is that I don’t know a single fucking thing.
“Please,” he says, his voice breaking, desperate. I would probably give the world to him right now if he asked, such is his magnetism. But I’m not sure what he’s pleading for.
We’re still in that alley, the smells and sounds overwhelming me. Or maybe it’s just what happened that feels overwhelming and I’m focusing on simple, everyday issues rather than the insane fact that someone tried to kill me, again.
Oh, and the fact that Nathan can somehow manipulate shadows and made my attacker turn to smoke! And I think the other one disappeared into thin air. But I mean, if you accept the fact that Nathan was surrounded by humanoid-looking shadows minutes ago, surely a man vanishing is nothing to write home about. Surely.
I think I’m ready to admit that I’m not okay. In fact, the dirty ground is becoming more and more welcoming as the seconds trickle by.
“Liv.” My head jerks back up. I hadn’t realised I was slowly sinking down, the trauma a very real anchor ready to show me the depths of my insanity. “Please, let me help you up.”
Ah, so that’s what he wants? Sure! I’m pretty convinced I said that out loud for him, but he’s still looking at me with a pained expression, unmoving.
“You’re shaking, love. Please let me help. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
That’s when I remember I backed away from him. Right. I try to nod but it doesn’t really work my way since he’s right, I am shaking. It seems fitting to have a humanquake signalling my mind breaking apart. I gather my strength and try to fuse my bones together, but the more I lock them up, the harder I shake. “Y-yes.” The word is barely out of my mouth when I feel his arms slip under my knees and behind my back.
“I promise you’re safe now.”
Can he really make that sort of promise though? I would snort and argue not to make promises he can’t keep, but I focus on his heat instead, imagining it slowly seeping into my own body and wrapping itself around my aching bones. My body relaxes slowly and melts into his. I feel the deep pull of sleep but refuse to surrender to the promised oblivion. I have had enough of sleep and trauma-induced rests. What I need is answers.
I read books, after all. More importantly, I read fantasy. And in between the sexy bits, characters find answers. I refuse to be a cliché and spend months telling myself I’m insane or that I dreamed the whole thing. I did not imagine any of it. Just like I didn’t make things up twenty years ago. I have practice coming to terms with the unbelievable. Even more practice when it comes to trusting my own senses rather than what should be. I did not fight all those years to stumble now. Because if I deem this insane and impossible, then I’m not sure how to wrap my head around my parents’ accident.
Coming out of the alley is a surreal experience. Oh, the irony.
