Hey hey hey, it wasn't a month this time, at least.
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I'm glad everyone likes Often. She doesn't have a very big part in this chapter, but obviously there's a reason for that. And I hope you like it anyway. Here goes!
Chapter Twelve
"When our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors." - Lady Macduff, Act IV, Scene I
Maybe I should have been surprised to see my brother at Emily's house. But the truth was, at that point there wasn't much that could possibly have shocked me. It was getting to the point where I could have been made Queen of England and my only response would have been to assume they wanted me to pay for my own airfare. Actually, come to think of it, being a national ruler would be less responsibility. Let me in on that action.
I looked to the small pistol held tightly in Craig's outstretched hand, then back up to his face. His mouth was tight, and he looked tired. I'd make a note of telling him he should get more sleep, assuming he didn't shoot me. If he did shoot me, screw his exhaustion. "Craig." I started carefully, since he hadn't responded yet. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Craig repeated the question and tapped the pistol against his chest briefly. Craig isn't a big guy. He's about five foot eight with premature baldness just starting to creep up on him as he edged nearer to thirty. All through childhood, he'd been a skinny little boy, but in the past few years he'd started packing a little bit of extra weight in the front. He used to wear contacts, but around the time he went to law school, he switched to glasses. I guess he thought they made him look more distinguished or thoughtful. Now he was squinting at me through them. "I'm here because you're here." He thrust the pistol toward me to emphasize his words. "I'm here because of you! Because you think you can do anything you want and no one's going to say a damn thing!"
Buhwha? Wait a minute, what? I was right with him up until that last comment and then he completely lost me. He was the lawyer. I was the drop-out. We kind of all knew who won the top spot in mom and dad's picture album. "Craig--" I began to question him slowly. "What--"
"Stop it!" His shout filled the room and I was briefly worried that someone would complain or investigate. "Stop calling me that, you ****ing ****!" He crossed the room and pushed the barrel of the pistol into my cheek while his other hand grabbed for my arm. "You think I won't do it just because of your little game?! You think I won't do it because of this?!" The barrel was digging painfully into my flesh and his gaze was one of utter fury. I couldn't understand it.
Acutely aware of the gun pressed firmly against my face, I swallowed very slightly before speaking quietly. It's funny the way people shout when everyone's pointing guns but when it's one gun, and one target, you whisper. It's like you're afraid that any loud noise will make the gun go off. I don't understand all of the logic, but I was completely buying into it. Hell, given the choice I would have reverted to sign language or quite possibly carrier pigeon to communicate. My voice was as quiet and steady as I could make it given the circumstances. "Don't call you what?"
His face contorted and for a brief moment I thought he was going to pull the trigger, then his mouth twitched in disgust and he flung me away from him onto the couch with a yell. "Craig! Don't call me that like you know me! You don't know me! I know you. I know your games. I know your little tricks. I know everything so don't try to fool me! Don't ****ing talk! You stay there. You ****ing stay there!" He seemed half crazed as he took a step back.
I hit the couch and turned over, staring in confusion at my brother as he looked at me like I was some kind of monster. Like I was a freak. I spoke before I could think. "Craig--"
His move was instantaneous. He came at me and I saw a flash of the gun moving, then blinding pain as the pistol smacked me upside the head and knocked me sideways. My head was bleeding and I felt his spittle as he shouted. "Don't ****ing call me that! Don't try your god damn games! They won't work! I know what you are! I know what you're trying to do and it won't ****ing work!" He lowered his voice finally, physically trembling as he gripped my chin, obviously forcing himself to calm down enough to speak coherantly. "I know. I know it all. You can't fool me. I don't know what you want, what you hope to gain through all this." His hand was squeezing my face tight and I thought I saw a tear in one of his eyes. "I don't know why you're doing this. But I don't care. Just..." His voice trailed off slightly and the hand without the gun moved to brush through my hair as I saw a flash of pain pass through his features. "Just let her go. Let my sister go."
Just a few minutes ago, when I said nothing could surprise me anymore? I was wrong. I was completely and utterly stunned. My mouth fell open in confusion. "Wait. Wait." I tried to get a handle on what he was talking about, but nothing made sense. "What do you mean? IWhat are you saying? I am--"
His needful, almost desperate look turned angry and he shoved me backwards on the couch before jerking himself upright to point the little gun at me once more. "Don't say you're her! Don't say you're Macbeth! I know you're not! I know! Maisie told me all about your little game. She told me how you infest people, how you slither right into their bodies and take them over! I don't know how you got my sister, but it ends here! It ends now! You go do whatever you need to do but you let Macbeth go!" He was breathing wildly as the gun shook in his hand. "I already got the girl out of jail, the girl you tried to use! She's gone and you'll never find her again. So just leave Macbeth alone and get the hell out!"
Even if I had known exactly what to say at that moment, I wouldn't have been able to speak through the shock. My brother wasn't working with Maisie because he was evil, or because she paid him to do it. He wasn't being greedy or even callous. He was trying to rescue me. He thought I was infested or possessed or something. Maisie had convinced him that I wasn't myself, that I was evil. My brother was trying to save me.
After a moment of staring at me, Craig lowered the pistol slightly. "What are you doing?" His tone was one of both suspicion and confusion. I realized then that I was crying. The tears fell and I couldn't stop them. Everything that I had been through, every truth that I'd had to accept, and it was the thought that my brother was still my brother that broke me. He wasn't perfect, and we weren't exactly close growing up. He had flaws. He could be selfish, he didn't like a lot of people, and he was greedy. But he was my brother. He was still my brother.
At first I didn't trust myself to speak. The constant emotional tilt-a-whirl that had become my life had tossed me through another loop. Finally, I managed. "You're not bad." My voice choked partway through and I repeated myself. "You're not bad. You're not the bad guy." I closed my eyes and repeated it a third time silently, barely able to believe how relieved I was. "You're trying to help. You were trying to help me."
I don't know what Craig might have said to that, because the firm click of the door shutting drew both of our attentions that way. Micky the Pseudo-Janitor, cleaner of spills and spiller of blood, stood facing me with a creepy little smile. He took his hand off the knob and stepped away from the door, having shut it behind him. "Good job, Craig. Good. We're ready to go." He looked to my brother and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, just an aww shucks, comrades kind of motion. It made me angry. "Pretty soon, we'll get the little **** tugged right out of little sissy and you'll be all set."
"No." I was on my feet, talking to Craig but facing Micky. "He's lying, Craig. They're both lying. I've changed, I'm changed, but it's not a bad thing. I'm me, Craig. I'm still me. I'm not evil, they're evil. They're using you." I wanted to convince my brother of what I was saying, but either way I wasn't going with them. I just needed a way out. Briefly, I wondered just how long Often was going to be busy with that tree. But I couldn't just wait for her to show up. I had to get out of this myself.
There was hesitation in Craig's expression, but he kept the gun pointed at me. "Shut up. Just shut up! You're not her! She wouldn't drop out of school. She wouldn't make mom and dad crazy by disappearing all the time. Everywhere you go, all those places you visit, people get hurt!"
Now I shouted back at him. "I'm doing my best! Yes, people get hurt. Yes, I wish I could stop it all. But I can't stop it all! I'm just one person. They get hurt, and sometimes they die and I can't stop that! I hate it! I hate this responsibility! I hate it and I love it! It's terrible and wrong and it's absolutely what I'm supposed to be doing! I didn't ask for this responsibility! I didn't ask to be the one who chooses who to save and who gets hurt! Every time someone gets hurt because I couldn't stop it, every time someone dies because I wasn't fast or strong enough, I think I was wrong. Every time I fail, I think that I'm the wrong person for this. But I'm not. I'm not the wrong person. I can fail nine times out of ten, and watch nine people die! But that one time. That one time! That time, I save a man's life. I save a life that would have died. I save someone who would have died if I didn't make the choice to be there. And that's when I know, that's how I know, no matter how often I fail. No matter how many people hate me, no matter who they turn against me, this is where I belong. I'm not a bad guy, Craig. I'm not possessed. I'm me. I do this because I choose to. Not because I'm possessed, not because of powers, not because of visions. Because it's where I choose to be. It's what I choose to do."
After I finished speaking there was a moment of silence, then Micky began to clap mockingly. "Bravo. Oh bravo. Encore! That was beautiful and so touching." He raised his chin while wiping away a mock tear, then stared straight at me dangerously. "Now shut the hell up so we can go."
Craig still looked torn, so I sighed. "I'm sorry, Craig." Then I lunged forward and brought my knee up fast into his stomach. I heard the breath explode out of him and there was a clatter as he dropped the gun. I didn't see where it went, and didn't have time to scramble for it. I let my brother crumple and started for the door. I never got that far. There was a sudden burning pain in my scalp as Micky grabbed my hair and hurled me backwards. My back hit the kitchen counter and I saw his fist coming at me. I managed to jerk myself down out of the way, but just as quickly his leg came up and nailed me in my side, knocking me into the kitchen table.
I hit the table with a grunt. I felt the large man coming up behind me, and forced myself to move even though the blow from the pistol earlier was still making me dizzy. As I turned, I jerked the dining chair backwards and into Micky's path. Fun fact, when you slam your knee into an unmoving barrier, even the world's most unstoppable assassin, well, stops. I heard the crack as wood met knee and then he screamed in pain and started to fall.
Reminding myself to congratulate me later, I pushed away from the table. But before I could go more than a step, my foot was grabbed and yanked out from under me. I cried out and hit the floor on my side. Immediately, Micky was practically on top of me. His gaze was blurred by hatred and pain and his hands closed around my throat in an iron grip. "You ****!" He screamed at me. "You ****ing ****!" I struggled, bringing my hand up to claw down his face, but he didn't even seem to notice. If anything his grip grew tighter. I was starting to see spots.
Then I heard a shout that wasn't either of us and a loud, echoing gunshot filled the room. Micky's grip finally slackened as he looked down blankly at the hole in his chest that oozed blood. Together, both of us turned to see Craig standing with the gun raised. He was pale, but firm. "Get... your hands.... off of my sister."
Micky coughed, and blood came up. Despite everything, he smiled, his weight still pinning me down. "That was a bad idea, kid." His voice was strained, but he didn't appear particularly worried. "Now she'll never help Darryll." Before I could begin to process what that meant, a black shape tore itself from the man's body. It was something like a shadow, but more substantial. As it brushed over me, I felt an intense cold. It was slippery, like oil.
The body collapsed on top of me, and then his head raised. The blue aura of a man about to die lit the room, and I didn't have time to wonder why I hadn't seen any aura just before Craig shot him. His eyes were full of pain and regret. The voice for once was not mocking or confident. It cracked with the effort of speaking. "Stop... him. Don't let him... take your brother. Stop."
It came to me then. The truth. The slippery shadow thing that oozed through the air was Micky. And this poor, dying man was Darryll. Even as I realized that, the man lost his last breath and fell on top of me. There was nothing I could do for him. And, as I pushed myself out from under the body and rose, I saw that there was nothing I could do for Craig. The last vestiges of the oily shadow thing disappeared into his body, and he staggered. I opened my mouth to shout. "Craig! Leave him alone!" But even as I spoke, I knew it was too late. Micky had a new host.
HIs gaze locked on mine and I knew it wasn't my brother any more. He started to raise the gun, and I turned. He was blocking the door, but I had a different route in mind. His first shot blew through the table to my left. I could only assume that he was still getting situated and his aim wasn't perfect yet. I started to run, even as a second shot destroyed a vase practically under my arm. I was sprinting, straight at the window. My legs propelled me, but it was my adrenaline that kept me going. A third shot whistled through my hair, and then I was at the window.
Tucking my arms over my face as I lowered my head, I let out a kamikazi scream as I slammed through it. Glass shards sprayed everywhere and I felt a brief moment of euphoria. Then I started to fall. Emily's apartment had been on the fourth floor. About fifty feet up. Probably not enough to die, but no sane person would want to fall that far. Luckily for me, sanity hadn't been a problem in a long time.
The air rushed around me and I heard my brother's voice yell a curse. Then blinding pain filled me as I slammed into the grass. I felt both legs snap and then my arm did the same as I fell forward onto it. I screamed in pain, but forced myself to focus. I wasn't dead. I hadn't died, and anything short of death, I can deal with. That's not to say it doesn't hurt like a ****, but at least I was alive. And quickly, as I focused on the injuries first in my legs, then my arm, the pain passed. I healed myself.
Often appeared over me, her eyes wide with concern. "Macbeth!" When she saw that I was okay, she let out her breath. "Dude, when you jump off a building, you're supposed to have the power to teleport yourself through the trees so you don't get hurt."
I grunted slightly, lifting myself up with her help. "I knew I forgot something." I remarked before glancing up to the now empty window. People were already starting to come out to see what the commotion was. "Let's go! Go! We have to get out of here."
To her credit, Often didn't ask any questions. She just turned and started to move with me. I took a single step, and then I fell forward. Not because of any lingering pain, but because a vision filled my mind. I saw Emily. I saw her press her hands against that very glass that I had just crashed through. I saw how much she loved the view from her apartment. I saw how she spent hours at the window, just watching people. And then, with the connection established, I saw what she planned to do. I saw why she needed the bomb.
I came out of it to the sound of Often cursing as she shook me. "Mac! Wake up."
Groggily, I blinked my eyes open. We were somewhere indoors. I looked around. "Where are we?"
Often let out a breath of relief. "Gods, you've been out of it for fifteen minutes. I thought I was going to have to call a doctor or something. Are you okay?" She looked worried as her hand gripped my shoulder. "What the hell was that?"
"That--" I said with forced calm. "--was a vision. Wait, are we..." I looked around the place she had brought me. "Are we in a KFC?"
"Hey." The other girl retorted, starting to be herself once more now that she was sure I wasn't in a coma or anything. "If I was going to have to carry you to the hospital, I needed fuel."
I laughed despite myself and waved a hand. "It's okay, it's all right." I finished sitting up, finding myself in one of the booths at the back of the restaurant. I wasn't sure how she'd carried me in without attracting attention. I winced a little, thinking of Craig and how I had failed him just as he saved me, just as he believed me. But I wouldn't dwell. I couldn't. All I could do was promise myself that I would free my brother. Then I remembered the point of what I had seen. "I know why she's doing it."
Often turned back to me. "What?"
"Well, not why she's doing it." I amended myself. "But I know what. I know who. I know why Emily needs that bomb. I know what her real target is." As Often met my gaze quizzically, I went on. "She wants to blow up that hotel, the one from earlier. She wants to blow it up because she knows Maisie is there." I bit my lip, knowing the truth of what I was saying even if I didn't understand the why of it. "Emily wants to kill Maisie."