Betrayal of the Light

Ten

Through the night I encounter three sequential episodes of murder. Each of them was carried out in places belonging to the village, I think. I have either not seen them clearly, or I have not recognized them fully; I am unable to tell which. The landscapes have overridden each other in my mind. Uncertain of destination, I lead my steps down the staircase first thing in the morning with the same determination I have been putting towards finding the church.

“We have work to do,” I command Hunter who is already waiting for me in front of the extinguished fireplace.

With him by my side, I head out the door hoping that if I find the places, then some memories might come back. If, indeed, the dreams were figments of my memory and not my twisted conscience.

Towards the end of the main street I recognise the carved patten on a massive wooden door. Having been corroded through the edges, the Celtic knots that frame it are nonetheless exactly how I dreamt of them. To my disappointment, the hinges on it refuse to budge and so it remains sealed with all its knowledge inside. But, as soon as I turn my back to it, the image before my eyes goes dark.

In a second, I see someone from behind, sipping from a cup. The cup cracks. I press both blades from my hands crossed against his throat, slashing it from front to back. Blood gushes over the table, turning the liquid from the cup crimson. It drips down its rim, pooling around a gem reflecting its shade.

When it ends, I open my eyes thankful for not having been brought to my knees by the vision. Instead, I have fallen weak, my back transferring the weight of my body onto the door. This escalated; from shooting to slashing a throat there comes in some personal motivation. I shiver at how grim and sadistic I interpret that act.

Hunter strokes his head against my hand, fully breaking me away from the reminiscence.

“Yeah, let’s go look for the others, before we attract some unwanted attention.”

We lose ourselves among the villagers, as inconspicuous as can be expected of me. The next place I dreamt of was a small garden, though for endless hours we search the streets in vain. At some point I am willing to believe it belongs to a village other than this. It matters not so much, for we reach instead the narrow alley. It was not nearly as easy to find as I expected; being a mere c***k between two buildings. Aside that, my exhaustion and the approaching nightfall, concealing it in shade, must have taken their toll. We passed it twice before taking notice of it. The same stench of decay welcomes me entering it as it did under the bridge. Heat flashes through my body and my head starts spinning. Feeling dizzy, I turn around to Hunter, but collapse soon after.

Nothing but darkness. It fades to let an image emerge; of hands and feet bound in thick rope, bleeding. I stand on a rooftop, with a raging wind blowing my hair and coat to the side. The bound figure is below me, lying in the alley; desperately writhing. From a long distance, aggressive barking draws closer to us. Unusual dogs; foam dripping down their fangs as they approach. Lured by the scent of blood, they gather around him and tear apart his flesh, while still alive and struggling. This scene, however grotesque, does nothing to startle or frighten me. So, I close my eyes content at the sight of so much tainted blood being spilled.

Then, I awake. The next morning, that is; stretched out in the same alley with Hunter curled up close to my chest. Dear creature, you deserved better.

After waking him up as well, I get up to brush the snow off both my coat and his fur. The rising sun sends us looking for a drink and a spot in society. Once inside The Apothecaries, I order some trusted dark rum and water for Hunter from the bartender. I look around for the most convenient place to pass the morning dizziness and headache. Mornings seem not as busy as the evenings around here.

After most of the clientele goes to start their work for the day, from what I gather through their complaining, two atypical rugged men walk in. They do not seem the least tired from either past few hours of sleep of upcoming plenty hours of work. Instead of going to the bar, they turn and walk up to our table.

“Take your mut and beat it,” demands one of them, nasty scars he got across the left side of his face.

“You heard him,” emphasizes the other one. “We don’t take kindly to the likes of you around here, even more so if they dare sit at our table.”

“The likes of me, you say?” I ask, taking an unimpressed sip from my half-empty glass.

“Strangers.”

“Well, then, you are mistaken,” the crooked smile on my lips makes them despise me even more. “See, technically, we were here first so that makes you the strangers here.”

“We’ve got a smart one over here,” says the first one to the second, his tone betraying anger.

The latter takes a swing at me, which I instinctively avoid before grabbing his arm. I twist it so hard it almost breaks.

“You had enough violence?” I ask calm.

Hunter barks at the other one, making him back a few steps away from us.

“Never,” he replies, loosening from my grip and landing a punch under my chin.

That hurt a little. The other one grabs me by my coat, defiant of Hunter, and throws me on the table. In my fall I knock it over, shattering all the glasses that were resting empty on top of it. From between the shards I stand up, brush them off and stare him dead in the eyes. I swing forward to punch him back, but he avoids it at the last second. Good reflexes. My next one does not miss, hitting him so hard that his balance is lost for a moment. Still grinning, I kick the other one in the chest, cutting his airflow. He falls as a putrid log to the ground, face pressed against the same shards when I stood up. I feel a strand of blood flowing from my mouth; dripping down my chin.

“Dante!” shouts the barmaid, anxiously leaning over the counter, both of her hands gripping its edge.

Shit. Unwanted attention; I was just giving myself a talk on how I should avoid it at all cost. Having been brought to my senses, I swiftly pass through the dazed crowd and out the door with Hunter by my side.

We reach the ocean when the sun is sinking, turning it into a fire pit. Curious how my first instinct was to get as far away from the village. I would have been just as safe at the lodge, then again, the possibility of dragging Damien through this as well is void if I am here.

I sit down in the sand mixed with fresh snow from the night before. Damn, those numskulls got on my nerves today, but having Hunter with me before a landscape bathed in visual warmth soothes my mind. Some people truly believe themselves indestructible, when in reality they are weak and vulnerable. Same as the murderers I took out. It only took one god forsaken assassin to take away their lives and precious fantasies. Though none of them know, or have known, me; I know each one of them. Seems I can tell them apart from the others and read their sins across their faces. Now, I think I pieced enough together to not be afraid of my fate anymore. I must take it upon myself to bring what I started to an end. Though I believed my soul chained by it, now I feel it not as pain, but as part of me. 

They say time heals every wound, but for me it has the effect of ripping them open again. With that in mind, I relish the freedom with a soothing swim through the oddly calm ocean. I swim far across the waters, when something bright catches my attention not far from me. Intrigued, I rush towards it, cutting straight across the waves. I dive in after the bright veil following the curves of the water, clenching my left arm around her waist and pulling us both up to the surface. Struggling, I swim for both of us until we reach the shore. She starts coughing one we are out of the waters, so I take her up in my arms and walk us back to the ship. The bright veil I saw looks like a nightgown and her feet are bare underneath. Strange attire for such a weather.

I gently lay her down on the mattress, waiting for her to regain consciousness. Who is she and why does she seem so familiar? Her pale eyes are opening, glazing over the room aimlessly. She is not saying a single word, not even to ask where she is.

“I’m tired,” she whispers in a soft, warm voice, closing her eyes again.

I start feeling drowsy, as if a daze had escaped her lips and not only words.

When I wake up from my dreamless sleep, I notice she is gone. I could have sworn I locked the door and its only key is bound around my neck. I rush to the door, but it is indeed locked and untouched, so is the key.

“Where is she boy?” I ask looking over to Hunter who gives me a confused look and a tiny yawn in reply.

While the fresh, salty air sweeps in through the open shutters, I ponder the dividing line between dream and reality.