Firing Laura a look, Amber replies: “Nothing I haven't dealt with before.” It's a remark she immediately regrets. Shrugging off the guilt, she asks: “Where's Wendy and Barbara?”
“They're gone. I sent them back along the tunnel.” Michael looks at Laura. “I take it she's like us.”
“Yes.”
“Good. That'll make things easier.”
Michael starts towards Laura. “How long have they known my whereabouts?”
Laura says nothing.
Michael lifts the M4 and puts a bullet in Laura's left leg, just above the kneecap.
Laura cries out and falls to the floor.
Amber's quick to Michael's side. “What the hell are you doing?”
Michael stops. “What do you mean?”
“Shooting her like this?”
“I need her to talk - anyway, what does it matter? Weren't you two in the process of killing one another when I arrived?”
“Yes, but ... isn't there another way?”
Ignoring Amber's question, Michael sinks a bullet into Laura's left shoulder.
Laura recoils from the impact. A moan escapes her lips.
“Michael,
answer me
.”
Michael turns to Amber. “People's lives may be in danger. How much danger they're in – or whether they're even still alive - depends on how long I've been under surveillance.” He re-focuses his attention on Laura. “Talk, or I'll continue shooting.”
“Fuck you,” Laura spits.
Michael puts a bullet through Laura's right ankle.
Laura releases a short, sharp cry, and clutches the wound.
Amber looks away.
“The next one's going into your stomach,” Michael says. “We both know you won't die from it, but it'll be agony while you heal, and I'll make sure you heal slowly.”
“You think I haven't suffered?” Laura says. “There's nothing you can do to me that your new girlfriend hasn't already done.”
Michael looks at Amber.
Amber folds her arms. “She isn't going to talk.”
“We'll see about that,” Michael says, and prepares to shoot again.
Amber lays a hand on Michael's arm. “Please, Michael, don't”
“Do it, Michael,” Laura says. “You're hurting her more than me.”
Michael considers Laura's words. He doesn't know the history between the two women; doesn't want to hurt Amber. But lives may be in the balance.
“I have to do this,” he says.
Amber's hand falls away.
Moments later, a bullet is lodged in Laura's stomach.
Laura releases an agonized wail and collapses onto her side. Her hands clutch at the bloody wound.
“Tell me how long!” Michael roars.
Unable to watch a second more of the torturous spectacle unfolding before her, Amber turns to leave.
But then something completely unexpected happens.
“Amara,” Laura moans, “... don't leave me with him.”
“Shut up!” Michael barks.
Amber can see Laura is in considerable pain and trembling, but what really distresses her is the look of fear in the other woman's eyes. She steps in front of Michael. “She's suffered enough.”
Michael lowers the M4. “What are you doing? Can't you see she's playing you?”
“Maybe she is, but this isn't right.”
“This isn't right?" he replies. "You see how stubborn she is, pleading with me to shoot to get at you.”
“Oh my god, do you really think she wants this? She's in agony, for fucksake.”
“She's spiteful, and for all I know, a psychopath.”
“Oh really,” Amber says, “and you know this woman?”
“No, but you seem to.”
Amber chews on the side of her mouth. She recalls seeing the way Laura killed Stan. But then, hadn't she herself intended to exact a similar punishment? “It still doesn't make this right.”
“Look,” Michael says, “all I care about is good people. People that may be in danger because she won't answer one simple question.”
“Good people?” Amber scoffs. “What are 'good people'?”
“You know fine well what good people are.
Innocent people
.”
“There are no innocent people,” Amber replies. “Only mistakes.”
“Well you're making one right now,” Michael says.
“Am I?”
“
Yes
.”
Amber ponders Michael's words. Maybe she is making yet another mistake, but, as long as they're mistakes born from the best of intentions, she decides she can live with herself. “Why don't you go save these people instead of wasting time here?”
“I don't have time to save people who may already be dead,” Michael replies. “This is why I need to know how long they've been watching me.”
Amber slowly shakes her head. “What the hell did you do?”
“
What
?”
“What the hell did you do to make someone so mad at you?”
“I don't have time for this,” Michael says. “Get out of my way.”
“Who are these people? Why are they after you?”
“Amber, I don't know what your history with this woman is, but protecting her won't undo the past. You can't make amends like this. Take it from me.
I know
.”
“This isn't about the past.”
“Isn't it?”
Amber fails to respond.
Michael can see he’s struck a nerve. He attempts to move around Amber, but she steps in front of him again. He points the rifle at her. “Amber, don't make me do something I'll regret.”
“I'm not moving, Michael. So you do what you have to ... and live with the consequences.”
Michael's exerts pressure on the rifle trigger. “Amber ...
please
.”
“I don't think you'll shoot.”
Despite her words, there's fear in Amber's eyes. She doesn't know Michael, after all, and he looks completely committed.
Michael blinks. A single bead of perspiration runs down the side of his face. “Then I suppose I have no choice.”
Realizing what's about to occur, Amber's eyes grow wide with alarm. She cries something, but her words are lost to the clamor of rifle fire. Bullets tear into her body with such force, her torso is sent into a spin.
Laura reaches for Amber's collapsing frame. She looks at Michael with condemnation. “What have you done!”
Michael stands rooted to the spot, a look of shock on his face.
What
did
he just do?
1712; Kovolosia
Levagnion stumbled through the dead forest to a symphony of bloodlust. The dogs were getting closer.
They were going to kill him.
He had done nothing wrong.
He stopped briefly and surveyed his surroundings. This part of the landscape was seeped in an eternal fog. Nothing grew here. It was an accursed place; a place where blackened trees spread their twisted branches, ready to collect the souls of those foolish enough to venture too close. The small tears on his cotton shirt was a testament to this.
He'd had no choice; had been sure they wouldn't follow him here. Yet they had. Such anger, such hatred, that they were willing to overcome their fears to pursue him. Why had this woman incorrectly accused him of violating her? What moved a woman to do such a thing? He had seen the guilt in her eyes. There had been no misunderstanding. She had knowingly falsely accused him. And he had run, sealing his guilt in the minds of his accusers. But what other option had been available to him? A fine lady's word was as good as a Saint's.
The air in this forest was as acrid as the Devil's own breath. Nevertheless, Levagnion drew it into his lungs and started forward again. Until now, he had not given consideration as to why this particular region of land was like this. Like most others, he tended to simply avoid it altogether. There was nothing here of interest. No foliage, no lurking fauna. Only this fog, and a lingering air of death.
It would be dark soon. Perhaps his pursuers would turn back. To venture into this place while it was still light was foolhardy enough, but under the wing of darkness ... quite another thing altogether.
Levagnion hurried down a small incline. Dead twigs snapped underfoot. To his left, he noticed a shallow stream. Perhaps an opportunity to drop his scent?
He ran through the water. It splashed around his ankles and got inside his boots. He looked back. Still no sign of the dogs, but at the rate they were closing, it would only be a matter of time before they had him in their sights. Or would it? The farther he pushed into this forest, the more dense the fog became. The sky was no longer visible and the trees had lost their definition, more resembling contorted apparitions than anything tangibly familiar.
Rarely had he felt so apprehensive.
Just then, he thought he saw something move through the trees to his left. He stopped and attempted to discern motion within the otherwise still surroundings. Was someone else out here? He could still hear the dogs, but they seemed no closer.
Disregarding the sighting as nothing more than a phantom conjured by paranoia, Levagnion continued onward through the stream. The sound of the dogs was becoming more distant with each footstep, and, as a result, he moved with less urgency than before. Had he been successful in losing them through guile, or had nightfall and a fear of this landscape come to his rescue? If those who hunted him had called off their pursuit, he would have no need to further penetrate this God forsaken place.
He stopped abruptly. Now he was sure someone was shadowing his movements. He listened; could hear nothing except the beating of his heart and the sound of the stream flowing around his ankles. How quickly the dogs had faded from earshot. It seemed quite unnatural.
Just then, a cold breath caught the back of his neck.
He whirled … and saw nothing.
Trembling, he raised a hand to his nape. His hair was relatively long, yet there had been no denying what he had felt. His skin prickled and his heart pulsed in his ears. He could see no one, yet was certain he sensed the presence of another. It was such an oppressive feeling.
He pondered his next move. Should he head back and possibly fall straight into the clutches of a patiently waiting bloodthirsty mob? Or should he continue onward, into the unknown?
In a way, he felt he had no choice. There was no life for him here; no future in Kovolosia. So many bad memories, so much tragedy. This place, his home, was dead to him. Despite having not saw them since losing Rinnae, he would mourn the finality of not being able to see his parents again. For certain they must think him dead. Surely there was no other reason their loving son would not come back to them. From time to time, he would see their faces in his mind's eye; imagined them going about their mundane tasks; Father chopping wood and tending to the vegetables, and Mother fussing with the washing. As for Rinnae ... he would never lose sight of her beautiful smiling face, no matter how far he traveled or however long he lived.
Fond memories of better times, but why did it have to hurt so much to recall them?
Driven by a force he couldn't quite comprehend, Levagnion eventually stumbled out of the forest and into a spacious clearing. The area was covered in a light mist which seemed almost otherworldly in appearance. A large house with three floors and a sloping roof stood in the center of the grounds. There was nothing noteworthy about the structure, and no light was visible in any of its windows. It looked like a giant tombstone standing below the clear night sky.
He looked back at the treeline; was sure someone was just out of sight, watching him, urging him forward.
Levagnion
...
Was that his name he heard whispered?
Levagnion
...
There it was again.
Levagnion
...
Over and over.
Levagnion turned in a circle, trying to determine the source of the utterances, but they were impossible to pin-point. It sounded like his name was being carried on a current of air.
Levagnion
...
He clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed shut his eyes. Surely he was dreaming. Perhaps he had tripped while attempting to escape those pursuing him, had struck his head on something and was now lying somewhere in the forest, unconscious.
Open your eyes
.
Levagnion opened his eyes. This was no dream, but everything had fallen so completely silent he felt the need to tap his ears to make sure he hadn't lost his sense of hearing. His hearing was intact, but his mind felt like it was suffocating in the stillness. He looked to the
sky; longed to be able to fly into it and soar hundreds of miles from this place. With no chance of that happening, he started towards the house. There was something about the monolithic structure that unsettled him. Perhaps it wasn't the building itself, but its location. Who would choose to place their home so close to a forest that was damned?