Seven months. I suck. It’s my birthday on the 30th. Go on, everyone, send me cake. Or your reviews can be my presents.

freakyAngel: I wish I could promise to update faster. But life’s been way too hectic this year. Eck. And it’ll all make sense in the end. If not, people can always ask after im finished and I’ll post up an FAQ.

Winged Kitty: Yep. Scythe’s house was the one that was burned down. Yeah, there is a connection with the whole commandments thing. Like, if you reread the whole thing and you paid super close attention you’d be able to find examples (if only briefly) of each of the commandments. Apart from like… two of them. One of them I haven’t really bothered with and the other…well…hehe. As for Eleanor, she’s like… a little less than a hundred years old. So no, she isn’t Cancer’s mum. But you’re following the right lines there. And thank you for the awesome review. I heart long reviews. They make me all fuzzy and it makes me sad that I can’t tell you whether you’re right or not with your theories. –sad face- im dying to say yes and no to people. Lol. And ooo. Another review. And psh. Don’t say sorry for sending a second review. They make me happy. The more the merrier. Yep, Luckas gave Eleanor the necklace. & haha yeah, the commandments were intentional but the deadly sins weren’t . so if theyre then, then wooo. I feel clever. After reading your second review im dying to tell you whether you’re right or not. But meh. I kant. I loved all the linkages though. I’ll be sneaky and say in my ominous way that you got at least one thing right, if not more. When I read reviews like that it makes me feel lazy and want to not explain things in loads of detail, because people can just figure it out by rereading. Eck. But clarification will come soon –sigh. Thanks for the amazing review.

FreedomStar: No worries about not reviewing. As long as you read, that’s the main thing. Reviews are an added bonus. And thanks. –hearts- Life’s just been icky and weird. Heh.

katieee: Amazes. Ooo. That word makes me feel all happy. Hehe. Thanks for the review!

Kaleidoscopic pebbles: haha. Crazy’s good. I hope…

Teardrop: lollll. Cancer’s not literally satan. No one’s literally anything. But I’ve thrown it quite a few metaphors throughout…so…heh.

Creative Edge: Yeah. They’re good when they’re over. But while they’re going on it’s like ughhh. & hmm. I think I’ve expanded a little more on the eating thing in the next couple of chapters actually. So mmm. We shall see.

Saccharine asphyxiation: yayy. Favourite’s good. Hopefully this one’ll be ohk too…

CallMeCute: lol. Not yet.

Rightblinkleft: thankyouuu. I’d definitely try to get it published just so you could buy it.

Death Princess: I’m telling qamr you said thattt.

Personwithaccount: lmao. I kant blame you.

Layla-darkest-night: lol. We shall see.

Jade Dream: Yep. Bones will definitely be explained. It is ish in this chapter. Depends on how much everyone gets it.

Slideshow: ugh. Ur fit. Do you have facebook? (not that I ever use it) but I will tryy. For youuu.

Sara: hopefully disgusting in a good way. Lol. No worries, it’ll all be answered in the end. And lol. Yeah. She is kind of submissive, but I guess that that’s just the way she is. Silly girl. And as for them manhandling her…people have a tendency to take advantage of girls like that. Maybe that’s why? I don’t actually know. Just throwing a thought into the air. Hehe.

Asia Ralaia Schiegoh: uhm, yay!

Dreambrother63: I’ll look into it. Haven’t had anything decent to read in agezzz.

Jacoblover: i actually can’t completely remember how I came up with it. like… it stemmed from a dream but the story is nothing like the original dream. Meh. Thankyou!

Mursal: lol. In my own time.

Saranya: Meh. Don’t worry. The symbolism’s not important to like the main main story. It’s just got loads of stories on top of one another, so it adds another layer if you get it. and symbolism is open to interpretation, so there’s no definite answer to anything.

Sarahj259: Thanks!

J.C. Lyn: mysterious and beautiful. Pretty words. They make me all happy inside. Thankss.

i am a bug: cant answer any questions yet. But thanks for the review! And welcome aboard. Hehe. Onli a little bit left anyways so yayy.

Born Restless: Thanks for the questions! And keep them in mind. Like… if I haven’t answered them by the end, I’m going to be posting up an FAQ so I kan reclarify things that people might still not have gotten.

LIPS: your reviews are holy. Seriously, I always get this big smile when I see you’ve reviewed because you always say the coolest stuff. Hehe. It’s really nice to have people who analyse your stuff. Makes me feel all professional. Uhm… I think I clarified some of the little boy stuff in this chapter. If you’re still confused, please say so! Haha awwww. Scythe be back in this chapter. Whaha. Hmm. The adultery/fornication thing has kind of been broken. Like, it hasn’t been fully broken because I’m not gonna write any sex into this, but it’s been half broken where she’s gone pretty far with cancer. Nothing wrong with not liking Cancer. Most people are divided. Hehe. There’re people in every camp. & lol! Pippa is short for Philippa. Hehe. So nah, that’s not her real name. and lolll. I wish I did rush myself. Then I wouldn’t take so long to update. I think I rush myself a little toooo less. You’re on the right lines with the whole cancer/scythe/rayth thing but they’re not brothers. The Eleanor thing happened like a little less than a hundred years back, so she’s too old to be their mummy. But there is a link. I’ll probabli pick up Euphoria when this is done. And yes, I do love it when you re-skim my chapters. As I said, your reviews are holy. And hehe, so glad you pointed that out. But yeah the time when Scythe pointed out the lighthouse in that chapter it was intentional. Haha. No one picked it up –loves you- and I shouldn’t be telling you you’re right but I cant resist. As for the colour blue, look at the seven deadly sins and their colours. Then it’ll make a bit more sense. Hehe. –hearts you- hope you like the chapter!

-

.predator

-

21

-

.s h e . n e e d s. a . f r i e n d.

-

Night had fallen. The wind hurt.

I’d learnt to ride a bicycle when I was seven. Fat. Fumbling, and awkward. Scythe had taught me, watched me mount and fall, then laughed at my flailing limbs. Rayth had been the lookout to make sure we didn’t get hurt. Didn’t do anything stupid. Ever the responsible one. He looked after us. For all Scythe’s laughter, though, he’d been a good teacher – careful, cautious, in control. Now I was thinner, older, yet I still sat on Scythe’s bicycle, riding so fast I felt it was the last day of my life.

The bicycle was the one I’d taken when I’d escaped. After the snow, and the piano, and the hands and the radio and the blood…

I rounded a corner and reached the park. I knew my destination yet I stopped, needed a break. I set the bicycle to the side and entered a swinging gate that creaked with darkness. Ink spilt down from the sky and I sat on a swing. Before me was a tree which screamed from remnants of a crucifixion. Lynn’s cat.

She was on the swing beside me. I kicked into the air.

“I saw the little boy today.” I kicked harder. “Did I ever tell you about him?”

No answer.

“Of course I didn’t,” I scoffed, and wind sent my hair flying back. “We didn’t ever talk about me.”

She kept her hands, folded, in her lap.

“He offered me salvation. Death. Is that what dying is, Lynn? Salvation?”

Head bent.

“He wanted to save me.” Harder. “He wanted to save everyone. He thinks I’m a tool, Lynn. At least, that’s what I think he thinks. You don’t stop a builder by taking away his tools. He’ll just end up getting new ones, right?”

Machete shone silver.

“And I don’t understand. How will killing me help everyone? He said there’s only one left. One what, Lynn? One what?”

Blood dripped.

“Oh well.” I slowed down. Wind hit harder. “I guess there’s no point fussing, right? Because now I need to help Scythe. He’s all alone, and I promised I’d never leave him alone.”

Right through her stomach.

“It’s wrong to break a promise.” I slipped off the swing, walked through the swinging gate and looked back once. Gone. “Funny,” I mused. “We talk a hell of a lot more now you’re dead.”

-

Light trickled, a bleeding mess through shutters. There was faded laughter, and the little girl held the dice, forehead creased. More laughter from the adults behind. They sat by the window.

“Roll the fucking thing already.” Scythe took another sip from his milkshake. “It’s not cool to take so long.”

The seven year old shook her head. “I need to concentrate.”

“You’re fat.”

“And you’re ugly.”

Rayth was watching them. “Angela, come on. Roll.”

Rayth said roll. She didn’t want to disappoint him, so she did.

(and he took everything, Angel. Everything. Everything. Everything.)

Glasses clashed behind. Murmurs. “The wine is amazing.”

“…France…”

“…rich…the store round the corner, mate…”

Laughter. Muffled.

“Six,” said Angela. “Which means I get another one out!”

Scythe frowned, opened his mouth to contradict and then caught Rayth’s eye. The eye of an adult, reprimand. His mouth closed and Angela lifted the piece, inwardly gleeful.

Lift.

Down.

Smash.

Shrieks from behind.

“…not a joke!”

“Look, yeah, it was only –”

“…subtlety…fucking –”

Intervention.

“The kids –”

“It’s always about the fucking kids! It’s always about someone else.”

“Just shut the fuck up.”

Shuffling chairs. The three children watched Angela’s mum shove her chair in, storm off, shards of glass shattered across the floor. Red wine stained carpet and rippled between the cracks. Broken. Angela watched, half mesmerized.

“I’ll go sort her out,” said Mr Butcher, hand on his wife’s shoulder. They glared at the Angel’s father, a lump of shrugging shoulders and unruly red hair. Then Mr Butcher left, after the mother.

“It’s your turn to roll,” said Rayth, cutting the silence. Scythe nodded, and they continued the game.

-

I didn’t look at the sky.

The bicycle was on the side. My eyes roamed the building and then I brought the phone out my pocket. Only then, as air sliced my arms and a chill (so soft) sifted through my veins did I consider ringing someone. No one was home, so if something happened… I stopped myself. Nothing would happen. It was Scythe and I was here to help him, not think about myself.

And it’s your last chance, Angel. Your last chance for redemption.

Don’t blow it.

I walked to the building, torch out – it ripped darkness into two halves that converged at a point. Icy smoke. Then light rested on the door. A sign, Trooth. Memories flittered in white doves, beating wings.

“I had some people clean this place up…”

I prodded the case.

“…so that we could use it.”

I yawned. “You could’ve found a classier place to ravish me.”

Scythe looked at me, slightly confused. “What’s a ravish?”

My smile was a ghost. I knocked the door open and was met with darkness. I smelt dust, age. How long had it been since we’d last came here? It felt like it had been years but I knew that it had been a month at most. I took a step forward and then tripped over something. I fell and my torch rolled out across the floor. I watched it and lifted myself up onto my knees. Eyes followed the single beam of light.

I froze.

Scarlet spray paint splattered the walls and formed the same message, over and over again. I crawled to the torch and lifted it up, then moved it across the wall just to read it, again and again and again. I came closer until my face was only inches away from the words. Hand outstretched, I touched dripping paint. Fingertips stained. It was wet, fresh. My stomach curdled and memories –

Beat

They flittered. I thought of a boy on a swing, a scarlet sky and tears that pooled at the base of his shoe. Fire touched my halo and I watched him. Forward. Back. Kick. An awkward little girl. She shifted and told him that she’d forgotten to give him his birthday present. He told her to fuck off, and then he started crying again. She got angry and she ran to him, shoving him off the swing so he fell face first into the mud and then she squealed with guilt. She knew that she shouldn’t have done that. He was going through a hard time and she was meant to be sensitive because, as her mummy had said, he’d had a traumatic experience. She thought she knew what the words meant and that made her proud, if only for a few moments. Quickly, she apologised and helped him up, expecting him to swear some more. But he didn’t. He just held her and cried. And cried. And cried.

“Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

She searched for another approach. “Why are you crying?”

He didn’t answer.

She thought hard. “You’ll get a headache.”

“Why’d it happen to me, Angel? What did I do wrong?”

She tried to be helpful. “You broke your mummy’s favourite lamp the day before.”

He froze and, for a moment, there was silence. Air drifted and then he let go of her, stepped back, and looked at his hands. Light from a setting sun tinged them gold. “When people touch me,” he looked at her. “I get sick. I get scared. I can feel them crawling across my skin and nibbling, nuzzling. Then I shiver and I want to have a bath. Then I think of water and the window smashes. Then I scream.” He held himself tightly. “I don’t like it when they touch me, Angel. I don’t like it when anyone touches me.” He hesitated. “Except –” A pause. “When I hug you, I feel better. I don’t mind when you touch me.”

The redhead grinned and tackled him. They both toppled to the ground, rolled over and watched the sky. Night was falling. A thought shifted in her mind. Rayth…where was he? But Rayth didn’t matter at the moment. Nothing had happened to Rayth, so she didn’t have to bother with Rayth anymore. He was okay. Scythe needed attention. He’d had the traumatic experience, not Rayth, so she quickly pushed him out of her mind. For now it was Scythe. All Scythe. She turned over and grinned at him. He was grinning back, and all that was left of the tears were damp cheeks. She reached over and wiped one.

“Gross,” she said.

“Gross,” he agreed.

I left the building, eyes briefly resting on the unopened box of permanent markers that had made me trip. My fingers were damp. Scythe had only been here a little while ago as the paint was recent. I had my answer, so why was I not happy? Why did I feel scared, unsure? Why did I want to go back home, ring Cancer and lie with him on my bed? Sleep, and forget everything. Why didn’t I want to save him? Did I have a reason to save him? It wasn’t as if I owed him anything. Not after what he’d done to me. Wasn’t it enough that I knew he was alive? I could have just gone to the police and told them what I knew. They would handle it far better than I could. With this resolution in mind, I whipped out my phone and started dialling.

Then stopped.

Beat.

He seemed to sense the urgency. “I wanted to meet in our special place. I haven’t shown you what’s outside the window yet, either.”

“Show me some other time.”

I closed my phone and went round the building until I found the outside of the gaping window. I didn’t bother to look back inside. I didn’t want to. Instead, I brought out my torch and focused my attention on a single tree stump that sat, placidly, outside the gaping hole. Something was carved into it and I came closer, touched wood, then blinked.

“Angel and Scythe,” I read. “Best friends forever.”

Forever with the four. I smiled. Words of red paint from inside whispered at the back of my mind.

Forgive us our sins. Forgive us our sins. Forgive us our sins.

I pushed them to the back of my mind and focused on the carving. The past. So many years couldn’t be snuffed out in a single month. All relationships, friendships, had problems. To back out when it got tough was to be weak. I, we, had to work this out and what better way but to find him? Scythe wouldn’t hurt me – I touched carved wood – of that I was sure. I was going to find him, no police. Police would scare him and we’d get no privacy. It was too formal. I took out my phone, reaching a decision, and rang Rayth.

Three bells, then a voice. “Yes?”

“Scythe’s alive,” I blurted.

Silence on the other end, then a question. “Angela, where are you?”

“I – ” I hesitated, unsure as to what to say. “He’s alive,” I repeated. “And I think I know where he is. No, I’m sure I know where he is. There’s only one place he could be and we have to stop him. I know that now, and –”

“Angela,” he cut me off. “I asked you where you are.”

“I’m outside. Why?”

He sounded exasperated. “Go home and get some rest, okay? And don’t bother ringing or bothering me. You’ve done enough with this family.”

I went quieter. “I rang you because I wanted to find him together, but if you’re not willing to help me, Rayth, I’ll just go on my own.”

He sighed on the other end. “Come to the ruins, Angela. I’ll meet you there and we’ll sort this out.”

He cut off. I stood there listening to the dial tone for what seemed like hours, then mounted the bike. I was faced with two options – ignoring Rayth and finding Scythe on my own, or hearing what he had to say. There was always the option of ringing Cancer so that I wouldn’t be alone, but then… Scythe wouldn’t be comfortable with Cancer. Neither would Rayth. It was best not to bring Cancer into this, at least, not yet. I started riding and it felt as if the air didn’t touch me. It was becoming rougher, brittle.

Eventually, I reached Scythe’s old house – or what was left of it. I left the bike on the side and walked toward it, watching from a distance. I’d expected to remember everything, have memories course through my mind and see everything as it once was. All I saw was a blank. There were no memories, only a pile of ruins: alien, unidentified. That which once was was faded, part of another reality which no longer criss-crossed with this one. A dream. The past.

I sat on a crumbled wall and looked out at the sky. It was vast and darkening. I closed my eyes and tried to remember. Wind brushed, its fingers lingered, and –

“It’ll rain tonight.”

I kept my eyes shut.

“You should’ve worn a coat.”

I opened them, a flutter of eyelashes, and didn’t focus my gaze. He sat on the wall beside me, a jar in hand. Inside, a butterfly flittered.

A question came. “The bughouse. Is it – ”

“It didn’t burn. But maintaining it … it’s going to be difficult. Especially since we don’t live here anymore. We still have plenty of places to live, though. But it won’t be the same. We won’t be nearby. Probably have to move out of the area – myself, mother. Father’s flying to Spain tonight. He won’t be coming back any time soon.”

“He will come back, though.” I thought of my own father, a faded ten year old’s memory of moppy red hair and chubby cheeks. “Eventually.”

“Not this time. Not now that Scythe’s gone.” There was a finality and something bitter, like his father’s wine. I watched it splash at our feet.

“Scythe’s not gone, though.” The conversation felt surreal. Night tickled me. “He’s alive. I told you he was.”

Rayth sighed, jar in hand, and looked up, straight toward the sky. “You need to stop dreaming.”

“I’m wide awake.”

“Go home, Angela. It’s going to rain.”

I grew angry. “Scythe’s alive,” I told him. “Why don’t you want to save him?”

“If he is alive,” said Rayth, and he looked straight at me, “he’s not a child. He’ll come home.”

“There’s no home left.”

“He’ll find his way.”

“Like he did seven years ago.”

The air went cold.

“Whose fault was that?”

My stomach tightened. Silence, and we looked at gaping stars.

“This time, though, it won’t be my fault.” I hesitated. “I won’t leave him this time.”

“If you’d left him the first time,” Rayth paused, “then, maybe, the first time wouldn’t have happened.”

It grew tighter. “I was only a child. Children listen to their elders.”

“Listen to yourself,” he scoffed. “What’s the point in being sorry if you make excuses?”

“I didn’t come here to be accused.”

“Aren’t you the perfect martyr?”

“What the hell did I do to you?” Abruptly, I stood up, turned around and walked back into the grass. He sat on the wall, an oil lamp beside him. Its amber light glittered in his eyes. I regarded them. Bitter. A coldness. Something I’d never seen before. “What,” I repeated. “The hell did I ever do to you?” It wasn’t about now. It was about everything. He knew that.

Rayth smirked.

I shivered and averted my gaze, straight to the flittering butterfly. “Why don’t you let it out?” my voice had dropped.

“Why should I?”

“If you don’t let it out, it’ll die.”

“It’ll die either way,” he replied. “They only live for a day.”

“Why should it spend its whole life in a jar?”

“It has holes to breathe, Angel.” I didn’t meet the cold gaze. “And tomorrow, there’ll be a new one.”

I was about to reply and then, suddenly, I stopped. I thought about Rayth and death and the moon. I thought about talks of reincarnation, flittering butterflies and little ants that went crush-crush under a spade. Finally, I understood.

“It’s not up to you to punish those that have sinned.”

The smirk died for a moment, and then returned. “Say that to Scythe.” He looked up at the sky, the full, waning moon. Gaping craters gazed down at us. Their eyes bled and I looked at him, a picture of faded blue and sharp eyes. Darkness. Royal blue, Prussian, ultramarine – and pallid, titanium skin. “If he’s alive, Angel, I know, you know, where he’ll be. And what he’ll be doing. Seven years and we’ve steered clear. You sure you want to face it?” The first drops of rain began to fall.

“We have to do something.”

“Sit down.” I didn’t. “Sit,” he repeated, enunciating his words, “down.”

For some reason, I did. Raindrops were few. Gentle. They touched me. “I want to help him.”

“Two days,” Rayth said, looking up at the stars. “Nine years old. Water smashing against a breaking window and rats clawing, biting, his legs – half of them already gone splat against glass. He watched the blood. He watched them attack the mice, eat them one by one and then they nuzzled his legs. By the time we found him, he didn’t even have the energy to scream. That’s the scariest bit, Angela, when they don’t cry. They don’t scream. Only stare ahead as if looking at something unspeakable that they can’t shape in words. Only they know. We’ll never know, and they’ll never be able to tell us. That’s the scariest bit.”

I fiddled with my sleeve.

“Where was your God then, Angel?”

I looked at my hands. Time was endless.

“Nine years old, Angel. What did he ever do to the world? Where the hell was your God then?”

I looked up. “My father left us, Rayth. I didn’t ever blame God. I blamed my father. God didn’t make him do what he did.”

He was about to reply but then he stopped himself, suddenly latched on another point which he’d never before thought to mention. I saw the glint in his eye. His hatred hurt. “Why did your father leave, Angel?”

Again, I looked at my hands.

“I don’t know.”

There was silence, and the sky was endless.

Rayth began to laugh. Quietly, slowly, and lamp light rustled the blue in his hoodie. Eventually, he stopped. Then spoke, “Let me try another one.” A pause. “Why did my father get drunk on our ninth birthday? Why did he drunk and then take Scythe?”

No answer.

“Another one.” He stood up now, walked a little way and turned, just so that I could see him directly. Just so he could see me. “Why does my mother hate your mother?”

Still, no answer.

“Why does your mother hate you?”

Silence.

“Why does my mother hate you?”

I tugged my sleeve.

“Who is Lionel – who is Lionel’s father?”

I tugged harder.

“That one time, why did Lionel punch me?”

Harder still.

“How old is Lou?”

My breathing became rapid.

“Who do you look like, Angel? Who do you look like and who does your mother hate?”

I finally spoke up. It was feeble. “My mother doesn’t hate me.”

“She loves Scythe.” Rayth tipped his head to the side. “Won’t you answer any of my questions?”

Now I couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t you want the answers to my questions?”

Rain was slowly splashing.

“You don’t know anything,” he hissed. “Nothing at all. You’re a child. Under the blanket, head wrapped up and away from the little beasties in the night.”

I tried to breathe.

“You keep asking yourself why this is happening.”

Thunder rolled.

“You keep asking why everything is happening. Things don’t happen one at a time, Angel, and they don’t happen without a reason. There’s always a build up. Lots of little things and then, bang, it all blows up.” Rain slid down his hair.

“Answer your questions,” I whispered.

“Revenge.” Rayth smirked. “Betrayal. Hatred. The sky is so dark, Angel, and when people go to sleep at night – that’s when they’re on their own. That’s when they have the time to think and ponder and latch onto all the little things and cry into their pillows. And then when the tears dry up and their heads hurt it all seeps into hatred and pain and the pain preys on them. It prays on their weak little minds and they sit there and think there’s no other option. There’s no other choice. It’s just the way they are and they can’t help it. They let it make them think things, disgusting things, and then they wake up in the morning with their eyes dry and they do those disgusting things. And who pays for their pain, Angel? Who gets punished for their pain? It’s the children. It’s always the children. What did the children ever do, Angel? Why does your God punish the children?”

“The people punish the children.”

“Then why doesn’t God punish the people?”

“He does,” I replied.

Rayth scoffed. “That’s why my father’s off getting drunk in Spain and your mother’s sipping tea with her sister up north. That’s their fucking punishment.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, Angela.” He corrected me. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You just don’t want to know. You want to hide. You want to believe that your Dad is dead and your mother takes the tablets because she can’t handle single parenthood. You want to believe that my father got drunk out of habit and Lou’s blue eyes were passed on from some distant relative. You want to believe that Lionel’s just some random car driver’s son and that driver – mother just hired him because she felt like it. It wasn’t because she was trying to repent for her ancestor’s sins, Angela. It couldn’t be. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t know the meaning of redemption, of actually being sorry –”

“I’m sorry about what I did to Scythe,” I started shouting. “If I wasn’t sorry I wouldn’t be trying to find him. I wouldn’t be trying to fix it. I wouldn’t be begging you to go find him with me. I wouldn’t be trying to stop him. I wouldn’t be trying to stop Bones. I wouldn’t have let him start Bones in the first place. I listened to all his shit for seven fucking years. All I ever wanted to do was help him and I can’t handle you making it out as if I did nothing.”

“You did something,” he replied, ever calm. “But it wasn’t for Scythe, Angela. It was for you. It was to ease your guilt. It was to make you feel as if you’d done something. Your form of redemption. It was never for Scythe.”

I was winded.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he carried on. “I did the same. We both did it. But I admit it. That’s the big difference between me and you. I admit what I do wrong and I don’t make excuses.” He moved toward me and picked up his lamp, now dappled with raindrops. It fell so gently. Then he began to walk away, looked over his shoulder. “If you still think he’s alive, Angela, then find him. But make sure it’s because you want to help him. Not because you want to help yourself.”

With that he walked away, back into the darkness. I was left with ruins. Hands held on to the wall, grip tight.

And I don’t want to let go.

I did and mounted the bike. Torchlight lit my way and I rode through the night. Red spray paint slid down a wall –

Forgive us our sins. Forgive us our sins. Forgive us our sins.

And six words.

Angel and Scythe. Best friends forever.

I rode on, Rayth’s words pushed to the back of my mind. I was doing this for Scythe. It had always been for Scythe and it always would be. Rain comforted me. I wanted to let it wash me away in a tumult of breaking ice and then as I rode I thought of the sea: the lighthouse and the sifting beach that tickled my toes. When all of this was over, I would take Scythe to the sea. I’d make him step into the water and hold his hand. I’d make him face his fears because that was something we’d never done. It had always been something left unsaid. But now that would change. I’d make him talk and I’d listen and we’d fix this. We had to fix this.

I turned a corner and came closer to the graveyard. Rain grew steadily harsher. Trees shadowed me. I rode on and stopped when I was nearby. After I was done with Scythe, I needed to take him somewhere so that we could sit down and talk. The graveyard unnerved me and the nearest place was the lighthouse. With that thought in mind I took out my phone and rang Cancer, phone to my ear. Bells drilled on. I needed to ask him to open it. At the moment, rain was gentle but, eventually, it could become worse. I didn’t want us to sit out in the rain.

Bells drilled on. I waited. I was met with an answering machine and I quickly told him that I was planning to go to the lighthouse in about an hour, so I needed him to open it up for me. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and walked through lines of towering trees. Closer. Closer.

Someone screamed.

It shot through the silence.

Momentarily, I froze. Then I ran. Twigs crushed – crack – beneath my feet. Rain splattered, puddles, ripples and then I rounded off, panting, into the graveyard. Smoke cascaded into the air from a fire in the centre. Before it sat a figure, hunched; firelight lit the dripping red on his fingers. Cages hung from trees, full of screeching rats that clawed at edges. Another was empty. The last was not. Pippa watched him, wide eyed, hands strapped to bars and feet bound and tied to metal.

The cages that went missing from Rayth’s bug house.

She half hung from the cage, screaming, wide eyes focused on Scythe’s fingers. The rat was dead, lay at his feet, and his hands were pressed into a square drawn into the mud. Rain bit at the redness. It tinged with dirt. He didn’t look up. Pippa had stopped screaming and was now staring at me, eyes glazed. Her clothes looked tatty and a single cut protruded on one bare arm. Blood trickled down white skin and slipped into the mud below, only to be washed away by the gentle rainwater. It was still only a trickle.

Scythe was quietly humming to himself.

Pippa was now quiet, just gaping at me.

And the rats and the blood and Bones had never bothered her before. Why now?

“Hey,” I decided to speak, and Scythe froze. “Scythe.”

I came closer. He stayed hunched.

I said the first words that came to mind. “What’s going on?”

“You know what’s going on.”

I saw the pit from the corner of my eye, the open grave, dug out, full of rat bones. Still not full, though. Half empty.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “I do.” I had to keep him talking and figure out a way to get Pippa out. Stay calm. Nothing abrupt. Anything abrupt would scare him. Trust. There had to be trust. I sat beside him. “Your hands are dirty.”

He looked at me, and the firelight softened his features. “So are yours.” The spray paint. He watched my nails. I took his hands in mine. Blood was wet.

“It’s raining,” I said. “But it’s not heavy enough to wash your hands.”

“They don’t need to be washed.” He didn’t take them away. Rats were shrieking. “We need to fill the pit tonight. There’s no time.”

My eyes met his. They were cold but there was something there. There was still something there. I just had to find it.

“Why tonight?”

“Because, tomorrow, they’ll find me. I need to end this before they find me.”

My grip tightened. “Scythe,” I softly said. “Why do you have to end this? Isn’t the pit full enough – half way’s enough. They won’t come back to hurt you –”

“No!” He shook his head. “You understand. You know that’s not it. You know that that’s not why. It’s nothing to do with them, or what, it’s to do with filling it. Reaching the limit. And after that there comes control. Once I’ve earned my punishment, there comes control because then it was under my terms.”

I nodded along, desperately trying to think of a way to get Pippa free and then get his hands clean. After that I would take him to the lighthouse and we’d sort this out. This place was scaring me.

“You understand, don’t you, Angel?”

I blinked. “Yeah. I mean yes, of course I do.” I mustered a smile and rain splashed between our fingertips. I maintained eye contact and, for a moment, there was a flicker.

“You’ve always understood.” His grip tightened and there was something in his eyes.

“Yeah. Of course I have.”

“I know.”

I opened my mouth to say something, then changed my mind. “But we have to get Pippa off of there.” I took out a hand and gesticulated. “Right? I mean, she’ll get pneumonia or something.”

“Of course.” He let go of my hands, then indicated her with his head. “Go on. Untie her.”

For a moment, I was surprised. Then it subsided. He was okay. I’d calmed him down. I nodded softly and stood up, making my way toward Pippa. I swayed with the rain and she watched me, wide eyed. I reached for her. Then she screamed.

Crack.

My head throbbed and I fell back into the dirt. Above me, my vision swam. Sounds heightened. A roll of thunder. My vision muffled. Then it faded. Faded. Faded.

Gone.

-

Um, btw, Predator’s been nominated for the SKOW awards in two categories. Link is in my profile, if you love me. Heh. Only two more chapters left guys.