Hmm. This can be everyone’s New Year’s present. I am really really sorry about the lack of updates, but I’ve been really busy etc etc and it was worth it in the end. I just got an offer from Oxford, as in the university, hehe. I’m so shockingly excited, and hopefully this’ll motivate me to update faster. And thankyou so much for being so patient with me, guys. I swear it was worth it.

After this one, only one more to go. Then an epilogue. Eck. This fic has taken way too long. And, again, I’m sorry about the slow updates it’s just… my grades are kind of the main priority at the moment. Otherwise bye bye oxford. Lol.

LIPS: And you always have the sweetest reviews. And haha yepp, blue is the colour for lust. Hehe. & awwww. More like I must’ve done something amazing to have such a nice reviewer. Your reviews give me the fuzzy feeling. Hope you like the chapter, and thanks for voting for me!

Freedom Star: Uhm, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother rereading until I’m done. Lol. Because I take way too long on updating, so it’ll be harder to piece thing together. It’s one of those fics that doesn’t make complete sense unless read in its entirety. Like, once I’ve posted the next chapter & the epilogue, if you reread, it’ll make a helluva lot more sense than it does reading it chapter by chapter, because I touch on things mentioned at the start in the middle & stuffz, so it doesn’t make sense unless you remember. Heh. And thankyou for voting for me. I be superly grateful.

Sarahj259: Thankyouu

Hellokiara: The review was awesome. And yeah, lol, he cracked her on the head. And the family thing is explained in this chapter.

AubriannaKnight: Haha yeah. They’re all connected in their own twisted kinda way. And they’re all kinda psychotic. That too. Lol.

Saccharine asphyxiation: yepz he did. & ugh. I wishh I could do quicker updates. But im just way too busy.

Winged Kitty: Ah, the beauty of long reviews. Hehe. Lol yeah, if you check out the first chapter, the before one, you’ll notice that she was all about pleasing rayth in that one too. Hmm. That’s an interesting question. Why is she remembering now? Uhm… I personally think it’s because she has to remember now. Lol. Like…she’s got no other option. Heh. And hahaaa. Heart your solution. If only scythe was clever enough to come up with something that simple. Tsk tsk tsk.

Person with account: Lol. I don’t blame you. I take ages to update. Heh uhm, lou’s the “little girl” – angela’s little sister.

Jenna N: Thankyouu. And hmm. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re wrong. We will see. Dun dun dunn.

Emerald 123: Yeah, it’s all somehow interlinked. And I don’t think I’m going to finish it in two months. But lol! I’m not going to take two years. I’ve only got a chapter and an ickle epilogue left.

Death Princess: Watevz anisa. Go eat a fish. A fat one. Which your hubby caught. Haha. Haha. Ha.

McShortShort: Hehe thanks.

Midnightxskiesxx: thankyouu. And bones is kinda explained in this one. Lol. Hmm. I’ve been writing since I was a little kid, technically, but my first ever fp thing was this shitty clichéd fantasy with the whole sarcastic kickass girl and the hot mysterious guy etc etc called destiny’s hand. Lol. Then I deleted that and wrote Hunter (wich is still, regretfully, up here). I’m never going to claim that I got this far on my own. Heh. I’ve met the most amazing people on fp, who’ve taught me so many valuable lessons. Like my beta reader, kait (aiur) and one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. If you think I’m good, read her stuff. Her style is beautiful. She critiqued me loads and I wouldn’t have sorted out my style if it wasn’t for her. And then there’s kelli (bleedingair). With my second fic (wich, unlike hunter, is actually half decent) we used to race with each other on chapter writing. And then I got faster at writing. By reading her stuff, I also kind of picked my genre, if that makes sense. Like, I hearted her stuff and so I decided to have a go at horror myself and consequently discovered that I’m quite comfortable with it; whereas, with hunter, I went for action/politics etc and made a complete mess of it. I could compile a massive list of all the ways that those two have helped me, but then I’d be going on forever. But yeah. A large part of my writing is due to the amazing people I’ve met. And lol. There’s my sister too. She’s always helped me out and critiqued me and encouraged me. So yeah. Hmm. I’ve also got a ton of authors who I heart. But eck. This response is getting long so uhm… pm me all your questions and the stuff you said in your review, and we’ll talk. Hehe. I’d pm you but I’m dumb, so I’ll probably forget. I’ve never been asked those kinda questions before. They make me feel all professional.

Toyah: Uhm, all the predator consumer etc stuff will be explained eventually. No worries. Hehe.

J C Lyn: I think it’s better that you’re starting to read it while it’s at its end. That way it’ll make more sense and you won’t have to wait too much for my updates. Heh.

Heart shaped lies: Psh. I would never not update. That’s just cruel. And thankyouu. Hopefulli the next one will be sooner…

i-rite-gud: hmmm. Quite a bit’s explained in this chapter. And the way cancer links in isn’t explained right until the end. Heh. I suck.

Adithena and Kathyana: don’t worry about being confused. Most people are. It’s meant to be that way. And yep, everything will be explained by the end. And anything that still doesn’t make sense, I’ll address in the FAQ and shove into the fic if I actually end up rewriting. No worries about that.

Queen Kat Food: angela doing butt kicking. Lol. That’s a funny image. And I’m glad you decided to come back and read. I be very grateful.

Dances-with-pen: bones is kinda explained in this one, no worries. And don’t feel dumb at all. Everyone’s confused. I’m sure if I read it I’d be confused too. The only reason I’m not is because I made it up. Eck.

Nighttime blues: thankyou! That’s always nice to hear. Hehe.

Paper airplanes: and I’m looking forward to your last few reviews. I like being picked up on my style. It makes me feel clever.

Jellyandjam: and here it is. Though im sorry that you had to wait so long.

The Dumbing Down of Love: ooo. Stephen-king esqueness. Haha. That made my day. Danke.

Insatiablehunger89: no, you’re not being rude. And no worries, everything I have up here will get finished. I just tend to take my time. Im too much of a perfectionist to update quickly.

Kelli butt (the bleeding whore): haha. Omg. You just told me to update. As if you’re like… some kind of fictionpress reviewer. That’s intense, man. It’s intense. Kinda like you –hits- oops. And ugh. I want another kinda memo. I want one in your BLOOD. Meh. I’ve been watching vampire stuff recently, to help me out with something new I’m trying to write. Yes. Be amazed. I’m actually trying to write new stuff again. Bleh.

Duuude: walaikum salaam! & belated eid Mubarak, if you’re a muslim too. Lol. Their names serve some twisted purpose. It’s a little inside joke I have with myself, which I’ll share in the FAQ when I’m finished. Hehe.

Bam-there you go: oooo. Intriguing. Nice word. And yay for confusingness. I should make a tally on how many times that word’s been used to describe this. Lol.

AllOfTheAbove: hehe. I am updating now. And oooo. I liked the analysis. More stuff is explained in this one. I hope. I suck at explanations. I think you might have picked up on that one by now.

Tawnymarie: hopefully I will finish it within the next three months. Hopefully. And I’m setting that as my maximum target, so maybe even beforehand.

Veritaz: you’re not slow. It’s meant to be hard to figure out. And like, I haven’t told you guys everything yet, so you can’t be expected to figure it out. And hmm… there are other possible endings. Don’t tchu worry about that.

Layla the fiend: uhm… I think you’re at too early a point to pick up who she ends up with. Heh.

Rae of light: ahhhh. I hope you didn’t decide to read hunter. It’s really quite bad. And interesting…hopefully that’s interesting in a good way.

Jestry: eeep. Am hoping that the uncertainty’s a good thing. And hmm. By the end, it’ll make sense. It’s all one big psychological mind game, heh, if that helps. That, I guess, is the plot. Uhm. The little boy set the cages on angela, as well as the boat cracking thing. At least, that’s what he said two chapters ago. Hehe. Nothing else is going to be said on that one but he ish the culprit. Uhm.. cancer’s name is Lionel. It was mentioned someone. Not sure where. And I think I mentioned cairon’s real name. eck. I don’t really remember myself at this point. Hehe. It began with an L. it doesn’t really matter. And nothing wrong with nitpicking. It’s good for me. And ughh, I wanted to make this a Christmas present but I got delayed. So I guess it’ll have to do as a New Years present.

Colorful Collision: chocolate cake izzz fun. So is ben and jerrys icecream. Ive been obsessed with chocolate fudge brownie recently. It be awesome. Don’t worry about the family drama and bones. It gets explained in this one. And try not to worry about the confusingness. Everything gets explained. And haha. But what if I know where you live? Dundundun.

Furies367: die no more. Here’s your update.

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.predator

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22

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.t h i n g s. c o m e. t o . l i g h t.

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I was reaching for something in the darkness. Time – I wanted to hold it in the palm of my hand, trap it in Rayth’s butterfly jar and just watch it breathe. Moments in a jar. I found myself thinking of the night, blinking stars, and a time when everyone would die, move, marry, on and on. Then the loneliness that would follow. And then, if I did get married, moved on too, who’d be the first to die? Me or him?

I wished it would be me.

I woke to a fierceness of needles that rammed into my face. I blinked water, rasping breaths my only sound in the onslaught of ice. I was gasping, the sky still a chasm that whispered hollow. Where was heaven? When we died, would we all be together? After death, when people died, that was the only consolation. We’d be together again in heaven. It was an unspoken promise. It offered peace.

Above me, thunder rolled.

The rain was not gentle.

Again, I blinked, saw muffled figures, and my head throbbed. Then I slept again.

In and out. Images swam, then settled into place like broken glass pushed together to catch glinting light. It dappled their sharpened edges. Pictures swam in its faces with startling clarity. A fourteen year old. Red hair. Tracksuit bottoms. Pouring rain. She jogged in the night, panting heavily, eyes ever scouring puddles that broke with each drop of water. Ripples were like shuddering glass or bodies sat perched on the edge of a sofa, rocking back and forth.

(And I wishwishwish you didn’t look so much like your asshole of a father)

It moved to a figure that pressed his weight out the darkness. A shirt, Prussian blue – not ultramarine this time. It made her think of the sea and lapping waves. Feet pressed in water and the circle of ripples slipped outward, as if surrounding some indispensable centre: the core. Childishly, it made her think of the solar system, and when she stepped into the water she was the sun, aloof.

“It’s late,” said Rayth, and she abruptly stopped running. “You shouldn’t be out so late. It’s not safe.”

The fourteen year old stopped. Light wavered. She balanced on one foot, then the other, and looked up at him, “No one comes around here.”

“That’s why it’s not safe.”

She hesitated. “Why are you here?”

“To stop you.”

“Doing what?”

“You know what you’re doing.” He ran a hand through his hair, then added, almost as an after thought. “To yourself.”

She grew defensive. “Is it a crime to jog?”

“Just because you’ll be thinner than him, it doesn’t mean you’ll look any less like him.”

“How’s Scythe?”

“She’ll still hate you.”

“Your father’s gone back to Portugal?”

He was caught off guard for a moment. Just a moment. Then the reply, “No, Italy this time.”

“How is he?”

“Why would I know?”

It was a scab. Angry, she scratched. “Yeah. I’d be better off asking Scythe. Where is he, by the way?” He knew his place.

“You know where he is.” There was something bitter in it. She didn’t catch the tang.

They moved to a tree, backs leaning, looking out at the wading sun. Night crept in faster. There was a silence, something comfortable. An experience that both of them shared. An aim.

“Bones.” Angela rolled her eyes. He’ll get over it soon.

“Yeah.”

They both laughed, then made their way to the graveyard.

The rain was softer on her eyelids. She opened them, then watched everything slip slowly into focus. Arms ached. She tried to twist them but found that they were firm. She coughed water and rain itched across her face. Hands were bound, unable to scratch.

She looked down. He was sat, legs folded. Dying rats twitched, snap, in the flames. Before him was a pile of bones. I watched them for a moment; white stained red.

“They’re dirty.” My voice was hoarse.

He heard me. For some reason, he answered, “It’s raining. It might clean them.”

“It won’t.”

“It might.”

There was a silence, only the humming of rain smashing against metal. Fire wavered, faded, then was relit. It was the only light.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looked up at me, and firelight lit up half his face. “What am I doing, Angela?” Not Angel.

“Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“You’re in no position to give me orders.” He picked up a bone and flung it into the fire. Hiss. I wanted him to call me Angel. There was a gap, somewhere, faded. It didn’t bleed anymore. Hollow. I used to have that position.

“What time is it?”

“Stop talking.”

He was hurting me.

“I came for you.” Didn’t that mean anything?

“You shouldn’t have. I’m fine on my own.”

The rain was now a drizzle.

“Don’t say that.” I twisted my hands, now growing irritated. I had to get out, somehow, but I’d only get out if he let his guard down, if only for a moment. Somehow, I messed up before. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. “I’m here to help you,” my voice had softened. “I always have been.”

“Fuck. Off.”

Silence.

“Why don’t you be a good little bitch, like her,” he indicated Pippa, “and just shut-up?”

I grew angry, about to retort, then stopped myself. He was right. I was in no position to say anything. I had to stay nice, otherwise he’d never let me down. I thought for a moment, still watching him. Bones. I had to say something about Bones. If I took interest in what he was doing, he would let his guard down. That’s how it used to work.

“Why was no one else called?”

“They all think I’m dead. Now shut-up.”

“Bones must be hard,” I carried on, “doing it on your own, that is.”

“I’ve always done it on my own. It’s not like you or Rayth ever helped.” Bitter. We did help, at the start, when we thought it was just a game. Then it became an obsession and we backed off. But we didn’t ever stop him. We didn’t ever ask. It was one of those things – we just didn’t want to know.

He still explained. “They’re my sins, anyway. They have to be, otherwise it won’t work.”

Scythe went silent again. The only sound was crackling fire and faint, ever so faint, whimpering. Pippa. The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours and I felt it fading again. Fading. Fading. I had to hold on. Grab. My hands ached.

“Some things just happen,” I mustered, then added. “All punishment isn’t earned.”

He stood up, abruptly, and made his way to the pile of cages. I pushed myself forward, twisted my arms, desperate to break free. Nothing. He lifted a cage and brought it near the fire, set it down. Rats squealed.

“You’ve never understood, Angela. You wouldn’t understand.”

Slightly angry, I was about to retort. But I stopped myself. Voice softened, “Then make me understand. You can’t expect me to understand if you don’t explain it to me.”

There was a movement, then a rigidness in his back. He seemed to think, if only for a second, then the movement again. Something had phased him. Words had pressed, pushed, cut through and there was, had been, disbelief, if only for a second.

He wanted to explain, and he wanted me to want him to explain.

I just had to beg. Just a little.

Begging took effort, patience, restraint. I was tired. There was no light and in darkness I clung to metal bars and wavered, teetered in the air. My wrists were sore. Ropes clawed and held me tight like bony fingers and sharp nails bent over on the side. Scraping. Scraping. Slowly eroding and they didn’t want to dig.

Dig, like Bones.

“Please, Scythe.”

I was begging.

“I know – a lot has happened.” Rain was a drizzle. “But you know that I care a lot about you.” Softly. “Let me help. I’ll help with bones if you want me to, just as long as you explain. To help, I need to fully understand.”

I knew, vaguely, but to make him explain would be to feign interest. That was what he wanted. I was sure it was. He paused for a moment, then stood again and retreated into the woods. Firelight followed his feet, for only a moment, and then he was submerged in darkness. I wanted to speak, but was afraid that he was near. He would hear me.

Pippa spoke instead. “He knows you’re lying.”

I looked at her.

“He’s not stupid. He’s not a child. You’re patronising him, and it’s making him angry.” She said the last word with a bit of haste. “Please don’t make him angry.” It was a whisper, a hiss that caught air and fizzled into the darkness.

I wanted to watch the sky but knew that all I’d see is darkness.

“Don’t say anything.” He was coming back now, so she hurried. “That way he’ll get irritated, not angry, and he’ll break the silence.” Nearer now. “Trust me.”

Abruptly, I looked up. He had a bag in hand and he slumped it down, before the fire. He crouched, opened it, and pulled out a bottle – something alcoholic. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t drink. One hand pushed against damp earth, sunk, and he flung his head back, chugged. Fire caught and traced patterns across his throat. He set it down and it sank, only slightly, then he picked it up and tossed some of the content into the fire.

There was a crack, rats momentarily shrieked louder, and fire ascended, then dropped. I stayed silent. Maybe Pippa was right. She’d always managed to control him in a way I never had. At the moment, I had no other option.

Silence, save shrieking rats. Scythe’s heavy panting. Even Pippa no longer whimpered.

Wind rustled.

I watched trees. Water dripped down their edges like bleeding silver. I wanted it in my hands. All I had was air. Fists clenched. The ropes were burning – and then I watched dancing fire. Scythe had stopped; the rats waited. So did he. For what?

He picked the bottle, took another chug, this time too quickly. He started choking, bent forward, and his chest heaved. A familiar pang and I wanted to help him, or at least tell him off. Then I stopped myself. Pippa had said say nothing. So I said nothing.

A few more moments passed and eventually the choking stopped, only to be replaced by heavy panting. He sat back, tried to control his breathing, then stood up and kicked the bag into the fire. Again, fire sizzled, stretched out, like red hands begging from the grave. The bag blackened, faded. I watched him instead. Abruptly, he wrenched open the rat cage. They squealed louder now, a bulging mass of black and pink and red, seething to the surface. He shoved in his knife, pulled it out, and caught one, flailing, at its tip. The cage was closed before more could escape and he pressed it onto the floor, pushed it off the knife with bloody fingers.

It flailed on the ground. Small, pink hands reached out and then he stabbed, over and over again. My stomach roiled and I was about to cry out and then he looked at me, suddenly. I stopped myself, and in that moment I finally understood. Scythe watched me, gauged my face for a reaction, and I kept my expression placid. He started scraping, ripping off its skin. I watched it, willing myself to look straight through and bone glinted a messy red-white under firelight. It made the colours blend.

He stopped what he was doing, a bone held in hand. His fist clenched.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

“You wanted me to listen.”

He looked at me, suddenly, then hissed, “I hate you.”

It didn’t hurt. I said nothing. He waited, and still silence.

“Can you hear me?”

Wrists ached. Fire hissed. Behind him, it was an inferno. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

For a moment, he was still. And then he laughed. Loudly, caustic. I watched him and waited. He finally spoke. “There’s so much I want to –wanted to – say to you, and now that I have the chance…” he shook his head. “Nothing. I just can’t be bothered. You’ve done so much, and I wanted to tell you, and for you to be sorry but for some reason I just don’t care any more. I don’t see the point. It’s too much effort and I’m drained. I feel too drained.”

I felt the same. Inside, I was grey. Nonchalant. Tired. I stayed quiet.

“But you don’t care. You never did care. Why would you care?” There was a time when his ingratitude would have bothered me. When I would have screamed at him, listed all the things I’d done for him and made him recognise them. Understand them. But now I knew. That was exactly what he wanted. Just so that he could turn it all back around and make it about him again. So I stayed quiet.

Scythe clenched his fists, rubbed the knuckles, then held the knife tighter. He made his way towards me and I froze.

Pippa started screaming. He ignored her and she was shrieking, telling him to stop. I was frozen. Ice. Dripping wet. The cold made me numb. In a matter of moments he’d climbed onto the cage, hands beside the bars where my wrists were secured. His face was inches away. Breath was warm, tingling, and his eyes pierced into mine. Pools of blue, like midnight, like bluebells – flowers touched by the wind, crushed petals that scattered, were carried, and swirled through air in whirlpools of blue. I blinked and the knife was flung, straight into my wrist.

I expected pain. Instead, I felt a sudden jolt, another moment, and he cut the other rope. Then I fell into him and we collapsed with a thud into muddy grass below. Momentarily, he was winded and I got up, suddenly, breathing heavy. He shoved me off and I fell back. Mud sunk into my clothes, dirt rubbed against my fingers and he sat, watching me. I picked up my hands and looked to my wrists. Circles of flesh, scraped raw, and blood trickled down one hand.

“Leave,” his voice was barely audible, a whisper.

I wanted to, but I knew I couldn’t leave Pippa, so I shook my head.

“Leave!”

“I won’t.”

“Why are you such a bitch?”

“I want to help.” Fingers clawed mud. “Whatever I’ve done…” I hesitated, “I want you to forgive me, and I want to fix this. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to fix this.” My legs were trembling.

“You want me to forgive you?” The incredulity stung. A knife, straight to the gut. Mud dripped. “I’m sick of forgiving people. I’m sick of forgiving you, and Rayth, and Tyson and Pippa and your stupid slut of a mother.”

My insides went cold.

“You know, I tried forgiving her. I made excuses for her. I thought, it wasn’t her fault that she fucked my dad, it was her husband’s fault. It was his fault for pissing her off so much, or whatever was going on between them. I didn’t really care. I just figured that he must have done something to push her that far. I used to look at him and find him disgusting. The layers of puppy fat and moppy red hair. And then I figured, I can’t blame her for finding him so hard to put up with –”

I didn’t want to hear this.

“–I found him hard to put up with. I think my dad just pitied him, and your mum. He pitied her too. That’s why he tried to look after her. And then she fucked him, the stupid slut. God knows what she said. She probably drugged him with those pills she takes, one every three hours, two at night. Sometimes three when she’s feeling especially adventurous. Then there’s the kid, with that little limp doll and the scraggly hair. Mum hates her, you know.”

I was trying to breathe.

“I don’t hate her, though. How can you hate a little kid? She wasn’t there. She came afterwards, after they fucked. But your mum could have gotten rid of her. If she’d gotten rid of her, then none of this would’ve happened. My mum wouldn’t hate her, and then she wouldn’t hate my father, and then he wouldn’t be in Italy all the time. Or Spain. Or France or wherever the hell he goes to get away from all that screaming. He wouldn’t have gotten so drunk the night before my birthday.”

He was closer now, and with two hands he lifted me so we stood. My legs were trembling. His hands held my arms, nails skewered flesh. He pulled me to him, knife pressed against the back of my neck.

“No vanishing lights. No crashing car. No squealing rats. No Bones.” He was whispering now. “No need to earn my sins. Because that’s what it’s about, right, Angel? God, your God, he punishes us for our sins. That’s why he did that to me.” I wanted to fall. “Except, back then, there were no sins. There was nothing to punish. So I needed to make it balance. I needed to earn my punishment, and then measure it. I died that day.” The knife pressed into my neck. “One body. One grave. And a few hundred fucking rats. I think that balances the scale, right, Angel?” My breath caught. “Do I get to go to heaven now?”

“What about Pippa?” It was a whisper, strangled, barely breathed out.

“I told you already, there’s no time. And she’s the reason Bones messed up. We were going to kill them all, fill the grave, close it, and that was the end. After that, everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be balanced. Then she had to go fuck with Tyson, ruin things, just like your mother did. Then the balance went. It wasn’t right anymore. She fucked up the purity. Because Bones was pure, Angel. Before she messed it up, it was pure. Then Lynn came. Lynn made it pure again.”

“But that wasn’t enough,” I whispered. “Was it?” The knife was digging. “You had to go kill her. First her cat, and then her. First you tortured her, then you slaughtered her.” At the back of my mind, my half rhyme vaguely amused me. There was a time when I would have sung it.

He froze. Spoke, like a child. “Lynn cared, Angel. She cared about me.” Hesitation. “I never meant to hurt her.” He pulled back the knife, put it into his pocket, and stepped back. I stood there, watching him.

Scythe took my hands. The blood was damp. He held them tight, his breathing erratic. “I miss her, you know. She used to care. She used to listen and not only listen but ask, all the time.” The blood was staining my hands. “She always asked. That’s what he asked me, you know. He said, ‘does she ever ask? Does your Angel ever ask?’ and I’d never thought about it before. But then I thought about it. I thought, and I said, ‘no, my Angel never asks. She waits. And she waits. And she waits.’ And then he asked, ‘what about when you cry? Does your Angel ever ask when you cry?’ And then I said ‘no, she never lets me cry.’ And I realised that I wanted to cry. Lynn used to let me cry. Then he told me that my Angel didn’t want me to cry because she didn’t want to listen to me cry. She didn’t care enough to listen. I didn’t want to believe him. I really didn’t. But he was right. You never asked. You always told me not to cry –” I didn’t want the blood on my hands. “You didn’t ask me what happened. You always encouraged me to forget. You didn’t want to talk about it. I rang you, Angela. When I was in the car, I rang you. You could’ve helped me. But you didn’t believe me. You didn’t listen to me. I tried to give you a chance but you just wouldn’t listen to me.” He held my hands, like he did earlier that night, and I watched the blood congeal across our fingertips. Inside me something swelled, roiled, and I reached. Higher. Higher. Higher. Gone. In its place was congealing blood, hands clawing against snow and a single finger, bent, broken, under the wreckage of a car.

I let go.

He looked as if someone had slapped him.

Then he shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled out the knife, and rammed into me. I fell to the ground, momentarily winded, and then he had me pinned. I didn’t struggle. The knife caught firelight and I looked into his eyes.

“I hate you.”

It was real this time.

He held it, and there was a moment of uncertainty. Again, Pippa was screaming. I sunk deeper into mud. Then there was a sudden thud and his eyes widened. Scythe fell onto me, crushing my chest, and then he was rolled off.

Rayth held my arms and pulled me up. I couldn’t stop shaking. Scythe lay, unconscious, before the raging fire. Smoke cascaded, burned air. It blocked the sky. Rayth held my shoulders and I watched it, then he let me go and I backed away, tried to steady my breathing and still my shaking legs. I closed my eyes in an attempt to calm myself down. Faintly, I could still hear shrieking animals. Rodents that clawed bars, scraped raw nails, beady pink fingertips – a foam of black and grey that shivered then slowly, ever so slowly, just slid.

My eyes snapped open. Rayth had pulled Pippa to the ground and she stood there, a pallid, drenched, wretched thing, then she turned on her heel and ran, straight into the woods. I made to follow but Rayth grabbed my wrist. I looked to him and he shook his head.

“There’s no reception down here,” he said. “We need to get to the lighthouse and then ring the police so that they can pick up Scythe. She’ll be fine, but –” he gesticulated, “– someone needs to clear up this mess. And quickly.”

I nodded, numb, drained. Part of me didn’t want to leave him there, in the dark, on his own. But we had no choice. Rayth said that there was no reception, and we had to get hold of someone. After all, if we tried to take him back and he woke up… and no one knew where we were… who knew what he was capable of doing? It wasn’t worth taking the risk.

We left the graveyard – the pounding fire, the ricocheting smoke which tangled itself into hanging cages, then smouldered screeching rats. The police needed to be informed quickly. Someone had to put out the fire, otherwise it would spread.

The walk to the lighthouse was faded, something short, indistinct, which just barely pressed against the back of my mind. A myriad of dark images that bulged in the night, barely visible, only that one sharp rasping light which sliced a path before us. Rayth was the leader. He held my hand, and I obliged. I steadily regained my energy and we climbed up the path, past the sea wall and up along a bank. The lighthouse was a white beacon in the distance. It shot up, tried to rip open the sky with one jagged edge. It failed. Didn’t we all. All it touched was the ground below. I could feel my feet. As we approached the lighthouse, I made out more light. At the tip of the cliff was a lamp, Rayth’s oil lamp, and beside it was the butterfly jar. He let go of my hand and made his way to it, sat at the edge, jar in hand, legs swinging in the air.

I watched his back and the light that dappled his hair, filtered along dewy grass. Above, the moon was pallid. A pock-skinned face, gouged eyes; it watched us. He watched it back. I stood behind him, peering out over black water. Right now, it looked just like the sky. Only, there were no stars. Only darkness.

“Sit down.”

I did, and my legs swung in the air.

There was a silence. The butterfly fluttered, gently, ever so gently, thin paper-like wings. Could cut through them with a scissors. Snip, and each fragment would be caught, then carried by the wind. I blinked, and the silence made me feel like I was meant to say something. Anything. I did.

“Thankyou.”

No answer.

“For stopping him from –” I cut myself off. “For coming.”

“I should’ve come earlier.” He caught me off guard. “I’m sorry, Angela.” His eyes were still fixated on the moon. Transient.

It came unbidden, barely breathed out. “For what?”

“Everything.”

I was silent. So was the air.

“Do you think,” he changed the subject, “that we should have to pay for our ancestors’ sins?”

I creased my forehead. “We shouldn’t have to,” I replied. “No.”

“But that doesn’t mean that we don’t.” He was looking at the water now. “But then – someone needs to be punished. Someone needs to take responsibility.”

“God punishes them in hell.”

“What if there is no hell?” He paused. “What if this is all there is? – bottomless water and a broken sky. Then where is the punishment?”

“If there isn’t a hell, then bad people never get punished,” I said. “There’s never any justice. People don’t always – people don’t repent, ask for forgiveness, make amends. But the people they’ve hurt still hurt. They deserve something, anything.” I thought for a moment. “That something is to watch those people burn in hell.” I whispered the next bit, “And enjoy every minute of it.”

“True, but then… why not just punish them here? And why punish their descendants? Why punish those who come after them? I don’t think there is a hell.” He paused. “I think that the punishment’s dealt here, and if they’re not punished, their descendants are. They live with their ancestor’s sins. They lock them in a patterned box, open it occasionally, pass around the trinkets and whisper ‘we have to make amends’ and that’s if they have a heart, some semblance of guilt. If not, they say ‘fuck it’ and that’s when karma catches up. Maybe not on them, but on the ones after, or after. Or they die, and they get reborn, and they have another chance, and another one, and another one but the chances are just there to torment them, because they’re never going to say sorry. They’re never going to change, realise what they did wrong. And even if they do, it’s too late. If they didn’t say it then, they can’t say it. Ever.”

“It’s never too late to repent.”

Rayth looked at me then, hard. “No, Angel.” He cocked his head. “It is too late.”

The wind was cold. He stood up, and held out his hand. “Stand up.”

I took his hand, and stood. He pulled me to him, held me from the back, tightly. It was warm, and for some reason I remembered blind man’s buff. The thick strip of woolly cloth which he’d tie around my eyes. Tigher. Tighter. Then I’d tried to peek and he’d tighten it so that the bridge of my nose felt as if there was some massive weight, just pushing it down. Willing for it to fall off. My nose would twitch and then he’d have his arms on my shoulder. Then he’d twirl. Count. Thirteen times.

One.

Night wavered above us.

“You’re cold,” he told me.

Two.

“It is cold.” I closed my eyes, just for a moment, then looked back up at frosted stars.

“I hate that we have to be punished.”

A moment.

Three.

“Why are we still talking about this?”

The stars were crystal.

Four.

“God doesn’t punish people for their sins, Angel. People have to punish people for their sins otherwise the children pay.”

They glittered.

Five.

“Rayth.” I held his arms. “Why are we still talking about this?”

He whispered now, straight into my ear. “Even you said that you want the people who’ve hurt you to suffer.”

Six.

Then I remembered something, vaguely, words spoken earlier in the evening. Words that, at the time, I’d discarded.

“Before Scythe asked Lynn out, she got with you.”

Seven.

“She did.”

They shattered.

Eight.

“She picked Scythe, just like your father did.” He visibly flinched. Inside, I went cold. My voice was barely a whisper. “You punished her.”

Nine.

Another shattered moment.

“I did.”

Ten.

“First her cat,” I said. “Then her.”

His grip loosened.

Stars were bits of bone, gaping through torn flesh. He let me go.

Eleven.

I turned to look at him, took a step back, and watched him. Before I had gone to stop Scythe, I had rang Cancer. The graveyard had had reception. It was the lighthouse which didn’t.

“You killed her.”

Twelve.

“I did.”

Thirteen.

I bolted. Feet scraped through wet mud and two arms clasped around me. I kicked, higher, and he didn’t let go. Shrieking, I tried to break free but he carried me to the edge of the cliff, then threw me down. I landed with a thud then sank. Nails scraped mud. I looked up at him.

He cocked his head to the side. “I saw a dream once,” he said. I was shivering. “I told you about it. The black and white, with the blue cherry blossoms. I saw another one a few nights ago.”

I was crying.

“There was a bank,” he told me. “It was covered in snow. Piles and piles of white snow which glittered like little shards of crystal. I was sitting on the bank and I looked down into a lake, and there you lay, hands clasped in your lap, fingers clutching crystal. Immortal. Wreathed in blue cherry blossom, blue veins, white lips, just like the snow, my great great grandfather’s red stone looped round your neck like a noose.” He cocked his head to the side. “You wanted to help Scythe, Angel. And now I know what he wants, what he’s trying to do. It finally makes sense. It’s either you, or Scythe, and frankly, darling, blood runs thicker than water.”

I shrieked and he wrenched me up. I tried to kick myself out of his grasp but he was too strong and in moments I was at the cliff edge. It started raining. Shrieking shards of glass that cut down from the sky and ripped across muddy hands. Thunder drowned my screams and mud mixed with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Then I fell.

I grabbed air and found a fist full of rock and mud. My hands were slipping and I tried to wrench myself back onto the cliff edge. He was watching me, placid, and rain broke across his hair, his face. It was a shower of light, smashing thunder and lightning that rocked the sky. There was too much mud, too much water, and I desperately clung on but with every tug my fingers slipped. My arms felt as if they were being wrenched out of their sockets as all weight hung like a pendulum on two single shards of bone. I kicked up but to no avail. He knew I wouldn’t make it. We both knew.

I closed my eyes, trying to kick again, and then I heard a thumping from above. Shouts. Two voices, discordant. Again, I kicked and my leg managed to loop around something. I clambered, only for the leg to slip and I was hanging then, with my last ounces of energy. I watched my fingers fall back. Underneath me, black waves were crashing. My hands were pale white against muddy rock. Then two hands clasped over them, suddenly, and wrenched me up. I fell back onto the cliff edge, panting heavily, and then Cancer ran forward, ramming into Rayth who fell back onto the grass.

Their shouts were muffled beneath thunder. The sky was trembling and I stood up, moved closer. Rayth was flung back, against the cliff edge and Cancer was standing. I ran to him then, straight into his arms, and he held me. Rayth was saying something and I looked back at him, a shard of blue and black and white which ripped into the cliff edge. In one of his arms was the butterfly jar, glass face fogged over. It was a splatter of colour which beat, vaguely, unsure.

He watched us for a moment and I held Cancer tighter.

Then he laughed.

“So that’s the way it is,” he shouted.

He dug his second hand into his pocket, then pulled out something dark. A gun. The gun the little boy had used, when he’d tried to kill me on the day of the radio and the snow and fur elise. He still had it. He pointed it straight at us and I watched him, waited.

Something flitted through his eyes – pain, regret, hatred?, I didn’t know. Then four words.

“What have you done?”

Gunshots pierced the air.

-

Hopefully that explained something...