The Winter, The Summer Brae
A block, a sea, an impenetrable mass of black. I was in the middle, and a little to the left. All around me sat hundreds, three hundred and twenty in fact, of unemotional bodies, myself included. The room did not feel like a crowd, because our silence established a single body, a single unit, a legion. The speaker himself was giving the annual report of regional, national, and international events that had happened in the past year. He was of the 49th generation, we were of the 50th, and though his voice was typically monotonous, I could sense his feeling of superiority. Slightly annoying, but mostly, I was just bored out of my mind. Although every impassive mask of a face was turned towards the dry speaker, I didn’t think even one soul was riveted in the slightest. It was almost a competition to see if anyone would crack and release a forbidden sigh, shift in discomfort, roll their eyes, or, god forbid, yawn. I knew none of that would ever happen, we were too well disciplined, but I anticipated it nonetheless. Waiting, waiting, waiting, but no – the room was full of immovable, impenetrable statues.
The intolerable man was now on international news: human politics, disasters, and other happenings; our number of causalities and new findings on Demons, if any. The usual. I repressed a sigh. As he droned on and on, I felt my eyes starting to droop; I’m not human, but my back still ached, and I was only too aware that I had been sitting in the same position for the past two hours. As I could almost see the nonexistent glares of every statue in the room that would hone in on me if I simply rested my eyes for a bit, breathed a barely audible sigh, or relaxed into a slight slouch, he stopped. I almost sighed right then and there, but no, we rose in silence after the muted ending of the lecture-like update. “Dismissed,” said the hated man, and we waited as he left the room.
As the door finally boomed shut, not one smile, yawn, sigh, or whisper penetrated the muted silence, rather, the front row started to mechanically file out towards the main doors, and the rest of us waited in stillness, like the statues we were. I risked a glance around me, curious to see how much or if at all everyone had changed. I saw Two-oh-one just a few seats over, she had cropped her hair…and Eleven was in front of her, he still looked as haughty as ever…I had seen One leave in the row just before us, he had hair now…I didn’t dare risk another glance, almost positive that someone had already noticed by breach of conduct. No one said anything of course, but I could still feel the admonishment.
Once I had passed through the bland yellowing walls of the complex, I couldn’t help but relax my face at the brisk freshness of the night air and the stars twinkling innocently in the distance. I walked quickly to my “company” car, distinguishable solely through my designated parking space, but jarred to a stop at my name. “Seven.” I turned around to see One approaching me, and my lips twitched, almost tempted to smile. “One,” I replied, “Nice hair.” My response was beyond inappropriate, especially in this setting, but so was his decision to start a conversation. Still, he didn’t dare smile at my comment. Anyway, I could see it in his eyes. “Thank you.” I was burning to ask why he had suddenly decided to grow it out, to ask how he was doing, where he was stationed, if he had seen anyone in the past year, whether he was sad that Three, who had been his best friend when they were young, had been killed…to ask him anything really, but I merely said, “Your welcome.” He nodded. “Good to see you.” I replied tonelessly, “Good to see you.” Then he left. I continued walking methodically to my car. I resisted the urge to slam the door shut as I got into my nondescript black car, but allowed myself a small sigh in its small confines.
“Watch out – you might get fined.”
I couldn’t help it – I screamed. Not really a scream, more of like a small release of an ambiguous sound. I interpreted it as a scream at the time though, having mostly spent the last few hours listening solely to mind-numbing monotony. I spun to face the back seats after my exclamation, and sure enough, there he was. He had black hair and patterned eyes, just like me, though the coincidence was not uncommon. But that was where the resemblance ended. The sparkle in his eyes was missing today, but I never even associated myself with the word. His demeanor was relaxed, easy, his hair fluffy, almost bouncy while I could feel my rigid stature, which I doubted even went away in my sleep, and my hair was actually flecked with gray from stress and pulled back in a tight, almost painful, bun. Oh, and he also happened to be of a different species. A Demon. That was what most of my people, simuls, called them, but normally they were called the Undisciplined. They named themselves melius, apparently it isn’t as egotistical to call yourself “better” if you do it in Latin, and they refer to us derogatorily as witches, lab rats, machines, shells, husks, zombies, sometimes even just unfeeling bastards, but officially as Hunters. Simuls were the first to evolve from humans around 1,000 years ago, but we started the tradition of generations very close to 700 years ago, making mine the 50th. Generations were so easily labeled because children were created once both men and women reached 14 years of age. At that age, our sperm and embryos are taken and cultivated in some lab. It’s a little disturbing, knowing that I was born in such a cold setting. It was also curious, knowing that I had an eight year old child out there somewhere. Only a certain number of children were allowed to be established, depending on the country and factors calculated by simuls that I’ve never met, and my generation consisted of 320. I was the seventh to be born, so I was “named” seven. Well, technically seven of fifty. We were meticulously controlled, rigorously monitored, and exactly trained. We had only two goals: to take over the human race and to bring the Undisciplined to their knees. That’s what’s on the brochure anyway. What I’ve experienced is just roughly the latter. The Demons call us Hunters for a reason, and that reason is…we hunt them. We hunt them down and kill them. Don’t judge us too quickly, because they do it too. We’re in a war, us simuls and melius. If you want to be dramatic, you could say it’s a war for world domination. They just go about it a different way than we do. Humans, of course, are virtually innocent of this; they merely think that we help to protect them from those savage Demons. Fools. An enemy of an enemy does not make them a friend, nor even a temporary ally, but a calculated advantage. However, we must keep up the façade of friendship until we are strong enough to take over the dismally powerful humans. But honestly? I don’t know if I want to ever see the day.
“Damen!” I hissed, panicked and beyond furious, to the Demon lying casually in my backseat, “What the hell?! Are you trying to get me killed?! Snap out of here!” “I’ve missed you too,” he responded flatly. I wanted to kill him. “Get out.” “Don’t be so paranoid,” he replied lazily, “just drive. They won’t see me.” I seriously wanted to kill him. “Paranoid? Are you kidding me right now? I – “ “Just drive,” he repeated, interrupting me and subsequently further infuriating me, “You’ll look suspicious if you just stay here; you got out like ten minutes ago.” “Just Sn– “ I started furiously, but again, he interrupted me, “And I’m not leaving.” Struggling to repress my anger, I quickly weighed my options from a logical standpoint, and came to an obnoxious conclusion. Throwing him a look of utter disgust, I put on my seatbelt and started the car. Pulling out of the parking space, I couldn’t help but glance uneasily around me, looking for suspicious eyes, or blatant shock and hatred. When I finally hit the highway, it was as if the world lifted from my shoulders. I sighed in relief, not only from the paranoia of being caught, but also from being able to finally relax into myself. But I was still angry. Damen and I haven’t talked to each other in almost three years, and there was a reason for that. He hadn’t said anything more thus far, but I knew he had something to say. He wouldn’t have risked this otherwise. “Why are you here?” I asked abruptly, my voice hard. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” he said it sarcastically, but it felt more bitter than flippant. I hesitated, but admitted, “I remember.” And I did. How could I not? It was the anniversary of his brother’s death. “We’re nearby, you know,” I heard him say. “I know.” I paused. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” I saw him sit up, and a sliver of anxiety went through me. “Stay dow–“ “She died.” I choked and compulsively clenched the wheel, once again rigid as a board. I could see him watching my reaction. As normally as I could, I said, “Today?” I couldn’t help but notice the question came out completely devoid of emotion. “A few days ago.” He was still watching. “So what do you want?” I said, still flat, still empty, “An apology?” “No,” he replied, “I just thought you should know.” I couldn’t interpret his tone. Was he angry? It seemed to have an edge…Was he just sad? She was his sister…But why would I need to know? I never knew her, only met her that one time. Does he just want company? Does he think I sincerely wanted to know? Or does he want the knowledge to eat away at my conscious until I begged for his forgiveness and asked on my knees for him to take me back? No, he knows me too well. He knows I have no conscious. Not for this anyway.
So I killed her, I’ve killed a lot of them.
“Why?” I finally asked, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror. He was also wearing a mask. For some reason, that ticked me off more than anything. He saw me looking at him, and a sad smile crossed his features. “I don’t know,” he said, and repeated, “I just thought you should know.” I almost pulled over, I was that frustrated. “So after three years of utter silence you Snap into my car, located in the middle of a simul compound, after the one annual meeting where my entire generation gathers, just to tell me that I had caused the death of a De-Undisciplined?” I caught myself at the last second, knowing that he didn’t take too kindly of our nickname for his race. “Stop the car.” I almost scowled – definitely mad. “No.” “Stop the car or I’ll Shift it.” I scoffed, and replied, “Empty threat. You can’t Snap my car, it’s too large.” A pause. Then…“Fine,” he said with a tone that I didn’t like, “Fine, then I’ll just Shift you.” “I – you – don’t you – !” I spluttered, but when I felt his hand on my shoulder, I panicked and shouted, “FINE!” And, furious, I turned on my signal, and found my way to the gravel. Parking the car, I quickly turned around, saying, “Okay, now why–“ My voice died. He had Snapped himself to the passenger seat, and was now just a breath away. Damn him. ”I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he whispered, breathed, “I almost killed you, and made you kill my sister-” “You never made me do any such thing,” I interrupted harshly, jerking back. He gripped my arm, and my breath stilled. “The situation should never have come up,” he said, his voice hard, with pain or anger, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that he had come to me on an impossible hope, and as I looked at him, his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his face, I knew I felt an incredible sadness in having to dispel it. “Let me go,” I said, my voice muted even to my own ears. It was a blow, I could see it. “Vera…” it was my nickname, from my sword, Verejuna, but I refused to respond to the warmth it brought. “No.” He stared, I glared. “I won’t beg,” he said quietly. “I don’t expect you to,” I replied, “Now get out.” His face…his face was a mask, and I didn’t have the skill to get behind it. “Fine. Goodbye.” And then he was gone. I sat there, silent, still staring at the passenger seat. Years of control finally brought me back to my senses. Not quietly, but robotically I turned on my signal, then shifted gears. After just one minute I too disappeared from the godforsaken place.
I was walking through woods, though terribly cold and drearily desolate, soothingly familiar and pleasurably comforting. Snow fell in flakes all around me, providing company where there was none, and creating mute music where silence reigned. As I breathed in the sharp frost of winter’s air, I was filled with an impossible serenity, and I could feel a small smile start to form on my normally taciturn features. I felt neither loneliness nor fear as I traveled blindly and boldly through the seemingly indiscriminate trees, and I soon came upon a frozen lake. I knew this lake, having been there several times before, and without testing the ice, I ventured forth. I slipped and slid, and laughed at my follies, reveling in those laughs, those indications of humanity, and eventually fell to singing contentedly to myself.
On a sunny brae, alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May
With her young lover, June.
From her mother's heart, seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever -*
“AHH!” The cry pierced through the serenity of winter’s silence, shattering the tranquil scene. I turned to the strangled sound, shocked, frightened, and as frozen as the ice beneath my feet. A pause – distant sobs. “Help! Help! Please, somebody, please…” I stood for just a moment more as the voice continued to cry for mercy, and then, before I was even aware of it, I was running. In just two minutes I was at the source of the heart-rending sounds of torment and my own heart stopped beating.
The cries were coming from a Demon.
Immediately, I had pulled out Verejuna, but once I had, I stood dumbstruck. I was only eleven – still in training. I had never even seen a living Demon before, though my teachers had dumped plenty of dead ones at my feet. I had recognized him immediately from his dark crystalized eyes, so similar to mine, and slightly pricked ears. Even without these markers, he radiated a feeling of otherness that so differed from those of my own kind. Yet despite these warnings, I couldn’t bring up even a semblance of attack against the helpless creature, or creatures. There were two. But when I looked at the other, a different kind of nausea churned in my stomach than the mere presence of their foreign species. It was a child; I could see that – a young boy covered in blood. His abdomen looked as if some giant animal had torn it to shreds, but I knew better. I knew that when a Demon Snapped, or instantaneously traveled from one place to another, he ran the risk of ripping himself apart with the speed, and so did anyone else that he brought with him. I gasped, but could do nothing else. I couldn’t leave, but neither could I help. I stood frozen, with the sword hanging useless by my side. However, the boy Demon sprang up at my arrival, his patterned eyes widening in fear – I forgot they could feel fear – and he cried, “Don’t come any closer! Take one more step and I’ll kill you.” He stood defiantly in front of the dying child; he splattered with gore and stained with tears, defending them both with nothing but the sheer force of will. It took my breath away. I had never known love – the simuls strived to eradicate such a destructive sentiment – but now it was right before me; as real and as clear as the drifting snowflakes that filled the air. I had only to reach out and let it fall quietly onto an outstretched hand.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely sure exactly what I was sorry for. I could see in his face that he was thrown off by these words, and he eyed me warily. “What?” he asked plainly. I could feel the heat of embarrassment flush through me body, though I knew that no spot of blood stained my cheeks, and replied clumsily, “I-I don’t really know why I said that.”A small, yet awkward, silence followed my brief drivel, and, for a lack of anything better to say, I quickly blurted out, “You Snapped here with him.” What color that had returned to his face in our short encounter drained immediately at my words, and I regretted them instantly.
“You don’t get to judge me, witch,” he retorted coldly.
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Then what was?”
I fumbled for words, but, taking a step forward, ultimately replied, “To understand.” Several moments of silence ensued, and then suddenly, he asked me jerkily, “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
More silence. I could tell he was weighing the truth of my words, my sincerity, then I saw him glance back to the immobile child, and he seemed to make a decision. “Yes,” he started abruptly, shifting his dark gaze back onto me, “I Snapped. He wanted to see if the ice had frozen on the lake. I’ve never Shifted here before, but he wanted to come, I shouldn’t have, but he wanted t–“ Gentle tears drifted down his young face as he fell to his knees, and his voice lowered to nothing more than a hoarse whisper, “We used to walk to that lake almost every day. When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he said he wanted to see it again. He said he wanted us to skate on it like we used to. He wanted to see the ice, and the snow, and the trees. I couldn’t-I couldn’t refuse him. Everyone else was gone, it seemed so easy…I don’t know, I-I didn’t think– we were so excited, and I –“ I stared, tremendously uncomfortable, having never been exposed to this much emotion. But I glanced at the bloodied child, his thin chest still moving despite the gaping wound in his stomach, and resolving myself, I took another tentative step towards the shaking wreck. “Why don’t you Sn-Shift him to one of your hospitals? You’ve had to have been to one before now.” He looked up at me in surprise, but replied despairingly, “I’m too weak to Shift anywhere now, I traveled hundreds of miles to get here. If I try, he’ll d–“ he paused, and twisting his blood-stained hands, he continued quickly, “he’s too weak, I’m too weak, and I’ve never been to a hospital with him - I’ve never been anywhere with him except for here.” Sheathing my sword, I kneeled down a few feet away from him, and said determinedly, “Are you telling me that you won’t even try? You’re only weak if you believe yourself to be. I know you love that child, but he’s dying. Whether he dies while you sit here doing nothing or while you fight for his life is your choice.” He shifted slightly away from my proximity, but replied to my unexpected intimacy, “It’s impossible. You know it’s impossible. Isn’t there anything you can do? At least help me to get out of here. Is there a hospital nearby?” “I-“ I looked back to the child, and then to the boy’s shining eyes. “Please,” he added softly. His hand twitched towards me, as if he had meant to reach for mine, but remembered our disparity at the last second. My own hands tingled, as if they had been waiting for that shared moment.
I thought that he could still Snap the child away despite the improbability, warily realizing that I believed his love to be a strong enough force to assure their survival; however, I was also excruciatingly aware that every second lost brought the child closer to death. Sighing in frustration, I quickly stood up and said, “Come on, there’s a trail nearby that leads out to the side of the road. We could flag down a car or something.” A sliver of worry lifted off of the Demon’s shoulders at my words, and despite my beliefs, despite my vocation, despite everything, I was glad to have caused it. I was glad to have met him, to have been there, to have come to his aid. I was….happy.
I woke abruptly, gasping for breath as if surfacing from the depths of the very ocean. My room was still dark with night, which contrasted oddly with the brilliance of the dream. The looming shapes of my impeccably kept bedroom rose to replace the trees and Demons, but I could still feel the snow beneath my knees, the powdered flakes gently kissing my face. Despair replaced the happiness from all those years ago, and I allowed myself the emotion, though I refused to shed a single tear. I had done so only once in my life, and had then sworn that such an act would never happen again. Remembering this, I took a deep breath and then stuffed my despair back to the bottom of her heart, where I hoped it would disappear.
Not wanting to subject myself to my seditious subconscious once more, I ripped off the covers and jumped out of bed, welcoming the slap of cold air that helped to wash away my lingering melancholy. Habitually, I reached under my shirt to check the locket on my necklace. It hung on a deceivingly fine, but incredibly strong, silver chain that was long enough for me to see the pendant. The locket itself was fairly large and gold in color, though it too was deceptive. For one, this locket, when opened, held the traitorous picture of me smiling serenely in Damen’s arms. It was the only picture I owned of me or of him, and though I knew its existence jeopardized my existence, though I rarely ever viewed the bittersweet photo, I always kept it near my heart. For another, the locket was made specifically for me by simuls, and it served the purpose of a modern day cellphone. I couldn’t receive calls; but, when it vibrated, I saw the location and necessary information of my next hunt on its back. Today, my sigh of relief at the blank sheet of gold turned quickly into a groan as it transformed right before my eyes into an inscription of a nearby location. Letting it fall back down to my heart, I didn’t bother to memorize the information just yet, but walked over to the bathroom, the door silently sliding open.
I grimaced at the wild-haired, baggy-eyed mess staring back at me from the mirror, hating its bloodshot eyes. I despised mornings. Grabbing my toothbrush, I hurriedly tried to transform back into normal simul-mode with my regular routine, occasionally wondering if I should remove the stupid mirror. Halfway through that meticulous routine, 42 minutes in to be exact, I was on my treadmill, which I hated too. But it wasn't like I was going to run outside, where the world could witness me sweating. God, what horror. I wish I could though; the surface outside would never whisk me to the floor flat on my face just because I stumbled. Cursing the machine, myself, Damen, God, everything, I picked myself up and threw the treadmill a dark glance. Abandoning further exercise for today, I hit the showers. Damn him. He just had to creep back into my thoughts, when I had so carefully walled him back up. It wasn't like I was hurt - it would take much more than that - but it was still annoying. I had barely thought about him recently (a major accomplishment) but he just had to show up again. He just had to, and then he had to tell me of his sister. Ugh. No use dwelling - I turned off those thoughts as easily as I turned off the faucet and determinedly finished my routine.
About an hour and eleven minutes after my first encounter with the mirror, I emerged into the world with my expressionless face, my black trench coat, and my gray-black bun. Today was business as usual.
But I guess the world was just determined to hate me that day.
I immediately spotted it on my front doorstep, and it took everything I had to not react.
It was a body. A dead body. A mutilated body. A Demon's body.
Damen's body.
I know I stood there a beat longer than I should have for a corpse I wasn't supposed to have recognized. Otherwise, I hate to say that I performed admirably. Taking out my locket, I pushed my thumb onto its back, letting it scan and confirm my identity. Once it flared briefly with scorching warmth, I brought it up to my mouth and relayed to it my address, my voice carefully controlled, carefully empty. It turned cold again, and I knew the message had been delivered. A simul would come by to pick the body within five minutes - no, much longer because this kill was unexpected. They'll show up in about twenty. These thoughts went on automatically while I stood there over the body. I would not - could not think of anything else. That was absolutely important. Business as usual. Right. I might have slipped a little bit, might have shuddered a little bit, as I stepped over him - it. It. The body. But it was business as usual from thereon, from the steps to the car and the mind-numbing drive that followed.
I could not do it.
I pulled into an empty parking lot - not hard to find this early in the morning - to double check the directions, I told myself. But I crumbled. Damen, I thought, Damen. I sounded like an animal caught in a trap, screaming, crying, pleading, throbbing with pain. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead...I knew it was true, I had seen it with my own eyes, and that black finality made it a hundred times worse. I felt like I had caused it, as if Verajuna was the one to have slashed through his stomach and face and arms and legs. I'll kill them, I thought, I'll kill whoever it was that dared to dump him in front of me like that. I needed to kill right then, everything, anything - I could have killed myself.
Then he showed up.
I felt like I was going to have a heart attack - never had I experienced such extreme emotions in such a short amount of time. I screamed for real then, when I saw Damen alive and well, staring back at me from the passenger seat. "You-you - Damen - what, what the -" I managed to splutter before he could interrupt, grabbing my shoulders and solidly confirming his existence. "Vera, what's wrong? What happened?" he said rapidly. I couldn't even comprehend his questions. I couldn't comprehend his hands, I couldn't comprehend my lack of resistance, I couldn't comprehend my lack of words; hell, I just couldn't comprehend. Finally, my mechanical brain started to reboot itself, automatically reaching out towards the scattered hell that was my mind in order to attempt some type of reconstruction. I started at the beginning. Closing my eyes, I said as evenly as I could, "About ten minutes ago, I opened my front door to find your corpse at my feet." I did not even attempt to verbalize my thoughts thereafter. He paused, and I felt his complete and utter shock. "That's impossible," he said. "I pretty damn well know it's impossible," I snapped back, opening my eyes to a red haze. For some reason, fury scorched through my body like desert fire, filling me with the desire to either explode like an atomic bomb or sob uncontrollably in Damen's arms. Or both.
Was this really happening?
"I'm not dead, Vera. Look at me, Vera, look at me." I looked at him. He took one of my shaking hands and placed it at his neck. "See?" I saw. His pulse beat warm and strong, though fast with worry, reflecting his face and his eyes and him. He was alive. Yet, I had known that when I first saw him. Taking my hand away from his, I took a deep breath and managed a small smile. The effort almost killed me. "Thanks, Damen," I managed to spit out, "I'm...glad you're not dead." Even as I said it, some odd mixture of guilt, anger, and despair pierced my heart like shards of glass. He had noticed my strain, and I could see the question in his eyes. I ignored it. "Anyway, I have an assignment I'm supposed to be going to," I said, my fake casual for once sounding fake, "I should get back on the road. I shouldn't have stopped here like I did, but -" "Vera, don't be stupid," Damen interrupted quietly. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as my heart ripped open. I didn't respond, carefully calculating the merits of starting the car with him still in it. I hadn't reached a decision in the split second it took for him to continue digging through my sudden feelings. "The dead doppelganger or whatever it was; it wasn't me. Relax. I'm right here."
Relax? That was like telling me to go shoot myself; which, admittedly, would have been easier. I chose not to say anything, though a small whine echoed within me in response: it could have been you. It could so easily have been you. He cautiously took my hand, and I knew he could feel me shaking. Before he had the chance to say any more of his words, his words that acted like fire to my icy determination, I spat out, "Go, Damen. Knowing you're alive is enough. Thank you. Now go." My words came out harsher than I intended, though they needed to be to mask the undeniable fact that I wanted him to stay.
*"A Day Dream" by Emily Bronte
The intolerable man was now on international news: human politics, disasters, and other happenings; our number of causalities and new findings on Demons, if any. The usual. I repressed a sigh. As he droned on and on, I felt my eyes starting to droop; I’m not human, but my back still ached, and I was only too aware that I had been sitting in the same position for the past two hours. As I could almost see the nonexistent glares of every statue in the room that would hone in on me if I simply rested my eyes for a bit, breathed a barely audible sigh, or relaxed into a slight slouch, he stopped. I almost sighed right then and there, but no, we rose in silence after the muted ending of the lecture-like update. “Dismissed,” said the hated man, and we waited as he left the room.
As the door finally boomed shut, not one smile, yawn, sigh, or whisper penetrated the muted silence, rather, the front row started to mechanically file out towards the main doors, and the rest of us waited in stillness, like the statues we were. I risked a glance around me, curious to see how much or if at all everyone had changed. I saw Two-oh-one just a few seats over, she had cropped her hair…and Eleven was in front of her, he still looked as haughty as ever…I had seen One leave in the row just before us, he had hair now…I didn’t dare risk another glance, almost positive that someone had already noticed by breach of conduct. No one said anything of course, but I could still feel the admonishment.
Once I had passed through the bland yellowing walls of the complex, I couldn’t help but relax my face at the brisk freshness of the night air and the stars twinkling innocently in the distance. I walked quickly to my “company” car, distinguishable solely through my designated parking space, but jarred to a stop at my name. “Seven.” I turned around to see One approaching me, and my lips twitched, almost tempted to smile. “One,” I replied, “Nice hair.” My response was beyond inappropriate, especially in this setting, but so was his decision to start a conversation. Still, he didn’t dare smile at my comment. Anyway, I could see it in his eyes. “Thank you.” I was burning to ask why he had suddenly decided to grow it out, to ask how he was doing, where he was stationed, if he had seen anyone in the past year, whether he was sad that Three, who had been his best friend when they were young, had been killed…to ask him anything really, but I merely said, “Your welcome.” He nodded. “Good to see you.” I replied tonelessly, “Good to see you.” Then he left. I continued walking methodically to my car. I resisted the urge to slam the door shut as I got into my nondescript black car, but allowed myself a small sigh in its small confines.
“Watch out – you might get fined.”
I couldn’t help it – I screamed. Not really a scream, more of like a small release of an ambiguous sound. I interpreted it as a scream at the time though, having mostly spent the last few hours listening solely to mind-numbing monotony. I spun to face the back seats after my exclamation, and sure enough, there he was. He had black hair and patterned eyes, just like me, though the coincidence was not uncommon. But that was where the resemblance ended. The sparkle in his eyes was missing today, but I never even associated myself with the word. His demeanor was relaxed, easy, his hair fluffy, almost bouncy while I could feel my rigid stature, which I doubted even went away in my sleep, and my hair was actually flecked with gray from stress and pulled back in a tight, almost painful, bun. Oh, and he also happened to be of a different species. A Demon. That was what most of my people, simuls, called them, but normally they were called the Undisciplined. They named themselves melius, apparently it isn’t as egotistical to call yourself “better” if you do it in Latin, and they refer to us derogatorily as witches, lab rats, machines, shells, husks, zombies, sometimes even just unfeeling bastards, but officially as Hunters. Simuls were the first to evolve from humans around 1,000 years ago, but we started the tradition of generations very close to 700 years ago, making mine the 50th. Generations were so easily labeled because children were created once both men and women reached 14 years of age. At that age, our sperm and embryos are taken and cultivated in some lab. It’s a little disturbing, knowing that I was born in such a cold setting. It was also curious, knowing that I had an eight year old child out there somewhere. Only a certain number of children were allowed to be established, depending on the country and factors calculated by simuls that I’ve never met, and my generation consisted of 320. I was the seventh to be born, so I was “named” seven. Well, technically seven of fifty. We were meticulously controlled, rigorously monitored, and exactly trained. We had only two goals: to take over the human race and to bring the Undisciplined to their knees. That’s what’s on the brochure anyway. What I’ve experienced is just roughly the latter. The Demons call us Hunters for a reason, and that reason is…we hunt them. We hunt them down and kill them. Don’t judge us too quickly, because they do it too. We’re in a war, us simuls and melius. If you want to be dramatic, you could say it’s a war for world domination. They just go about it a different way than we do. Humans, of course, are virtually innocent of this; they merely think that we help to protect them from those savage Demons. Fools. An enemy of an enemy does not make them a friend, nor even a temporary ally, but a calculated advantage. However, we must keep up the façade of friendship until we are strong enough to take over the dismally powerful humans. But honestly? I don’t know if I want to ever see the day.
“Damen!” I hissed, panicked and beyond furious, to the Demon lying casually in my backseat, “What the hell?! Are you trying to get me killed?! Snap out of here!” “I’ve missed you too,” he responded flatly. I wanted to kill him. “Get out.” “Don’t be so paranoid,” he replied lazily, “just drive. They won’t see me.” I seriously wanted to kill him. “Paranoid? Are you kidding me right now? I – “ “Just drive,” he repeated, interrupting me and subsequently further infuriating me, “You’ll look suspicious if you just stay here; you got out like ten minutes ago.” “Just Sn– “ I started furiously, but again, he interrupted me, “And I’m not leaving.” Struggling to repress my anger, I quickly weighed my options from a logical standpoint, and came to an obnoxious conclusion. Throwing him a look of utter disgust, I put on my seatbelt and started the car. Pulling out of the parking space, I couldn’t help but glance uneasily around me, looking for suspicious eyes, or blatant shock and hatred. When I finally hit the highway, it was as if the world lifted from my shoulders. I sighed in relief, not only from the paranoia of being caught, but also from being able to finally relax into myself. But I was still angry. Damen and I haven’t talked to each other in almost three years, and there was a reason for that. He hadn’t said anything more thus far, but I knew he had something to say. He wouldn’t have risked this otherwise. “Why are you here?” I asked abruptly, my voice hard. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” he said it sarcastically, but it felt more bitter than flippant. I hesitated, but admitted, “I remember.” And I did. How could I not? It was the anniversary of his brother’s death. “We’re nearby, you know,” I heard him say. “I know.” I paused. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” I saw him sit up, and a sliver of anxiety went through me. “Stay dow–“ “She died.” I choked and compulsively clenched the wheel, once again rigid as a board. I could see him watching my reaction. As normally as I could, I said, “Today?” I couldn’t help but notice the question came out completely devoid of emotion. “A few days ago.” He was still watching. “So what do you want?” I said, still flat, still empty, “An apology?” “No,” he replied, “I just thought you should know.” I couldn’t interpret his tone. Was he angry? It seemed to have an edge…Was he just sad? She was his sister…But why would I need to know? I never knew her, only met her that one time. Does he just want company? Does he think I sincerely wanted to know? Or does he want the knowledge to eat away at my conscious until I begged for his forgiveness and asked on my knees for him to take me back? No, he knows me too well. He knows I have no conscious. Not for this anyway.
So I killed her, I’ve killed a lot of them.
“Why?” I finally asked, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror. He was also wearing a mask. For some reason, that ticked me off more than anything. He saw me looking at him, and a sad smile crossed his features. “I don’t know,” he said, and repeated, “I just thought you should know.” I almost pulled over, I was that frustrated. “So after three years of utter silence you Snap into my car, located in the middle of a simul compound, after the one annual meeting where my entire generation gathers, just to tell me that I had caused the death of a De-Undisciplined?” I caught myself at the last second, knowing that he didn’t take too kindly of our nickname for his race. “Stop the car.” I almost scowled – definitely mad. “No.” “Stop the car or I’ll Shift it.” I scoffed, and replied, “Empty threat. You can’t Snap my car, it’s too large.” A pause. Then…“Fine,” he said with a tone that I didn’t like, “Fine, then I’ll just Shift you.” “I – you – don’t you – !” I spluttered, but when I felt his hand on my shoulder, I panicked and shouted, “FINE!” And, furious, I turned on my signal, and found my way to the gravel. Parking the car, I quickly turned around, saying, “Okay, now why–“ My voice died. He had Snapped himself to the passenger seat, and was now just a breath away. Damn him. ”I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he whispered, breathed, “I almost killed you, and made you kill my sister-” “You never made me do any such thing,” I interrupted harshly, jerking back. He gripped my arm, and my breath stilled. “The situation should never have come up,” he said, his voice hard, with pain or anger, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that he had come to me on an impossible hope, and as I looked at him, his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his face, I knew I felt an incredible sadness in having to dispel it. “Let me go,” I said, my voice muted even to my own ears. It was a blow, I could see it. “Vera…” it was my nickname, from my sword, Verejuna, but I refused to respond to the warmth it brought. “No.” He stared, I glared. “I won’t beg,” he said quietly. “I don’t expect you to,” I replied, “Now get out.” His face…his face was a mask, and I didn’t have the skill to get behind it. “Fine. Goodbye.” And then he was gone. I sat there, silent, still staring at the passenger seat. Years of control finally brought me back to my senses. Not quietly, but robotically I turned on my signal, then shifted gears. After just one minute I too disappeared from the godforsaken place.
I was walking through woods, though terribly cold and drearily desolate, soothingly familiar and pleasurably comforting. Snow fell in flakes all around me, providing company where there was none, and creating mute music where silence reigned. As I breathed in the sharp frost of winter’s air, I was filled with an impossible serenity, and I could feel a small smile start to form on my normally taciturn features. I felt neither loneliness nor fear as I traveled blindly and boldly through the seemingly indiscriminate trees, and I soon came upon a frozen lake. I knew this lake, having been there several times before, and without testing the ice, I ventured forth. I slipped and slid, and laughed at my follies, reveling in those laughs, those indications of humanity, and eventually fell to singing contentedly to myself.
On a sunny brae, alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May
With her young lover, June.
From her mother's heart, seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever -*
“AHH!” The cry pierced through the serenity of winter’s silence, shattering the tranquil scene. I turned to the strangled sound, shocked, frightened, and as frozen as the ice beneath my feet. A pause – distant sobs. “Help! Help! Please, somebody, please…” I stood for just a moment more as the voice continued to cry for mercy, and then, before I was even aware of it, I was running. In just two minutes I was at the source of the heart-rending sounds of torment and my own heart stopped beating.
The cries were coming from a Demon.
Immediately, I had pulled out Verejuna, but once I had, I stood dumbstruck. I was only eleven – still in training. I had never even seen a living Demon before, though my teachers had dumped plenty of dead ones at my feet. I had recognized him immediately from his dark crystalized eyes, so similar to mine, and slightly pricked ears. Even without these markers, he radiated a feeling of otherness that so differed from those of my own kind. Yet despite these warnings, I couldn’t bring up even a semblance of attack against the helpless creature, or creatures. There were two. But when I looked at the other, a different kind of nausea churned in my stomach than the mere presence of their foreign species. It was a child; I could see that – a young boy covered in blood. His abdomen looked as if some giant animal had torn it to shreds, but I knew better. I knew that when a Demon Snapped, or instantaneously traveled from one place to another, he ran the risk of ripping himself apart with the speed, and so did anyone else that he brought with him. I gasped, but could do nothing else. I couldn’t leave, but neither could I help. I stood frozen, with the sword hanging useless by my side. However, the boy Demon sprang up at my arrival, his patterned eyes widening in fear – I forgot they could feel fear – and he cried, “Don’t come any closer! Take one more step and I’ll kill you.” He stood defiantly in front of the dying child; he splattered with gore and stained with tears, defending them both with nothing but the sheer force of will. It took my breath away. I had never known love – the simuls strived to eradicate such a destructive sentiment – but now it was right before me; as real and as clear as the drifting snowflakes that filled the air. I had only to reach out and let it fall quietly onto an outstretched hand.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely sure exactly what I was sorry for. I could see in his face that he was thrown off by these words, and he eyed me warily. “What?” he asked plainly. I could feel the heat of embarrassment flush through me body, though I knew that no spot of blood stained my cheeks, and replied clumsily, “I-I don’t really know why I said that.”A small, yet awkward, silence followed my brief drivel, and, for a lack of anything better to say, I quickly blurted out, “You Snapped here with him.” What color that had returned to his face in our short encounter drained immediately at my words, and I regretted them instantly.
“You don’t get to judge me, witch,” he retorted coldly.
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Then what was?”
I fumbled for words, but, taking a step forward, ultimately replied, “To understand.” Several moments of silence ensued, and then suddenly, he asked me jerkily, “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
More silence. I could tell he was weighing the truth of my words, my sincerity, then I saw him glance back to the immobile child, and he seemed to make a decision. “Yes,” he started abruptly, shifting his dark gaze back onto me, “I Snapped. He wanted to see if the ice had frozen on the lake. I’ve never Shifted here before, but he wanted to come, I shouldn’t have, but he wanted t–“ Gentle tears drifted down his young face as he fell to his knees, and his voice lowered to nothing more than a hoarse whisper, “We used to walk to that lake almost every day. When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he said he wanted to see it again. He said he wanted us to skate on it like we used to. He wanted to see the ice, and the snow, and the trees. I couldn’t-I couldn’t refuse him. Everyone else was gone, it seemed so easy…I don’t know, I-I didn’t think– we were so excited, and I –“ I stared, tremendously uncomfortable, having never been exposed to this much emotion. But I glanced at the bloodied child, his thin chest still moving despite the gaping wound in his stomach, and resolving myself, I took another tentative step towards the shaking wreck. “Why don’t you Sn-Shift him to one of your hospitals? You’ve had to have been to one before now.” He looked up at me in surprise, but replied despairingly, “I’m too weak to Shift anywhere now, I traveled hundreds of miles to get here. If I try, he’ll d–“ he paused, and twisting his blood-stained hands, he continued quickly, “he’s too weak, I’m too weak, and I’ve never been to a hospital with him - I’ve never been anywhere with him except for here.” Sheathing my sword, I kneeled down a few feet away from him, and said determinedly, “Are you telling me that you won’t even try? You’re only weak if you believe yourself to be. I know you love that child, but he’s dying. Whether he dies while you sit here doing nothing or while you fight for his life is your choice.” He shifted slightly away from my proximity, but replied to my unexpected intimacy, “It’s impossible. You know it’s impossible. Isn’t there anything you can do? At least help me to get out of here. Is there a hospital nearby?” “I-“ I looked back to the child, and then to the boy’s shining eyes. “Please,” he added softly. His hand twitched towards me, as if he had meant to reach for mine, but remembered our disparity at the last second. My own hands tingled, as if they had been waiting for that shared moment.
I thought that he could still Snap the child away despite the improbability, warily realizing that I believed his love to be a strong enough force to assure their survival; however, I was also excruciatingly aware that every second lost brought the child closer to death. Sighing in frustration, I quickly stood up and said, “Come on, there’s a trail nearby that leads out to the side of the road. We could flag down a car or something.” A sliver of worry lifted off of the Demon’s shoulders at my words, and despite my beliefs, despite my vocation, despite everything, I was glad to have caused it. I was glad to have met him, to have been there, to have come to his aid. I was….happy.
I woke abruptly, gasping for breath as if surfacing from the depths of the very ocean. My room was still dark with night, which contrasted oddly with the brilliance of the dream. The looming shapes of my impeccably kept bedroom rose to replace the trees and Demons, but I could still feel the snow beneath my knees, the powdered flakes gently kissing my face. Despair replaced the happiness from all those years ago, and I allowed myself the emotion, though I refused to shed a single tear. I had done so only once in my life, and had then sworn that such an act would never happen again. Remembering this, I took a deep breath and then stuffed my despair back to the bottom of her heart, where I hoped it would disappear.
Not wanting to subject myself to my seditious subconscious once more, I ripped off the covers and jumped out of bed, welcoming the slap of cold air that helped to wash away my lingering melancholy. Habitually, I reached under my shirt to check the locket on my necklace. It hung on a deceivingly fine, but incredibly strong, silver chain that was long enough for me to see the pendant. The locket itself was fairly large and gold in color, though it too was deceptive. For one, this locket, when opened, held the traitorous picture of me smiling serenely in Damen’s arms. It was the only picture I owned of me or of him, and though I knew its existence jeopardized my existence, though I rarely ever viewed the bittersweet photo, I always kept it near my heart. For another, the locket was made specifically for me by simuls, and it served the purpose of a modern day cellphone. I couldn’t receive calls; but, when it vibrated, I saw the location and necessary information of my next hunt on its back. Today, my sigh of relief at the blank sheet of gold turned quickly into a groan as it transformed right before my eyes into an inscription of a nearby location. Letting it fall back down to my heart, I didn’t bother to memorize the information just yet, but walked over to the bathroom, the door silently sliding open.
I grimaced at the wild-haired, baggy-eyed mess staring back at me from the mirror, hating its bloodshot eyes. I despised mornings. Grabbing my toothbrush, I hurriedly tried to transform back into normal simul-mode with my regular routine, occasionally wondering if I should remove the stupid mirror. Halfway through that meticulous routine, 42 minutes in to be exact, I was on my treadmill, which I hated too. But it wasn't like I was going to run outside, where the world could witness me sweating. God, what horror. I wish I could though; the surface outside would never whisk me to the floor flat on my face just because I stumbled. Cursing the machine, myself, Damen, God, everything, I picked myself up and threw the treadmill a dark glance. Abandoning further exercise for today, I hit the showers. Damn him. He just had to creep back into my thoughts, when I had so carefully walled him back up. It wasn't like I was hurt - it would take much more than that - but it was still annoying. I had barely thought about him recently (a major accomplishment) but he just had to show up again. He just had to, and then he had to tell me of his sister. Ugh. No use dwelling - I turned off those thoughts as easily as I turned off the faucet and determinedly finished my routine.
About an hour and eleven minutes after my first encounter with the mirror, I emerged into the world with my expressionless face, my black trench coat, and my gray-black bun. Today was business as usual.
But I guess the world was just determined to hate me that day.
I immediately spotted it on my front doorstep, and it took everything I had to not react.
It was a body. A dead body. A mutilated body. A Demon's body.
Damen's body.
I know I stood there a beat longer than I should have for a corpse I wasn't supposed to have recognized. Otherwise, I hate to say that I performed admirably. Taking out my locket, I pushed my thumb onto its back, letting it scan and confirm my identity. Once it flared briefly with scorching warmth, I brought it up to my mouth and relayed to it my address, my voice carefully controlled, carefully empty. It turned cold again, and I knew the message had been delivered. A simul would come by to pick the body within five minutes - no, much longer because this kill was unexpected. They'll show up in about twenty. These thoughts went on automatically while I stood there over the body. I would not - could not think of anything else. That was absolutely important. Business as usual. Right. I might have slipped a little bit, might have shuddered a little bit, as I stepped over him - it. It. The body. But it was business as usual from thereon, from the steps to the car and the mind-numbing drive that followed.
I could not do it.
I pulled into an empty parking lot - not hard to find this early in the morning - to double check the directions, I told myself. But I crumbled. Damen, I thought, Damen. I sounded like an animal caught in a trap, screaming, crying, pleading, throbbing with pain. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead...I knew it was true, I had seen it with my own eyes, and that black finality made it a hundred times worse. I felt like I had caused it, as if Verajuna was the one to have slashed through his stomach and face and arms and legs. I'll kill them, I thought, I'll kill whoever it was that dared to dump him in front of me like that. I needed to kill right then, everything, anything - I could have killed myself.
Then he showed up.
I felt like I was going to have a heart attack - never had I experienced such extreme emotions in such a short amount of time. I screamed for real then, when I saw Damen alive and well, staring back at me from the passenger seat. "You-you - Damen - what, what the -" I managed to splutter before he could interrupt, grabbing my shoulders and solidly confirming his existence. "Vera, what's wrong? What happened?" he said rapidly. I couldn't even comprehend his questions. I couldn't comprehend his hands, I couldn't comprehend my lack of resistance, I couldn't comprehend my lack of words; hell, I just couldn't comprehend. Finally, my mechanical brain started to reboot itself, automatically reaching out towards the scattered hell that was my mind in order to attempt some type of reconstruction. I started at the beginning. Closing my eyes, I said as evenly as I could, "About ten minutes ago, I opened my front door to find your corpse at my feet." I did not even attempt to verbalize my thoughts thereafter. He paused, and I felt his complete and utter shock. "That's impossible," he said. "I pretty damn well know it's impossible," I snapped back, opening my eyes to a red haze. For some reason, fury scorched through my body like desert fire, filling me with the desire to either explode like an atomic bomb or sob uncontrollably in Damen's arms. Or both.
Was this really happening?
"I'm not dead, Vera. Look at me, Vera, look at me." I looked at him. He took one of my shaking hands and placed it at his neck. "See?" I saw. His pulse beat warm and strong, though fast with worry, reflecting his face and his eyes and him. He was alive. Yet, I had known that when I first saw him. Taking my hand away from his, I took a deep breath and managed a small smile. The effort almost killed me. "Thanks, Damen," I managed to spit out, "I'm...glad you're not dead." Even as I said it, some odd mixture of guilt, anger, and despair pierced my heart like shards of glass. He had noticed my strain, and I could see the question in his eyes. I ignored it. "Anyway, I have an assignment I'm supposed to be going to," I said, my fake casual for once sounding fake, "I should get back on the road. I shouldn't have stopped here like I did, but -" "Vera, don't be stupid," Damen interrupted quietly. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as my heart ripped open. I didn't respond, carefully calculating the merits of starting the car with him still in it. I hadn't reached a decision in the split second it took for him to continue digging through my sudden feelings. "The dead doppelganger or whatever it was; it wasn't me. Relax. I'm right here."
Relax? That was like telling me to go shoot myself; which, admittedly, would have been easier. I chose not to say anything, though a small whine echoed within me in response: it could have been you. It could so easily have been you. He cautiously took my hand, and I knew he could feel me shaking. Before he had the chance to say any more of his words, his words that acted like fire to my icy determination, I spat out, "Go, Damen. Knowing you're alive is enough. Thank you. Now go." My words came out harsher than I intended, though they needed to be to mask the undeniable fact that I wanted him to stay.
*"A Day Dream" by Emily Bronte