Claire Novak (theclearpath) wrote in spn_nextgen, @ 2011-06-26 22:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | 1x15 - the road less traveled |
Episode 1x15: The Road Less Traveled (Part 1 of 2)
When Claire had finally woken up, the tension in the car had doubled. Ben had managed to convince Jesse to hold off on the inquisition until they got to Maryland, but somehow that only seemed to make everything worse. He hadn’t even slept in the same room with them that night, using the excuse that the double bed Izzy Gallagher had available to them just wasn’t big enough to fit them all.
It left Ben incredibly anxious. He just hoped Jesse wouldn’t bail in the middle of the night. Trust, he told himself. Just gotta trust. He’s promised.
Claire had barely spoken a word in two days. Worse than Jesse’s flightiness, Claire not talking put Ben on edge. Even though Izzy offered to make them breakfast, Jesse had insisted he could handle it and ducked out without another word. Ben settled in the chair nearest the bed in the small bedroom off the main hall Izzy kept for guests, his laptop open although he didn’t really register anything on the screen.
Claire hadn’t known how long she’d been awake. It hadn’t been long--at least, she didn’t think it had been long, but it was hard to tell time when she was staring, slightly unfocused, at the tattoo on her inner wrist, laying on the pillow in front of her face. After her emotional dam burst on a pair of innocent men trying to do what they thought was right, too many things came into a frightening perspective for her--too many to handle all at once. She felt lost, drifting further and further away from Ben and Jesse because of her guilt, her doubt, and her fear. That alone was a strong reason for her silence in the last two days, but on top of it was a constant voice in the back of her head; one that didn’t belong to her, trying its best to sever the last strings that connected her to them.
She was no stranger to being on a downward spiral, and each time before this, there had only been one thing that saved her life and saved her soul: her faith. Now it came full circle again, and she stood on the precipice being asked to take that leap. But the circumstances were different this time: This time there was something besides herself being sacrificed--and part of that she could hear moving on the chair beside her.
Without warning and with barely a sound, Claire’s focus on her arm blurred as she started to weep. Ben looked up at the sound of a small but sharp inhale, immediately closing up the laptop and shoving it off to the side as he crossed over to her.
“Hey,” he murmured, crouching at the side of the bed, his arms sliding up to her face. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.”
His sudden closeness combined with the touch only widened the crack of her resolve, and the tears flowed harder, even when her eyes closed. She put her hand on his with an almost desperate need, pulling him closer so she could cling to him and hear his heart beneath her ear.
Ben crawled onto the bed and circled his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him, kissing her forehead and petting her hair.
“Baby, I-- what can I do? Tell me what to do,” his lips grazed every bit of skin he could reach.
Opening the door, take-out bags in hand, Jesse hesitated. The room felt heavy, Claire’s sobs twining around Ben’s soft words. Watching them wrapped in each other, he knew there was hurt, but he also knew it would be alright. They would get through it together. With or without him.
He had half backed away before stopping himself. They don’t need you. But they want you. And that was almost more important. Slipping into the room, he set the bag down and crawled onto the bed. There still wasn’t much room and he had to press in tight behind Claire, but he happily wrapped around her. Despite himself, his heart ratcheted up, the angel flashing behind his closed eyes. He nuzzled into Claire’s hair; here, he was safe. And if not, this was worth dying for.
Ben felt some tension ease out of him when Jesse finally showed up. They were together again, the three of them.
“Whatever you need from us, Baby, we’re here,” he said against Claire’s temple. “And we’re always gonna be here, okay?”
Claire didn’t know how long she simply let herself crumble, safely locked in between their arms, but when the heat behind her eyes finally burned through all her tears, she realized what had been slipping her mind, lost in the stress of the last several months. She felt lighter, despite the pounding headache from crying, and the stiffness in her knuckles from holding on a little too hard, for a little too long.
She rode through the last shudder of unleashed emotion and took a deep breath. Her head leaned back against Jesse as she sighed it out; exhausted, drained, but with glimpses of a rekindled peace behind her red-trimmed eyes.
“...you smell like sausage,” she muttered into Jesse’s jaw, seemingly at random, but besides being breathy, her voice was light. “You always get me sausage.”
“Who says the sausage you’re smelling is yours?” he said, pressing a short kiss to her jaw. “But my sausage is always ready if you want it.”
Ben shot Jesse a look over Claire’s shoulder that clearly said not the time, then brushed his hand down the length of her arm.
“You hungry?”
A tired smile had appeared on Claire’s lips, just a hair short of actually chuckling at Jesse’s light-making. She squeezed his arm around her middle and met Ben’s eyes. Her hand still twisted in his shirt pulled him forward so she could give him a kiss.
“Not really. Need to sleep off this migraine.”
Jesse’s thumb circled against her arm. “You want us to get lost then, or is it alright if we stay here?”
“Stay here,” she answered, very quickly. Her gut reaction to the thought of them being out of sight when she woke up was jarring. “But go eat--I could sleep through a hurricane right now.”
Ben nodded, stroking her arm again. “We’ll eat in here. You rest.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Love you.”
Reluctantly, Jesse pulled back after pressing another kiss to her neck. “Be here when you wake up.”
The bed felt a little uncomfortably spacious when they slipped away, but Claire tracked them as she laid her head back against the pillow. The throbbing sinus pressure sloshed with the change of angle, finally closing her eyes. She fell asleep in minutes, to the sound of paper wrappers and quiet, comfortably familiar conversation.
****
The incessant banging would not stop. It started out as annoying background noise, fuzzy and far-off, but with every moment of awareness it became louder and louder. A voice joined in on the sound, but the words were still unclear with both distance from the source and sleepiness. The smell of stale air and dry mold filtered into Claire’s consciousness as sleep started to quickly fall away, and in one moment of sheer animal panic, she sat straight up on the bed.
The realization hit her like a stone. This room was not the one she remembered falling asleep in; Izzy’s white-washed walls were replaced by those of some antique wallpaper with a flower pattern, and most of it peeled away. The bed sagged and squeaked and smelled of dust. Breathing hard, the real source of her alarm was the fact that she was alone.
Except for whoever was banging to get in.
Somewhere in the distance, guns started firing. The banging became more insistent.
“Goddammit, Claire, open the fucking door!”
Kat?! Claire’s already wide eyes went a little wider; a billion frantic questions buzzed through her mind as the sound of distant gun-pops and her mentor’s urgent (and unexpected) voice drove her from nervous confusion closer to panic. She shot from the bed in a small cloud of old dust, shooting a glance out the broken window before unlatching the door and swinging it open.
The sight that greeted her nearly knocked her back. It was Kat, but she looked like hell. Like someone had dumped a decade of premature aging on the wiry woman. Claire half-stepped back, and gaped without breath, but Kat didn’t give her time to respond. Grabbing her arm, she yanked hard and immediately started pulling her at a run through the hallways and out of the house.
They were barely out the door before Kat shouted out to the small group they were rapidly approaching:
“Clear!”
No sooner had they ducked behind the Jeep did the house explode in a burst of fire and sound. Pressed back against the door and being showered by grit and debris, Claire could feel her heart trying to rip itself out of her chest. Her ears rang with the swan-song of the blast, even under her palms. Where in God’s name were Ben and Jesse?! Where the hell did Kat come from? What the fuck is going on?!
“What took you so long!?” a small, round-faced young woman shouted over the din of gunfire and screams.
“It’s called a damn ambush for a reason, Cal!” Kat snarled back. “Go on, get the others and head to Beta. We’ll meet you there.”
Cal immediately raced off on foot, dodging around the shells of rusted out cars and other debris as she moved. Claire tracked the unfamiliar girl with eyes as wide as saucers, finally taking in the wasteland of a landscape with all the gut-sinking newness of a coma patient. Overgrown medians, lines of abandoned cars, the heaviness of smoke in the air.
I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I have to be dreaming. But the burn in her chest felt more real than any dream she could remember. She could smell gun powder and sweat on the older woman beside her, as well as on herself. And Ben and Jesse were still nowhere to be found.
“Wha--where is...” she started, barely able to get words past her lips and tongue, which were suddenly bone dry.
Suddenly arms were wrapping around her from behind. “For fuck’s sake, Claire, I didn’t think you were that drunk,” came a familiar voice. “Dennis was telling me to blow the place early, you took so long.” Claire immediately went stiff, twisting out of the grip by sheer reflex, and met Lucas’s eyes with a wide, wild gaze.
He was older too, and looking especially shocked at her defensive reaction. She held out an arm, looking between him and Kat as she kept herself at a distance from them, and had to fight a very strong wave of nausea and dizziness. Dropped in the middle of a battle, her memory seemingly wiped, her friends war-torn and talking about ambushes, her being drunk, and blowing shit up... Claire didn’t know where to start.
“Hey, here’s an idea,” Kat snarked, “Let’s have this conversation while we’re getting away from the goddamn crossfire, yeah? Esme counted twenty Nephs riding the wave after the demons, and we’re sittin’ ducks out here!”
“Right, shit,” Lucas breathed. With a second, considering glance at Claire, he grabbed her arm, pulling her into a run. It was a short one, as they quickly came upon two bikes. Like Kat and Lucas, they looked familiar, but older and worn down. Grabbing two helmets, Lucas shoved one unceremoniously onto Claire’s head. “Hop on,” he said, doing so himself. She was about to pry the thing off and protest if it weren’t for the sight she caught in the bike’s cracked rear view mirror.
A rolling front of black smoke, moving independently of the wind. Claire’s eyes widened beneath the helmet visor when she whipped around for a better look. Suddenly her questions could wait.
“Go go go GO!” came her muffled orders after scrambling onto the bike behind him, her hands twisted in his shirt.
Lucas didn’t hesitate. The engine gunned, the bike practically leaping out from under Claire as they tore off down the road.
It looked like they were driving through a war zone. Everywhere Claire looked in the dim morning light were crumbled buildings and potted roads. A few streetlamps flickered, but that was the only sign of life. For a while, that is. Then she heard it: at first she thought she might be imagining it over the din of the bike, but it just kept getting louder. Voices. Loud voices, reciting one thing over and over: the exorcism rites. The cloud that had been following them suddenly recoiled, pulsing rapidly, then it twisted back and fled.
Giving a breathless whoop, Lucas took a couple more turns before they hit a wall of barbed wire and steel chainlink fence. After half a block, there was a break in the fence with an open gate and a well-armed group of guards. Lucas saluted as they went by before pulling in behind a couple of cars.
“Well,” he breathed, taking off his helmet. “Skin of our teeth, eh?”
***
It had been an hour since everyone else had returned from their last location, but even then the residents of Beta camp didn’t stay still. Everyone was working, though Claire didn’t know what they were working on. After they had arrived, Claire wandered the maze of shanty buildings, tents, and war-battered structures with eyes peeled for any sign of Jesse or Ben, though by instinct, she didn’t ask about them. People stopped and nodded at her when she passed; people she’d never seen in her life who seemed to recognize her instantly. She had watched the choreographed chaos half in a daze, still very much convinced that this had to be a dream. More like a nightmare, the longer she went without finding them. That’s when she found herself back at the largest structure in the entire encampment.
After being in the camp for so long, the chanted exorcism piped through the speakers became almost background noise. It was dulled even further upon entrance of the main building. No doubt it was made with pure concrete, but upon brief investigation each door and window was framed with thick embedded iron rods.
More strangers made eye-contact with her as she wandered the cold hallway, further twisting her stomach with nerves. She was snapped out of the noxious fog that seeped around her consciousness with a sudden grip on her arm.
“I need to speak with you,” Kat said swiftly. “Now.”
The older version of the older woman Claire knew discreetly led her to what looked like an empty barracks, a medium sized room lined with five pairs of military looking bunk beds. Kat closed the door behind them to find Claire staring at an open locker on the wall--or rather, the magnetic mirror on the inside door.
What stared back was a sight that put bile at the top of her throat, and her palm over her mouth in sheer stunned shock. She had also aged more than a handful of years. Her hair, pulled back in a messy twist at the nape of her neck, held traces of gray at the temples and a streak or two at the widow’s peak. She was thinner, the hollow of her throat and points of her collarbone were sharper, more defined, and streaked with a mesh of raised scars from beneath her shirt hem up her throat to the bottom of her left ear. If Claire thought she felt sick before, she was on the verge of passing out on her feet now. Kat’s hard expression quickly turned alarmed as the color drained from Claire’s face. Her hands immediately moved to Claire’s hips, helping her to sit.
“What the hell is going on with you?” she asked, her voice low and urgent. Claire stared at her, unable to even blink for a long time.
I need to ask the same question. The scars on her throat tensed with a thick swallow, and she looked away from Kat, closing her eyes for a moment of severe concentration--just one more try to wake herself up. It obviously didn’t work.
“Something--happened to me...” she finally uttered, looking back on Kat’s weathered face. “I...I don’t remember...”
Kat’s expression grew even more concerned. Her hand came up to rest on Claire’s forehead, then shoved up her sleeves to expose her arms. Whatever she was looking for, though, was not present.
“In Lawrence?” the older woman asked.
Claire tried to put pieces of a puzzle that she had never seen before together, and it wasn’t working, and always in the back of her mind was the question on loop: Where are Ben and Jesse? She shook her head and pushed both hands over her face and brow, dropping them in frustration to her lap. Tears were threatening, burning like smoke behind her eyes.
“Kat, I--I don’t know what’s going on. Where are we?”
Kat was silent. When Claire finally looked up at her, her expression was sad.
“Clairey, we’re in St. Louis. We got in last night, after we finished the interrogation. I had to take the keys from you, remember?”
Interrogation? Among the million other things boiling in her stomach acid, that added another sharp edged stone. Claire swallowed again, meeting Kat’s eyes, and shaking her head as a silent answer. Kat sighed, scrubbing her face with her hand as she settled on the opposite bunk, facing her.
“I know this is hard for you, sweetheart,” Kat said quietly. “But y’gotta keep it together. We’re all counting on you to finish this. You’re the only one who can.”
Finish what!? Claire wanted to scream it, and besides the utter desperate confusion and anxiety in her eyes, they flashed with every bit of that fire. Kat’s words only brought a slew of new questions that didn’t make it past her lips. Not yet. Something was fucking with her--a trickster, a dreamwalker, something had attacked them at Izzy’s house while she slept.
That had to be it. Had to be.
Claire’s shoulders tightened as she pulled in a long breath, and sighed it out through her nose, once again holding her head in her hands. She couldn’t directly look at Kat in that moment. She was half-convinced it wasn’t Kat at all.
“Just... gimme a few minutes to--” her words stopped abruptly. A sudden sound shot through her mind; shrill, unearthly, and demanding her attention, like a migraine. She winced, trying to shake it off. “I just need---nnaaaghh!”
The sound returned with a hundred fold strength; it shot lightning through her spine and Claire covered her ears with her palms, to no use. She doubled over her knees, her face contorted in pain as her own dinning shout tried to drown the invading noise out.
“Claire? Claire!?” Kat cried, dropping onto her knees in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. “Talk to me! What’s wrong!?”
“...noise--!” Claire managed to utter through gritted teeth. The sound was blinding, and painful as a searchlight after hours in the pitch black. Claire crumbled to the floor, her head about to explode.
“Oh god, Lucas!” Kat shouted, throwing the door open and racing out into the hall. “Lucas!”
The horrible sound doubled up, then faded and a booming voice took its place:
[ Claire Novak. ]
Her heart in her throat, hammering away in perceived pain and panic, Claire’s teeth still gnashed beneath her lips as the voice echoed, sending ripples of uncomfortable power through her very blood.
“Who are you?!” she growled at the floor. She’d had the ethereal voices in her head before, but it was Kadiel’s gentle, guiding tone. This was like a sonic boom through a megaphone.
[ I am Amitiel. ]
Claire’s palm slapped the cement floor in order to brace herself from collapsing entirely. This angel’s voice shook her on a molecular level, rattling in her bones. She felt like her blood was on a slow simmer, just barely on the edge of boiling over.
Why...what do you want?! Her other hand joined it’s twin on the concrete, her fingers flexed, trying to find purchase, her head bowed between her shoulders.
There was an intense silence, then the volume of the angel’s voice in her mind dimmed.
[ I am here for you. To work through you. ]
When the volume went down to a low roar, Claire sucked in a breath as if something heavy had been sitting on her chest--and that’s the way she stayed, panting for a long, potent silence. First, she woke up in this world, this crumbling shell of a world, in a body that she still couldn’t believe was hers, in the middle of a war she apparently had a lot to do with. And no Ben or Jesse. Now... now there was Amitiel.
Claire sat back stiffly on her knees, her thin shoulders slumped as she turned her eyes upward. She had to think. Had to take this one step at a time, even if it was through the dark.
Tell me what you mean. What’s happened to the world?
[ You are my vessel. Heaven and Earth are coming apart at the seams, and with my help it can be stopped. Do you understand? ]
Claire’s heart twisted in on itself and jumped into her throat. She had to swallow around it as the gravity of the angel’s words sank in. The explanation that the world was falling apart was vague and unhelpful--she could see that already. But the other part...
She understood, alright.
Why don’t I remember anything? Where’re Ben and Jesse? Her thoughts answered him desperately. It was too much, way too much to take in all at once. Claire was shaking, unaware of the tears that streamed down her face.
And suddenly it all stopped. The pressure, the voice, gone. It was a moment before Claire could really take in the hands cradling her, the strange new pressure against her head. There was something blocking her peripheral vision, but right in front of her was Lucas. He gave her a small smile, though his eyes looked pained.
“You back, Claire?” he said softly.
Pained and confused to the point of collapse, Claire peered through the motorcycle helmet’s visor. She needed a minute for the whirl pool in her head to settle--a minute, or fifty years.
Jesus-God, what’s happened to me... Sitting back against the frame of the bed she’d collapsed beside, she finally pried off the helmet, and sighed against the bits of gold and gray hair that fell across her cheeks. “Yeah,” she uttered, unconvinced. She was looking at the angel-banishing sigils etched in dried blood all over the thing.
It’s happened before.
Lucas bit his lip. “Look, I know you hate wearing it, but these attacks are getting more frequent.” He glanced at Kat, as though for support. “Maybe you should keep it on. At least when we’re out. It could get dangerous if the angels blacked you out in the middle of Neph battle.”
“Or we could see about Dante giving you a tatt,” Kat replied slowly, as though she’d offered the alternative before. Claire looked between them, feeling more and more drained by the second. With another shaken breath, she looked back down at the helmet in her lap before setting it aside, then got to her feet.
“It blocks out half my vision,” she uttered half over her shoulder, toward Lucas, then to Kat: “And a tattoo is too permanent.” Here she was, trying like hell to sound like she knew what they were talking about. The bits and pieces were there with more being added with each conversation she had, but the big picture... the possibilities were terrifying.
Kat frowned. “So what, you’re just gonna let that dick keep jumping into your head?”
Claire’s lips pressed into a thin line as all the air in her lungs pushed out in a hard nasal sigh. Every muscle in her body was tight, still ringing from the ‘conversation’ with this Amitiel, who apparently had been paying her regular visits in this--this world. There had to be a reason. There had to be a reason for all of this.
“Look, I--” don’t know. Can’t remember. Have no idea what’s going on. Claire closed her eyes and leaned her forearm against the row of lockers between the beds. “I can’t close any possible options off.” She sighed again, this time through open lips, which uttered just over a whisper, the afterthought: “...there’s too much at stake.”
Lucas rested his hand on her arm, rubbing gently. “It’s alright. We don’t mean to make you hash out old arguments. We’re just worried about you.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was graver. “I know we’re getting close, and that you want their help in your back pocket, but... You’re going to have to face it sooner or later, Claire. Even if you get to him, the man we knew is gone. After what he’s been through...”
Kat settled down beside her, circling an arm around her hip and giving her a light squeeze. Her expression was also drawn.
“Killing him would be a kindness,” she finished for Lucas.
Their words seemed to be aimed in a certain direction, shedding more light on a situation Claire was coming to realize was more horrific than she had ever allowed herself to imagine. All at once, the bricks fell in place: the Nephilim, the demon cloud, the angel... The big missing pieces were Ben and Jesse, and by their tone and worn, sympathetic looks...
Claire felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Curling her fingers into fists to hide the way they were shaking, she forced herself to filter her burning thoughts through logic; putting herself in the shoes of this older woman, who’s war-torn body she inhabited.
“I need to lay down for a bit...” she said, letting her voice trail with a look up to them both. Hoping there was a place she had here to herself. It made sense that if she did, all her stuff was there.
“Of course,” Kat said gently. She gave Lucas a well-aimed look, then carefully helped Claire to her feet. “C’mon, I’ll walk with you.”
****
Just as she suspected, in the small cell-like room that were apparently her private quarters, Claire found the spread of information she’d been hoping for. Everything was laid out in her own style of organization, notes spread on the desk and the cot that served as her bed--which looked like it’d never been slept in--a web of maps and scratched notes pinned to the wall, all in the style of a regular hunt. But this one had been going on for a lot longer than a week or two.
Apparently this war had been going on for years, and the majority of specific information that was highlighted, circled, and underlined over and over all had happened over the last twelve or thirteen months, given her guess at the time of year.
And all of it had to do with Ben and Jesse.
There was a gentle rap at the door, and a moment later Kat let herself in, shutting the door behind her.
“You all right, Clairey?”
Claire looked away from the wall of tracked movements, red strings, and thumb tacks, meeting Kat’s eyes with what felt like the heaviest look in her life. She slowly looked back to the board, following the line of information for the eighth time in an hour.
“Good as I can be.”
Kat moved into the room, settling in a chair by the table. Though Claire couldn’t see her, she knew Kat was tracking her with her eyes.
“How’s your head?”
“Throbbing,” she replied in the same foggy tone of voice. A little movement in the corner of her eye drew her gaze to her own reflection in the darkened window to her right. She’d let her hair down in an attempt to relieve the headache, but only then realized how long her hair was. Uneven at the ends, too, like it hadn’t been cut by a professional in a decade. The scars on her chest and throat caught the yellow light from the overhead bulb with uneven, gnarled shadows. Subconsciously, Claire traced them with her fingertips.
“What the hell happened to the world...” she breathed, almost unaware that she’d said anything at all. Claire was beyond the notion that this was just a bad dream. This was reality, and she’d missed a huge, important chunk of it. Kat let out a sigh, then a small laugh.
“Somethin’ that was always bound to happen, I’m startin’ to think,” Kat said. “Just the whens and how-fors hadn’t been figured out yet.”
“Amen.” Claire idly wondered if Kat knew just how true her words were. The raised and twisted flesh under her fingertips carried only muted sensation, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Claire could only imagine what it must’ve taken for the nerve endings to become so deadened. She wondered what else she’d missed. She also wondered if she was better off not knowing.
“So go on,” Claire started, turning around in the uncomfortable desk chair to face her oldest friend. She had to bite the bullet and find out more, if she was going to survive this--if she was going to save the boys. She had to go about it without looking like the amnesiac psych ward patient, too. Kat was just opinionated enough to be her best bet at wringing out information without actually asking for it. “Tell me what you think.”
“Honestly?” Kat stood up, moving over to the web board and trailing her finger along one long thread of twine. “I think it was too easy, getting that lackey to squawk. It’s probably a trap."
Claire’s jaw tightened as she watched the older woman. The interrogation she spoke of was completely non-existent in her head, and that wasn’t something she was supposed to forget. She sighed, hesitant.
Kat turned to look at her, her brow furrowed as she studied Claire’s face. “Were you really that hammered?” she asked softly.
Claire looked at her directly, feeling a pang of strange, phantom guilt. This was the second or third time in less than five hours someone had commented on her being intoxicated. The ghost of a smile turned up the corners of her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I guess so,” she admitted with no memory, the words were soft and felt rotten in her mouth. Kat sighed, a hand coming up to squeeze Claire’s shoulder before dropping as she followed the line of twine again.
“God, I’m so glad Lucas went with you. We’d’ve had no way of knowing if you’d been by yourself. But then, that’s probably what Jesse wanted.” Kat sounded so angry she could’ve spat.
Everything working in Claire’s head suddenly came to a screeching halt. She felt her eyes go out of focus for a second as Kat’s words bounced around her head. ...what Jesse wanted? She looked up at her, trying to keep her voice level, despite the extra uncomfortable kick in her heart beat.
“Wouldn’t be the first time...” Claire hoped there was another explanation coming for that comment than the one that was in her head.
“Don’t remind me,” Kat answered, rubbing her eyes briefly with her free hand as she tapped on the map location. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t sneak off in the night like you did in Arcadia.” Claire’s eyes snapped to the spot that Kat pointed out. Arcadia was Ben’s home town. Notes there in her own handwriting were vague on the details, save for one thing: that was the point where her apparent hunt had gone into hyperdrive.
“Maybe I learned my lesson,” she said vaguely, trying to dig out more. Kat let out a ghost of a laugh.
“Yeah, that’s why you got black-out drunk and locked yourself in.”
No help, Kat. Claire rolled her lips and sighed, doubling over her lap to put her head in her hands. Everything that she and Ben and Jesse had been trying to stop had come to pass; however it had happened, the world had been torn apart at the hands of demons and the offspring of the Fallen. Ben was gone, and apparently Jesse had something to do with it. More than that--if she pieced the notes together in the right frame of mind. He was at the center of it.
“Can you blame me?” she said flatly after a moment. “For trying not to remember...?”
“You throwing yourself to the dogs isn’t gonna get Ben back, Claire,” Kat uttered, her voice even. “And if you walk into this trap, Jesse’ll have you, too. You’re the only one who has any idea how to stop him. If we lose you--” her voice cracked, then faded to silence.
Claire’s heart sank like a stone. So it was true... the idea that’d been lurking behind her thoughts during this whole--thing--that she wouldn’t let herself fully accept until now. Without realizing it, she pulled in a shuddering breath, then forgot how to breathe entirely. Her eyes closed tight, though it was hidden by her hands and her hair, until she sat back and pushed it out of her face. She locked eyes with Kat.
“If I’m the only one, then I have to try, don’t I.” It wasn’t a question.
“Not alone,” Kat said firmly. “I’ve lost everything else in my life. I’m not losing you.”
Claire forced a thick swallow around the knot in her throat. For the first time since waking up in that musty, unfamiliar bed, she felt Kat’s words--that she wasn’t alone. She took the older huntress’s hand, almost weakly, and held it between her two, as if she could syphon off some of that strength, even if it didn’t come with confidence. Again, Claire’s head hung between her shoulders, and shook, twitching her too-long hair.
“How did we get here...” she muttered almost under her breath, her voice trailing. Kat pulled her hand free, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her tightly.
“You want the long version, or the short one?” came the muffled voice at her temple, a hint of dry humor coloring the words. Claire rested her brow against Kat’s shoulder, just wishing to disappear; to go back to the world she knew. To get out of what was truly her worst nightmare.
“Short. Then long,” she breathed. A twist of almost painful nostalgia made her chest tight; suddenly Claire felt like she was nine years old, buried in her mother’s hair. Her voice fell considerably. “Remind me what I’m doing.”
“Surviving in a world broken by men and monsters,” Kat replied, one hand smoothing across Claire’s shoulders. “Same as the rest of us.”
****
Waking up in the middle of a post-apocalyptic world with no idea about the last twelve years was jarring enough. Finding out that you’re the apparent ring-leader of one particular pocket of resistance fighters, and your former companion, friend, and lover was at the center of the end of the world--and the one you were fighting--whole different story. And that wasn’t even all she had to process.
Claire spent the first leg of the caravan-like journey in a silent daze, that is when she wasn’t pouring over the faded, wrinkled blue-prints of Fort Knox and the pages of handwritten notes. Apparently all the work, pain, and sacrifice of the last year was coming to a head in the next day. Jesse and Ben were hoarded up in the former military base, which was (likely) swarming with demon infested former military. The twenty-some dedicated fighters accompanying her into the Lion’s Den all carried the same somber readiness in their eyes, when they all met up at a predesignated spot after taking separate routes.
Everyone was quiet, but kept busy. Claire watched the nearby fire from her perch on the tailgate of a beat-up F-50, one of several of her own journals open in her lap. In a time when she needed the most focus and determination than she had ever needed in her life, all she could do was picture their faces, as she last saw them.
“Hey.” Interrupting her thoughts, Lucas settled next to her, his expression warm. He tapped the open journal. “Studying up before the big exam, eh?”
Claire looked sidelong at him, a mildly distracted smile of greeting on her lips. Like normal, now, it didn’t reach her eyes. She was also still getting used to seeing them all the way they were--she wouldn’t even look in a mirror if she could help it.
“Like always,” she said quietly, closing the journal. Her blue eyes focused on the middle distance in front of them as she sighed. “I still feel like this is the first time I’ve cracked open the text, though.” More than you realize.
“I can quiz if you, if you like,” he teased, but his expression quickly softened. He settled his hand over hers. “I know I’m not behind this plan 100%, but it isn’t because I don’t think it will work. I do. You’ve been smart about this, Claire, and tenacious. You make it even possible. I just don’t know if the end result will be what you want.”
Claire looked down at his hand over hers. Though she knew the gesture was supposed to sooth and offer support, in the circumstances, it came with a mild note of discomfort, but it was put on the back burner when Lucas continued. Her brows pushed down over her nose as she looked at him.
“Go on.” She was biting back on something in order to let him continue, and though she tried to hide it, such could be heard in her voice.
Lucas took a breath before meeting her eyes. “That last interrogation, the demon saying how--how Ben was no fun anymore, that he’d stopped crying and hardly even screamed now... When we heard found that recording four months ago, I knew I was hearing a broken man. And now... His body might still be alive, Claire, but the rest of him is gone.”
On the outside, her expression changed very little. Her features hardened a bit, her throat tensed when she swallowed, but on the inside Claire could hear herself screaming. Even without specifically being at this all-important interrogation or hearing this... recording, Claire’d pieced enough of the puzzle together to get an image she couldn’t burn out of her memory.
She pulled her hand back and looked down at her journal just for something to focus on, to calm her insides so she could think.
“If there’s a chance--” she finally said after a moment, her voice sounding thin. “--then there’s always a way.” That was her only stable hope in her sea of uncertainty. “I don’t need to tell you you’d be surprised what you can live through.”
His hand pulling back to rest in his lap, he nodded, studying her face. “Every day.” There was a heavy silence between them before Lucas shook his head, forcing the weight off his expression. “Oh, hey. I got this from Abel; thought on this mission, you’d want to have it with you rather than in safe keeping.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn, silver locket, holding it out to her.
The orange glint from the nearby fire caught on the necklace’s sheen, drawing her eye the moment it appeared in his hand. Her eyes switched between it and Lucas’s face, trying to read his expression on top of the explanation. Her thumb nail found the crease and popped the locket open.
On the right side was a tiny picture of Ben, though older like the rest of them, rugged and war-torn, but smiling that cheesy, rakish grin like whenever he won a bet. On the other side, an equally beat up picture of herself, as well as an eight or nine year old girl cradled under her shoulder, snuggling in close. The girl’s features were fair and soft, touched by baby fat, with Claire’s father’s dark hair and bright denim blue eyes.
Her thumb traced the edge of the open locket, knowing what it was when her mind didn’t fully. God, please, no. She stared, unable to look away, however hard she wanted to.
Lucas’s brows came low over his eyes. “Claire? Are you okay?” One hand came out, as though to take her arm, but he pulled it away.
“...yeah. ...sorry.” Claire was still staring until she heard how hollow her own voice sounded. Her eyelids fluttered, dropping two uneven tears that she didn’t know were there. Her insides felt scraped out, each bit of new piece of this life she missed taking another layer, leaving her closer and closer to an empty shell. She closed the locket and turned it in her fingers, and caught the faded etching of an engraving, stitched out unprofessionally in what looked like her own handwriting. It read: Annabelle Jessica Braeden : 10-17-35
Claire shook her head, rolling her dry lips. She felt like her tongue was made of steel wool. Her voice, rasp. “No. No, I’m not okay, Lucas...”
With only a moment more hesitation, Lucas leaned forward, wrapping her in a hug. “I know. She should be here. They should both be here. We’ll make him pay, Claire.”
Claire was too clouded to process everything beneath Lucas’s words. She simply inhaled deep, suppressing the shudder as best she could, and clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder. She could feel the locket chain digging into her hand, twisted around her fingers. The deeper the notion sank, the tighter she squeezed. She’d had and lost a child...a daughter... and didn’t even have the memories to hold on to after she’d been taken.
“Thank you,” she uttered weakly, trying like hell to swallow impending sobs. “Thank you for keeping it safe.”
“Always,” he said, his hand running over her hair in soothing strokes. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
In that moment, despite Lucas’ consoling efforts, Claire further understood why she apparently turned to the bottle. The sharp bite of something strong would’ve been a very welcome distraction. His words replayed again in the front of her mind, shifting her focus to questions about the formally skinny research hound she thought she’d left in Vegas. The years she couldn’t remember seemed to have hardened him, just as they did everyone else--but those words and that tone were anything but. She wondered how long he’d been with them.
Claire pulled back gently, regarding his face, her lips pressed into a thin line before she looked back down at the necklace in her palm. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said finally, in earnest. Him and Kat, both--without them, she would’ve gone off the deep end within hours of waking up.
Lucas studied her back, a tension in his face that hadn’t been there before. His lips parted, and he took a sharp breath. “I...” The words stopped short, and he swallowed. “I think we ought to get some sleep. No more studying, okay? You’re ready.”
Sleep. Somehow the idea seemed a million miles away. He was right, though--if by simple exhaustion alone, she would have to rest for the next day. They all needed to. Sighing, she nodded and gently slung the locket over her head, and arranged her hair out from under the chain. “I can’t promise I won’t just lay there in the dark,” Claire uttered, camaraderie in her tired voice.
He gave the ghost of a laugh. “Same here. But we can always hope.” Giving her shoulder a final squeeze, he stood up. “See you in the morning.” Claire gave him a one last small smile and a nod before standing up herself. Her knees felt weak, though. Everything did.
“In the morning...” she breathed as she turned, heading for the pup-tent she and Kat were sharing. It was meant as a reassuring farewell, but the hollowness in her stomach made her own words feel so much more final.
***
They were back on the road again by first light, and to a surprisingly quiet road. Too quiet, in fact. About an hour into the drive, Kat signalled that they all pull off to the side of the road. They were 30 minutes out from Fort Knox, and they hadn’t seen Nephs or demons since the last town.
“I’m liking this less and less by the minute,” Kat said, hands on her hips as she watched the people piling out of their vehicles. Claire squinted into the orange glare of the sunrise, then swept the quiet horizon. There were rolling hills and lush trees, exploding with the colors of autumn, but little else. Even the wind was still.
“The drawbridge is down,” she said, the colorless metaphor did nothing to settle her stomach. Funny thing was, on a deeper level, Claire not only expected this, but she felt like she’d been preparing for it for a long time. She took a deep breath and looked at Kat, then at the gathering of ragged hunters and renegades that pooled behind her. Lucas’ eyes were steady and unwavering on her as he gave a nod. Claire swallowed thinly, but nodded back, truly appreciative of the little show of support.
Her eyes swept them all, studying each unfamiliar face that looked back at her with a kinship that could only be built over time and harsh experience. They were about to storm a place that had been deemed impregnable when it was run by simple humans; now the demons that swarmed it with Jesse at their helm not only expected them, but were laying the path down, like a walk to the gallows.
“It’s been a long road,” she started, then breathed in deep, trying to give her voice a bit more solidarity. “A really long road...” Claire’s eyes found Kat for a moment, then moved away when she wet her lips. “One way or another, it’s ending soon. If you’re not ready, no one will blame you for turning back.”
A few people shifted with obvious discomfort at her statement, but nobody left. A burly dark-skinned man in the back with tattoos and a shaved head spoke up over the heads around him:
“We can’t let you have all the fun!”
A small wave of suppressed laughter moved through the crowd before everything went quiet again. Claire smiled faintly, letting the small amount of laughter act as a temporary salve to what felt like mangled nerves.
“Our world is circling the drain--not like it was when we were kids. I can’t even imagine what horror stories each one of you has,” Claire hoped the quiver that she could hear in her voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone else to pick up on it. She felt like an actor without a script, but the scene was set anyway, and they were all looking to her to move it forward. She spoke on instinct and a tiny flicker of hope that she’d find them both inside, and right this whole thing. “That’s why we can’t let it go on... or there’ll be nothing left for our own--” her voice broke. She swallowed to correct it. “--our own children.”
Kat found one of her hands and laced her fingers between her smaller ones, squeezing tightly and not letting go. The young woman who had been there when Claire awoke and now stood at the front of the crowd gave her a sad, thin-lipped smile, one hand holding her left arm as she watched. She might have been seventeen. Claire focused on her, and felt a wave of new sadness for so many similarities she saw between herself and that girl.
She squeezed Kat’s hand back, and didn’t let go. Her mind wandered over the endless pages of notes and plans she’d poured over for the last forty-eight hours, one phrase in particular had not made sense until very recently; it was repeated over and over in her own hard-pressed handwriting. She steeled herself at the belly and held her chin high, but in her eyes, there was nothing but worry, sadness, and pain.
“Cut the head off the snake...”
The hunters -- men and women, young and old -- threw up their hands, weapons held high, and joined voices in shouting back:
“And the body dies!”
No one’s voice rang louder than Lucas’, his jaw clenched with determination. Water gun at the ready, he stepped up to Claire’s side. “We’re ready.”
Claire watched them all for one more silent moment, then her eyes turned skyward. What she uttered in her mind was not a prayer to God or a call for Heavenly help, but a promise to herself; to calm her nerves and steel her veins. Over soon. One way or another.
She met Lucas and Kat’s eyes and nodded once, then looked over the small band of hunters, nodding to them. “Let’s go.”
The crowd immediately dispersed, heading back to their vehicles. Claire had barely fallen into step behind Kat when she felt a distinct voice in her mind yet again.
[ You will not survive this, Claire Novak. ]
Claire felt everything in her body tighten up with the deep echo in her head. Amitiel. She recognized the angel now, who had thankfully learned to turn his volume down so she didn’t collapse in a heap on the road. His presence was about as welcome as his words.
Her only outward reaction was a hardened look in her eyes and slightly stiffer movements, but she slipped into the passenger side of the Jeep and slammed the door. Maybe, maybe not. Her eyes fixed straight forward as she answered him.
[ There is no maybe; You will die. This is suicidal. Do not let your life amount to nothing. ]
Claire’s eyes closed; a deep stab of natural fear combated her resolve, but it wasn’t enough to make her fold. If that’s how you view my life, you have a surprisingly narrow perspective. Even in her head, she could hear the pride in her voice. The dogma from her childhood knew that pride was sinful and caused downfalls. At this point, she did not care.
And what would you do differently, Angel.
[ Let me aid you. Every one of these people will perish if you don’t. You know this, deep down. ]
That opened her eyes, though they were mildly unfocused on the road in front of them. Claire looked across the seat to where Kat was driving, then back to her own rear view mirror, catching hints of the vehicles in line behind them. She shifted in the seat, pushing her hands in her jacket pockets to keep them from shaking.
I barely know anything. You can aid me by telling me why I don’t remember the last twelve years of my life.
The gravity of the voice in her mind deepened with the weight of the message: [ Your memory does not change the fact that this will come to pass. It is unavoidable. These people will die because of the choices you are making, but you can stop it. ]
Her question went unanswered, and Claire’s voice was silent; even when the truth was hard to handle, Kadiel had always been straight and blunt with her, at least to the best of her given ability. The seed of suspicion had been planted, though it was overshadowed by the rest of the Seraphim’s words. Claire’s jaw set, and her eyes closed again, wearily.
How can I stop it...
[ Embrace me. Allow my spirit to fuse with yours. I will sever the head of the serpent, and you will be my sword. ]
Claire’s stomach flipped, then twisted in on itself at how much of a part of her was already willing to accept. She’d been worn down to the nub, and they were down to the wire. The angel was right--she understood the gravity of their siege, and that it would likely consume them all... but she had to try. The one, seemingly minute detail besides her fortitude to get to Ben and Jesse made the corner of her lip turn up in a faint, colorless smirk.
Not from the parking lot. Did you not notice the sigils written all over the place? She’d seen them in the scouts pictures. Every window, every flat plane of brick or siding, the archaic writing that barred angels from entering, in dripping blood.
“You’re quiet,” Kat said from her side, breaking up the inner dialogue. Claire looked at her friend, so grateful in that moment for her voice.
“Wanna sing showtunes?” she countered dryly, though there was a dark humor to it. The thought of riding to their deaths belting out Green Acres made Claire really want a drink.
TO BE CONTINUED...