“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Anai crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s a strong little bastard, but part of some new Guard? No flipping way.”
She and Aeneat had returned to the living area, watching as he flipped through the news stations in search of more coverage of the story. He’d already described the last newscast, at some points reciting it nearly word for word, but Anai remained unconvinced, continuing to yawn frequently behind one hand.
Aeneat turned to face her, seeming to finally grow impatient with her disbelief. “Did you steal anything else from in there? I know Lars didn’t.”
“Hell no, but I blew a lot of shit up. Maybe they just can’t find whatever weapon they’re talking about. There’s no way they mean him,” she leaned closer to Aeneat, resting her hand on his knee. “I mean come on. Seriously! I know you’ve always been paranoid about shit like this, but there’s no way they’re stupid enough to make that mistake again!”
He shot a strong look at her before gazing past her and at the man she had “rescued,” his eyes hard and unreadable. “I don’t know what makes you so sure,” he said, still watching the man. “History’s full of intelligent creatures that make the same mistake more than once.” The words seemed to fall, heavy, from his tongue.
“But not with things like this! You know better than I do just how much the Guard hates elves. I mean just yesterday with those two kids… even I had to admit that was some sick shit they did. Do you really think the government would put themselves at risk again?”
Aeneat finally lowered the remote control, sitting back as a disembodied voice spoke over video of the attacked compound. “Yes.”
This newscast was much like the last one, featuring the same clip of the official with her stern eyebrows. When it was over, Aeneat turned off the television, half flinging the remote onto the end table.
“Look,” he said, his voice quiet. “You’re going to believe what you want, but this looks pretty clear to me. You took a man with an eight stamped on the back of his neck and nothing else. They lost a confidential ‘defensive’ weapon and nothing else worth mentioning. Maybe if they’d tattooed ‘Eternal Guard’ across his forehead you’d believe me.” He pushed himself up from the couch, and headed for the front door.
“Aeneat?” Anai tried and failed to snag his sleeve in her fingertips. “Aeneat, where are you going?”
“For a drive.”
He didn’t slam the door behind him, but it certainly felt as though he had. Anai stared at into space for a long moment before turning to face the man still sitting next to her. “You’re not one of the Guard, now are you?” she asked.
“…but I don’t know what that is,” he answered.
Anai stared at him in silence for a while longer, surprised at the sound of his voice. Eventually, however, she shook her head to herself and ran her hands through her hair. “Well alright. He’s not coming back for a while. I’m going to take my ass to bed. You can have one of the empty rooms if you want to switch it up from sleeping on the floor in the dark over there.” She managed a faint smile, patting him on his thigh before standing and disappearing into her room.
He thought of taking her up on the invitation, but whenever he considered moving from the couch, he remembered Aeneat, out there somewhere and obviously angry. Rationally, he realized Aeneat could probably take care of himself; he was, after all, the one who brought Lars back to safety the night before. But at the same time, he couldn't forget that Aeneat looked devastatingly fragile, more slender than even Anai, who was several inches shorter. The man decided he’d wait up, just to make sure Aeneat made it home safely. He leaned back against the couch, eying the television that had caused the trouble in the first place.
He fell asleep still wondering what all the fuss was about.
When he opened his eyes he was assaulted by a familiar darkness that stretched over him, heavy like a damp blanket. He blinked blearily, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. He hadn't meant to drift off, not while waiting for Aeneat to return, and decided to check the rooms to see if the small man was in one of them. When he pushed himself up, however, he noticed an odd light seeping underneath Lars’ door, and he frowned before moving closer to carefully push it open and look inside.
What he discovered wasn’t Lars’ room at all. It was empty, the walls and floor painted a pale, cold gray that resembled hard concrete. He looked around, confused — he knew he had been out in the living room a moment ago, but this was nothing like anything he'd seen in the bomb shelter. He turned back toward the door intent on leaving to find someone who could tell him what had happened to their shelter only to find himself facing a tall figure he didn't recognize. Dressed in a shapeless red shift that draped down past its knees, it hid behind the dark hair that obscured its face. “Finally," it told him, reaching one pale arm forward. "Finally, you’ve come.”
Something told him to stay away from the creature and he stepped back, eyes searching the room for another exit. Realizing he was trapped, he turned back to the figure in front of him, sure to step back out of its reach. “Who are you?” His voice trembled when he spoke, and for a moment he was ashamed.
There was a pause followed by a low tsking noise. Then the creature moved closer, speaking words like a caress. “Oh, my dearest," it cooed softly. "You have so much to learn. You don't even remember who you are. But shush—I’ll tell you. You’re my baby, my youngest darling child, and you will do what they tell you. They all do. Always, they do, even when they fight not to.”
The figure swayed on its feet, body weaving through the air before it advanced once more, arms outstretched to touch him. He backed away and felt a wall rise up behind him, halting him in his tracks. Trapped, he was helpless as a pair of chill hands felt at his face as though their owner were blind. They were clammy. He closed his eyes with a soft shudder.
“Are you afraid, dearest? Are you afraid of your own mother? You fear your own father? Look at me. Look into the face of I who birthed you!”
His fingers moved to push at the dark hair without his consent. He was left staring into a face that looked almost exactly like his own. He had the same cheekbones, the same jawline, the same nose, but it was the eyes that stole the breath from his throat. They were black and shiny, an inky darkness that stretched from lid to lid.
“Look closely, my little black one. I am your past, your future. You will obey them. I will make sure of it.”
It smiled, revealing a row of pink-stained teeth, and leaned forward to press its lips to his in a kiss. The taste of copper filled his mouth and, when he jerked his face away, he could feel warmth dribble, then pour, down his chin. Looking down to his feet, he saw he was standing in a growing puddle of dark red liquid and knew it was the same fluid that he had seen seep through Lars' fingers.
“You will kill them all," said the creature as he looked up at it in shock. "When it is time, you will fulfill your purpose.” It licked his lips as if to taste them, cupping his cheek for a moment longer. Then it collapsed into the pool that now lapped at the skin a few inches up his legs. He could feel bony fingers wrap around his ankles, immobilizing him as the fluid rose still higher up his body.
He woke up screaming his name into Aeneat’s hand.
Doavin. My little black one.
