And I Didn't Stop...

Marta had told Vincent and Logan many times to stay out of Mr. Bergmanns yard. And they usually obeyed. Except of course, when Logan would miss his shot from the 3-Point line; An incident that would happen often when the boys would play basketball after helping Mrs. Jensen clean out her rain gutters on the weekends. The ball bounced into Mr. Bergmans yard almost every time and the boys were left with no choice but to retrieve it. Both had made a habit of getting in quickly, locating their ball, and getting out just as fast through the loose picket at the back. But the boys remained curious. Mr. Bergmann had a reputation around town. Most encounters with the man were distinctly unpleasant, many verging on violent. He was known to yell hateful, often racist things to passersby and many of the locals feared him, including Vincent's mother, Marta.

But the kids in Vincents neighborhood had made up their own minds about Mr. Bergmann. They believed he was filthy, stinkin’ rich. It was believed his walls were lined with hundreds, just under his wallpaper, and his toilet was made of solid gold. One kid even claimed they saw him pay for his carton of Marlboro Reds with a gold bar at the Market. But none had actually seen the inside of Mr. Bergmanns home. The curtains were always drawn, and no one could ever seem to catch him actually leaving or returning. It was rumored that he had a secret tunnel built, one that granted him access to every business in town. The local kids believed it was a big tube that sucked him around the city just like in The Jetsons.

So on one particular day when Vin crossed over to retrieve his basketball, curiosity got the best of him. Logan, who had been waiting just on the other side of the fence, immediately knew his cousin was up to no good, and entered the backyard of Mr. Bergmann. He stood beside Vincent, and both stared at Mr. Bergmanns back porch. What are you lookin’ at? Logan asked as he used his fingers to point at Vincents eyes, and pretended to follow two imaginary beams coming right out of Vincents Iris’ in the hope of seeing what was so fascinating about a back porch. Strangely enough, the little game worked, and Logan stared at the sliding door. Never once had either boy seen the curtains drawn, let alone the door open. But on this day, the slider was open barely an inch. No way cuz, you know what your mom said. The smirk spreading across Vincents face only made Logan more nervous. No. If he’s really as rich as they say imagine all the weird medieval torture devices he’s probably bought off Ebay. Look- Logan raised his cousins hand and shoved it against Vincents face. You see that? He raised his own arm after. We may be half white but we’re too brown for- Why don’t you grow a pair? Vincent interrupted as he shoved the basketball into Logans arms. He wasted no time heading for the back porch. Logan stood frozen before he looked between the loose picket, and his cousin, who wasn’t stopping by the way, then back again. He finally sighed then tossed the basketball back over the fence, and ran after his cousin. When your mom asks, I’m telling her this was your idea.

Neither boy meant to trespass. All either really wanted was to see for themselves if the rumors were true. In fact, Vincent had only ever intended to peek through the crack of the sliding door. But neither boy could see around the heavy curtain at the left, or around the bookshelf at the right. What are you doing? Logan whispered sharply as Vincent began nudging the slider. Shut up dipshit. Vin whispered back before continuing to push the sliding door. The more Vincent pushed, the more the sliding door made an awful screeching noise, and Logan covered his mouth as if the sound was coming from him.

Vincent was the first to step inside, and Logan followed close behind. But both boys were hit with intense heat, and even more, the worst smell either had ever had the displeasure of breathing in their entire lives. I’m gonna puke. Logans hushed voice was muffled behind his hand, which he pressed even tighter against his nose and mouth. Vincent held his shirt up over his nose as he swatted away at least ten flies. What’s with all the flies? Both boys thought as they passed the dining table. The home was a mess. Stacked on the table were old phone books and piles of unopened mail. The tablecloth was stained with old food, and a jar of rusty wire and nails sat beside the pot of a dead Monstera. Both were covered in cobwebs. Vincent pointed to a bowl of curdled milk and old cheerios on the table. I think I found what stinks. He whispered to Logan as both boys continued swatting away the swarm of flies, which only seemed to be getting worse.

Both boys continued through the quiet home. The only sound was that of the buzzing flies and a leaky kitchen faucet, which was dripping into a dirty bowl full of dishwater at the bottom of the sink. It was dark, the only two light sources came from the now open sliding door, and the static on the television in the living room. But Vincent was overwhelmed with curiosity. And there was one thing in particular he just had to see for himself. The golden toilet. He was so determined he didn’t even notice the rug was flipped over on itself, and when he tripped over it, it startled Logan. I don’t like this. Logan gagged through his protest of their adventure. The smell seemed to get worse the farther away from the bowl of rotten milk they got, and the flies too. I just wanna see the toilet. Vin whispered back as he pulled himself to his feet. But the smell was getting to him too, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

The living room certainly didn’t look like the living room of a rich man. The sofa was an ugly orange plaid, and had noticeable tears at the corners. There wasn’t even a coffee table, just a tv tray set up with a pack of marlboro reds on top, and old empty beers crowding the end table. Both boys were noticeably underwhelmed when they saw how small the television was. Your tv is bigger than that and you’re always broke. Logan commented. Vincent, however, was starting to feel a little afraid. He didn’t like static on the television since the last time his cousin and him were alone, Logan made him watch Poltergeist.

By the time they made it to the hallway, both were gagging from the smell. This was the first time since entering the home that young Vincent was struck with any feelings of reservation. But despite wanting to leave, he felt he had already come this far, and didn’t want to look like a chicken to his cousin. Vincent was sure when they opened the door to the bathroom that there it would be. The golden toilet. But both boys were disappointed to find a typical white porcelain toilet. One that hadn’t even been flushed since it was last used. Nasty. Vincent commented as he stared at the yellow water. Okay, no diamond toilet. Can we go now? Logan asked, and Vincent glared at his cousin. There’s still the master, duh. Don’t be such a wuss. Logan threw his head back as Vincent led the way out of the bathroom. Logans hands were pressed tightly against the back of his neck, but they slid back down to his sides and he finally dropped his head back to normal before following his cousin back into the hallway.

The master bathroom was the next door that the boys opened. Both closed their eyes as Vincent reached for the handle, and Logan covered his mouth again as Vincent carefully started pushing the door open. The smell that hit both boys when the door finally opened was so intense that they couldn’t help but make sounds as they coughed and gagged. Whatever hopes either one of them had about going unnoticed were now out the window. But the flies certainly weren’t. In fact, this was the source of the swarm that had invaded Mr. Bergmanns home. Both boys stood in the doorway as they stared at the bed. Two human feet hung over the edge with long yellowish brown toenails and skin that looked green. The man in the bed didn’t look like Mr. Bergmann… He looked fatter. Some kind of brownish red liquid was coming out of the mans mouth… Not to mention his nose and ears. His eyes were staring straight up to the ceiling… But they were bulging and milky. Neither boy could speak. Both were staring at the man unable to even move. At least until they heard a knock at the front door. Neither boy had ever run back into Vincents backyard so fast in their life. And when they got there, they didn’t stop. They went right inside and straight into Vincents room…

---

[present]

I didn’t stop on my way to the mens room. Not even when my shoulder crashed into someone exiting the bathroom. Hey, watch where you’re going asshole. Some woman started bitching but her voice was cut off when the door closed behind me. In fact, the murmur of the dining area ceased entirely. There was no loud as fuck Lo, stomping children, A B C or 1 2 3. But most importantly, there were no seventeen year old girls. Unless she followed me. Fuck, it wouldn’t surprise me. Naughty was as fucking relentless as my migraine. I continued to rub my forehead as I hurriedly moved to the stall at the back. I entered, closed the door, and locked it. The pain was getting worse. Almost fucking unbareable.

I leaned my forehead against the stall door and winced through the pain as it continued to swell behind my eyes. They remained closed tight as I raised my hand to block out whatever remaining light was slipping through. For a minute the pain got so bad I could feel myself start to fucking panic. The room felt like it was starting to spin and I had no choice but to sit down. My elbows were propped onto my knees, one of which couldn’t stop nervously and rapidly bouncing up and down. My fingers rubbed over my eyes, up across my forehead, and over to my temples. I could feel the pain start to ebb, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it came back again. I still hadn’t even opened my eyes…

But when I did…

I stared at the gap under the stall. I couldn’t move. I hadn’t even heard anyone else come in. But there stood two bare feet at the other side of my stall door. The skin was almost green. Attached to the toes were long yellowish brown toenails. Some kind of brownish red liquid dripped between the feet and I just fucking stared… My eyes had gone wide, my breathing shallow. It was like all sound had been sucked out of the room except the sound of whatever fluid was dripping between those feet. My attention was only drawn away for a second as I saw movement by the hinge of my stall door. Something black… A spider? No… A fly… I watched it crawl in through the crack and wander aimlessly along the inside of my door. But when my eyes returned to the gap under my door… The feet were gone.

I still hadn’t moved. I just glared at the floor. What the fuck? I thought as I blinked. I hadn’t taken in a solid breath of air for what felt like minutes. And when I finally did, it was as though that singular movement of my chest returned life back to the world around me. Suddenly I could hear the toilet next to mine flush, the hand dryer being activated, the faucet running… I quickly stood up and exited my stall. My motions were so abrupt the two men at the end turned away from their hand dryers and faucets to look at me. But I wasn’t looking at them, I was looking at their feet. And when I saw shoes on those feet, I was down on all fours checking under the stalls. One of the men muttered something as he left the bathroom but I didn’t catch it. I just kept crawling along the floor, looking for those fucking feet. But by the time I reached the end they were nowhere to be found. I didn’t just fucking imagine it. I thought as I pulled myself to my feet and ran my fingers through the hair at the side of my head. I nervously looked around as though I might’ve missed them, and the nasty foot fuckhead was standing behind me. He wasn’t.

I started walking toward the door but caught my reflection as I passed by the sinks. I stopped, realizing I’d been glaring the whole time. I forced my face to relax as I looked into my own eyes. Could it be… No. I didn’t even let the thought fucking manifest. I wouldn't even think it. It was just that fucking migraine. It was getting so bad it was making me hallucinate but it wasn’t… It wasn’t… No. I won’t think it. My feet took me to the sink, and I splashed some water on my face before scooping some into my mouth. I kept my head hovered over the sink as I reached behind me and to the side to grab a paper towel, and dried off before reaching into my pocket for my phone. I immediately saw Linas text Fuck. I moved for the door and tossed my paper towel into the trash on the way out, then immediately started looking for my wife.

Damn hoaloha you okay? Logan was entering the bathroom as I was exiting. Yeah- Uh, you seen Lina? I asked as I rubbed my jaw with my fingertips. Her and some hot girl just walked in- I immediately started walking. Wait! You gonna introduce me to the blonde cuh? He yelled after me but I kept moving. And when I reentered the crowd I began scanning for her. There she is. My heart started racing the second I saw her, and I weaved around the people until I was standing right in front of her.

And without so much as a hello, I kissed her. And I didn't stop.

It goes away, Lenny... I told her this, but did I believe it for all avenues of life? This was my own body betraying me. I was so sure that this affliction would follow me into my next life because I was cursed. I hadn't talked to Sawyer about my doctor's visit. I was afraid he'd be like - Okay, yeah, no, you can't give me ten babies, well then, I need a new Oracle. Next candidate - Próxima! I knew he loved me, but would he love me if I couldn't give him ten woofies? On a side note, what do you call a baby wolf? I think they're called cubs, I'd have to ask Lolo when I got a chance. It would be too embarrassing to ask Sawyer because technically, I should know all these things already. How could I help lead a pack if I didn't know the first thing about pack life?

And on the topic of Lenny, I hate myself for even stevens thinking this, because I swear I didn't want or need pity from anyone...I just didn't like that she didn't acknowledge my pain. Then again, I practically stole from her moment of pain and vulnerability by telling her about mine. I didn't know whether it was right for me to feel bad. I think the right thing to do would be to talk to her about it later tonight after we'd had a couple of drinks in us. Ultimately, I wasn't mad at her, I knew we were in a rush, and I knew the circumstances were a bit weird. When we first opened the doors to the pub, I was transfixed on finding my husband. It took me a moment to remember what Sawyer had said. Take a step back, take a good look around. Daaannng, my love built this place. If you asked me, it looked like a bajillion bucks. I was looking around at the place in complete awe, my eyes disappearing and then reappearing as I followed Lenny deeper inside.

I had that song replaying in my head, the one that Sawyer sang to me that one night, how did it go? Dada santeria. Dada crystal ball. Dada Hey Oh... I started swaying my body to the song that played in my head...And that's when I saw him, the memories mixing together, the one from way back when and now. What was the song called? Subline... Yeah, that was it. The lyrics are displayed above his head like a game of 'Heads Up'. What I really want to say, aah baby... I sang as my arms wrapped around his neck. My feet dangled above the ground as I got lost in him. Completely and utterly surrendered to his lips as if nothing at all was wrong in the world. Baby, you built this place? I asked him with the brightest smile in miles. Why you are an artiste. I declared in my British narrator voice, he was kissing me so fast, I don't even know how I got a word in. You and I are going to do karaoke okay? I ran my fingers through his hair, which had gotten too long for his own good. It would be fine if he brushed it, but I don't think he liked to do that. You have to, baby. We can do the song Subline. I beamed at him, blinding myself again. I waved at Lolo, one arm still hung over Sawyer's neck. I'd ask him the Quizlet later.

It wasn’t only young Vincents first camping trip with his father, but it was also his first night away from his mother. John had gone to great lengths to ensure that the boy was not only comfortable, but enjoying himself. He packed his favorite snack, Austin brand peanut butter crackers, and even brought the guitar so he could teach his boy a few new chords. Vinny, who was quite young at the time was far too small to hold the guitar, but he seemed to absorb the musical teachings of his father like a sponge. John found this to be more than just impressive. He often told anyone willing to listen of his sons natural gift, and his great future as a musician. Most would just smile and nod their head, not too impressed with the young boy, at least not as much as John was. But he truly believed his son was destined to be something amazing, and took it upon himself to ensure Vincent was given a fighting chance at whatever life path he’d inevitably choose. John found this to be his lifes purpose, something he had been lacking until the day his son was born, and something he not only took seriously, but also took great pride and pleasure in.

John had been looking forward to his first camping trip with his son and considered it a rite of passage for any young boy and their father. John could remember his first camping trip with his father, which hadn’t been a pleasant experience. His father had spent the majority of the time yelling at him and his brothers Phillip and Milo, and passed out drunk, leaving the three young boys alone and afraid in the woods. John remembered hugging his brothers as the three boys sung a hymn they had learned in church, How Great Thou Art. They sang this song together until their fire had burned down to a glowing bed of coals. The hymn had provided him and his brothers comfort, as all three had begun to fear the surrounding dark, believing it to be home to bigfoot. They woke the next day still in one another's arms. And while the camping trip had been unpleasant, John was grateful for the experience. It had taught him many valuable life lessons, including but not limited to how to cope with fear. It was also a cherished memory he had with his brothers, one he held onto until the day he died.

P-papa, I-I wanna g-go home. Young Vincent stammered. His mother had been quite worried about her sons stammer, but his father was never concerned about it. He knew his son would find his voice eventually. The night had fallen, and all of the daylight fun Vincent had shared with his father had come to an abrupt end. Vincent had always been fascinated at the prospect of bigfoot, and would often spend hours staring out the car window as his parents traveled throughout the Pacific Northwest, intently focused on the passing trees. He was convinced one day, he’d see bigfoot with his own two eyes. And despite never actually seeing anything between those trees, this was a habit that persisted into adulthood. But just because he never feared bigfoot, didn’t mean he was fearless. The neighbor kids had told him a story about a creature called the chupacabra. This creature terrified the young boy, and on this particular camping trip, Vincent was convinced the chupacabra was watching him and his father. He knew as soon as they fell asleep, the creature would attack.

I thought we were havin’ fun. Are you not havin’ fun anymore? His father asked, and the young boy shook his head from side to side. Well what happened squirt? Young Vincent shrugged his shoulders, but the look of worry in his eyes told John all he needed to know. Are you afraid? Vincent nodded his head, and John moved the guitar off to the side. C’mere. He patted his knee and Vincent hurriedly moved beside his father, then climbed onto his lap. It’s okay to be afraid. He reassured his son before kissing him on the top of his head. John maneuvered the guitar back onto his lap, right in front of his son, and reached around the boy to strum. Yanno, my daddy used to take your uncles and me campin’, and we’d get scared too. John continued to strum a tune all too familiar. How Great Thou Art. But you know what we did to feel better? Vincent shook his head from side to side. When we were little like you we’d hold eachother and sing. Just like I’m holding you now. And when we got older, we’d play music. Just like I’m playing now. Pretty soon things didn’t seem so big and scary anymore. The melody coming from the strings suddenly shifted to something brighter.

Let me tell you about my first time campin’ with my old man…

---

[present]

I held onto my wife like I hadn’t seen her in months. She was singing. I had to kiss her but I hated myself for it. I wanted her to keep singing. The only thing standing between me and contentment were my own two stupid fucking lips. I didn’t even answer her question. I wanted to. I wanted to talk to her, I’d fucking waited all night just to talk to her, and now a pair of ugly feet had not only robbed me of my peace but another body part, my own hungry lips, had stolen my voice but even more devastating, they had stolen hers. Keep singing, please keep singing bonita. I mentally pleaded despite not giving her the air she needed to pacify me. There was a shitty feeling just under my skin, like a looming shift only into something unfamiliar. A monster. A fucking chupacabra. Her gentle touch was simultaneously palliative and perilous. I still managed to break away long enough to smile at her accent. She was spending too much time with cheeto girl. I thought as I felt a bead of sweat crawling down my temple and another down my spine.

I stared down at her, but my vision was blurry, and even though the only thing my eyes wanted to behold was her, they were still drawn to the floor. A pair of black heels, some maroon loafers, two brown, leather boots… I swallowed. S-sure. Of course. What had she said? My throat was so dry and why the fuck were there so many people in here? Fuck, what did she say? I had agreed to something but it was getting so fucking hot in here I felt like I was going to pass out. White, open toe heels. Pointy black flats. Navy oxfords. I continued to stare at the feet of passersby but the only thing more vexing than seeing those ugly fucking feet was not seeing them. Just focus on Lina. I thought as I watched her wave at Lo. She’s so fucking beautiful. I felt like I was hanging off a cliff by nothing but my fingertips. She was the cliff, my safety, the only place I wanted to be, but gravity had other plans. It was no longer just pulling my gaze down but my entire body wanted to collapse. Or maybe that was just the goth girl that had just bumped into me with… Fucking Sancho… The song I craved so much from my wife was just fucked up foreshadowing that I should’ve seen coming. I didn’t reply to him, or his date. Instead I kissed Lina on her forehead as Robert had his wife. Almost like a goodbye so the version of me that had been invited could be excused to make way for a version that hadn’t. And I had no fucking control over it. I-I’ll be right back baby. I assured her before I made my way to the back, and burst out the back door.

I stumbled down the steps into the alleyway, shaking my jacket off of one arm as I tugged at the tie that had been strangling me all night with the other. My large and hurried stride carried me into the dark alley where I began to pace aimlessly. My senses were immediately violated by the sour smell of dumpsters and bad Indian food. Sharp audible exhales were preceded by shaky and shallow intakes of air. I was fucking having a panic attack. The thought I hadn’t let myself think had infected me regardless, and it wasn’t just my mind that had rejected it, my body was now too. It wasn’t about the fucking feet. I had no idea what those meant, but I never knew what any of my hallucinations meant. They were fucking horrific for no reason other than to torment me. Gods, they’re back… That thought alone instigated even louder breathing as I gripped my chest with my now trembling hands. She’s back. My hands came up the sides of my head as suddenly the only thing I was fighting for wasn’t contentment, wasn’t peace, it was just air. I couldn’t get enough fucking air. My feet hadn’t stopped moving. It was only a moment later that I realized someone had been sitting on the steps I’d only just crossed over. Raven. My voice bled into my erratic breath as I flashed a quick half smile- not out of joy, but out of cruel irony that I would be faced with a fucking doppelganger of a flightless bird. Like a vulture to a corpse, ravens always followed a wolf. And for some reason, they only ever liked this wolf when he was plagued by another monster. One I refused to even name.

I spun around on my feet, continuing to pace as I could feel myself starting to panic. I was fighting for air that was fucking abundant for everyone except me. Every intake was getting shaper, I could feel myself sucking ice cold air through my teeth, it made them ache. I could feel it go in, but it was like it dissipated before ever reaching my lungs. And despite hitting my chest with my fist I still couldn’t fucking breathe.

You haven't been getting in your brother's way, have you? I knew he'd rather have me out of the picture, crop me out, and pretend I was never there. Nothings changed. God, I want out of this fucking family. I could consider Uncle John's offer, a macabre murder sounded more appealing by the minute. Grandpa told me he shot his uncle Vinnie when he was nine because he didn't like his - was it, Carpaccio? My family wasn't against killing family if they deserved it. With that let's strengthen my argument by chatting about my grand uncle Klaus Alexander Stein. My grandfather never got tired of telling the story, though I wasn't sure how true the events were. I'll summarize:

During World War II, Operation Overlord, my grandfather served in the United States Army as a Paratrooper. What makes grandpa hubbie so special is that he was the first to land in Normandy on D-Day, I think he said his mission was at Utah Beach. Anyway, more than half of his men died before stepping foot in France, but my pop had made it. Even after almost drowning in marshland, he crawled out of the muddy marsh and annihilated the Nazis who were trying to gun him down. I don't know how true this is, but he said his weapons and all his equipment had disappeared, and he was unable to retrieve them from the deep water he emerged from. This is why, when a nazi greeted him upon landing, he had to get creative with the killing, he used his shoelace to strangle the guy.

Grandpa says he deliberately disobeyed orders and went in search of his brother, a nazi, and a vampire. That last part he only discovered when he was finally reunited with his brother, both on opposing sides of the world and holy wars. At this point, Hubert knew that he had no choice, a nazi brother, apparently he could live with, but a vampire...This was not something he could or would even attempt in accepting. My grandfather shot a bullet in Klaus's head engraved with an American flag.

In my family, I'd been taught that killing was more of a duty, not something we should ever take pleasure in. I just wasn't sure how true that was. I wasn't sure that killing my dad because he was a dick would be justified. He was no vampire or nazi. He was just an asshole. One I'd have to accept eventually, yet each time I thought I'd gotten a little bit closer to that conclusion, his actions push me further steps back. My phone lit up and a text from Aunt Ingrid illuminated the screen. There was a rattling a few feet away, a rat was rummaging through an empty can. Fuck, gross. That was one thing I hated about the city, although it was nothing compared to Solitude.

I thought about leaving Aunt Ingrid on read. Selfishly, I didn't. She'd be another target for my dad. That was a lie. Not the target thing. The lie was the idea that having her here would make any difference for me, I do like her, and my dad wouldn't pay any mind to me whether she was here or not. Did I think it was a good idea for her to try and talk Ross out of joining the League? No. She'd be poking a bear that was lethal. There are only so many times you can poke a bear before he strikes. I shouldn't...

Text Reply to Ingrid:


Everything around me was turning to dust. The shine of the moon was hidden inside the alleyway. The only light source was at the entrance of the alley, where a tall pole granted me a bell shape light. A pair of feet shuffled past me so quickly, they almost knocked me off the steps. The palm of my hand pressed on the step I was sitting on to hold my ground. The man fled into the back of the alley, pacing, and breathing heavily. It was almost as though I could hear the struggle in his lungs from the bottom of these steps. Was he having an asthma attack? When he turned, he forced a smile toward me, the look of sheer pain evident. The man was Vin.

I'd intruded on an undisclosed moment. Again an unwelcomed guest, even in free real estate. I should go help... He banged his fist onto his chest and I felt the impact in mine. Before this moment, I thought I lost my ability to feel any empathy. This made me nervous. My legs shook as I stood up and made slow strides toward him. Fuck, what do I say? I was hesitant in touching him, my hand reached for him, but the stomping in my heart made me freeze. My hand outstretched in mid-air, taking up that free real estate I wasn't welcome in. It was as if he was one of those vampires my family warned me about and this was a test.

Don't get too close. That's when I realized, I didn't even know how to help. Was I capable of helping anyone? I've never left anyone better than how they were. What if I made it worse? V-vin... My hand finally reached his arm and I rubbed it in a poor attempt at soothing him. What would nona' do? My grandmother was a healer, a trait I couldn't replicate. Breathe... I said instinctively. Just breathe... I whispered, my eyes wide and sincere.

Even as a boy I’d been terrified of my own mind. The places it took me as I slept were lands rife with horrors so frightening I’d never been able to differentiate The Sandman from The Boogeyman. Both of them had turned my dreamscape into a theater of horrors to entertain and harbor monsters. And against my will the theater of the damned had stayed in business. Demons had been given front row seats to watch how their overstayed welcome fucking crippled me.

I guess that type of fear had never left. Raw fear, without sense or reason. Not that refined bullshit fed to us on news stations, but true fear. The kind that has no explanation. Like a disease that devours happiness, that fear lay dormant in my cortex, waiting for a healthy cell of joy to destroy, or a fucking eden to infest with an invasive species of venomous snake. That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive… Many words had stuck with me despite my efforts to erase them, but none quite like the scar those had embedded into my soul. It was just shrapnel from a war neither I or others like me would ever forget. I could still hear her voice. I winced as though her viper tongue was presently whispering hexes into my ear as she had many times before. I could feel her hot breath against my skin. There was no air. Just the poison from her demon lungs. Death wasn’t only in her words but in the breath she used to speak them like she’d stolen the air from around us and exhaled fucking carbon monoxide. Would you expect anything else from the mother of death and vampires? She’s just like you. Fuck, someone was going to die tonight, and the reaper had set his lacuna eyes on me.

I tugged at my tie again, but those theater seats were full and it was time for the show to begin. I was the main attraction. My gasping breaths were an impassioned opera performed in a language only an audience of demons and reapers could interpret. They were watching me through opera glasses, waiting for me to collapse so they could swarm the stage like vultures and scavenge my remains. Fuck, please breathe, fucking breathe. The feeling of thickening air was triggering a sensation I hadn’t felt in a while. As if things couldn’t get worse, now that theater was rapidly filling with water. My wide eyes stared at my audience of monsters, fucking vultures with a raven front and center. What did they have to fear of water? They could fucking fly away. But I was trapped. Bound by chains as the water rose to my toes, my knees, my waist, my shoulders... The floodgates had been opened and I was drowning all over again.

The doppelganger had tried to save me, but she did so with eyes blue like a river. They only reminded me of what it was like to drown. And unlike mine, they couldn’t compel away the sensation of being suffocated by the devils water. I would know. Lake Diablo had taught me a valuable lesson. That hell wasn’t all fire and brimstone. Sometimes it was the dark depths of one of the most essential requirements to life, a reservoir of au revoirs, water. How fucking ironic that it could just as easily take life away. And while it was a raven that had saved me once, I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago, and wasn’t stupid enough to believe it would happen twice.

I could feel the water filling me up. There was so much of it, it had nowhere to go but to escape through my pores. This was evident by my hairline which was now soaked in sweat. Raven was saying my name. I always knew she was serious when she said my name instead of Joe. But every time she opened her mouth all I could visualize was water flowing out of it like vomit. Where I was fluent in gasps, she was fluent in aquatic respiration. She was Styx, and I was at her mercy. I closed my eyes tight and brought my hand up to the space between my eyes and pressed against it with the base of my thumb, wiping away the sweat before it could bleed into my eyes. I’m having a fucking heart attack. This alleyway was too narrow. How the fuck could anyone breathe out here? The water was rising and I was fucking drowning in an invisible sea. This wasn’t a fucking alleyway, it was a canal. The River Styx, only there was no Charon with a boat to carry me to the underworld. Just a rogue hand reaching in to pull me out. And when it made contact with my arm…

Clarity and sound returned to the world.

I took a deep breath, finally feeling the air hit my lungs like I’d just surfaced. My jaw hung open as I sucked in foul dumpster air but I didn’t give a fuck. One hand gripped my chest while the other held onto Ravens forearm like if I let go the solid earth beneath my feet would turn to water and swallow me like quicksand. If you tell me what it's like to fly… I swallowed, but immediately returned to mouth breathing like a fucking idiot. I'll tell you what it's like to die… There was no voice to the words, just breath, and they filled the gap between myself and Raven almost against my will. Like a reflex those words were as bound to my first breath as a cry was to an infant after birth. But when my eyes returned to the bird, and her features came into focus, they didn’t match a Raven. This was a crow. An alternate reality, uncanny valley Raven… She was fucking Styx. A titan goddess of water that had no business playing at soaring the skies.

I quickly let go. Almost surprised that the person staring at me wasn’t the one from my memory. I- I blinked, realization setting in of what had just happened, and who had witnessed it. My chest was still aching, lungs still screaming, I hadn’t even recovered from the fucking thing. The feelings were dying out but as the physical sensations dwindled, thought was finding a coherent steam to flow and I didn’t like the direction it was going. Th-thanks?