Devon sat on the couch in Marco’s apartment, his knees pulled
to his chest, and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He had been staying with Marco for almost a
few weeks now, unable to work up the courage to go back to Hartford. After everything he had seen, and everything
he had experienced, he just couldn’t handle the memories.
He had already applied to other schools, and was most likely
going to transfer to Northwestern at the start of the next semester.
There was one thing holding him back though.
He glanced towards the kitchen, and could see Marco standing
at the stove. He was wearing a pair of
pajama paints and a black t-shirt. His
hair was messy, and his cheeks were covered in stubble. He was smiling, singing along to the small
radio he had next to the stove. He
seemed like nothing had ever happened, and for a brief moment, seeing that easy
joy on Marco’s face, Devon was able to forget.
Only for a moment, though.
Then the memories came flooding back. It wasn’t just that night in the auditorium,
but the investigation after. They had all
agreed on not telling the truth. Who
would believe them, anyways? So, they had made up some cock and bull story
about that Lee guy. They didn’t have to
sell it too hard. The cops wanted an
easy explanation, and Lee was it. They
had said he had cooked up some lethal drug, and had gone around slipping it to
unsuspecting guys. No one seemed to care
that the drug didn’t seem to exist. It
was just one piece of the story that the people in charge needed to help make
everything nice and neat and easy to put away.
“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.” Marco leaned out
of the kitchen, his smile bigger than ever.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Devon nodded. “Just thinking.”
“Give your mind a rest. “
Marco walked over, and kissed his forehead. “You’ll drive yourself crazy at this rate.”
Devon had been surprised at how quickly the two of them had
fallen into domesticity. He wasn’t
complaining, though. This was the
closest to a healthy, normal life Devon had ever gotten. He didn’t want to lose it, and going to
Northwestern meant moving away from Marco.
He still had time to think about it, though.
-*-
Whitley was behind the wheel, Cherry sitting next to
him. They had been on the road for the
last twenty four hours.
“You sure about this?” Whitley glanced at his sister.
“Yeah.” Cherry nodded. “I can’t run anymore.”
“Alright then.” Whitley smiled. “Then I guess we’re homeward bound.”
Cherry nodded, nibbling at her lip. He could tell she was nervous, but he also
knew that after everything that had happened at Hartford, she realized that she
needed to start training again. Losing Peter had been hard. Learning about what a bastard he had really
been had been harder. When Whitley had
suggested they head back to the their family home, Cherry had jumped at the
chance. They both needed distance from
that damned school, and with Charlotte gone, and the Mythos dead, there was
nothing tying either of them to the school.
Whitley had handed in his resignation the day after Cherry
had agreed to go home. The University’s
board had given him plenty of apologizes and understanding, but deep down, he
knew they were glad to be rid of him. He was a reminder of what had happened,
and the last thing the school needed was a reminder.
“Where you scared?” Cherry was watching him.
“When?” Whitley
glanced at her, but kept his focus on the road.
“When you were up on that stage, all… twisted and tangled.”
He watched as she searched for the right words.
“No,” he sighed. “At that moment I was… I wasn’t in my right
mind. I had never been trained to deal
with a Mythos’s essence, so it took me over pretty easily.”
“They only teach the female warriors that?” She looked at
him, confused.
“I guess they never figured that any of their male warriors
would end up at the business end of a tentacle.” He shrugged, and instantly
regretted it. His still healing ribs
gave him a zing of pain. “So it looks
like we both have a lot more training to do.”
“Guess so.” She sat
back in her seat and closed her eyes.
Whitley constantly had to remind himself that when you are a
Hen Warrior, you can run from the Mythos all you want, but they always have a
way to find you. He had learned that
lesson early, but it had taken more for his sister to figure it out.
Now he was sure she
was ready to take her place among the others.
-*-
The auditorium was dark, the tatters of crime scene tape
blowing in the air conditioning. Even
though the crime scene crews had been through countless times, followed by a
clean up crew, there was still something there, something hidden.
The cloak covered figure knew exactly what to look for. They could sense it in their bones. No, it was deeper than that. They could sense it in their very soul. The
demon seed was still there. When the
Mythos had perished, it had made sure to leave a piece behind. They always did. It was a small reminder of
their existence, with just a dash of their essence. A Mythos may die in battle, but death for
them is never the end. Every Mythos had
countless times, and every time their seed has sprouted again.
The figure moved quickly through the wrecked seats, trusting
not their eyes, but that feeling in their heart.
Then they saw it. It
looked like nothing more than a small, blue stone. It was round at the top,
with a small root snaking off at the bottom.
It looked so unimportant, like a piece of costume jewelry left behind by
one of the dancers. Inside that stone,
though… Inside that stone was something very old, and very strong.
The figure scooped up the stone, and rushed from the
auditorium. For now things would stay
quiet, but when the time was right, the figure would take that little seed, and
plant a whole new terrifying tree, and once again the Mythos would be able to
feed.
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