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Melanie left the room, tears shining on her cheeks and her eyes red. Elias knew the pain that was coursing through the girl, because he could feel it. Certainly they all knew he was watching, that he saw everything unless someone was actively blocking him - and eventually he would pay the circus back for that one - but they weren’t aware of how much Elias could truly pick up on.
Well, they hadn’t known. Now Melanie had a clue, and he did consider how she might now scuttle back to the Archives, telling them all about it. Of course if she did, she would have to explain what he had done and he wasn’t sure she would be that forthright with them. Her attempts on his life had bred a bit of ill contempt. Survival did that to some people, after all.
Settling back behind his desk, his mind replaying the myriad of expressions that had crossed Melanie’s face, Elias nearly missed the words that begin to appear on the open book laid across his desk.
None who had come there had ever thought twice of a leather bound time, the edges dark and curled and the paper within yellowed with time. A cursory look and one knew there were a few dozen books identical to it littered about the Institute. This one was though, as was often the case, different. Though there were dozens exactly like it, though they were locked away where even Elias couldn’t find them. Tome after tome of books from where the Beholding itself had communicated with the Head of the Institute throughout the years.
Just as it was doing at this time.
Dark words seemingly written from within, behind, the paper, the letters slowly rising to the surface.
Why not the truth?
Glancing down at the book, Elias’ frowned. Sitting back in his chair, his chin lifted, frowning slightly.
“Because the truth,” he said, not bothering to write it. All of the conversations in the books were entirely one sided. “Would be more than she could handle. Not to mention, it would only triple her desire to see me dead. She may not care if it’s true or not that killing me will kill them all, but dealing with another assassination attempt now would not help either of us, now would it?”
Fair enough.
The allowance the words lent him made Elias smile. It was a smile that faded as the next words sunk up to the surface.
Show me.
There is little that Elias is squeamish about. You didn’t serve as he did and have a weak stomach. There was something though about this connection that turned his stomach… even as it left his blood boiling and his body aching in a way that still felt wrong and perfect all at the same time. It wasn’t squeamish, but there was something still not entirely right about the way that consciousness took a hold of Elias’ eyes.
Perhaps because he knew they were seeing through them. More that they were seeing through them backwards, as if staring through his eyes into his mind.
How the Beholding had known, back then, that they would need Melanie was beyond, but even then Elias had stopped questioning things. After the first time the pain he transferred to others had been put onto him.
So instead he opened his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair, and he summoned up the true memory of what had happened to Melanie’s father.
In truth it was a lot kinder death than the images he had given to Melanie, but what would that had served him? To let her know how often they “helped” one another? At least until now when this war that had been seen time and again was brewing.
Back when Elias was working his way up from archival assistant, sharing of skills and needs and information had been fairly common. So when Elias had found himself tasked with ending the life of a older man, he had several choices. This one had been the most entertaining for him, even if it wasn’t the spectacular fire he had made Melanie aware of.
A fire he would one day show her, whether she was ready for it or not.
It was nothing like what they both witnesses now. The dark shadow that slunk through the cracked door of the room in the nursing home. Large and rolling, moving slowly across the floor towards the bed. It could have been nothing more than someone passing by but for the way that it moved. Independent of the light, free from the tethers that a shadow might well have owed its life to otherwise.
The nebulous shadow caressed up and over the sleeping man’s form, moving up from his feet, along the curve of his hips until it slipped around his throat. It nestled there, curling about his neck and just beneath his chin like a kitten seeking the warmth. Just like a kitten the “head” of the shadow shifted, moving up and over the man’s face.
Rheumy pale eyes went wide, the man’s body jerked and that was it. The shadow about his neck tightened, writhing to wrap about his throat over and over again. His cheeks bulged, trying to open his mouth, but the shadow sealed his lips, muffling the sound of screams that were never given true sound. Melanie’s father thrashed and he bucked as best he could at his age and advanced state, but in the end, his form slumped, flopping back onto the bed. His blankets twisted about his body, his hair was in disarray and one hand lay off the bed, dangling free as unseeing eyes fixated on the ceiling. Not a single alarm sounded. No one noticed a thing. Certainly not the dark shadow that whipped out of the room and down the silent hall.
As he had done that night, granted sight of the event by the Beholding, Elias slumped in his chairs, eyes closing tight. Not against the memories, but from the intrusion of the presence that oft shared his thoughts and moments. Both waking and asleep.
“Is that enough?” His voice was softer than, breathier with a hint of a rasp. It would be several moments before he opened his eyes, before Elias saw the message that had risen up on the paper.
That is enough. For now.
Next time though, I would see things done by your own hand.
You’ve done well to avoid that for years, Elias. No longer.
He sighed, closing the book and preparing to leave for the night. Next time. He suspected that time would be sooner than later. And not just because of the war.