No one knew what lay behind the veil of death.

After all, death was the end of everything. The light. The warmth. Even consciousness.

There was nothing left.

There should be nothing left, the end of all things.

But Desmond was different.

Desmond had died and come back to life more times than he could count. No, rather... more times than he wanted to count.

He was different. He had seen it.

Was that why he was writhing on the floor, in the darkness of the cave?

As hot as if he were on fire and as cold as if he were drowning in a frozen lake?

What were his eyes seeing inside the darkness of his closed eyelids?

This was.

***

Darkness, darkness, darkness, darkness, a spiral of darkness that seemed to have no end.

But darkness wasn't the same as emptiness.

Fragments of memories were spinning in that darkness, glittering like broken glass.

Doors.

They were like doors, really, and....

He saw death rising in the blue flames.

Even the sky seemed to be burning.

The place where his daily life had gone on unchanged for years was now no longer something habitable for humans.

A ruin. A mountain of rubble.

The only inhabitants of that ruin were corpses. Monsters roamed the rubble"strewn roads.

Another door.

A smile shining like the sun.

Another door.

The taste of blood in his mouth. Hatred burning in his heart.

Another door.

A promise made to himself.

The next one.

Promises never spoken, but ones he had turned his back on anyway. Literally turned his back on. Without looking back.

The next one.

Don't go away. Please. Don't go.

The next one, the next one, the next one, the next one...

The rain of glass shards continued.

He found himself kneeling among the corpses. His ass hurt... his ass hurt, he felt the blood sliding down between his thighs.

He felt more miserable than ever. He felt... he felt dirty like never before.

But, no matter how many times he tried, the water failed to clean anything. Burying or hiding, that wasn't possible either.

The door. The door, where did the door lead to?

He felt like throwing up.

As he slept, he rolled over on the floor of the cave, tucked in the darkness inside. And the whispers of the forest waking up along with the world with the dawn.

He had nowhere to go. He had no way to progress.

He wandered in the darkness and couldn't find the door. The way out.

Wandering, wandering, wandering...

Please don't go. Do you want me to beg? I'm begging you.

The darkness. The spiral of darkness wouldn't stop.

Don't do this to me.

No, don't do this to us.

A spiral.

Down, it wouldn't stop.

Don't come back here. I never, ever, ever want to see your face again.

Down. I was destined to go down.

Always going down.

Where does the door lead to?

Desmond met someone in the dark. A mirror, only without the glass in between. Yes, there was nothing separating him from a perfect reflection of himself.

He felt like he was underwater. Drowning.

Drowning.

He wasn't perfect.

His 'reflection' carried a knife. Which he plunged into his chest.

As he stared into his eyes, his reflection said:

I am you.

Where does the door lead to?

To hell, he answered himself. Straight to hell.

His eyes flew open. His heart almost leapt out of his chest.

Morning had come and with it the sunlight. However, he didn't feel warm. He felt cold.

The cold of death.

He felt closer to the dead than ever.

***

Christina was lying on top of the bed, arms and legs outstretched, no energy. It's not like she couldn't understand how he felt, but….

This wouldn't do any good. Not for Christina and not for her.

Something had to change.

They had to adjust. Because, as much as she liked to think otherwise, there was no going back.

Yes. Desmond had made a decision. He could have gone back on it, but he'd come too far to do that.

So, they…

Something has to change, she thought, again.

Someone had to do it. And it wouldn't be Christina herself. Day after day it was the same thing. It had been such a short time ago, she couldn't ask her to get over it in a few days; fuck, not even get over it at all, it wasn't about that, she didn't know if it was possible, but it was just….

It was just that…

Something had to change. They couldn't go on like this.

Amy opened her mouth to say something.

Christina unexpectedly beat her to it. She pushed herself up with her hands.

She went from lying down to sitting up.

Furthermore, she wasn't looking at her, but kept her gaze between her legs, head down.

"You know, when this started... Even before I proposed that we team up, Desmond and I had a talk where we made it clear that we're... difficult people, to say the least. And... Not exactly incompatible, but..."

Christina sighed deeply, as if talking about it was physically exhausting, not just mentally.

She took some time to think about how to express what was on her mind.

"Difficult." The only answer she came up with was to repeat that word, though.

“I don't know what you mean by that,” Amy admitted.

Only later did she realize that it might have been better to keep quiet, so as not to interrupt Christina. That it might have shut her up. That she might have thought better of it, in her own opinion. But it didn't, fortunately. It worked just as she intended.

A way to push her to keep talking.

"We both saw very clearly that ours was going to be a relationship… not a very healthy one. Because we were both trying to fill a hole in our hearts with the other person. Not by seeing the person in front of us, but by seeing old regrets and…. wounds.”

"And other people?"

After it had left her mouth, that is, too late, Amy thought about whether that question would mean crossing a line.

Still refusing to look at her, Christina was quiet for a good while.

More than long enough for her to think that she had been right. That she'd been asking too many questions and wouldn't bring it up again. However, Christina started up again.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"That's right. He told me that we should separate, because this couldn't end well. He warned me how it was going to end. I wish I had listened to him."

Amy grimaced.

She thought she was opening up...and yes, yes she was opening up, but….

She wasn't sure if this was a good thing. A sign of progress.

Or of something that would pull her deeper into her..... depression seemed too strong a word. But it fit.

"You don't think so. Not really. It's the pain talking," Amy said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know I'm right."

After a while, Christina nodded her head several times.

As if she was so out of it that it took her extra time to process anything, or as if after hearing that she had forgotten to respond, only recently remembering.

It worried her.

She worried about her more than Desmond, actually. Maybe it was a little petty.

But Desmond was so far away from her, from them, and there was nothing she could do for him. No more than she already had.

Whereas Christina was right in front of her eyes.

Amy had to see her suffer personally.

It was a different story.

"You may be right," Christina reluctantly admitted, "But what does that change? Whether I regret it, what does that change?"

Christina was tough. She had a sharp tongue, and she always knew just what to say to get what she wanted,- No matter how much she gave the impression that she wasn't the kind of person who knew how to handle herself well in social situations.

That was an accurate blow. Amy had a hard time recovering.

She struggled to think about how to respond to it.

"People think it's not possible to change the past. But it's not true," Amy said.

"What?

"The past is very easy to change. In fact, it changes constantly. In memory. Inside your heart. If you keep talking like that, if you convince yourself that.... "What? "She couldn't think of words to express it. "In the end, you will tarnish and sully the past. And no, don't do that. The time we've spent together... has been the best time of my life by far. I won't let you sully it!"

That sounded like an accusation. Like the start of a bitter fight.

But it hadn't been her intention at first.

Amy had wanted nothing more than to help her. To show her support.

However, for one reason or another, things had ended up this way. She had let things out that she had been carrying inside, locked away.

Things that perhaps she herself hadn't even been aware of until they came out of her mouth.

In response, Christina looked back at her, finally, wide"eyed.

"It was real, all of it. Not something meant to be broken from the start. No… Not a… Not a fucking sham. It was real. It's still real."

But it's over.

That she didn't say, but a voice inside her mind whispered it to her anyway. More loudly than she could have managed, even if she'd been screaming at the top of her lungs.

Christina looked down, as before. But it wasn't a return to square one.

Something had changed in her expression.

She wasn't trying to hide her emotions, that was the change. She wasn't wearing that face like a mask, like she was trying to pretend that nothing mattered to her, that Desmond was a thing of the past, that he had never been that important in the first place….

"I'm sorry. "And her voice no longer had that apathetic tone, with all the buried feelings. Now they were in the surface. “You're right. It is real. And it could have worked. That's why it hurts so much...”

Christina put her hands to her head and let out a choked cry of pure frustration.

“I feel like a goddamn wife waiting on pins and needles to see if her husband will come back from the war…. I can't believe I said that. I just know he's not coming back. The next time we see him, what we'll see is his corpse. At best. And that's if we ever see him again.

Have faith, she wanted to say.

But how hollow, how false, such words would sound in her mouth. For even Amy didn't have faith, and she had made that more than evident in the way she spoke.

The words she had chosen so far.

No, there was no need to analyze things from such a broad perspective. She had admitted as much with a single sentence.

The time we've spent together has been the best of my life.

It has been.

The past. A thing of the past, nothing more.

In her heart, she was already thinking there was no hope, after all. So she couldn't blame Christina for thinking that way.

Nor could she stop her from feeling that way, from thinking that way.

If it were that easy… she herself would be free of that burden.

"Let's go somewhere," Christina suddenly proposed. "I need to vent my frustration. The batting center."

"I didn't know you liked that sort of thing."

"Well, it's not exactly my thing. But it's the first thing that popped into my head. And I could get used to it… Why do you say that, you don't like it?"

"It's not that. It's not that I like it or not, I was just surprised."

"Ah, okay."

"And I've never tried it in the first place."

"Perfect, then. Shall we go?"

Amy thought about it. But for a short time. Anything was better than the two of them staying in the room, wallowing in their misery.

Besides, maybe that was precisely what Christina needed.

At least for the moment.

"Sounds good."

***

Desmond stood up. He dusted off his pants, his shirt.

He was healed. Enough time had passed for all his wounds to heal. The cuts, the burns, what he had done to himself.

Not even the traces called pain remained.

Naturally, as always...

But there was a trace.

On the ground, in the grass, he could see the blood stains he had left on his way here.

I'm lucky they haven't found me yet, he thought.

Or maybe it wasn't luck. Perhaps they hadn't gone out of their way to look for him because they were relieved that someone had gotten Roman out of the way.

It could be that.

It could be just the opposite.

That, for killing Roman, for removing the protection he afforded the city, people wouldn't rest until he was killed.

No fair trial. Just execute him on the spot.

That... That didn't matter.

Desmond was awake now. He could get away from the cave, if he kept moving, he wouldn't get caught.

That was it, and that was the least of it in the first place.

He had to find passage to the Empire. He couldn't leave this city empty"handed.

Or he could, but he didn't want to.

That's true. I've wasted too much time already. I...

He couldn't finish the thought. His thought process was interrupted with Abigail's appearance, as if she had felt him awaken.

Could she do that?

Maybe. It was an odd question, so he wouldn't ask it, though.

"I'm glad you're okay. I knew you would be, but knowing it and seeing it with my own eyes are different things."

Yes.

Desmond could say the same thing, but it would be a lie.

He was glad to see her. But, even though she looked like she always did, she wasn't fine. She couldn't be fine. So he had nothing to be happy about.

Not until they saw each other in person and Abigail was free again.

"But don't ever do anything so dangerous again."

It took him a few seconds to remember what she was talking about.

Cutting a gash in his chest, deep enough to reach in with one hand and grab at his heart, squeezing it until it stopped.

That strategy had seemed so natural to him at the time.

Now, in the rational light of day, he realized it had been utter madness.

It really couldn't be described any other way.

However…

"I'm sorry I made you worry."

"But not about doing it, huh?"

"It's just that… if I hadn't done that, I don't know if I would have managed to survive."

No, he would have surely been killed by the blow right there.

However, Desmond would have been resurrected afterwards, so it wasn't as if he couldn't have gotten out of the situation after dying at the hands of the golem.

Still, it would have been too risky.

Too much, simply too much.

Roman's men would surely have thrown his corpse into the sea to get rid of him.

And then he wouldn't have come back.

Crazy as it was, he had made the right decision. At that moment, at least.

If Desmond had made it more often, he wouldn't have ended up in that desperate situation in the first place. But if, at the end of the day, he couldn't say he regretted what he had done then.

"It was for your own good. Like everything I do. Or at least… at least I try to make it so."

"I know, my son. I know."

My son.

Desmond shuddered, his cheeks flushing. It wasn't unusual for Abigail to call him that. Still, he couldn't quite get used to it, it seemed.

Hearing 'my son,' he always surprised me. Sweetly, a warm feeling enveloped his body.

"Still, please promise me you won't do that again."

Desmond looked into her eyes.

"Desmond. Promise."

Desmond nodded his head.

"I promise." He couldn't respond in any other way to her sincere and powerful concern for him.

It wasn't a lie to make her feel better temporarily.

Desmond took his promises very seriously.

He had promised, so he wouldn't betray that promise. He would follow it to the end.

"I'm fine, but only physically," Desmond said.

He looked at the horizon.

He looked at the city that stretched across the horizon. He didn't see a place inhabited by humans, but rather something more like a beehive full of angry bees.

"I have no transportation to the Empire. The situation got out of hand, fuck it. Now I don't know what to do.

"Don't go there. It's too risky, after last night.

But, if he took that many detours, if he wasted more and more time, Abigail....

Desmond lowered his head, looking at his sword.

He dropped it on the grass. Sheath included.

"Desmond. What are you doing?" she asked slowly.

"I can retrieve the sword any time I want. It's conspicuous, while the gun is easy to hide.

"Desmond… Are you going back to Regina? Haven't you been listening to me? It's too dangerous. What are you thinking about?"

"You, as always," he thought without hesitation.

No.

"It hasn't always been like that," he corrected himself, "but it will be from now on. I promise you."

They were alone in this world...

He had no one else to think of.

Everything else was just… painful memories.

Abigail sighed.

"If you want to think about me, don't make me worry so much. That would be a nice way to start."

"I'm sorry."

"But you're not sorry, not really... I can't change your mind. But be very careful, Desmond. And choose to be careful when the chips are down."

When, not if. She was asking him to flee town at the first sign of trouble.

"I'll be as careful as I can be. But I won't leave until I get what I want."

"You're so stubborn. But, that determination..."

She didn't finish the sentence.

Desmond imagined how she would have finished it. That's what makes you who you are? I don't dislike it? Something like that, maybe.

"Good luck," Abigail said.

Desmond, once again, walked down the hill toward town.

It didn't take him long to realize he was being followed.

***

Amy, sitting on the bench, waiting her turn, watched Christina.

She was holding the bat, but had no particular posture. She would say very relaxed, but that would not be true to reality, as Christina was tense as a bow.

Hopefully the tension only had to do with the fact that this game was unfamiliar to her and she was afraid of embarrassing herself.

Things weren't so good.

A ball shot out. Amy thought it would fly by, but Christina managed to hit the ball safely. She unloaded all her negative feelings behind that hit.

If only, if only they could fly along with the ball and disappear.

If only they could, both of them, if not in happiness, at least in optimism for the future.

"Well done!"

But even doing something like this, Amy couldn't help but think of the absence.

She couldn't help but feel that emptiness. And wondering how he was doing.

What he was like, if he was eating well.

If he would already be... putting his life on the line, pursuing a goal that would destroy him in the process and surely not even with that he could get what he wanted. Nor by sacrificing his ties to them, himself and his own life.

The ball hit the wall.

One more went flying towards Christina.

Bit by bit, ball by ball, she thought.

They would take it bit by bit and, in time, they would get out of this.