Chapter 87: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 9
His double could use his powers, naturally, Heather's powers. What else? Even those of Jonathan, that unstoppable monster?
If only he hadn't had to stay behind to keep the portal open, to ensure they had a way back home, although in reality it made no difference. Jonathan wouldn't have fundamentally changed the situation. Like them, the proud and practically all-powerful king had fled with his tail between his legs that day. There was as much difference between this being and Jonathan as there was between Jonathan and them.
Which didn't mean there wasn't hope, of course. No matter what it could do, how strong it might be. There was hope and, in any case, this was the situation. There was no use thinking about what could have been, as always. This was what they had. This was what they had to work with.
——
"How are you feeling, Caim?" Yonah's soft voice. Her arms surrounding his chest, pulling him backward into an embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder and melted against his back. Victoria wasn't here. She had gone out to get some air, even though the air outside was much more oppressive than in the safe base. In any case, nobody had protested or intervened.
Caim, since he had no way to help, had returned to the room to wait for the outcome. The others had left. Only that Jonathan had remained in that room. He didn't know what Yonah had been doing, but she had returned just a moment ago.
"Relieved, actually," Caim admitted. "Because it doesn't depend on us this time. We could lose everything, if they fail and we realize too late to escape to other worlds, but even then it won't be our fault. That takes a great weight off my shoulders."
"By 'our' fault, you mean 'my' fault. You always blame yourself no matter what."
Caim shrugged.
"Well, yes. Of course. But you understand the point."
"Do you think that's abnormal, Caim? In reality, no matter what people say, most prefer to leave their fate in others' hands because the weight of responsibility is too great."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"Because it is, or so I think. I thought you'd be boiling with rage and frustration, cursing the fact that you can't go out there to battle and risk your neck personally. So I'm very relieved that you've not only accepted it but are glad about it. You carried that burden for too long, believing that you tore Victoria and me away from a normal life in our village, from our family, believing you had to carry the weight of our decisions and others' hatred to make it all worthwhile in the end. You've suffered that way for so long that I can't help but be happy that you're finally taking a deep breath and calming down, allowing yourself to live without that unnecessary weight. I'm very happy for you, Caim. Even though it was by force, you've finally learned."
Yonah laughed, resting her head against his back. Caim was about to say something, but then he felt her tears dampening his shirt and didn't know what to say.
He bit his tongue, lowered his head looking seriously at his lap, lost in his thoughts. The moment felt long, but it was just a moment.
What conclusion did he reach at that moment?
"Do you know where Victoria is?" he asked.
"Well no, I have no idea. But knowing her, I suppose she's following the example of the man she always believed was her father."
Caim frowned. And if he hadn't come to the village, Victoria would have died believing her father was a just man. But instead, she had killed him with her own hands. All to save his life. To prevent him from dying at the stake. It was easy to tell himself that "that man's" decisions were totally and completely his own responsibility, and there was no sense in blaming himself, but it remained true that he had been the spark that set everything ablaze.
——
"You’re a good person."
Victoria started a little. She might have jumped more if she hadn’t recognized the man. His voice was familiar, and when she turned, she confirmed with her own eyes that she wasn’t mistaken. She knew him; he was one of Sylvester’s companions. They’d been introduced, though, truth be told, she couldn’t remember his name.
The man sat beside her on the bleachers, keeping a respectful distance—not too close, not too far. She supposed he was self-conscious, being twice her age, and didn’t want it to seem as if he had other intentions. In her opinion, that was silly. In times like these, no one was interested in anything else.
“Well, maybe they were,” she thought, “since it was the last chance, and it didn’t really matter how you spent your final moments.”
But she didn’t believe this man had bad intentions. The overly respectful distance felt unnecessary, only making her more aware of the differences between them. Because, really, he wouldn’t have sat that far away if she’d been a man. Just small observations she made now and then—not that it bothered her or that she thought much of it. She was simply observant. She’d had to be from the start, as a preacher’s daughter.
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Some might argue how observant she actually was. They might ask her what good it had ever done her. If anyone asked that, Victoria wouldn’t know what to say.
"I don’t think I’m a good person," Victoria said.
"Then what are you doing here?" the man replied. "Talking to anyone who comes near you. Helping them. In the privacy of the confessional or out here on these seats."
Victoria shrugged. "I do what I can. Part of why I help others is for my own satisfaction. Nothing’s really a selfless act. I was raised in a church, not so different from this one. And with similar values, I’m sure. But now I don’t know if good people even exist. Or why I’m doing this. I suppose it’s just my programming. And even if the world ends today, I don’t know any other way to live."
"Even if Sylvester and Heather fail, you won’t die. Nor will your companions. You could escape in the portal machine, try your luck in another world."
"Yes, well. But that thing isn’t just interested in destroying this world, is it? You’ve made that pretty clear. Even that second chance might be very limited."
"Or maybe not. There are countless universes. No reason to think this is the end. And don’t blame yourself just because you feel satisfaction. You’re being far more selfless than the vast majority. Me—I’d like to be a priest. And I never thought to do what you’re doing. You’re an excellent example of what people should be, offering a hand, ready to give kindness in the darkest times."
Victoria sighed. "If that’s how you see it, I won’t say you’re wrong. But I won’t say you’re right, either. I’m not a good person. I stopped thinking that a long time ago."
The day she killed her own father. Even knowing she’d had no other choice. That day, like a true demon, she’d stained her hands with her family’s blood. Though it didn’t matter, because she didn’t regret it. She never would, not for anything in the world.
"But I suppose it doesn’t matter whether I’m good or bad," Victoria continued. "All that matters is that there are people who need help, and I’m here, ready to give it. That’s the only thing that counts, in the end. Actions, not intentions."
It was a bit twisted, but no less true.
"But they’re not the only ones who need help, child. You should go back to them. Caim and that other girl… Don’t you want to be with them right now?"
What a stupid question. Of course, she wanted to be with them. If it were up to her, she’d never leave their side. Not even to go to the bathroom. Well, okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.
"It’s just that…" she said at last. "I’ll go. It’s just that it scares me a bit, knowing this might be the last time. I don’t know how to act, what to say, to make it worth it as a final memory, if that’s what it comes to."
Victoria wasn’t sure why she was telling all this to a complete stranger. Or maybe she was telling him precisely because he was a stranger—without fear of being judged or caring about his opinion either way. Just talking, to get it off her chest. To finally put into words that terrible fear.
"I don’t know, child," Ryan admitted. "I don’t know what to do or say. The only thing I know is that, if we’re running out of time, we need to make every second count. Even if you don’t know, even if you’re scared. They need you by their side. I’m sure they’re wondering, ‘Where are you?’ Go to them, Victoria. There are plenty of people here who need comfort, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. But they’re people from my world, not yours. If the worst happens, you’ll regret not being with them more. So go to them now, okay? Let go of that fear. Nothing has to be perfect. You just have to be there. That’s what family is, right?"
For some reason, he sounded as if he was about to get emotional. She heard him swallow hard. Slowly, after a moment, Victoria stood.
"You’re right. I’ll go back, and… I don’t know what we’ll do, but whatever it is, we’ll do it together, like always."
"I’m glad to hear that."
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Jonathan Harker was tired of waiting. Patience wasn’t one of his many virtues. In fact, he didn’t even consider it a virtue. Patience, to him, was for people who couldn’t seize whatever they wanted when they wanted—a rule that hadn’t applied to him for a very, very long time.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Well, not thousands. Yet. But he’d lived long enough to lose count since he’d sent the Count away and become the only immortal being left on Earth…
Well, his own Earth. Since then, he’d grown used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. Patience wasn’t a virtue; it was a sign of weakness, of incapability. And he didn’t like to appear weak.
But this time, he had no choice.
He was the only one who could operate the machine to open the portal to that creature and keep it open. If only he could deal with that creature himself—the one who’d forced him to flee with his tail between his legs. Instead, he’d had to leave his fate in the hands of two brats barely out of diapers. Brats who thought they were special just because they had powers.
The first of them, Sylvester, had been so pathetic the day they’d met that he couldn’t imagine him facing off with him, let alone with that creature. But he had no other choice. As much as he’d like to replace them, nothing was going to change. He’d more or less accepted that, though he consoled himself by dreaming of what would come after—once he was free to return to his world and claim his promised reward.
In his world, he’d grown as bored as an oyster after conquering every country and uniting them under an empire as just as he could make it. But with one of those machines, he could spread his realm across the universe. He could try to “help” people in multiple universes.
Because, of course, he wasn’t anything like the Count. Nothing like the man he hated most. He was just trying to help, holding onto his humanity, fighting against the tides of eternity.
——
"A bit more. We can do it, I can feel it. It's close now, it's giving ground," said Heather.
It was true, not just words to inspire, to instill courage, but worst of all was that it didn't matter. That thing grabbed him by the neck, threw him far, upward, and Sylvester spun round and round through the endless darkness of space.
He tried to relax, to find his center again. Since space was a void, cardinal points made very little sense. There was no north, or south, or anything. Up, down, left, right. All of that lost meaning.
But one could force oneself to see things that way, to find what was up and what was down. Sylvester regained control of his flight, though it was more like falling upward, a reverse fall.
Yes, in reverse, upward, through glass, glass that shattered into a thousand pieces, accompanying him on his journey to the other side. And on the other side there was sterile floor and walls, a completely different place, a place that hadn't been there until a moment ago.
He had no idea what had happened to Heather and the creature they were trying so desperately to defeat. But what worried him now was what would happen to him.
The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 9: END