Brian closed the door of Kayla’s apartment behind him. He’d been sensing the emotional and mental storm from Mich’s all day, but in the last hour the activity had shot through the roof. Something was very very wrong. As he walked along the hall Dr. B fell into step behind him, the concerned, serious look on his face eliminating the need for any questions.
Brian knocked almost hesitantly on Mich’s door. “Come in,” came the quiet answer. Brian peeked in with a soft “Hello.”
Nev looked up at him, his face pale, his eyes hollow and haunted. “Who . . . ?”
“Me. Brian. And Dr. B’s in the hall,” Brian whispered.
“Oh,” Nev said distractedly. “C’mon . . . c’mon in.”
Brian slipped into the room, Dr. B close behind. The lights had been dimmed considerably and the room, which normally blared with life, was deathly quiet. “What seems to be the trouble?” he whispered.
Mich looked up from her position on the edge of the couch. Dante was there, wrapped in an old blanket; his face was flushed a frightening shade of scarlet and sweat soaked his small, trembling form. “I-I don’t . . . know . . . ” Mich replied, her voice barely a rasp.
“All right . . . maybe I’d better talk to him.” Brian crossed the room and sat next to Dante, resting his hands on Dante’s arm. He was shocked by how hot Dante’s skin was, and how tightly the muscles of his small forearm were clenched. ((Dante? Can you hear me?))
A wave of grief and anguish and rage poured over Brian as he entered Dante’s mind. ((GO AWAY!!!)) came the tortured scream.
Brian flinched as the overwhelming emotions poured over him. ((What’s the matter?))
Dante snarled like a wounded animal and retreated from Brian, pulling himself into the deepest corners of his mind.
((Do you know what’s making you sick?)) Brian asked. ((Your parents are worried . . . ))
Brian’s mind was immediately flooded with a thousand images . . . of Dante, being chased by armed riders on horseback, as well as feelings of torture, fear, and anguish so intense it burned Brian’s nerve endings raw.
((Nightmares?)) Brian ventured. ((Is someone else hurting you?))
((Mom! Dad! Help me! Help me!)) Dante screamed, his mental voice cracking.
“Help . . . me,” Brian said aloud, his voice soft and ethereal. Mich stared, tears falling freely down her face.
((Your parents are here beside you . . . can you feel them?)) Brian said, trying to soothe his terrified young friend.
((NO!)) Dante shrieked, once again making Brian flinch. Rage and agony poured over him and he secretly wondered when Dante’s emotions had grown so powerful . . . and so dark. ((They’re gone! They . . . HE took them!))
((Who did?)) Brian asked.
((HE did! He came back for Mom!))
Brian’s eyes opened and he reached for Mich’s hand. “Mich . . . please . . . ”
Mich started. “Wh-what?”
“I want to form a link. So Dante can feel you. I’ll shield you from the pain, but . . . he thinks you and Nev have been taken away by someone.”
Mich nodded, swallowing. “You don’t need to shield me, Brian. I’ll feel his pain no matter what.”
Brian nodded. Though not a parent himself, he understood the powerful bond between parents and offspring, and that sitting by, knowing that Dante was afraid and in pain, was hurting Mich more than any external torture ever could. He took Mich’s hand and linked his mind with hers, pulling her into the firestorm of Dante’s mind.
~*~
((Dante . . . someone wants to talk to you . . . ))
Dante flinched. Why was HE back? Why couldn’t he just go away and leave him ALONE, let him grieve in peace?
((Dante?))
Dante’s already strained muscles tightened even further, and something in his soul gave a sharp, deeply painful jab, like a rusted knife twisting in an already infected wound. ((M-Mom?))
((Yes, sweetie—it’s me.))
((NO! IT’S A TRICK! I WATCHED YOU DIE!)) It COULDN’T be her! He’d seen her, laying in a pool of blood feet away from her husband, her red hair clotted and matted to her skull . . .
The voice of Peter returned, bringing fresh waves of rage in its wake. ((You would know the difference, Dante. This really is your mother.))
((Just leave me alone, Petrov—or Peter, or whoever you are! Just GO AWAY!))
((It’s Brian,)) the voice said. ((And I’m trying to help.))
Dante’s rage exploded at Peter’s new form of torture . . . now he was calling himself Brian! Trying to be his FRIEND! He reached down deep within him, to the twisting strands of fire that burned and writhed with vicious energy, and pulled up as much of the dark power as he could, balling it up and launching it at the intrusive voice with every bit of his strength. If Peter wanted to take his soul, then Dante was going to make him FIGHT for it.
On to Five
Back to Three
Back To Mich’s Universe
