Back of the Envelope

I was just going to skip a week and not participate in the Storyblogging Carnival, but then I took a look at some of the material which I hadn't yet submitted, and decided that "A Stranger in the Library" would make a worthy entry. "Stranger" is a story I wrote for a creative writing class, set in the world of Fire. It is a prequel, chronologically coming before any of the other stories in that world on this website. I was nearly done with Fire when I wrote it, and it's the first story which I named "Something in something," a naming scheme which I've begun to realize that I use a lot. I've got to get away from that!

Anyway, since it's pretty long, I'm splitting it into two parts.

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A Stranger in the Library
Part I

The black-robed alien stalked through the Library, leaving the quiet chaos of frightened scholars in his wake. Philosophers scurried out of his way, clutching books and papers to their chests, then stared at his back as he went by. Some left to work in other sections of the Library. Others tried to ignore him, focusing on their work and pretending not to see him. Time rewarded their perseverance, as he seldom stayed in one place for long.

He walked with purposeful strides, crossing pools of light and of darkness with little regard for either. His hooded robe hid every feature except for the pale hands which appeared when he picked up one of the older books and leafed through its pages, only to put it back and move on. Marjori watched with open curiosity as this dark shadow drifted into her view for the third time. Few of the secretive Domini visited the Library. When they did, it just proved what she had believed all along: no one sought knowledge as vigorously as the Philosophers. Whatever dark secrets the Domini kept, they still came to the Philosophers’ Library when they found themselves ignorant.

Though this Dominus showed no uncertainty, Marjori could see no pattern to his search, and it occurred to her that he might be lost. The idea of this mysterious stranger bewildered and frustrated yet trying to appear in full control was so... A giggle escaped her lips before she could suppress it, and her attempt to control further laughter nearly strangled her.

Looking up from the shelf where he had been perusing yet more bindings, the Dominus gazed in her direction. Only a fool called the attention of a Dominus to herself, yet she refused to look away as he turned his determined stride toward her. The black robe rustled as he came to a stop right in front of Marjori, close enough that she should have seen the face inside his hood. It unnerved her to see nothing more than indistinct shadows there. Mystery allowed him to loom although he had little height on the tall woman, but she resisted the urge to fall back a step.

“You are a Philosopher of Books?” he asked. Though soft, his voice broke the Library’s stillness like a thunderclap.

Marjori straightened her back, doing her best to stare into the eyes she could not see. “Yes, I am,” she said. Her gray robe with its double border of light blue clearly proclaimed her School and rank. Philosophers knew better than to question her standing, but strangers saw her young age and doubted. Since her parents had been Philosophers as well, she had begun her education earlier than most students.

“I require your help,” he said.

“Why should I give it?”

Marjori imagined the unseen eyes blinking in response to that. His head tilted as he studied her. “You are a Philosopher of Books. This is the Library.” He waited after each statement to see if she would deny it. “That is your duty, is it not? To aid all researchers who ask for help?”

“That’s what I do. Aid those researchers who ask for help.” She let that sink in. He didn’t say a word. “I didn’t hear you ask.”

The short bark of a laugh that sprang from beneath that hood was so out-of-place that Marjori took a step back this time. “Very well,” he said, as he bowed into the space she had just vacated. “Kind lady, would you deign to aid me in my research?”

Once she had overcome her alarm, she chuckled as well, a fuller sound than her earlier giggling outburst. She stifled it and dropped her voice to the usual Library whisper, “That’s better. Now, tell me what you’re looking for.”

The largest complex at the University of the Philosophers, made up of five interconnected buildings of anywhere from two to six levels, the Library daunted most visitors. Marjori had practically grown up here, however, first visiting as soon as her parents thought her old enough to keep quiet. She knew the Library as well as she knew her own home, and could find a book on any topic without needing to confer with the massive volumes of the Catalogue. She immediately deduced the most likely location of what Dominus wanted, although she didn’t know what he expected to find. Marjori wasted no time guiding him to his subject, taking in the Library’s comforting ambience as she did so. She loved the smell of the alchemical preservative of the old books, of the fresh leather and parchment of the new ones, of the lamps’ scented oil. The naive called the library quiet, but they only understood the sound of voices. Shuffling feet muffled by the thin carpet, rifling parchment, and scratching pens were the comforting noises without which Marjori could not concentrate. Men and women sat around simple tables, reading their books and taking notes, holding whis¬pered conversations over their work. Moving from a dark building lit by few lamps, Marjori and the Dominus entered a more open one, awash in light from its many windows facing west. They left both light and people behind as they descended to the lower levels.

Two floors beneath the largest building of the Library was a room as dark and cold as a tomb. Thick dust buried the books scattered across metal shelves and blanketed the ground as well, puffing into the air at their footsteps. Old rugs spotted the floor like scabs, brought to this level more to get them out of the way than to cover the cold stone. The alchemical preservative that was tart but not unpleasant above overwhelmed here. This was where the Library kept its oldest, nearly forgotten books. Compared to the clean, orderly, lovingly cared-for regions above, this area suffocated in palpable neglect. As no one bothered to keep lights burning down here, they had each brought a lamp of their own. Marjori could see only one set of footprints through the dust, and she thought they were hers from several months ago.

The Dominus turned in a circle, trying to make sense out of the jumble. “These are the oldest records you have?”

“Some of them date back to the founding of the Philosophy. Some might even predate it. If what you are searching for is in the Library, it is here.” He had told her only that he was seeking the earliest records the Philosophers had.

“Where should I start, Philosopher?”

“My name is Marjori, not Philosopher.”

“Very well, then. Where should I start, Marjori?”

She just shook her head at that. “These aren’t catalogued like the ones upstairs. They are sorted by age, though, and the oldest would be in that corner.” She pointed to the furthest, darkest corner.

The Dominus cleared some dust from one of the tables with a voluminous sleeve, where he set his lamp down. Then he headed over to the stack she had indicated, Marjori following with her lamp in hand.

He looked over the books carefully before taking one down and flipping through its treated pages. The preservative gave the pages a greenish cast. “Do you want help?” Marjori asked. “You’d have to tell me what you’re looking for.” His search had piqued her curiosity, and subtlety was not her strong suit.

“I think this might have something,” he said, heading over to the table and its small island of light with a single volume in hand. “If you want to help, look for any records of events prior to the founding of Novaro. The older the source, the better.”

Marjori watched him head back to the table, wondering. As far as she knew, no reliable record existed for the founding of the Novar Empire’s capital, which had happened almost a thousand years ago. All the written accounts they had were transcriptions of oral legends about the First Legion and the demons, mixed with even older myths. And if Marjori didn’t know of anything older, then there wasn’t much hope, as her superb education had included enough history to rival any non-Philosopher historian, and more about the keeping of records than anyone outside the Philosophy. She had known since ten that she would become a Philosopher like her parents, so she took the Oath dedicating herself to Knowledge at fourteen and began her formal education. The teaching she had received ingrained in her the skepticism and objectivity of the Philosophy, but neither ever matched her love for her chosen school. With a domain covering the collection, the organization, and the distribution of information, the School of Books embodied the purest form of the love of knowledge.

The Philosophy included many other Schools, ranging from Alchemy to Zoology, which all had their home at the University, a small city of rambling structures where the Philosophers and their students lived and worked. Although Marjori had lived at the University all her life, she thought she might like to travel someday, offering her services as a librarian or perhaps a tutor. Anyone with enough money could request the services of a Philosopher and gain the assistance of an alchemist, engineer, tutor, or physician. The University taxed the Philosophers to fund the upkeep of its facilities and to support its resident scholars. For now, Marjori lived off that support as one of the Library’s many caretakers and researchers. Since her job description included assisting those who came to the Library seeking information, she spent the next several hours searching through the oldest histories and bringing likely ones to the Dominus, until a large stack of them weighed down the table.

As he studied the books she studied him. Aside from his dark robe, he looked like any Philosopher scholar at work, scratching down notes on a sheaf of parchment he had produced from his robe. It did not seem possible that he possessed the strange powers that rumors insisted the Domini had. As a Philosopher, Marjori didn’t believe in magic any more than she believed in gods, so she had never trusted those stories. She did not so casually disregard the claims that the Domini were a separate species like the vanished Amaranthine or the implacable Kawyr, but the hands, the voice, and the form seemed human enough. She hoped that the cowl hid a human face. He went out of his way to seem mysterious, but some¬times he acted very human, muttering to himself when reading an unreliable text, or shaking his head in irritation as he scratched out some mistake in his notes. Even without those, their initial encounter made her want to believe he was more human than not.

He was a Dominus, however; that had to make him different. The Domini always hid their faces and they rarely spoke. They stayed only in the towers they kept in every city, never traveling yet always appearing in unexpected places. No government in the world tried to hold them accountable for their actions. And no one knew where they came from or what purpose they had. The most persistent story disturbed her more than all the others combined: everyone said that they stole children. The Domini examined every boy among the Philosophers when he reached the age of Choosing, when he had to make the adult choice either to become a Philosopher or leave the University. Regardless of the decision made by these boys, some of them vanished, and although no one had ever seen them taken, no one doubted that it was the Domini who took them. Not a soul knew why. Marjori should have been terrified of him, but her curiosity had always overpowered her fear. Besides, those stories seemed less real than the man she watched pace back and forth as he worked through a worrisome problem.

The lamps were beginning to burn low. Since she had not thought to bring more oil with her, Marjori spoke a quick word to the Dominus, then took one of the lamps and headed up the stairs. When she reached the ground floor, she could see her reflection against the darkness outside the windows. Dust streaked the clothes, face, and hair of the tall, slender woman who peered back at her. She spent a moment or two brushing at the dust on her clothes, until her fingers came against the parchment she kept tucked in the pocket near her waist. She lost interest in her grooming and instead drew out Ranius’s note, heading for the pool of lamp light near the supply closet. She hadn’t thought of Ranius in days, even with the note on her person all the time. Turning it towards the light, she read it again:

Dear Marjori,

As we expected, my grandfather's illness was terminal. He died last night. Since he was the patriarch, there will be a redistribution of the family's property, so it will take a few days to settle affairs. I expect to be home in three months from the time I write this letter.

I am sorry for the delay this has put on our wedding plans. I wish you could have come with me, or that I could have stayed, but we each had our respective duties. I intend to keep the promise I made before we parted: we will be married within days of my return. Since we want a small ceremony, with only our families and a few friends in attendance, this should be simple to arrange.

I miss you, Marjori.

Love,

Ranius

Looking at the date, Marjori calculated the remaining time, coming up with only half a month more before they were married. She felt more scared than eager, and neither emotion made much sense. She knew him better than he knew himself, so what surprises, good or ill, did she have to anticipate? Marjori liked that their relationship did not hold the least bit of mystery.

Marjori refilled her own lamp and relit it, then gathered up several flasks of oil and an extra lamp before heading back into the darkness. She hoped that the Dominus’s lamp hadn’t gone out while she was away. Reaching the lower floor, she saw bright light flowing from the spot where she had left him, a brilliant white glow which could not come from one of the Library’s lamps. She hurried over, footsteps echoing in the large chamber, but the light vanished as she came close, and only a guttering lamp illuminated the Domi¬nus when she could see him. What she saw almost caused her to drop the items she carried.

The Dominus had thrown back his hood as he squinted at his notes, the dying light just enough to read by. When he realized she was watching him, he looked up and she saw his face for the first time. It was remarkable for a number of reasons, but entirely human. The dust had affected him as badly as it had Marjori, spotting his prominent nose and strong cheekbones, his high forehead and his dark, curly hair. He appeared to be a young man, not much older than Marjori. When he saw her reaction, his hand shot to his hood, but he simply fingered it before letting it drop. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as he considered her with a tilted head and a raised eyebrow. “It was hard enough to read in the dark without hiding my face too. I got careless.” He shook his head in disgust. “They won’t be happy if they find out about this.”

“You mean the other Domini? Would they punish you just for letting someone see your face?”

“Probably. Not too severely, I hope. Showing your face isn’t Forbidden, and it’s understood that there are occasional lapses. Don’t worry, they wouldn’t do anything to you though.”

Marjori had not even thought to be frightened for herself, and she suppressed the sudden jolt of belated fear. “Why do you hide your faces then?”

“To maintain a sense of awe and mystery, of course,” he said with a slight sneer at the idea. “Obviously, I’m not doing such a good job with you. How about a bargain? If you don’t tell anyone about this little slip, I won’t bother trying to impress you with my arcane ways. Is it a deal, or will I have to kill you after all?”

She felt almost certain that the threat had been a joke. “You’re asking which I’d rather learn about firsthand, death or the Domini? Hmm ... I think I’ll choose the Domini.”

His grim smile suggested a sense of humor. “Good. Now, it’s clear that I’m too tired to think properly tonight. I’m sorry to put you through the trouble of getting oil for the lamps and then not use it, but I think I’ll go home and get some sleep. I’ll return here tomorrow, though, if you don’t mind helping me again.”

Marjori assured him that she would assist him the next day. He packed up his notes and headed back to the tower all the Domini dwelt in. Located in the city that provided for the University’s practical needs, the tower was a simple spike rising a hundred feet into the air. The narrow building could not have housed more than a dozen Domini, but rumor had it that on some days as many as fifty went in and out. Marjori doubted that people could tell one Dominus from another, so she considered the count unreliable. When he had left, she spent a few minutes flipping through the books he had been looking at, trying to determine what he sought. Finding no revelations, she decided to go home and get some sleep herself. Only then did she recall the odd light she had seen a few minutes before, but she felt too weary to spend much time wondering about it.

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This part contains the first 2,987 words of a 5,972 word story.

The Rest of the Story: Chapter 15 can be found here, or you can read the whole story on one page.

This is it, the final chapter. All the conflicts are resolved and all the mysteries are explained, except for the ones which aren't. Okay, enough chit-chat, here it is. Enjoy!

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Chapter 16
Resolution

Click.

That was not the sound Ryan had expected to hear. To be honest, he hadn’t expected to hear anything at all. He hadn’t thought that his brain would have a chance to register the sound of the gunshot before the bullet passed through it.

Though he had to cross his eyes to do so, he stared at the gun, astounded that it hadn’t fired. The hand grasping it trembled and shook, then viciously whipped the weapon back and forth as if it could be shaken into working order. The iron sight tore his lower lip as the barrel clattered across his teeth, the pain causing his eyes to blur with tears and his cheeks to twitch. In contrast, his stupid, disobedient arm didn’t feel a thing, unless that was a tickling he felt near the scar. Click. The finger squeezed off another would-be shot. And yes, there was definitely a tickling in his arm. The sensation reached his index finger as it convulsively pulled the trigger again. Click. The hand started to repositionthe gun, but Ryan clamped down on the barrel with his teeth, unwilling to risk Emily’s life in this insane game of Russian roulette. His jaw ached as his hand twisted the gun, trying to pry his mouth open, but his head moved with the weapon, trying to manage some control over it without breaking his teeth. The tickling spread to envelope the whole arm just as it crossed the threshold from ticklish to painful, becoming the familiar prickling that had plagued him for the past day. Click. The prickling grew into full-fledged pins and needles. He felt something crack in his mouth as the hand continued to jerk the pistol around, and he hoped the gun had only chipped a tooth. Click. The pins and needles graduated into stinging, a swarm of bees crawling over every inch of skin from the tips of his fingers to his palms, from the back of his hand to the inside of the elbow, from his bicep to his shoulder, each one taking the opportunity to sting him again and again. Click. The pain ratcheted up in intensity, the stinging becoming blistering heat, as if his arm were being consumed in an inferno. He finally released his aching jaws from their hold on the gun so he could howl in pain. Six… six shots. The gun… it’s emp—empty. The pain washed out further thought. His hand convulsed and the gun fell from twitching fingers. He was vaguely aware that Dominic was no longer trying to restrain him, for his left hand was now free to wrap around his right wrist, pressed against the small cut that was at the center of the pain. It throbbed in agony as if someone were driving a white hot iron spike through it one hammer stroke at a time. He heard someone speaking—Emily, and she was speaking quickly and loudly, the words tripping over one another, not in that sparse, slow, dazed whispering of her trance. She sounded… Angry? Worried? Confused? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t understand the words. But from somewhere he heard words he could understand, a deep, resonant voice, coming from a great distance, as if echoing up from a deep pit. “Damn you!” As the speaker fell deeper into the pit there was one final word, a familiar one Ryan had heard before, twice now in his dreams, though he’d been unable to remember it. This time, he’d remember. This time… His vision filled with brightness, until everything was hidden by the brilliant white light, and his ears filled with a rushing wind, drowning out the word as he repeated it to himself, shouting it in defiance of forgetfulness and unconsciousness and pain.



“Majus!” Ryan cried. Though his mouth was wide open to yell the word, the sound that came out was no more than a choked whisper. He coughed, then swallowed, and his throat burned as he did so. It was raw and dry, and he desperately needed something to drink. Ryan kept his eyes shut as he tried to remember what had happened after that blazing pain in his arm. Everything was a blank. A dull ache still suffused it, and that was enough to make him sob with relief. His right arm hadn’t felt so much like a part of him since… since… had it really only been a day? Ryan made a fist and opened it, pleased at how readily his hand obeyed him, pleased that he could feel it doing so. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, and realized that he was lying with his back on soft cushions, his head propped up on a pillow, and a blanket covering him. This definitely wasn’t the position he’d been in when he’d lost consciousness, if that was what had happened. His left arm was trapped between his body and a vertical cushion, which meant… he opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Emily’s worried face surrounded by a golden nimbus—the midday sun backlighting her, undaunted by the blinds trying to shut it out. She was sitting on one of the dining room chairs, bending over him, and she smiled when she saw him open his eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Dom said you would be, but I wasn’t sure, and I wanted to call a doctor, but Dom said a priest would be more appropriate, except that we’re not Catholic, and I thought about calling Pastor Dan, but…” That was where Ryan stopped listening long enough to glance around. As he had expected, he was still lying on the plush green couch, but he’d been placed in a more comfortable position and accoutered with a pillow and blanket.

“What—?” Ryan began, then paused to clear his throat. “What happened? And what the Hell is a Majus?” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

“We were hoping you could tell us what happened.” That was Dominic. Ryan couldn’t see him from where he lay, but judging from the direction of his voice, he was sitting in the easy chair in the corner, next to the gun cabinet. “As for Majus, it sounds like the Latinate singular of Magi.”

Emily handed Ryan a glass a water, and he propped himself up against the couch’s arm so he could sip some of the cool liquid. Once he’d moistened his throat, he said, “You mean, like the guys who brought gifts to Jesus in the manger?”

“There’s more to it than that, and he probably wasn’t in a manger at the time, but yes. Before we discuss that, however, perhaps you should tell us your perspective on what happened. From our perspective, after threatening to shoot me, you tried to shoot Emily, or yourself, or maybe both. The gun didn’t go off, though, and then you started screaming, dropped the gun, and passed out.”

“Dom’s exaggerating,” Emily said. “Well, not about what we saw, but my vision told us what really happened.”

“Your vision? What did you see?” Ryan asked.

“Em, maybe we should wait until he tells us what he thinks happened,” Dominic interjected.

“Don’t be silly, Dom,” Emily said. “It’s over now. The vision said so.” After waiting a moment to see whether her brother would protest, Emily continued. “I saw a dark shadow standing behind you. It was really weird looking, with an ugly bird-like head, and claws, and arms that bent the wrong way. One of its claws was blocking your eyes and it was whispering in your ear.”

“Are you saying I was possessed?” Ryan asked, a chill running down his spine.

“Not possessed,” Dominic inserted. “But you were definitely being influenced: lied to, shown things, maybe more”

Ryan wanted to deny it, but too much of what had happened didn’t make sense unless his perceptions had been altered in some way. “You eyes were red. I was so sure you were possessed,” Ryan said. “Was that just a hallucination?”

“I don’t think it counts as a hallucination if a demon is making you see it,” Emily said.

“And my arm… was he controlling it? Because I wasn’t.” That part he preferred to think of as demonic possession. Otherwise, he was going insane, thinking that he had no control over his arm, and the mad part of his mind which did have control was homicidal.

“Maybe,” Emily said. “I think so. In my vision, you had a gun in your hand, and the demon had one hand—the one that wasn’t blocking your eyes—wrapped around your wrist and it was trying to make you point it at Dominic, then at me, but you were wrestling to turn it around. Finally, you had it pointed towards your head, and that’s when you pulled the trigger and the gun went off. I thought you were dead, I really did, but somehow the bullet went right through you and hit the demon instead. And when it hit him, he vanished. Just poof.”

“Okay, that’s… interesting,” Ryan said. “But it does sound a lot like what happened. I couldn’t stop what my arm was doing—it was as if it were someone else’s. All I could do was block it. I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, though. I’m just glad it wasn’t loaded.”

“Oh, the gun was loaded,” Dominic said.

“What?!” Ryan sat straight up. The motion made him dizzy, but he placed a hand on the couch’s arm and twisted around so he could see Dominic. Emily’s brother was leaning back in the easy chair, wearing his trenchcoat. He held the gun in question in his right hand, resting on the chair’s arm. Obviously he doesn’t trust me now. Well, I can’t really blame him.

“I checked,” Dominic said. “There are bullets in the cylinder.”

“Then why didn’t it go off?” Ryan asked.

“I dunno. They could be duds, but the rest of the bullets from that box were good.”

“I think it’s a miracle,” Emily said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ryan said, running a hand through his thinning hair. “You’re saying a miracle saved my life?”

“Why not?” Emily replied. “If a demon was out to get us, why couldn’t God come to the rescue?”

“If God could come to the rescue, why didn’t he do it before? Why did we have to go through all this?”

“I… I don’t know,” Emily said. “Dom and I were praying for that, but God works in mysterious ways. Maybe he wanted to teach us something or whatever.”

Dominic cleared his throat. “Why give the demon free rein at all? Why let it possess and kill Richard Majison? Why let it influence you? ‘Why’ questions are notoriously hard to answer.”

“Okay, then what about a different type of question? What drove it off?” Ryan act. “I hardly think it was my suicide attempt.”

“Don’t call it that!” Emily said. “You weren’t trying to kill yourself, you were trying to save me even if it meant dying yourself. There’s a world of difference there. Anyway, I think that selfless act broke its hold on you, and God rewarded you by keeping the bullets from going off.”

“Er, if you say so,” Ryan said, embarrassed. I’m not selfless. I’m as greedy and self-serving as the next guy, and more conceited than most. So… why did I do it? That was the question. What had possessed him to place his life between the gun and Emily? Love? He still barely knew her. Whatever he might feel for her, it had very little of romance. Some sort of honor? That little-used word just didn’t mean a lot to him. “I still don’t understand this,” Ryan said.

Dominic shrugged. “Maybe we’ll never completely understand what went on here, but I think it would help if we knew the whole story.” He looked at Ryan, his brows lowered and a small frown touching his lips. “I want to hear your version of what happened, and anything else that you haven’t told us.”

Ryan bowed his head. He had been holding out on them both, partly because he was worried about what the dreams meant and partly because he hadn’t trusted Dominic. Did he trust him now? Well, Dominic had the gun now and he wasn’t shooting anybody, and that was a good sign. And somehow, the fear and suspicion just didn’t seem as deeply settled in him as before. Maybe Dominic was right and he really had been under the shadow-thing’s influence. The idea that he might have been at least partially controlled by the demon was still horrible, but it was no longer unbelievable.

Ryan decided that whether he trusted Dominic or not, he owed them both this. Anyway, even if Dominic was possessed right now, confiding his experiences to him couldn’t be any more dangerous than letting him hold onto the gun, and there wasn’t much he could do about the latter. “Okay,” Ryan said. “There have been a few things that I haven’t told you two about. The weirdest happened right after the first time we escaped Red-eyes, while we were staying at the hotel. I had a bizarre dream that night…” After telling them about the dream, he described how the shadow-thing in the mirror had reached out and scratched him. He showed them the scratch, which now looked like a normal cut, not an open wound on a corpse. As the throbbing pain he’d woken up with faded, it had begun to feel like a normal scratch, with none of the odd pins and needles he’d been experiencing or the cold, dead skin around it. If the cut’s healing, maybe it really is over. Ryan then told them how he had seen the shadow-thing appear at the gas station, becoming Red-eyes as it came out of the wall. He hesitated before telling them about the red gleam he’d seen in Dominic’s eyes, but Hell, he’d already told Emily. Finally, he explained last night’s dream, and waking up with the gun in his hand. “What I don’t understand is what the dreams meant. Were they true or false?”

“Both,” Dominic said. “I think the first dream was truthful, while the second one lied. The demon was probably trying to manipulate you through your dreams. Lies are more effective if they’re mixed with the truth. But you still haven’t told us what happened today.”

Ryan sighed. “When Emily had her vision, your eyes turned red again, and you were acting strange—your expression, your words and tone of voice, little gestures—I knew you had to be possessed, and that I had to get you away from Emily. So I pulled open the drawer of the gun cabinet and grabbed the gun. It was weird that it was unlocked; I thought I had locked it. And it’s also strange that my arm, which had been practically paralyzed all day, worked fine when I picked up the gun. But when I tried to put the gun down, it was like it was someone else’s arm. I couldn’t control it any more than I could feel it.”

“And that’s when I tried to tackle you,” Dominic said. “But were you trying to shoot me or Emily?”

“I don’t know!” Ryan said. “First it was pointing at you, then Emily, and when I saw that my own damn finger was pulling the trigger, I did the only thing I could and tried to catch the bullet with my skull.” Ryan wiped his hand across his eyes. “I… I’m still not sure why I did that. I’d like to say I did it out of love or something romantic like that, but I just… When I saw that I was pulling the trigger, I had to stop it. If I killed Emily, I’d be a murderer. It wouldn’t matter that some demon made me do it, I’d be evil, and I’d rather be dead than the kind of person who would do that. Does that make sense?”

“It’s all right,” Emily said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ryan didn’t look at her. He wiped his eyes again, surprised that they were tearing. Damn it, I’m not going to cry! “You’re not disappointed? I like you, Emily, and I didn’t want you to die, but I don’t know that I’d die just for you.”

Emily smiled. “Jesus said that no man had greater love than to lay down his life for his friends, but we’ve known each other for less than two days. We’re still practically strangers, and you’ve already given me more than I have any right to expect. And no matter what you say, you were willing to sacrifice your life for mine, and I’m not going to complain that your motivations weren’t pure enough or whatever.”

Ryan heard motion behind him as Dominic got up, followed by a metallic click. Alarmed, certain that Dominic was about to finish what his own arm had been unable to do, Ryan whipped his head around. Dominic was standing next to the gun cabinet, the revolver in his hand with the cylinder open as he removed the bullets, carefully placing them on top of the cabinet. When he was done, he closed the cylinder and placed the gun in its case and closed the still-open drawer. When he saw Ryan watching him, he said, “I don’t think I’ll be needing the gun. As for the bullets… I think I want to test them. I for one want to know whether or not they are duds.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Ryan said, sniffing. “So I’ve told you everything I remember. Do you understand things better? ’Cause I still don’t.”

“I think that I was right in my earlier assessment that the demon couldn’t hurt us directly, but I was wrong in what I thought he was trying to do. I was expecting a spiritual attack… although I can’t say exactly what that would be like. Something like spiritual rape, I imagine.”

“Damn, that’s what it felt like,” Ryan said very softly. Idiot, do you think you have any idea what rape feels like? No, but was having some… thing alter what he saw and thought, or taking control over a part of his own body, any less of a violation? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think about it.

Dominic continued, either not hearing him or pretending not to, “What I didn’t see is that he could use a spiritual attack to cause physical harm. He tried to trick us into hurting one another by making you think that I was possessed. Then, when Emily was vulnerable because of her vision, our desire to protect her and our suspicions of one another created a very dangerous situation.”

“And then he tried to make me shoot you by taking over my arm? How is that any different from having Red-eyes kill us?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Maybe it was desperation. I don’t think the demon was incapable of physically hurting us so much as forbidden, and it tried to break the rules and was stopped. Or maybe it would have worked if you hadn’t resisted the way that you did, as the responsibility would have fallen on you for not fighting it.”

“So who did he want dead? You, Emily, me? At one point or another he tried to shoot each of us.”

“If things had gone exactly as planned, you would have shot and killed me, then probably gone to jail, and Em… well, how do you think you would have reacted, Em?”

“I don’t know what I would have done then,” Emily said. “If you were… gone, and Ryan did it… It doesn’t make sense! What about the vision that I’m supposed to marry him? How could I marry the man who killed my brother? But… could the vision be that wrong?”

“Which may be the point,” Ryan said slowly. “If she begins to doubt her visions...”

Dominic nodded. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe you’re going one step too far. You two are supposed to be together, like it or not. I think he was trying to prevent that.”

“But could it be prevented?” Ryan asked. “If it’s prophecy, isn’t it inevitable?”

“Obviously, the demon thought it wasn’t,” Dominic said. “He might be right. God isn’t the Delphic oracle, where every attempt to avert the prophecy just brings it closer to fruition. There are examples in the Bible of people convincing God to… change his mind, for lack of a better phrase.”

“Emily said something along those lines, but even if God can be convinced, I doubt that a demon killing the people the prophecy’s about would do it.”

“Good point. I guess that’s why he tried to get you to kill me. After that happened, you two wouldn’t want to marry. You’d be the ones trying to change God’s mind about the prophecy.”

Back to prophecies I don’t really want to believe. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why we’re supposed to marry.”

“Not really. But I wonder if it has something to do with what you said when you first woke up.”

“You mean ‘Majus’? You did say you knew more about the Magi.”

“Just a little, most of it speculation,” Dominic said. “The term, the same one that’s used for the Magi who visited Jesus, refers the priestly caste of the Medes, who were a powerful influence in the Parthian Empire at the time of Jesus’s birth—Persia, Assyria, Babylonia, that area. They were Zoroastrians.”

“But why would Zoroastrians be interested in the Jewish Messiah?”

“Well, there are similarities between Zoroastrianism and Judaism, possibly due to the fact that Zoroastrianism’s rise to prominence roughly corresponded with the Jewish exile in Babylon,” Dominic said. “And as there were still Jews living in that area centuries later, when Jesus was born, it’s likely that the Magi were familiar with the Jewish prophecies.”

“So what happened to them?” Ryan asked.

“I dunno.” Dominic shrugged. “I had assumed they disappeared, not dying out but losing their identity through interbreeding and generational forgetfulness. Now I’m beginning to wonder. You said that the demon called you ‘Majus’? And your last name is Maji-son.” He said the name differently, emphasizing the first two syllables with a long i, rather than the short i Ryan pronounced it with.

“Do you think I could be related to them? I don’t look Middle Eastern.”

Dominic smiled, “That’s at least sixty generations back. You could easily be descended from the priestly caste of the Medes and not look like you’re from that region. The problem is that you probably wouldn’t know. Nobody would. Very few people these days have that much of a sense of history, and I didn’t think anybody had accurate records stretching that far back, but something’s different here. Your name, Red-eyes’ name, the demon calling you Majus… somebody knows. And more importantly, somebody cares. Do you know much about your family’s genealogy?”

“No,” Ryan said. “My father never spoke of it, and he disappeared when I was fourteen.”

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?”

“It’s a long story,” Ryan said. It wasn’t that long of a story, but Ryan didn’t want to talk about his father. He never wanted to talk about him. I don’t even want to think about him. “And right now I’m just worried that this might not be over.”

“It is over, Ryan,” Emily said, taking his hand in both of hers. “The demon’s gone. I’m sure of it.”

“I think Em’s right, Ryan,” Dominic said. “The demon is gone.”

“I guess so,” Ryan said. But if someone, or something, is so interested in me, in us, then will the shadow-thing be the only one who comes after us? He looked at Emily, who was smiling at him, and he forced himself to smile back. “Well, if it is over”—for now—“then I’m going back to bed.”

The End

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This is the final 3,997 word chapter of my 50,426 word novella.

It's done! Eyes in the Shadow has been my main writing project since October, about nine months now. It's not the only thing I worked on during that time, but it is what my focus has been. For most of that time, I didn't have a clue where it was going. I didn't know what Red-eyes was--I suspected that he was a demon, but I didn't know for sure--or what he wanted, or how--or even if--he could be defeated. I didn't know where Ryan and Emily would go, or who they would meet, or what they'd try and whether it would work. I basically made it up as I went along. That's a lot of fun, but it can also be dangerous. When I follow my usual writing process, I write a dozen chapters but don't publish the first until I'm done with the twelfth, so I always have the ability to fix my mistakes. If I get my characters into a situation that they can't get out of, I can go back and change things, preventing that situation from happening or preparing a way out in advance for when they arrive there. The way I wrote this story, publishing each chapter before I was done with the next, if I got my characters into such a situation, I'd either have to pull a deus ex machina or end my adventure with a tragedy. And I was determined not to pull a deus ex machina. There was also the danger of inconsistencies. It really does take me months to write a story of any length, and all sorts of little details that occurred in chapter one can be forgotten by chapter ten. This is usually caught in the first revision, where I read through all the chapters I've written and make corrections, taking advantage of the ability to read it all together in the course of a couple of days so I can see how well it all fits together. I wasn't able to do that either. Finally, sometimes ideas that I have late in the story either aren't compatible with or just don't flow from the previous chapters, but if it's a really cool idea and it doesn't require extensive changes, I can just run with it and smooth out the earlier chapters to make it fit. It frustrated me immensely that I couldn't do that this time. What was already published was all but set in stone. That "but" refers to some small mistakes that I corrected where two parts of the story I had already published disagreed, and one of them had to be changed. That happened once when I had given Ryan two different majors with different research topics, chemical engineering studying zeolites (which a friend of mine had done) and electrical engineering studying semiconductor failure modes (which I did as an undergrad). I don't recall any other times I went back and changed a part of the story.

You may wonder about how I ended things: my hope is that you find it satisfying. I established pretty early on (Chapter 4) that you couldn't get rid of the shadow-thing just by killing Red-eyes. The demon, or evil spirit, or whatever it was, would live on. I did this for a couple of reasons. First, I wanted to limit the extent of Red-eyes' power. I wanted him to be dangerous, but I did my best to be ambiguous over how superhuman he really was. The most frightening thing about him was that you never knew the full extent of his abilities. I knew that if I left the obvious solution of fighting back open, the characters would eventually find guns and start shooting, and then I'd either have to kill Red-eyes or make bullets bounce off of him, and then so much for ambiguity. So I made it so they could kill Red-eyes but not solve the real problem. The second reason I focused on the shadow-thing is that I find spiritual beings much more terrifying than physical beings. Physical creatures can hurt you, true, but you can either avoid them or hurt them back. Spiritual beings are different. How can you get away from them? How can you hurt them? This of course gave me a new problem. Now that I have a spiritual entity as the enemy, how do I keep him from becoming too powerful? How do my characters get rid of him? Well, presumably God has the power, but I was trying to avoid a deus ex machina. I can't really have God solve the problem while giving my characters nothing to do. It might make a good allegory that way, but not a good story. On the other hand, theologically I believe that there's not really a whole lot human beings can do about demons. They will try to destroy us, and all we can do is resist. So that's what Ryan, who was the central character and the main target of the demon's influence, had to do. He had to resist the demon, and it would flee from him. This was complicated by the fact that Ryan's pretty skeptical about God and demons. Christians can pray for help, and while Ryan's thrown off a prayer or two, he's not a believer, and having him convert just didn't feel right. Committing to God is a profound decision, and not something I could see someone as skeptical and cynical as Ryan doing after a mere two days of really creepy experiences. He would need time to process what had happened, time I didn't give him. Ultimately, there was only one thing he could do to end it, and that was an act of self-sacrifice: interposing his own life between the demon and Emily. By doing that, he'd show real commitment to resisting the demon's influence, and such a commitment could be honored by a bit of subtle divine intervention without seeming cheap or easy.

So now I've wrapped up the story and explained all the mysteries, except for one. What's the deal with the Magi? Or Maji, or however you want to spell it? Well, that part I'm not saying. It's an idea I've been playing with for a little while, and I made the decision to connect Ryan to them pretty late in the story, when I was wondering whether Eyes in the Shadow would have a sequel. (The answer to that question is maybe. If so, I'll definitely explain more about the Maji then.) The late introduction of the Maji connection shows, due to the serial nature of the story and my aforementioned inability to prepare the way for important plot twists that only occured to me around Chapter Eleven. I will eventually do a rewrite of this story, maybe even see if I can get it published, and when I do I'll deal with the complications which cropped up due to the limitations of a serial story.

Update: Cleaned up the commentary at the end of this chapter, since it turned out to be pretty disjointed.

The Rest of the Story: The previous chapter can be found here, or you can read the entire story on one page here.

This is one of those times when I really wish I were a better judge of my own writing. Unfortunately, I need, at the least, some distance from the original writing before I can judge how good it is, and given the compressed timeline for publishing these chapters, I just didn't get it. This chapter is important, and I hope it works, but I would have an easier time telling whether it did if I could put it away for two months and read it then. Alas, it's only been three weeks or so, and aside from writing the remainder of the story in that time, I came back and revised this chapter twice. So I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know whether it works.

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Chapter 15
Confrontation

“I understand now,” Dominic said, the red gleam still in his eye and a small smirk on his face.

Ryan stared at him, waiting to see whether the red irises would go away again. They didn’t; if anything, the red was growing more vibrant, catching the sunlight filtering through the blinds and reflecting it in a brilliant gleam. At least they weren’t glowing with an internal light of their own. Yet. “Understand what?” he asked.

“The demon. I understand what he’s trying to do.”

“Of course you do,” Ryan said. You are the demon now. He wanted to charge Dominic, punch him in the face, wrestle him to the ground and keep him away from Emily, but his muscles felt like water, and he couldn’t seem to force himself in Dominic’s direction.

“Demons attack people spiritually, not physically. They prey on their weaknesses, tempting them where their resistance is weak. They don’t kill people, they break them.”

“But Red-eyes was trying to kill us!”

“That’s what we thought he was doing. If he were really trying to kill us, we’d be dead. He hasn’t even hurt us all that much.”

“Then explain this!” Ryan said, pointing to a scrape across his cheek. Most of his other injuries were hidden by his clothes, but his chest and his limbs were a patchwork of purplish bruises.

“You fell into the well while trying to escape him. He didn’t throw you into it,” Dominic said, continuing to speak calmly and slowly, not at all perturbed by Ryan’s anger. “Did he ever hurt you directly, Ryan?”

“Yes he did! When, when…” That first fight, when Ryan had met Emily, had resulted in a some bruises, but only that. Considering how huge Red-eyes had been, he hadn’t done as much damage as he could have. Maybe he really wasn’t trying to hurt us… Ryan shook his head in denial. “You’re crazy! What was he doing, then?”

“He was trying to scare us,” Dominic said, and his smirk widened. “Make us fearful, make us doubt. It’s what demons do. They show mortals a world where there’s no good, no hope, no God. Doubt makes men weak, vulnerable, easily misled.” The smile only accentuated the menace in his gleaming eyes.

“So the big scary guy trying to hurt us was just supposed to make us doubt?” Ryan didn’t know whether to believe Dominic or not. He’s not just speaking about the shadow-thing, he’s speaking for it. But why would it tell me this?

“He was driving us to desperation, Ryan,” Dominic continued, still speaking in that slow, inexorable cadence. “Once he’d accomplished that, he abandoned the body to wait until he could truly attack us. Spiritually.”

“What is he waiting for?”

“Emily’s vision,” Dominic said, gesturing towards Emily. “His false attacks manipulated Emily into seeking a vision, praying for one, desperate for some kind of guidance.”

“But why?”

“Our greatest strengths are also our greatest weaknesses. Emily’s spiritually vulnerable in the aftermath of her visions, less resistant to fear and despair.”

He’s not calling her “Em” anymore, Ryan realized. He keeps saying “Emily.” It was not a large thing, just a tiny change, but it added to Ryan’s conviction that the man he was speaking to was no longer Emily’s brother. What was more damning was the sudden knowledge. Dominic wasn’t offering tentative speculation, but stating this full-fledged theory as fact. Even if Dominic could have guessed all this, there’s no way he could have been so damn certain.

“Ryan…”

Ryan looked at Emily when she spoke. She was still staring off into space, seeing things no one else could with her wide eyes. His name had been whispered, barely audible, but it gave him strength. He glanced at Dominic, worried that he might try something, but he was continuing to watch Ryan, uninterested in his sister’s plight. Ryan pushed himself between the siblings and knelt next to where Emily sat on the plush green couch, taking her right hand with his left. She didn’t show any indication that she felt it. “What is it, Emily?” he asked.

“Ryan,” she said again, still not looking at him but over his head. A tear was trickling down her cheek. Is she talking to me, or to a vision of me? She spoke again, in a whisper with more power than any shout, and Ryan felt a tremor run through his body, “It’s behind you!”

An icy weight fell on his right shoulder, and Ryan whipped around, toppling over in his haste and banging his left hand on the end table. Dominic let his hand drop. “Don’t worry about it, Ryan. She sometimes speaks in her visions, reacting to what she sees,” he said. He turned towards her, his gleaming eyes running up and down her body, and licked his lips. He placed one hand on her shoulder, and she shuddered as she felt his icy touch, but her eyes remained focused beyond. “I’m here, Emily,” he said. “I’m waiting.”

It wasn’t that dry voice which convinced Ryan that he needed to act. Nor was it the words he spoke. While they were infuriating and unbelievable in their rationality and certainty, nothing in them couldn’t have come from Dominic himself. It was not even the glowing eyes, though they had tipped Ryan off. Instead, it was the look in those eyes. They were not dead or empty, as Red-eyes’ had often seemed. Nor did they look angry. The look in those eyes was one of hunger. They were the eyes of a glutton staring at a feast of rare delicacies, lingering on his favored portions, deciding what to try first while determined to try them all. When Ryan saw Emily’s brother looking at her with that look of… of lust, all doubts evaporated and he knew he had to do something.

The gun cabinet was within a few feet of where Ryan had fallen, and he scrambled towards it now, reaching towards the drawer where he had put the gun away last night in order to keep it from both Dominic and himself. His hand found the handle and pulled, and the drawer slid open without resistance. I thought I locked it! He couldn’t even remember whether he had unloaded the gun, why should it surprise him that he hadn’t locked the drawer? Looking over the drawer’s lip, he saw the gun sitting in its wide open case. Ryan reached in and picked it up, then came to his feet as he swung it towards Dominic.

“Get away from her!” he said. He was holding the gun as he had last night, in a right hand that was now steady and obedient. It really had gotten better, although it was still completely numb.

Dominic’s eyes turned from Emily reluctantly to look at Ryan. “What are you doing, Ryan?” he asked, still in that calm tone, unfazed even when faced with a deadly weapon.

“Do you think I can’t tell what you are?”

“Put the gun down, Ryan. You’re not acting rationally.”

Ryan gritted his teeth. Dominic had spoken his name more times in the last minute than he had the whole preceding day. Did he think he could lull Ryan with his name? Well, it’s not going to work. “You’re the one acting crazy, Dominic. Now move away from her!”

“I don’t think that would be a wise course of action. What do you intend to do to her?”

“What do I intend? Me?! Your eyes are glowing and you’re questioning my intentions?”

“Calm down, Ryan. There’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”

Ryan held the gun in both hands, pointing it straight at Dominic. He would have expected his hands to be shaking, but they were perfectly steady. Or rather, his right hand was. His left hand trembled slightly, but not enough to disturb the weapon. It was odd. Ryan still had no sensation in his right hand, he couldn’t even tell how much pressure he was putting on the trigger, he just knew it was right. He wasn’t more than ten feet from Dominic, further away than in the dream, but it was still close enough even for his untrained aim. “Emily?” Ryan said, hardly daring to hope that she would emerge from her trance in order to respond. “Can you hear me? You have to get away from Dominic. He’s not himself.”

“Ryan,” she said aloud, and he felt hope well up in him, only to fall away as she continued, “It’s behind you.”

Wha…? But Dominic’s right there in front of me! Before Ryan had a chance to wonder what she meant, Dominic said, “She’s still having her vision. She won’t interfere in our talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Now move away from her.”

“You think I’m Red-eyes now. Is that it? You said that my eyes were glowing. Are you sure, Ryan?”

“What do you mean, am I sure? I can see them right now!”

“But are you seeing what’s really there?”

“What are you saying? That I’m hallucinating? That I’m crazy?”

“Well, you think I’m possessed. I don’t think you’re possessed, but I think the demon may be making you see things that aren’t there.”

No, I’m not seeing things. Your eyes are shining as brightly as Red-eyes’ ever were! That’s as real as the gun I’m holding!

“Behind you!” Emily said suddenly, loud enough to make Ryan jump. Insistent enough that he cast a quick glance behind him. Nothing there, just the gun cabinet and his shadow on the wall next to it. He whipped his head back around and caught Dominic taking a step forward. He froze when he saw Ryan’s gaze upon him, but he didn’t back up.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked. He’s obviously trying to sneak up on me and get the gun away. I can’t let myself be distracted again!

“Put the gun down, Ryan,” Dominic said again. His voice was too calm. His tone was not pleading or soothing, not angry or fearful. It was emotionless. Empty. False.

Behind you! Emily didn’t say anything aloud this time, but Ryan still heard her in his head. What is she talking about? Dominic’s there. The shadow-thing is inside him! Despite that, Ryan still felt an itching between his shoulder blades, he heard—no, felt—a stirring behind him. But… He risked a quick glance, and then faced forward before Dominic had a chance to move. Once again, it had just been his shadow on the wall. Only… only that didn’t seem right. The light was coming from the windows to his right, but the shadow had been directly behind him. And it had looked… wrong. What if…?

“Ryan,” Dominic said. “Do you really believe I’m—?”

“Shut up!” Ryan snapped. “Shut up and let me think!” Dominic obligingly shut up.

How could he not be possessed? His eyes are bright red! Ryan had decided that he was going to trust what his eyes showed him, but what if they were wrong? Red-eyes had been able to hide from them before, and the things they’d shown him at the gas station were, while not false, not the whole truth either. What if Dominic’s eyes aren’t red? Can the shadow-thing make me see something that’s not there?

That way lay madness. If he couldn’t trust what he saw, what could he trust? How could he separate the truth from the lies? The only option would be to hide in the corner doing nothing, but inaction was just as dangerous as blind action. If Dominic wasn’t possessed, then Ryan risked killing him. Hell, shooting Dominic was just as certain to kill him if he was possessed as if he wasn’t. By far the safest thing was simply to keep the gun on him until Emily came out of her trance, then maybe she could help him sort the truth from the lies. The problem was that Ryan was not certain that was enough. Maybe he could prevent him from doing physical harm, but Dominic had said she would be spiritually vulnerable afterwards. How could a gun stop a spiritual attack? He wasn’t even certain what a spiritual attack entailed. For that matter, the gun might not do much good against a physical attack either. If Dominic decided to rush Ryan, either Ryan would have to shoot or throw away his bluff. Either way it would end, and right now, he had no idea which way it would go. He really had only one option.

“Okay,” Ryan said. “I’m going to take Emily and we’re leaving.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Dominic said. “I can’t trust you with her, not when you’re like this.”

“And I can’t trust you with her!” Ryan retorted. “We’re at a stalemate.”

“I guess we are,” Dominic said, not seeming the least bit perturbed by that.

“At least… at least move away from her. We’ll both keep our distance.” Will that be enough? Probably not, but it wouldn’t need Dominic if it didn’t need to be close.

“You have the gun,” Dominic replied. “You don’t need to be close to hurt her with that.”

“Just move away, and I’ll put the gun down,” Ryan said.

Dominic didn’t say anything for a moment. With his gleaming eyes, his look was unnerving, as was the small smile that twitched his lips. What the Hell is he smiling at? Or is that a delusion too? “Okay,” Dominic said with a shrug. He walked to the corner of the room near the front door, getting as far away from Emily as he could without leaving, but it still wasn’t very far. Once there he leaned against the door, his hands in the pocket of his trenchcoat.

Ryan sighed. He supposed that was as much as he could hope for, so now he had to fulfill his part of the deal. He squatted down and placed the gun on the blue carpet, its weight dimpling the fabric, its muzzle pointed toward the window and away from everyone else in the room. He tried to unwrap his fingers from around the grip, but they only twitched in response to his mental command. What the Hell? I thought my hand was better! Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Ryan turned to look. The shadow he had seen on the wall, the one he’d thought was his own, was moving, its taloned hands reaching out from the wall, its beaked mouth open and emanating a dim red light that flickered in time with its soundless chuckling. Then, even as the icy tips of the talons brushed his dead arm, the chill somehow penetrating the numbness, the shadow vanished. He blinked and looked again, and saw nothing, not even his own shadow, which was some distance down the wall from where the shadow-thing had just been. Shaken but uncertain what to make of the vision, he reached out with his left hand to pry his right fingers off the pistol, but even as his fingertips brushed the ice cold flesh of his unresponsive index finger, his right hand was moving. Ryan watched in shock as his right arm rose of its own volition. He couldn’t feel the arm, as if it wasn’t a part of his body at all, and it certainly wasn’t behaving as if it was. What… how…it can’t…the shadow-thing! The line of thought scattered into incoherence. He didn’t have time to wonder how the shadow-thing was controlling his arm—that had to be what was happening—as he grabbed his right wrist with the hand he could control, trying to stop it from rising. Uncontrollable as the arm was, it was no stronger or faster than it had always been, and he was able to slow its ascent. How can it do this?! Ryan couldn’t stand alcohol, couldn’t handle drugs, not even the mild sedatives in so much allergy and pain medication. Ryan prided himself on his self-control, he needed it. To lose control of part of his own body was insane, impossible. It was also more terrifying than when Red-eyes had him by the throat. He fought to hold his possessed arm down with his good one, but his right arm was dominant and the left couldn’t stop it completely, so while it wasn’t quite pointing at Dominic yet, it was moving inexorably towards him.

So intent was he on the wrestling between his arms that he didn’t notice Dominic charging until he was almost on top of him. Instinctively he came out of his crouch and dodged to the side, banging his knee on the end table and toppling onto the couch, rocking it with a thud that shook the house and caused a framed picture on the wall behind the couch, a portrait of the siblings and their parents, to fall to the floor. He landed on his belly with his face practically in Emily’s lap and both arms trapped beneath him. Dominic jumped on top of him, driving the air from his lungs and causing his bruises to flare up in new pain. His hands tore at Ryan, tugging at his clothes and scratching his skin as they sought the gun. Ryan himself was trying to take control of the gun from his crazy arm as he twisted around. He couldn’t see it and couldn’t feel it, so he had no idea whether his hand even continued to hold it. He couldn’t let Dominic get it, he couldn’t trust his own damn hand with it. I just need to get rid of it! He found it when the wrestling forced him onto his side, and he found the gun still in his hand, wedged between his chest and couch’s back, pointing directly towards Emily. Even as he watched, the finger tightened on the trigger.

Oh God, no! He couldn’t stop his own finger, which moved with teasing slowness, pulling the trigger. The hammer hesitantly began to rise. He clawed at the gun with his left hand, trying to pull it free, but Dominic had a grip on his shirt sleeve, pulling it taut so he could just barely reach, his sweat damp fingertips sliding across the surface of the weapon. I can’t stop it! I can’t control my arm and I can’t reach the gun with the arm I can control. “Get off me so I can stop it!” he shouted, kicking with his legs, twisting his body, trying to move the rest of him in hopes of pulling the weapon off target, but Dominic bore down on him so he could barely move and his limited gyrations failed to cause his right arm to do more than waver. The trigger finger let up the slightest bit in response, then continued to pull. The only part of him he could move was his head, but unless he could stop the bullet with his teeth, he couldn’t save Emily.

He stopped, stunned with his idea. No, I can’t do that! That's insane! He rolled his eyes upward, towards Emily, where she still sat staring at nothing, but now with the tears streaming down her face. Would I rather kill her? My arm might be crazy, but it’s still mine. If I let this happen, I’m a murderer, and there is nothing else I can do to stop it. God, help me to do this!

The hammer reached its apex. Ryan bent his head down to the gun, kissing the muzzle while keeping his teeth clenched tight behind his lips, as if they could somehow stop the bullet. My teeth won’t stop it, but the back of my skull might. Better me than her, he thought as he closed his eyes.

The hammer fell.

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This chapter is 3,287 words long, bringing this continuing novella to a total length of 46,429 words. It's almost done!