III: Marionette
“No. Just me. Me and you.”
Suibhne paused, there at the top of the basement steps, his blood galloping throughout the tight corridors of every vein as adrenaline seeped into his system.
He hadn’t been longer than twenty minutes. Placing ward after ward... Trip-wire alarms meant to sing-song in the event that anyone had crossed the estate lines. The dark pitch of his eyes narrowed venomously as he slowly descended, calming the shudder of his stretching extremities as he reached the bottom floor.
“Effie.”
Suibhne called but once, ignoring the tall figure before him, resting against the bedposts and mattress. When she didn’t respond, his face grew increasingly more incensed, brows furrowing in disbelief as he met the cool stare of one Ambrose Fairchild, who looked at him with mock confusion- brows raised as he shook the blond crown of his head. At the very end of Ambrose’s blocking figure Suibhne stopped his searching leer, an arctic chill grasping him by the bones.
A pair of bare feet, eerily still, dangled from the edge of the bed.
“Perhaps she didn’t hear you-”
“Move.”
It was a direct threat insinuated within one punctuated word, snapping with percussive violence as he shoved the younger man viciously out of his way.
She lay like a broken doll on the bed, her strewn limbs splayed in asymmetrical positions, the graceful tilt of her chin turned to one side. Caked remnants of yellowing fluid and flecks of browning blood freckled a river of damnation over the hill of one cheek- sourced from her swollen tongue, which protruded, a grotesque lump of necrotizing flesh between the tiny edges of her teeth.
Suibhne reached up, pressing the weary flesh of his palms against his face in utter denial. He slumped miserably to his knees, pulling the forsaken husk of her body from the soiled sheets, gathering her into the trembling altar of his lap as he cradled the rolling ball of her head against the crook of his arm. The faded blue light of her eyes peered up at him, an azure vacuum of nothing which sucked all of the air from his lungs, his free hand clasping his brow in disbelief as Ambrose drew nearer from behind.
The young blonde leaned down childishly, hands clasped behind his back as if to whisper into Suibhne’s ear, his lips prepared to shape words.
Suibhne turned, seizing him by the collar with his unencumbered fist. In one decisive movement, he brought the younger man’s nose directly into the butting surface of his forehead, snapping the feeble cartilage in one brutal moment of explicit rage.
“You’re not leaving this fucking cellar!”
Ambrose covered the bleeding flesh of his face, bright pinpricks of light sparkling across his line of vision as he laid back against the concrete floor. A smile broke through his agonized grunts. As he blinked away the confused and bedazzled static from his eyes, he observed with some amusement the way Suibhne arranged his sister’s body. Carefully, as if laying a child to sleep, tucking her into the bed with the utmost care. Ambrose scoffed, bitter amusement escalating his quiet chuckling into a full-blown belly laugh, scurrying to a seated position as the looming shape of Suibhne’s creeping silhouette turned towards him.
“Is that going to bring her back?”
“Nothing will bring you back, either.”
Ambrose smiled, and as the gaping cracking flesh of his nose slowly re-assembled, he raised a hand submissively. He knew the dangers of Suibhne Stroud and his apocalyptic touch. How silent and stoic he was, how pious, to stand at every coven gathering with his arms crossed and his eyes full of indignation. As cool and collected as he seemed outwardly, it never took more than a match-stick and a small scrap of fuel to get the fire going. Anyone else likely could not dodge his hasty verdicts. This was what he had been sent for. To cut the colossus down at the knees and fit him with the proper collar.
“It doesn’t have to end here, Stroud.” He began soothingly, his serpentine smile offering a faux comfort, tilting his head slightly to one side. The ice of his eyes darted towards Effie’s resting figure- her open eyes staring back at him, reflecting nothing of the fear he had tasted upon her honeyed tongue. Suibhne bent low, the darkening tips of his fingers turning practically to pitch at their points- extending towards Ambrose as he spoke again. “All you need to do is lend us a hand and your sweet baby sister can wake up from this; as if it were all just a very bad dream.” “Y’are a proper fucking liar, Ambrose.”
“Really?”
He shifted from his place upon the floor, away from Suibhne’s condemning touch as he brushed away the dust and debris from the pressed fabric of his slacks. He straightened to a standing posture, adjusting the crumpled structure of his tie as Suibhne paused- the blackened hell of his eyes narrowing as Ambrose summoned a grim smile.
“It’s truly up to you. Personally, I couldn’t care less if the blowflies made her disgusting little body a new home for decay... But if you’re looking to have her back... We have someone who may be able to help you in that department. If that is a prospect that truly interests you... You know where we will be.”
Suibhne faltered where he stood, taking a few careful steps backward as the gravity of his current situation finally settled in. Something of a nightmare, he slouched pathetically onto the edge of the bed, one hand reaching back to clutch at his sister’s hand as the other, finally paling back to a human flesh tone reached to press against his forehead. Shock and apathy struck him repeatedly, a jarring sensation that wrenched at his guts bitterly, threatening an angry and frustrated grunt as he turned his head to and fro; looking from his sister’s unsettling face to that of Ambrose- who was making his way towards the cellar steps, but not before he could bend at the waist in order to squeeze his shoulder. Nauseating animosity roiled through him, a white flash of explicit fury sparkling through his line of sight as Ambrose leaned into his ear, lips parting for one final statement; one which chilled the older man through the core, grappled him with guilt and helplessness, a feeling he would not forget even some years later.
“I would keep her body warm, Lich. No girl wants to wake up smelling of death and rot.”
Suibhne hissed, a direct jet of air seething between his teeth as Ambrose sidled towards the steps. Resting his head in his hands, he rocked the heels of his feet- percussive sounds of frustration and failure playing as the symphony for Ambrose’s great ascent. Suibhne shifted towards his sister, grabbing both of her hands- kissing the tips of her fingers, his body bent over her like a shadow. There were no applicable languages befit for his disgrace, and instead he took some time to fully absorb the nature of her corpse. Still so smooth, warm to the touch as he smoothed the sweat-streaked slicks of her hair from the cherubic swells of her cheeks. Hot, angry tears pooled beneath his lower lashes- and bitterly he reached up to wipe them on his sleeve, choking the heartache with his bitterness as he turned to be sure he was alone.
“Effie...”
The pads of his fingers swiped away the still-moist tear stains beneath her open eyes.
Some seemingly infinite moments passed then, as he coped and nursed the raw, throbbing wounds of his heart- bleeding into the quiet of the basement. Hemorrhaging anguish with no cauterizing comfort to stem the grief as he finally took hold of her face.
It’s going to be okay.
Her body seized up in his grip, arching mechanically in one thrashing movement as her lips gaped open, sucking in a rasping breath that echoed of something hollow and ungodly.
I’m so sorry.