Sixty-Seven ◑ The Survivor

Cade's eyes were fixed on Lucille’s, unwavering and alive, even as a dark red blotch began to spread around the fabric of his shirt.

He opened his mouth to say something, but blood leaked out of the sides of his mouth. He choked out more of it until it dribbled down his chin and fell in big drops on the floor.

All the black energy that had once swirled around him began to dissipate, growing thinner and thinner until it was merely a mist, a slight haze in the surroundings. The entire house shook in response to its slow disappearance, but it wasn’t the only thing that was beginning to fall apart.

The burn marks started to reappear on Cade’s skin, or at least what was left of it. The left side of his face was now red and raw, with black charred bits that smoked, hissed, and bled.

Lucille couldn’t move. She was paralyzed with utter shock, both from his action and the things that were transpiring after it. She couldn’t believe that he’d done that willingly, that he’d done it himself seemingly with no hesitations.

She collapsed on the floor, clutching her bleeding neck. She wasn’t sure if it was just her, or if the whole tower was really spinning. The wall behind her rumbled and began to fall apart, showering her back with dust and small stones as sat there numbly. All sorts of sounds were barred from her. It was as though she was watching the whole moment unfold not as a participant but a spectator.

In front of her, Cade was still holding the knife, twisting it deeper into his body as he fell to his knees.

“Cade,” Lucille mumbled through quivering lips. “Cade!”

She staggered towards him, her knees scraping against the bits of glass that were scattered all over the place. His arms fell limp on his sides. He was teetering forward, about to fall flat on his face. Her heart jumped at the sight; his fall would drive the knife, which was still impaled through his body, further into his chest.

Fortunately, she got to him before he could keel over, grabbing his shoulders with both of her hands even though her right hand just exploded with fresh pain. Her cheeks were shining with tears, cutting clean streaks along her face, which was coated in a thin layer of fine dust.

Slowly she pushed him on his back, careful not to disturb the weapon. He was gripping her upper arms, but he was signaling her to pull out the knife. She could only shake her head to say no, remaining resolute even as he continued to stare at her while lowering himself on the floor.

“Agnes,” he croaked, more blood flowing down his mouth. “Where’s Agnes?”

“She’s down at the chapel,” she replied, wiping her cheeks. “Wrap your arm around me and I’ll take you to her so you can. . . .”

She trailed off when he shook his head. “I can’t make it. I don’t have much time.”

A lump formed in her throat. “She’d want to see you, Cade.”

“I know.” Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes and down into his hair. “But I can’t make it, Lucille.”

Lucille couldn’t speak. What was there to say, anyway? She didn’t want to lie to him, to give them both hope, not when it was obvious in the way he looked that he really didn’t have much time left. The light was waning from his eyes. His breathing was growing slower and slower, more shallow by each passing second. She could only cry, only watch as he struggled to stay awake.

“You shouldn’t be asking for my forgiveness,” he whispered, lifting a shaking hand to caress her cheek. “I should be asking for yours. All along I should have asked for yours.”

She sobbed, pressing her cheek against his hand, which was growing colder and colder on her face. Blood was bubbling out of his mouth.

His skin seemed to be rotting away before her eyes, coming off his muscles in flakes that withered and turned gray. He was gasping for breath now, his grip on her upper arm going slack. She held onto his other hand, feeling it go weak beneath her fingers.

It was as though his body was deflating, expelling the black smoke and leaving everything flat and void.

Cade inhaled once, trying for a smile even with his ruined lips. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled deeply, and relaxed.

He was gone.

The entire house rumbled and shook right down to its very core. Lucille could feel it in her veins, in her bones. It reverberated to her soul. It was as though the house had exhaled with Cade, and it was beginning to lose itself with his passing.

The floor rocked dangerously, making her heart leap. She wiped her face and held onto Cade as bits of the ceiling rained down. However, no debris reached her. Only a shower of ash descended on them.

Slowly, the tower began to disintegrate too.

Lucille prepared for the floor to give way and pitch them downward, but the fall didn’t come. Even as the wood beneath them got reduced into piles of ash, they didn’t fall as abruptly as she’d thought. Instead, some sort of an intangible cushion enveloped them from below, slowly carrying them down as the rest of the house got reduced into dust.

Gravity pulled them down, but it was more of a float than a straight descent, giving her enough time to see the house on their way down.

And as she looked at Cade’s damaged face, she realized what this place was, and what it had meant to him.

This was where he’d stayed, after all these years, where he’d plotted his plans for their meeting. This house was the witness to his bitterness, his anger, and it was dying away with him. The snow around the house had melted, leaving a circle of dead grass and dried leaves. Even the tall iron fence that surrounded the property had vanished. The sun was nearly touching the horizon, painting the sky with hues of red and orange.

Soon enough, the whole house was gone, leaving only Cade and Lucille, and Agnes lying motionless in the distance.

The cold water from the melted snow seeped right into the hem of Lucille’s dress, making her gasp and snap back into reality. She got to her feet and ran towards Agnes, but before she could reach her location, she slowly moved and rolled to her side.

“Lucille.” Her voice was a mere rasp. “Lucille, did you. . . .”

Agnes trailed off when her eyes found Cade and the knife poking out of his chest. Her throat bobbed up. She tried to sit up, but she could barely lift herself from the ground. 

Lucille bit back her sobs, hurting because of the look of devastation in Agnes's face. She knew she should stop her from getting up, from even moving. Her skin was already as brittle as the dried leaves that blew around them. Still, she helped Agnes up, wrapping her arms around her waist for support even though her right arm ached in protest.

Slowly, she led her to where Cade was lying.

Around his torso, blood had already pooled, soaking through the soil and striking a contrast with the grass. The sight of his hair fluttering in the soft wind was oddly eerie, but there was also something peaceful about it, something soothing.

Agnes knelt next to his body, her shaking hand hovering above the hilt of the knife. Then, she put her head on his hard, unmoving chest and just sobbed there.

Lucille watched, cautiously kneeling next to her but staying at a far enough distance. She could tell by the way that Agnes was holding him that she was growing weaker and weaker too.

And now that Agnes was no longer lying down, Lucille was able to see that Cade's earlier attack had an effect after all,
There was a big graying spot on Agnes's back, a dark hole that was slowly decaying at the edges. Lucille could tell that it was making it difficult to move, but still Agnes adjusted herself and laid next to Cade. She looked up at his face, reached out, and ran a hand over his face to close his eyes.

Then she just stayed there, sobbing on his shoulder.

Her breathing was going deeper, but a lot slower and more sparsely spaced, like she was at the verge of falling asleep. Lucille knew what it was, though. The blow and the days of suffering in this place was finally taking its toll on her.

Lucille pursed her lips and bowed her head, trying hard not to think of what it would be like if things happened the way she thought. It was too painful. Too much.

"Agnes," she whispered, "we should leave."

Agnes turned a little to face her. "I'll stay here. I can't make it, anyway."

It was exactly what Cade had said, and it brought a fresh wave of pain in Lucille's chest. When Agnes raised a hand to hers, she just broke. She started to weep, but she took Agnes's hand nonetheless.

She wanted to beg her to try to survive, but it was set. She loved Agnes enough to let her do this.

As though reading her mind, Agnes said, "Thank you, Lucille."

Lucille could only nod, her chest heavy with all the emotions she couldn't name. She rose to her feet as Agnes relaxed against Cade, her grip on Lucille's hand growing slack. Her arm then fell to her side.

And with one final sigh, Agnes was dead.

The sun was now halfway down the horizon, bathing the entire hilltop with a shower of warm colors. The trees made shadows dance on the dead lovers, the branches swaying like comforting hands.

The lovers. The real lovers. Together until death, like the promise Cade had made to the wrong woman, like the vows Agnes had never gotten the chance to say to the man she'd loved.

They were written in the stars, but life had read them wrong.

Lucille wiped her face with a deep breath, getting to her feet and facing the darkening sky.

She'd lost everyone now.

She was alone.