Necromancer Legacy - 8. Ninety nine percent sure

Nick was meeting Liv on his day off. She had invited him over at her apartment.

She lived on the Upper East Side. Nick was ready early so he took a walk around Central Park. It wasn’t that bad this time of year. Even though it was still cold outside, some green was finally returning to the trees. The fresh wind was all right today actually; not too cold, for once. And the sky was a nice, clear blue shade. Nick walked with his hands in his pockets, keeping a fast pace.

Last night he hadn’t been able to sleep much, after the whole Sasha incident—which he had been trying really hard not to think about, but when you lay awake at night trying hard not to think of something, well.

He sighed, looking down at his outfit: dark green skinny jeans, black and white t-shirt and soft zip up black sweater. And a scarf. He looked like a hipster, probably. But maybe that was good. There were lots of hipsters in the cinema industry, right? Maybe that would make a good impression.

Liv’s place wasn’t far from Central Park so it didn’t take him long to walk there. The building was so high that Nick almost hurt his neck trying to glimpse the top of it. Liv had told him she lived on the fifteenth floor. Like, she had the whole floor to herself.

As he was let inside the ridiculously spacious and bright lobby, a man in a suit with an ear piece acknowledged him and showed him toward the right elevator. Apparently Liv had already made him aware that she was waiting for a visitor. Nick felt underdressed just being in this building.

He didn’t usually take elevators. But she lived on the fifteenth floor.

When she opened her door, she welcomed him with open arms, all smiles.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Nick. Come in.”

She had a British accent. It reminded him of Cyan. Unwanted thoughts.

Liv looked quite different from that time at the gym. She had been in another instructor’s class, but she’d left early, and she ended up chatting with Nick at the reception desk while he was himself in between two classes. She just asked him for information, and eventually, somehow, the conversation drifted and she talked about the actors and directors she was working with these days. And somehow she had gotten Nick to open up a bit about himself, and one thing led to the other… And here he was. She had good people skills like that.

She definitely wasn’t wearing sporty clothes now. She wore a bright red dress, simple and elegant. Her long curly brown hair was pinned up with clips. Her nails were as red as her dress.

The apartment was absolutely gorgeous, obviously. The view was amazing from every angle, whether it be Central Park or the Upper East Side. Liv’s heels clicked on the polished hardwood floor as she made her way to some vast living room. So she was one of those people that wore heels inside her apartment, then. Nick had one of those as his upstairs neighbor. It was particularly lovely early in the morning.

There wasn’t much in this room. The décor was very zen, he supposed. There was one painting on the wall. A painting of New Orleans. Not that he was able to recognize the city just like that or anything. It said ‘New Orleans’ in big white letters in the bottom right corner.

Liv also owned a desk and chair and laptop, so that was something. She had just been looking at the screenplay he had sent her by email, or so she wanted him to think anyway, because the document was opened up on the screen. There was an expensive looking bottle of white wine—already unscrewed—with two crystal wine glasses on the desk, next to the computer.

“Shall we celebrate?” She smiled.

Without waiting for his answer, she poured the wine in the glasses. She handed him one, and he took it to be polite.

“What are we celebrating?”

“Our first official meeting, silly. Your screenplay is amazing. Come on, cheers. First we drink, then we chat. This is how I do things.”

“Whatever you say.”

She looked so young to own a place like this. In fact, she couldn’t be more than two or three years older than he was. Maybe her parents were very rich and had shared their fortune with her, or something. They drank some of their wine, and then Liv let out a dreamy sigh.

“I simply adore your story. I like the dark humor, it’s a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“I like that you have a transgendered character. I think the world is ready.”

Nick took a sip of wine. “I just did it for fun, you know? I never even thought about getting published.” He felt all flustered.

Liv grinned. “That’s why I’m here.”

Every time she looked at him, he felt a bit intimidated by her stare. Her eyes were a really intense shade of blue—almost turquoise—but it wasn’t only that. She seemed amused by him, and not in a nice, gentle way. Amused in a cruel, sadistic way. Nick told himself he was probably just being paranoid. But still, he couldn’t shake it off.

“So why screenwriting?” she asked. “Why not short stories or novels?” She leaned her hip against the desk.

“I started off with short stories and I tried novels, but I always thought it was a shame that there aren’t enough good movies with LGBT characters. So basically I went and purchased Screenwriting for dummies and I thought it would be cool if I tried to write my own.”

That made her laugh. A strand of curly brown hair came out of its clip and fell, framing her face on one side. She was good-looking; heart-shaped face, pale skin, full lips. Her lipstick was blood red. With her heels, she was as tall as Nick, if not a little more.

“I think you’re very talented. Sure it needs some polishing, but that’s only natural. You’re very young. Still, you should quit your job and focus on writing.”

Was she flirting with him, or something? She couldn’t be sincere. He’d just written that story for fun; it couldn’t be that great.

Nonetheless, he said, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“You’re really lovely, you know that?” she said. She sounded off; her voice was distant, and contemplative. “I’m really sorry, but I’m not actually interested in your screenplay. Though I had a lot of fun reading it. I swear. That much is true.”

Right. Nick didn’t know what to say. What was her deal? Why would she make him come all the way here just to tell him she wasn’t interested?

Liv was leaning in. “You are beautiful though; you have a nice face. All angles and cheekbones. And eyes the color of milk chocolate.” She smiled. “You should consider modeling instead of writing.”

Well this was getting weird.

Nick put his wine glass down. “Sorry, but I’m not into that. Well, this has been, um, a waste of my time, to be honest. So, I’ll just go now.”

“You will do no such thing.”

He turned away from her anyway, because honestly, she was acting really strange—she was scaring him a little—and he just wanted to leave. But Nick stopped as he realized two young men in suits were blocking the way. Where did they come from?

“What’s up with the bodyguards?” Nick asked.

“My brothers,” Liv said. Pointing toward the short, skinny one with reddish hair, she said, “Jamie.” And as her index finger flicked toward the bulkier one with brown hair and brown eyes, she added, “And Chris. They live with me.”

He doubted these three people were actually siblings, because they looked nothing alike. Not that he cared.

“And you’re introducing me to your family because…?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice sickly sweet, “they’re here to kill you.”

“What?”

At the exact same time, like they’d choreographed and practiced it, Jamie and Chris produced guns from inside their suit jackets. Shiny black guns. It seemed so sudden and surreal; at first Nick was too incredulous to be scared. But when the two young men pointed their guns at him, the fear didn’t take too long to kick in.

Nick swallowed hard. He felt his heartbeat picking up, and his shoulders stiffening. He’d never had a gun pointed at him before, let alone two. And these two guys’ faces were as emotionless as wooden planks.

“Listen, Nicholas,” Liv said, “I’m terribly sorry about all this. It’s nothing personal. In fact, I was once friends with your father. He taught me how to use certain skills. Very useful skills. But we didn’t keep in touch.” Her intense blue eyes raked him up and down as she walked around him. She stopped when she faced him, standing in the way of her brothers’ aim. “Lucas was right. You have no idea what’s going on, do you? Cyan didn’t tell you anything, then. That’s bloody irresponsible of him.”

Nick couldn’t stop looking at the guns.

“Who are you?”

“A necromancer.” She said it very casually. “My partner Lucas and I have very big plans for this city. We can’t let you and Cyan roam around freely. I’m really sorry. It’s a shame. I kind of fancy you.”

Liv was still holding her wine glass. She stepped away from Nick with her noisy heels, freeing the way for her brothers if they decided to shoot. She sipped at her wine calmly, like she was admiring a painting in an art gallery.

“Why do you want to kill me?” Nick said, all in a rush. “You’re right, okay? I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t want to get in the way of your plans. I don’t care about Cyan. I don’t care.”

Liv bit her red painted lip as she seemed to consider this. But then: “Sorry. I can’t take the risk.”

Nick glanced at the guns, heart hammering. Jamie and Chris weren’t saying anything. They weren’t moving. They just kept aiming at Nick—at his heart, Nick was sure. Why were they so stoic? Were they freaking robots?

“What was the point of inviting me over and discussing my story and offering me wine and everything,” Nick said, “if you just wanted to kill me?”

Liv shrugged one shoulder. “I was bored. All right, then, Mister Nicholas Russell; any last words?”

Nick’s instincts told him to run, while at the same time he felt paralyzed, like his boots were glued to the floor.

He addressed her brothers in a desperate attempt to stall for time. “Why are you doing this? Why are you listening to her? Don’t you care about killing an innocent person?”

Their eyes looked so empty. It was like talking to a wall.

Liv let out a startled laugh. “Of course they listen to me. They’re my lackeys, silly.”

“Your what?”

Liv wound a brown curl around her finger. “I brought them back from the dead. I already told you; I’m a necromancer. Keep up, love.”

Her brothers cocked their guns; again, with impressive synchronicity.

“Please don’t do this,” Nick breathed.

“It’s been nice knowing you,” Liv said, “albeit short, I suppose. Goodbye, Nick. I’ll see you in Hell.”

Nick was pretty sure she meant that literally.

As Nick took a step back reflexively—even though he knew it was completely pointless—the two gun shots came, loud and sharp. Nick squeezed his eyes shut; another useless reflex.

But the bullets didn’t hit home. Instead there was a metallic sound like the bullets got deflected by a blade.

Nick’s eyes snapped open, and he saw a flash of pale blonde hair. Cyan. Black smoke lingered around his black-clad silhouette. Cyan held up a sword; a long dark steel blade. Nick recognized it. The hilt had an engraved red snake curling around it, though the snake was mostly hidden under Cyan’s hand right now.

“What the hell are you doing here, Nicky?” Cyan stared at him. “This is Lucas’s necromancer. She could’ve killed you.”

“I got that,” Nick replied.

The short, skinny guy—Jamie—shot again, and Nick jumped, his stomach lurching like he’d just dropped from a cliff. But Cyan’s blade darted in the air and deflected it again like it was no big deal; Cyan moved faster than should be possible. The bullet went tumbling in the corner of the room.

Cyan slid his sword in the sheath strapped to his back and grabbed Nick’s arm at once, pulling him closer.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Nick didn’t have any objections to that.

Black shadows rose like ribbons curling around Cyan, and they leaped over to Nick until the darkness enveloped them both. Nick thought he saw Liv’s piercing turquoise eyes gleaming through the shadows.

“This isn’t over.” Her tone was surprisingly calm.

 

***

 

Nick’s senses acknowledged the scent of smoke and ashes being carried by a cold wind before he realized the world around him had changed completely.

Hell.

It was different from the last time. Things seemed clearer somehow. Nick stood next to Cyan in a white sand desert.

“Just don’t run off on your own,” Cyan warned.

Nick had no intention to. Instead he looked up at the black inky sky. No stars, no moon. And yet he could see. He couldn’t make sense of it. His head hurt if he tried to. Nick glanced to the side, where he could make out the beginning of a foggy forest beyond the desert. The cold wind whipped raven strands of hair across his face, and Nick pushed them away before looking up at Cyan.

“You,” Nick snapped, “have some serious explaining to do.”

Cyan’s lips formed an ‘O’ shape and his light blue eyes were all offended. “I just saved your life!”

“Now I’m supposed to thank you?” Nick retorted.

“Yes!”

“Why’d you bring me here? Is my body still back there, like last time?”

“No, of course not. Olivia would have killed you,” Cyan said.

The wind made Nick’s scarf slip from his neck. Cyan caught it with quick reflexes.

“How can I be here? Why—? Am I dead?”

“No, you’re not.” Cyan gave Nick his scarf back. “Supernatural people can come to Hell before their death. For God’s sake, do I have to explain everything twice?”

Nick wrapped the black scarf tightly around his neck, shivering. “You never even explained anything in the first place!”

Cyan spread his arms. “What do you want to know?”

“This is Hell.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re dead.”

“Quite.”

The harsh wind was annoying; the white sand got in Nick’s eyes.

“What about Olivia? Is she dead, too?”

“Yes,” Cyan answered.

Nick glanced at the endless white sand dunes. He wiped a tear at the corner of his eye.

“Then how come I can see you guys in the real world? Are you ghosts or something?”

Cyan looked annoyed. “We are Reapers; we can reveal ourselves to humans if we want to. Bloody hell, Nick—”

“Liv said she was a necromancer.”

“Aye. She is.”

Nick didn’t understand anything; Cyan wasn’t helping much.

“Why did you bring me here?” Nick asked again, though he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to go home.

“I need to show you something. Come on.”

What choice did he have? Cyan led the way and they started walking side by side, toward that foggy forest in the distance. Their boots stirred the sand as they stepped over the dunes.

“Is there a Heaven, too?” Nick asked.

“Yes.”

“Why are you here, then? What did you do?”

Cyan smoothed his blonde ponytail over one shoulder.

“I don’t really think that’s how it works.”

“How does it work?” Nick insisted.

“Most people come here. Some people wind up in Purgatory. Heaven hardly ever accepts anyone; they’re rather exclusive.”

“Why does Liv want to kill me?”

“Because she feels threatened.”

Nick sighed; he was tired of Cyan’s half-assed explanations.

“Why?”

“Considering who your father is, I have reason to believe you possess interesting abilities—and clearly Olivia believes it, too.”

Cyan gazed up at the forest, dragging out the suspense. He seemed to enjoy doing that. Following Cyan’s gaze, Nick saw that they were approaching the forest faster than he would have thought. He could discern the black leafless trees. Nick wanted to laugh; he didn’t consider himself a religious person, and therefore used to dismiss any beliefs of Heaven or Hell. But right now, seeing a forest of black trees popping out of a white desert like that, Nick couldn’t possibly argue that this scenery could exist somewhere in the real world. This place made no sense.

“There’s a fair chance,” Cyan said, “that you are a necromancer.”

“What?”

“Come on.” Cyan urged him along as they stepped over the last sand dunes separating them from the forest. “I’d rather show you than tell you. This is the reason I was looking for you today. And you’re lucky I found you when I did. I had good timing, if I do say so myself.”

Nick said nothing. There were too many improbable things to consider, too many impossible thoughts bouncing in his head. He suddenly thought of Sasha; how Sasha had presented his mother’s massive journal when came the time to explain Nick’s past. What if Sasha’s mother had known everything and written all about it?

Maybe I should’ve read the god damn journal.

Cyan improvised a path in between narrow black trees and Nick fell into step behind him as the forest’s shadows engulfed them. Dried up brown leaves littered the ground and crunched underfoot.

“Where are we going?” Nick asked.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Cyan said, gesturing with a gloved hand, “how would you feel if I killed someone so that you could try to bring them back to life using the demonic powers inherited from your father?”

“No.”

Nick stopped walking, his boots sinking into the heaping leaves. Cyan did likewise, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against a black tree trunk.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Cyan inquired. “Because I might have…”

Oh, no.

“What did you do?”

“Well…” Cyan hesitated.

Panic gripped at Nick’s heart. “You killed someone? Who did you kill?”

Before Cyan could answer, they heard a roaring sound nearby, something obnoxious and noisy that reminded Nick of a cliché horror movie.

Nick’s eyes darted from side to side, but he saw nothing except for dark trees and crooked branches.

The roaring sound came again, though.

“Is that a chainsaw?” Nick asked.

Cyan shrugged helplessly. “Someone’s worst fear seems to be the plot for the movie Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

“My friend Shane is afraid of that!”

Cyan was scratching his hair and averting his gaze.

Nick had never punched someone before in his life. But right now, Nick grabbed Cyan’s collar, thrust him into a tree, and held up his clenched fist, thinking that there was a first time for everything.

“Did you kill Shane?”

“Just so you could bring him back!” Cyan cried out. “I’m one hundred percent sure you can do it—well, maybe ninety nine, but, still.”

It was like Nick’s fist had a mind of its own. He punched Cyan’s face, hard. And on the spur of the moment it felt pretty good. But then Nick realized his knuckles really hurt and he cursed colorfully as he nursed his hand against his chest. Cyan was cupping his cheek, and his lip was bleeding a little, but otherwise he didn’t look too bothered by it.

“Where is he?” Nick shouted.

Cyan tried to answer but his voice was drowned out by the loud roar of the chainsaw.

Nick’s head whipped to the side as he thought he heard Shane’s voice, actually.

“Please don’t kill me!” Shane was begging.

On a whim Nick went around Cyan so he could snatch that sword of his. Nick unsheathed it, his fingers closing in on the hilt, feeling the engraved snake wound around it.

“Nicky, wait—”

But he didn’t wait. He darted across the uneven ground, slithering through the trees and half-stumbling on treacherous roots. Nick followed the sound of the chainsaw. It wasn’t too difficult; that thing ripped across the forest’s silence like a Harley driving through a meditation workshop.

Nick saw the tall masked man with the chainsaw but he didn’t stop even though his heart raced and his blood ran cold. Instead Nick ran faster, holding up the sword. That thing was heavy, but Nick managed. He had never punched someone before today, and he had certainly never used a sword either, but apparently there was going to be a first time for that, too. Shane was lowered in a crouch on the ground and he was going to get cut into pieces if Nick didn’t intervene.

He held the sword’s hilt with two hands, aimed the tip at chainsaw-wielder-dude’s back, and he ran. Nick didn’t slow down. He didn’t want to lose his momentum. Nick didn’t stop until the blade plunged into the masked man’s back. It sank hilt-deep into his chest, right in between his shoulder blades.

The chainsaw, still roaring, plummeted to the ground, cutting leaves into tiny pieces before coming to a stop. Too shocked to move, Nick just let go of the sword. The masked man fell next to his chainsaw with the sword still inside him.

Nick’s gaze swept over Shane. He was covered in scratches—from running around in the forest so much, probably. Nick took in the Blizzard t-shirt, that ‘Friendship is magic’ wristband Shane always wore, and Nick dropped to the ground so he could hug him.

“Oh my God.” Shane hugged him back, trembling. “What the hell is happening? Am I dreaming? Because I tried pinching myself before, and—” Shane gasped suddenly as he looked up. “Nick. That’s the guy who attacked me.”

Nick pulled away from Shane and glanced over his shoulder. Cyan was coming, all graceful and lean as he leaped between two trees and lowered himself to collect his sword. Nick started when he realized the masked man was gone. So was the chainsaw. Cyan just picked up his sword and there was no blood on it, like none of it had been real.

“Are you ready to try?” Cyan said casually, sheathing his sword behind his back.

“What kind of a question is that?” Nick sprung to his feet, glaring at Cyan. “Of course I’ll try whatever you want me to try. You killed my best friend, asshole; you knew I wasn’t going to say no to you.”

Shane pushed himself off the ground. A few leaves clung to his clothes.

“Try what?”

Nick just kept staring at Cyan. “What’s my next move?”

“You need to teleport back to your apartment with him,” Cyan instructed.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Nick retorted.

“You’ll have to learn to do it yourself sooner or later.”

Shane was raking a hand through the long part of his hair. It fell back on one side in messy pale strands.

“What’s going on? Nick?”

Cyan stepped forward, so that the three of them formed a sort of circle.

“All right. I’ll do it for you one more time,” Cyan said. “Let’s hold hands.”

Nick immediately gripped both Cyan and Shane’s hands. But Shane was hesitating.

“I’m not holding his hand! He attacked me!”

“Oi, stop exaggerating,” Cyan replied, “I just gave you a nice little heart attack.” Shane still seemed unsure. Cyan added, “Look, mate, if you want us to leave you alone here, that’s your call.”

Shane grabbed Cyan’s gloved hand.

Cyan glanced over at Nick. “For future reference, if you need to do this by yourself next time, all you need to do is conjure up thoughts of blood.”

Right. Blood. Nick swallowed, and it tasted bitter. “That shouldn’t be too hard, actually,” he told Cyan.

“Until it forms a circle,” Cyan went on, “and you let your mind recreate the place where you need to go. Make it as detailed as possible. In this case, your apartment. So I’m thinking cracked paint, missing floor tiles, worn-down couch, ugly purple blanket, stained coffee table—”

“We see your point,” Nick snapped.

“My purple blanket is awesome,” Shane said at once.

A red circle appeared at their feet and started to gleam as it spread wide enough to include all three of them.

The air seemed to stir around them; the wind stopped, and instead the air became dense and black. Like smoke.

“You don’t always need the circle,” Cyan explained, “but it’s easier, for beginners. If you have trouble, you can always cut your palm and use your own blood as inspiration.”

Lovely stuff.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Nick pleaded.

The blackness enveloped them like a blanket and everything disappeared.

And then they were in their apartment. Nick saw double: Shane was standing next to him in the middle of the living room, and another Shane—this one completely still and limp—lay on the couch.

His eyes were open. That was what troubled Nick the most. The Shane on the couch; he wasn’t moving but his eyes were open.

Although, even then, Nick couldn’t fully grasp the situation. Shane couldn’t be dead. He was standing right next to him. He even held Nick’s arm.

“What’s going on?” Shane’s fingers were ice cold against Nick’s skin. “What am I doing over there?”

The apartment was silent. Shane’s laptop was open on the coffee table, but if he’d been watching something, it no longer played. The curtains got rustled by the wind slightly as the sunlight seeped through.

“I look so… dead,” Shane whispered, still clinging to Nick.

Cyan had gone to stand next to the couch, his arms crossed.

“What do I do next?” Nick asked him.

Cyan waved with a hand as though it was perfectly obvious. “Put him back in his body.”

Nick glared. “I hate you.”

He brought Shane closer to the couch, the old wooden floor creaking underfoot, and they both looked down at his body.

“I look so dead,” Shane said again, with an obvious growing panic leaking through every word.

“It’s okay, um, Shane, listen, I’m gonna need you to… to lie down there, and to get back into your body.”

Shane blinked. “What? How?”

Nick glanced over at Cyan for help.

“Tell him to close his eyes.”

“I heard you,” Shane said, “I’m not deaf. Just dead.” He closed his eyes as he was instructed.

Then Nick guided him, making him sit on the couch. When ghost-Shane came in contact with the real, dead Shane, it was like they couldn’t touch, and instead they just sort of merged together. Shane slowly lowered himself onto the couch as Nick told him to, until the two bodies were only one.

Nick was looming over him, waiting for something to happen. Shane’s eyes were closed now. But he still wasn’t breathing.

“What now?” Nick asked urgently.

“You kiss him,” Cyan said.

“What?”

“I’m joking!”

“It’s not funny. This is my best friend and he looks very dead to me still.”

“I ain’t a necromancer,” Cyan touched his own chest, “but I’m pretty sure it’s a tad more complicated than that.”

A few more seconds passed, and nothing was happening. Shane wasn’t moving. His heart wasn’t beating. Something tightened around Nick’s chest and he thought he would suffocate.

He looked up at Cyan. “Didn’t think this through, did you? What am I supposed to do? Call Olivia and ask her for advice?”

“You could try,” Cyan said, “but I hardly think—”

“Sarcasm, Cyan.”

“There’s no need to shout.”

“I’m not shouting!” But he was.

Cyan raised a hand in surrender.

“Listen. From what I heard, the key is the transfer of energy.”

Transfer of energy. Transfer of energy.

The words echoed across Nick’s agitated mind.

On a whim Nick sat on the couch and grabbed Shane’s hands. He wanted to establish some kind of connection.

Transfer of energy.

Nick jolted as he felt a sudden tingling sensation all across his body—like an electric shock, but it wasn’t painful. He held Shane’s hands tightly.

The intense tingling sensation reminded him of when Sasha had transferred the demonic powers from Gabriel, and back to Nick. The sensation consumed him, overwhelmed him, and there was nothing else. It was warm—hot, even—and it filled his veins like blood. It was almost too much. The world around Nick seemed to blur.

He couldn’t see Cyan anymore. He couldn’t see the sunlight, or the white walls. Nick could only see Shane. The tingling sensation turned into waves of energy, and it became physically painful for Nick to sit still. But he managed. He felt the energy ripping through him and reaching the tip of his fingers. Nick let it flow through Shane. He had no idea how it was possible. There were no spooky magical sparks between their hands, no weird noises, nothing. To a normal person watching—Cyan didn’t count as a normal person—Nick would have looked like a grief-stricken guy holding his dead friend’s hands.

But Nick knew what was happening. There was too much energy inside of him, and he was giving it to Shane. He couldn’t have kept it all to himself even if he wanted to, not right now; it was like an insane dose of adrenaline, and it was so intense it hurt.

Shane’s eyes snapped open abruptly, startling Nick. Shane breathed in sharply, before coughing, and breathing in again. Then more coughing.

Nick let it go. The adrenaline, the energy, whatever that was. As intense as it had been, it was surprisingly easy to just stop channeling it. Like there was an off switch.

It came at a cost, though; Nick immediately noticed. He felt completely drained, like he’d just run ten miles. He was short of breath, and for a moment he saw black, and he almost passed out.

But he pushed through, and the room slowly became clear again. The sunlight caught golden highlights in Shane’s hair.

“Oh my God, Nick.” Shane sat up and gripped Nick’s shoulders. “I just had the most horrible nightmare of all times ever. Did you wake me up? There was a chainsaw... Shit, I need to stop watching horror movies. I think you were in my dream at some point…” Shane rubbed his eyes. “Nick? Are you crying? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” He really wasn’t. He just had something in his eye. Like dust or a twig or something.

Nick pulled Shane into a hug. He couldn’t help it.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again. You’re my best friend. You’re my brother. You know that, right? You’re all I’ve got,” Nick said, and he felt a little lighter after saying it. He felt like he could breathe again.

But Shane seemed confused. “That’s actually very touching but, um, what are you talking about?”

Nick pulled away. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“Remember what? I just had a freaky nightmare, don’t worry about me.” Shane swung his legs off the couch and jumped up. “Ugh, I feel all weird.” He rubbed his chest and made a face. “I think I’m gonna go take a shower. You should eat something, Nick, by the way. You look really pale.”

Shane padded across the room, turned in the hallway and locked himself in the bathroom.

Nick was lost here. He needed some kind of explanation, or he would go mad for sure. So Nick looked over his shoulder at Cyan.

But Cyan was gone.

Of course.