(More Rhy'din back story, Fall 2006)



He was waiting for her that night, perched on the banister of the balcony outside of her bedroom. Chain smoking and watching the silvered shadows of the night slide across the gardens she was so proud of.

There was a ghost of himself sliding over the shatter shard blackness of his eyes when he heard the trio of dogs scrambling through the house. By now only the ugly puppy she'd named Wiggles would be given pause by his unexpected presence. The other two were too used to the infrequent routine to worry.

Subtle changes down stairs would alert Thorn to his presence. The corner of a blanket folded wrong, a book on the counter, coffee in the pot. He'd rather not risk her being ready for a fight with an intruder, not tonight of all nights.

With a sigh born of frustrated anger Elias crushed the latest in a long line of cigarettes out in the ash tray he'd been cradling. In an effort to gather his thoughts (and perhaps his courage) he dragged his hands harsh through his hair, and held on. The slender fingers that could coax terrifyingly beautiful images into life across paper or canvas cradled his skull. The dark feathers inked across the span of his shoulders spun black pools against his flesh.

Pausing just outside of her bedroom, Thorn filled her eyes with him, visually drinking him in as if to commit each line to her memory. Of course, she was. She was also stalling, avoiding crossing the threshold into the room. Even from this distance she could feel the charge in the air.

Near tangible emotions that thickened the air to the consistency for syrup. Something was coming and she'd rather sell her soul than face it. Pride straightened her spine, strengthening the knees that threatened to buckle rather than carry her forward.
Without a word she slipped across the weightless barrier that left so much unsaid in the air. Slipping her arms around his waist she laid her cheek against his back, pressing against him while she fought within herself. Fought the hard battle to keep the shaking in her belly from spreading to her limbs. To keep him from knowing what this was costing her. Not trusting her voice just yet, she took a moment to run her tongue over her lips, and cleared her throat.

Only when she was sure that her voice wouldn't break did she speak.
"Hello Love."

She shouldn't have bothered. If Elias hadn't been so involved with his own internal war, he'd have seen through her smoke screen. As it was, only the fact that he'd heard her crossing the throw rug a couple of feet away kept him from jerking away in surprise. And likely falling off of the railing.

The moment she laid her cheek against his back he weakened, as he knew he would. There was a hesitance, a reluctance in the way he moved to cover her hands with his and bring them one by one to his lips, that spoke volumes. He only hoped he could keep her from translating for a little while longer.

"Hey babe." The smile in his voice was easy warm, even though the curve of his lips was nothing more than a shadow in the flesh.

"How've you been?" At the best of times Elias' ability to make small talk that didn't matter in the least was a well honed skill. Tonight he was just trying to postpone doing what he had to do. He wanted to lean against her, to take the comfort she offered so readily, so easily. Just for an hour, a minute. But he knew he couldn't.
Before the sun rose he wouldn't have the right to anymore.
It was for the best. For him, for her. For the both of them

Maybe if he kept thinking that way he'd be able to believe it.

"Busy. Workin' hard y' know?" There was the faint curve of her lips into a smile. "Lonely missin' you." This was, perhaps, one of the first times she'd been able to say that aloud. Fear of his reaction to the sentiment would normally have kept it silent. There was nothing normal about tonight. A fact that Thorn was all too aware of.

The kiss she skimmed along the shadowed curve of one tattooed wing was as light as a feather. Her heart lay like lead in her chest, while her stomach felt like a dying fish; pitching and shuddering in slow rolls.
Her fingers flexed in his grip, clinging for a split second before his kisses. Afterward they curled over his shoulders, thumbs tenderly stroking into circles. The movement was meant to soothe, though she'd be hard pressed to name which of them needed it more.

The tension in his frame brought the swift painful prick of tears to her eyes, the choking tightness in her throat that she had to swallow away to breathe.
Before dawn the tight leash she was keeping on her emotions would snap.

He had to do it soon, or he'd never be able to do it at all. She deserved more than that, better than that from him.

Briefly he traced the shape of her knuckles with his thumbs. He found himself recounting the nights behind them, nights that he'd never meant to spend, and turned to pull her against his chest. Without thinking his arms tightened around her until the tendons stood out in sharp relief under the skin. His breathing hitched in a manner that he would vehemently deny later, and he was tucking her head under his chin. Just holding on. Holding tight for just a little bit longer.

"Been better, Love." Bitterness rose up to swamp him then. Angry hurt skittered across the surface. Cold guilt lodged in his chest when he weighed his options.

He couldn't stay, the LAPD might be a joke half of the time, but they took murder very seriously. When one of the nations's (hell maybe the world's) richest, most powerful men was slaughtered, with malicious glee, they tended to get awfully picky about finding the person, or person's responsible.

Since Elias had made no effort to keep his hatred for J.T. a secret, he'd been put on the short list of suspects. When it was discovered that most of J.T.'s prized collections of Mirado paintings had been stolen directly after the murder, Elias had become the short list.
They were going to come for him, it was only a matter of time. And if they found him they'd be able to lock him away in some cage for the rest of his life. Which wouldn't be all that long.

Despite the fact that he was holding her tightly enough for it to hurt, she didn't complain. Thorn only burrowed in, absorbing everything like a sponge.

She knew he'd killed J.T, even agreed that it'd had to happen. The deceased had been evil, using someone else's pain for his own ends. Making them re-live it all over again for his amusement apparently. Thorn might not have known how he'd died, but she had a damned good clue.

He'd seemed shocked, even angry, that she hadn't turned away from him over the killing. Her heart was too flexible to close him out for doing what had to be done. Though, like Elias, Thorn regretted that there had been others touched by the death. A woman driven insane, her children battered and broken by the fall out of the act. Innocence shattered, to never be fully regained.

Elias had either forgotten, or maybe never actually known just how her family saw the world. As upset as the artist had been over her lack of condemnation before, how would he take her acceptance of what was coming? Would he dare doubt her feelings for him?
"I bet Lover."

He actually had to force himself to release the death grip he'd taken on her. To take a series of slow, deep breaths.

"We need to talk Thorn." The clouded glass coating he'd slicked over the knot of his emotions cracked, making his voice more rough than he intended. Than he wanted.

When she didn't draw away, merely sagged in his arms he drew back, running his hands along her arms. Peering, disconcerted, at the top of her head.
"You knew?"

She nodded, the action turning all too easily into a nuzzling of his chest.

"Yeah, I knew." Damning herself for the tears that she couldn't check, she plucked at the front of his shirt.

All he could do was stare at the top of her head, almost slack-jawed and blink.

"Makes sense. Y' can't just wait around an let 'em pick y' up. Y've said that they know it was you. A cage'll kill you, and not slowly either. Not easy, and not slow. Y' cant' stay Love. We're neither of us stupid enough to not know that this was coming." Thorn barreled on when he remained silent.

"Y' had me close up your place months ago, no tracks there. Haven't been t' the tavern, or anywhere y' usually go either. Y're already hidin', runnin's not s' far behind that Love. You know it, I know it" She wanted to be proud that she wasn't fighting tooth and nail against this. That she wasn't arguing his deciding what was best for her, right for them.

But she couldn't be.

Thorn fell silent, concentrating on her breathing to smooth out the hitches that threatened to break out into sobs. Biting her lower lip to still the trembling to the point of pain.

Again, her ability to see right through him took him by surprise. As much as it shamed him, her apparent calm acceptance of what he was doing--had done--spiked his anger. "How the hell can you be so calm about this? I'm a murderer." He laughed the crow's laugh, harsh and short. "I'm a stupid murderer, and I've got a neat target on my back. They'll come here. They'll come for me, and then when they find out about you, they'll come for you." He shoved the railing away, swinging away from her to pace the room, she stumbled and paled.

His voice was the soft rattle of leaves in wind. "I won't be coming back." A beat, as the fact sank in. He hated himself even more (odd, he hadn't thought that was possible) when she flinched away. "Ever." And he turned away from the warm amethyst of her eyes.

"Even if I do, it won't be the same between us. It can't be." The anger broke then, shattering to spin inward, a thousand razor blades cutting away.

"Godamnit, Thorn, I didn't want this." When she only nodded he growled and spun back to his restless pacing, gravel hissing beneath his heels. "And then there you were, watching... seeing too much of me." A muscle in his jaw tightened. "You took it all and you used it to open my eyes, even when I... I wanted them closed." He closed his eyes. "I fucking fell in love with you, and I warned you. Warned you that I'd hurt you. Or get you killed. Jesus, I almost killed you." He shook his head, as if the thought still rattled his mind. "And you go skipping through my goddamned head to bring me back out of it."

With an explosive oath he dragged his hands through his hair again before turning to clutch at her arms, knuckles whitening though he'd do his damnedest to leave no bruises on her skin. Once again she was pulled close the top of her head tucked nearly under his chin. "I love you babe, but I have to go. And its fuckin' killin' me." From angry stalking and harsh words to feather light touches and whisper soft murmurs.

Her arms were hard around him now, and she could do nothing to stop the trembling she'd been keeping tamped down.
"I know. I know baby." Urgent tumbling of words, it was vital that he know. That she tell him. "I didn't expect any of this. Figured we'd have some fun, get close y' know? Never thought I'd fall in you with you, or you'd fall in with me. never expected to feel this way about you. Not about anyone."

She laughed, a hollow mirthless sound full of self-mockery.

"You think this is easy for me? To be calm and not nut up? 'S the fuckin' hardest thing I've ever done. Think I want you to go? Sure as fuck don't. But you have to, and I get that. Fightin' it won't do a damned bit of good. Do more good t' spit int' the wind. Been expectin' this ever since y' told me 'bout J.T. Just wanted t' pretend it wouldn't happen. An' I can't do that any more Love."
With that she stretched up to press her lips to his, deepening the kiss into sweet torment before drawing him to the bed.

After, they lay tangled together, wrapped in heated sheets and silence, dreading the dawn.

When the eastern sky was turning to silvered pink Thorn lost her battle with exhaustion, knowing full well that when she woke he would be as far away from her as the stars.

When her breathing deepened, evening out into true sleep he slipped out of her bed. There were things he'd left unsaid, explanations she hadn't given him time to voice. Excuses she hadn't needed to hear. The air in his throat was clogged with them.

Elias watched her sleep for several precious minutes longer before rising to dress in silence. One more time he kissed her, the tender slide of silk over cream, the he was crossing to the daybed where the dogs were sprawled.

Kneeling down he caught the Akita's head between his hands and stared into the dog's golden eyes.

"You take care of her. She's going to need you." As an after thought he glanced at the other two dogs, "All of you."

He was sure that the dogs would keep Thorn safe, that taking care of them would keep her from sliding into depression. By the time Elias was walking across the lawn, he'd convinced himself, again, that this was right.

With the now familiar crows waiting shadows overhead, he slipped off into the darkness of the city, the occasional cawed comment keeping the morning silence from crushing him.

He wasn't entirely sure he should be thanking them

I remember this, remember waking in pain and fear. I remember that that was at the beginning of us.

Before Roan. Before my Patron and love, there was you, there was another.


Falling


Laying there, in a curved sprawl, a tangle of sheets and limbs, one of his legs and arms slung over her thighs and torso respectively, a contented little curl of plump lips at their corners colored with satiation. The lazy trace of tender finger tips along the pliant flesh of his arm slowing. Trailing off into stillness on the heels of an equally lazy nuzzling scrape of cheek to chest. The smile did not fade, even when sleep finally drug her down into its black embrace.

Drifting. The mind carried along on the currents of the subconscious, at the mercy of tug and release, eddies and pools. Rocks, sharp and cutting lie beneath the surface of calm stretches. Comforted and comforting that feeling of being one with many. A shared knowledge on a level deeper than that of those land bound lost ones below. That feeling of being accepted, of sharing the warmth of a fire on the most bitter cold of nights can never truly be replaced, or recaptured once its gone. From this, oneness, to nothing.

No light, no sound, no feeling, no sensation beyond that which was remembered. And that memory's dimming even now while mental fingers scrabbled wildly at the thin spun walls that rose up like gossamer strands of titanium overlapping like dragon's scale, trying to catch hold of it once more. Even for but a moment. Terror and confusion rearing up like twin serpents to lash the mind with burning brands that left numbingly cold welts in the wake of their passing.

That would have been preferable to the sensation that followed.

Rising like a red tide to fill flood this blank space, this empty canvas awaiting the touch of an artist, torment comes. Pain that wouldn't end. The clawing, rising sort of torment that refuses to break, denies the blessing of unconsciousness. Screams both human and not that rose in silence until the fire of their passage scraped at the inside of her throat like salt on a fresh wound. Agony redoubling, feeding back in upon itself, building (or being built) with Haydn's skill into an exultant chorus of mind breaking, soul shattering sensation that either leaves a person's body broken and bleeding on the cold ground, or addicted for life.

Only to shatter into a thousand points of light that scatter throughout the darkness like malevolent diamonds on black velvet. Their fire filled bellies promising with one hand extended, only to snatch away what they hide. Truth and memory whisked away to be replaced with there merest taste of tantalizing torment, or blessed oblivion. And though this knowledge rides high, there is still the surety that if one could only look behind them, to dive into the spaces between soul wrought jewels, the truth would wait.

Bright points of light, warm and near to what is half remembered to possibly fill the void left behind. Dizzying moments when sights from above impose themselves on sights from the ground, the bite of a needle into flesh to drive them away. Sweetly singing chemical euphoria masking, hiding, blurring the half glimpsed memories of what came before. Again, the truth offered in an open hand, stolen away with bitterness and mockery. Empty, the void come again to take hold, make roost deep within. A place never to be filled it seems, always so achingly, hollow.

Cries, self's and others' echoing across the surfaces of the chasm, rippling its very existence into doubt. People close, dying. Reaching out, only to have that bright moment slip through your fingers and die on cold concrete. The biting edge of that remembered torment coming again. Guilt, sorrow, hatred, fear and love, twisted as it is, coming in a silver tide to swamp a mind reeling with confusion and half remembered unity.

Loneliness worn as a shroud Tragedy a cloak. Those bright moments, so few and far between, taken out again to be viewed, over and over in repetition. Their bitterness ground down, worked fine, honed to a razor's edge until all but the most foolhardy, the most foolish, dare to tread this poisoned ground. This vast desert strewn with the corpses of friend and enemy, drug around like the sin of Iscariot through life and death.

There in that moment between wakefulness and sleep the feeling of being slammed back into your own mind and body comes like a sledge hammer against your breast. Gasping for the breath that felt as though it had been blasted from her lungs, and was searing to escape at the same moment in time. A whiplash of her spine jerking her up against the weight of the arm that had cradled her so sweetly during this nightmare's ride through the stretches of memory not her own. Trembling in reaction and fear, Thorn slipped out of that safe place beside Elias.

Cold, the floor was like ice, (or was her skin still aflame from remembered pain?) the quilt given as a gift taken up as cloak and shield. Their scents mingling so freely, so thickly that the beginning of one or the other could no longer be discerned among thick velvet, plush furs, or heavy denim. Bare but for this barrier, the interior ledge of one of the floor to ceiling windows taken up with a fetal curl, and a throat stifled whimper.

From here, wide eyed, she watched the dawn.


Thorn's laugh was a bare thing, carried along on the back of a breath puffed out through her nose and held little of amusement. the full, plump lips that most always carried the beginning curve of a smile were tipped to the right in something far less warm than usual.

Her memory of a night, so long ago, a night's sleep disturbed by her lover's beginnings, a riddle to be solved, put down on paper, rolled tightly and sealed in midnight blue wax impressed with a rose. The memory something she'd long held, long cherished as a gift, slipped into yet another crack in a nearly forgotten, half hidden pine tree in her woods.

The story there, shared finally with the crow that rode her shoulder, the dogs that followed in her wake, and eventually a friend or three. Now however, it was time to put it aside, to let it go.

Soon she knew, she'd have to clear out the storage locker she'd held for more than a decade.

She was laughing again when she darted off toward home, the dogs and crow tagging along joyfully.

Time healed, and forgave, much.

Going through the storage units hadn't been the dig and twist it used to be. There wasn't even a sting in her eyes, or a tightening at the back of her hroat to mark the end of what-had-been.

The furniture had been donated to a nearby women's shelter, as had the linens and bits and pieces of things that made up a home. She'd sorted through the boxes and bags of his clothes finally. Those he'd worn while working, she'd tossed without a qualm. Suits, blazers, slacks, dress shoes and ties put off to one side for a center that helped former addicts find employment, that helped them help themselves to a life away from whatever they'd used to hide from living. The jeans, shirts, tennis shoes, the casual everyday she packed up again to drop off at another men's shelter later.

Humming under her breath she thumbed through the blank and half-used canvasses she'd stored with all the rest of Elias' life. Sorting, filing, thinking, considering. Those half-used, half-finished, and finished, she'd have to dispose of. Distribute them across the worlds where human art was still appreciated. There was no statue of limitations on murder, and she hadn't kept up on whether or not the LAPD, and probably a few other law enforcement agencies were still looking for the artist turned murderer (however justifiable it'd actually been). If "new" Mirado art suddenly flooded the market of that Earth, there'd be issues.


And where ever he was, if he was still alive, she'd rather not be the cause of that.


Most of the paints had long ago dried up and become unusable, but the brushes and knives might be salvageable. The whole lot she kept back. His books too, the studies and references. If it looked like it might possibly be useful to someone, she boxed it up to be delivered later.

When at last the units were empty for the first time in well over a decade she brushed errant strands of hair away from her face with the back of a dust smeared wrist and surveyed the scene. Not even cobwebs were left behind and the corrugated metal walls cast forlorn echoes back at her when she moved. The crow's feather's rustled and whispered as she fluffed herself up.

Throughout the day she'd watched, head cocked and curious as the woman cleaned out these metal doored slots. She'd listened to soft laughter and muttered curses, and general ramblings. Boredly she'd preened and groomed and gone off to explore the rows of buildings. But when she came back, every time she came back, the woman was still hard at work.

Thorn chugged water from the last of the bottles she'd brought with her between calls to the charities she'd already chosen, amusedly watching the crow's fidgeting. Rolled her eyes at the bird's exasperated murmurs. With the final call done, and a quick text fired off, she watched as the bird's attention snapped to a flash of light on the ground. Some shiny something that caught the eye.

Almost lazily she left her perch to drop down and see what the shiny thing was. Toyed with it a bit with her bill before arranging it just so so she could show it to the woman who eventually walked over to see as well.

When the single gold rose stud dropped into her hand her breath caught soft in her throat. The memory washed over her of a night filled with flowers and soft light, and a pair of earrings in their little velvet box. The other, she'd lost long ago in one bar fight or another. Surprising that this one had been here all the while. As though waiting for the light again.

At the crow's quiet, questioning rattle, Thorn reached over to delicately scritch past her feathers. 'Keep it if you like, it's a nice shiny for your nest. Or I can make a band for your leg if you'd rather. Or take it to Jack if you like. Or give it to another friend. It's yours. A gift from me, as it had been gift to me."

Cawing laughter and thanks the crow took wing, circled once, twice, three times before flying off to the east.

Behind her, Thorn made her way out of the maze of storage buildings, and after leaving instructions and descriptions at the main office, never looked back.

http://www.jewelryvortex.com/images/product/earrings/E4122-00YGA.jpg

He'd hated magic, had a severe, almost phobic aversion to it. Out of a respect for that, she'd kept as much magic as possible away from the shrine she'd built, for as long as possible.

Now, the redneck settled with her back against the base of the long dead tree to run her fingers through the fur of her dogs and over the feathers of the crow. With contentment she let her gaze roam the land around them. Take in the world of greens and browns and greys, the blues and whites, and the bare beginnings of Spring's bright cloak.

On the back of a sighed out breath she spoke, "it's almost done. Everything you left for me to deal with, I finally went through and handed off. The apartment's up for sale, and should be gone soon enough. The money from it, I'm going to split into three after paying taxes and yaddita. Pump that into an art program for recovering addicts, a men's home, and a program that helps men find jobs and housing after gettin' their shit straight.
"The stuff, it all went to these places already, so the money'll be an added bonus kinda thing." She shook her head, chuckling mirthlessly.

"It's fucked but I don't want to put anything from this into Dream Chasing. It just, doesn't feel right, at all. I'm no angel, I'm not even really good, but Chasing is mine, I built it mostly on my own, and you had nothing to do with that. You weren't here for it, weren't a part of it. I don't want what was yours going into it.
"We were separate people when we met, stayed separate people while we were together, and then we were separate people without each other. I think this is the right, and best way." A shrug lifted a shoulder barely covered in breath thin cotton.

In the end, it didn't matter one way or the other, right or best or fair. She didn't want anything garnered from this clean out, and wouldn't keep it.

"I know I said I understood, and I did. I still do. But, that doesn't keep me from being angry. Then and now, I'm angry."

The belled rings jingle-jangle-chimed when she shooed the dogs and crow off. Bade them move back so she could rise. Hands dusted off her denim hugged ass with brisk movements and quick swipes. Palms crossed to remove lingering bits and pieces.

"And being angry, even still, that's damn well okay." With a flick of her wrist she sent a globe of fire to the carefully piled kindling she'd tucked into one of the hollows at the base of the tree. A circling movement as though incising a horizontal ring, sent the bloom of flame up and around. Crawling up flaking bark like red-orange ivy.

"I've gotten a lot better at lettin' go and movin' on since you left."

Turning on a heel she walked away.

Without a backward glance, Thorn let the memorial burn to char and ash behind her.