Mortal Wounds

Chapter Eleven

Invidian's POV

As the graceful son of a demon I am, I fall through Virgil's mirror and face plant onto the floor. It takes half an hour to wash up and hide my bloodied clothes under the bed. I make a note to destroy them in the fireplace when I'm alone. I find Dwaine standing in the hallway, addressing Morgana with a hushed voice.

"I don't understand. Why did this happen to her? She is a good person. Why would God punish her?" the distraught Morgana murmurs.

"Have faith, she will be ok."

"Father—but her hand!" Morgana exclaims, sucking in a sharp breath.

Dwaine's eyes widen at her outburst before he notices me. Then his eyes snap fire.

"Morgana, please wait outside." It's more of an instruction.

Morgana casts me a sympathetic before scurrying outside.

"Virgil! Where have you been?!" he booms.

He grabs my shoulders and examines me with the gaze of a panicking parent.

"Why do you look so pale? Dear Lord, you almost gave me a heart attack!" he shouts, his voice going up quite a few octaves, "Beau claimed you and that scoundrel, Davian, all hung out together. Was Davian threatening you to hang out with him? Did he hurt you?"

Please, someone with hair that fluffy cannot hurt me.

"I was too busy in church praying away the sins from downing booze, getting high with methamphetamines, fighting inner demons, attending orgies and praying the gay away. Don't think the last part worked though. Do you think God is too busy to listen to me?"

"Shut your foul mouth before I wash it out with soap!" he roars, making me thankful I gotten over my hangover, "Tell me what happened!"

Telling me to shut it and tell him what happened seems counterproductive, but I don't think he'd appreciate it if I pointed that out.

"No, we were playing arcade games then slept over at his friend's house. I overslept then hung out for a bit. I didn't realise how late it was."

He glowers at me as if he cannot even comprehend how livid he is right now.

"Have you any idea what has transpired since you've been gone?!" he demands.

"Um, no, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

"I told you, you're not allowed to leave this town! Anything could have happened to you out there! You could have gotten kidnapped! You could have been attacked! You could have been killed and I would have been none the wiser!"

"What are you? My keeper?" I drawl, unable to take this seriously.

Dwaine bunches his fists and somehow, his glare intensifies.

"I'm your father! You live under this roof, I put clothes on your back and I'm the one looking after you! Do not dare to do anything like this again, do you hear me?!"

I blink a few times realising that he's serious.

"Aren't I an adult? Don't I have the right to make my own choices?"

I would understand more if Virgil was a teenager or a child. Does Virgil have any independence here?

"Not if you're running around making the horrible choices!"

Well, I guess fighting a reaper then getting drunk wasn't the brightest idea, but—Yeah, I have nothing. There's no doubt I make horrible choices.

"So, to be clear, anything other than what you approve of is a horrible choice," I confirm.

He glares, completely fed up with this conversation.

"We have a town meeting in five minutes. Grab your coat, we're leaving," he orders, and I'm surprised I'm not stung by the amount of venom in his voice.

A few minutes later we're walking towards the church with Dwaine power walking ahead of us as if he's running on fumes. Morgana walks alongside me, her eyes glued to the floor.

"So, you going to fill me in on what's happening?" I ask her.

She shakes her head as if she doesn't want to talk about it. In silence, we make it to the church that looks far bigger than it did at night. The exterior is made up of cobblestone, the body of the building making up a large, angular C shape. People stand in its massive courtyard, murmuring nervously to each other with clouds of doom, gloom and fear pissing on their heads. I arch a brow at the security guards surrounding the premises.

They're middle-aged, pale men, wearing sunglasses and back suits. I swear there weren't any guards in this town before. Hell, I didn't even think that this town had any sort of defence. Dwaine gestures to everyone to get inside the building. Now looking cleaned up in a suit and not looking like the hot mess from the other night, Beau spots me. His eyes narrow before he strides up to me. I don't fail to notice the large circle he walks to avoid Dwaine.

"I'm never going out with you again. Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm going to get in?" he hisses in my ear.

"Well, I mean, I can't be too upset about you. You're not the one who lost a hand."

He bristles at that, eying Morgana who seems annoyed by Beau. She narrows her eyes at him and walks off. I wonder how many people hate the guy.

"I don't think Davian had anything to do with it," he murmurs.

I look at him with surprise. I thought he'd be the first to accuse Davian of being a deranged madman with an amputee fetish. He scowls at my odd look.

"Be quiet. I was with him too. There was no way he had enough time to go to town, cut her hand off then come back to us. Who would do that?" he argues, folding his arms while staring hard at the ground, "Besides, I don't think he's capable of something like that. He's absolutely squeamish about blood. The last time I remember he touched it, he had a full-blown seizure that scared the big Jesus out of me."

"What happened?"

He gives me an odd look.

"You were there."

"Jog my memory."

He rolls his eyes but continues.

"A year after he moved to town and I was friends with him I had a nosebleed. He decided to help me, so he held a tissue to my nose. He started freaking out about the blood and then collapsed to the floor, contorting like a retarded pelican. He then started muttering things about how I was going to die soon by having a tree crush me during a storm. The scary part is it almost happened." He shudders. "He might be strange, but I think him hurting Lavender is not something he'd do."

"Right, let's tell whoever is in charge of this investigation to go to the bar and confirm we were there by looking at the security footage."

His hands ball to the point his knuckles are going white.

"I can't."

I frown, opening my mouth to ask why when Dwaine shouts at us to hurry up. Immediately, Beau begins to walk inside. I sigh and follow him.

Inside of the church isn't so bad, aside from the mild discomfort of feeling like I'm burning a little for stepping foot in a holy place. It's like having eczema that won't quit. At least the church isn't utterly boring to look at. The majority of the place is white; white marble floors, white pews with a white altar and a white podium with an inbuilt speaker.

It could do more with more paintings of the gruesome stories in the Bible. The war of angels, with the fallen angels who lost, Goliath being killed by a pebble, hundreds of humans drowning, the dude who stabbed Jesus having his innards being ripped out by a lion, only for it to heal again before the lion would come back and do it again. Instead, they have pictures of loving Jesus and Mary and all that mushy crap. Ew.

Eh, well, I'll give this place a 6/10 for trying.

We take a seat in the back pews. I realise this town is quite small with about two hundred or so people. A priest stands at the podiums, beginning this event with mass. I refrain from yawning as the town goes through prayers in the church. I sit in the rigid benches, copying everyone's movements when necessary. This isn't what I want to hear. I want to know who ripped Lavender's hand off out of morbid curiosity.

The idea of going to Church seems like an arbitrary chore to me. They spout some information about how sin is bad, evil is bad, yet they don't exactly explain what 'sin' or 'bad' or 'evil' is. It all remains rather subjective, making it even more difficult for me to understand these practices.

"I–I don't want anyone to know I was in a club," Beau whispers when we go to kneel on the floor, and hell, it hurts my knees.

I'm going to have bruised knees after this and if Vanitas sees them he's going to start calling me a w***e. I glance at Beau, noticing how tightly he bawls his fists and stares at the ground. I can feel the guilt of his silence radiating off him.

"Davian life being ruined means more than a stain on your reputation," I whisper back, sitting back in the pew when everyone else does.

He frowns, considering that.

"I am going to hand the podium to Cassiel Evanderous," the priest announces, "He will address the events which transpired yesterday."

"I didn't know my brother was back in town," Beau whispers, turning his head.

I follow suit, stiffening at the sight. My chest tightens when I catch the sight of the man behind why I have no idea how I died. The backstabbing prick who approaches the podium is the man who bribed those people to push his narrative of what happened to Henley and me. He looks how he did in the CEO's memories. There is not a blond strand out of place, gelled back from his face, silver eyes sweeping over the church with a composed smile on his lips. He stands at the podium, his back straight with utmost confidence I want to cut down.

"It has been such a long time since I have been here. I am saddened that we are united by such horrible circumstances," he begins with a grim expression, "I am here to address recent events. For Lavender's privacy, I will not talk about what happened to her. I will only say that she was found injured in a classroom in GoldVine College."

The crowd breaks into frantic whispers. There is no body language suggesting he feels for this situation. If anything, he doesn't look like he gives much of a s**t.

"Thankfully," he calls out, making everyone hush, "She is in stable condition and is expected to recover soon. Davian Pierce admitted to the crime committed against the poor girl through a few texts. We urge you all to contact an authority figure if you see him."

Beau looks sick to his stomach. This is new. The host really has it out for Davian. Does he have Davian's phone? Or is it a copycat phone? It's not going to be to clear his name.

"Protecting this town is paramount, which is why I hired security personnel. I know we are all grateful for night watchers for so adamantly looking after this town, but I'm going to have to politely ask you to step down. Davian is clearly a bigger threat than we thought, and we will do our best to bring him to justice." So, the verdict is guilty before proven guilty. "The chief of Gomorrah's police will be coming by tomorrow to start an investigation into the case. I promise everyone is going to be safe. Meanwhile, I ask that all her peers treat her with love and tolerance to help her through such troubling times. On a lighter note—"

The church door opens. A woman with hair the silver glimpse of moonlight and a matching dress walks in. A cute blush lights up on her cheeks as she walks onto the stage. Whispers fill the church as they eye the ring on her finger. Oh, god no.

"This is Ethelia. I have asked this beautiful woman to be my wife." He kisses her hand. "I plan to hold a wedding before next week. I know this is sudden, but I hoped to cheer everyone up—"

The church erupts with cheering and clapping which blare in my ears, almost to the point I can't handle it. I force myself to keep a straight face while my blood boils. Cassiel smiles and hugs her shoulders. This is the face of someone who got away with twisting evidence and got away with it. Yet, he is praised like some celebrity.

"Still having a hangover. Where are the bathrooms again?" I ask Beau.

He gives me an odd look before pointing at the back of the room. I get up and lock myself in the single bathroom, even though every fibre of my soul begs me to tear Cassiel to pieces. I clench my teeth, trying to swallow down the rage poisoning my blood. Not only Cassiel got away with demonizing Henley, but he's having the time of his life.

He has a beautiful fiancé, he lives in a mansion, people adore his stellar reputation, not seeing him for the douche canoe he truly is and is adored by his brother. To be fair though, Beau was probably dropped on his head as a baby. Cassiel has all the money and influence that he could wish for. It's everything that he doesn't deserve.

"Henley's father killed himself after her death. He couldn't handle the fact he raised a pyromaniacal murderer. I remember the first news story that came out about her death. It turned into a PSA about how kids should stay away from drugs, alcohol and something about nihilism. I could show you if you like."

I snap my eyes to the mirror when I see the Host's reflection as he stands behind me, amber eyes glowing with amusement.

"Was he the one who murdered Henley and me?"

The Host tsks as if disappointed by my question.

"It is possible, but it is up to you to figure out for yourself."

"f*****g tell me," I snap, whirling around. With a smile, he steps back to give me space. "I'm done with these games. Tell me or I swear to God I will—"

"What? Slay me where I stand? My dear, boy, I'm the only one who is really assisting you. Without me, you would still be a pitiful mess in Purgatory."

I clench my teeth so hard I swear they could shatter. It pisses me off, but he is right. I turn back to the sink and run the water, splashing it onto my face. It does nothing to soothe the growing violence in my heart. The stranger is right. It has been two years since Henley's death, and she has not received justice in any sense of the word. I feel the ghost of her at my back, an apparition I only can see, her lips by my ears and head resting on my chest. Ouroboros ring in her hand, a blinding shine in my eyes cast by the chandelier. I get a flashback which f***s with my head. In it, she's drawing a snake up my arm as we listen to 80s rock music. We played 'never have I ever' with fireball whiskey until the sun came up.

"Never have I ever murdered for love," she said, and I remember how dumb I felt the question was, but now, I'm not sure what to do. I suck in a sharp breath, wishing I could sell my soul to remember all the memories we shared.

The phantom asks, "Are you going to let them get away with what they did?"

I twitch as the clapping grows. I envision Jesus on the cross, bleeding, blood hanging off the prayer beads around the priest's neck, a raven with three eyes, and the empty space on my finger where a ring belongs.

"He's right there," I breathe out to myself, clutching my head as a headache grows, "Right in my clutches, sharing life with the love of his life as though he did not clap when my life fell apart."

"Imagine all the agony your family went through losing another child, without a corpse to bury, without knowing what transpired. There's more than yourself to avenge," the Host murmurs in my ear.

So much buzzes in my head. I pull out the knife I have concealed in my pocket and run a thumb up its inscription, feeling a growing ember of violence in my soul. I believed Vanitas when he said our family has an affinity for vengeance. Family members have fallen into the sweet lapse of vengeance and drowned. The anger which fuels vengeance is toxic, addictive and in the end, they needed more to feel alive. It was one of the reasons why I avoided caring for people, but It's too late. Without any discernible reason, I fell, and I see the blood dripping upon the path I wish to walk now. Something dark grows within my chest, within my heart, within my eyes, and it reminds me of one of those old Greek tragedies. If I give into this affinity, I will lose all sight of who I was, but what does that matter to a demon with nothing left to lose?

"If he was the one who murdered you, he thought it was OK to steal your breath, to snuff out your flame. Eye for an eye, young Invidian," with those words of wisdom, he vanishes, leaving me alone thoughts I barely grip.

An eye for an eye, and the demon that I am couldn't care less if the world becomes blind. The best vengeance comes unexpected, pulling the rug underneath his feet when he's the happiest. It's a grand idea for him to have a wedding before my time runs out. No one will be smiling at the end of it if I have something to do with it.