Born To Die

Feet don't fail me now
Take me to the finish line
Oh my heart it breaks every step that I take...

"Ashes, ashes, they all fall down," Kate sang, following Clara into the house, "she'll be driving six white horses when she comes, she'll be driving six white horses when she comes..."

"Eve!" Clara yelled, throwing herself through the living room doorway. "Eve!" But there was nobody there, only broken furniture and torn curtains fluttering in the faint breeze. As Clara made to leave, her foot hit something. Glancing down, she saw Eve's gun lying on the floor. Hearing Kate singing, the sound drawing closer and closer, she hastily snatched up the gun, before making for the doorway opposite, only to find herself in the upstairs hall, having completely bypassed the stairs.

But when she blinked, she was back downstairs, standing in the kitchen doorway, just out of sight, watching Kate drag a body up the stairs, singing in a low voice, what are little girls made of, sugar and spice, and all things nice...The world seemed to tip sideways as Clara caught sight of the black brogues disappearing out of sight, matching the ones on her feet.

Clamping her hand over her mouth, Clara backed away into the kitchen, fighting the thought the fight was over, that she was already dead, trapped in purgatory. When she turned around, it was only to find herself in the back bedroom again, the walls filled with pictures, people alive inside their frames, trying to tell Clara something she couldn't hear.

"So now you know," Kate said, stepping out of the shadows.

"Know what?" Clara said, raising her gun.

"My family, they killed a lot of people," Kate said quietly. "Some for the money, mostly for the fun. But then you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Gwen?"

Clara just stared at her, Kate's words making sense and nonsense.

"But people caught on," Kate said, circling Clara, "and we got real desperate. But then like magic, we found a house in the middle of nowhere. My family never knew how special it was. Not one of them heard this house whispering. But I did."

Clara turned wildly on the spot, trying to keep Kate in range of the gun.

"Do you need help, Katie?" Kate asked herself. "Why yes, magic house, I surely do," she replied, glancing up at the ceiling. "Wishes." Her voice echoed oddly in the gloom, her words dying even as they lived. "Hey, are y'all listening up there!" she yelled into the darkness. "This is a magic house and it's mine. It only talks to me."

"It was trying to warn me," Clara breathed, remembering the flashback she witnessed. "The House of Refuge," she said suddenly, recalling what Jenkins had said. "This is the House of Refuge," she repeated, whirling on Kate.

Kate just looked blankly at her.

"You were offering us refuge," Clara said to the walls, "in the dolls house. It was shelter. The samosas, the beer, the video games. You made the knife miss; the incident with the gramophone, you saved me then - you've been trying to save us ever since we first set foot in this house," she said, realising the truth too late. A picture appeared on the wall, the picture Clara had seen earlier, the one with the faces ripped out, only to see it was whole, Kate standing with her family, dressed in an old fashioned pinafore.

"I know this house hates me," Kate said dully as the gramophone started to play again, the crackling strains of music nearly drowning out her voice. "You think it doesn't try this every time? It tries to warn people, people like you. But I made a wish and it has to give me what I asked for. Every time, until I'm done, and I'll never be done."

Clara's answer was to shoot the gramophone silent, making Kate pull out the knife from before. "Who's the shadow man?" Clara yelled up at the ceiling. "Who is he?" But before the house could answer her, Kate suddenly lunged at her, the knife raised above her head. Reacting on instinct, Clara pulled the trigger, reeling back as Kate's blood exploded across the front of her duffle coat. As Kate collapsed to the ground, Clara fled for the door, feeling like she was going to throw up, only for the shadow man to materialize in front of her, blocking her path.

"You're so stupid," Kate hissed, staggering to her feet, Clara whirling round, caught between them. "Don't you know what I wished for? Don't you know what this house has made me?"

"You're the dark heart," Clara said, finally understanding the last part of the puzzle.

"I'm death," Kate whispered, raising her knife.

With shaking hands, Clara raised the gun again, aiming it at Kate's head, only for the weapon to fade from her fingers.

"Your bullets are worthless," Kate snapped, circling her once more, "but your blood isn't. Blue blood, the best there is. I want to taste it on my tongue." She suddenly lunged at Clara again, the knife flashing in the faint light as it slashed Clara's arm, making her scream, Kate cackling, enjoying her agony.

"Help me!" Clara shouted up at the ceiling, clutching her bleeding arm as she spoke. "Help me save them!"

"It can't hear you," Kate smirked. "It doesn't want to. It only listens to me."

For a long moment, Clara just stood there, almost like she was listening to the silence. Then she smiled brokenly, tears shimmering in her eyes. "You think you're death," she said, her voice cracking, "but I was seventeen when they killed me. My death is right here," she said, thumping her chest, "I see her face every time I look in the mirror" - She whirled around at the sound of footsteps, only to find herself facing herself, the other Clara clutching the hatchet from before. "It was me all along," Clara whispered, then turning to Kate, "not you."

"But you're not you," the other Clara said, making Clara whirl around again, "you're caught between Clara and Guinevere."

"Then who are you?" Clara demanded, backing away from her.

"Your third self," Clara said, tilting her head to the side, "your dark heart."

"I'm Clara," Clara spat.

"Jenkins tried to crush me out of existence," the other Clara said, swinging the hatchet to and fro, "but all I did was hide here, waiting for you to come home."

Clara closed her eyes, trying to make sense of her existence. There was Clara, Guinevere and all that lay inbetween, the best of dark and bright. She remembered what she'd forgotten; only wanting to forget again. Everybody only saw what they wanted to see, Eve and the others their Clara; Flynn his Hartley, Dulaque his lost Guinevere. But Jenkins had seen all sides to her, their last conversations during the chaos of the STEM science fair shifting between her three selves, Jenkins strangely seeming to know which one she was. But she was only what they made her, what they chose. "We choose," Clara whispered, opening her eyes, "but I choose." The hatchet appeared in her hand, dripping with blood, a destiny already decided.

"No," the other Clara and Kate said simultaneously.

"You killed me," Clara said, advancing on them, "it's my blood on your hatchet, my body you dragged up the stairs, but it was me all along."

"I'm the angel of death!" Kate screamed.

"You're not the angel of death," Clara whispered, "I know what death looks like, and she doesn't look like you, she looks like me!" She slashed the hatchet across the other Clara's heart, making her stagger back, her existence crumbling into ash. As Kate lunged at Clara, Clara threw herself out of the way before turning and plunging the hatchet into Kate's chest.

Kate froze, her eyes growing wide with shock. "You killed me," she said in disbelief, her body beginning to turn to dust.

"We were already dead," Clara said brokenly, before surrendering to the darkness, allowing it to drag her under.