Sinister

Chapter Nineteen

It was easier for Leighton to be with Tate under their new conditions. Tate did his job to keep his brother safe and Leighton stayed clear of the entire process. He didn't mention it to her and she never asked about it to him.

Tate was in Killian's kitchen, an apron slung low around his hips and a frying pan warming on the stove. Leighton was seated at the counter, legs kicking circles in the air and elbows planted on the tabletop.

"What's for dinner?" Leighton asked.

Tate smiled and lifted a carton of eggs and a bag of blueberry bagels. "I did some research and figured this was a basic enough meal. Simple. Elegant. And it comes highly recommended. Apparently, many people like fried eggs."

"With blueberry bagels?" Leighton inquired. She was trying to keep a straight face but failing. He was close this time though.

Tate frowned, twisting the bag of bagels so the label face him. "I'm going to assume that I've clashed the major taste buds again."

Leighton pressed her hand to her mouth to avoid smiling. "Plain bread would have done just fine."

Tate blushed. "I wanted it to be special," he admitted to her, "I thought this would be a little different."

"Different is the right word," Leighton said, caving into a round of laughter. Tate rolled his eyes and turned his back to her, placing a hand over the frying pan as he waited for it to warm. Leighton moved around the island and came to his side, one hand resting on the small of his back. He turned and leaned into her, pressing his lips firmly to hers before snaking his hand into her hair.

She sighed and touched her chest to his, accepting the cool touch of his skin and the hard muscles of his chest. He smiled against her lips, laughed for a moment, and then kissed her again. Leighton's heart lifted at the sound of his laughter. It was almost too easy to get lost in everything he did.

"Butter usually helps," she offered, pulling away and pressing her lips into a line to hide her eager smile. "Eggs can get stuck to the pan and break."
Tate picked up an egg and scowled in confusion. "I don't understand," he said, "how would this get stuck? Does it melt?"

Leighton looked up at him, dumbfounded. "You've been on this planet for how long?"

"It's been a long time since I was with―" Tate broke off suddenly and removed his gaze. Leighton took a step to the side and let her hand drop, picking up an egg and cracking it onto the hot surface of the frying pan. It sizzled.

"Since you were with the last girl," Leighton finished.

Tate bit his lower lip. "I don't really even remember it," he amended, "Killian was telling me."

Leighton was almost afraid to ask her next question. "What happened to the last... to the last woman you were with?"

Tate shrugged. "I don't remember. I assume she died after some time, I mean it must have been at least a century ago." He frowned then for a moment and then shrugged. "Yeah, she must have died."

Leighton felt a cold, dejected feeling echo in her chest. She must have died. Is that what Tate would say about her in another hundred years? To the next girl he couldn't help himself from being with when she asked.

"You'll have to toast a bagel," Leighton murmured, her heart suddenly out of the entire experience. Tate sighed and began to become frustrated as the bagel wouldn't fit into the toaster. Watching him attempt to jam an entire bagel into a single slot toaster was enough to draw Leighton from her troubled thoughts. She grabbed a knife and cut the bagel in half, putting each half into a slot.

Tate kissed the side of her head. "Thanks, Leigh."

"I'm pretty much cooking for myself here, I thought you did research."

Tate rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling the hair there. "Your experience trumps my research."

"Do you ever wish you could eat?" Leighton asked.

Tate seemed amused by the question. "Not at all, it seems awfully tiresome. I mean, to have to eat every few hours. And to go to all the trouble you do preparing the food? I don't think that interests me."

"Don't you get hungry when you smell it?"

A smile twitched on his lips. "Hungry? No. I appreciate the smell though, but only in the way you would appreciate perfume. My body doesn't crave food."

"Flip the egg," Leighton instructed offhandedly. "Well what about sleeping? Would you want to sleep?"

"Maybe," Tate said, his tone was distracted as he focused his attention the egg flipping. Yoke oozed onto the pan as soon as he touched it. He turned and beamed at Leighton.

"Good job," she lied. "What do you mean by maybe? You either do or you don't?"

Tate shrugged. "To sleep for eight hours a night seems a bit extensive. I'd lose a lot of valuable time. I wouldn't mind a few hours, just to experience dreaming."

"What about nightmares?" Leighton prodded.

"What about them?" Tate fired back, "I've never had one so I don't fear them." The bagel popped and Tate grabbed it, tossing it onto a plate and sucking on his fingers where they were slightly burnt.

"What about injuries? What about bleeding? How do you die?"

Tate's eyes widened, "You're full of questions." If she were to be honest with herself, Leighton wasn't sure why she had never asked these questions beforehand.

"Well?"

Tate focused for a moment on preparing Leighton's meal, taking careful movements when putting the egg on the plate and being particular with the placement of the bagel. When he was satisfied he went into the cupboard and got maple syrup before handing her the plate.

"Syrup?" Leighton questioned.

He only waved a hand at her. "To answer your questions. I can be injured, I can bleed, I don't know how I will die or if I ever will. As far as I can tell, I do heal quicker than the average mortal but it isn't instantaneous. I'm pretty sure this is so we're not easily spotted as supernatural. If I were to cut myself by accident and someone saw me, don't you think they'd be upset if the cut healed in a millisecond?"

Leighton reached for his arm and turned it over, admiring the silvery marks along his forearm. Her eyes travelled to the spot at the crook of his elbow where her mark had sat. She ran her hand down the length of his arm, unafraid now that her mark had vanished.

"Won't you run out of room?"

Tate shrugged, "Maybe one day. The marks are tiny and the longer they stick around the more they fade. Check this out though." Tate lifted his shirt to expose his ribs, and pointed to a cluster of marks on his right side. It looked as though they had been stacked on top of one another, the older marks a faded backdrop for the newer ones. "Generations stick together," he said, "families find one another again."

Leighton let her fingers glide along the family's marks, noticing the similarities between them. To know that an entire family had been connected at their death was both terrifying and comforting to Leighton.

"It's beautiful," she told him.

Tate smirked. "It's kind of strange that you find this beautiful, Leighton."

Leighton shrugged. "Life is death and life is all we really have." Tate was silent for a long moment, watching Leighton with a perplexity and admiration. Leighton took the opportunity to study him closer, to memorize the curve of his lashes and the angle of his jaw.

"You have a delicious plate of eggs and blueberry bagels too," Tate said, nudging her plate towards her. Leighton grimaced and grabbed a fork, scooping some of the egg white onto the end and flashing a quick thumbs up.

Tate's smile vanished quickly. "I have to go," he announced, grabbing his jacket. He leaned down and kissed her swiftly, pulling away before the kiss could be anything more than superficial."I'll see you later."

"You're going?" Leighton asked with a pout. "I thought we'd spend the day."

Tate hesitated in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the frame and pressing his fist to the wood. "I know and I'm sorry, I've felt a pull and have to follow it. Maybe we can see a movie or something?"

Leighton smothered her disappointment. "A movie would be good."

Tate smiled at her, tapping his fingers once against the door frame before making a quick exit. With a sigh, Leighton threw her food away and rinsed the dishes, wondering if Tate had bought plates and forks just for her.

She made her way to her car and sat in the front seat for a while. She didn't work that day and her mother was at the hospital. Without Tate, Leighton was alone. She drummed her fingers along the steering wheel before leaning forward and resting her chin there.

Clouds were starting to settle in, rolling towards St. Hope carrying only the promise of rain. A moment later the car was started and Leighton was driving, heading towards the top of the town on the outskirts of the forest to the North.

Leighton had only been in the cemetery a handful of times. Once for her grandfather's funeral, another time to visit his grave, at Braden's funeral and then finally, at McGuinty's burial. Leighton couldn't explain why she was there now, but she was already parking the car and heading towards the iron gates.

The cemetery was small and surrounded by dark forest on three of the four sides. The grass was surprisingly green and thick, thriving with life where there was only death. The tombstones ranged from historic, fading stones to modern, marble statues.

McGuinty was buried near the front of the cemetery, his headstone white and gleaming. Someone had stuck an American Flag in front of his grave but without any wind, it hung limp. Fresh flowers were laid against the stone and Leighton regretted not bringing any of her own to leave with him.

Then again, she thought, why leave flowers for someone who would never see them? Wherever McGuinty's soul was, it wasn't underneath her feet. That she knew for sure.

Leighton kept walking, passing by several crumbling headstones dating back to the earliest years of the town. The closer Leighton got to the forest the longer the shadows became. Crows squawked, circling above head as Leighton found her way to Braden's grave.

His tombstone was modest, his parents middle class and unprepared for his untimely death. There were no fresh flowers here, there was no American Flag or teddy bear or memorabilia of any kind. No one had bothered to remember the kid who raped and sinned and killed himself.

Leighton sat down on the grass, the dew wetting the back of her legs and bottom. She reached forward slowly, long hair falling over her shoulder and grazing her knees as she traced his name with her fingers.

It was always hard for her to imagine Braden killing himself. He had always been in control of every situation, and for a long time his suicide did not make sense. How did someone so confident and assertive lose so much of themselves that they decided to throw the rest away too?

But sitting there, Leighton was able to gain some clarity. His suicide had been his last act of complete control over everyone in his life. He would decide when and how he died. He would decide when to inflict pain and how much everyone deserved. He controlled the way he'd be found and the way it would reflect on everyone he touched.

"You win," Leighton whispered. The wind tousled her hair, throwing it up in a swirl around her. She tucked it behind her ears as angry tears pooled in her eyes and her throat started to burn. "You win you stupid―"

"Leighton!"

Leighton spun around, breath catching in her chest as she saw Killian a few feet behind her. His face was all shadows and bruises. He was swollen in some places and cut in others. It was obvious from the shape of his face alone that he had been beaten beyond the point of brutality.

"Killian?" Leighton called, "What are you doing here?"

Killian stumbled forward, close enough for Leighton to see that his eyes were completely bloodshot and his hair was an unruly mess. The wind whipped Leighton's hair into her eyes and she struggled to pull it back, feeling a chill run through her.

Killian reached out for her, clasping his hands around her shoulders and dragging her too him. Rattled, Leighton wrenched herself away. Old habits flared as Leighton fought to free herself completely from his touch and remove herself from the situation. She backpedaled, looking around for help she wasn't sure if she needed.

"You have to get out of here!" Killian shouted. The sky was darkening as quickly as the pressure in the air was building. It was going to storm.

Leighton's heart was emitting a frantic warning. "I'm leaving now," she said, "I'll be home before it rains."

Killian kept advancing and Leighton's instincts began to scream at her. His movements were becoming antagonistic and Leighton was beginning to assess him as a real threat. She wasn't sure what would she have to do to defend herself.

"You need to leave," Killian repeated, "you need to leave here before it's too late and everything is ruined. You have to leave now and you can't ever come back. Do you understand? You won't come back!"

"S-s-stop!" Leighton screamed, breath spiking. "STOP!" Killian had her cornered and the next step she took sent her tumbling over Braden's tombstone. Leighton cried out as she fell, reaching backwards and twisting her wrist underneath herself.

Killian followed her to the ground, pinning her underneath him and rekindling Leighton's worst nightmares. All of the sudden she was unable to untangle the past from the present. Killian's brown eyes were Braden's cold ones, Killian's careful hands were Braden's rough ones.

Leighton gasped and tried to scream, her voice stuck in her throat. Killian grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her and digging his knee into her thigh. She was completely immobilized from his hold and her own fear.

"Listen to me," Killian pleaded.

I love you, can't you see that?

Leighton bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him but his hold bit into her more cruelly. Her body was starting to turn numb, starting in her hands and feet and working its way to her very center.

"I need you to listen," Killian yelled, "really listen."

You made me do it, you made me.

"No," Leighton cried, head whirling as Killian's face and Braden's blurred and became one distorted figure. "God, no, not again."

Killian lifted her suddenly, shaking her roughly. His teeth were gritted, his eyes and cheeks wet. Leighton's teeth slammed together, catching her tongue and drawing blood. She thought she would vomit.

Lightning split the sky in half, illuminating Killian's outline and blacking out his features for a second. The clouds completely blotted out the sun, creating a false night during the high hours of the day.

"You need to leave St. Hope, leave Oregon. You need to go as far as you can. You can't come back, you can't turn around, you can't contact Tate again." Thunder boomed overhead, shaking the ground and momentarily ceasing Leighton's pulse.

You need to trust me, Leighton.

Leighton closed her eyes. Her whole body felt like it drew up to a sharp point in her chest. She was close to hysterics, ready to lash out and scream and bite. She couldn't let herself fall into this position again.

Killian's face was suddenly flesh against hers, bloodshot eyes direct and intense, hot breath spilling over her lips and neck. Repulsed and terrified, Leighton screamed and lashed out, catching Killian across the cheek and jaw. He grunted in pain and Leighton struck again, pummeling her legs into his stomach and side until she was able to dislodge his grip.

Planting her feet against Braden's headstone, she pushed herself forward and out from underneath Killian's hold. Rain pelted her back as she crawled forward, scrambling along the soft earth to get away.

Everything in her froze as she felt Killian's hand close around her ankle. He yanked hard and Leighton lost her stance, falling onto her stomach and smacking her chin against the ground. Killian's body was now hovering over hers, igniting one last feral attempt at self preservation.

Don't fight me.

Leighton threw her elbow backwards, missing Killian's face but grabbing his attention. He flipped her over and grabbed her cheek roughly, holding her face steady despite her efforts to pull away.

He used his weight to keep her pinned and between the strength of his hold and the fatigue of her own body, Leighton knew that it was over. Unable to draw in a complete breath, Leighton looked upwards.

Whatever misconception she had had once, she knew now that rain washed away nothing. She was sure that she was about to be completely and irreversibly ruined and no amount of rainfall would change that.

Lightning flashed and thunder followed, the rain suddenly picking up speed and force. Leighton started crying then, long guttural sobs and desperate gasps for air. To her surprise, Killian started to cry too, his grip on her face becoming softer.

He cried hard, dropping his forehead to her collarbone and gripping her face almost hopelessly. Killian's shoulders were shaking, his whole body heavy and quivering. Leighton knew this was the moment to free herself but suddenly she could no longer hear Braden's voice or feel his touch.

After a moment, Killian rolled off of her, lying beside Leighton and staring up at the sky. His face was sore and covered in mud, his hair soaking and sticking to his forehead. He was still crying and shaking though it was beginning to slow.

"I'm sorry," he cried, grabbing her hand and holding it to his chest. "I'm so sorry."

Everything about her felt raw. "What happened?" Leighton asked, "is it Tate? Is he hurt? Did they―"

Killian looked up at her and somehow she knew. Tate was alright.

"Oh," Leighton said. After a moment she sat up and dropped her face into her hands. Rain pelted the back of her neck and shoulders. No tears came, no screams or pleas. There was nothing left to give.

Killian was sitting close to her now, one hand on her back and the other holding her hand. Leighton looked at him, hair falling in wet tendrils over her face. Neither said anything. There weren't any words that could soften the moment, no pretty phrases to ease the pain of their situation. Only condolences would be accepted but neither Leighton nor Killian had the energy to muster any.

"When did you find out?" Leighton asked. She felt like she was walking a tightrope. The wind was attempting to push her to her death but Leighton fought it, focusing on the line to save herself.

"They beat me because I wouldn't," Killian told her, "they tortured me because I refused." Killian's eyes were sharp when they looked up to her. "If it were me, I would have withstood longer. But you must understand that I wasn't the only one they would have targeted. I can't subject Tate to that, you know he would have, but I couldn't let that happen."

Of course Leighton understood. Killian would do anything to protect Tate, even if it meant ruining their relationship beyond repair. When it came to his brother, there would be no sacrifice too great.

"I understand," Leighton croaked, "of course I understand."

Killian closed his eyes. "I wanted you to go but it will make no difference."

Leighton sucked in a breath. The sounds around her were starting to dull as were the colors of her surroundings. She suddenly felt sluggish and worn out. There wasn't much left in her.

"I know," she said, "I know."

"Goodbye." Killian stood up, withdrawing his hand from hers and walking away. Leighton watched his back until it disappeared, concealed by the storm. Leighton almost wanted to laugh when she looked down but instead she fainted.

In the center of her hand was a tiny black stone.