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Chapter 6: Child's Slay
"Is that it, then?" Theodora paused, "You thought you might save him. Consummate hero as ever. Foolish of me to think the impulse extended as far as your daughters."
She moved a few steps away, "You're not responsible for the collective rise and fall of all our fortunes. I suppose it's a difficult idea to grow out of, but there it is."
Leaning against the work table she continued, "You don't ever feel useful unless you're charging into battle, weapon in hand and a mission in your heart."
She lowered her head, "How do you think I felt when I went marching off after him, thinking I could save that girl? Not a thing to hold against him besides the blazer on my back. And yet..."
Theodora debated her words, though she finally ceded, "Let's not mince words here, Edward. I understand what this is. I understand your anger, your shortness, your impotence, all your frustrations last night and today.
"You're afraid, Edward. Afraid of giving up power, perhaps that more than powerlessness itself, more than your own life being in peril, the idea of being made helpless...that is what terrifies you so."
"Yeah. I'm afraid," Teague said, with a shaky breath.
"Theodora...I'm not being myself, it seems like."
"Then you can damn well join the club!" Theodora told him, noting the timbre of her voice change, "We're all frightened, Edward! The one consolation I get from all of this is learning you are too! That maybe you are human after all, that maybe you aren't some soulless stone with infinite mastery over everything he lays eyes upon!"
She shook her head, "Fear is human, Edward. And you don't conquer it with a gun. Something tells me Howard knew that, even in death. God knows, he had enough tragedy of his own in life, he must've known it. I've often wondered how you've seen all you've seen and done all you've done. never showing fear."
She stepped back, "I once envied you for it. Now I can't help but pity you."
"Maybe it's because I honestly don't how to," Teague shook his head, contemplating his next words.
"Do you know why, honestly why, I didn't offer more resistance to what you asked me?"
"You offered resistance enough with your sulks and silences," said Theodora at last.
She paused, "Is it too much to hope that perhaps you simply believed in my judgment?"
"That's exactly why, Theodora," Teague said, uncrossing his arms, "Out of everyone still here...I trust your judgement the most."
"Well," she sighed, "thank you."
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, she sighed, "I don't want to be seen as patronizing, Edward, but I also don't want to sit idly by while you insist on shouldering every burden for yourself. Don't doubt I've seen the cracks starting to form these last few hours.
"It's easier to let others carry the load, for..." she paused, "Forever long. As needed."
"If anyone else had asked me to do what I did, I would have said no." Teague rolled his neck and said, "From now, until whenever this is over...you're in command."
Closing his eyes, he continued, "And I have two apologies to give."
Theodora blinked, "That..." she averted her eyes, suddenly feeling hoarse, "That's very..."
But words failed her. Instead, she only nodded, "I endeavor not to succeed. As I know you have. For...for all our sakes'."
She thought, again, of his retirement plans. In a way, was this ceding of the guard the same animal? It felt impertinent to ask.
"Then by all means," she nodded, "Give them."
"I need to find Phyllis...and Fitz."
"I can hardly imagine why," Theodora said automatically, "Don't say this is about that absurd scene between you and Smith."
"Alright, but it's the truth," Teague shook his head, "And with Phyllis...I made a very poor decision. And I need to correct it."
Looking around the lair, he eyed an open crate of various knives, and took a sheathed machete for himself.
"You want one?"
Theodora cocked an eyebrow, "So I can embarrass myself when he comes back from Round 2?"
She shrugged, "Give it here."
Teague retrieved a short machete, a homemade Parang, and handed it and the sheath to her.
"It's got some heft, but considering your height, it fits."
"This is a knife?" prompted Theodora, accepting the hefty weapon, "Looks like a damned sword!"
She shook her head, "Well, I suppose I'll be a novel sight waving this thing about," she sighed, "Come. Places to be."
"Let's."
"Joder!" yelled out Pedro as he landed on his back.
At least he hadn't been stabbed by an arrow. Or his machete.
"Help!"
"For Christ's sake, Dee," Kieran retorted, stepping over some fallen branches. "Yeah, I'll mourn you. I'd rather not speak it into existence. In my experience, thinking about 'what if you die' usually leads to people dying because they're focusing on how afraid they are rather than how to survive." That's how Piper explained it, at least. The act of murdering someone, what really got them in the end, victim psychology shit.
"No problem," he said, assessing the situation. "Guy has to have a musk. Tracking him should be no problem." Kieran knelt down in the mud, looking for footprints. "Those tracks are Tina's. They're smaller. Which means these prints here..." His eyes rose, following the path. "...are Smoke's. Smells like it, too. C'mon."
Emma heard a shrill screech from not too far away. Maybe Ghostface axing off another victim? Could be an opportunity to...
No. It was some jackass in a hole.
Regardless, she was cordial. "Hola, Senior," Emma greeted. "What ever are you doing in such a nasty place?"
"It seems I fell down, Senorita," Pedro replied, standing to his feet and looking up at the blonde, "I would appreciate some help."
"Hmmm..." Emma pondered the decision. "I don't know. This whole thing reeks of Stranger Danger."
Drew
"I don't do sob stories, I know things, and I decide what's true."
He said as he scrubbed his chest harshly with his rough textured loofah, his skin reddening. He liked to be clean, and when he cleaned himself, he liked to make sure every inch of dead skin that he could remove, was removed. He gritted his teeth as he worked over his body. He pulled his mango body wash from his shower caddie and began to lather himself with it.
"Huh..." Eli watched the vigorous, spiraling, red spot shining like a target, center-mass on Drew's chest.
"And, uh...what's true?"
Drew
"What's true is that nothing is true, everything is a lie, and we're all complacent in the grand illusion." He said with a half crooked smile, he scanned the other boy's body with his eyes, he had a smaller frame than he had appeared in his clothing. He looked like a small bird, in need of protecting at all times.
Drew on the other hand, looked wiry out of his clothing, an almost twisted mass of bones and skin.
Eli rolled his eyes flagrantly, ""You're another ray of sunshine. You just saying that to get my hackles up, or do you really believe there's nothing left to believe in?"
Drew
"Who said there was ever anything to believe in other than ourselves?"
He raised a brow,
"We are all our own gods, and devils, in a constant make believe battle."
"They say self-love's important."
He thought of Kieran...there was a fucker who loved himself more than he wanted to admit. He could say whatever he wanted...he'd done it for Nat, he'd done it for Piper, he'd done it for Emma, he'd done it for Dee...
Over and over and over again, eventually you just had to to reckon that he'd done it for himself. Because it felt good telling yourself you had a mission. It felt good to imagine a princess that needed saving.
The others in his family... Did Deanna love anything anymore? Kieran, definitely, or was it something stranger than love, more primal, baser... Was it just the hatred of knowing all he'd done, and the disgust with herself that, still, the love had not gone away?
And his mother...if anybody loved themselves in the family, it had to be her. And yet he'd found her sobbing in the woods, talking like the latest Wilcox-Hudson woman to decide death was easier.
"So, in this, uh...allegory you're playing with," Eli prompted, "Are we all our own gods and everybody else the devils, or...does it depend?"
The frosted glass separating the stalls was frosting over.
"Guess I know which one you're supposed to be."
Drew
"It all just depends..."
Drew was suddenly very close to the frosted glass, his own features distorted as he stared at the blurred image of the boy behind the glass. A wicked smile on his face, as he spoke very grimly.
"How honest you are with yourself." He chuckled.
"Do I look like a God or a Devil?"
Eli hesitated, realizing suddenly how very cramped it was in here, and yet there was only the barest suggestion of a barrier separating the two of them. It seemed, really, that Drew could reach through at any moment and...
"You look," Eli said at last, a smirk coming to his lips, "Like a pain in my ass."