[This post (and chapter) is from Marin’s point of view.]
I slept—slept for hours that felt like days, tormented by dreams that weren’t quite nightmares. I saw my brother, begging me to help him one moment and then willingly walking away with the Hecate a moment later. I saw my son alone, a teenager forgotten by everyone, kneeling next to graves, a dozen graves. I saw J.T. collapsing near the walls, not moving, alone and too still, deathly still. Then there was Phelan on the bridge, an arrow in his chest, blood leaking from his mouth and nose, eyes open and staring sightlessly at the sky.
I woke suddenly and without a sound, my voice locked tight in my throat, barely struggling to win free. I pressed my fist against my mouth, breathing raggedly. The lamp wick had been turned down so only the barest flicker of light illuminated our room.
But I was alone, completely and utterly alone.
My son kicked inside and I uttered a weak, broken sound that might have been a laugh.
Not quite alone.
I rested my hand against my stomach and managed to smile as I felt another kick. It had only been in the past few weeks that I’d begun to feel motion like that and known that it wasn’t just my imagination.
“I want you to know your uncle, sweet boy,” I whispered into the dim, gently rubbing my hand up and down across my distended belly. My knit nightshirt was soft against my skin, soothing and comforting, smelling of lavender and ever so faintly of woodsmoke.
I drew the blankets closer around myself as I sat cross-legged in the bed, staring off into the darkness.
“I want it so badly,” I continued, as if somehow my unborn son could hear and understand the words—would remember the words later, when we were gone and he was what remained of Thom and I, someday a long time from that moment. “I want him to teach you what he’s learned about metalworking, about rocks and the woods and to show you all the things that Thom and I would be too scared to let you know about. That’s an uncle’s job, you know, to let you experience all of the things that your parents wouldn’t because they’re too worried or afraid or strict. I want that for you.”
I fell silent. I wanted that for my son, but I wanted it for my brother just as much.
“He’s going to love you, Lin,” I said, pressing my lips tightly together for a moment. “And you’re going to love him, too.”
Come home to us, Matt. We need you. Come home.
Sweet and sour
Your “in betweens” are very nice.