Nightborn (part 12)

Dearest Mathew

If you're reading this, that means I’m dead. I don’t expect you to shed tears for me - I wouldn’t either, in your place - but I’d just like to say a few things. Please, don’t crumple up this letter and throw it away before you finish reading. It would mean much to your old man.

I hope you never have to learn of the true reason I had to leave you and your mother - and I’m sorry this letter does not provide closure on that, as you might have hoped. But trust me when I say that it is best you do not know. Detective work can get one involved in many precarious situations as well as dangerous people. I left to keep you safe.

Do not worry, dear son. As bad as a father as I was in all other regards, I kept you and your mother out of my work - I made sure nobody knew. As I joined the police force I erased my past and started anew. Not out of shame or because I wanted to get rid of you, please don’t think that. I did it so that the people I got involved with would have no leads to you, my dear family.

And about the people I mentioned… if I’m dead, there’s a high chance they’ve won, in which case you’ve probably heard about them on the news already, but if you haven’t, then let's keep it that way. You don’t need more monsters in your life, one neglecting father was enough.

The reason I’m writing this letter is that recently things have gotten worse. I almost got killed - I know you probably don’t care, and that’s okay - so I decided to write this. It’s the only way I can speak to you without jeopardizing the secrecy. Mathew, my son, I love you. Despite everything you might think, despite what my actions speak of, I love you more than anything. And I love your mother just the same. I hope she’s well.

I am sorry for everything. If I could change the past, God knows I would! I would never have gotten involved… But it is what it is. Perhaps if the matter gets resolved, then one of my colleagues can explain to you what happened… although I think it’s fair you know, I’m not sure if I want to burden you with it.

I have left a large sum of money on a separate bank account for you. It’s written on your name, Mathew. I know it's a lousy way of saying sorry and you probably hate me even more now, for not giving you any concrete answers but it’s the best I can do. I hope you find the money useful. The paperwork and password are enclosed with this letter.

I’m sorry, son. For everything and more.

Love, Damien

***

“When did he wake up?” Rachel asked. Her eyes were itchy from lack of sleep and her head hurt from worry.

“A few hours ago,” Aiden said. 

Rachel jumped up from the sofa. Did she fall asleep? She thought that wasn't even possible anymore. “Why didn’t somebody tell me?”

The blond man touched her shoulders gently. “You’ve been up for three days straight. I didn’t want to wake you when you finally fell asleep. Besides, he wanted to be alone.”

“Oh.” That angered her a little. She’d been worried sick. “Can I go see him now?”

“I think so,” Aiden said with a faint smile. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing when you were with him, but… Well, none of our healing worked, it’s a miracle he woke up at all.”

“We could use a miracle or two these days,” Rachel said and pushed past Aiden, rushing up the stairs. Her heart was fluttering, her legs weak and tired. She had begun to lose hope that the detective would wake up at all, after his fight with Mortensen. The monster burned him so much that they even called plastic surgeons to the mansion. 

I hope he’s okay, she found herself repeatedly thinking. It surprised her a little that she got so fond of the man, but she guessed that life and death situations did that to people, getting them closer.

I hope he’s okay.

Rachel rounded the now-familiar corner and crossed the memorized hallways. The mansion was huge. Still, not big enough to lose her worries in it.

She slowly pushed the door open and the scent of antiseptic hit her nostrils, returning the memories of the past three days, as she spent them by his bedside, watching over him. He was wrapped in clean bandages, the blood-soaked ones removed and replaced. Rachel’s lips curved in a nervous smile as she saw him sitting up in his bed, with a pad of paper and a pen.

She wanted to call him out, but he seemed so focused on writing something that she stopped herself. 

His face was also covered with bandages, leaving only holes for his eyes and mouth. Her heart sank a little as she imagined how he’d feel when he’d look at himself in the mirror, bandages removed. 

But no matter. He was alive. And how is that possible, she asked herself. His injuries were judged as fatal by more than one doctor who the Lightblood have called upon. 

Did she really have something to do with it? Like Aiden said? 

After what happened, Rachel wouldn’t be surprised, honestly. Nothing in the world seemed to make sense anymore.

“Hey,” a raspy voice said, startling her from her thoughts. 

“You’re awake,” she gasped and ran to the bed. “Are you okay?”

The bandages around his mouth bulged, indicating a smile. “Look at me.”

How silly of her. Of course, he wasn’t okay. “How do you feel?”

“Like crap,” Damien rasped. “But better now that I’ve done something I should have years ago.”

She glanced at the piece of paper he was writing on, placed on the nightstand.

“A letter?”

“A will,” he said. “To my son.”

Rachel blinked. “I didn’t realize you had a son.”

“I do,” he said, voice low. “But please, don’t tell anyone. His safety depends on it.”

Rachel nodded. She thought about Dave, her fiance. Was he in any danger now that the Nightborn were after her? 

“What… happened?” Damien asked. “Did he escape?”

“No,” Rachel said. “He’s locked up.”

“Realy?” He sounded surprised. “Did Rebeca and Aiden manage to bring him down? But he had such power… I didn’t imagine he could…”

Rachel shook her head. “It wasn’t them.”

“Who then?”

“Me.”

“Huh?”

She could hardly believe it herself. She barely knew herself anymore.

“I stopped Mortensen.”

She couldn’t see it but she imagined him frowning under those bandages. “How?”

“Remember how I was able to see Rebeca’s light?”

“Yes.”

“Well, turns out, I have something the others call the Absolute Gene. I’m supposed to be someone who stops the Nightborn and Lightblood from fighting. End the war.”

“What?”

She snorted. “My thoughts exactly.”

“That’s… wow.” His eyes grew distant. “I thought that was just a story… It would make sense why Mortensen was after you that much.”

“Well, he won’t anymore.”

He looked her in the eyes. “Is he dead?”

“No. But I somehow suppressed that thing inside him, that gave him his power. He’s just like a normal man now, physically speaking.” Inside, he’ll always be a monster.

Damien’s eyes bulged. “You can do that?”

Rachel nodded. “Just don’t ask me how. I’ve no idea. I still don’t understand what happened… It's like the power took over me and I was just a witness along for the ride.”

“This is incredible, Rachel!” Damien prompted himself straighter, wincing. “You can end the war!”

“Whoa, easy,” she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Rest, detective. It’s a miracle that you’re alive.”

“Well, I think we deserve a miracle about now, don’t you think?”

She laughed. “That’s exactly what I said to Aiden!”

Damien laughed. “Well ain’t that a miracle!”

For a moment, all was forgotten and an unfamiliar emotion washed over Rachel. Was that… joy? God, it’s been so long… 

The moment was cut short, as the door opened and Rebeca entered the room. The police chief noticed them laughing and raised an eyebrow.

“Good to hear you’re awake, Cross,” she said, smiling. Her red eyes betrayed her worry. “Perfect timing too. Our guest is ready to talk.”

***

So, this is how hell feels like, Mortensen thought.

Ever since that fight with Rachel three days ago, he hadn’t been himself. Not by a long shot. His leg was throbbing, the Lightblood having so crudely managed the broken bone, only enough to stop the bleeding. They gave him no antiseptic, no painkillers, no food or water. They didn’t plan to keep him around for long, it seemed.

He hardly cared for his leg, though. Or hunger. No, those were but physical nuisances, which paled in comparison to the true pain he felt in his heart and soul.

I’m cut from my people. From Master Himself. Like an ant without a colony, a bee without a hive. 

A man without a purpose.

Out of desperation, he tried to force his teeth to come out. Nothing happened. He felt they were still there like one could feel they still had an arm or a leg, but it was like he was paralyzed in that regard. It was driving him insane.

He shifted on the stone floor of his dark cell and grunted, listening to his hoarse voice. The leg hurt bad, pulsing like a second heart. But every second without the love of the Seed embracing him was equal to a hundred throbbing legs. 

Mortensen couldn’t take it. He’d been a Nightborn for too long to be able to bear the pity of human existence. It was worse than dying.

The cell door creaked open and a bright light came in the room. Some of it was from a lightbulb on the ceiling outside but the majority was coming from a stern Lightblood woman. 

“You said you're ready to talk,” the woman said, her voice colder than the floor stones. “Try anything other than that, and you’re dead. Understood?”

He snorted. Dead. It didn’t sound so bad at this point.

He nodded his head. A painful thing to do if your neck was strained in all places.

The woman stepped inside, filling the whole room with her Lighblood light. Mortensen had to wince - but was glad for it, as it meant he still had his Nightborn gift, the ability to see a person’s inner light. Next came a tall blond man, also a Lightblood, and Rachel. Damien was not with them. He died?

Chills ran up Mortensen’s spine as he felt Rachel’s eyes on him. He instinctively backed up against the wall, invoking new pain from his leg. The young woman’s face was unreadable.

“Where is Dam-”

“Silence,” the blond man snapped. “You will only speak when asked.” His hands pulsed with Light. A tempered man. Mortensen could use that… 

“What exactly are the Nightborn planning?” the stern woman asked, straight to the point.

“We are going to have a big birthday party,” Mortensen said, maintaining a plain voice.

The blond man clenched his fists, looking at the woman. Her face could freeze water.

“Nightborn,” she said. “You are a hair’s width away from meeting your beloved Master in person - as a corpse. If you do not cooperate, then you are of no use to us. I ask again; what are you planning?”

A jailbreak. “I thought that was obvious by now. We’re going to purge this world of pain and suffering. Make it a place of love.” 

“Apocalypse?”

“That’s such a dramatic word - and it implies disaster. I think terraforming would be more appropriate.”

The blonde man stepped forward and raised a palm. It flashed with white light and Mortensen felt an invisible hand tightening around his neck.

“You’re in no position to mock, Nightborn!”

Mortensen coughed but forced a grin. “You need Light to handle a cripple?”

The blond man grunted, eyes flashing with anger.

“Enough, Aiden,” the woman said. 

“Rebeca, he’s-”

“Enough.”

The grip around his neck loosened.

“How will you bring forth this Apocalypse?” Rebeca asked. 

“Through fire and blood,” Mortensen groaned, caressing his neck. “It’s going to be quite a show.”

“How many followers do you have? How many Nightborn cells are active in the region? Who are your leaders? Where are they located?”

She was eager to know. Mortensen could feel slight desperation in her voice. So they have no idea? It makes them afraid.

“I don’t know exactly-”

“Do not lie,” Aiden said.

“We’re in the thousands-”

“Do not lie!”

Mortensen smiled inside but did not show it. “We’re still growing,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. “Our Pack Hunters are gathering their first recruits as we speak,” he added, which was a flat out lie. “We may not have the numbers yet, but soon we will overrun your pathetic mansion.”

Aiden seemed ready to beat him up, Rachel kept her expression indifferent but Rebeca, who was obviously the leader, seemed to smile just a tiny bit. Mortensen noticed it. A relief, hearing the Nightborn weren’t as powerful as she thought.

Of course, that was a lie. They truly were in the thousands.

“You think this mansion is all the Lightblood have?” Rebeca asked, raising an eyebrow.

Of course not. “You are few and weak. We are growing. The war can only end in one way.”

“Your pride blinds you, Nightborn. We are far from weak. Where are your leaders located? How many of them are there?”

“We move constantly,” he lied. “There’s no way to predict where we will meet next, right until we meet. We have more than a dozen Pack Hunters, commanded by a regional Lord. You have no chance, Lightblood.” He spat the last word out. Of course, he greatly lowered their actual numbers, giving them a false sense of security.

If the Lightblood believed they were ahead, they would relax. And that’s when the Nightborn would strike.

“A dozen?” Rebeca asked. 

“Yes. Each one can take on several of yours easily. Just like I did.” He grinned.

“You cocky bastard!” Aiden exclaimed and stepped forward. He bent down to Mortensen, who sat on the floor, to grab his neck.

Mortensen expected it. He caught Aiden’s arm and pulled the surprised man, locking him in a grip. Mortensen winced at the pain in his leg as he held the thrashing Lightblood, preventing him from escaping or moving his hands to use the Light. He reached at his side and pulled out his sacrificial knife - which the Lightblood stupidly forgot to look for - and placed the jagged blade at the blonde’s neck.

“Don’t,” he said to Rebeca, who flared with light like a bonfire. “One move and I slit his throat.”

Aiden cursed and struggled to move, but Mortensen held him. He wasn’t sure he could do it for long, as he was so weak and the pain in his leg grew.

“You cannot escape,” Rebeca said. “Release him. Now!”

“This blade is sacrificial,” Mortensen said. “If I kill him with it, his blood will go to the Master. No Revealer’s grace for him, I’m afraid.”

“He’s bluffing,” Aiden groaned, face red. “There’s no such thing!”

“Are you willing to bet?” Mortensen asked, looking at Rebeca. The woman hesitated, then lowered her light. 

Fools, the lot of them, Mortensen smiled.

“He’s lying.”

All heads turned to Rachel who stood forgotten at the door to the cell. Mortensen noticed with dread that her eyes flickered violet.

“He’s lying about everything.”

“How do you know?”

“I know his thoughts. The Nightborn numbers are-”

“Impossible!” Mortensen shouted, pushing Aiden away. He roared in pain as he heaved himself up, stepping on his broken leg, and in one swift motion threw the knife at Rachel, before falling to the ground hard. 

The knife flew straight at Rachel’s head, the young woman oblivious to it, lost in her violet vision. Aiden screamed, but he couldn’t use his light in time. Rebeca reached with incredible reflexes, her fingers touching the knife’s handle, but she was too slow to stop it - only changing its trajectory slightly.

It was enough. The blade embedded itself into Rachel’s shoulder with a wet thud. The violet light flashed from her eyes and she gasped in shock, looking at the knife in her shoulder. 

“No!” Rebeca caught the young woman as she fell.

Damnit, cursed Mortensen. The knife barely missed her heart. A strong force wrapped around his neck again, Aiden using Light. Mortensen felt all air leave his lungs as the Light raised him up, feet from the ground.

“I ought to snap your lying neck!”

“Do it,” Mortensen groaned. He tried his best, but without the Seed, he was Nightborn only by title. In the back, he could see Rebeca holding a glowing palm over Rachel’s shoulder.

“I’ve no reason to live any-”

The words left him as he heard a snapping sound coming from his neck, and all went black.