“I’ve asked Alexander Drew, Sara’s long time friend, to say a few words about the young woman we all held such a special place in our hearts for. Mister Drew?”
It’s vulgar - playing the role of the helpless boy. I caused her death.
I feel like the worst kind of liar.
Xander got up from his seat in the second row and started toward the pulpit, a piece of paper shaking uncontrollably in his hands. He walked over to Reverend Gallagher, who put an assuring hand on his shoulder before stepping aside. The simple empathetic contact sent shivers throughout his body. Deep down inside him, the womb organ twitched once, as if to shake back.
“Hello,” he started, “this may take a while.” He cleared his throat, staring out into the crowd. It was filled with friends, family, classmates, relatives... “Ahem. Um... Sara was...”
He stopped.
“Sara was...”
He looked up from his paper, tears streaming down his face. No. There are no words. He walked over to the coffin and placed his hand upon its white surface. It felt cold and inhuman, but he still felt her in it. As if she were connected to it in some way. “I’ll miss you.”
There are no words.
Then he left the church with tears in his eyes.
As soon as Xander stepped through the door into the cool night air, the Womb overpowered him, black ooze flowing over him.
I’ll never live it down. Sara’s death can never be justified. But this I know: I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for it.
A few blocks away, a mugger clubbed a young girl over the head, smiling as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing a red letter ‘T’ tattooed on his right arm. “...come ‘ere, sweet thing...”
Genblade plead guilty to all the murders, even the ones that I committed. I guess his sense of honor realized that I beat him and that I should get something for it.
“... no.... please, stop.”
I’ll never stop, Sara. I’ll keep my promise, protect the innocent from the scum. All the scum. Be it big like Alpha or small like Grendel. They’re all guilty.
“... please... just stop.”
If you’re innocent...
“...stop...”
You’re hurt...
“...please...”
Or you’re scared...
A black figure dropped from the sky and kicked the mugger in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.
I’ll be there.
BOOK TWO: TRANSFORMATIONS IN PAIN
INTERLUDE:
SHE RAN
She turned the corner quickly, scraping her shoulder against the brick.
Her breath came in quick, labored pants as her feet slammed against the pavement one after the other, displacing mounds of gravel and mud as she went. It had rained the night before, and the asphalt was slick and wet beneath the soles of her feet. Fighting to maintain her balance, she turned around to see how far she had gone. Her auburn hair caught on her eyelashes as it whipped around her head, making it hard to see.
They were still back there. She couldn’t see them now, but she could hear them. Could hear their puffs of breath and their own footfalls, as well as the steady stream of curses that one of them kept up in constant supply between bouts of a hacking smoker’s cough. The other one was stronger, his legs pumping like pistons. The sounds of his heels slamming against the street were louder than the other one. He was closer, but it was hard to tell exactly how close because he remained deathly silent as he advanced upon her.
It had started about three blocks back. Every time she had stopped, they had stopped. Every time she sped up, they sped up. She hadn’t been sure what to think at first, then she’d seen the knife sticking out of one of their belts, only partially obscured by his red-and-gold sport jacket. Her eyes had lit up and felt twice their normal size. For a moment it had been all she could do to stare at it, glimmering against the faded denim.
She turned away fast, pushing some hair out of her face to try and hide the fear in her eyes and make her exit seem casual. Whether or not they had been fooled they still followed, keeping roughly ten meters between themselves and the girl at all times.
She turned down Laird Street, the way she always did on her way home from school, then dropped her knapsack and broke into a run. When her two pursuers turned the corner a few seconds behind her they found that their ten meter buffer had become closer to thirty, and took off running after her.
Her chest heaved fire now, her stomach clenching in continuous bursts of agony as she cursed the potato chips she’d had for lunch. She could feel their jagged little edges digging into the lining of her gut, tearing at her from the inside out as her abdomen contracted with each step she forced out of her body.
She’d spent the latter part of her last semester skipping Phys Ed class in favor of hanging out with the boys in the smoking section or text-messaging her cousin. Anything to not have to be covered in sweat for the rest of the day, in a school where the air conditioners seemed to be mostly for decoration.
As a stitch developed in her lower left side and her legs began to feel numb and rubbery, she began to wish that
