The Fallowing – The Fifth, Part XI
by Steppen Sawicki
I’m still not sure if this part makes sense to anyone but me, but here it is anyway.
“No need for hostages,” said the voice behind me, and I realized with a sinking heart that it was Sam. The bastard had been following me, waiting for this exact moment. And again I hadn’t seen it coming at all.
“Perhaps not.” Amnon’s eyes took on an ethereal glow in the dark – a blue glow like foxfire. “Come here.”
Sam made a strangled cry, but stepped closer. I could hear his boots crunching on the snow.
Amnon scoffed. “Fool. How the hell did the others not get you sooner?”
Of course. Amnon didn’t know. Sam couldn’t be ordered around by his own kind. But how could he not know? And what did Sam gain by pretending?
Amnon tossed me aside, and I crashed to the ground and stayed there, unable to do a thing. If I harmed Amnon, then Sam would be hurt and die at Amnon’s hands. If I hurt Sam then Amnon would go free. I could only watch the play unfold.
Sam took exaggeratingly painful steps to Amnon, looking very much like he was fighting himself, was unable to defy an order. On one step he fell forward onto his hands and knees.
Amnon laughed that oily laugh again. “I suppose this is where Faye would attack. I’m assuming, of course. Terrible that you don’t have her help any longer. Not that it would help you this time if you did.”
Could I do something? Could I attack some non-vital part of him? Could I harm him even as I harmed Sam? No, I had no chance. He wouldn’t be hurt at all. Only Sam would. So what could Sam do? I grit my teeth in frustration, waiting on Sam even as he kneeled in the dirt and snow.
Amnon walked to him, slowly and deliberately, enjoying this. “I intended for you to be softened up by everyone else, especially Atsel, but I think you only got overly confident. And,” he looked back over his shoulder at me, “you fell in love. What a mistake. If you gave up on her you might have a chance. She was going to kill you, after all.”
He was standing before Sam now, and he lifted a foot and kicked lightly at Sam’s head. “Not so easy though, is it? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead in a moment.” His voice went low and though his back was to me I knew his eyes were glowing dimly again. “Give me the knife.”
Sam moved like a flash, rising before Amnon, his arm racing upwards. He spoke a word as he moved.
Pain flared in my chest, but Amnon was the one that screamed. I didn’t really notice – it was like a far-off siren, like there was cotton in my ears. I gasped and my hand went to my breast and it came away bloody. I coughed and could taste copper on my tongue.
I looked up to see Amnon fall, to see Sam standing, clad in shadows, knife in hand dripping blood off to the side.
I tried to speak but couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say anyway. I dropped to my knees and he began to walk toward me, slowly and deliberately.
Then everything faded.