Till Death (Volturi / Twilight Fanfiction)

38: Keep Quiet

"I do not wish to move on, have no desire to ascend (or rather descend) to my afterlife. What could the slug offer in return for betraying you?" Maurice sprinkled doubt onto Taylor's resolve that she had been tricked into going there. She reached for her temple.

"There's nothing." Taylor muttered, pulling her hand away. 

"Pardon?" He asked.

"The body, I haven't found the body like you promised. You lead me here to this deathtrap, for what? Hm? For what?!" She exclaimed, wincing a bit. A short distance away Santiago was adding wriggling fuel to the expelling fire he had created. From moment to moment he would check in on Taylor's condition, who would direct him to the still very much unconscious Darla Acuso. She was most certainly having it worse off than Taylor. 

"You must keep digging! Did you think an ancient artifact buried at a higher elevation would be easy to exhume?! Good Lord!" Maurice whined, floating at eye level with Taylor's sitting form. "We do not get along perhaps, though I think it is the high tension causing resistance between us. I am an incredibly charismatic individual so you must just be stressed. Are you so weak that a puppet can do you in?"

"No, I just-...give me a minute." 

"My dear, if I had any alternative options for my champion I would have considered them, believe me. You seem awfully tired. But, alas, no other has your ability, none that I've met anyway. So, as it is, I have you. And you do not have a minute to spare." 

"Jesus, will you slow down?" Taylor lightly snapped, slowly lifting herself to her feet. She rested her hands gently against her thighs a moment, suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea."I'm sorry. I'm sorry. God, this is ridiculous." Maurice nodded but shrugged. 

"I would offer assistance in digging but..." Maurice opened his hands. Taylor waved him off prematurely, before he could finish, expecting him to say something about not being able to hold the shovel. He clasped his hands together with a mask of false pity. "...I do not wish to." 

It is well known that when one suffers severe head trauma physical labor only a few minutes following said injury is a bad idea. The labor Taylor set out upon was especially dangerous and just as much unnoticed by her immortal savior. Santiago continued throwing limp mannequin bodies into the flame with ease, figuring Taylor would be going home after such a late outing. And assuming the older woman would wake up eventually, it wasn't really his concern. Darla Acuso was rather neutral on the topic of Santiago's existence, the feeling was mutual in returning. 

Taylor steadied herself within the pit once more, leaning upon Ms.Acuso's shovel as it stuck in the ground. She steeled her belly as she lifted the shovel in scooping another pile of dirt. It happened again and again until eventually, she hit bones. A mangled pile that Maurice assisted in sorting out as Taylor gathered them one by one into her duffel bag. Years of pressured wear warped the exposed corpse, bending bones in unnatural positions in such curvature for which only time could be blamed. In other areas, the bone was shattered quite deliberately. The shards were most difficult to pick out but Taylor managed, and as she clambered out of her sunken prison she was met with a pair of barely brown eyes. Santiago held out a hand, and Taylor hesitated. His eyes were barely brown. His spit was highly flammable. And his hand was unnaturally cold. Yet, she could say nothing of it. Together they stood as Santigo released her in order to gather not only Darla's bag but her person as well. Easily he lifted her, as if Darla were a cloth doll rather than a person of flesh and bone. Again, Taylor could say nothing of it. Santiago always seemed less attuned to acting naturally. He did not pause to look her way, or to question why she had yet to question him. Perhaps the matter did not concern him. How he got there, what exactly he cared about, was unknown to Taylor. She could ask questions, and perhaps get answers from the candor of Santiago. She could choose to trust him. Or not...