The Purging of Asgard

Chapter 15

***GRAPHIC VIOLENCE***

Idiotic Midgardians. They think rings of steel will keep me bound. I act like I'll cooperate just long enough to be forced into the back of one of their garishly primitive vehicles. A young police officer locks me into the backseat and confers momentarily with a man I assume is his superior. While they talk, I break through the cuffs with ease, but I stay put, waiting to make my move.

He climbs into the front seat, the other man moving away, Sigyn is walking back toward the small storefront. I pull the small dagger from my boot and, tearing down the flimsy steel partition, I wrench the officer's head back by his hair. The dagger slices deeply, smoothly, the movement so quick he looks surprised when he sees the jet of arterial blood splash off the window next to him. He tries to cry out, call for help, yell in pain, it all comes out a pathetic gurgle, spewing bloody foam all over himself. His hands fly to his neck, a vain effort to staunch the flow of his life's blood as it flows forth, like water from a burst dam. 

I climb over the seat and jump out the door opposite him, swiftly, silently, not even sparing a glance as he gurgles pitifully behind me. I stuff my hands in my pockets and saunter down the road, as though nothing is wrong and turn down the first alley I come to. With Balder and my Father protecting the would-be Queen, I would not be getting anywhere near her today. So I head to my own home to bide my time. I'm already down the alley when I hear shouting, I'll be long gone by the time they think they've caught my trail.

I dodge down alleys and double back a few times before, a few miles later, I take a moment outside my townhouse, my home. I catch my breath, though I'm hardly winded, and collect myself. Straightening my jacket and blouse, smoothing back my hair, I step inside and am immediately greeted by frustrated mumbling coming from the kitchen,

"Momma?"

"I'm here Aren." My son pokes his head around the corner, he looks confused,

"I can't figure out how to solve this problem. I thought I did what Mr. Brooks said, but it doesn't work." 

"Alright then, let's take a look."

I sit with him at the kitchen table and help him through the mindless routine of working on his mathematics and English exercises. I go through the motions: 'no, you've forgotten to carry this number', 'the next step for this is to divide', 'no, that's not how commas work.' This goes on for several hours, then I would make him dinner, put together a lunch for him to take in the morning, make sure everything is set for him to take to school, and after the normal bedtime routine of teeth brushing and showering, I tuck him in, allowing him an hour of reading time before he had to turn off his bedside light. Tonight something seems a bit different though, he's more melancholy than I have seen him in a while, he didn't even choose a book. I try to ignore it, thinking he is simply tired, but he catches my hand before I can leave the room,

"What's wrong, Aren?"

"Will you sit with me for a little while, Momma?"

"Of course, what's the matter?" he scoots over in his bed, making room for me, then curls up into my side. "Aren?"

"I had a bad dream last night, now I don't want to sleep tonight."

"Maybe if you read it will help take your mind off of it." I offer, but he shakes is head, "Are your comic books causing the nightmares? Because I could also tell you no more comics at night." His eyes widen for a moment at that,

"It was just a scary dream, but I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want to dream it again."

"Well, if you tell me about it, maybe I can help you stop being scared." He seems to consider it for a moment, then pushes himself up, scooting back to sit against the headboard of his bed.

"Well, I think I was in Asgard,"

"Your comics, maybe you shouldn't read them so late anymore,"

"No, that's not the scary part. I've never seen dogs in Thor comics before."

"Dogs?"

"Yeah, big ugly ones. Like, giant. Their fur was falling off and they were all beat up, they looked gross. But There was a woman there, it didn't really look like you, but I think it was..."

"Who did it look like?"

"I don't remember her face, it just felt like you... We were standing in the Throne Room and one of the dogs jumped on you..." He pauses, looking terrified, "I think they killed you. And then they came after me." He looks to be on the verge of tears, so I hug him close,

"It's okay, honey, it's just a dream. A bad one, but it's just a dream. I'm still here, right?" he nods, "And you're still here. Nothing is going to hurt you here, I promise." 

I feel him relax a little bit and coax him down under the covers, kissing his forehead as I tell him goodnight. Pausing at the doorway, I watch him bunch the covers up over his head. His favorite position when he's scared. I feel a tug in my heart knowing what's coming, but right now I keep thinking about how Aren has turned out to be a surprisingly good child. I have never heard a cross word about him from his teachers, he excels in every class, though he doesn't seem to have any friends. Sometimes I catch him staring out the window, completely lost to his own imagination, mentally in a totally different realm. In those times he looks so much like his father. If I had any feeling left for that man, the remembrance of him may have tugged at my heart. Now I lean against the doorframe of my son's room, watching him try to cocoon himself against a nightmare, surrounded by his beloved comic books, posters, and movies about what are known here as super heroes, and I think 'this wasn't part of the plan.'