Red Rain

Chapter 21 - So Cruel

I fly after Elijah, screaming like a berserker. He turns around but doesn't react in time, and gets bowled over. I kneel over him, pinning him to the ground while I punch him over and over, yelling unintelligibly obscene gibberish as I whale on him. Every inch of me is filled with rage, running on primal energy at this point. I can't even feel the pain of the few punches Elijah's able to land on me.

He and I lock eyes for just a moment - and then something happens. I'm suddenly the one on the ground getting punched - by myself.

I'm...I'm in Elijah's body? But how...?

You can project too? This thought is faint, but judging from the accent, it's got to be Elijah. He sounds just as surprised as I am.

I look down at Elijah's hands, clenching his fists. If this projection/possession thing works the way I think it does...

I form an ice blade with Elijah's right hand, and wiggle out from underneath my own frozen body just a little bit.

Hey, what are y'all...no! NO!

Too late, motherfucker. You asked for it.

I make Elijah use his ice blade to cut off his own left hand. I still feel the pain of muscles and tendons being severed even after I'm pushed back into my own body.

Still on my back, I scoot away as quickly as I can. Elijah looks at the bleeding stump of his arm in shock. Then, with a roar of rage, he runs after me. I roll over and get to my feet - but can I outrun him?

"Stop! Police! Put your hands up!"

The orders come through a megaphone held by one officer. His partner, to his left, has his gun out, trained on Elijah.

I comply with the cop's demand.

Elijah doesn't.

One of us gets shot and killed right on the spot.

Three guesses who, and the first two don't count.

The one cop holsters his weapon and ushers me forward, where Gabe is waiting by an idling Crown Vic.

I take one look at him and see the horror-struck look in his eyes - which then flicker over to the spot where Fionna's body lies on the ground, another cop gently laying a white sheet over her.

"Dude," Gabe says faintly, pointing at my side. "You got cut."

I look down and raise my arm, seeing my shirt sliced open, blood dripping slowly from the cut underneath. When did that happen? I must have been high on adrenaline and didn't feel it.

But then the stinging pain strikes, and I'm finally overwhelmed. Making almost identical strangled cries of grief, Gabe and I fall into each other's arms.

After a paramedic treats my surprisingly superficial wound, we spend the rest of the night - or early Sunday morning, I guess I should say - in the station house.

They don't question us or anything like that - not in the state we're in.

Instead, they do their best to make us comfortable. They get us blankets, hot chocolate, dry clothes that read "Coldfire Creek P.D. Athletic Dept."

It's a nice gesture, but it's still not enough.

I keep pinching myself, hoping to wake up from whatever nightmare I've been living in for the last 24 hours. When Gabe tries to tell me to stop, I lash out at him.

"This isn't real!" I yell. "None of this is real!"

"Please, just stop," Gabe says, his voice shaking as he struggles to keep himself from crying all over again. "Alex, i-it's not helping."