Light in Dark Places

Chapter Eighteen

There are strange details that stand out to Joan in this moment. Like the fact that Benedict's hand is very cold against her skin, even as it grips onto her wrist so hard it bruises. The fact that he's pulling on her to get her to move forward, and the way his wing flutters at his side. Later, she thinks about how much he looked like a bird ready to take flight in that moment. She will think that if he actually had been a bird, he would have already flown away, but because he is a human he stayed on the ground to make sure she would go with him.

"We have to run, now," Benedict says. And he sounds very confident in that moment, like he's never been surer of anything in his life than in this moment. She takes a few steps in his direction as he pulls her.

There are things that she doesn't notice. Not in time. She doesn't notice the way the soldier who had been escorting them lifts up his gun. She doesn't notice when the boy from the desert moves forward, not until he's right there, in front of them, kicking Benedict in the stomach.

The boy grabs her by the back of her neck and slams her into the wall. The blow makes her dizzy as dark spots form in the corner of her vision, like she's passing out. The boy yanks her back up by her neck and leaves his grip there, tight and choking. He walks to where Benedict is on the ground and pins him down with his foot.

"And what kind of monster are you?" the boy purrs in similar cooing tones that Joan's Aunt Mary would use whenever she saw someone's cat. He slams his foot down on Benedict's wing, causing Benedict to cry out—a sharp sound that's a mixture of a human whimper and a crow's caw. "How fascinating, little half-Beastie. Why do you exist?" He stomps his foot on Benedict's stomach this time, and rests there, pinning Benedict down like he was some kind of insect.

"Stop it!" Joan cries, twisting in the boy's grip.

His nails dig into her skin as he tightens his choke around her neck. He brings Joan closer to him, causing her to trip over Benedict. He lets go of her only to move his arm inwards, so that it's a bar against her neck, keeping her close to him. She struggles again but he has her pinned so close it's hard to move without stepping on Benedict.

"Joan, Joanie, nabi, little butterfly, we're old friends, don't you know? There's no reason to act like this, I'm not going to hurt you, well not hurt you very much, not if you help me. You want to help me, don't you nabi? I came all this way just for you, aren't you honored?"

"We better get moving, boss," the soldier says. "If we want to avoid the Kings."

"Do we want to avoid the Kings?" the boy hums to himself. "Yes, I suppose we do. Joanie, I'm afraid I just don't have the time for a proper catch up between friends. I hope this doesn't make you think less of me. We'll have plenty of time for that later. For now, we have very important things to do, yes we do."

He moves off of Benedict, pulling Joan along with him.

"What do we do about the Beast kid?" the soldier asks.

"The what?" the boy says. He looks around and spots Benedict on the floor, struggling to get up. "Oh. I'm not sure. Shoot him, I guess."

"No!" Joan shrieks.

It doesn't matter how old her body is, or how old her mind feels. In that moment, she reverts back to being nine-years-old and she fights back the only way she knows how.

She claws at his arm and bites down.

*

He is not going to kill you. Do you hear me? You are not going to die today.

Benedict does feel a certain amount of serenity at this assurance. But when their attacker swears viciously, dropping Joan, Benedict forgets everything about the presence in his mind that tells him everything is going to be OK. Their attacker punches Joan, knocking her to the ground, and Benedict moves to catch her.

His movement does very little. They're both on the ground as useless injured lumps, only now Benedict is behind Joan, one arm around her shoulders, one wing upwards as if to shield them both.

*

"Oh, little Beast thing, what a silly little thing you are," the boy says. He smiles. He reaches down and grabs Benedict by his wing, pulling him up. Benedict hisses, surprised by the pain he feels in this thing that still doesn't feel a part of his body. "If I ripped this out of you, what do you think would happen? Do you think you would be human again?"

"Stop it!" Joan says, struggling to her feet. "Let him go."

The boy tilts his head at her, then, improbably, he lets Benedict go. He lets the boy drop to the ground and then he kicks him viciously in the head, causing Joan to cry out. Benedict grows unnaturally still on the ground.

The boy slips a knife out of his sleeve and grips her by the neck, lifting her up. "I was going to take you," he says, conversation-like. "I was going to take you and have her wonder where you are. The idea of her wondering where you were for the rest of her life was a beautiful thought. But now I think I will kill you. I think that would be fun too."

"You're insane," Joan says.

"Yes," he says. "That is what people tell me."

*

The knife is at her throat. She can feel the metal against her skin, she can feel when it cuts into her. It's just a sting now, like a papercut. She can barely register the pain through all the terror.

I'm going to die, Joan thinks. Only even with the thinking it doesn't feel real. She thinks I'm going to die but she doesn't believe it. She doesn't believe this is happening. The boy with the knife against her throat doesn't seem real. The man with the gun standing behind her doesn't feel real either. She's in danger, she knows she is in danger, but she feels so removed from the experience that it's hard to actually feel anything at all.

"Aren't you going to beg me for your life?" the boy says, conversationally. "I think it would be more fun for both of us if you begged. I might even let you go, if you persuade me."

He's not going to let you go, she thinks. Benedict is still at their feet, in a crumpled position, and Joan's not sure if he's still breathing.

"You're not going to kill me," Joan says. And she believes it. She thinks, I'm not going to die, and it's the more powerful thought. It fills her with a kind of peace and calmness that anchors her senses. She is not going to die.

"Better, but still needs some improvement," the boy says.

"I'm not going to die," Joan says. "Seung-ri will save me."

"Oh bravo, that is exactly what I wanted you to say," the boy praises her. His hand moves—

And the whole room is filled with light.