Light in Dark Places

Chapter Forty

Joan sits in Seung-ri's backyard and thinks how strange the desert is at night.

For one thing, there is an association as old as literature that night should be cold. Or at the very least, cool. The absence of sunlight doesn't abate the desert heat at all. The only difference is intensity. She sits in shorts and a tanktop and isn't bothered and it is a rather surreal experience.

For another, it seems very much alive. She can hear the sounds of people out and about, and every now and then she sees a swarm of creatures that are either small bats or very large moths (in Sahuaro, she learned that both were a possibility.)

The Kings are in their house again. Joan thinks maybe they live here, and Seung-ri just didn't want to tell her that. She wonders again if Seung-ri is dating one of them. And while Joan likes them, mostly, it can sometimes be constraining to be in the same room as them— to be in the same house as them. Thus, why she's outside, hoping she doesn't get eaten by mosquitos. Or giant moths.

"It is a lovely night, isn't it?"

The voice causes her to fall out of her seat. Creosote, appearing abruptly, stands next to her with his hands in his pockets as if they'd both been nonchalantly waiting for a bus.

Joan screams and throws her shoe at him.

The shoe passes straight through him and falls to the ground.

Creosote looks at her reproachfully. "Rude."

"You're—you're—" Joan's brain ceases to process information in a helpful manner.

"Not really here," Creosote supplies. "So you don't really need to worry about calling for help, because I can't actually hurt you. Unless you'd like the moral support. In which case, feel free, I'd love to see Seung-ri in her nightgown."

Joan scowls all too aware that she's in her sleeping wear. "You know, an awful lot of creepy dudes perv on my sister. So you're not actually unique there."

"It's the power," Creosote admits. "I've always been attracted to people who could crush me with their minds. It makes me feel alive, you know?"

"Hernandez must be super sexy to you."

"Mmm. Indeed, but can you imagine that man in the bedroom? He's a robot. He'd probably critique your performance every step of the way."

Joan snorts and then slaps a hand to her mouth. Creosote is the enemy! And crazy! You don't laugh at your crazy enemy's jokes!

Even if you sorta agreed with him.

"Why are you here?" Joan demands, trying to regain some of her composure.

"Just to talk to you."

"That's—not your Ash talent, is it?" Joan says, feeling like someone should have warned her if it was.

"Not my Ash talent, no. Someone's Ash talent, but definitely not mine." Creosote smiles in a way that reminds Joan that he is insane.

"We have a lot in common, you know," Creosote says.

Joan barely stops herself in time before she rolls her eyes. "Oh, do we?"

"We both know what it's like to be trapped between two worlds, and not belong in either of them."

"Except you kill people," Joan reminds him. "You tried to kill me. Please, keep talking like we're pals, maybe I'll forget that time you described leaving my body somewhere my sister could find."

"Oh dear, you're not still hung up on that, are you? Nabi, you'll never make it in this world if you hold grudges."

"Don't call me that," Joan snaps, although she instantly regrets it. This is not the kind of man who would stop doing something irritating just because you asked.

But Creosote's expression only grows serious, in a way that's more unsettling than anything else.

"But you are our butterfly, don't you see that?" Creosote asks softly. "All of us who cared about Seung-ri. We cared about you, too. We would visit you while you slept. I used to tell you all my secrets, because you were such a good listener. Clemente would read fairy tales out loud to you. Susanna would sing to you, Jisu used to read the newspaper to you, Heather would braid your hair. You were never just Seung-ri's sister, you were all of ours."

Part of her wants to hold her hands to her ears and drown out this noise. In some way, it is the most horrifying thing he could say to her. She doesn't like to think about the time when he was friends with Seung-ri.

But more than that, she does not like to think about the time she was asleep, and what she might have meant to everyone who knew Seung-ri at that time.

"And now you want to kill me," Joan says, feeling distanced from her own voice.

"It's not that I want to kill you, nabi," Creosote says. "But I need Seung-ri to understand that there are no happy endings. She needs to suffer more, so that she can learn the right way of doing things. She has such incredible strength, don't you see? She turned a city upside down because she lost you once— just imagine what she would do if she lost you again.

"All three of them—they're practically gods. They could do so, so much more. But instead, they stay in this city, like complacent children. They could change the whole world with power like theirs. But they never will, not unless one of them makes the choice. And that's why you have to die, don't you see?"

Joan stares at his apparition. He looks so earnest and so utterly devoid of all sense. He's serene almost, convinced in his own rightness. "Are you seriously trying to convince me that I should die?"

Creosote tilts his head. "Don't you want to? Even a little?"

Joan pulls back, shaken by the question. Because it hurts—living hurts. In a very secret part of her soul, she wishes it could all just—stop—sometimes. And no one can know that—not Seung-ri or Benedict or Jisu. No one is allowed to ever know that.

"I'm glad I'm alive," Joan says quietly. And she means it, she means it. "I don't spend all those years Miserable just to die now."

"But that's exactly it," Creosote says. "If you die now, no one will ever have to be Miserable again. Your sister and Clemente and Jisu—they would save everyone. And we all have a part to play, especially me and you, we're partners, nabi. We were back then, when you slept, and we are now. The Kings—they're the heroes of this story, not people like you and me. They're the three Chosen Ones, the Fated Ones, the protagonists in a truly epic tale.

"The rest of us must resign ourselves to the remaining parts. I will play the villain if I must, even if it means I hold the wrath and hatred of my most important people. And you, you have to be the martyr, don't you see? It's the role that fits you best. You have to die so your sister can do great things. It's an honor, if you think of it. So many of us die for no reason at all. There will be other victims, and their deaths will be tear-jerkers, but they'll be forgotten soon enough. Your death will mean something. You will be a catalyst, and isn't that amazing?"

Joan stands there, silently and very straight, rigid in her own horror.

"Go fuck yourself," she says finally. And then she turns around and walks back inside the house.

*

What if Joan doesn't come? Agatha thinks. But she shakes her head almost immediately. She believes Joan will come. There are many future possibilities, but sometimes it's not as much a matter of knowing the future as it is having faith.

And if there's one thing Agatha has, it's faith.

*

Benedict chokes on echoes. He lies on bed, burying his head under his pillow, trying to drown out the feeling of all the echoes and echoes and echoes and echoes and echoes and echoes and echoes.

It's OK, love, I'm here, Hiraeth says. And he can feel that phantom memory of a hug wrapped around him. I'm here.

And then it's the phantom memory of a kiss. Not a physical sensation at all, and not even a kiss so much as the exchange of breath, like CPR. Benedict is suffocating and he needs air and in his mind he is clinging to a lifeline.

You will get through this, Hiraeth says. I promise, you will get through this.