An Immortal's Favour

Jack- Guilty, Part 2

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About to collapse under the weight of everything, I caught a flash of pink in my peripheral vision. The vial had rolled a few feet ahead and it flickered like it was on the brink of existence. I lunged, but it vanished, just short of my fingertips. My hands closed around the space where it had been, and a jolt rippled through me at the feel of it in my hand. I felt for the stopper and pulled it off, bringing the vial to my lips. Everything around me melted away for a split second, and the sight of hands pulling desperately at my own flashed before my eyes.

"No!"

Some of the metallic-tasting liquid dribbled from the corner of my mouth, but the rest made its way down my throat. As it turned out, creating an illusion within another hurt. A lot. I clutched hard at my head with both hands and the vial fell, bouncing off of the floor with a sharp ping. The images around me swam in and out of each other as I tried to create something to combat my torture.

"Why bother? You can't do what I can."

Yafeu's words were exactly what I needed. The spirits knew I wasn't cut out to be a caster, but if I could do something, if I could make one small change...It might've been enough.

Inhaling, I attempted to calm myself and allowed Yafeu's own illusions to return. Of all the things that Yafeu could've chosen to do in response, he sighed. The sadness behind the sound sent a shiver through my body, but, all the same, I kept my eyes focused on one image in particular. I saw myself and Father. Though this memory was nothing but a construction of Yafeu's own mind, it hit home. In it, Father and I were seated on the front porch of my parent's mansion, and I had my head in my hands. Leaning forwards, Father spoke.

"You'll always have your family, Manu. Your mother and I will always be here for you; you don't need those friends, not after what they've done."

"I just can't believe they'd hurt me," I heard myself respond in the vision, so quietly that I could hardly make out the words. "Why?"

"You don't need to know," Father stated, placing emphasis on each word, all of them hitting me like a brick. "It will change nothing."

In the memory, my eyes flickered shut and I rubbed tiredly at them with the heels of my hands.

"Don't put yourself through this. Don't be weak."

On that image alone, I focused. In response to my efforts, the picture shimmered and in place of my father, I put Yafeu; he'd have hated to be saying the same words that must've haunted him for the past four years. Louder and louder I tried to make the voices, which repeated the words I'd heard already. But it wasn't enough; the other projections drowned this one out entirely. And my father began to take Yafeu's place.

"T-there's not enough time," I groaned, falling further to the ground as the effects of the brew waned. There was another option. I could've waited until Yafeu's strength faded, but what would've become of me by then?

Switching tactics, I picked and chose from the other memories around me, changing whatever little thing I thought would make a difference. But it didn't work. There's no way I could've done it alone.

"I need to get away. I need to..."

"Manu!"

Once more, I found my gaze focused on my legs and the blue carpet beneath my trembling feet. Another arm was wrapped around me this time, and Father- as real (I hoped) and solid as the thick arm held around me -met my face with an anxious frown. He held onto one of my hands, which was covered in deep nail marks.

"Slowly now. Small steps."

I looked to my other side to find Yafeu with his arm also disappearing behind my waist. So desperately did I want to run, or even yell, but a force weighed down on my head, infiltrated my mind, and told me that any extreme movement was impossible.

Distant music played from the ongoing party, making me feel more isolated than ever.

"How are you feeling? Immortals, if Yafeu hadn't found you..."

"I'm sorry, Uncle. He could hardly speak when I first saw him. Perhaps we should call a doctor? Maybe cancel the celebrations early?" Yafeu suggested.

Father leaned closer and whispered something to me. With a confused look, he tried again and started to look angry. He was shouting, every one of his words clear as day, but my response stayed stuck in my throat, stifled by the strength of Yafeu's casting. My head was throbbing. It was all becoming too much for me.

"I'll take it from here, Yafeu. You go on ahead to the others. Let them know that my son is feeling unwell. If anyone asks, tell them I'm taking him into town to see a doctor." Father pulled me away from Yafeu's grip and guided me towards him. Helpers for the party weaved past us, offering concerned but brief glances of sympathy before disappearing down the hallway behind us. As our footsteps progressed, I caught the rustling of trees outside, the slight patter of drizzling rain. Through a lone window, I glimpsed the car park.

Yafeu lingered, hovering behind the two of us. 

"Is there a problem?" Father asked, throwing him a pointed look.

 Yafeu froze to his spot, cracking his knuckles while he took in a succession of quick breaths. Turning away once more, Father carried on and as the distance between Yafeu and the pair of us grew, the effects of the illusion casting loosened. Lips trembling, I tried speaking, though- all too soon -another hand clamped over my left shoulder, just as my voice retreated to the back of my throat once more.

"I'm sorry. But I can't just leave. Look at him." Yafeu gestured harshly in my direction. "Let me come."

"Yafeu-" Father faltered.

Somehow, I had to get his attention, had to show him the truth. Yanking back one leg, and squeezing both eyes shut, I kicked Yafeu as hard as I could. Like glass, he shattered under the weight of my foot, screaming in pain when his arms fell from me and clutched at his thigh. His casting's hold loosened considerably, the voice in my head fading into silence. The fatigue still lingered, and I had to lean against Father to support myself, now that Yafeu's hands were pressed around his leg.

I spat at him. He winced, swallowing while saliva ran down his forehead and slid across his face. Hot tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"My mind is not a toy for you to play with. Keep your shitty illusions to yourself." My words were sharp, slicing at the man in front of me with a precision that had his whole body reeling from the impact. I was pissed off. Hell, I was seething.

So why did I feel something else stirring in my bitter sea of anger? Why did I feel as though I'd done something wrong?

The questions circled through my head, but the tiredness, the burn of fear, the images- everything -took its toll with no mercy. What exactly happened over the next few moments is forever lost to me, the blurred recollections I've been left with proving to be nothing short of useless.

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Discussion: Jacob's father saves the day! What do you think?

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