Lunar Virus ✔️

Chapter Twenty-four: Elie

Elie's POV:

My throat closes as I see Elodie disappear into the bushes, as if eaten by some kind of beast with leaves instead of hair. Jayne looks back to Elodie, a horrified guilt passing her eyes. I yell at her to get the car started and push Sheila and a petrified Dev after her.

Sheila turns back to me and sees what I intend to do. She gives me a little nod, before rushing towards the car.

Readying myself for a fight, I creep towards the bushes with what I hope can be considered stealth. The failing street lamp teases my eyes, glinting manically in the dark, but doing nothing to help my sight. It doesn’t matter anyway--the warmth of frenzied resolve pulses with my blood along with a fierce protectiveness. A protectiveness I’d felt once before only for my sister when she was in need.

As I get closer to the bushes, I hear grating whispers of conversation. I fiddle with the pen in my grip. Sheila had told me how to use it. All I had to do was flip the cap, and I would have a weapon. I steal a little closer, feeling my limbs freeze as glass crunches beneath my feet. I wait, holding my breath, heart pounding, stopping to listen. The assailant is still talking as Elodie stays early still. Squinting, I see the glancing edge of a knife pressed against the delicate hollow of Elodie’s neck, and I feel my stomach clench in fear, aching as I realize how quickly this can go south.

Dizzy with a feeling I can’t even begin to comprehend, I lunge forward, stopping just a few feet away from the bushes.

Quentin: Don’t go closer, boy. Quentin’s voice startles me enough for me to almost drop the pen.

Me: Elodie needs help. And anyway, why should I listen to you? You’ve been absent for a while now.

Quentin: Elodie can handle herself, you on the other hand . . . .

Me: What’s that supposed to mean. I take another step forward, with some difficulty this time. What are you doing, Quentin!

Quentin: I’m taking over. I simply cannot let you go any farther.

I feel myself go cold as I realize what’s about to happen. A static feeling of numbness creeps up from my toes like the cold spread of molasses, and with it, the imminent feeling of sick trepidation, the feeling of being suffocated, buried alive as I lose control of my body. Why, Quentin?

I manage to turn my neck and see the profile of Elodie’s face, the helplessness in her expression. Her eyes are downcast, brimming with single, unshed teardrops which a bulb next to the bushes daringly caresses. Her neck is fraught with tension, sensing the knife resting on her skin.

My heart thrashes against my ribcage and I grow fraught with rage, sensing that I’m so close, yet so far. . . not able to help Elodie when she most needs it. And it’s Quentin, Quentin that’s stopping me. Why? What is he so afraid of? Is he afraid that I might die. That his precious little vessel might die? How cowardly, grotesque, despicable. Did he not understand that I wouldn’t care if I died saving someone I care about?

A sense of liberation floods through my imprisoned state, knowing that no matter what, Quentin cannot control my heart or my emotions. And right now, I feel powerful.

Quentin: I’m sorry.

Is it possible for a thing to sound like it’s crying?

I feel a tingle, maybe at the base of my neck, or maybe from the soles of my feet--I’m not really sure. And I feel that thread, that thread that connects me to Quentin, become something more. It opens and becomes a channel. A channel made of emotions, experiences, and a raw, unhinged feeling of apprehension. I get sensation back in my fingers and all through my toes and deep in the pits of my being.

Me: You let me go.

I get no response. I tighten my grip on the pen and step forward, ready to do whatever it takes to make sure that Elodie would be safe, but stop as I discern the words being spoken. Distantly, I feel Quentin go rigid with nerves. “--it wasn’t merciful at all. Nothing could stop its simple presence inside her body from hurting her--making her suffer.”

Its presence? The virus’s presence?

“Death was inevitable. Just like death is inevitable for me. And for your boy too--what’s his name? Eli? He’s going to die too. Just wait. You’ll get to see him suffer.”

Suffer? Quentin, what?

Quentin: You’re going to die.

Me: What?

Quentin: That’s why I didn’t want you to go any closer. No one wants to find out that they’re going to die.

Me: What do you mean? I thought you were not going to kill me.

Quentin: My kind usually takes over within the first forty-eight hours of activation within the host. It takes over--much like how I took over just now--and does something to kill the host. Whether it be falling or inducing a heart attack. Of course, I was never going to do that. But my presence in your body is hurting you. If I could leave, I would. But I can’t. That’s just not how we’re made. We were made to conquer, sent by an alien species to kill the human population before inhabiting Earth.

My head feels light, and my vision swirls. Barely breathing, my fingers unclasp and the pen hits the ground as I feel any emotion of strength inside turn to smoke. It rises, choking my being. I don’t want to die. The world around me tunnels and tilts, briefly snapping back into focus by a shriek.

All of a sudden, Elodie is in front of me, one hand on my arm and the other firmly placed on the back of my neck. She gently squeezes, forcing me to refocus on her. “Elie we need to go.” She tugs on my arm and yanks me towards the car.

The car door opens and I’m shoved inside.

It closes with a crack of finality, shaking the car, and finally, allowing me to shatter.

***

Author's Note:

So, intense chapter. Heh, I feel like I used the word "feel" a lot? Yep.

How we feeling about Quentin's intervention? Not nice? Merciful?

Thoughts?

♥️♥️♥️