Of the Occult

Part 1:

"I am a psychiatrist, primarily."

John didn't know why he had to sit through this, but his agent had told him numerous times about the importance of interaction with fans. "books don't sell themselves, Mr. Daye, and you are living in a time where competition is higher than quality." John hated his agent, but found himself agreeing to him on more occasions than just this. With a heavy sigh, he had taken his seat next to a massive poster of his new book "of the occult" which despite John Daye's efforts, remained "a slightly queer book, but likeable nonetheless" in the few reviews he had bothered to read. Other critics called his book "whacky", and frankly, that was quite alright with John. He had meant his book to be whacky.

Sitting on the green cushions of the wooden chair that had been provided to him, John scratched his balding head.

"Yeah, I wouldn't call myself a writer. A psychiatrist. A nutter, if you prefer". An off smile appeared on his wrinkly face.

"But this is the third book you have authored. People like reading about the weird things you write. Maybe you should consider becoming a full-time writer. I hate waiting years for your next book."

"I am flattered" John Daye didn't look it. He looked tired, if anything.

"So tell me," the fan continued. John Daye looked at the dwindling line behind the young man, and noticed how people were leaving already. He focused on the one who still stood, with a light in his eyes.

"Is any of it true?"

John looked at the boy, a twenty something. He didn't answer just yet, taking the front page of the book the fan offered, signing it with little courtesy and adding "enjoy the book, Pete" when he offered his name. Then John's blue eyes looked up.

"Of course it is true."

Pete seemed satisfied as he walked out.

Is any of it true? The amount of research John had put into his book was never appreciated, hardwork rarely was; yet, John hated every bit of it. He hated writing, for it was just entertainment at this point. Pete would never know how much John had given up, how much he had bled and sweated, quite literally. Why? Not for sitting here, talking to people who don't believe what he had written. They couldn't imagine the possibility of urban cults, living right next door, practicing the kind of sinister beliefs that would make your skin crawl hearing about it.

Pete wouldn't believe, if John told him, that chapter 23 in "of the occult" was actually true. He wouldn't believe that John had been there, driving at breakneck speed in his jeep at the very heart of London. He wouldn't believe how precious a second could be, when there was a family of cultist who preached and prayed only to fire, ready to set their newborn girl in fire in the hopes of pleasing the gods. He wouldn't believe that John had been only a second behind the police, when his jeep rolled and swayed to a stop next to a burning house, a carcass of a baby lying on the floor, black and charred.

Pete wouldn't believe the words that came out of the rescued mother; words that John needn't even think to recall. "The world hadn't ended today for our sacrifice!" the ashen face of the mother cried over her burning baby.

The power of belief could make people do unspeakable things, and Pete wasn’t a believer, John thought. The idea that the world might have ended had she not prevented it from ending by her evil practice still fueled the arrogance of the fire cultist, as she sat high above the others in the warded asylum provided for her. Her husband, dead. Her child, dead. And still she believed she was the hero the world should be celebrating.

John spat the sandwich he was munching on in a nearby dustbin, while walking away from the building, as he chucked the remaining sandwich the same place his spit went. John was done with the world.

---

Part 2:

The last house on Maple drive was built rather away from the rest, an architectural planning gone wrong maybe. It was closer to the line of trees that forever cast long shadows behind the house, and farthest away from the playground where the happy noises of children playing often originated from 4 pm till 6. Jeremy Dupitt, all of eleven years old now, was never seen playing with the other kids. Maybe it was that architectural flaw that had created such distance between him and the other kids, or maybe it was his alcoholic father who stayed absent for most of the time, and when he didn't, Jeremy wished he was. The eleven year old had gotten tired of removing his father's shoes after waking up late at night, and putting on a blanket over his drunken and lost body, he who preferred to sleep on the couch and not with his son. Jeremy wanted to play with the other children, but the other children knew he had no mother. The other children didn't like him, for he was different. Jeremy never smiled, wore shirts not meant for his size and was always gone soon after school, on his bicycle, with no other friends. It had become his habit to ride past his house, the last one on Maple drive, ride to the end of the road and beyond, into the woods. The saddest part was, no one stopped him. There was no one to stop him.

Today wasn't particularly different. Jeremy Dupitt was on his bicycle, pedaling it noiselessly. The sound of broken gravel was all that followed him as he drew closer to the playground. The big round eyes of the kid registered the few children at play, and he pedaled faster now. He saw the fat thirteen year old who always eyed him as he went past, and today Jeremy felt he had ventured too close. Not again, he thought, as the fat boy shouted at his friends and drew close. Jeremy slowed just a bit, a mistake. The thick arms of the thirteen year old grabbed his oversized shirt, and Jeremy prepared himself already, even before he was pulled away from his bike and fell on the pavement with a loud metallic BAM, his bicycle next to him.

"Oi! I told you not to come here, didn't I?"

The kids surrounding the fat boy snickered. Jeremy didn't even know their names.

His head was still spinning from the fall, and his arm was bleeding. The fat boy didn't seem to care much, and neither did Jeremy, quite frankly. He just wanted to be left alone.

It took fifteen minutes for the bullies to do their thing, before they left, bored.

"Stay away, creepo" a girl said.

"Go where your mommy went"

"Bugger off, fuck" the fat boy said. Jeremy's eyes didn't register any fear, even with the dust on his cheeks and his body hurting from the many kicks he had gotten. The fat boy? He walked away pretty fast, putting distance from the creepo.

People fear what they don't understand. And Jeremy was as closed a book as there ever had been.

Propping his cycle up, Jeremy stood awkwardly, grimacing at the bruises on his shoulder, arm and leg. Fat boy had done a number on him pretty bad. Was there a sting in the eleven year old boy's eyes? If there was, it didn't develop because of pain or fear. It came out of loneliness. The mere thought of going to his home now, an empty shell of a house, dark and long shadows beyond every corridor and no one to brighten it up, left Jeremy wanting to cuddle his sobs on that cold footpath next to the now fast abandoned playground.

A minute or two later, Jeremy had still failed to cry in earnest. Now picking himself up and dusting his clothes and checking for his wounds, he wondered what was the point of it all? This question left a series of unanswered hurt - which naturally it would. Even grown men ask that question and find themselves in similar positions. From a kid, though, the thought of giving up when his life had just started created a despair little few know of. Jeremy's round green eyes had attained a forever lost look - unable to understand his mother's death, unable to understand his father's inattention, unable to understand the other children's hostility. Forget the wounds dripping blood along his elbows and shins, Jeremy hurt from the inside, and in someone so young that hurt becomes permanent. Jeremy was wounded in a more lasting way than the fat boy ever intended.

So Jeremy, believing that this after all was all that life was about (he had been convinced happiness and love was not for him but for the other children), pulled his bicycle up and with a grimace rode it once more. His cycle creaked more loudly than ever, and when Jeremy arrived at the last house built near the trees, he never slowed down. Into the woods he went, the evening shadows might as well be night underneath the canopy, as he had done so many times before.

It was the beauty of isolation, was it not, that only in its company could one be oneself. So it was true for Jeremy also, who finally gave up the facade. On he rode, past the trees that knew no sympathy, Jeremy's tears fueling his cycle; the more he cried, the faster he rode. His bicycle bumped up and down over fallen twigs and rocks, but Jeremy could not care less. He felt broken and unneeded. He felt useless and pathetic. He felt like he had no place in the world and when his cycle tipped over a massive log, and Jeremy was once again flat on the ground, his spine meeting a rock causing spasms of pain, all Jeremy Dupitt could do was cry.

Tears slid down on to the forest floor, and not even the worms cared. And so Jeremy cried, as he had done so many times before, alone.

But as it would so happen, this time things would be different.

There was a sound of gentle feet on dried leaves, and Jeremy out of instinct wiped his eyes on his sleeves, as if his tears were a token of his weakness and embarrassment, but could not pull himself up. Moving caused immense pain to his back, so Jeremy craned his neck. His eyes swept over the broken twigs and dried leaves and fallen branches and such and then they saw the little girl looking at him with a genuine curiosity.

She tilted her head sideways a bit, so reminiscent of a cat, and looked at him with big brown eyes full of sorrow. For the first time in his life, Jeremy felt..... He didn't know how to describe it. Hope? He hadn't felt it before and knew its meaning only from a dictionary, so he did not know.

Finally Jeremy's eyes cleared up, his tears dry. He looked at her again, and this time he noticed less significant things. She was of Asian descent, perhaps Japanese? For she was wearing a regal looking kimono and yukata, pink and gold with floral patterns. She had make up on, a thick black line of mascara extending from the edge of her slanted almond eyes all the way behind her ears. Her face was pale, unnecessarily so, and her cheeks had blush. Her lips were a perfect rosebud, and this Jeremy could see quite clearly for she was now bending down to look directly into his eyes. For the weirdest reason, Jeremy felt violated; her brown eyes looked so keenly into his green, Jeremy could swear she could see past them, inside his head. But before Jeremy could object, she was already helping him up. With one hand pushing his back up (exactly at a point where it did not hurt, as if she somehow knew) she still looked at him with that mixture of sorrow and curiosity - Jeremy felt as if he was a sparrow with broken wings, which the strange girl meant to fix.

"Who are you?" Jeremy expressed his wonder.

She was mum, her silken kimono moving swish-swish as she pulled Jeremy upwards into a somewhat sitting position. She noticed Jeremy staring at her, blinked once and looked away.

"You wouldn't believe if I told you."

Jeremy left it at that. He couldn't stop staring though.

"I... ", he began once more.

"Why did you stop?"

"Stop what?" Jeremy responded. He was still trying to make sense of things but couldn't quite; who was she?

"Where does it hurt?" she asked again, ignoring his question.

"I...my back. I think I fell on a rock."

"Here?" she had found the spot on his spine. It was swollen. Jeremy nodded.

She reached inside her kimono for a small bag strapped around her waist. She retrieved a small bottle full of a green balm of some sort. Honestly, Jeremy thought it looked disgusting, but as the girl in the kimono methodically applied the ointment on his spine, he couldn't object. The girl intrigued him too much with her mystery for Jeremy to say a word.

"What was that?"

"Just medicine. It's good with bruises."

Her fingers felt cold on his back, or was it the green stuff? He couldn't tell, but when she retracted her hand from under his shirt, his spine already felt like it was warm where he was hurt.

"You carry that around with you all the time?" Jeremy wondered.

She didn't answer but for some reason her slant eyes crinkled up into what Jeremy assumed to be a half smile.

"I am Jeremy." he extended his hand.

Her cold fingers gripped his awkwardly, and they shook hands.

"I am Anahasika Misaki."

"Pleased to meet you, Anahasika."

This time Anahasika Misaki actually smiled. It was a good development on her serene face, and Jeremy felt a warm feeling inside.

"What?" Jeremy asked, as she continued to smile.

"Oh, nothing. No one ever calls me by my name anymore."

"Why not? It's such an unusual name." Jeremy couldn't help but add, "I mean in a good way that is..."

She smiled again. Jeremy realized he liked her presence, sitting next to him, her legs folded under her in grace. He wanted to keep the conversation going, but didn't know how. Before he could think of something though, she spoke.

"Where does it hurt?"

"You already put that balm thing on me. I will be fine now, I guess."

But she shook her head, her earrings making soft bell like sounds. She placed her palm flat on his chest.

"I can see pain, you know? So tell me, where does it hurt?"

For the strangest moment, it was as if Jeremy Dupitt understood what she meant. Of course, she could see pain, he thought. But that strange moment died, and he wondered how was that possible. What color would pain be? What texture would it have? No, this made no sense, and yet her cold hand right above his heart felt heavy, and steadily heavier. He could feel a pain there, like the pain of straining muscles under a heavy load, and he felt the burden on his heart and for the slightest fraction of time. He wanted to tell her. Where it hurt. He wanted to tell her all.

"I asked you before. Why did you stop?"

Her hand felt so much more warmer now.

"why did I stop what?" he asked, wide eyed.

"Crying."

Had Jeremy ever thought Anahasika Misaki had cold hands? How wrong of him. Her hand was made of fire, and his heart seemed to burn. He did not know how it started, but Jeremy Dupitt found himself crying like he never had. Wailing loudly, his sobs echoing through the trees, he hugged her, and found that she was hugging him back, stroking his hair.

"who are you?" Jeremy asked once more, through a haze of tear laden eyes.

"I am the Lady of the Lake." Misaki replied.

--

Part 3:

The auditorium of the Gilman's institute of arts was quite cold, very dark and definitely large and full of people. The screen behind John Daye showed various projections, most notably of his research on criminal psychology, and as John pranced around the podium, he could feel all eyes on him. John could never understand how so many young adults could be interested in the human condition called criminality.

"I guess you could say," John Daye said into the mic "when we are interested in the criminal psyche, we often have to extend our interests to his desires" - John pointed at the screen as he said this; he was discussing about an old case - "and reasons that brought out his criminal nature. Mr. Reinhardt here made a notable improvement by associating murder with things that he found repulsive. In his case, his past shrouded by the abuse from his father played an important role. When Mr. Reinhardt was made to think from the eyes of the younger him in the eyes of his victims, he showed resistance to his more base desires, choosing not to kill or hurt. It took years of work, but as of today, Mr. Reinhardt is safe in the society and in himself."

"Sir," someone from the top far shadows shouted, "does that mean he is living his life like a normal person now? You know, like in actual society?"

"My final judgment about the matter was that, but the state doesn't look too kindly upon murderers, I am afraid. He is in prison for life, to this day."

John Daye flipped a page, the sound escaping loudly through the mic. Before he could say anything though, a girl from the front row asked an interesting question.

"What if a crime is done by a group of people? Like a gang, or a cult, say. I mean, you said you have to understand their desires and their past, but when multiple people are involved, there would be multiple desires and multiple pasts. Their might or might not be any link between them, and yet they commit a crime together. How does that work?"

John Daye scratched his head on the podium, everyone's eyes on him. Of course all of these smart students had read his books, or at least knew what they were about. It would seem they wanted more personal cases involving what he was famous for. Cults.

"A gang is notably different than, say, a cult.", he said rather pointedly, "but I will try to answer anyway. Before I do, you should understand that criminal psychology is too intricate a science; there is never one answer to any question. So here, I was talking about Mr. Reinhardt..."

"Sir!" the girl shouted in protest. Daye dismissed her with a wave of a hand,

"Let me finish, miss. You want to know how a group can be convinced to commit a crime? Take what I was saying about Mr. Reinhardt, for example. I told you all that I deemed him to be fit to exist in society and therefore the state put him in prison for life. That’s a 45 year sentence. But when he is released, he still would have a chance at a life, would he not? Now bear with me. Imagine if, for some personal reasons, I lied to the state that he was unfit to exist in society, and hence the state would be forced to give him the same life imprisonment in a padded asylum. The only difference here is that, there is no chance for Mr. Reinhardt to come back to society. Life in a padded cell means life in a padded cell. It's not a 45 year tenure, it's till-the-day-you-die. I falsifying my testimony would undoubtedly be a crime, but you believing my testimony without a doubt, and going along with it makes you an accessory in the crime.

And that's just the thing. Cults are based on belief. The entire group believes in something that makes them commit crimes. In this case, their desires, and their pasts do come into the picture, but most importantly, what binds them together is belief."

John Daye looked around the group, then smiled.

"Don't worry, there was a panel of five psychiatrist that gave their testimonies in the case of Mr. Reinhardt."

Some dry laughter was shared among the crowd. Half an hour later, John Daye was packing his things and the students were leaving the hall. He thought the lecture was a success; the students seemed very interactive and interested and that made Daye leave satisfied.

Waving to some of the students as they greeted him a good evening, Daye started his walk outside the building; an unnatural chill hung heavy in the summer air, and the campus was full of students rushing home or to their rooms or to pubs or wherever. Daye himself picked up his pace, not wanting to stay out when it could rain any minute now. The clouds were growing heavier and darker, so it might not come as a surprise when John felt a slight annoyance when krhe was stopped by a girl, her brunette hair tied in a long straight ponytail behind her, swinging left-right in a false sense of enthusiasm.

“Hey, sir!”

Daye looked at her and recognized her instantly. Why, it was the girl who had asked that peculiar question during his lecture. What could she want?

“Hey, sir -”

“Not giving a lecture anymore. I am John Daye.”

And he kept walking, forcing the 19 year old something to fall in step.

"Okay. Hey, John Daye. I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure, sure, can you walk a bit faster though? I hate getting wet." John's attention was solely to the clouds now, and ominous it did look; John could practically feel the drops dislodged from equilibrium, about to fall on his balding head any moment now.

"huh." she smiled, "Okay. I am Claudia Rebecca White."

Odd, John thought to himself. Who gives their full name like that, he thought. Moreover, it had started to drizzle just so slightly, and John rushed the last few yards to his car.

"...and I wanted to ask you about the Lambs."

Rebecca crashed into Daye, for the latter had stopped too abruptly. He had Rebecca's undivided attention now, the rain quite forgotten, then he pointed to the open doors of his car and asked,

"You like pizza?"

--

Part 4:

Jeremy woke up with a start.

Jeremy couldn't move his head, all he could do was blink up at the stark white ceiling of his bedroom. Slowly, his hearing returned to him, and he could hear the soft pitter-patter of rain on the window panes of his room. His throat felt parched. Water? He needed some water. The sound of rain was louder now. His brain was the slowest, in the order of things, to start functioning again.

Jeremy remembered the Lady of the Lake.

Had that really happened? He tried sitting up and to his surprise he felt no exertion at all. His back didn't hurt. In fact, nothing in his body hurt. He felt so perfectly fine. Not at all like he had been thrashed by some elder kids and then almost broken his back about four hours earlier. He checked for his wounds, and there weren't any. What happened? The Lady of the Lake? No, she hated that name, she told him that. Anahasika Misaki.

And then he remembered everything. He remembered talking to her for a long time, talking about the most peculiar things. After Jeremy was done crying into Anahasika's lap, she had asked him odd things like,

"Why does the sun hide itself at night?"

To which he had replied, "it doesn't. Its called revolution. The earth revolves around the sun, and at night, technically, the earth moves beyond the reach of, you know, the light of the sun. Which is why it's night. I mean. I don't know how to explain."

And she nodded with big eyes and a ready enthusiasm to learn.

They had sat there on the grass for a very long time. For some reason, except for the whole Jeremy breaking down and crying in front of her, they shared no personal moments. Only questions such as this, which Jeremy tried to answer as accurately as possible.

As for the questions Jeremy asked, well. It wasn't hard to tell he was attached to the girl in only the few moments they shared; leave the fact that Anahasika was mysterious and pretty and intriguing and definitely something bordering supernatural, but moreover and more importantly no other person had given their full attention to Jeremy in his life and he was in a desperate need of a friend. So, yes, he was attached, and yes, the questions he asked were personal beyond a doubt. But the answers he got were vague, or no answers at all.

"What does it mean, what is Lady of the Lake?"

"I don't know, that’s what they call me."

"Who are they?"

"I don't know, everyone, I guess. That is to say, everyone who seeks help."

"Can I call you Ana? Your name is kind of long."

"I don't know, people call me many different things. Call me whatever you like."

"What do you like?"

"A lot of things. Sunflowers. Butterflies. The color of the sun..."

"No, I meant..."

"...and I like the name Ana. It's so simple. I hate being called the Lady of the Lake. Call me Ana."

And then she flashed the prettiest smile Jeremy had seen.

"Then Ana it is." Jeremy blushed.

"So where do you live, Ana?" Jeremy started again.

"Beyond the forest? I don't know, I think I am lost. But I found you, so maybe not. Hm?"

"What do you mean?"

And she looked at him, the smile vanished in such a way that Jeremy wondered if he had dreamt it.

"You don't know what I mean?"

But Jeremy did. At times, when Jeremy was alone he could feel the ripples his thought left in his brain, the speed with which they flied too great. They would whizz inside his head, swirling in a centrifuge of his brain, like arrows drifting in wind. It was all too easy for Jeremy to get lost, so lost, in these thoughts of his.

It was only when he sat there with Ana that he realized how hard it was to put his thoughts into words, how hard it was to actually project his thoughts beyond his brain, to give them a shape in the form of communication.

And yet, he did communicate, he did project, and he did think. If being lost can be explained simply as 'having an infinite space to explore', then can we not say that to have a friend was akin to finding your way? If thoughts materialize from a labyrinth inside your brain, then the words you speak in the company of a friend are the embodiment of those thoughts that found their way out.

So, Jeremy thought, staring into the white ceiling, listening to the music of condensed water on his bedroom window, only people who live alone, live lost.

There was a seemingly loud noise (louder than the rain in the very least) at the door. Someone was fumbling to open the lock of the front door. Jeremy hopped off his bed, and walked slowly to the hall, where he stood at the corner of the end of the stairs, waiting for his father to open the door.

It took him some time, and possibly many attempts, but Jeremy Dupitt's father finally entered, drenched in rain and alcohol. The rain flashed blue inside the dark room, and it flashed brighter through the gaps as Mr. Dupitt closed the door behind him.

"hey, Jeremy, I am home", he shouted to no one in particular, dropped his drenched coat onto the floor. Without bothering to switch on the lights, he stumbled to the coffee table and plopped down on the couch with an exaggerrated, drunken sigh.

After some time of massaging his head, Mr. Dupitt looked around and through strained eyes he spotted Jeremy standing near the doorway.

"Oh, Jeremy, I don't think I can make dinner. You mind ordering from out?"

His speech was slurred, slow.

Jeremy shook his head to show his approval. And that was dinner in the Dupitt household. The light from the digital clock on the coffee table was all the light that shone in the room, excluding of course, the bright line formed by the gap under the door. The sound of rain was now so very dim, maybe because of the harsh raspy uneven breathing of Jeremy's father. Jeremy saw his father curl up on the sofa, and he felt that strange heavy feeling in his chest he had felt earlier when Ana kept her hand there.

It had become a custom in the Dupitt household for Jeremy to call a Chinese place and order some hygienic-unhygienic food. Then, Jeremy would wait, looking at his sorry state of a father sleeping in the living room. Then, the food would arrive seemingly in no time, and Jeremy would tear his eyes from his father and go answer the door. The money would be in his father's wallet and he would have to approach him for that. This was always the scariest part for Jeremy. He kept expecting his father to leap up during that instance one day and announce he was all better now and hug him. But that never happened, and it scared Jeremy that that might never actually happen. Then of course, embracing reality once more, Jeremy would pay the man, and then eat in silence. He hated eating in the dark where his father slept, so he would take the food upstairs to his room. Once done, he would throw the cartons and find the spare blanket to drape it around his father lest he catch a cold. Then he would watch the digital clock change numbers.

And that was so tonight as well. Was this routine sad? No, it was just a routine for Jeremy now. But something had changed tonight. Something was different. That heavy sensation on his heart grew and grew, and Jeremy felt he would burst under the pressure any minute now. So when he watched the digital clock change numbers tonight, he watched it with apprehension and hurt. He needed to say something, Jeremy realized. So he knelt near his father and whispered the first thought that came to his head.

"I love you, dad."

Had Mr. Dupitt heard his son's words that night, maybe he would realize that the loss of his wife wasn't the only tragedy he was going through. But alas, he was deaf from booze, and the only response he could come up with was a snore.

But for some reason, the sensation of Ana's hand disappeared. Jeremy felt better having said something he hadn't said in years. He didn't understand what the Lady of the Lake done to him, but he understood she had done something to him. And that was alright. I wonder if I would see her again, Jeremy thought.

--

Part 5:

"I should head back home now." the lady of the lake said that to Jeremy. The clouds hadn't gathered up yet, so she couldn't tell whether it would rain. Or could she? Such a mysterious girl, Jeremy thought.

"But you are lost. How will you find home?"

"I will use my power." she declared so confidently. Her smile was the prettiest after all, Jeremy thought, and he was glad he hadn't dreamt it earlier.

"Your powers of being able to see pain? How will that help you find your home?" Jeremy's face was so full of wonder, Ana couldn't help but smile some more.

But then she stood up from the floor laden with the remains of trees, brushed her pink kimono and swept her short jet black hair behind her ears. And she was off.

"Can I see you again?" Jeremy called after her.

She looked back only once, turning her head just enough for Jeremy to make out her smile.

"Depends on you, I think".

------

The rain seemed like an old lover tonight, halting on and off after every few showers. As such, the city had attained a dismal grey tone to it, the roads covered in a wet sheen and all the neon signs of shops had become as bright as a hallucination. John Daye's head shone the same way the roads did; Rebecca White's face shone bright the way the signs did. Neither had bothered to speak the first word when they were sitting beside each other in the car, and both seemed reluctant to talk even now, when they sat across each other, separated by a massive round pizza dripping cheese.

Daye silently took a sip of his coke, but inside he was apprehensive. He was worried more than he let on about the resurfacing of the old name. The Lambs. John wondered whether that family had been, after all, his greatest case and decided more than anything, not. There was nothing great about it; it had been a filthy, dirty, disgusting case and John couldn't help himself to the pizza with his thoughts haunted by the Lamb family.

Rebecca, on the other hand, despite having some connection of some kind to the Lambs, felt no aversion to eat. Pushing the wet brown tresses of hers back, she dug in, pulling a slice off the pizza and leaving a locus of cheese behind.

"What do you know about the Lambs?" John asked softly.

Rebecca, who was busy chewing now, looked at him with very round black eyes, but her mouth was too full and all she could manage was a squeaky sound. Then, she swallowed the entire thing in one go, amidst John's raising eyebrows, and replied,

"Oh, aren't they what you based your book on? Of the occult? Bloody brilliant work, if you ask me, sir."

"John is fine and thank you, but I didn't mention the Lambs by name anywhere in my book. The case is almost three years old."

"You are wondering how I know the name Lamb? Dude, John, I know all their names. Patrick Lamb and Alicia Lamb. Of course I don't know the daughter's name, I mean..."

"That’s enough"

Rebecca looked up from the task of putting peppers on her slice long enough to see John Daye gripping the table firmly. The effect only names could produce in John was surprising to Ms. White. But she didn't say anything and carried on with sprinkling oregano.

"So," asked John, "what's your age?"

"That matters how?"

"I am guessing you are nineteen?" Daye said, gravely.

Rebecca knew that hadn't really been a question, but she answered anyway.

"A couple of month’s shy, actually." cheese dripped from the corner of her mouth.

"So you were, what, 16 when the case got closed?"

"fifteen." she corrected him again, covering her mouth lest she sprinkle all her edibles on him.

"Okay. The only possible way you could have known their names was when it came on the newspapers three years from now. The case was only mentioned once, and I remember only one news channel ever talking about it. It wasn't well advertised. Why would a fifteen year old girl fixate on a criminal cult?"

The slurping noise that came from Rebecca's coke was so loud, Daye actually frowned from annoyance.

"Fixate? I don't understand."

"Either you knew about the cult’s existence from before or you recently developed an interest in it. Which is it?"

"Dude! I just like your books. I am a fan." Rebecca grinned widely.

"My book is fiction. I have mentioned that, I think. I don't see any reason someone would check the public records for a work of fiction, however big a fan you might be." so skeptical, John Daye, so humble.

Rebecca apparently had her fill now. Two slices were lying in the box, askew to each other. Daye showed no interest in them, and neither did Rebecca, who was silently dabbing a tissue to her mouth.

"Okay, I have a confession to make."

“Go on," said Daye.

“I am not actually a student of Gilman's institute."

"What?"

"Hehe, yeah, I kinda just slipped in. I wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

"How did you find out about the Lambs? Three years back, I mean." Even as she ignored his question, Rebecca's eyes were looking dead center. Daye had nowhere else to look, and to be honest, he felt cramped.

"I research these things. I had been working on my book for the better half of a year, and most of my work involved learning as much as I could about those pyros. I even attended a few meetings, got to know some of them. Never got close to Alicia Lamb, she was, so to speak, at the top of the food chain."

"Cool, I am Alicia Lamb's niece."

John Daye visibly shook. But this made sense to him now, yes, of course it did. No wonder the fifteen year old Rebecca had been fixated by her Aunt's insanity. But it still wasn't enough. John needed more explanation. Luckily, Rebecca seemed to comply.

"Honestly, my name is Claudia Lamb. But my uncle and aunt ruined my family name, so I guess I wanted to not associate myself with them. You know what the worst part was though? I could never tell. I used to come over to my Aunt's all the time, and be completely oblivious to the kind of people they were. Worshipping fire at night is one thing, but to be so insane as to believe that burning their own daughter would... "

John gripped the table again and Rebecca looked down.

"I am Rebecca White now. And, honestly, I am depressed. M fucking depressed. Who can you trust in this world, John? My uncle and aunt were always nice to me, but they were animals inside. Savages."

John wondered how much hate had the "a few months shy of nineteen" year old girl had in herself and how much more she needed to vent.

"So yeah, I had to meet you." Rebecca continued, "You are sort of my hero, you see? You ripped their mask off and showed the world who they really were. And yet, you didn't do enough. Not nearly enough. You might have gotten all information about the fire cult, but you know nothing of the Lambs."

"What do you mean?" John asked sharply.

"About five years back, Alicia and Patrick Lamb were trying. But they couldn't conceive; for some reason they couldn’t have a baby. And even I knew they were trying so hard, because my mother would sometimes talk about it over the phone and I would overhear. Every time I would go over to my Aunt's, she would tell me she wished she had a daughter like me. And I researched okay, I found out from my mom, from their doctors, from their friends. At one point, their case was so hopeless; it was impossible for them to have a baby."

John was looking steadily more horrified by every word.

"And yet, in a year, my aunt was pregnant."

"No. What are you saying exactly?"

"I am saying you didn't research properly, Mr. Daye. I am saying my Aunt and Uncle aren't the only evil in this world."

And Rebecca dove to her bag, bringing out her laptop in an instant. As the laptop booted, she looked at the wrinkles on Daye's face and said,

"Do you know about the deep web?"

What kind of question was that? Yes he knew, but why was she even asking him that? John nodded, but he felt very very uncomfortable now. He could feel him descending back to the days when he was writing his book, and that scared him. That scared him so. Moreover, wasn't it illegal to access the deep web? In the one hour he had spent with Rebecca, he had already been part of a crime. In truth, two, for hadn't she said she had sneaked into the university? John was sweating and was glad his head was already cool from the rain.

Presently, Rebecca spun the laptop to face him. Looking at the darkest most secretive part of the Internet, Daye felt a knot in his stomach.

"If you can look past the child porn, assassins for hire and what not, there are other services available in the deep web. Services of the more, shall we say, mystical sort. There are people in today's world who still believe in magic. I mean, why wouldn't they, when every movie and every book and every religion humans make is to objectify the belief in miracles. People want to believe in magic, John, and so they do. And here on the deep web, there are people who offer magic to the believers. Look at this."

And she opens a link. A page instantly appears.

John squinted at the page, and his eyes grew wide. Apparently there existed someone who could "heal" you. Whatever the disease, whatever the problem. Apparently this person could fix "unfixable" things.

"Okay, so I am going to bite. What has this - " John looked over at the title of the page " - 'lady of the lake' got to do with the fire cult and the Lambs?"

"I would think you would be able to make the connection."

"I want to hear it from you", Daye said.

"Fine. So when the doctors couldn't help Alicia to conceive, nor prayers, where do you think my Aunt went?"

Of course, John knew. And suddenly he wondered how many facts had his book not covered. Of course, Alicia Lamb, desperate to have a child, sunk to levels as low as this. The person who could fix "unfixable" things. The person who could "heal" you. The lady of the lake.

John finally helped himself to a now cold piece of pizza. He had work to do.

--

Part 6:

Next morning, Jeremy woke up feeling much better. As he got off the cold bed, made his bed properly (he was a kid who had learned the benefits of cleaning before leaving early), and brushed his teeth, for once in his life he didn't think about anything. His mind was blank. No, Jeremy realised, not blank, but determined. It was the blankness that associated itself with higher will, as if he was certain today. Certain of what, he knew not, but he knew he wasn't going to think of all the negativities in his life today. No, today was a beautiful morning, despite the gray-blue sky, and the presence of thick clouds above, and the isolated streets below. Jeremy took sometime to decide what to wear today, something he never had done before. He even took sometime to comb his hair. The result: he looked much more approachable, much more sociable. Of course the look was sort of ruined when he, subconsciously, ruffled his hair before leaving the house.

School was a boring affair, but if anyone had taken the time to notice Jeremy, they would have seen a boy who was trying, truly trying. He tried to answer more in class, and at a certain point when the teacher made a funny joke and everyone laughed, he even joined in with the class. He even tried talking with the boy who sat next to him, when the latter's pencil fell down, but that conversation died quickly. No matter, Jeremy realised it would take some time to reinvent his repertoire from a reclusive shabby boy to something that suites him more. There was a test in English, but despite having studied nothing at all, this time he actually tried to answer what he knew instead of just sitting there. Oh, Jeremy was different today, a lovely sight. Pity no one bothered to watch him.

There was an exception but. The fat boy.

As usual, Jeremy was on his bicycle, going back home from school. And as usual, he was passing through the playground; his route to his home. His cycle was creaking way too loudly today; courtesy of the fall and the overnight rain, no doubt. And as his luck would have it, the chain of his bicycle got dislodged right in the middle of the ground. Jeremy immediately got down and went about fixing it. He hoped it wouldn't take much time.

But the fat boy had been eyeing Jeremy unobserved. He approached him now, pulling at the end of his cap.

"oi" he said.

Jeremy recognising the dreaded voice, didn't turn but continued on with fixing his bicycle as fast as possible. That was his only means of escape afterall.

"oi" said the fat boy again. Jeremy sensing it might not be such a good idea to ignore him altogether, looked up, only to see the 14 year old squatting next to him now. Without a word, he pulled at one end of the chain and Jeremy found it much easier to line the chain properly with the grooves. Maybe there were things that you could do better with some help? Something new Jeremy learned that moment.

"hey, you are Jeremy right?" the fat boy asked.

Jeremy Dupitt nodded.

"look, I wanted to say sorry. Alright? For yesterday. And other days."

Jeremy nodded again. It wasn't like he didn't want to say anything, but more like he couldn't. He looked at the fat boy's face from the corner of his eyes, and realised they looked something like his. Hurt. Jeremy got up to his feet and took off the bully's cap in an instant.

"why did you -?"

But Jeremy could see it, even as the fat boy snatched his cap away and put it over his head low. Jeremy had already seen the black blue eye, but beyond that, he had seen his anguish, his pain and his embarrassment of apologising to Jeremy. He understood that the fat boy wasn't really apologising, no not really, but it was something that the fat boy wanted to be done to him. So Jeremy did.

"hey. I am sorry."

"what for? T'wasnt you who beat me up for being fat. Those fucking high school kids, I will kill them one day for this."

"I know. But I am still sorry it happened to you."

The fat boy looked at Jeremy a bit, then smiled and extended a hand.

"I am Tom."

"cool."

And Jeremy was off on his cycle, leaving a bewildered Tom behind. Jeremy didn't realise for sometime, but he had made a friend that day.

So all in all, as Jeremy dropped his bicycle on the dried grass of his frontyard and entered the shadows of his home, he thought today had been a good day. Standing at the doorway and looking at the mess of the couch his father had slept in, he knew with certainty that today had been a good day. And all he wanted to do was talk to someone about it. Having spent less than a minute inside, Jeremy took off again, his bag left on the floor and his recently fixed bicycle creaking ever so loudly.

It was perhaps half an hour later that Jeremy realised he didn't know where Ana lived. Riding his bike aimlessly in the woods and shouting "Ana, Ana!" would hardly yield any results. So he tried remembering what she had said yesterday. She lived at the edge of the woods, she had said. Problem was, it was probably at the other end. And that would take quite a long time. Yet, Jeremy didn't much care, it was a part of his routine anyway. Chasing squirrels in the woods or searching for the Lady of the Lake, it didn't matter, no one was waiting for him at home anyway. His heart felt heavy suddenly, and this reminded him of Anahasika.

The sun had moved from its overhead position and the sky had become a darker shade of blue, but all this was shielded from Jeremy's view; all he could see was the tops of lush green trees which was all the better, for he did not have to worry about anything today. All he had experienced was a normal day, and yet that was a first for him. It felt refreshing.

So when he reached the edge of the woods, following a shallow ravine through which a steady stream flowed, he was surprised to see that the sun was hanging low, like the makeshift ones used in their school plays. Squeakily cycling a bit slower now because of the slope, Jeremy could clearly see a steel colored caravan, shining golden in the low sun's light, parked next to the flowing stream. A few clothes were flying about against the wind from a line, and Jeremy was keen to notice one bright red kimono amongst them. Deciding that this had to be Anahasika Misaki's home (of course, who else?) Jeremy cupped his hands together and shouted through them, "Ana!" and was about to do that once more when a hand came out of nowhere and held his mouth shut.

"they will see you! Come back."

Jeremy was delighted to see Ana, dressed in a white kimono with purple embroidery, dragging him by his hand, and even more delighted to see that she was acting as mysterious as ever.

"why are you here?" she asked in a soft voice. Her expressions were unreadable.

"I just... Wanted to see you."

Jeremy dared not to look up. For some reason he felt stupid.

But when he did, Ana was still smiling in that weird way of hers, wide with her eyes close to being closed. Jeremy for the umpteenth time thought it was the prettiest smile he had seen.

"walk with me" she said.

Jeremy pulled his cycle with him as he fell in step with her. And so they found themselves laughing with the chirping birds, and Jeremy, no doubt in an attempt to impress her, chased the birds on his cycle, and Ana laughed more. Later, she sat behind Jeremy, holding on to his shirt, on his cycle as he rode slowly now, along the stream, deeper and deeper into the forest. The gushing noise of the water served to calm both of them down.

" hey Ana?"

Ana focused her big brown eyes up at Jeremy, whose face she couldn't see. It was so indescribably nice - like experiencing firsthand that "blue" could be both a color and a feeling - to be so close to someone, in silence. Ana was loath to break that comfortable spell, choosing to listen to the loud clinks of metal of Jeremy's bike everytime he went over a twig, and the distant noises of the wildlife (the occassional buzz of a dragonfly or the musical coo of a sparrow). So when he stopped his cycle near a massive boulder covered in moss, and it was time for Ana to get down, she did so with some small disappointment.

And so they remain there, seated on folded legs upon the floor of the woods, amidst the sounds of the nearby stream, Jeremy's cycle left propped up by the boulder and Ana's hair disheveled by the ride, for quite some time. While they had had no trouble conversing before, as the sun sank low, and both realised it was nearing time for them to go, neither he nor her had it in them to speak up.

Finally Jeremy began again.

" hey Ana?"

" yes, Jeremy?"

" how are your parents like?"

Ana didn't look at him, but down at a line of ants steadily marching away.

"they are okay, they are nice to me, I suppose." but her voice seemed to imply something else.

"what do you mean," you suppose"? You don't know for sure?"

" nothing like that, they are nice. I just wish they let me out to play more often."

" you are out right now." Jeremy observed.

" well, yeah, but you know. They don't like me mixing with other kids. They only let me go out to the woods where there aren't any people."

" you are mixing with a kid right now. Me." Jeremy half laughed. Ana smiled her perfect smile.

" you are the only one who comes to the woods to play. Other kids don't."

"so is that why you didn't want your mum and dad seeing me?"

" yeah. It's not just you, Jeremy, they just don't like uncalled visitors."

Jeremy nodded. He didn't understand, of course not. But he did understand that need some people had to be left alone, to be isolated. It was a shell close to impossible to break. Looking at Ana, Jeremy wondered whether Ana had been his impossible.

"don't you feel that's unfair? They can't tell you not to meet people. Isnt it natural to want to talk with others? I mean, thats what humans do: communicate."

" but I am communicating." Ana objected, her foreign tongue having some difficulty getting around the word, "I do communicate."

"but they are limiting it, and that's wrong."

Jeremy's hands were absentmindedly playing with a blade of grass, but his eyes kept stealing fleeting looks of Ana, who still looked at the line of ants intently. Jeremy noticed her increasing discomfort with this conversation, and yet he made no move to change his approach; he wanted to know more about the girl who had broken his shell. Was that selfish, Jeremy wondered.

"I never had any parents, you know?"

"what? What do you mean?" Jeremy's eyes reflected the shock he felt.

"I was born in a different country. Japan, I am told. Dont really remember anything about my real parents, but I remember the shrine I used to live in, just fine. I was abandoned there, see, in a shrine next to a lake. That old lady took care of me."

Ana smiled.

"old lady?"

"yeah, she was so old. Couldn't even talk." here, she laughed a short sad laugh, "but she used to play with me when I was little. Braid my hair, send me to sleep, catch fish from the lake and cook it. She taught me those little things. I wish I knew her name, but she couldn't speak and I couldn't understand the alphabet because no one could teach me."

Ana looked at Jeremy, and he held her brown eyes' gaze level with his own.

"one day, I was coming back from the forest, carrying a pile of firewood as big as me back then, and when I entered the shrine, I knew she wouldn't be there. I could feel it, feel the loss. When I entered her room, she was sleeping. And she stayed asleep.

" I never thought I was alone, the concept hadn't developed in my brain till then. But her death was terrifying. I can't explain how scary it was."

But her shudders explained enough. Jeremy extended his hand and took hers in his to let her know it was alright.

" I owe it to these people, Jeremy. You say it's wrong for them to limit my communication? Honestly, I have never known more communication in my life. When they found me in that shrine, and took me here, fed me and educated me and clothed me, they gave me my life. I owe them."

She was shaking, as if from an undiagnosed epilepsy. All Jeremy could do was hold her hand, firmly, as he sat on the forest floor just wondering how beautiful she was. Later, he would walk her back to the edge of the woods and she would leave giving him a final smile and then she would spend the night with people she wasn't related to, who imposed unreasonable rules upon her, and Jeremy would go back to his father, who imposed no rules at all, but all that was later. For now, Jeremy held her hand and hoped he could heal her the way she had healed him.

---

Part 7:

The wind was strong that night, so much so that the little hair on John Daye's head whipped from one end to the other. As he got down from his lead colored car, and looked up to see the medical research facility and asylum looming overhead, he hesitated. John Daye's nature, if one were to ask, was a complex one; on one hand, he was a man of science, well educated and learned, and hence he often fixated about the facts of a matter, choosing to base his deductions upon them. But that is not the same as saying he based his deductions only on them, because on the other hand, his nature was such that he was easily swayed by his heart; often symptoms of sympathy and pity manifested upon him, and he was well aware of it. What this duality (and his knowledge of it) did to him was pretty straightforward - he was a man who undervalued his own assertions, thinking it came from one side of his nature or the other - and this was, perhaps, the main reason why he hesitated.

His basic scientific nature dictated he had to meet Alicia Lamb to get all the facts straight.

His more emotional state of being told him he should stay far from Alicia Lamb, for there was only so much of shock the world could handle.

This hesitation would have only increased had Rebecca White included herself to this excursion to the facility Mrs. Lamb was admitted to, and John was secretly glad that she, when he asked her to come along, had said in no uncertain terms - "sorry, John, I got no wish to see that pyromaniac."

Needless to say, the presence of her niece would be an unnecessary complication to today's meeting.

It wasnt the first time that John Daye was walking through the long corridors of the asylum. He had, on exactly two occassions, paid Alicia a visit sometime last year for his book. On both times he had been received by the unusually calm Alicia Lamb, and both times he had had amicably intelligent conversations with her. If not for the ambiance, John Daye would never be able to tell she was insane, despite the degree in psychiatry that hung on his office wall, and this he had admitted to his agent in exactly those words.

And as the nurse opened the ward to a cautiously designed cell, even with all the time between their visits, Alicia smiled to John without wasting a second and his eyebrows furrowed together in that instant. He would never forget the heinious acts of crime she had committed, but he always found it hard to remember that in her presence, and that disgusted him. There was a reason why he had only visited her twice.

"oh hullo, Mr. Daye, hullo. How you been?"

Daye's frown increased in depth, but he knew that for a psychiatrist it was important to always be seen by the patient as a person of superiority.

"Perfect, Alicia. Beautiful night outside."

A flash of anger was very quickly subdued by the Lamb, and Daye might have very well imagined it. Alicia looked away as if looking at a far off thunderstorm.

"pity, I haven't seen the outside like ever. So what brings you here?"

"the same thing that brought me here last time."

Alicia looked at him now, and in her eyes he could see greed.

"Why? You didn't finish your book yet? Thought all my "cult" members had been caught for arson. What you up to?"

Daye suffocated his feeling of unease.

"Arson and reckless endangerment of life. Children's lives, Alicia. They burnt down a public library with kids inside. Kids!"

" Oh I wasn't involved, as I have said countless times to you before."

" your cult, your people."

The flash of anger substantiated itself again in her eyes.

"my religion! My disciples!" She hadn't raised her voice, only her temper.

John raised a hand in mock defeat, but she continued anyway, in much softer tones,

"in any case, I wasn't aware of that as you very well know. What "my people" chose to do that night was not something I told them to do, but i agree I share responsibility."

"Share responsibility?? How can you be so callous about the attempted mass murder done in your name? You do realise your people did that because you were burning yourself and your child? Because you told them the sacrifice of children would save the world? That night while you burnt down your family, they burnt down a public library. It was lucky we could save those trapped in the library, but your child perished. Do you not feel anything, woman?"

But John had managed to lose his cool and hers. She slammed her hands down on the table between them and said,

" do I feel nothing? I feel everything! I can feel the flames consume me every hour of every day! It's a pity you cannot! I sacrificed my child so that I could save this world, or are you so blind that you cannot see that our world is dying? Do you feel nothing?"

John looked at her the way a hawk looked at a disease carrying rat. He felt disgusted and hungry to kill her at the same time. The power of belief was so utterly terrifying. But this conversation was growing steadily pointless. He needed information, not about the fire cult but about her, Alicia Lamb. So John said venemously,

" What I fail to understand, woman," calling her that seemed to infuriate her, much to John's satisfaction, "is why would you burn your own daughter, when you were trying so hard to have one?"

Alicia was mum for the first time. No, it was much more than silence, it was severity. Her eyes became like blank marbles, her cheeks much more gaunt and her mouth withdrew to a thin line. Somehow her reddish-brown hair (so similar to Rebecca's, despite having no blood relation to her) became like fire, as if fanning and stoking itself with rage. But John, despite that, carried on, finding it so satisfying to anger her.

" you wanted a child, did you not? A daughter you could love like your own. A babe you could take care of. You felt the need to be needed, Alicia, and that's understandable. Thats human."

But Alicia Lamb smiled a devilish smile. She contrasted so starkly in her nature when compared to the man uttering these words; for her nature was neither of science or of love. It was pure hatred - hatred of the world, hatred of her people, but most of all hatred of herself. So she smiled her devilish smile, and as John Daye recoiled, he missed the tear that escaped from the corner of her eyes.

" I wanted a child so I could burn her"

Daye's eyes became like two saucers, so wide with shock. His heart wrenched with the thought of such pure evil. He was so horrified, he wanted to leave at once. But there was still the matter of the Lady of the Lake. His lips twisted in disgust, and he stood up, as he demanded.

"tell me about the Lady of the Lake"

Alicia considered.

" oh going to destroy one more "cult" are you, Mr. Psychiatrist? Oh but she isn't a cult. She is a goddess."

" how so?" he asked with narrow eyes.

" she heals people, Mr Daye. She heals them with a touch and for a price. Of course, you asking me that question means you already know how I was able to give birth. See, when I was a young girl, my neighbour took quite a liking to me. So one night, while I went out to buy some groceries for me mum, he decided to rape me. Oh, he did more than just rape me. - he damaged me. Growing up, I forced myself to forget that "incident". I went on about my studies and I went on to find a job and such. And when, years later, I found Patrick and we married and we decided to have a child of our own, the doctors told me I couldn't carry. My womb was inflamed - it was burnt away, unfixable. So I went to the Lady of the Lake, a little Asian girl she is. And I thought "heck they swindled my money", I mean she was just a little kid dressed up in proper traditional Japanese clothes. "nonsense" I thought.

But I was very desperate, and I believed. So me and Patrick, we went to the place they told us to come, went inside this silver caravan, and did this whole incense filled ritual sort of thing, you know? And all I thought then was "shit, this is nonsense." And then it happened."

" what?"

" what else, Mr. Daye? The little girl touched my arm, and I don't know what happened to me, I swear. All of a sudden, I was crying and telling her about all my sorrows and shit. And I felt it, I felt the stress leaving me, I felt that tomorrow would be another day, you know? And I wept in that little girl's lap, still crying. I felt free.

When I got home, I was pregnant. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. I don't know how it happened, or why it happened. Those nine months, people preached to me, worshipped me as their goddess, but I never told them who was the real goddess. The Lady of the Lake.

See, there is a legend in Japan, a legend Patrick heard about from his time spent in Kanto. Once upon a time, there was a young samurai who fought for his lord loyally and chivalrously. This lord of his was waging a war against some other lord, you know what the lords do, and the young samurai fought in his stead. But he was wounded, fatally so, and half in deliriums he walked through the forest and found himself near a lake. Drinking a sip from the waters and deciding this was as good a spot as any, he lay down waiting for death. But next morning he woke up to find his wounds healed and his exertion gone. He went back home to tell his lord of the magical water, and the lord hearing this brought his whole retinue to the lake, built a shrine there and in time built an entire town around the lake. Soon, as could be expected, the water in the lake depleted, for everyone drank the water in hopes of a long life.

So one day, the gods descended and to their horror, found their holy water nearly exhausted. In their wrath, the gods put a curse upon any who had tasted the water. The entire town faced plague and disease and starvation, and the lord in desperation begged the gods to free them from the curse and promised to never drink from the lake again. They then told him - "you have taken from this lake, so you have to give something back". And the lord asked them what he could give back, and they answered - "your daughter."

And so he sacrificed his daughter to the lake.

In time, it became a ritual of the village to leave a baby girl to the shrine next to the lake, where she is brought up like a goddess. When that girl becomes old, the village chooses one more to be sent to the shrine. And so it goes on. That girl is called the Lady of the Lake."

Daye spat on the floor and walked away.

---

Part 8:

The night grew steadily darker, and the wind even harsher, and right about the time Daye's spit hit the ground, in another part of the city, Jeremy was riding his bicycle with his torch on. He seemed in no rush, and he was hardly concentrating on the dirt road that he had finally found which led right to his front yard. In his mind, he replayed not Ana' smile, beautiful utmost, or her words, unnerving enough. In his mind, he kept seeing visions of her tears, which never fell but remained glistening in her eye.

Jeremy paddled softly, and wondered what it must feel like to not have parents. He remembered the loss of his mother; the day she was lowered into the ground and Jeremy's father had refused to cry, holding his son's shaking hand in his firmly, was a memory engraved into the little eleven year olds mind - one that he did not want to revisit, but, until very recently, had every night. And somehow his father and him had grown distant, both of them choosing to grieve alone and forever. For some reason, both son and father had decided that the only way to respect her memory was to never let her go, and thus they cried, in their own way, Jeremy at the end of his bed and his father at the bottom of a bottle. Shame, that they could not mourn her together.

Yet, losing a parent isnt the same as never having one. What Anahasika Misaki had endured was something that Jeremy Dupitt could sympathise with a whole heart, but never truly understand. He wondered, as he paddled a bit faster now, seeing that the top of his house was poking above the trees - which was better? Not knowing the concept of a parent until you are much older, taken to a country you do not belong to and have no relation to, by strangers who claim to take care of you but keep you caged in a caravan, and still believing that this was afterall the better side of the coin? Or growing up with loving parents, facing an irreversible loss of one and watching as you see the other change into someone you no longer know, feeling alone in your own home hearing the words come out of their own father and wondering who this stranger was? Which was better? Which was easier?

When his house came into view, Jeremy suddenly stopped his cycle and looked front in straight up wonder. His father was standing outside on the front yard, talking on the phone, a worried expression etched on his face. Seeing Jeremy, he quickly rushed to his side and wrapped his arms around him, his phone forgotten and lying on the grass. He said nothing, he simply picked the little boy in his arms and brought him inside.

Inside, the first thing his father did was shout at him, asking him whether he had any idea what the time was, if he had the minimal amount of sense, and whether he thought he was so grown up that he could decide on his own accord at what time he should come back home. Often, his father's rage reached such peaks that whatever came out of his mouth became incomprehensible. Jeremy, through it all, stood in silence and his head down. But it was doubtful his head was held down in shame; rather, the dangerous twitch at the ends of his lips threatened to break into a smile, for the child was keen to recognise the actions that come out of love. Perhaps because it had been such a long while since the last time his father had looked at him, or perhaps, despite the stench of booze escaping his angry mouth, it had been such a long while since his father looked sober. Either way, it had been a long while, and Jeremy held his head down knowing full well that smiling in such a situation would bring about quite a few unpleasantaries from his father.

But Mr. Dupitt had caught his son's comical behaviour, and in the middle of gesturing angrily with his hands and ranting about the bad things that happen so late in night, he stopped.

" are you laughing, Jeremy?" he asked him, incredulously.

And Jeremy stopped smiling immediately and shook his head in denial. When his father insisted he speak up, he did,

"I am sorry, it's just that you reminded me of mum just now."

The wall the Dupitt men never talked about was breached. Mr. Duppitt's face softened and Jeremy, taking that as an indication, smiled.

In an hour or so, the father had showered and sobered up, and for the first time in a long while, he cooked. There was only tuna to be had, the least favorite dish of both son and father, and when the fish was laid in front of Jeremy, he made a face, for the edges were slightly burnt. Yet, that was the only complaint the son (and in fact the father) had; that dinner was spent reminiscing about the time Jeremy's mother had lost her cool at Mr. Duppitt for coming home late from office once - in quite the same fashion that he had lost his cool with Jeremy tonight. And that one story led to others and others still, until son and father found themselves laughing, or awkwardly shifting in their seats, or much worse, downright embarrassed. Jeremy felt strange, for he had not known that so many emotions could coexist together and yet form this happy viscous feeling.

When Jeremy went to sleep, he found his father at the doorstep switching the lights off for him. He whispered "goodnight" and Jeremy, having practiced the earlier night, replied with "love you, dad"

The door creaked shut behind his father's footsteps.

Jeremy found his bed warm that night, and sleep came as if instantly. In the other room, the same could not be said of his father. He sat up late, in his side of the bed still, clutching an old picture to his chest. Jeremy could never forget his mother's funeral; the same was true for his father many times over. If vivid visions replayed in jeremy's mind every night of Mr. Duppitt holding his hand next to the grave and refusing to cry, Mr. Duppitt was haunted by them. He could almost hear his wife's voice, then and even now, and without the bottle of whiskey downstairs, it was hard to forget. The tears he never shed in that funeral fell now in full, here in the bed which he had shared with Jeremy's mother. He now whispered the words to that old photograph against his chest.

"love you."

And once again, things had changed in the Duppitt household.

Next morning the house at the farthest end welcomed bright sunlight through it's kitchen windows, and fell on a tray of buttered toast and bacon. Jeremy was shocked to see his dad in an apron, and he bit into the hard toast with raised eyebrows. Jeremy's father scratched his head, his way of apologising, and then hurried his son along. He had work to go to too, he said to his son, and he smiled and somehow it seemed they had forgotten the many years since her death. Well, good enough, for it was their new start and Jeremy couldn't have been any happier.

The Freudian theory may be subject to many controversies, and the neighbourhood may or may not agree to it, but when Jeremy walked from his home (leaving his squeaky bicycle behind with the idea that he would ask his dad to get it repaired later), his thoughts were content and happy and this led him to wonder after the well-being of others. Worrying seemed to be his ailment, and, as it had been for the past couple of days, the strange girl from the woods his cure. So he walked, with his head down, now deep in his own thoughts, thinking about the time from the moment he met her till the very present. In two days, Jeremy had changed from crying alone, surrounded by paladin trees, with a broken back, into her lap to... He didn't know how to describe it, only that when he crossed the block, he knew he wasn't smiling but he also knew he could. This was a difference only he could understand, perhaps, but listening to his rhythmic footsteps crunching gravel underneath, he wanted Ana to understand it too.

Jeremy was very sure that Ana was broken inside, for it spoke to him everytime she smiled. It was the kind of a rejected beautiful smile one attains after believing that this was, afterall, their life and nothing better could come off it. It angered Jeremy that she would think that of herself, and in his anger he kicked a pebble off his path. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to fix her.

But before he could think of any viable way of doing that, there was a voice shouting rashly down the street and Jeremy whipped his head that way,

"Oi, Jay-roh-mee!"

Jeremy blinked in surprise at the massive girth of fat which was Tom, swaggering up close to his face.

" I have been calling you since when, you know? Where you headed?"

"school" Jeremy replied. He wasn't completely sure why Tom, whose tummy moved this way and that, was talking to him in such a aggressive friendly manner.

Tom pulled down his cap and in its shadow Jeremy could see a light in his eyes.

" I found them, man," he was saying, "those bloody high schoolers. You up for some sweet revenge?"

Jeremy's eyes narrowed.

"no, not one bit. Dont you got school to attend?"

"you think I can sit in school with those fuckers roaming around freely? Justice has got to be served, man!"

Tom excitedly punched the air, his rotund belly jumping up then down lazily.

But Jeremy was already walking away, shaking his head, while the fat boy looked at him incredoulously.

"stop, you pussy fuck! You are just gonna walk away from me? 'cos I don't care, I will go alone if I got to."

"well? Dont think I'm stopping you."

But Jeremy, turning back, saw that this seemed to mean something to Tom. He was excited and scared and he, unlike Jeremy, did not know how to hide those emotions.

"you gon' let a friend fight alone?" Tom asked dejectedly.

And that word alone, something he had craved to hear for a long time, was enough. Half an hour later, as the sun hid itself behind some clouds, Jeremy realised he had skipped school for the first time and there was no going back. He also realised, sitting behind fat boy's cycle as he paddled with seemingly huge amounts of strain, that this was also way more fun than sitting in his class and listening to his homeroom teacher.

Ten more minutes later, Tom took a turn next to the "24x7" store, and got down from his bike.

"what's the plan, fat boy?" Jeremy asked without a care in the world.

"don't call me that. Okay, you see the store? Those cronies are inside. You see them? Them boys in jackets, pretending to be all smart and grown up, buying them a pack of fags?"

"yeah I see them, Tom, what do you want me to do?"

"what do you think, dummy? You see them coming out, you give a shout. Like you know, shout some kind of a code word."

" 'fat boy'?"

" don't call me that, you fag! And no! Shout "God bless the queen" or some such shit."

Jeremy looked at the fat boy with peaking interest. "god bless the queen"? Didn't Tom had the most colorful imagination? An amused Jeremy laughed.

"don't laugh you moron! Okay i'm going!"

"wait, what are you gonn --"

But Tom was already speeding towards a black ford truck, which was undoubtedly the high schoolers car. Jeremy, as instructed, kept watch. He watched the clouds, he watched a bee buzzing past, and in some instances, he watched the boys in jackets talking to themselves. Jeremy was almost bored, but not quite. He wondered what the fat boy would do to their truck. Let out all the air, perhaps? From his angle, Jeremy couldn't see Tom at all, and this served to increase his curiousity. He craned his neck this way and that, and still unable to see the elder boy, looked inside the store. With shock, he saw the high schoolers had already reached the door, and knowing not what else to do, he shouted,

" God bless the queen! God bless the queen!"

Then suddenly, he heard a loud thump behind him, from the truck. The high schoolers had heard it too, and one of them ran to his truck, but Tom was already running, and Jeremy was on the bicycle.

"Tom! God bless the queen!"

"I heard you the first time, you moron!" Tom had jumped on already "ride, man, ride!"

And Jeremy rode like his life depended on it, which might as well had been, for they heard a cry from behind,

"HE DID WHAT?"

And then, to their horror, the boys saw the high schoolers chase after them. The pain in Jeremy's legs from overexertion was ignored as adrenaline kicked in. The fat boy wasn't making things easier, but thankfully the bike seemed to be able to carry the weight well enough. In no time, they had gained the distance against the high schoolers, but Jeremy did not stop, not for a bit, and turning back he saw the tired high schoolers clutching their knees and screaming abuses, and Tom laughing loudly behind him, holding two middle fingers high against the sky.

Finally, Jeremy dropped from the bicycle near the edge of familiar trees, and Tom plopped down beside him, both of them breathing very heavily. When Jeremy caught his breath, he looked at the far boy angrily,

"what the hell did you do, fat boy!"

But Tom had to clutch his belly before he could answer, such were the fits of laughter that overcame him.

"I peed in their car."

Jeremy's eyebrows might as well had disappeared above his hair line. And Tom was still laughing uncontrollably, so the younger kid punched his belly.

"you are mad, fat boy, complete nutter!"

"ow, what?"

But Jeremy was laughing too now and he fell down on the prickly dried grass. This was the first time he had done something crazy with a friend. Undoubtedly, if his father came to know he had skipped school and helped vandalised someone's vehicle, he would be grounded and properly so. But, and Jeremy was amazed to realise, it did not matter to him. He had fun. Moreover, he realised he had, unknowingly, passed a rite of acceptance - Jeremy had made a friend and they would always remember this incident irrespective of how old they become.

And with this thought, a brainwave hit him. Ana was broken, just as Jeremy had been. But at that instant, Jeremy felt he could take on the world, and she needed to feel the same. She needed friends.

"hey Tom? You want to meet a friend of mine? It's all the way at the other end of the woods though so it would probably take some time."

" dude, we skipped school. We have all the time we need." grinned the fat boy.

--

Part 9:

John Daye’s gray car had trapped all the morning sun inside, so when the author of the fairly famous book “of the occult” stepped inside his car he was forced to remove his overcoat at once, spilling some of his coffee in the process. With an annoyed “tschh”, he passed his foam cup to Rebecca, who presently sat next to John. Even as Rebecca, with her long brown hair limiting her field of vision, peered into her vividly pink laptop with its racy hello kitty stick on, John Daye kept furiously rubbing a tissue on the coffee stain on his white seats.

“Can you stop with that and listen to this? They sent me a location.”

“Finally”

Daye had been waiting for this for some time now. Stretching to the back seat where he had thrown his overcoat, he pulled out his reading spectacles and took the laptop from Rebecca’s hand.

“Don’t close the chatbox, all history would be deleted automatically.”

John nodded, and looking over the single message displaying a location, he realized he knew this part of the neighborhood. It was right at the edge of a woods he had visited maybe thrice; on each occasion, he had went hunting for game, with a friend he got along famously. Needless to say, the location was very isolated and secure. There would be no chances of coincident encounters there and John Daye had to admit, these people were smart for choosing a place like that.

But now that the time had come, he rested his head on the steering wheel, not knowing what to do next, or rather, scared to do what he was about to. Rebecca didn’t say anything either. Sitting beside him in silence, she just stared out the window with a cigarette, just lit, in one hand and watched the people walking past. The cause of this silence wasn’t what would happen in the immediate future, but what happened just in the past.

When John had came back after his momentous meeting with the ineffable Alicia Lamb, yesterday, the night had found its way well into the later hours. Yet, Daye found it hard to keep his anger out – he realized the injustice of it all. He had studied enough psychology to know that the story he had heard from Alicia was the cause of her mentally violent self. The need to burn everything came from the tale of drowning everything – that is to say, when Alicia convinced herself that the Asian girl she had met had some sort of mystical powers, she also believed in the existence of mystical powers. When she chose to believe in a story that told her that sacrificing children would save the world, she also believed that sacrificing children would save the world. The fact that she had been raped at an early age should be enough stimuli for her brain to become the dark place John very well had come to know. Yet, the only few times he had conversed with Alicia were after the fire, never before. What had she been like, before “she saved the world”? Maybe he would never know.

But maybe he would, for it hit him suddenly. Rebecca White. Claudia Lamb. Of course, her niece would know how Alicia’s personality had been just before, and during, her pregnancy. So, even with his watch indicating past midnight, John called her.

“I need to talk to you.”

“… alright, sure, come over.”

When Daye entered her cramped and small apartment, it seemed to him that he was attacked with bright colors. Her walls had mismatched wallpapers, some as bright a pink as her laptop. The spare furniture that was there was very somber in comparison – mismatched again, but in colors of grey and black. The room was messy; clothes lay around on the couch, on the floor, on top of every counter almost, and he got the impression that Rebecca shopped impulsively. Presently, she looked at John surveying her room, threw a bra from her couch into a room to her right and motioned John to sit.

She sat across the coffee table, on a small stool, so John had no option but to look at the top of her head. Opening her hello kitty laptop led to her reddish-brown hair attaining a blue hue from the little light the screen gave off, and the elder male was forcibly reminded of the horror movie he had watched last Saturday, which started in a similar fashion.

“So what brings you here, John?”

“Your aunt”, John said grimly and she sighed.

“Sometimes I wonder, why do you write about urban cults?”

“What do you mean?”

John wasn’t really listening to her; he didn’t really much care about why he chose to write about them. Urban cults interested him, as it did everyone, and moreover books about them sell. That was enough reason, was it not? But John had always seen them in disgust, apart from them at all times. He looked at them like a judge would look at a criminal – maintaining an impartial face while condemning him, uncaring, unbending and just.

“I mean,” Rebecca replied, “your obsession.”

“I am not obsessed.”

She sighed again.

“Then let my aunt be, she doesn’t concern us any longer. It’s the Lady of the Lake we should worry about.”

John was silent. As the brunette went back to hitting keys loudly on her laptop, he refused to look in her direction, wondering what she could mean. To him, the story of the Lady of the Lake had fanned Alicia’s flame and he thought the refusal to talk about one without the other seemed unreasonable. No, John could not let Rebecca’s aunt be, and getting up to get water from her kitchen and spotting an old photograph stuck to the fridge, he realized, neither could she. There was a young Rebecca hiding behind the skirt of Alicia Lamb, the picture a bit worn and yellowed, but still very much intact. The Alicia of old looked much livelier, or maybe it was just John’s perception of things, for apart from the dark hollows under her eyes, she looked exactly the same in the picture as she did in the asylum.

“eh, kind of a personal picture, that.”

Rebecca stood behind him, tying her hair back.

“Don’t think she wanted to burn me then, do you?” A light smile played on her lips, but the joke was lost on John.

“When was this taken?” he asked.

“I was maybe 7. Yeah, probably around that.” It seemed she wasn’t too keen to talk about it, but John pressed on anyway.

“How was she like, back then?”

Rebecca looked at him, shook her head and looked away. She opened her fridge and started rummaging inside. Some people did find talking easier with their backs turned.

“She was nice. She was very nice to me, at the least. Look, I was a weird kid. Well,” she took out two cartons of Chinese food, passed one to John, then rolled her eyes towards the bright yellow kitchen wallpaper with sunflower patterns all over, “I suppose I’m still a weird kid.”

“Anyway, she was nice,” she continued when John didn’t say anything, “and I didn’t have friends so I used to hang out with her a lot. She wasn’t working, so all she did was stay at home and look after the house, but I dunno, I thought she was damn fun. Used to tell me some funny as hell stories. Well, used to be funny then, I was a kid. And I don’t know how, even in middle school, she was the only friend I had. I was so into computers, man.”

She laughed throatily.

“Did you know she was raped when she was young?”

Rebecca’s eyes became wide. She didn’t say anything, simply sat down on a chair with her box of noodles. It seemed she was peering into it, and she started poking at it with her fork. John noticed none of the food actually found her mouth.

“Nah, I didn’t. Would explain a few things, eh, Mr. Daye?”

John shrugged and pulled a chair across her. Sitting now, he realized why Rebecca hated her aunt. It was because she couldn’t. She had found a friend in her, she had enjoyed her company, had probably found solace in her. As Rebecca continued talking about her aunt for some time, Daye realized just how close she had been with her – the way she recounted memories of her, with downcast eyes and a faded smile, like recounting tales of a late friend, was very suggestive of the bond they had shared.

“But she never told me about her being raped.” She was silent for some time again. Neither John nor she looked at each other.

“You would have thought she would have told me that. I used to tell her everything.”

Rebecca still hadn’t touched her food, beyond playing with it, and now she couldn’t look at John either. There was a light blush to her cheeks though; the previous comment had left her embarrassed, for even to her, it sounded pathetic.

John had noted the comment very scientifically though. There was a hint of regret and anger in that statement – maybe she thought she had been cheated, for she had shared everything as a child with her aunt and Alicia hadn’t bothered to share such an important thing?

“The Lady of the Lake,” John’s words made Rebecca look up, “is a little girl from Japan. The story tells of a Lord who had to sacrifice his child to cure a village from plague. That’s the story your aunt heard.”

She nodded and said, “She was obsessed. When she got pregnant, I could hardly find the time to talk with her. People used to come over all the time and they used to pour themselves over books, all written in Japanese. She told me they were from a book club she had joined, but honestly, I could see their obsession, even as a fifteen year old. Every time they came over, I was sent off home. I knew she was hiding something, I knew it, but I never confronted her.

I suppose I wasn’t that kind of a kid. I wore large round glasses, had messy brown hair, pimples and spots. I was ugly and very self conscious and no one told me you can fix problems just by talking about it. I never had the courage to go confront someone. I wish I had done something to stop her… but I didn’t. I should have told my mother that weird things were happening with Aunt Alicia, I should have told someone. But I just sat in the corner and watched – I was perhaps the only one who could tell something was going on.”

“Blaming yourself for something you were never in control of is not helpful. You should accept what happened.” John was saying these words a decibel above a whisper; he had no wish of stopping the torrent of words that flowed freely from Rebecca.

“I have accepted, John. Hmm, I hate Alicia Lamb for going insane, but I hate her even more for being my only friend.”

John looked at her, and he saw the intensity in her eyes; an ethereal power glowed from within her and it was implausible to imagine her as a soft spoken timid fifteen year old who wore massive glasses and spent all her time on computers and whose only friend was her aunt.

“Hatred is justified, sometimes.” Daye’s voice was much firmer now.

Rebecca got up from her chair, kept her box of food on the table and stood looming over John.

“Whatever you were as a fifteen year old, you aren’t anymore.”

She took the carton from John’s hands and pushed it far on the table too. Her shadow fell over John’s face.

“You have changed,” John continued, “you are beautiful.”

For the next few minutes, time picked up an animal pace, and John found himself unable to move from his chair as tresses of whiskey colored hair – sometimes red, sometimes brown – formed a veil around his face. The kiss they shared deserved a more nastier word, something that could do justice to the filthy curl of her upper lips around his, something that better described the pressure of her raw teeth that bit into the inside of his mouth. No, a kiss wasn’t the word for it, for what they had was a recipe for the wild, like two spotted leopards gnawing at each other to show love. But not even love described it, it was a simple ineffable fire, raging more than any flame Alicia could conjure, drowning them within itself deeper than any foreign tales they had heard. And as John ripped her clothes apart, and felt her biting blood out of his collarbone, the thought of the taboo love they were about to have was forgotten, lost.

When time slowed down again, he found the naked redhead resting on his chest, tracing her long nails along it, and him, staring at the top of her head again.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why not? Meaningless sex isn’t half bad.”

“Meaningless sex isn’t sex. It’s just action and reaction.” Daye observed to the pink ceiling now.

“Fine, then. Action and reaction.”

Did Daye care about the age difference between them? Perhaps. Not even he could tell. It had been years since his wife and him got divorced, and he had had “action and reaction” ever since. This was just another night, and Rebecca did not object. Neither was looking for solace or companionship – they were just alone and in need of some warmth.

Daye wondered what Alicia had meant when she said the world was dying.

“Hey,” Rebecca spoke up, “you know we can’t just sit and watch. I am not fifteen anymore. This Lady of the Lake, whoever she is, has to be stopped. She ruined my aunt’s life.”

“Alicia ruined her life herself.”

“Then the Lady of the Lake was the catalyst. How many other people she served as catalyst to? She is a service on the bloody internet, Daye, like a prostitute for hire.”

“Yeah, but do you blame the prostitute for being a slave? The Lady of the Lake is a little Japanese girl, probably brought here illegally. Hell, she was probably bought here.”

Daye saw Alicia sit up, coming close to his face and then nod once.

“You are right. But whoever’s behind this, we gotta stop them, don’t we, Daye? I can’t sit and watch.”

John stroked her hair.

“Neither can I”, he replied softly, realizing Rebecca had been right all along. He was obsessed.

And so they found themselves in Daye’s car next morning, as it zipped through an isolated road, massive trees providing a cool shade on either side of it. Rebecca was still smoking her cigarette in silence, and Daye was driving with his eyes fixed ahead.

They had decided early on, police involvement at this point would only make matters much more difficult. John was sure of the Asian girl’s existence, as he was sure of the existence of the shadow that would be undoubtedly behind her, as real as the shade the trees cast around him. At this point, what they needed was info, and that surely meant going into the lion’s den. And so Rebecca had made an appointment, and John had provided the money, a steep sum. At this point, they were criminals, John realized but he did not care. It could be explained when the time came.

“Slow down a bit,” Rebecca said, suddenly. She glanced at her screen, then looked left into the woods.

“No roads from here on, gotta go as the crow flies.”

Daye put his parking brake and got down. A wave of fresh air hit him, and the sounds of a stream nearby filled the backdrop. Hearing a twig break under her feet, John looked behind to see Rebecca already walking down the slope into the forest.

“Come on,” she said.

Daye followed. The much younger girl walked at a pace John was finding very hard to catch up to. It wasn’t until the stream came into view to their immediate right that Rebecca slowed down and fell into step.

“Twenty minutes from here.”

“Twenty? That’s long” John’s mouth formed a thin line of annoyance. She only shrugged.

A few minutes worth of scenery past, Rebecca pulled her massive black jacket more snugly around her.

“You know, I saw the fire that day. I lived right across the street, so I could see everything. I could feel the heat, from my porch, it was so huge. Like, it erupted up in flames.”

“I was there too.”

John remembered how the fire engulfed the house, and he remembered the smoke escaping the shattered windows. He remembered coughing into his elbow, trying to cover his face to help anyone alive. He remembered dragging a screaming Alicia, sitting in the middle of the fire, helped by two policemen. He remembered the drawings on the floor, and he remembered the burning small bundle. He remembered crying hot tears that dried as if instantly. He remembered everything.

Seemingly, so did Rebecca, for she had the same hurt look that Daye had. Putting her hands into her pockets, she looked at Daye, and her hair never looked redder.

“What makes a human so crazy that they would set a baby on fire?” she asked, and stark pain was visible in her eyes.

“Belief”, he maintained.

“But you don’t believe in the Lady of the Lake?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Alicia told you she got pregnant right after meeting her, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t believe in the miracle of life? Alicia was raped so brutally she couldn’t give birth. Yet, she did.”

“There is no proof that the child was hers, and there is no proof that Alicia was ever pregnant. She could be lying when she said she was pregnant. I don’t take every word that comes out of a criminally insane woman seriously.”

“Alright, fair point. But, just say, what if the Lady of the Lake was the real thing?”

“Then there wouldn’t be any human suffering, I suppose.”

Rebecca stared at him as he walked past. Soon, with her mobile phone as their only guide, they reached the part of the stream where the rusting silver caravan lay on the green grass, like the many massive boulders they had walked past, slightly askew to them. Wooden poles had been erected beside it and a line stretched between them, hanging from it a few clothes that whipped around even in the little breeze that blew. John made a move across the green, but before he could finish his third step and Rebecca could follow, a woman stepped out of the caravan. Her black hair swirled around her and her clothes hung from her frail shoulders, as if she was painted in oil, but she looked creepily intimidating. John stopped where he stood.

“Who goes there?” she shouted, and her voice reminded him of an angry cat.

“We had an appointment”, shouted back Rebecca behind him, her arms folded across her jacket.

The woman in question turned to face the massive woods towards her left, and John and Rebecca stood stupefied. Then she turned towards them again.

“You better come back later”

“What?” exclaimed the brunette to John’s right angrily.

“You heard what I said, woman, come back later”, the frail woman hissed.

John took a step forward. The wind whistled as it blew now. When had it grown stronger, he didn’t know, but he had a growing feeling of unease along with it.

“We have come from far”, he tried explaining.

“There is no use talking to her. Look at her! She is bloody bombed out of her mind!”

Looking closely, he realized Rebecca was right. The woman’s bony hands had red marks all over, her neck was long and starved, and there was purple dug out under her eyes, which in itself were bloodshot. All in all, she looked dangerous, and “out of her mind” was apt.

“Watch your tongue, you –”

But Rebecca seemed to have no time for this, and in one sudden motion, she whipped out a pistol from her baggy jacket and trained it on the addict. This was so unexpected, and matters had escalated so quickly, that John recoiled back with his hands raised.

“Whoa, Rebecca, easy, easy. What in the name of –”

“Look, if you thought I’m gonna meet known criminals without a firearm, I’m sorry, John, for not being that stupid. Now, you, what’s your name?”

The frail woman looked at her, then folded her arms with utmost reproach. It was as if she found ignoring the gun very easy.

“Amber.”

“Well, Amber, you are gonna have to invite us inside, haven’t you?”

The caravan was a small one, and inside it seemed even smaller and cramped. There were two bunk beds in one end, and one much smaller one on the floor. Most walls were covered in sketches made in crayon, and the entirety smelled of smoke and chemicals. As soon as they were inside, Amber proceeded to an attached slab of a table, made a line and snorted the powder. The loud noise was filthy to John’s ears, and he made a face, while Amber complained to herself.

“Knew we should have changed the location, too long in one place, I said.” She looked at them, “So where you guys from, eh, state or bureau?”

“Shut the fuck up, Amber,” Rebecca demanded calmly.

“Who else lives here?” John asked.

“Nobody”, grinned Amber. Her teeth were black and decaying.

The redhead pushed the pistol against her temple.

“Lie to us one more time, Amber” Rebecca grinned back at her.

“Jay and Lady.” She replied sullenly.

John pranced around inside the caravan. His head almost touched the ceiling. He didn’t much approve of Rebecca’s method, but he had to admit being on the upper hand was safer. Once they had enough proof, and the girl, they could just call the police and everything would be fine. Everything was under control.

And thus convincing himself, he sat across the woman.

“Lady – that’s the girl, huh?”

“Yeah. Apparently she likes being called ‘Ana’ now. God knows what’s wrong with her nowadays. Can you point that bloody thing elsewhere?”

John motioned Rebecca to lower her gun, and she did so, albeit shooting a venomous look at him.

“Look at you. Are you trying to tell me she can heal people, when you, her ‘mother’, looks like this?”, John’s mouth was twisted in disgust.

“Who said I need any healing? I am fine the way I am. I need no money, and I need no power. I have Jay and Lady, and I am happy. Can you say the same, mister?”

John looked at her for a long time.

“We are wasting time here”, Rebecca complained, “and where the hell is the girl, anyway?”

Amber’s eyes weren’t focusing now. But she was responding just fine.

“That’s what I have been trying to tell you idiots. Lady gone running somewhere and Jay is out tryna find her. If he does, he would probably have her hide. God knows what’s gotten into her, ran off with some boy, we saw. You both better run off too, it would probably take a long while before Jay finds that girl. She does that sometimes, goes off running into the woods. Damn weird.”

“Damn weird that she wants to run away from here? Really?” Rebecca still had some humor left in her.

John had only began to wonder what to do now, when he heard noises from outside. He edged near the window, Rebecca following him ever so slowly.

“What do you see?”

John motioned her to be silent, and peered through an inch between the curtains. A bald man, as tall as they come and as pale as marble, with tattoos running down his skinny arms and a shotgun in one hand, was dragging a bawling little Asian girl in a green kimono with his free hand. He literally had to fight her, as he kept trying to pull her up, but she kept kicking and screaming and crying loudly.

“Jesus, it’s them. Jay and the Lady of the Lake”, Daye whispered.

John hadn’t stopped watching though, and suddenly it seemed like the man with the tattoos had had enough. He stopped and slapped her hard, across her cheek, and she fell on both her knees. The sound was so loud, and the sudden pause to the crying so deafening, that Rebecca felt compelled to peer through the gap between the windows too.

And in that moment, John looked back, but he knew full well that it was not in his power to stop what was about to happen next. Amber had found a knife, somehow, and in one lunge, she was about to dig the blade into Rebecca’s neck. The redhead was turning too, but too slow. So John did the only thing he could. He rushed to tackle Amber, hoping against hope that he could impede the motion of the blade.

It embedded itself into his shoulder and Rebecca whipped her gun up. Even as the blood oozed out from the gaping wound the knife left, he looked to see the bullet, leaving the pistol in a massive roar that shook the entire caravan and lit up even the smoke leaving the nozzle, explode through Amber’s head. Blood flew everywhere, and the debris that had once been Amber’s brains, and Rebecca’s red hair became so much more redder.

John fell down, more out of shock than the pain, specks of blood – not his – visible on his face. He pressed on his wound, trying to hold in as much blood as he could, all the while looking at the decapitated carcass in front of him. The caravan door erupted as Jay smashed through it, no doubt having been alerted by the loud report of Rebecca’s firearm. He looked at his dead partner, sans a head, painting the floor in red.

“What the fuck!” tears were already trickling down his eyes, which was lucky for Rebecca for it took him that much more time to lift his shotgun, and that much less time for her to aim her pistol on him. She knew that pale man with the tattoos would never just stop, so she pressed on the trigger anyway.

The caravan shook once more.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK,FUCK!”

He fell to the ground, clutching his leg. His screams sounded like a pig about to be slaughtered. Rebecca went up to him and kicked his gun away. Then, she went out, where the little girl sat on the grass holding her ears and crying loudly. John remained in his corner, inside the caravan, pressing hard on the wound against his shoulder. His ears were still ringing from the multiple gunshots, and his eyesight kept fluctuating, desperate to adjust.

“Fuck me leg! She got me fucking leg!”

Finally, Rebecca half dragged the numb Lady of the Lake inside, and closed the door. John closed his eyes to the sudden dark.

--

Part 10:

Several hours before the gory incident turned the silver caravan red, when the wind was much calmer and the forest seemed much more tranquil, Jeremy and Tom walked, dragging Tom’s bicycle with them, towards the edge of the woods. Nothing seemed wrong with the world, as the two boys could be seen crossing forested plains shoving and laughing at each other. Jeremy had never known having a friend could cheer you up so much, and this surely was a welcome change. He knew he would have continued carrying on alone had Tom not talked to him – moreover, he was almost certain Ana had used her powers somehow, to fix what was wrong with him – but now that he knew what companionship was like, and that he discovered that time went much faster walking with a friend than cycling alone through the forest, Jeremy did not think he could go back to being alone.

All in all, Jeremy was happy about his brainwave – for Tom was easily one of the more funnier people around and Anahasika was bound to enjoy his company. So when the silver caravan came into view, Jeremy quickly ducked and Tom followed.

“What happened?” the fat boy whispered.

“She lives there. We can’t let her parents see us. Shhh.”

“She lives there? Fuck, I thought that shit was abandoned.”

“Shhhhh!” Jeremy demanded more loudly.

Jeremy surveyed the campsite very carefully. Ana was scared of her parents and he didn’t want to be the one who gets her caught. Tom was squatting beside him now, and the younger kid told him to be patient. But Tom was fourteen and thus had more experience. Caravans in the middle of the forest scared him.

“We should go,” Tom had an edge in his voice.

“Shhhhh” Jeremy repeated from under a bush.

“What kind of a friend lives in a caravan anyway?” Tom whispered his thoughts out.

The other kid only glared at him, then turned to look at the caravan once more. It took about ten minutes more, felt much longer than the number could justify, but finally Ana came out of the caravan with a bucket full of soaked clothes. She approached the stream and sat down. The loud splash-splash of the water indicated she had started washing the clothes.

“Alright, wait here.” Jeremy told Tom, and before he could complain, scurried away.

Tom was growing more and more anxious, hiding under the bushes. That was an Asian girl washing clothes in a green kimono next to a stream. That was a caravan in the middle of the forest. That must be a family of hippies or worse, was what Tom was thinking. Anyway, the place gave him the creeps. Sinking deeper into the bush, he tried keeping track of Jeremy through the branches.

On the other end, Jeremy crossed the stream, stepping over rocks and whatnot, getting his socks completely wet in the process. He kept looking over at the van, even though the curtains were drawn. He was convinced he would be spotted, and he quickened his pace. Stepping behind Ana, he tapped her shoulder.

Her eyes widened in shock. “You can’t be here!” she whispered in her sing song voice.

“Calm down, I have come to get you. Let’s go!” and he extended his hand and smiled.

But Ana never took his hand, never even got the chance to. She seemed almost about to cry as she looked behind Jeremy, and he quickly turned, to see a ghost like lady standing behind him. Wide purple eyes, bony fingers extended and her clothes is complete disarray, she cried out in a high-pitched voice.

“JAY! JAY!”

Jeremy didn’t know what to do, he was rooted to the spot. Ana was already in her knees, as if she knew what was to come.

“What the hell?” a bald man with tattoos all over his right hand came into view. He sprinted up to Jeremy, just as he was about to run, grabbed him by the collar and shoved him towards the woman, whose bony cold fingers wrapped themselves around his neck.

“Who the hell are you?”, the man called Jay demanded.

“Let me go!” Jeremy screamed.

“Please…” Ana was whimpering.

“Oi, Lady,” the thin long fingers tightened its grip around his neck, “you know him?”

“Please,” she wasn’t looking at anyone, as she begged to the ground, “Please, don’t hurt him.”

“What the hell!”, shouted the tattooed man, “you been meeting people behind our backs, huh?”

He grabbed Ana’s face and pulled it harshly up to him.

“What are you doing?” Jeremy screamed, or at least wanted to, for before he could finish that statement, the frail woman slapped him and he fell on the grass.

“You stay shut, boy!” her breath was foul and close to his now broken lip. Blood trickled down his mouth.

“NO!” Ana was screaming too now, everything was too loud. Looking up, Jeremy saw the tattooed man take off his belt.

“I told you, Lady, no meeting other people. Simple rule, isn’t that? Well, well, it’s time to teach you. And you, boy, you watch. It’s a lesson for you too. You don’t make friends with strangers.”

And Jay raised his belt high over the whimpering Ana. A sudden rage hit Jeremy so hard, he forgot about any pain that was in him, or rather, was consumed by all the pain that was in him. He got off the ground and with all the strain to his muscles he could muster, rushed to tackle the adult head on. With a loud splash that sent ripples all over the water, both fell into the stream, as Jeremy kept punching Jay’s abdomen.

“Fucking hell!”, the woman screamed.

“Fuck!”, Jay tried yelling, but only gurgling noises came out. The stream was not strong, but strong enough to keep the two of them submerged as they rolled around trying to fight it and each other.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Ana was on her feet now, as she kept repeating this to herself like a chant.

Jeremy kept thrashing around, but his face couldn’t seem to find the surface. Then he realized Ana’s father was trying to drown him. He kept pulling him under, and Jeremy kept trying to fight him, but he was losing, he was hardly hurting him. He was going to die soon, and he didn’t even know how to swim. His lungs were becoming fire, but suddenly, the man let go and Jeremy was pulled up.

“You retard, you retard!” Tom had a rock in one hand, as he pulled Jeremy out of the water with the other. Through burning eyes, Jeremy saw the tattooed Jay massaging his head, as the fat kid threw one more stone in his direction.

“Run, you fucking retard, run!” Tom yelled at the other boy.

“Ana!! Run!” Jeremy, already on his feet, aided by adrenaline no doubt, screamed at the girl, who was still at the other end, divided by the stream.

Tom and Jeremy had landed on the other side, and they wasted no more time. They ran towards the line of trees, and Jeremy only looked back only once, sprinting with his lungs on fire, to see Ana running towards the trees herself, in the opposite bank.

“RUN, ANA, BLOODY RUN!” Jeremy shouted his last encouragement. She never looked back.

At the other end, Amber had disappeared inside the caravan, only to come out to throw a shotgun to Jay, who, rubbing his head, shouted back in reply,

“First, I will find your girlfriend. Then I will find you, boy! So run and hide, run and fucking hide!”

Crows took off from the trees overhead, startled by the loud sound.

Those words seemed to echo as loud as the first time he heard it, even as they went deeper into the forest. Trees formed a dizzyingly close periphery around the two boys, the sounds of birds and insects became gravely wild. What once used to be soothing, now made them feel lost.

Standing amidst tall trees in either direction, so close they felt they were being smothered, or maybe it was because of the breath that they couldn’t quite seem to catch, clutching their knees and panting heavy, both boys looked at each other, naked fear visible in both.

“Dude, that was messed up, that was so messed up”, the fat boy said, removing his cap and ruffling his sweaty hair.

But Jeremy wasn’t listening. He sat down on the ground, and his eyes sinking into grave shadows, as the thought of Ana came to him. He couldn’t believe Ana had lived for so long with a mental family like hers; they were psychopaths, people who definitely had no idea how to take care of themselves, let alone a child. When Jeremy had wondered to himself earlier whether his life was better or hers, he had not known exactly how naïve he had been. He remembered Ana’s smile, and slowly it dawned on him; hers was the most beautiful smile for hers was the smile that had endured the saddest, vilest circumstances. She was born without parents, taken in by sadists, and she actually thought her life was fine. There could be no greater tragedy in anyone’s life, and wiping the one tear that forced itself out of the corner of his eyes, Jeremy became determined. Determined to show Ana what true life was, what true love was. Just as she had shown him.

“We have to go back”, Jeremy said, standing up again.

Tom looked at him incredulously. He seemed to wait for him to say more, or perhaps he was just lost for words, either way a dumbfounded look substantiated in him, as he stretched his arms out in a semblance of “what the fuck”.

Jeremy simply looked back, his expressions firm.

“Whoa, okay, no”, said Tom when he realized his newfound friend was serious, “whoa, no fucking way. What we have to do is go find the ruddy cops. You saw what good we were there, Jesus, we can’t go back!”

“I need to find Ana.”

Tom grabbed his shoulders and shook him, as if that would do any good.

“You are going to kill yourself for that girl, you idiot.”

Jeremy pushed him away.

“I met her before I ever met you, so why don’t you go on home!”

Jeremy was clearly upset. Tom understood that, he even respected that. But he was also being downright illogical. That man with the tattoos would kill him, and there was something definitely wrong with that woman too. Not to mention, the Asian girl. Tom felt something off about her, and he saw no point in Jeremy risking his life for her.

“We should tell our parents at least. They would know what to do, who to call”, pleaded the fat boy.

“And when do you think help would arrive? That man has a shotgun and he said he was going to get her. You can head back home, Tom, but I can’t.”

Jeremy turned his back on him, already preparing himself to go back to the caravan. As Tom saw his friend run into the forest, and disappear quite quickly into the trees, all Tom could do was whisper “best of luck” under his breath.

Jeremy kept getting visions of Ana, with her green kimono turned dark red, with pellets dug into her chest and her smile forever fixed onto her dead face. If only he hadn’t come to meet her today. He should have just let her go, should have forgotten about her and looked ahead. His life was steadily becoming better, he didn’t need it to crash down about him now. But as he ran and ran, he knew he could never forget her, whatever his condition might be, for it dawned on him – he liked her. It struck him how much he liked her; she was the first person he had felt like talking to, first person he had cried to, first person to hold so much importance in his life since his mum’s death. He couldn’t, after all, let her go. His eyes were burning again, and it hurt and fell sore now, but he refused to break down. He was done crying and it was time for him to save Ana, just as she had saved him.

He could hear the sounds of the dreaded stream again, so he picked up his pace. The sound was growing stronger, but before the actual water could come into view, another loud sound cracked the air. Jeremy’s leg caught a root and he fell, face first.

He got back to his feet quickly, and wondered what that noise was. It sounded weirdly like a gunshot, but distorted, and fear gripped him. No, he wouldn’t cry, Jeremy said to himself, biting down on his lip, he wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry. He ran faster now, and the stream finally came into view. And just as it did, another gunshot erupted, and this time Jeremy knew. It had come from the caravan, loud and clear, still echoing through the backdrop, and still ringing in Jeremy’s ears. He couldn’t stop the tears any longer, nor could he stop running.

His mind was blank now. If Ana was dead, he had to see for himself. The perimeter of trees saw the little boy pick up a branch and make his way across the stream once again. The woods were never silent, but for just that moment, all sound seemed to have drowned.

--

Part 11:

John Daye could have sworn he was dreaming. The wound in his shoulder wouldn’t close, despite the pressure he was putting on it, using his jacket to absorb as much blood as it could. The caravan had somehow decreased in size; it felt so much more cramped now, what with a man moaning every other minute clutching his leg, with John himself unceremoniously propped up into a corner breathing more loudly than the rest combined, with a body lacking a face spread eagled on the now red floor, and with Rebecca pointing a gun at a child, whose face had gone catatonically expressionless. The girl’s eyes didn’t register the gun kept so close to her head, or Rebecca’s slightly shaking hand, but only the body of the only mother figure she had known.

“Hey, Rebecca,” John decided to speak at long last, “don’t point the gun at the kid, please. We have to call the cops.”

Rebecca had either not heard him, or had chosen to ignore him altogether. She was looking at the girl on the floor before her, and the expression that was etched in her face made John wonder whether the gun could murder half as efficiently. Suddenly, Daye saw the nineteen-year old something in a new darker neon light; Daye realized the hand that was shaking before didn’t budge an inch now, and the look in her eyes kept becoming steadily dangerous.

“Rebecc – ”, John began very cautiously.

“I am not going to call the cops, Daye, and neither are you.” Her eyes never left the girl’s.

This entire conversation was going unnoticed by Ana, who was still mesmerized by Amber’s body, and the irritated redhead grabbed the collar of her kimono and made her face the gun. Dead eyes stared back.

“You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment, John.”

The man in question didn’t understand. He looked from her, to the girl, to the injured man, looking for answers none of them gave. John tried getting to his feet, but his body wasn’t responding properly. He had lost quite some blood from the knife wound, but even so, he felt he should be able to move. Trying again, he found his feet, albeit unsteadily, and taking support of the table, he looked at the brunette.

“What are you doing, Rebecca?”

She looked at John, some old hurt piercing her eyes. Then she looked back at the girl.

“Lady,” she made that sound like a taunt, “do you remember my aunt? Do you remember Alicia Lamb?”

Ana was scared. She shook her head ever so slightly. But the man clutching his leg, Jay, answered,

“You are that nut jobs niece? Fuck, explains a lot!” and he spat on the floor.

“Oh so you do remember her?” Rebecca asked almost evilly.

“I didn’t. I don’t ask customer’s names. But I saw her on the news long time back. Burned her kid in a fire, didn’t she?”

Rebecca was silent. John, on the other end of the room, looked at everyone warily. He didn’t understand this situation, and he needed to keep all the people in the room talking. He didn’t know whether the girl or Jay had realized this, but Rebecca was holding that gun with intent.

“Alicia Lamb got healed by this girl”, he said.

“Yeah, I was there that day, alright? What the fuck do you guys want?” the crippled man shouted.

“Tell me, Jay,” Rebecca asked softly, “What happened that day?”

“I don’t know, man, the usual. Lady here did her thing, and she started crying. Said shit like the world was corrupted and evil and needed to be burnt. I could tell she was bat shit crazy, the way she was talking.”

“What she wanted,” Rebecca said dangerously, “was a baby. She was corrupted and evil, not the world. She was part of a cult that believed in sacrifices, and the sacrifice of their own blood is the strongest, isn’t it? But my dear aunt couldn’t give birth. So she came to this girl here, and she healed her.”

And Rebecca laughed.

“Healed her, Hahaha, tell me, Jay, do you actually believe she can “do her thing”? Are you that stupid? Or did you know she is a fraud, which makes you a fraudster too. Makes you worse, the number of lives you have ruined. So tell me, are you a zealot or a fake?”

Jay looked at her grimly.

“She was a zealot,” looking at the dead body on the floor, “I am what I am.”

Another shot was fired, and Jay lay dead.

“Jesus! What the hell are you doing, Rebecca!” John screamed, “What is this?”

“This is revenge.”

Rebecca had killed two people, but when John looked at her, he saw nothing, not even a hint of remorse. What had he expected to see anyway? She was a twisted killer, that was the truth of it, and as she pointed the gun towards Ana, Daye felt a growing trepidation.

“Revenge? Revenge for what, Rebecca? For what happened to your Aunt? She was a crazy mental person, and you know – ”

“REVENGE FOR WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!” her scream shook the caravan, but maybe it was the additional footsteps running inside. Rebecca whipped her gun again, as Jeremy ran to shield Ana.

“Jeremy, no!” Ana screamed, hugging him close.

“You can’t touch her,” Jeremy shouted, holding his branch firmly like a sword.

“Move, boy”

“No. I don’t know who you are, ma’am, but you are pointing that gun at my friend and I am not moving.”

“Jeremy…” Ana’s voice was a whisper.

“Move, boy, or I am going to have to kill you too.”

But Jeremy raised his head and stood his ground, even as Ana kept pulling at his shirt, trying to push him aside.

“Rebecca! You are threatening innocent children. Just, keep the gun down. Just, calm yourself, goddamn it. No revenge is worth this.”

“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”

And the adamant Rebecca shoved Jeremy aside, who tripped over Jay’s body and fell, and her pistol was trained at Ana now, but before she could pull the trigger, Ana reached out and held the hands holding the handgun. Something happened in that moment, for the two girls looked into each other’s eyes and both found something in them. Rebecca lowered the gun and rested her head on Ana’s shoulder, as fresh tears fell from the brunette’s eyes.

“What do you know?” She cried.

“You don’t have to take all the hurt alone”, Ana said to her.

The gun lay pointed next to Ana’s heart now, but her hands shook in time with her sobs. Ana, on the other hand, seemed to be completely calm, even expressionless. Jeremy’s clothes had Jay’s blood on them now, as he looked at the two girls in horror and John had a similar expression on his face.

But Rebecca’s eyes were full of tears and her vision was blurred, as if looking at the world through a crystal.

“You destroyed me, Lady of the Lake. You, and my aunt, and her fire cult.” Rebecca looked back at John through her tear laden red eyes, as if willing him to understand what she had been forced to go through,

“I was very close to my aunt. I trusted her with everything, I loved her more than my mother. She was about the only person who was nice to me, and she treated me like a friend not some weird kid, which was a first for me. If I realized at one point that she was off in the head, I chose to ignore it and all the people who warned me about her. She used to never get out of the house, no wonder people didn’t like her. I started hating the world the same way my aunt used to.

I never knew she was part of a cult, I never knew her infatuation with Japanese folktales. I never understood her, not completely. But I trusted her.”

She looked at Ana, pointing at her with the gun angrily.

“Then that day came. She ‘healed’ my aunt. That’s what Alicia believed. She wanted a baby, and she got one through her evil powers. That’s what Alicia believed.

But it wasn’t Alicia who got pregnant. It was me. See, when I was fifteen I was a depressed kid, and I hung around with the wrong people. I fell in love with a guy, old story. When I got pregnant, he bailed, and I did not know what to do. I had nowhere to go. But then it hit the fifteen year old naïve me. Alicia would help me.”

Rebecca started laughing now. John could practically feel her hurt radiating through to him. He was horrified for he knew what had happened now.

“I was there waiting for my Aunt to come back home. My aunt was driving home from right here, this caravan. It just happened to be a coincidence, that I chose to tell my aunt I was pregnant the same night she had decided to meet the Lady of the Lake. Just a bloody darn coincidence.

She convinced me not to get an abortion. Hahaha, honestly, I didn’t need much convincing. I was cursed with love. I was so young and stupid, god, I actually loved the guy who bailed on me so much, I was actually ready to bear his child. So for the next nine months, the cult took me in, because my mother sure as hell wouldn’t. My aunt took care of me.

Until finally, the day came when I was on the bed and my child tasted fresh air. I couldn’t have been happier, I really couldn’t have been. I remember fainting right after. Next thing I know, someone from the cult had taken me across the street, but I could see the fire even from there, huge, so fucking huge. My clothes still had blood on them, and my nameless child was taken from me. To burn. To burn in that fucking fire, when my aunt survived, when this Lady of the Lake survived.

So maybe you are right, John, maybe revenge isn’t worth it. Maybe it won’t make me feel any better. Maybe all of this is meaningless. But wasn’t my daughter’s death meaningless too?”

She found herself crying hard, and any further words she meant to say were lost, as Ana hugged her. But Rebecca pushed the nose of her gun into Ana’s gut, as she took a step back.

“Nothing can take my pain away. You can’t heal me, no one can.” She cried.

“You are right,” Ana said calmly. “Nothing can take your pain away. You will die feeling this way.”

Rebecca’s eyes cringed up together, and she made an ugly face, even as Jeremy screamed “NO!” and John tried to move fast to stop her pulling the trigger, but has ever a wounded man been faster than the speed of a bullet? And so it was, as Ana’s kimono turned a beautiful satin red and unraveled upon impact, she fell, as if slowly.

For John, he had witnessed yet another tragedy in his world, and all the years forgetting the fire had been to naught for he would have to spend greater time forgetting this incident.

For Jeremy, he had been broken, he had been healed, and now he lay broken again, holding her dead body and crying with grief.

For Rebecca, she realized, even with her falling tears, that the now dead girl had been right and nothing, after all, could take her pain away.

Police sirens were ringing around them, John realized, but neither Rebecca nor Jeremy seemed to care. So John stayed put, even as officers entered the caravan and handcuffed him and Rebecca. Many of the officers had disbelief in their eyes, surveying the scene before them, and one of them had to step outside and empty his lunch.

With them entered a fat boy.

“Jesus,” Tom whispered. Beyond that he said nothing.

Jeremy lay there with Ana on his lap, tears that he did nothing to stop falling on her face, feeling more dead than her cold body.

--

Part 12:

A few weeks later, two boys pedaled their cycles silently through a forest, trees lined perfectly around them. No one talked, not even the fat boy, which was odd considering his foul mouth usually tended to talk needlessly. On his right, Jeremy was silent too, which wasn’t odd at all considering everything that had happened. And it so happened that the ride was silent until they reached a particular stream dividing the forest in two. Both boys looked at the other side, but no silver caravan greeted them any longer.

“Hey, Jeremy?”, Tom began finally.

“Hmm”

“Did you love her?”

Jeremy stopped his bicycle and so did the fat boy.

“Let it be, fat boy.”

“I’m just asking.”

“And I’m telling you. Let it be.”

“Dude, I’m just saying. If she could heal people, maybe she could heal herself. Like, you know…maybe she survived?”

Jeremy could understand Tom was trying to make him feel better. He was a good friend, Tom.

“Did she actually have powers?” He asked, and Jeremy could feel how genuine that question was.

Jeremy was silent. He looked at the flowing stream. Everything was much colder now, and the water looked blue. The sky was a dismal grey where it met the fading green canopy. Jeremy wondered about it for some time.

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

Tom nodded.

“Let’s go back, man” Jeremy said.

And the two boys were going home now, their bicycles going over branches and twigs, breaking them irrevocably.

----

x the end x