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writing_shadows2012-03-12 10:34 am
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in writing_shadows2012-03-12 10:34 am
Entry tags:
A post-London slaughterhouse piece
"David's dead,"
Carrie knew Sacha was going to say that. She'd known even before he'd called, even before she'd heard his voice, sounding shaken and scared, as if she was going to freak out, or go on some kind of crazy killing rampage.
She'd known.
She heard her voice. It sounded as if it was coming from a long way away. It sounded remarkably calm which was a good thing, really, as Carrie felt remarkably calm.
What was there to get agitated about now? It wasn't as if they were working to a time frame, was it?
"They killed him for being Brood," Sacha was saying, and he sounded as if he wanted her to be angry now. Sounded as if he wanted her to tell him that wasn't true, David wouldn't d that.
Of course, in actuality, he almost certainly would have done.
He'd never told Carrie he dealt with demons. He'd never told Carrie he was Brood. He hadn't needed to. She'd known, she thought, with a kind of strange detachment. She knew from the way he'd avoided answering questions, from the wordy way in which he'd talked around certain subjects. She'd known from the odd questions he'd asked her at times.
She hadn't cared.
Carrie didn't bother comforting Sacha. Somehow that seemed too much work at the moment, and for chrissakes, couldn't they grieve David anyway? Even knowing what he was? That was what being a Chance was all about, surely? Family, right or wrong. Family, until they all went down to the dark together.
Fuck, it was cold.
How had it got so cold?
Carrie wasn't sure but she knew she was cold. She had to be cold. She was shivering. She walked across to stand by a radiator. It wasn't helping. Maybe she needed to turn the heating up. That was something she could do. Then she would have to bathe, because she really felt like she needed to somehow make herself clean. It didn't do to go out feeling dirty. She'd always felt that. She remembered that she'd bathed before she took the overdose, the one Eliza had forcibly rescued her from. Still, there was no determined maternal paladin now.
There was just Carrie, and she knew she had David's final request to fulfil. She had the list he'd given her, the corpses still walking, the dead things he wanted her to put down. She could do that. She'd die for it, but she could do it.
It was, Carrie thought, really peculiar how little she actually felt about this. She should be in agony. She'd spent the last twenty years with David as her love, her hate, the centre of her whole universe. She'd given up everything that mattered, just to be the person he wanted her to be. She'd lived every single night for him and him alone, and now he was gone and the odds were she'd be going pretty shortly afterwards. But she couldn't feel a thing.
Instead, all she could feel was this eerie, unearthly, overwhelming sense of calm.
Carrie knew Sacha was going to say that. She'd known even before he'd called, even before she'd heard his voice, sounding shaken and scared, as if she was going to freak out, or go on some kind of crazy killing rampage.
She'd known.
She heard her voice. It sounded as if it was coming from a long way away. It sounded remarkably calm which was a good thing, really, as Carrie felt remarkably calm.
What was there to get agitated about now? It wasn't as if they were working to a time frame, was it?
"They killed him for being Brood," Sacha was saying, and he sounded as if he wanted her to be angry now. Sounded as if he wanted her to tell him that wasn't true, David wouldn't d that.
Of course, in actuality, he almost certainly would have done.
He'd never told Carrie he dealt with demons. He'd never told Carrie he was Brood. He hadn't needed to. She'd known, she thought, with a kind of strange detachment. She knew from the way he'd avoided answering questions, from the wordy way in which he'd talked around certain subjects. She'd known from the odd questions he'd asked her at times.
She hadn't cared.
Carrie didn't bother comforting Sacha. Somehow that seemed too much work at the moment, and for chrissakes, couldn't they grieve David anyway? Even knowing what he was? That was what being a Chance was all about, surely? Family, right or wrong. Family, until they all went down to the dark together.
Fuck, it was cold.
How had it got so cold?
Carrie wasn't sure but she knew she was cold. She had to be cold. She was shivering. She walked across to stand by a radiator. It wasn't helping. Maybe she needed to turn the heating up. That was something she could do. Then she would have to bathe, because she really felt like she needed to somehow make herself clean. It didn't do to go out feeling dirty. She'd always felt that. She remembered that she'd bathed before she took the overdose, the one Eliza had forcibly rescued her from. Still, there was no determined maternal paladin now.
There was just Carrie, and she knew she had David's final request to fulfil. She had the list he'd given her, the corpses still walking, the dead things he wanted her to put down. She could do that. She'd die for it, but she could do it.
It was, Carrie thought, really peculiar how little she actually felt about this. She should be in agony. She'd spent the last twenty years with David as her love, her hate, the centre of her whole universe. She'd given up everything that mattered, just to be the person he wanted her to be. She'd lived every single night for him and him alone, and now he was gone and the odds were she'd be going pretty shortly afterwards. But she couldn't feel a thing.
Instead, all she could feel was this eerie, unearthly, overwhelming sense of calm.