Controlled Chaos [Micah]

[Jesse Fforde]

When I wake up, it’s with a gasp and a leap. I am home, in the Eyrie. I am in my hut with only the weeds for company, creeping in through the doorways to either side of the main room. I blink away the shadows, striving to bring the room into clarity, into solidity. It happened again. I had one full night’s sleep where I did not dream a single thing, and that was after exhausting myself with Grey, and by her side. Maybe I thought I could sleep through the previous day and the tendency to slip into the shadows would have subsided. But it’s still there. Almost as soon as I let that weariness take hold, almost as soon as I had closed my eyes, I was there. The realm of shadows, where the dead dwell, where the lost souls stay. This time I did not immediately seek an exit. This time I meandered; I wandered further into darkness and away from any other wandering souls. I found some solitude and I lay down, and I curled up. The shadows crept in around me, like a blanket. I almost wonder if there were voices, too, cooing at me, telling me to stay.

Now that I know I am back in the real world I curl over upon myself. Near the door to the hut I fall to my knees and brace myself against the wall so I don’t fall over entirely. I clutch at my stomach and I dry heave. Nothing comes out. I don’t dare close my eyes again. I stare, wide-eyed, at a small fissure in the wood, at the trail of ants crawling through it. The thud of my knees on the wood has disturbed them, and they are scurrying quicker than usual. I focus on the bugs for a while, trying to calm the chaos in my soul. It works, to an extent, but not entirely. I don’t want to move. Part of me wants to crawl back to that bed and go back to the Shadow Realm. To go back to that shadowed alcove, to curl up and stay there forever.

Instead, I stand. I think about Velveteen and Micah, and all that they have done for me. I think about Grey, and the feel of her skin warm beneath my fingertips, and the sweet, untainted taste of her blood. I think of Tytonidae and its members—those who sought to help me when I only pushed them away. I think of that bottle of virgin blood sent to me by Ariadne—a quick glance over my shoulder assures me that it’s still there. I stand and stride toward it, wrenching the cap from the bottle so that I can scull the contents. Within seconds, the whole bottle has been swallowed. As per usual, it does nothing to satiate the thirst.

A yell rips from my throat and I shake my head. I drop the bottle, and it smashes at my feet. I ignore the mess as I pull on a pair of jeans and an ordinary t-shirt – the first things that I can find lying around. I head out into the crisp night; I take the elevator down to the ground floor. Although I exit the Eyrie, I don’t head toward the city. Instead I go around the back, picking a short distance away from the tree. I know it’s probably not safe, given that the fae lurk out here. But I have an urge and I need to sate it. Controlled chaos.

Within half an hour I have a bonfire burning. I continue to add fuel to it, so that the flames burn hot as hell. The ice in the trees around-about begins to melt. I circle my creation with glee. I stare into the flames, the blinding light a source of energy, a source of madness. I feel as if I am one with the flames; as if I could throw myself into them. As if I should. I don’t. I continue to pace, and to throw more debris into the flickering maw. These flames are my children, and they’re hungry. I have to feed them.

[Micah]

The sewers had become his home away from home. Littered throughout the dark, dank passageways were items that Micah needed from time to time. And if he wasn’t in need of the things that he found someone else usually was so even if it wasn’t needed right then he collected it and stored it away for use at a later date. The enemies that lurked there too were another bonus and did wonders to sate his bloodlust. Contrary to popular belief he did have a certain amount of restraint when it came to killing **** and if the urge grew to the point where it started to overwhelm him Micah would slip away and take out his frustration on the paladins and the footsoldiers. This was one of those nights.

Micah followed behind Savannah who he was using to scout, following her directions as she returned to his side to inform him of another location. With a grace that would surprise most, he approached the unsuspecting paladin and engaged him in battle. It was getting to the point that it wasn’t even a challenge for him but this one put up a damn good fight, managing to unload several shots that met their mark before Micah managed to decapitate him. “****.” He hissed and poked experimentally at the wounds that littered his torso. Bending down he winced and collected the severed head, stuffing it in his bag before making his way back to the surface. Not a bad haul, several heads and a few other ritual and crafting ingredients. Usually a run like that would tame the restlessness he was feeling but tonight it didn’t help.

Instead of using his tome like he normally would he decided to walk the short distance to the Eyrie. The bag in his hand was seeping blood but it didn’t pay it any mind. It was deserted this time of night and if he came across and stragglers that decided to question him he could say it was full of rabbits or some ****. Anyone got nosy and tried to look well he’d deal with that if he had to. As the Eyrie came into view he decided that instead of selling the heads he’d replace the ones that lined the path to the entrance of the tree. The ones that currently sat on spikes were old having been placed there well over a year ago by he and his wife. They’d decomposed and all that was left was a bunch of sorry looking skulls. Not very menacing at all but that would soon be fixed. And there was no better decoration that a bunch of paladin heads.

As he entered the gate his gaze was drawn to the fire that had been started. It wasn’t the normal soft glow of the fire that his wife usually started. No this one was well on its way to becoming a raging inferno. Micah narrowed his eyes zeroing in on the figure standing there feeding the flames. Jesse. He’d like to say he was surprised but he wasn’t. Not really. Something had happened with Jesse over the past few months that had changed him and not for the better. From the last conversation he had had with Jesse Micah got the impression that not even Jesse knew, and after speaking with Vel Micah knew what had gone on with the kid’s uncle. Something like that was bound to leave a lasting impression no matter who you were.

He opened the gate and stepped inside, pulling the iron door closed behind him with a loud enough clang to alert the other of his presence. Approaching the spikes that lined the path Micah dropped the sodden bag at his feet and pulled the first skull off the pike. “Evenin Jesse,” he drawled softly without a glance. The skull was pitched off to the side and landed into the corner, rolling onto its side. Micah stared thoughtfully at it and added a fresh severed head to the pike. Maybe a pyramid of skulls in either corner would be cool. “Nice fire you got goin there. Ain’t gonna let it get out of control now are ya?”

[Jesse Fforde]

The atmosphere is a confusion of hot and cold; the breeze that shifts through the trees is like something out of an enormous cold room, refrigerated air swirling and dancing with the hot billows produced by the growing flames. I step in and out of the different temperatures, until finally pausing in a bubble of heat. I pause, because it’s almost as if those flames are whispering to me. There are voices coming from with them. Or is it just the breeze sloshing through the leaves in the trees around-about? I take a single step closer, staring into the heart of the fire. The wood that I have used as fuel has burned to a charred crisp, its innards a bright river of red coal and spark. Somewhere within the bright inferno there are still patches of complete darkness; the smoke that erupts from the bonfire is black, writhing shadows that lift into the sky to be greeted by a deeper darkness. Tendrils that reach out, that curl around me, tempt me to take just another two steps…

A deep voice breaks me from my reverie. When I breath, unnecessarily, I swallow smoke. It lingers on my lungs, and I hold it there. I have to blink a couple of times to clear my vision of the imprinted image of fire. There, just beyond, is Micah. It takes me another couple of seconds to realise what he’s doing. The smell of blood and death drifts toward me upon a sluice of cold breeze, which simultaneously urges me to take two steps backward, rather than forward. Out of the bubble of heat rather than further into it.

Another couple of seconds pass before I remember that Micah had asked a question. I clear my throat, and gulp a breath of fresher air, of cold air, the shock of it helping me to clear my head of the tangles of darkness and what I assume is approaching insanity. Voices? In the fire? Really?

”No,” I say. Quite a few joking responses had flitted through my mind before I had settled on the serious one. ”The flames are a product of my creation that I can control, unlike other…things,” I say in a moment of unbidden bitterness. It’s not really like I want to control the other things that I have created. A little acknowledgement might be nice, though. I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest.

”Had a good night, I see?” I ask, gesturing to the dripping and fresh heads that Micah wrangles onto the spikes.

[Micah]

Out of the corner of his eyes Micah watched Jesse draw closer and moved to the next pike. He could remember when he’d done this exact task with Vel. It hadn’t been too long after he’d joined the faction. She’d decided that paladin heads on pikes would give off a keep the **** out vibe and while he didn’t know if that actually worked or not it was almost therapeutic in its own way. They’d spent an entire evening doing this very task and it felt a little odd to be doing it without her now, but she’d understand when he told her why. He didn’t think Jesse would intentionally set the tree on fire but with the way he’d been acting as of late it was better safe than sorry.

The silence seemed to stretch on for what felt like hours but in reality it was minutes or maybe even seconds. That was fine, he was capable of being patient if there was a need for it. His hands encircled the skull and he pulled on it but it was proving to be difficult and wasn’t budging. “You ******,” he grumbled and upped the pressure but when he pulled this time he apparently used too much force and the skull crumbled in his hands.

Jesse finally answered him and Micah spared him a glance before brushing his hands off. “A decent night I think. I’ve had better and I’ve had worse. Think the shopkeeper is getting a little tired of me selling him my severed heads so I decided to be a little more creative this time with them.” Wasn’t like he needed the cash for them after all. He bent to retrieve another head taking in the bitterness that had seeped into the other’s tone. “Sometimes things happen that are out of our control no matter how much we wish it to be otherwise.” The head was added to the pike and he turned to face the Jesse. “Somethin botherin ya tonight Jesse?” He gestured to the inferno that was blazing in the background. “Judging by that fire ya got goin on over there I’m leaning towards yes. Or maybe you’re a closet pyromaniac. Either way I ain’t leaving ya here, not until that fire is out at least.”

[Jesse Fforde]

Anger flickers within me, a mini inferno fuelled by the very physical fire in front of me. I don’t like the question. And I don’t like the implication that I cannot control this thing that I have created. Hidden in that one statement is the idea that Micah doesn’t trust me. He won’t leave me with my fire because he thinks I’ll leave it, that I’ll let it leap and lurch, that I’ll let it consume the faction home that he and Velveteen had built. It hurts, that distrust. It’s like a dagger sinking deeper into a heart that I know I have, but which I don’t show to anyone. Not even myself.

”I don’t need a ******* babysitter,” I spit, just as the fire spits heat and sparks. Micah himself is like a fire. He is yet another dangerous thing at which I could throw myself in order to find some kind of reprieve. If I piss him off enough, he would hang and quarter me. But I have tried that before, haven’t I? And it didn’t work quite how I wanted it to. Besides, I realise just a second too late, I don’t want to lose what little respect Micah might have for me. I shake my head from side to side as if trying to loosen a know. I find the trunk of a tree and slide down it; I sit on the ground and rub the heels of my palms into my eyes. They burn. The acridity of the smoke has got stuck beneath my eyelids.

”… though you’re probably right. I should probably put it out,” I say. I laugh, then, low and derisive, marvelling at the déjà vu. I’m sitting on the ground in front of Micah. I’m so ******* deplorably weak. I turn my attention back to the fire to stare at the flames.

”I haven’t been sleeping properly. It’s no excuse. But there you have it,” I say. My tongue runs over my teeth as I glance sideways at Micah. I don’t expect him to be soft, or sympathetic. I don’t know what I expect, but I don’t know how much to say, either. At least it’s more anger, this time, At least I’m not about to cry again. I won’t embarrass myself like that again.

[Micah]

Micah didn’t even bat an eye at the sudden attitude he got from Jesse. Didn’t bother him none and he had heard worse, so much worse. He didn’t say anything for a few long minutes as he moved along to the next pike. “Didn’t say ya did but I can see how ya might’ve taken it to mean that I thought ya needed to be watched like a lil kid.” It wasn’t entirely the truth. Something was going on with Jesse and honestly Micah was a little worried, enough that deep down he thought that Jesse could benefit from having someone keep an eye on him no matter how the other might resent that. Having someone keep an eye out wasn’t necessarily a bad thing especially with the volatile mood the kid was experiencing.

He watched Jesse out of the corner of his eye as he sat on the frozen ground. He tried to keep his attention on the bleeding severed head that he was holding but he couldn’t help but look down at the figure on the ground. His lips pressed together in a thin line as he attached the head and wiped his bloody hands on his jeans. Lovely. Bunny was going to be pissed when she saw he’d ruined another pair of pants. Chick was like a rabid dog when she was angry, he knew that from experience.

“Didn’t say ya had to put it out. Just want ya to keep n’eye on it so it doesn’t get out of control. I trust that you are capable of keeping your creations...tame, so to speak.” Trust. Maybe that wasn’t something Jesse got enough of. Or credit. But Micah felt that Jesse deserved both and if he said he was going to keep an eye on the fire he’d created then the killer believed that. He had to or the two of them and everyone else sleeping inside the Eyrie were going to be fucked.

Micah looked down at Jesse - really looked at him. Some odd emotion began to stir inside of him that he couldn’t identify. Pity? Nah that was the last thing Micah would feel for the kid. Sympathy? Perhaps. Jesse had had a rough time as of late and the animosity that Micah had felt towards the other probably hadn’t helped much. “Lack of sleep is enough to drive anyone batshit crazy. I turn into a dick. Ask Vel. Sometimes I don’t get how that woman puts up with me.” The bag of heads was forgotten as he sat on the ground beside Jesse. “Don’t really think its the lack of sleep Jesse. What’s goin on in that head of yours?”

[Jesse Fforde]

I give a smirk that I’m sure has none of the usual mischief or amusement attached; it’s a smirk that no doubt illuminates only self-deprecation and regret. If I can count my childer as my creations, then yes, sure. I have a very good talent at keeping them tame. So tame that they disperse into nothingness. We are not talking about them right now, however. We are talking about the bonfire that I have fuelled, that I have turned into a monster, a raging inferno towering over us as we sit on the cold ground. Micah has joined me, and as soon as he does something breaks inside of me. The cold hard wall that I have erected, the one built with bricks of fury and remorse, begin to crumble. The fury is still there, but the defensiveness and the secrecy that act as the mortar are not quite as adhesive anymore.

”I don’t know,” I say, voice still a low husk as I continue to stare at the hot flames. I chew on the inside of my lip before I decide to answer honestly. Completely, without reserve. I’ll see if Micah has any enlightening insights.

”Every time I fall asleep I end up in the Shadow Realm. I figure maybe it’s a thing I could learn to control but I have no idea where to start. So I try not to go to sleep, ever,” I pause, and I consider the problem further. That’s not so much the thing that’s bothering me, it’s the way it makes me feel.

”Thing is, I don’t always want to leave. I wander around down there and I find a nice dark little alcove and I stay there. I lie down, and I just want to stay there,” I say. ”I don’t want to die, but ****. What else is that supposed to mean? I start this inferno and I enjoy it thoroughly because it’s something I’ve created, but at the same time I want to throw myself into the heart of it, to let it kill me, permanently,” I say. It’s probably the most I’ve said in a while. I sigh, as if my voice is tired from having said too much. And it’s not so much that my voice is tired, but that my whole mind is tired. My soul is tired. It has tackled this question over and over to no avail, and it’s exhausted even thinking about it anymore.

I don’t turn to face Micah. Truth is, though it feels good to be able to tell someone about my suicidal tendencies, at the same time I don’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t ever want to appear weak, like I need help. But it has come to the point where I think, sooner or later, I am going to need help. I will crawl into a dark hole somewhere and I will kill myself for no rhyme or reason. I will tell no one, and no one will know why; I won’t even know why. The voice of reason overcrowds my stubbornness. Someone needs to know, so that should I reach that point of no return, there might be some that someone might care enough to try to stop me.

[Micah]

Micah ignored the cold as it seeped through the denim of his jeans. The ground wasn't the most comfortable place to sit but it was the only option. He would have towered over Jesse if he had remained standing and he didn’t want to give the impression that he thought he was better than the other. Sitting on the ground with him showed that they were equals, perhaps even friends. Micah didn’t have many of those and the ones that he did have were females. Now that gave the wrong impression and he’d been teased on numerous occasions about having a harem. Which he did not have. Vel would have strangled him.

The answer he received wasn’t unexpected. Micah didn’t think that Jesse really knew what was going on but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be figured out. This wasn’t his thing. He gave **** advice, but he was a decent listener or so he had been told. He remained silent and waited for Jesse to continue and when he did the surprise that he felt was plain to see in the expression on his face. The Shadow Realm? That worried him more than he cared to admit. Why the **** would Jesse be dreaming about that place? Was he fuckin suicidal??

Micah was beginning to think that he was. With every word that came out of Jesse’s mouth the more concerned he became. He couldn’t process what he was hearing. Surely it wasn’t normal to dream about that place the way that Jesse seemed to be doing? Every had told him about it after she had returned the second time and from what she had said it wasn’t a pleasant place at all. Who would want to stay there for any length of time? Certainly not him. He didn’t know what to say to the kid. There were no words. None. Nothing would come, no reassurances that **** was going to be fine because honestly Micah didn’t know if it was going to be.

The silence stretched to the point that it became awkward but Micah still couldn’t find any words that would be helpful. He couldn’t just sit there though, and say nothing. It was probably the first time Jesse had voiced what he had been dealing with and Micah didn’t want to be a dick and blow him off. That wouldn’t be helpful at all. “That’s kind of….contradictory Jesse. You don’t wanna die but you wanna remain there? That doesn’t make much sense to me.” He absently picked at the frozen ground. “I’m at a loss here and I’m not sure that I can be of much help to you. But its obvious that there is something going on somewhere that’s making you feel this way. Just have to figure out what that is and go from there.”

[Jesse Fforde]

I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them; not in a pathetic, sobbing schoolboy way but with the knees spread apart, supported and help upright by my encircled arms, feet crossed on the ground. My fingers wrap around each other, knuckles white as fists clench. The silence billows between us, but it does not bother me. It is a welcome comfort, pierced only by the cackling crackles of the flames. The silence might be awkward for Micah, but for me it is a soothing balm. No silence, no matter how stretched, is awkward for me.

It could have been, of course. The things that I have just admitted to another full-grown man are things of grave importance and feeling, things that I myself would avoid. Things that I myself might not know how to respond to, were our roles reversed. As the silence stretches I imagine it; what if it were Micah telling me that he has suicidal tendencies? How would I respond? Perhaps I’d tell him to suck it up and move on. I frown, teeth chewing the edge of my tongue as my nails dig into the flesh of my palms. It’s exactly the kind of thing Micah should say, and maybe he’s silent because he’s erring on propriety. I am a wild card, and I must be handled carefully lest I be pushed to extremes and do something incredibly stupid. There, that’s why there’s silence. He is deliberating, treading carefully. And no doubt wanting to make some excuse and back away, one slow step at a time. I wouldn’t blame him.

I don’t expect the honesty of the response when it comes. Micah admits that he can’t be of much help to me; there’s a twitch of disappointment in my chest, but on the surface I know that I wasn’t asking for help, and nor did I expect that there would be a clear and obvious answer. I laugh, sly and low. I shake my head.

”…something going on,” I snort. ”I’d ask how the **** I’m supposed to figure that out, except the answer is clear, isn’t it? I am actually insane. What’s wrong is something in here,” I say, driving a finger into my temple, ”And the way to fix it is to drive a bullet through it,” I say, casting a glance around as if searching for a gun that will properly do the trick.

[Micah]

He felt the temper that he tried so hard to keep a lid on flare dangerously. Depending on the situation it sometimes took a bit to get him to the point of a full blown rage. His temper was legendary among those who knew him. He was known for flying off the handle and because of that Micah had been doing his best to try and control it. It was a struggle for him, a huge one but he was bound and determined to win the battle.

There were a few things that would set him off quickly. First - his wife. Messing with Vel, hurting her or doing anything that Micah might deem inappropriate was a sure fire way of getting shot, as Jesse had found out first hand from the altercation the two had had a few weeks back. Second - his family. It might surprise people to know that Micah was fiercely protective of his childer and those underneath them so ******* with any of them was another way to eat a bullet. Third - people who insisted on doing exactly what Jesse was doing. Wallowing. Bemoaning their lot in life.

The laugh pissed him off all the more. “Are you ******* kidding me right now Jesse?” Disdain dripped off of every word. “You know, I don’t have to ******* sit here and make small talk with you. I don’t have to sit here and try to ******* help you. But I do because that’s what faction mates do. It’s what friends do.” He threw each word at the necromancer like a dart that was dripping with ice. Micah was livid, he was fed up and it showed. “You walk around like a thundercloud and it doesn’t exactly make people want to be around you. It’s ******* depressing. Don’t you ******* get that??”

His fingers twitched instinctively as they morphed unconsciously, fluidly shifting into wickedly sharp claws that were meant to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting target. “You sit here and talk about ending it all so easily without a care for those who give a **** about you. You’re ******* selfish, that’s what you are.” Pestilence was in his hand before he realized it and the cool metal barrel was pressed against Jesse’s temple. “If you are dead set on dying, I can certainly help you along. Clip’s almost empty though so tell me kid, do you feel lucky?”