7. Xavier
SEVEN
XAVIER
"FUCK!"
The curse tears from my throat as the taillights disappear into the rain, swallowed by the city before I can force my legs to move any faster.
Too soon. You showed yourself too soon.
My boots splash through filthy water as I sprint deeper into the alley, lungs burning, every instinct screaming that something has shifted tonight after watching the amber flecks of the brake lights disappear into the distance.
Something is wrong, not with the hunt, with Ashmaker. How could Ashmaker be so reckless?
For months now, I've watched from the shadows while justice unfolded exactly as it should, with growing pleasure deep within my chest. Every strike has been measured, every movement deliberate.
Every single sinner has been reduced to nothing but smoke, death, and regret.
It's been beautiful and sacred, the perfect moments between us.
The ones where I was always ready, always complete.
If anyone had ever dared interfere, I would have stepped from the darkness without hesitation and easily dispatched them back to hell.
That has become my sole purpose. Not to lead, or to judge, but to protect, because someone must keep Ashmaker safe.
I can't allow anything to go wrong when they're out committing their holy work.
Tonight, fuck... tonight the rhythm was wrong. There was a stillness to them tonight, almost as if they were not wholly present in their actions, but were instead going through the motions.
The first plunge of the blade still stole my breath with its elegance and precision.
A perfect brushstroke across a living canvas, a masterpiece.
George Weston sang exactly as expected, his pain-filled voice filling the rainy night sky as he begged and cried.
The disgusting coward dared to promise God things God had already stopped listening to, and would never grant a devil like him.
Yet, the music somehow felt flat, as if Ashmaker's movements lacked their usual conviction.
The blade found flesh, and justice was delivered, but there was no communion, no reverence.
No, instead, there was only routine and obligation.
It was like watching an artist paint from memory, after forgetting why they ever loved the canvas.
It was empty, and that made my chest tighten painfully.
It lacked energy and conviction. They were a shell, not whole, not like us.
No... no, no... that isn't possible. Ashmaker doesn't hesitate. Ashmaker doesn't doubt. Unless... The thought curls around my spine like cold skeletal fingers, as a wave of dread and uncertainty floods my veins. They're breaking... my stomach knots with the brutal thought.
No, that cannot happen. Not now, not after everything I've done.
Our work isn't finished... our work... I can't allow our connection to be severed.
This joint holy communion, it belongs to us.
It's bred into both our skin, and it runs in viscous crimson rivers through our veins.
It is who and what we are. Ashmaker and I are the same. We are one.
Ours? A laugh echoes somewhere inside my skull. Since when?
I stagger to a stop, as the rain runs into my eyes, and my hands curl into tight fists until the leather gloves creak.
You had a purpose before Ashmaker. The voice is patient and mocking. You hunted long before they existed. You were deadly before Ashmaker.
"I... I still hunt."
No. It chuckles, the sound causing rage to bubble just below the edges of my sanity. You clean.
Heat floods my face, and I clench my jaw so hard I hear a popping sound. "I'm protecting..."
You're following.
"They need me," I growl with defiance.
Listen to yourself, you're pathetic. Another step, another harsh laugh. You wait for scraps now.
Pain blossoms behind my eyes, sharp, blinding, and glaring white. The alley tilts sideways as I squeeze my temples. "They're... not..."
Say it.
"I'm not..."
Say it. Go on now.
"I'm not anyone's lap dog. You're wrong!" Silence greets my declaration.
Good.
The approval feels worse than the insult. I'm not now, nor have I ever been, weak or pitiful. Those who dare to underestimate me have all paid the price with their lives. I force myself to take in deep breaths filled with the scent of smoke. One. Two. Three. Focus, now.
I turn towards the burning embers of George Weston. The fire has already begun dying. No, not dying, failing. Ashmaker never leaves a scene unfinished. Never. The pretty flames crawl lazily over George's remains, struggling against the rain. Too little accelerant used and too much haste.
My pulse quickens with the knowledge that the FBI will recover far more than they should: evidence and patterns.
Mistakes.
"Ashmaker doesn't make mistakes," I scoff. Not unless they're unraveling, or the Bureau is right.
It will only be a matter of time before they're caught. They've become sloppy, a liability, one that will get us caught with them. Leave.
"No." The words ring true, even if I refuse to acknowledge them. I can't allow that to happen. I won't.
Let them burn with their own mistakes.
"No."
Kill Ashmaker yourself.
The words stop me cold, as every muscle locks, and rain drums softly against the waterproof fabric of my hood.
"You don't mean that." I refuse the thought before it finishes forming. My fate is bound to theirs now: Ashmaker’s and her.
We're one woven rope, tightly constructed, that can no longer be parted, perhaps not even in death.
Somewhere along the way, the line disappeared, and I no longer remember where Ashmaker ends, and I begin.
Perhaps there never was one. Then there's her. She ties us all together.
Don't I?
I stare at the dying fire with a sense of growing hopelessness spreading through my chest cavity. All my thoughts race, causing bile to rise at the back of my throat, but I force it back down.
If Ashmaker falls…
"No." I can't allow that to happen, and I refuse to allow anyone or anything to poison me against them.
I shrug my backpack from my shoulders and retrieve the bottle of lighter fluid.
The flames greet the fresh fuel greedily, roaring back to life as if they, too, refuse to allow Ashmaker to fail.
"There..." I whisper to the fire, "I've got you. " Always.
The heat bites through my damp body as I crouch beside George.
His face has already begun surrendering to the flames.
My gloved hand reaches forward and grabs his face, the skin melting like fat from an expensive chicken, as I pry the mouth open and inspect it for its prize.
"It's there, firmly placed, exactly where Ashmaker intended.
" A proud smile tugs at my lips. "See, they didn't forget.
They were careful and diligent. They completed their task, they're still perfect," I whisper into the cold air around me, and relief floods me so completely my knees nearly give out.
Perfect? The voice laughs again. You're the one finishing their work.
A bolt of agony tears through my skull, momentarily blinding me as he attempts to take control. I crumple beside the fire, one hand clawing at the pavement. "No..."
Walk away.
"No! I... have to finish... I have to... protect... Ashmaker."
Kill Ashmaker.
"NO!" The roar ricochets off wet brick, as every instinct inside of me tears in opposite directions. One demands survival, the other strict devotion. I bare my teeth in rage at the suggestion that I will have to choose.
Let them be caught or kill them. Those are your choices. We will not go down with them.
"NEITHER!" I roar, a surge of adrenaline allowing me to fight back against the attempted subterfuge, as I wrestle with the control of my mind.
I rise to my feet, my mind a collage of pain, distorted colors blending like water racing down a drain.
"As long as I breathe..." my voice shakes, "...
no one touches Ashmaker. They belong to us.
We do not abandon them." The pain recedes, but not because I've won, because, for now, the argument is over, and I can take my first deep breath since I walked into this alleyway.
Then be done with it before we are caught in their place, fool.
The pain decreases so that I can focus on the scene before me, ensuring that I've left no trace of Ashmaker, or myself, behind for those naughty FBI agents to find, at least not one I don't wish them to.
I firmly shut George's mouth, disguising the contents of the final detail Ashmaker left behind.
I burn my fingers through the thick gloves I wear, and white-hot rage momentarily blinds me.
The crack of ribs beneath my boot echoes in my ears as I snarl, "Fucking cock sucker," slamming my heavy boot down on George's chest again and again, causing his ribs to cave in and the fire to rush over him like a hungry predator devouring its prey.
The fire hisses, and the smoke thickens, as sirens begin their shrill singing somewhere in the distance.
I reach for the blade tucked away at my lower back, hold it in my aching fingers, and bang the hilt hard into George's feverish temple.
Good, they're almost here, and I have one final gift to leave.
The sharp blade kisses the soot-blackened brick as I draw a question mark, and then a crooked, lopsided smile shaped like a capital 'L', into the blackening brick wall behind George's body.
It's childish and mocking, an invitation only one person will understand.
Will those impossible dark eyes linger on it just a heartbeat longer than everyone else's?
Will she realize someone is speaking directly to her?
Not to the Bureau, not to the pesky profilers, or her cunt of a partner.
Her. I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the cackle that attempts to breach my mouth.
What are you doing now, you imbecile? That's a sure way to get us caught?
Soon, she too will be mine, just like Ashmaker. A warmth spreads through my chest at the certainty. Soon... neither of them will be alone. Ashmaker and Scarlett. The only two souls in this city who are worth saving.
No one will be ours if you don't get the hell out of here! You should have allowed me to take control. Your weakness will get us killed.
"Ours?" Yes, I like the sound of that. It brings a warm feeling to the dead places inside of me that have been barren for so long. "I'm tired of being alone."
I know, Xavier. Soon we won't be. Now fucking move.
I blink hard, clearing my thoughts. The sirens are much closer now.
I slip quickly into the rain, mount the black motorcycle concealed beneath the shadows, and disappear just as red and blue lights flood the mouth of the alley.
I don't look back. I have no need to. I know she's coming.
Scarlett always follows the clues, and tonight... I've left one just for her.
Soon, both Ashmaker and Scarlett will be mine forever.
Ours.