Desmond had lost Christina, watching her die before his eyes. He had gotten lost in that cave, drowned and transformed into something inhuman. But it was only now that he felt he had hit rock bottom. With Abigail's knife grazing his neck. With those eyes, looking at him as if he were her enemy.

He hadn't even seen it coming.

If Abigail had made up her mind, she would have slit his throat without a word. But Desmond knew her well and felt she was close to making that decision.

If he didn't choose his words wisely, he was screwed.

And so was Christina. Which was the most important thing. He tried desperately to think of what to do, what to say. Yeah, he should have thought of that earlier, but if he'd thought too much, maybe he wouldn't have dared to come out of his hiding place to begin with.

"How do you know that? "Desmond asked. The other Desmond.

"You know it's true. That's what matters.

"How do you know that? "He repeated, angrier, gritting his teeth as if preparing for a fight. As if he was in any condition to fight in the first place.

Of course he wasn't going to accept an evasive remark like that.

Least of all from an enemy.

"Because I've seen the same thing you've seen. "Hiding the lie within the truth seemed like the best decision, with Abigail here. She had a good nose for lies. "The ruins of the Empire... The corpses of Christina, Amy and Abigail floating in a sea of blood.... All of it.

"How is that possible?

"How do you want me to know? I'm like... trash swept away by the current. And the current is the whims of the gods.

Perhaps he was nothing more than a tool. For the Empire's destruction, and for this.

But he didn't care.

If the gods wanted him to save his friend, he wasn't going to argue. He certainly wasn't. The other Desmond was growing increasingly frustrated with his evasive answers. He wasn't the only one. Fortunately, he could finally stop wasting time. At last something had occurred to him.

"He's still hiding something," said Abigail.

"Okay, you want the truth? The truth is, Desmond " having his own name come out of his mouth without introducing himself to anyone was odd. The least weird thing about this situation, but still a little weird"you and I are connected. I'm one of your predecessors.

"You mean...?"

It wasn't a real question, but he'd answer out loud anyway. He'd learned a thing or two from Charlotte about how to deliver his message as effectively as possible. She had lived and breathed that sort of thing since she was very young, after all.

"Yes. I made a contract with this woman, too. When I still had human form, that is."

The other Desmond frowned, for the moment more pensive than angry. For the moment. He wasn't exactly subtle or difficult to anger.

"And that's why you know. You have some kind of power, still."

How strange to talk with myself, quite literally.

Not just because that wasn't something that happened every day. Also because of seeing himself from the outside. His expressions, his gestures, things he wasn't aware of. Watching himself as if he were anyone else and not himself. He didn't like what he saw, but that was nothing new.

He had always hated looking in the mirror for a reason.

There was something repulsive about him. He couldn't put it into words, but if all people felt the same way, it was no wonder he had so few people close to him. And that he had broken one of those few bonds.

He wondered if even Christina and Amy felt the same way when they looked at him. If so, why were they still close to him? He supposed they didn't.

He supposed.

That was all he could do, assume. His current situation wasn't so different than it had always been, now that he thought about it. Alone in the dark.

Did he really know anything about love, or maybe just need? He didn't want to think about things like that. He probably wouldn't like what he would find deep down inside either.

The insinuation had been too direct. He couldn't take it back, but why should he? Abigail had lived a long time and made contracts with a variety of people, giving them power based on their desires. When she felt she had no control over her life, Amy had been given the power to make others obey her commands.

And when he'd been at death's door, the contract had made Desmond stronger than anyone else.

It had allowed him to stop fearing pain, death.

Considering that, it would be strange if not a single one of those people had had the ability to see the future. What was the most common fear of mankind, other than death? Not knowing what the future held for them.

But he didn't have to answer.

"That's not possible. I don't feel anything."

The connection there should be between them, that is. He didn't either. He didn't like being reminded of the emptiness in his chest.

According to Abigail, and he had no reason to doubt her, the heartbeat thing was something that had only happened with him. But she felt all the people she had formed a contract with, even if it was in a different way.

It was good to know.

"It's the truth, though." She couldn't realize that he was lying. Because he hadn't.

"Who are you?"

The man who will save you, he thought.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does. And nothing you've said explains why any of this matters to you in the first place. Okay, you watched complete strangers die. So what?"

Abigail provided another avenue of escape, changing the subject. He sighed in relief. This question had an easy answer, one that would bring no complications.

"You're not a stranger."

The truth, again. Good strategy. Why fix what wasn't broken?

"You're saying it's for me, huh?" That question wasn't a question at all. She knew it. Nothing escaped her, of course. "And yet you seemed worried about Christina, more than anything else."

"That's because... I watched her die... in my visions. I don't know her, but I came to feel that I knew her...." Every word had to be torn from his throat. Painfully. "By being present in her last moments."

It wasn't real. It had never happened, and it should never happen. So it was like a dream.

He would fail if he appeared emotional.

Their trust in him would drop below zero. Or worse yet, one of them might begin to suspect the truth. Now that he couldn't allow. Under no circumstances.

"I don't want that to happen."

"How did I die?"

Desmond looked at her.

There was nothing strange about her wanting to hear about her own destiny. Even if she didn't quite believe he was telling the truth.

He didn't want to talk about it, but maybe she needed to hear the truth. Maybe she deserved it, rather. More importantly, it would be stupid to go this far and then not warn her about how she was going to die. She should be able to do a better job than him at preventing her own death.

"A knife in the heart, from some bastard in the crowd. Just bad luck. I... I don't want that to happen. That's all."

The shortest possible summary of the incident. Still, it was a miracle he had managed to describe it without breaking down in some way. By which he meant he wasn't even sure he could cry with this body, but there were a thousand other ways to let the cracks show.

If I had to sum it up in one word, what could he say?

Murder? Tragedy?

Injustice, because such a charitable soul would have been drowned and sent into darkness? Long before his time had come, above.

Shame to the world that such a thing could have happened, shame to the one who had held the knife and brought it to its target, out of whim, out of greed, out of whatever had moved them?

Shame... because he hadn't been able to stop it?

"Do you believe him?" Finally, of all people, it was Amy who broke the tense silence.

"Not really," Christina replied, "But.... I sense that his concern for me is sincere."

Could she pick up on his feelings, even after the transformation? He didn't have to wonder. What else could she be referring to? That little pause before her admission spoke volumes, too.

Much of what he had done today had been under the assumption that she couldn't sense his emotions.

Another mistake to add to the list.

"I see," Amy said, matter-of-factly. That was enough for her. For the other Desmond, behind her, it seemed to, too. From his expression. Because he thought that was how he would react, if he were in the same situation.

And if he didn't know himself well enough to guess, then who?

"Desmond," Abigail spoke, tense, anger trembling beneath the surface.

It couldn't be more obvious what decision she wanted him to make.

But she was willing to leave it in his hands. Yes. His fate wasn't in Abigail's hands, it was in his own hands....

And there was nothing he could do to control it, even so.

My life is a bad joke, he thought.

If he moved now, it would spoil all his effort. If he didn't move and Desmond decided to kill him, to kill himself, then... Would his other self simply repeat all this? Would he end up here, in front of him, in the same way? An unbreakable cycle of suffering. Like being buried alive in time.

"Let it go."

He was thankful he hadn't listened to his panic.

Abigail let go, though with some reluctance.

If she was sure he was a threat to them, to Desmond, then she would have slit his throat. But she wasn't convinced otherwise either.

Desmond crawled away from Abigail, on hands and legs, then, some distance away, stood up again. He looked back.

One last time. Just one last time.

Then he disappeared into the woods, back into the darkness where he belonged.

***

Abigail watched him leave.

Not long ago, she would have said that in all her long life she had never seen such a thing. But it wouldn't be true anymore. That thing like a living shadow, that Desmond and she had killed by making it burn alive.

He looked like the shadow, but at the same time he was very different.

She couldn't say why, since she wasn't talking about the superficial differences in their appearance.

That creature frightened her, to be honest. Maybe it would have been better to cut his throat, no matter what Desmond had told her. Maybe.

But it was too late for regrets.

The four of them returned to the wagon. She, of course, took the driver's seat, grabbing the reins and placing them on her lap.

They still had some way to go. It was time to get going. She'd say it was also time to leave this whole confusing mess behind, but she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.

If things were that simple, her pulse wouldn't have trembled when it came to slitting that thing's throat.

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Christina asked, shortly after they got going again. She wasn't the only one who couldn't get it out of her head.

Of all of them she would be taking it the worst, evidently.

Abigail glanced sidelong at her, over her shoulder, with another eye on the road as she handled the horses. There were no other wagons on the road, but that didn't mean one couldn't suddenly appear.

Or some other kind of obstacle. Like a fallen log.

She saw Christina as restless as she sounded, with the book she always carried with her against her chest and her gaze down, on her lap. It was normal to feel a little uneasy if someone predicted your death, even if you hadn't believed a word of it.

She supposed. In the course of her life, Abigail had forgotten many things natural to human beings. Like the fear of death. She had been looking for it for some time.

In fact, when Desmond told her that in his visions he had seen her dead, at last, she had been ecstatic. As never before in her many lives.

She knew her happiness had hurt the boy. More often than not, his face was like an open book. But she hadn't been able to avoid it.

"He contradicted himself at every turn. I'm sure he was improvising as he went along," Abigail said. You didn't have to be very smart to figure that out, though. The thing had come unprepared, at least. "Not too well."

"Yes..." Christina interrupted, sounding a little relieved. But that hadn't been her intention.

Quite the opposite.

She considered not saying what she really thought, for the sake of her frightened little boy. But she had already made too many concessions to save him pain in the short term.

That decision was why Desmond was in this state. Why they had made this trip in the first place. If she had shown him the right way, instead of giving in to what Desmond wanted to do, things would have been different. She was sure of it.

All mothers wanted to spoil their children, but... that wasn't all they needed.

"But, at the same time, it wasn't all a lie," she continued, finally. "Or at least the truth as that thing sees it. -She knew immediately if someone was lying to her, but her nose couldn't tell her if that person was mistaken or lying to herself. It wasn't magic, just instinct. And years of experience. "Otherwise I would have known."

"So...?"Christina asked, falling silent.

"Yes. I think it's true. That your life is in danger."

All three of them, but especially Christina's. Just as that thing had said.

There was silence. She didn't know what kind of expression the girl was making, as she was still focused on the road.

Abigail couldn't see Desmond's expression either, but it didn't matter. She knew him well enough to see it in her mind's eye with crystal clarity. And perfect accuracy.

-I wish I had asked him the details. When and where," Christina said, slowly and after a while.

It was too late for that now.

It had occurred to Abigail, but she had decided not to ask the question. Considering that it was for the best. But, since her own life was at stake, nothing was going to stop Christina from wanting to know.

Although perhaps it would be best not to hear it.

"Next time. If there is a next time." That was what she said at the end.

She didn't think that thing was going to show itself in front of them again.

At least not until the day Christina was supposed to be murdered. To stop it. And then there would be no time for questions, no point in asking them.

Yes, she believed that thing really cared about Christina. She had believed so even before Christina herself had confirmed it. Because no one could lie to her.

Abigail heard Desmond move, felt it, and looked back.

In time to see him put a hand over Christina's, wrapping it around it, squeezing gently.

Christina didn't even look at him.

Jealousy. It was stupid, she knew she was the most important person to Desmond, that she always would be. But sometimes she felt jealous of those girls.

Abigail looked away.

It wasn't like her. She had to put it aside, forget it. Bury it. She knew there was no point. The emotion itself, and wasting time wallowing in it, especially.

"We're not going to let anything happen to you, right?"

"Yes. Yes, of course," Amy replied. "Even if I have to take the stab myself, I'll protect you."

They were always at it.

It sounded ironic coming from her, who sought death, but why didn't they value their lives more? They seemed to be in a hurry to die.

Rather, it was as if tirelessly stressing how far they were willing to go for each other was the only way they could feel secure about the bond that tied them together.

All three were deeply insecure people.

Even Amy, who was the best at hiding it.

If they died, she didn't want to see how that would affect Desmond.

"Don't say that. I wouldn't stand for it," Christina said.

"But you'd do the same for me. For any of us."

The girl couldn't deny it. Of course.