To Splinter A Soul

Chapter 16- Leap

Saturday 7th November 1992- Ash

Ash staggered out of the portal and landed in a heap. He promptly threw up, repeatedly- a noxious substance that burned his throat and incinerated the grass beneath him. Finally, panting, he flopped onto his back and looked up at the sky above. The waxing moon, sometimes obscured by large passing clouds, cast its silvery light down onto the landscape. Ash had always wondered why stories of nocturnal evils such as himself, always seemed so fixated on full moons. Light of any kind was draining, it was the blackness of a new moon that his kind preferred. Desperate for that near complete darkness and yet unwilling to travel below, he let out a roar which echoed off the nearby white cliffs, sending roosting birds from their nests and causing loose, weathered chalk to shear off into the sea below.

For a long while he refused to look; the torments of it resting against his skin, was only just bearable. He argued with himself, both quietly and at times loudly, shrieking out into the night, but he found no resolution. But after much time had passed, and after the realisation that his eyes had not deceived him, he located the correct spot on his chest. Feeling the bumpy end of the chain just beneath the surface of his skin, he inserted his fingers, making a small hole in the badly-healed wound. Tugging little-by-little, he felt it move and slowly he withdrew the necklace, his thin, leathery skin splitting further as the pendant was pulled clear. The pain was no more unbearable than it was normally. He'd grown used to the feel of it beneath his skin, the constant pain - both physical and mental- that came from concealing something of such value within his own being. While he might entrust his precious soul spheres and his items of value to the cave, this treasure was to be forever guarded by and unto himself.

Wiping it clean, he placed the pendant in the palm of his hand and willed himself to look down at it. The sight of it tore him apart, again. It was the same, but with one marked difference. While the stone hanging around Becca's neck was still two-thirds light, this one was entirely dark, so black he could almost feel it sucking in the watery moonlight around him like an infinite black hole and Ash was entirely responsible. He had spent the time ever since wishing he had never done so, and now he seemed destined to do it all over again,. Could he? He'd known the answer to that question, the minute she'd leaned over him at the police station, but he had to be sure. Completely sure. Too much was at stake if he was wrong, and he couldn't take the risk. Ash pocketed the pendant, wiped his mouth- the tip of his finger burning as it came into contact with a remaining dribble of his stomach contents- and entered a new portal.

Ash felt the familiar prickle on his skin as he crossed the threshold. He had less than an hour before they arrived home, and he hoped that would be enough. He started in the first bedroom he came to, which was clearly the good vicar's room. Simply furnished and devoid of sentimental possessions, he completed his search within minutes, and then moved on to the girl's room. He started emptying out her drawers, then going through boxes beside her bed. The girl possessed hundreds of photographs, but all of them were taken within the last ten or so years, nothing that dated further back. Most were of the girl and a man, Ash determined to be the father. Camping holidays, opening Christmas presents, blowing out candles, the girl's life appeared nothing but... ordinary. A small pink wallet caught his eye and he opened it to find several newspaper clippings all from a local Manchester-based paper, all pertaining to the story of a fire that had engulfed a house, leaving a grieving father and his daughter homeless and penniless. The most recent of the clippings stated the fire had been caused by faulty wiring. No names or photos of the family were supplied, but Ash assumed it to be the girl. A fire would certainly explain why there were no older photographs. Discarding the photos, he continued his search, finding, like Gammick had several days earlier, very little of use to him.