Sort of Dead

81 - Linger On, Twitch

AAR's POV:-

There is no one lingering over me when I come to be.

With a moan and a grunt, I look to my left, from where marginally familiar voices brush my ear but don’t quite make it to the brain. With another moan and another grunt, I pick myself up, collect what little self-esteem I have left, and move to where my friends and the big butterfly Goof are accumulated. I limp over – I don’t even know why, nothing happened to my leg – to the hot spot.

‘Marra, you have to eat something!’ Mr. Om is saying. There is something different about him, his air, something very different, that I can’t put my finger on. 'You cannot – '

‘Cannot what, Uncle?’ I hear Marra say, though I can’t see him. ‘Cannot grieve my friend's death? Cannot . . .’ But his voice stalls, and transforms into a low spate of sobs.

Come on, dude. You might as well have marched a parade on my heart. Not cool.

I put my hand on a highly muscular shoulder. Rasthrum doesn’t say a word, just quietly supports my arm and helps me step up so I can see what’s going on.

Marra is on floor, a lifeless, stolid Es in front of him. His eyes are red as ever. But now there is no fury, no heat in them. Only grief. Only profound sadness.

I find myself, yet again, on the verge of tears . . . but then –

‘Hey, she moved!’

Everyone looks at me, then at Es, then back at me. Even Marra. Bee is the first one to actually say anything: 'Aar, you just woke up. You’re seeing things.’

I do my best Bee impression: 'I'm not just seeing things!’ A pause, as one might obviously expect. ‘Okay, that was rude, but wait for it, look.’

We all stare at Es's body – I only just notice that it’s levitating a few inches off the floor – hoping to see something, some sign of cognition.

But no. There is none.

I decide Bee was right. I must be hallucinating. Not so surprising, considering what we’ve been through.

I kneel down and stroke See. ‘You did good, boy,' I tell him. ‘You were very brave. We’ll play as much catch as you want when we get home.’

Home. Seems like a dream, doesn’t it? School and homework and hotdogs and trains and suburbs. And it all appears so . . . fruitless, you know what I mean, to return without one of our own. I always thought it would either be all of us or none of us that return.

‘We need to move,' Rasthrum says out of the blue. I don't know, it sounds like his voice is coming from fifty light years away. Maybe because of the fact that he was nearly beaten to a pulp about - an hour? two? three? a week? - ago. ‘And quick. The ravens will be here any moment.’

Mr. Om nods. Again I think: what is it about him that has changed? What’s so different?

‘Come on, Mar,’ he says. ‘It’s time to leave.’

‘No,' Marra replies, firm. His timbre leaves no room for argument.

‘Yes,' Mr. Om persists. ‘If we stay we die. The ravens are loyal to the Coven. Once they see what has happened, they will not let us out of here alive - '

'Who cares?!’ Marra yells. I find myself taking a step back; in my mind's eye, I see the red-eyed, mad kid chasing the Grahi Witch. Speaking of which, I don’t even know where she’s gone. I suppose this is the wrong time to ask. ‘Do you even care about her? She’s dead! Okay? I can’t just leave her.’

‘Well, Mar, we can’t carry her either,' Bee says, ever the practical girl. ‘She’s a spirit. We can’t exactly touch her.’

‘I don’t care! Think of something! None of you love her! You just care about yourself! If it was me, would you leave me lying here too?’

I feel kind of guilty, so I look down at Es. I see her twitch again. This time I’m sure it’s not an illusion, and I have proof.