I need an opinion on this chapter. Thanksies.

*crickets chirp* Well... lol. Only if you feel like it.

Chapter Twenty

Was life as a shadow better or worse than this? Garrett found himself wondering. No. Back then I was alone. There was nothing to look forward to. Nobody to miss me.

Now he was having a hard time figuring anything out at all. Meeting Cherise was doubtlessly the greatest thing to happen to him in six hundred years. That, however, meant that he could no longer lay low and wait twenty-nine days to see her again. More than likely he would give up and go back sooner. Time was no longer just night and day to him; rather, every second of every minute seemed endless in this rotting little cottage.

It was the second day. If She was really this all-knowing, She would know by now that he was free. He was here, practically defenseless. If she was wise, she would come for him now.

Garrett wondered what his purpose here truly was. Why had he left Tristan?

Huddled in the far corner, he began to list his reasons.

“I left to save Cherise.” Yes, he was talking to himself; there was nobody here to hear him. He caught regret in his voice. He now admitted to himself that he regretted leaving; he wished that he had never left. “I left to save her family. I left to save her town.” But so much more than that was actually happening. “I'm... finding myself again. And I remember what it's like to really be lonely... and now I have someone to miss...”

He shut his eyes tight and reached instinctively for The Silent One. It didn't guarantee him safety. It didn't guarantee him anything at all. But it was slowly bringing back bits of who he had been, so long ago.

That night...

More details. The night he lost his life was becoming clearer, more vivid, as – eyes closed, in complete silence – he slowly brushed his fingers down the blade, felt the icy coldness of the thin, strong iron against his already frozen hand. He now remembered that horrible night as if it had been yesterday. The look of guilt on his father's face that Garrett still couldn't explain... it bothered him. Could his own father have had something to do with how miserable his life had ended up being for the next six centuries?

With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet. How am I going to manage this? he thought, trembling in the cold evening air. It's only the second day. Can't she find me already?

He had spoken too soon.

“Are you waiting for the roof to fall on you?” Garrett looked up; a stranger was standing at the entrance, blocking out the sunlight. The room was dark; he couldn't see the man's face. “Or else what are you doing, sulking in the corner?”

It took a few seconds for these words to sink in, and for Garrett to realize that the person was actually speaking directly to him. His mind did not know how to react. His grip on the sword tightened; it felt like instinct. He realized that the stranger was writing for an answer.

“I don't know,” he mumbled, thinking hard, trying to remember how to speak. No – what he needed to remember was how to fight. This was one of Her spies. He didn't know who this man was – it wasn't Beth – but nevertheless, surely this man knew how to fight. He must be armed. Garrett was armed, but didn't remember how to swing a sword. He tried to recall how to fight with a weapon. None of the moves he had learned came back to him.

“Well. Then, I must assume that there's nothing to stop you.” A slight pause followed, and he finally got to the point. “I'm afraid you're coming with me, then.”

Garrett stared there stupidly for a moment, frozen. What was he doing? Was he about to converse with a stranger who wanted to take him to his death?

He then remembered that he wasn't exactly having a great time sitting here waiting, either.

If I manage to ward him off, he thought, still staring, I can run farther. Maybe even I'll kill him. Then... Garrett trailed off, pain stabbing at him. Conflict. He didn't want to kill anyone.

He tried to weigh the options in his head. If he left, he'd end twenty-nine days of suffering. But if he left... he'd be letting Cherise down. Choosing to let her down, even. If he even considered doing that, he'd die willingly out of shame.

“No,” he whispered shakily, raising the sword a little, even though he didn't know what he was going to do with it. “I won't.” Somehow, he was reminded of that night, when he had become a shadow... he remembered rebelling against the one who wanted to kill him. It had done him no good. But because of someone he loved, he had kept speaking. That was who he used to be. He intended to be that person again.

The man took a step forward. In confusion, Garrett noted that that step was not threatening or angry. In the dim light, he could see that that step was... hesitant. Scared. “You will,” was all the man said.

“And who are you to think that you will make my decisions for me?” Somehow his own voice frightened him. He did not recognize it. It was too... brave, too... too strong.

“I come on behalf of Her. That's all I need to explain to you.”

“Oh?” He felt anger rise inside of him. Somehow he had never felt this angry before... that he could remember. “You can tell Her that I'm unimpressed with her selection of a representative. What with what I have seen of her... any guard of hers would just spring, instead of wasting so much time with small talk.”

This seemed to have left the man speechless. Garrett felt a small smile play at his lips. For the first time he felt the satisfaction of having beat an enemy at something.

“I'm unarmed,” the man said quietly at last. “You can drop the knife.”

It's a sword, idiot. Garrett barely kept himself from saying it aloud. “Why would I do that?” he replied coolly. “It's not mine. I'm borrowing it. It wouldn't be mine to lose.”

“You won't need it much longer. You're coming with me.”

“Not without a fight, I'm not.” Great. His voice quivered. There goes my heroic ending, Garrett thought, angry with himself.

“Don't make me do this.”

“I'm not making you do anything. It's as much your decision to fight as it is to walk away and leave me alone.” At least this time his voice was firm.

The stranger remained silent. This time Garrett did smile. He had left his enemy speechless again.

But the silence lasted too long. He was being foolish anyway, attempting to be a hero. Might as well end this foolishly. He was a proud fool. Taking a step forward, he asked in a quiet voice, “Or is it that you can't fight?”

“That's right,” admitted the enemy quietly. “I can't fight.”

Why is he admitting this to me? Garret thought, this time left speechless himself. “What makes you think that I'm going to go with you, then?” he asked, cursing inwardly that that one bit of pride had vanished from his tone.

“What is there for you to lose here?” was the simple reply.

Garrett remained silent.

“Take it as a request,” the man continued, and it seemed like he knew he sounded pathetic. “Come.”

“I'd rather fight,” Garrett whispered, his grip on the weapon tightening more still.

The stranger remained silent. He began to move, though; stepping forward and gazing intently at the ground, seemingly looking for something.

I should take this opportunity to run for it, Garrett thought, realizing that the door was no longer being guarded.

The stranger kicked away some dust from a particular area on the floor, apparently having found what he had been looking for. He reached down and lifted the floorboards.

A basement? thought Garrett, frowning. I've been here for two days and I didn't notice that there was a basement...

“You want to fight?” the stranger was asking him, interrupting his thoughts.

“I'd rather that than give in easily,” replied Garrett smugly.

In the setting sun, he saw the enemy nod a little, reach down, and lift something out of the basement. A rope ladder, Garrett realized. The way in... and out.

“If that is truly your choice...” He trailed off, then tossed the rope ladder out the window. Garrett watched it disappear curiously. What was the man thinking?

The man turned to him. “My name is Stephen.” His voice was so casual, so annoyingly innocent, that Garrett almost wanted to beat him to death. Here he was, about to kill him, but he was speaking to him as if he had known him forever. “I repeat... I can't fight. You have a sword; that is an advantage over me. I have the basement. That is an advantage over you.”

“Explain,” Garrett demanded, though suddenly he thought he knew Stephen's intentions.

Stephen took a step forward, and suddenly his voice was menacing. “Your sword can kill me easily with one stab. I haven't anything to defend myself, save for my bare hands. But with my bare hands I can shove you in there. There is no way out; you will have no choice but to come with me, or else I will bring Her to you.”

Garrett felt himself go cold.

Calm, he reminded himself. You won't win anything if you panic like this.

It's over. It's over... again.

You have a sword.

True.

“Fine.” His voice shook again as he agreed to the deal.

You have no choice, he reminded himself, once more running a finger down the blade of the sword. Either you kill him... or you die sooner.

He decided to choose his own life over Stephen's... for Cherise.

“Agreed.” Stephen didn't sound scared. He sounded decided. If he realized that the chances of him winning against a sword were small, he didn't sound like it.

But he had the element of surprise.

It was too fast. Perhaps Garrett had been too busy panicking. He didn't act until it was too late; Stephen had already sprung at him and given him a hard blow to the head, sending him sprawling backwards. He barely caught himself from falling on his back. His head was pounding, but he forced himself to pull his head out of the clouds and fight. He had the advantage, after all.

I don't want to kill him.

Suddenly that thought was dominant.

He lunged forward with The Silent One – not to kill, but to scare.

Stephen staggered backwards, purposefully running from his attack. Suddenly, when they were nearing the entrance to the basement, he stopped – right at the edge – and gave Garrett a hard shove to the left. Garrett hadn't expected it. He crashed into the wall. More pain. He couldn't believe he had the weapon and he was losing.

I won't lose. He opened his eyes and glared hatred at Stephen, allowing the weakling to make his next move.

Stephen was just standing there, watching him expectantly. He looked surprised, though, that he was winning.

After a few seconds Stephen sighed impatiently and stepped calmly away from the basement and the danger of falling. “Well? Are we just going to stand here? Or are you ready to give up?”

Garrett was still gasping for breath. He glanced to the left at the door. The exit. A promising escape where there at least wasn't the danger of falling into a basement. But he was too proud. He wouldn't lose. He'd shove Stephen in there... or stab him as the last resort.

Then he thought of Cherise and jumped in again, swinging the sword hard. He didn't remember any special moves from when he had still been training. But swords cut, and this was a sword. If he could just get a slash on this obnoxious young man's arm... the satisfaction of at least one point...

Stephen was swift. He dodged it. With a shout of frustration, Garrett tried harder. He drove the young man against the wall. He didn't let him get away. And suddenly Stephen was nailed to the wall by a sword to the throat. Though outside he was too exhausted to smile, inside he was grinning. Finally.

Silence.

He could hear the seconds tick by.

“Aren't you going to kill me, then?” Stephen demanded irritably. “Don't just stand there with a triumphant look on your face. That's a bad way to win.”

I won't kill him.

Garrett rolled his eyes and released him. A bad way to win. That was true. He wanted to die honorably. He turned and threw the sword into the basement. “Bring it on. Give me a good way to win, then.”

Bad idea.

Stephen grinned and lunged once more, grabbing him and shoving him in the direction of the basement. Garrett caught himself and shoved him to the ground.

“That's not fair,” he hissed, watching his opponent pull himself to his feet. “I dropped the sword. You're supposed to let go of the basement. That is, if you're talking about winning honorably.”

Stephen was on his feet quickly – more quickly than Garrett had expected. “Winning honorably? For what prize? A spot in Heaven?” He laughed harshly – but Garrett caught pain in that laugh. A lot of pain. Stephen didn't want to be evil. “I'm not going to get to Heaven anyway. I know it. So while I'm still alive... I'm going to win.”

This retort stunned him.

Stephen took the moment in which he was standing there, staring blankly in shock, to shove him one more time.

He found himself falling backwards into the basement. The collision with something hard caused him to fade slowly into unconsciousness.

“I'm sorry,” he heard Stephen call as everything blurred.

Before everything went blank, he heard a loud creak as the basement door closed.