Chapter 29 - Fallen (Carter)

We scrambled out of the Suburban just as the garage door clanged shut behind us. The Wicklows were already at the front door, practically bursting inside, their movements hurried and uncertain as they rushed to help however they could. Eleanor leaned heavily on me; her grip tight as I half-carried her through the garage side door.

Only the prime members of our extended family returned to our house to help us with Eleanor. Most of Jane’s pack returned to their own home out in the Rockwoods. The Wicklow family dispersed, however Bartley and Patrick were linked to us and not leaving. Once inside, most everyone stayed out of the living room where we were setting up Eleanor. The Bartley had knowledge and ways to help that were unique to the gypsies, so he’d work with us hand in hand.

I practically dropped El onto the couch, quickly propping her leg up on the coffee table. In the harsh light of the room, she looked even worse… pale and weak.

“Don’t move, babe. I’m getting our kit,” I said, my words almost tumbling over each other as I rushed to the next task.

I left her on the couch, sandwiched between Autumn and Clara, as I bounded through the house. I found one of the kits in the supply closet by the laundry room, and then returned to Eleanor.

“El, we need to take your pants off so we can see the whole wound,” I heard Clara say.

Jane, who was standing off to the side, came over and grabbed Eleanor’s pants. Her fingers shot out sharp claws that shredded the fabric as she ripped off an entire side of El’s pants.

"Let me see," I muttered, dropping to my knees in front of the couch, my hands trembling as I reached for her leg. The sight that greeted me sent a wave of dread crashing through my chest. "Damn, that's deep," I breathed, staring at the puncture wounds oozing with something far too thick and dark to be normal.

Bartley hovered beside me, his face pale. "It almost looks..." His voice trailed off, fear widening his eyes as he met my gaze. "Does that look infected to you?" he whispered, barely audible, like saying it out loud would make it true.

My heart pounded in my ears as I studied the strange, sickly hue spreading around the wound. "I don't know... I’ve never seen anything like that before," I stammered, my voice rising in panic. "It’s too fast to be an infection, right?" Inside, I was praying desperately, clinging to the hope that this wasn’t as bad as it looked. She had to be okay. She had to be.

"Jane!" Frank called out, his voice tinged with the same fear clawing at my gut. "Have you seen anything like this before?"

Jane hurried over, her expression shifting to one of deep concern as she bent down to inspect the wound. Her fingers hovered over the jagged punctures. Her brow furrowed as she noticed the thin, black lines spidering out from the edges. She leaned in closer, sniffing the air around Eleanor’s leg in quick, shallow breaths, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

“I don’t know…” she murmured, uncertainty dripping from every word. Her face was tight with indecision. “Let me make a call.” Without another word, she rushed out the front door, her phone already pressed to her ear.

“You’re going to be okay, Mom, don’t worry,” Autumn said, her voice trembling as she clung to Eleanor’s side, her eyes wide with fear.

“It’s okay, sweetie... we made it, we’re okay,” Eleanor whispered, pulling Autumn into a shaky embrace, trying to soothe her daughter even as her own voice quivered with uncertainty.

"We didn't all make it," Autumn whispered, her voice trembling, each word laced with barely controlled fear.

"I'm so sorry, Autumn," I began, the guilt gnawing at me. "We couldn’t have known... Phineas, he was too strong. Annabelle was caught in the middle of it all. And Martin, Charles... I’m not even sure if they..." My voice faltered, the worry tightening around my throat like a vice.

"We just left them there," Autumn's voice broke, her eyes wide with terror. "What if she was still alive? What if he was still...?" The words hung in the air, too horrible to finish.

Clara quickly stepped in, her hand gently squeezing Autumn's shoulder, trying to steady her. "Honey, she was gone. You saw the fire, we all did. It was too much, even for her. And... if that was Sam, there was nothing we could have done. You saw him, Autumn, he was..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the words, the fear in her eyes matching Autumn's.

Sam’s presence was a factor we couldn’t even dive into yet. We had too much to focus on in the moment. It would have to wait.

"I'm so sorry, Autumn..." Eleanor’s voice, weak and quivering with pain, cut through the tension. "I never wanted that for Annabelle, or Sam... even if he was... something." Her voice cracked, the weight of it all too much to bear. Her eyes were leaking a greyish fluid now. It almost looked like tears, but they weren’t.

I gritted my teeth and gripped my wife’s hand. “Shhhhhhh… just rest, don’t move or talk too much, El. We’re gunna get help.”

"It's okay..." Autumn interrupted, her tone suddenly flat, eyes hardening as she fought to shut down the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "We don't have to talk about it now." Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to focus. "Let's just make sure you’re going to be okay."

"She's right, El," I urged gently, seeing the exhaustion in Eleanor’s eyes. "Lay back and get some rest. We'll take care of your leg, I promise." But the fear in my chest wouldn’t let go, gnawing at the edges of every word.

Bartley knelt beside El, his movements deliberate as he placed his hands gently over her wounded leg. His face was a mask of concentration, the usual look in his eyes replaced by a steely resolve. "I need space," he said firmly, his voice calm but commanding. He glanced around the room, making sure everyone understood. "And I need silence. Everyone, give me a few minutes."

The room stilled as his words hung in the air, the urgency of the situation pressing down on all of us. People exchanged nervous glances but quickly stepped back, retreating to the edges of the room. We all knew there was nothing we could do. This was no conventional wound. This was something unknown.

Bartley fell silent, his eyes closing as he began to breathe slowly, rhythmically. The room was so quiet that you could almost hear the steady cadence of his breath. His focus was absolute, a deep intensity radiating from him as he tapped into abilities that none of us could see but all of us could sense.

The air around him seemed to change, growing still, heavy, as if the entire room was holding its breath alongside him. Lights throughout the house flickered, just barely, every now and then as we waited. Every eye was on Bartley, every hope pinned on whatever he was about to do.

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It had been quiet in the house for a few hours. We cleaned the wound on Eleanor’s thigh and then bandaged her up as best we could with the supplies we had. She was lying back on the couch, covered up with a big quilt to keep her warm and comfortable. Jane had run an I.V. into her arm and was pumping her full of some kind of anti-venom. Her contact had told her about it over the phone earlier in the night. She left for a little while and then returned with the anti-venom. It did seem to slow the spread, and I hoped it would be enough. I prayed harder to God than I had since we lost our son, Allen. She had to be okay. If not… I didn’t know if I could survive it. I didn’t know if I could be the strong father that Autumn would need. It was all too much. A lifetime of loss is what I seemed to be accumulating.

Autumn never left her mother’s side. She felt like she couldn’t let Eleanor out of her sight. She slept on the couch beside Eleanor, scared for her mom. We didn’t know what the spikes were, but they were out, and it seemed like Eleanor would be fine. She had stabilized, thanks to Bartley and Jane.

Jane had left through the trees behind the house to speak with her family. She had to check on everyone after the chaos at the Wicklow house. We all split up so fast once we hauled ass out of there. Also, something about Eleanor’s leg gave her an uneasy feeling, and she needed to talk with the elders of her family. The older ones that had become too weak in their age to stay alphas, but still powerful in knowledge. Frank, Clara, Bartley, and I waited in the library, anxiously, for her return.

Eleanor seemed stable, not convulsing in her pain as she was in the beginning. As soon as she passed out on the couch, the house had calmed down, and we were able to think about everything else that had happened.

Everyone had slowly eased into the library as we spoke about what we saw. Even Autumn had moved from Eleanor’s side after hours of cradling her mother, trying not to wake her. She needed to know what we all saw in the chaos.

“Do you think that thing was Sam?” Frank asked in disbelief. “I didn’t get a good look at it before he transformed with the way I was frozen in that witch’s spell.”

“It was him,” I answered. “I saw his face. His eyes… they were solid black, but it was him.”

“How is that possible?” Bartley asked.

Everyone else looked very confused.

Patrick asked, “I thought people couldn’t be brought back from the dead. They have to be turned before they die, right?” He looked to Autumn, “I thought you shot him right in the heart with a silver broadhead?”

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“I did,” Autumn answered angrily.

We all nodded, that was the general consensus in our world. Vampires, werewolves, and any kind of supernatural had to be living when they are initially turned or cursed. If the heart stops before the transition is complete, they’ll die. It happens a lot when vampires try to convert someone after they have fed on them too much. There is not enough blood for the heart to pump. With how much blood Sam had trailed behind him after falling off the roof when Autumn shot him… he shouldn’t have been alive.

“He should be dead,” Patrick stated.

“Actually, there are ways…” Bartley said, grimly.

“What do you mean?” Wayland asked from the corner of the room, quietly.

“Witches, sorcerers, and the like, can reanimate the dead. It’s called necromancy. It doesn’t happen often, and it takes tremendous power to do so. A power that only a few beings in this world possess. You’re essentially reaching out and pulling a soul back into the world and then jamming it into a body, unwillingly. Even still, they can’t be who they once were. They are usually nothing more than shells of their former selves. If that was Sam, he didn’t seem to act that way. He also couldn’t have as much strength if his soul were fighting to escape a dead body that it was being forced back into.”

“I’ve never heard of that before…” I questioned my friend’s words.

“Neither have I,” Clara joined in.

Bartley let a laugh break his serious face, “Of course you haven’t. Sometimes the best way to stop something is to forget that it exists. Our family burned all our diaries that contained information about necromancy after the Grimwoods were banished.”

“The Grimwoods,” Frank asked, “they were into necromancy too?”

“Yes, and many other dark paths. This was one of the many reasons that they were banished from our joined families. However, there are a few texts that refer to their practices. They have been passed down through our generations so the eldest of our family will know what kind of threats that they, and other clans, could pose.”

“But Sam wasn’t that way,” Autumn stated, getting everyone back on subject.

“Yes, you’re right, sweetie,” Clara responded. “Shit… he wasn’t like anything in our bestiaries.”

“Then how was he there, if he was dead, then how was he there fighting that chimera?” she asked emotionally. She couldn’t process what had happened, and what we had seen.

“I don’t know, Autumn,” Clara said softly. “Maybe we were wrong, and he survived that night on the roof. He was obviously a lot stronger than any of us thought he was.”

Wayland spoke up, “He held our silver like one of us. He knocked Martin clear across that parking lot. It’s not a stretch that he could have survived the arrow and the fall. We know nothing about his nature, so we can assume nothing.”

“What else did anyone see, after he showed up?” Frank asked, hoping someone else had information. I did.

“Flashes, everything was fast, violent. It was hard to focus on one thing before something else happened. But he was… transforming into something else. He didn’t slow down, and he wasn’t scared. He knew what he was doing,” I said, nodding to myself as I recounted it in my head. “When we all turned back and started firing on them, did you see the chimera? He hid out of sight from the bullets. Sam didn’t. He let them rip into him like it was nothing.”

“Exactly how he was since that first night we met him,” Wayland offered.

“So, are there more of these things out there,” Jane asked aloud. “More like him?”

Frank spoke, “He looked way too powerful. Look at how that chimera handled two older vampires, and Sam fought him toe to toe. If there was more of him, I think someone would have noticed by now. At least written something down, somewhere.”

I nodded, “Maybe that is true, but maybe they don’t leave survivors. No one to tell of their existence. Just like us…”

“Dad… are you sure it was him?” Autumn spoke lowly, hoping for a misunderstanding. She cared for Sam, but she didn’t know what it would mean if he was… that thing.

“I’m sorry, Autumn, but yes. I saw his face before he changed. He was the monster that we were looking for.” But I had to say, “But I don’t think he was the threat we thought he was.”

“He told me…” Autumn said softly, some kind of realization hitting.

“What did he tell you, honey?” Clara asked, trying to pry the information out of the emotional Autumn.

“I told him that we knew he wasn’t telling us everything, and he could trust us,” she replayed the conversation in her mind. “He asked me what I would do if I found out something about him; something that would change everything…” her eyes teared up.

Autumn shakily eased down into a chair in the library and bowed her head, staring into the floor. She braced her hands on her head, thinking. Her hair dangled in front of her face, masking her tears from us. Patrick sat down beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder, unsure of what he could do or say in the situation. I was shocked by his empathy. Then again, he never liked Sam. This was probably just for Autumn.

“It’s not what we thought, though. He wasn’t some mindless beast,” Wayland spoke from the corner.

“What do you mean?” I asked for the group.

“He knew what he was doing. I could see it. I saw the people he went after. He was inches from Mercy, but he kept just out of range of Annabelle. He knew who he was hunting. I think it was still him, fully in control of himself,” Wayland offered. “Plus, if he was a monster, why did he show up? Why did he intervene in a situation that could end in his own harm? He came for a reason.”

“I didn’t see that,” I said in confusion.

“That’s why he was never scared…” Frank realized. “He had no reason to fear the things we fought, not with the kind of power he was packin’. That first night with the vampires, that time out at Janes house,” he nodded to himself. “He wasn’t scared of them at all.”

“But what was he?” Bartley asked.

There were a few moments of silence before anyone spoke. We all had so many new questions that no one could answer.

“The bestiaries…” Autumn said, finally looking up from the floor. “He read through them constantly… it always seemed like he was doing more than reading, like he was looking for something,” she suggested. “Maybe he didn’t know what he was…”

“So…” Wayland thought for a moment. “After all of that time with him… this is all we know?”

My brother-in-law seemed ashamed of himself. Wayland always seemed to pride himself on seeing things others didn’t, but he, just like the rest of us, had nothing.

“It sure seems that way,” I said.

Just then, Jane flew into the entryway at breakneck speed, which made me uneasy, and sprang into action. She said nothing as she hurried into the living room beside a sleeping Eleanor. We all followed her with multiplying questions. Frank was the first to ask her anything.

“What did they say?”

“Turn the lights on and let’s get her up,” Jane said in a rush.

She looked worried, which scared the shit out of me.

“What did they say?” I asked again.

Frank ran to the switch and snapped the lights on. When the light filled the room, I almost had a panic attack. Eleanor’s face was so pale she almost looked like a ghost.

“It’s not good, Carter,” Jane said, apologetically, as we knelt around the couch.

“El… El… are you okay?” I grabbed her shoulders and shook her awake.

Her eyes slowly pried themselves open, “What… what’s going on?” she asked tiredly.

“Let me see her leg,” Jane ordered.

She forced herself in and pulled Eleanor’s sweatpants down to see the wound. As soon as her skin was visible, we saw large streaks and slashes of black, infection-like coloring inside her skin. It started at the wound on her leg and branched out down to her foot and all the way up to her chest.

“What is this?” I asked in a panic.

“Venom,” Jane responded quickly. “Eleanor, I need you to look at me. I need you to keep your eyes open, okay…”

“I’m too tired…” Eleanor spoke slowly. Sweat beading down her forehead and around her eyes.

My head was pounding in rhythm with my heart. My adrenaline was coursing through my veins, terrified of what was happening to my wife, to Autumn’s mother.

“El, look at me,” I spoke loudly to her.

“Can you do something? Don’t you know what it is?” Frank asked Jane.

“The barb looks like the stinger of a manticore. It’s unmistakable. That’s why I left, I didn’t think that it could actually be from that man, but I had to be sure. I checked in our bestiaries and compared it to the drawings my father put in there.”

“Manticores haven’t been around for ages, how is that possible?” Bartley asked.

“Phineas,” she answered, “it’s the only thing that makes sense. Chimeras can take on the abilities of different creatures once they devour them. Somewhere along the line, he must have claimed a manticore and taken on its power. It looks exactly like the drawing from our bestiary.”

“Okay, so how do we fix her leg? This shit looks like it is spreading fast,” Frank asked.

Jane’s expression broke me. Then her words felt like a knife being stabbed into my heart, “Manticore venom is… fatal to any kind of creature.”

“What…” I choked out. “What are you saying?” My panic scared Autumn. She was looking to me for strength, but she just saw me falter.

“Carter… I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Mom!” Autumn sobbed. She pushed through everyone to get to El.

“Sweetie, what is it?” Eleanor spoke quietly through her haze.

“Get up, Mom, you have to get up,” she began crying uncontrollably.

I felt my eyes start to pour tears, and my throat felt tight like I was choking. My jaw was clenched so hard I thought my teeth would crack.

I grabbed El’s hand and sat next to her, leaning towards her face, “El… look at me.” I barely got the words out.

She struggled to open her eyes but finally connected with mine, “Carter, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” she asked. “Is everyone okay? Where’s Allen… is he alright?”

I started crying harder, matching the intensity of Autumn’s emotion. I clutched Eleanor’s hand as tight as I could and held it to my chest. She wasn’t in her right mind. The venom was decimating her from within.

“Yes, sweetie. Everyone is okay,” I assured her. I wanted her to have peace in this moment.

“Good. Can we just… stay here…” her words were getting farther and farther apart. It seemed harder for her to string sentences together.

Then, I saw the black lines of poison thickening around the neckline of her shirt. I could actually see the venom spreading in her veins. I could see her dying.

“Sweetie, look at me,” I begged as her eyes faded in and out.

“Carter… I’m so tired…” she repeated herself, weakly.

The room was silent, but I felt like the world was collapsing all around me.

“Mom… please, no…” Autumn whimpered.

“Autu… it’s okay… I just need to close my eyes… just for a few minutes.”

“Mom…”

“El…”

Her head leaned over on the couch where she lay. I felt her hand go limp in mine. My heart felt like it stopped beating.

It didn’t happen… it couldn’t. I let off my grip on her hand… then Eleanor’s hand slipped out of mine and fell down the side of the couch to the floor. She didn’t move. She never moved again.

“Eleanor…” I begged.

“What’s happening…” Autumn sobbed in utter disbelief.

“Eleanor… El, honey, please answer me…”

There was no answer, only silence.

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About an hour had passed, and no one left the room, no one said a word. Autumn had finally stopped crying. I stopped crying. We sat in silence, in sorrow, and rage.

Eleanor’s body lay motionless on the couch, not moving an inch since I let go of her hand. I hadn’t touched her since I let her go. I was scared to touch her, to feel life gone from her body; from the body I knew. She was right in front of me… but nowhere near me. She was gone, forever.

“Dad…” Autumn said. As soon as she spoke again, her sobs returned to full force. “Mom’s gone.”

I burst into tears again. The tears were hot. It almost felt like blood pouring down my face. I grabbed Autumn and pulled her in tight, scared to let go like I might lose her too.

“I’m so sorry, baby… I’m so sorry,” was all I could say. I kept saying it over and over.

Autumn kept repeating the same thing, “What do we do… what do we do?”

I looked down at my wife’s body and fell further into despair as I held my daughter. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to my knees. Autumn followed me down to the ground, kneeling in front of her mother. I couldn’t wait, I had to touch her one last time. I reached out and moved my shaking hand to Eleanor’s face.

Autumn placed her hand on her head, running her hands through her mother’s hair. She broke down even further, and so did I.

Everyone moved in on us and knelt around Eleanor’s body. Everyone was crying. Everyone reached out and grabbed one another, trying to find comfort from the pain.