the dark hearts of redcaps

The man she'd abandoned entered her naturally flared nostrils before two beady eyes could take in the hulking state of the Redcap. There were no expectations set, because as often as seasons changed upon the mythical island, so did people. Their foundations weren't shaken, but the decor inside and the outdoor paint could've been brand new. It could be worn to death. Elba appeared fresh, even for a previously dead woman who had fallen asleep in a graveyard. Her conscience hadn't found the relief it'd needed, his face a reminder of the heavy chest of guilt she carried around. If only she were of the merepeople. In their folklore, treasure troves existed in the great beyond, where Elba could abandon every happenstance.

"No stranger to falling asleep anywhere. You know that."

Elba set her sights on that trusted foundation, a fact even her horrible and never-forgotten-about mother would know about her, too. In the same way, she knew better than to ask why he was so far from Bloodhearth. The public eye wasn't the place to be, not when their reunion was already being witnessed by the hundreds of passed-on souls. Elba counted each soul like sheep as they coursed through her, both robbing her of energy while generously forcing it back into her veins.

Elba wiped sleep from her eyes, any semblance of makeup now existing on the back of her hand. It was obvious that it was Elba's decor that was brand new, teeth peaking out through a formally timid smile. The bonding with wolves alike back in her homeland, had a positive effect. Not timidly, but hesitantly, she spoke up while bringing her long limbs to her feet, "Lucky coincidence?"

Saying his name aloud felt wrong, suddenly.

He shrugged at her words. It was meant to be a nonchalance that, sure he knew, but that didn’t mean much because habits could change and people could change. However, it was in a way, also saying he wasn’t sure he did know. Time had passed and it was hard to say if she was the same person he knew. That was the thing about anything in life, Fenrik knew better than most, time always marched onward. There was no going back. 

He watched her get back to her feet, before saying, “Coincidences have been known to happen.” It was difficult to know what to say. Fenrik liked to think of himself as the kind of person who didn’t dwell on the past or what once was, though that may not be an entirely fair assessment one way or another given the way he allowed the murders and deaths of his family to linger and drive him, even now. “You back permanently or just visiting?”

And yet, Elba San Luis could not recall how briny the winds were in deep December or the sharpness in which they’d instantly burn your cheeks cherry red. 

The diner was simply called that, ‘the diner’, but if she’d ever taken a moment to write her own stories down, rather than live through the words of the next depressed author, she’d know it’d always been called Sandersons and owned by a couple that’d passed it on to their next of kin. Mrs. Sanderson had wondered where the salt-addicted wolf had wandered, too, but for the longest time, Elba could only tell everyone “back home”. The steak cut fries, ordered alongside coffee dark as night, were forgotten.

A pill of guilt overshadowed each sense she still had yet to swallow. 

Laurietta Sanderson’s name was etched into stone, among the hundreds. Gone with her natural causes, and beloved by those who mattered. How normalcy and monstrosity could lie side-by-side now, was the question that’d brought Elba to madness of her own. The victims of Lori-Jane were scattered throughout this cemetery.

All the distance in the world had thrown Elba towards the wolves in her home state of Estero Bluffs. For an entire year, and even more than that, Elba refused to look back at the Island that had built, destroyed, and killed her again. Distance did not matter on the spectrum of memories.

She’d left during December a year ago and returned one uncharacteristically sunny day in April.

The sunshine burned her hand now, as she rose from the sitting position she’d dozed off in beside Mrs. Sanderson’s rest place, only awoken by the crowing of birds only native to Elysia. And a voice of another. Elba’s shoulders stayed strong and square, not wavering even if she wished to jump from her skin at the sudden voice. The echo was still full of life, unlike the whispering spirits throughout the day.

And that is how things had gone. Time still kept going, and so did Fenrik. He was good at that. He was good at finding his new normal and moving onward. He had to be otherwise he would have fallen apart years ago. 

And so, as part of his ability to move forward, it meant that he was still taking on shady jobs around the island. Still crafting custom-made weapons and delivering them. It was what had brought him far away from Bloodhearth, anyway. 

It was only after the handoff and meeting at the location that was just behind the cemetery that found Fenrik walking amongst the graves to begin the journey back, muttering to himself, when he was suddenly startled by another presence. “Fuck,” he said. “What– were you just sleeping here?” 

“No, I usually assume people are associated with some mob or crime in some way, though,” said Fenrik. “Though, that’s when it comes to me, when it comes to you, I have no idea.”

"It feels like that. I can tell they're there, but they're keeping hidden the best they can. Staying back, behind other people. It's just -- it looks exactly like him." She gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I've never really believed in ghosts, but it's nicer to think that than thinking someone who attacked us is now following me."

“So, are they always in a crowd? Do you ever see them when you’re by yourself? While you were on your way here?” Fenrik even went to a nearby window, looking outside as if he might be able to see this person or see what Dawn was referring to. “Is it sporadic or are you always in a certain place or with certain people when you see them?” He paused. "And you're sure this isn't someone pulling some sick Halloween prank?"

She didn't know what she wanted. Taking care of the problem -- that wasn't her. But he'd been there that day. Taken care of it then. "I'm just --" her voice cracked. Things became more real when you voiced them. "I'm scared."

“That’s okay,” he said. His voice was lower, not quite as harsh as he normally was. “I’m just trying to figure out what to do here. I’m not exactly knowledgeable about ghosts or that kind of magic.” He paused. “How often? Is it all the time or is it just when you’re out and about? When you’re alone? With people?”

"This guy he -- I don't know. Had none of that. And he looked exactly the same." There was no need to say that the dead mans face would be etched into her memory forever.

He picked up his own mug. “When does it happen?” he asked. “I mean, do you see this man now?” He looked around as if he might suddenly be able to see the man, too. “Or is it only sometimes? Right before bed? When it’s dark out? When you’re stressed?” 

“So, you think you’re seeing a ghost?” asked Fenrik, just to confirm he was understanding what she was saying. “You sure it’s not some sort of stalker? Crazy fan?” He brought over two mugs of coffee and sat down, placing one in front of Dawn. She could choose to drink it or not, didn't matter to him.

It had started early in the summer, when Dawn was throwing herself into her training as a distraction from what had happened with the men at the compound - from those dead eyes that had stared into her. Of course, work was never an appropriate distraction, she knew that more than most. But it was when she started to see those very familiar eyes, the dead ones that had since been haunting her, she felt like she was going crazy. She ignored it, she had to. But as the warm months went on and she tried to live out her life she couldn't help the unnerving feeling she was being watched. And that man --

As she entered the kitchen of The Compound, she let out a sigh of relief. "Oh good. You're here."

“Of course I’m here,” said Fenrik, standing at the sink in the kitchenette area of the Compound and rinsing his hands of some grime and oil. “Where else would I be?” After all, Fenrik didn’t exactly have an electric social life. 

“Let’s hope they’re small enough to back off,” he said. With that, he moved to the door that was inconspicuous that led to the apartment he lived out of. For now, he would worry about what to do about this later and for now, he would focus on cleaning not just himself up, but the bodies that lay just outside as well.

“I mean, do you have security? Just have them be more vigilant. And if you don’t, well, I’ll try to figure what the fuck is happening. Fuck,” he muttered as he ran a hand over his face. Fenrik could only hope that she didn’t need to actually be careful and that whoever these guys were had done their homework well enough to know that Dawn was not involved. However, at the same time they might also use her for leverage if they were smart. It wasn’t as if Fenrik would allow them to hurt her if they tried the tactic of threatening her. Just because they weren’t best friends, didn’t mean he’d simply let that happen. Even when he’d used Nehir, as dirty of a trick as that may have been, he had done all he could to try and make sure they didn’t hurt her.

He also realized Dawn may have accidentally been dragged into this. “I’d be careful if I were you,” he added as he glanced back at her.

"That's -- do this sort of thing happen to you a lot?" She had to worry. She knew Fenrik could handle himself, but Yseult was the most important person to her. If something happened --

“Not necessarily,” said Fenrik. “We don’t deal with big mob bosses or mafias.” At least Fenrik tried not to. The fact that he had recently gotten mixed up in a rather large gang of werewolf hunters who had murdered his family as well as Nehir and the mob boss she was schmoozing were unusual. “Recently, though, I may have ruffled a few feathers of a few people. We’re too small time for most of them to deal with, though. It’s not worth it for them.”

Still, once she washed her hands and returned, she winced at the wound on Fenrik's back, because a gun was a lot different to her cousins scraped knee. She looked down at the first aid kit, finding the tweezers and getting to work.

"You really don't know who those men were?"

“Nope,” he said. “I have my guesses, but they weren’t familiar to me.” His jaw clenched. “I’ve pissed off powerful people. If I had to guess, someone is framing me, though. Someone who either doesn’t want to risk their own people going after me– or us– or someone who considers themselves too powerful and important to bother using their resources.”