Chapter 1: Last Light
Chapter 1: Last Light
Power is a path paved with sorrow. Mine began with blood and screams.
I returned home from my day job, walking up the white concrete path towards my two story suburban home. The familiar crunch of gravel under my work boots was comforting, almost melodic. I would need to get the mower out soon, the grass was getting slightly out of hand. Little islands of dandelions had begun their conquest of my front yard, their yellow heads bobbing in defiance. Another weekend project to add to my growing list.
A gentle wind kissed the silver chimes my wife, Lynn, had me hang up. I had complained about it at the time, something about it being too "suburban cliché," but now their tinkling melody greeted me like an old friend. Sunlight cascaded off of them in a gentle rainbow of light, a flash of deeper crimson following, looking for just a moment like crystalized blood. I paused, watching the crimson shimmer before fading back to ordinary light. A strange chill brushed the back of my neck despite the warmth of the evening.
I sat on the comfortable bench on my white wooden porch, taking off my dirt caked work boots. The wood creaked slightly beneath me, another repair I'd been putting off. Clouds swirled in the sky, the light of the sun was dying, but it gave the sky one last kiss, turning it pink with streaks of orange and purple. Nature's artwork, free for anyone willing to look up.
A beautiful end to the day.
As I look back, perhaps it would have been better to remember the days such as that one. To hold them closer, to savor each mundane moment as the precious gift it was. I smacked my boots together over the railing, trying to get off some of the dirt. Building houses was hard work. My shoulders ached, my hands were calloused, and my lower back had a permanent knot that no amount of stretching seemed to resolve.
Rewarding, though, as most hard work was. There was something satisfying about watching a house take shape, knowing families would make memories inside walls you helped create. I had built our home too, five years ago when Lynn was pregnant with Elisa. Every nail, every board had been an act of love.
I smiled as I pushed my door open, the wreath that hung on it teasing my nostrils with its gentle scent. Lynn changed it with the seasons, this one was lavender and rosemary, with little sprigs of something I couldn't name. Wild berries and cinnamon joined the scent as my wife greeted me, the smell of dinner wafting from the kitchen. My stomach growled in anticipation.
Lynn Thorne was a beautiful woman made more so in my eyes by the fact that she was married to me. I never quite understood what she saw in me, the quiet construction worker with perpetually dirt-rimmed fingernails and a tendency to brood. But each day she chose me again, and each day I marveled at my luck. Her blonde hair, with golden highlights, was like a halo around her. Hazel eyes shifted, seemingly changing colors in the light of the sun's last breath streaming through the windows. Sometimes green, sometimes amber, always warm.
She wore a sundress, with flowers I couldn't name embroidered on it. Blues and yellows against cream fabric, flowing around her legs as she moved. She wrapped her arms around me, her slender body warm. The goodness that surrounded her, the motherly aura as you might call it, was everything a man could want and then some. She smelled like home, like baking and that fancy perfume I'd splurged on for her birthday.
Lynn had been perfect, and even now I remembered the touch of her lips on mine. The way her eyes had seen the goodness in me when I struggled to find it myself. The quiet strength with which she faced every challenge. The patience she showed our children, even when they tested every last nerve.
The goodness that was long since dead.
Laughter followed behind her, a merry heralding of my two children. My daughter, Elisa, who was five, and my son, Jackson, who was eight. Their smiles of delight was what made my home truly a home. No matter how exhausted I was, their energy was infectious, impossible to resist.
"Daddy!" They shouted in unison, their voices carrying that pure joy only children can produce. My daughter clasped her little hands around my leg, staring up at me with dark brown eyes. Eyes I shared with her, though hers shone with an innocence mine had long ago lost. My son had his Mom's eyes, their hair as blonde and adorably curly as Lynn's own. Jackson had her dimples too, appearing when he smiled, which was often.
I lifted my daughter, throwing her into the air, my lips tugging into a smile as her laughter touched the air with joy. She squealed, her little hands reaching for the ceiling, trusting completely that I would catch her. I always did. Jackson bounced around, letting his excitement run free, hopping from one foot to the other.
"Did you bring it, Dad? Did you?" Jackson asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. I feigned confusion, patting my pockets.
"Bring what? Was I supposed to bring something?" I asked, fighting to keep a straight face. Jackson's expression fell for just a moment before he caught the twinkle in my eye.
"Dad! You promised!" he protested, though his smile never faltered. I chuckled, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out the small model car I'd found at the hardware store. Jackson clutched it to his chest like a treasure.
"Dinner's ready, but remember, tomorrow is your turn!" Lynn called from the kitchen, arranging plates on the counter. Her voice carried that slight note of playful warning she used when she suspected I might try to wriggle out of a commitment.
I nodded, setting Elisa down gently. "Of course, I'll grill something up. Come on, let's go get washed up and eat some grub."
The kids raced to the bathroom, each trying to outrun the other despite the fact that there were two sinks. The competition was the point, not the practicality. I followed more slowly, washing my own hands in the kitchen sink. The familiar scents of home cooking enveloped me: roasted meat, herbs, butter. The simple comforts that marked the boundary between work and family.
Dinner was roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes and corn. My wife was a great cook, scents of rosemary, and a touch of lemon wafting up from the mahogany table. The table had been her grandmother's, passed down with the recipes that Lynn now prepared with her own flourishes. The chicken skin was golden and crisp, just the way I liked it.
We settled around the table, the routine so familiar I barely noticed it anymore. Lynn asked about my day, and I recounted the progress on the new development on the east side of town.
A sudden crash outside made us all jump. Our old tabby cat Rufus streaked through the kitchen, fur on end, and disappeared under the couch in the living room. I met Lynn's eyes across the table, but after a moment of silence, I shrugged.
"Probably just a raccoon in the trash again," I said, though something about the cat's panic felt different this time. Rufus was usually unflappable.
Lynn nodded, but got up to double-check the lock on the back door before returning to her seat. The moment passed, but I noticed her glancing toward the window more than once during the rest of the meal.
Jackson interrupted with stories from school, something about a frog in the classroom that had escaped, causing chaos. Elisa quietly arranged her corn into little patterns on her plate, occasionally glancing up with a shy smile.
"Hey Daddy?" My daughter asked as she picked up her fork, her small face serious.
"Yes, monkey?" I used my pet name for her, the one that had stuck since she was two and had developed a habit of climbing everything in sight.
"Um. Your first name is Varus, right?" She stumbled slightly over the pronunciation, making it sound more like "Verus."
"Yes. But to you I'm Dad. Why?" I cut into my chicken, the juices running clear on my plate.
She shrugged, that exaggerated movement of her tiny shoulders that always made me want to laugh. "Seems like a weird name, that's all."
My wife and I exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. Elise looked confused as Jackson chortled, nearly choking on his potatoes.
"It's an old family name, monkey," I explained, reaching over to tousle her hair. "My grandfather was named Varus too."
"I like it," Lynn added, winking at me across the table. "It's strong. Unusual."
"Like Daddy," Elisa decided, satisfied with this explanation and returning to her corn artwork.
The conversation flowed easily after that, the gentle rhythm of family life continuing around me. I noticed things I usually didn't, the way Lynn tucked her hair behind her ear when she was listening intently, the chip on the blue plate that had been there for years, the slight crack in the window that would need fixing before winter. Little details that would later haunt me, moments I should have cherished more fully.
After dinner, we moved to the living room. The kids sprawled on the carpet with their toys while Lynn curled against me on the sofa, her head on my shoulder as we half-watched some crime show on television. Her breathing was steady, her body warm against mine. I felt her heartbeat, strong and sure, and wondered how I'd gotten so lucky.
Later, after the kids were tucked in, their rooms quiet save for the gentle sound of breathing, Lynn and I stood at our bedroom window. The night had fully descended, stars pricking the darkness like distant beacons. Her hand found mine, our fingers intertwining with the easy familiarity of long love.
"Happy?" she asked simply, her voice soft in the darkness.
"More than I deserve," I answered honestly. She squeezed my hand in response.
Neither of us knew it would be our last night of peace. How could we? The world gave no warning of what was to come, no hint that everything we knew would be shattered before the next sunset.
Through shadow, the light becomes ever sharper. It cuts deeper. We hide from it. Not out of fear, but because deep down, we know we don't deserve it.
In the memory of my family, I saw the light.
But in what came after, I found a strength I never knew existed.
The next morning, I awoke before dawn, Lynn's gentle breathing beside me. I watched her sleep for a moment, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the fan of her eyelashes against her skin. Something inside me, some instinct I couldn't name, whispered that I should hold onto this moment.
I rose quietly, careful not to wake her, and went to check on the children. They slept peacefully, Jackson sprawled across his bed like he was fighting invisible enemies, Elisa curled around her favorite stuffed rabbit. I stood in their doorways longer than usual, a strange heaviness in my chest.
As I prepared for work, the silver chimes outside tinkled in the pre-dawn breeze. That flash of crimson appeared again as the first rays of sun caught the metal, longer this time, more distinct. Like an omen I was too blind to read.
I kissed my family goodbye, not knowing it was the last time I would see them whole. Not knowing that by nightfall, everything would change.
Not knowing that soon, very soon, I would no longer be Varus Thorne, loving husband and father.
I would become something else entirely.