I reached for the doorbell as Brett squeezed my shoulder affectionately. I smiled my thanks. He said I didn’t have to do this. I did, but he didn’t. Yet, he accompanied me every single time.
I rang the doorbell and waited. Footsteps sounded on the other side and I saw a curtain open a crack near the front door. I pretended not to notice. She knew what my presence here meant. I didn’t need to prompt her. And the worst thing I could do was push her.
We waited in silence for minutes more. Until, finally, the door creaked open.
The woman was far from old. Only a sprinkle of white graced her black hair. That fact stabbed me right in the heart. Haynes had been young. Young enough to have a relatively young mother.
“Mrs Haynes…” I started.
“I know why you are here, Last Light.”
Her eyes were red. Puffy. But her sadness was coated by something hotter. Anger. Resentment.
She stumbled away from the open door without saying another word. Brett and I hesitated.
“You’re not vampires. You don’t need me to invite you in,” she spat.
I crossed the threshold. Brett closed the door behind us. Treth walked around the house as if he owned the place, examining photos and flower arrangements. In the years that he had been a ghost, he had forgotten a lot of his manners. Didn’t stop him from lecturing me about mine.
“Coffee? Tea?” she asked, almost robotically, but with the overwhelming hint that she didn’t feel she owed us any.
“We don’t want to trouble you, Mrs Haynes.”
We’d done that enough already.
She guided us to a quaint sitting room and indicated for us to sit. She dominated an armchair, facing a couch which Brett and I occupied.
Above her head, resting on a mantle, I couldn’t help but see a collection of photos. Haynes as a child. Haynes as a teenager. Haynes with a man who looked just like him, but older.
“Is Rupert’s father here?” I asked.
“He’s dead.” Blunt. Concise. I repressed wincing.
“I’m sorry.”
“Of course, you are. And sorry about Rupert, too. When my husband died, they told me he died defending the Three Point Line. Told me that he died a champion of Hope City. But I knew better. He died of his wounds, three hours after the ceasefire. Because the weyline had run out after bombarding the impi with fireballs for seven days solid. And they didn’t have any purifiers with spark left to heal him.”
She sighed, the sigh of a woman who had lost everything.
“I’ve mourned my husband for almost a decade now. And I mourned my son the second he joined your…group. Monsters, impi…it doesn’t matter. They all mean an early grave. I told him that…”
She brought her fist to her mouth, repressing a sob, before continuing.
“If only I’d been wrong.”
Mrs Haynes stared into space as Brett and I sat in silence. There had to be something I could say. Something to console her. Anything.
But what do you tell a grieving mother?
Nobody had ever said anything to me that made my parents deaths any better. Perhaps, there existed words that could console true grief. But I didn’t know them.
“How did he die?” she finally asked.
I opened my mouth to respond. But I didn’t know what to say. That he had been mobbed by the undead. That his neck had been torn out, his blood rapidly blackening as his comrades tearfully put him out of his misery the only way they knew how. A bullet to the head. Before I could utter a pained word, Brett squeezed my knee as he leaned forward, staring Mrs Haynes in the eyes.
“He died a hero, ma’am. He helped save many people. Without him, dozens more would have perished.”
She snorted derisively.
“Hero? That’s what they said about Robert. It’s supposed to make me feel better. But it never has.”
The air grew thicker as I felt our welcome coming to an end. I stood up and took something out of my pocket.
“I know that nothing can truly make amends for what happened,” I said. “And nothing will make it any better. But I know Rupert would have wanted you to have this. I am not buying his life. I could never do that. But he earned this in his service and sacrifice. And now it belongs to you.”
I handed her an envelope. It contained a stack of bills. With it, I included Haynes’ Crusader badge, ripped from his body and cleaned of his blood.
She stared at my offering with disgust, sadness and…finally, acceptance.
She took it without thanks. I didn’t ask for any.
“The Crusaders mourn their fallen too, Mrs Haynes. And you have my sincerest condolences. For all times. If you ever need anything from us, please call the number on the card in the envelope. Rupert was family. And that means you are too.”
Before we overstayed our welcome any longer, I turned my back on the widow and now childless widow and proceeded to the door.
Brett lagged behind. He reached out towards her as she stared at the badge. I saw pain in his eyes. Perhaps, I should do this without telling him. He didn’t have to suffer like this. Only I needed to.
Brett caught himself and withdrew his hand. He muttered his condolences and followed me outside.
He carefully shut the front door behind us, and we made our way towards his black armoured van. Some neighbourhood kids were taking pictures of it with their cell phones, posing next to the Crusader logo emblazoned on the side.
A few kids beamed as they saw me and I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t.
“How did you handle things like this in the Corps?” I asked, quietly.
“We never did,” Brett replied. “We were all orphans, widows, widowers. You didn’t join the Corps if you had someone to go home to.”
Like all of Brett’s reminiscing about the Corps, it was matter of fact. Distant. As if he was reciting ancient history about Khazars. Not the happenings of a death squad that he had called family for many years of his life.
“I’m sorry…” I said, in spite of his coldness. Brett still hurt about the Corps. I knew he did. And, in his fitful sleepiness, he relived those days again and again.
“Don’t be.” He squeezed my hand. “The Corps was family. But a twisted, genocidal cult of a family. The Crusaders…it’s much better.”
“Sometimes, I wish it wasn’t a family. That it was back to old times. It was easier when it was just me. Treth can’t die and I don’t have to mourn if I’m the one dying.”
Brett frowned as I said that.
“Would you go back to that? If you could? Solo hunting?”
I contemplated his question, as Treth also waited for my answer.
“No,” I finally responded. “But that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m the commander, but I wish it was someone else. I don’t want people dying for me.”
“It’s a choice they make,” Treth replied. Brett didn’t respond as he saw me staring pointedly in Treth’s direction. Brett couldn’t see or hear Treth, but he had gotten really good at noticing when I was talking to the ghost in my head.
“The Crusaders are needed,” Treth continued. “Brett wasn’t lying. Haynes died a hero. He died saving people. That matters.”
“But he died, nonetheless. While I was in command.”
“Kat, there is no duty so great that you cannot leave it,” Brett stated, sternly. I looked at him, shocked by his words.