Deborah of the Forsaken

Revelation

"Stay still," he whispered, not taking his eyes off me or his hand from my mouth.

I couldn't have spoken even if I tried.

Anthony.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I opened them again, blinking as if to clear my vision. He was still there.

No. I buried you. This is impossible. Anthony?

The men were coming towards us, their boots crunching on the fallen leaves under the canopy of trees. One of them came into full view, his eyes cutting right through us as he scanned the area. Terror rose in my chest and everything seemed to be spinning. Anthony's hand gripped tighter on my mouth, painfully so.

"How the fuck is she just gone?"

My eyes snapped back to the unwavering blue gaze trained on me with military precision. His expression hadn't changed except for an aura of definite intense concentration surrounding him.

What the hell is happening?

They continued to hunt me, twice almost colliding with us. I felt like I was going to vomit any second and all the while Anthony stood as if carved from stone, his eyes unreadable and hard, boring into mine.

Eventually, they turned around, grumbling loudly as they made their way back towards where they had parked the car.

The big man stopped and twisted around, yelling into the woods, "You better run while you can bitch! I'll make sure to take extra time with you!"

In the distance the car hummed to life, the engine revving as they sped away in a cloud of dust.

It was only once I could no longer hear the car that Anthony stepped back, removing his hand.

I sagged against the tree. "How?" I choked out finally, sinking to the ground, my legs giving out from dehydration and the overwhelming onslaught of emotions.

Anthony didn't reply. A pained look entered his eyes and he began reaching out to me but stopped himself.

The dam inside me shattered forcefully, leaving me suddenly sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm hallucinating! This isn't real! God, this isn't real!"

This was cruel. Why this? Of everything my shattered mind could come up with, why this?

Anthony crouched down and lifted my face with his hands. He seemed almost sympathetic. "This is real alright. I'm real. I remember dying, the Void, your face and everything else. All of it. This is real."

His hands were warm and callused. Hands that were etched into my memories in sharp relief. Hands that had comforted me, caressed me, held me. Hands that had been cold and grey and lifeless.

"Deborah, look at me."

I couldn't. All I could see was his glazed over dead eyes staring up into the sky, his shirt soaked in blood where he'd been stabbed multiple times. I'd found him like that just outside the city after what should have been a simple supply run, dragging his heavy dead weight to the trees next to the boulders. I dug the grave myself. This couldn't possibly be Anthony.