Chapter 7 - I'm Done

He sat huddled in a steel and safety glass bench hut on the sea front, watching the grey, unsettled water sucking hungrily at the beach, his legs curled up, arms and wings and tail tightly wrapped around himself, and his tattered pack in the middle as if to be protected. The rain contended for dominance of noise, comming on par with the greedy, merciless sea that lay sprawled ahead of him, just a mere sixty feet away from him, beckoning him, urging and persuading him to come closer, to discover the secrets it's held close to its heart, the skeletons of days gone by, lying on the gritty, slimey bed for many many years; years older than his great grandfather's great grandfather. The rough, churning sea looked inviting, promising an eternity of peace, escape away from the colliding thoughts, questions and less than pleasant memories in exchange for a few moments of unbearable pain.

Hot tears stung his eyes, tears he thought went extinct many years ago, rolling down his grubby cheeks and into his curled up lap where his tattered pack lay, nestled in what little warmth he could muster, smoke curling from his wet nostrils as he worked his fire lung, trying to keep himself warm. The shadow stood, watching him again from the steel white safety rails a few feet ahead of him, not blocking the view of the churning water, silently watching him, waiting patiently for his next move. He uncurled himself, not taking his eyes off the figure, refusing to blink no matter how badly the salty tears and cold wind stung his eyes, fearing the apperition would vanish again, like it had done so many times in the past few days. So certain that he wanted to die, that his subconsciouse wouldn't interefere this time with his wish, that the shade came clearer through the driving rain. He dropped his pack, what little belongings he owned stashed away in there, onto the damp ground of the shelter, not wet, but not dry either, as if it couldn't make up it's mind what it wanted to be.

He walked towards the rail, the figure watching him as he watched back, the dark fog still refusing to take on a firmer more distinguishable shape. He placed both paws on the top rail, the cold water and steel biting into his paws, the wind rattling his wing bones together.
Keeping what he thought to be eye contact with the dark shape he said ''You've been waiting for this a long time, haven't you?'' The voice so devoid of feeling his spine turned to ice.
He didn't care though; soon his entire body would feel like that and his spirit, his soul free of the daily worries of food and shelter. The shadow only watched as he climbed the railing and dropped down to the muddy sand and slick rocks below, the fifteen foot drop easy, using his wings as a parachute. He didn't know why he did it, since he was going to end his life anyway.

The short walk towards the roaring sea seemed to take years.
Already waist deep in the biting cold water now, the churning of the sea trying to suck his life away already as he fought the waves, slowly moving forward, losing his footing and having to swim, releived as the undertow finally took charge, allowing the crossbreed to relax, to be swept away, never to be found. All the memories being washed away with him, bitter salty water hitting his lungs like knives, his body trying desperately to save itself, unable to override his determined mind. The grey sky was swallowed by murky green water, filling his vision with dirty green and brown silt, blue and white lights in his eyes, his head about to explode, then just as he thinks it is, darkness swallows the roaring, tumbling sea around him, blissful peace at last, a wonderful, weightless feeling. Then voices. No. A voice. So familiar, yet distant, out of reach, telling him No, it's not time, go back or he'll get you, drag you into a starless oblivion.

Mistress? He said, wondered. Who'll get me? Tell me and I shall avoid him. A child's voice, a voice he hadn't used since he was six.
Don't avoid him. Don't run. Don't get caught. You'll know when it's your turn. And when it is my mystical one, I will be there to guide you like I should have done all these years.
Bright lights shining through his eye lids, sterile, starched cotton against his back and across his front, voices murmering above him then receeding footsteps, a door closing shut then the light went out. Merciful gloom, only a dim glow. He opened his left eye a crack, a slit of purple centered by a pupil as black as night. A black and red western above him, watching, curiously. The other eye opened to a crack, adjusting to the dim light. It was the security guard who had escorted him to the CEO's office who had later turned out to be Mystikal's father, who had refused to tell him who he really was, using him as a tool for his own devices.

A disheartening groan rippled up inside his slender neck, getting caught in his dry sealed mouth.
''Dun tell me. I'm alive.'' He grumbled dryly.
The security guard nodded and placed a paw on Mystikal's chest as he tried to sit up.
''Sit still. You've done yourself enough damage already.'' He said gruffly.
Mystikal slumped back down. ''Where're my clothes?'' He asked numbly, his brain finally realising that it's vessel was naked in a strange, alien place.
''In the incinerator where they should've gone a long time ago. But don't fret. I got you some new ones.''
Mystikal wrinkled his nose, making a face, somewhere between disgust and dissapointment. ''Why am I here?'' He asked, feeling puzzled and angered at the same time.
''A fisherman brought you into the local hospital. Luckily I was there getting some stitches done, so I brought you back to Melbourn. And yes, your pack is safe. Jonas went to look for it.'' He placed a reassuring paw on the young crossbreed's shoulder. ''Why did you try killing yourself?'' The question was more out of personal worry than business, taking the young crossbreed by surprise.

''Spur of the moment.'' He mumbled and closed his eyes again, the vile taste of sea water lingering in his mouth, refusing to go away. ''I need a drink.''
''I'll go fetch you some water.''
Footsteps on carpet receeding to the other side of the room, water pouring into plastic and the carpeted footsteps were making their way back again, stopping beside him, the stale scent of fresh water hanging in the air above him. The tap of plastic on wood and a paw to help him sit up, the other rearranging the pillows at his back before the plastic cup was offered. Eye half open, head hurting and body aching, Mystikal took the beaker, a massive black Dragon's paw to help steady his own, slender grey paws as he raised the half full cup to his lips, the water pouring down his gullet like hot ice, stinging and relieving both at once.
''The boss isn't too happy with that stunt.'' The guard said.
''I bet he ain't as pissed off as I am though. Hell, can guarantee it.'' He grumbled and refused anymore water.

''I don't know what happened, so I won't pry. I'm just here to make sure you don't do anything like that again.'' The guard said.
Mystikal thought a moment, trying to get his mind back in it's proper order, the organised chaos that he knew so well and could cope with. ''I'm surprised you ain't tried killing me yourself. Everybugger else wants to.''
''I find you interesting.'' The guard replied then stopped, suddenly feeling awkward.
''In what way?'' Mystikal didn't look at him, could feel the sense of awkwardness, knew how the guard felt, so decided not to make the situation any worse.
''I've never come across a hybrid before.'' He said and that got Mystikal looking at him.
Runt, freak, demon, loser, crossbreed but never hybrid. The guard, eight foot of stocky western muscle, looked meek. Mystikal had nothing to say, couldn't find a reply for the western sat next to him, remembering the cold, hard and dismissive look he gave him when he was sent to escort the crossbreed to see the CEO, that familiar look he had grown accustomed to melting away so quickly, it startled him.

''The CEO will be by after his meeting to see you.'' He said, regaining hs composure. ''It's just started so you'll be able to rest a while longer. I'll be stood outside the door which is the only exit from this room.'' His voice now cold and rigid, like that first look.
He stood up and walked towards the door, a few carpet smothered foot steps, the door clicking open then closed again, sealing the outside world off from him and sealing him off from the outside world. A window at the far end of the room, the late evening rain pouring down the thick pane of glass like a waterfall, the small bunch of yellow flowers in a cheerful vase sat atop the low table beneath the miserably familiar view doing little to cheer things up, making it worse infact.

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