Acherontia Atropos: Epilogue
When I woke up, I was in the ICU of the local hospital, along with
Wufei and Trowa. They had both been seriously injured, though not
as badly as me. Wufei had lost a lot of blood, and Victoria had
managed to tear the lining around his lungs when she shoved him
onto his own knife, though at least his internal organs were
intact. Cheree had nearly disemboweled Trowa when they killed her.
I was kind of surprised that Heero and Quatre weren't in with us.
I was even more surprised when Wufei told me that while Heero and
Quatre had both ridden to the hospital with us in the ambulances,
they'd been released as soon as the doctors took a look at them.
Between the two of them, they'd only needed about ten stitches and
some antibiotics. I guess that they weren't hurt as badly as I'd
thought. I must have seen wrong in the torchlight. I was willing
to believe that.
When the three of us compared wounds, the grand total came out to
be something like five operations, over two hundred stitches, and
three casts. I'd been unconscious the longest; almost a week,
while Wufei had been up the whole time and Trowa had come to after
the second day.
The doctors were thrilled that I was finally up and about. They
had a lot of fun telling me what a mess I was when I came in;
punctured lung, comminuted fracture of the humerus, five fractured
ribs, compound fracture of the collar bone coupled with severe
muscle trauma...the list went and on and. It sounded very
impressive. They kept saying that I was lucky to be alive.
They didn't have to tell me. I was well aware of that. Even if I
didn't particularly feel like it, at times.
They kept all three of us for another week and a half. We drove
the hospital staff insane. Wufei's a worse patient than me, if
that's possible. It was almost nice to have the chance to relax,
though; I got to know Wufei all over again, and really got to know
Trowa for the first time. He's got a real good sense of the ironic.
Quatre and Heero came and visited us, though Quatre showed up more
often than Heero. He always snuck us in junk food, and he even
managed to smuggle a six pack of beer past the attendant nurses
once for me. There's a lot to be said for looking innocent.
If he or Trowa can remember what Cheree and Carmen did to them,
they don't say. I try not to bring it up. Heero's still as distant
as ever. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
When we finally got released from the hospital, the nurses threw
us a big party and bought us a cake. It was great. I asked around
until I found out who had called for the ambulances, since I was
pretty sure that none of us had been in any condition to run for
help. It was a woman named Hara. I can't help but wonder why she
did it. I'm not sure I want to know. She must have also done one
hell of a cleanup job, because no one mentioned dead bodies or
anything else that might indicate they'd found the remains of the
vampires and Carmen.
As soon as we left the hospital, we transferred to a new school,
thanks to Heero. When I asked, he said he didn't think I'd be
comfortable in the same school as the students that the vampires
had controlled. It was a surprisingly insightful thing for him to
say. Sometimes I think there's hope for him.
That brings us up to today. So far, things have been normal at the
new school. We've all settled in alright. Wufei's days of wearing
tank tops are over, though, unless he wants everyone to see the
huge mound of scar tissue that he now has on his upper chest. He
also has some really interesting scars on his back now, though
they're not too visible unless you're really. I know for a fact
that Trowa also has a scar across his stomach. We're all in
physical therapy now, and the therapist says that all of us will
regain full use of our various damaged body parts.
Heero's got a surprisingly small pockmark in his chest, right over
his heart, which makes me wonder, sometimes. I try not to think
about it. Quatre managed to get through the entire experience
pretty much unscarred, at least on the physical level. As far as
the mental level goes, I can't say. None of us like to talk about
what happened; I think it shook us all up, and we want to go back
to our quasi-normal lives and forget.
Except for me. I can't forget. Like Wufei, I'm never going to be
able to wear a tank top and look good in it again; I have some
real bad scarring on my collar bone and my right arm, but it's
merely a reflection of the internal stains, I guess you could say.
I still have problems with people touching me, and my
claustrophobia has only gotten worse. Now that I've acknowledged
that the power in me exists, it constantly finds ways to bring my
attention to it, like it's some kind of eager to please kid. On
bad nights, I'll go out to take a walk, and the road kill will get
up and follow me.
At first, when I got out of the hospital, I had nightmares all the
time, and a lot of nights found me knocking on Quatre and Trowa's
room door, because I knew Quatre wouldn't mind sharing his bed
with me, and that is the one time that physical contact doesn't
freak me out. It's something I have to deal with, just like being
a Gundam Pilot. I've accepted that, now, and the nightmares aren't
as bad any more. I am The God of Death. I can't escape that.
A month after we transferred to the new school, I went to one of
the old libraries in Tokyo, one that had a lot of really old books
from all over the world. I spent several days wandering the dusty
stacks, but I eventually found at least a few answers about
vampires and witches, as well as a little elementary info on what
we might possibly run into in the future if our world tries to
turn itself upside down again. I hope that I'll never need it,
though. The first time around was bad enough.
I also found a few sketchy, incomplete details that gave me some
answers I'd been craving; answers about me. Tamlin had called my
ability an "affinity for the dead." It didn't ring true, though, I
knew it. I found the beginning of the answer in a thin, tiny book
that had gotten jammed between the pages of a larger reference
tome. I walked out of the library with it tucked inside my long-
sleeved shirt. No one ever noticed.
The tiny, insignificant looking book gave me a name for what I am.
I am the God of Death.
I am a Necromancer.
When I woke up, I was in the ICU of the local hospital, along with
Wufei and Trowa. They had both been seriously injured, though not
as badly as me. Wufei had lost a lot of blood, and Victoria had
managed to tear the lining around his lungs when she shoved him
onto his own knife, though at least his internal organs were
intact. Cheree had nearly disemboweled Trowa when they killed her.
I was kind of surprised that Heero and Quatre weren't in with us.
I was even more surprised when Wufei told me that while Heero and
Quatre had both ridden to the hospital with us in the ambulances,
they'd been released as soon as the doctors took a look at them.
Between the two of them, they'd only needed about ten stitches and
some antibiotics. I guess that they weren't hurt as badly as I'd
thought. I must have seen wrong in the torchlight. I was willing
to believe that.
When the three of us compared wounds, the grand total came out to
be something like five operations, over two hundred stitches, and
three casts. I'd been unconscious the longest; almost a week,
while Wufei had been up the whole time and Trowa had come to after
the second day.
The doctors were thrilled that I was finally up and about. They
had a lot of fun telling me what a mess I was when I came in;
punctured lung, comminuted fracture of the humerus, five fractured
ribs, compound fracture of the collar bone coupled with severe
muscle trauma...the list went and on and. It sounded very
impressive. They kept saying that I was lucky to be alive.
They didn't have to tell me. I was well aware of that. Even if I
didn't particularly feel like it, at times.
They kept all three of us for another week and a half. We drove
the hospital staff insane. Wufei's a worse patient than me, if
that's possible. It was almost nice to have the chance to relax,
though; I got to know Wufei all over again, and really got to know
Trowa for the first time. He's got a real good sense of the ironic.
Quatre and Heero came and visited us, though Quatre showed up more
often than Heero. He always snuck us in junk food, and he even
managed to smuggle a six pack of beer past the attendant nurses
once for me. There's a lot to be said for looking innocent.
If he or Trowa can remember what Cheree and Carmen did to them,
they don't say. I try not to bring it up. Heero's still as distant
as ever. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
When we finally got released from the hospital, the nurses threw
us a big party and bought us a cake. It was great. I asked around
until I found out who had called for the ambulances, since I was
pretty sure that none of us had been in any condition to run for
help. It was a woman named Hara. I can't help but wonder why she
did it. I'm not sure I want to know. She must have also done one
hell of a cleanup job, because no one mentioned dead bodies or
anything else that might indicate they'd found the remains of the
vampires and Carmen.
As soon as we left the hospital, we transferred to a new school,
thanks to Heero. When I asked, he said he didn't think I'd be
comfortable in the same school as the students that the vampires
had controlled. It was a surprisingly insightful thing for him to
say. Sometimes I think there's hope for him.
That brings us up to today. So far, things have been normal at the
new school. We've all settled in alright. Wufei's days of wearing
tank tops are over, though, unless he wants everyone to see the
huge mound of scar tissue that he now has on his upper chest. He
also has some really interesting scars on his back now, though
they're not too visible unless you're really. I know for a fact
that Trowa also has a scar across his stomach. We're all in
physical therapy now, and the therapist says that all of us will
regain full use of our various damaged body parts.
Heero's got a surprisingly small pockmark in his chest, right over
his heart, which makes me wonder, sometimes. I try not to think
about it. Quatre managed to get through the entire experience
pretty much unscarred, at least on the physical level. As far as
the mental level goes, I can't say. None of us like to talk about
what happened; I think it shook us all up, and we want to go back
to our quasi-normal lives and forget.
Except for me. I can't forget. Like Wufei, I'm never going to be
able to wear a tank top and look good in it again; I have some
real bad scarring on my collar bone and my right arm, but it's
merely a reflection of the internal stains, I guess you could say.
I still have problems with people touching me, and my
claustrophobia has only gotten worse. Now that I've acknowledged
that the power in me exists, it constantly finds ways to bring my
attention to it, like it's some kind of eager to please kid. On
bad nights, I'll go out to take a walk, and the road kill will get
up and follow me.
At first, when I got out of the hospital, I had nightmares all the
time, and a lot of nights found me knocking on Quatre and Trowa's
room door, because I knew Quatre wouldn't mind sharing his bed
with me, and that is the one time that physical contact doesn't
freak me out. It's something I have to deal with, just like being
a Gundam Pilot. I've accepted that, now, and the nightmares aren't
as bad any more. I am The God of Death. I can't escape that.
A month after we transferred to the new school, I went to one of
the old libraries in Tokyo, one that had a lot of really old books
from all over the world. I spent several days wandering the dusty
stacks, but I eventually found at least a few answers about
vampires and witches, as well as a little elementary info on what
we might possibly run into in the future if our world tries to
turn itself upside down again. I hope that I'll never need it,
though. The first time around was bad enough.
I also found a few sketchy, incomplete details that gave me some
answers I'd been craving; answers about me. Tamlin had called my
ability an "affinity for the dead." It didn't ring true, though, I
knew it. I found the beginning of the answer in a thin, tiny book
that had gotten jammed between the pages of a larger reference
tome. I walked out of the library with it tucked inside my long-
sleeved shirt. No one ever noticed.
The tiny, insignificant looking book gave me a name for what I am.
I am the God of Death.
I am a Necromancer.