Sarain lay limp and exhausted in bed. Kit had fallen asleep next to her; like a child worried over his mother, he stayed by her side all night, afraid that his new guardian might slip away from him. She had slept, but still needed much more rest to recuperate for the events of the night before. Her side still throbbed and had become bruised. The gash on her head had sealed and was healing nicely. Sarain in all was sore, but she was alive, and grateful for it.
Her actions from that night kept playing out in her head, she knew what she had done wrong, but she couldn’t figure out how she managed to escape. She had pushed herself harder than she had ever done before, and such actions like jumping over the vil sangs, and running so quickly after such a bad stab wound were things than she had never done before. Sarain felt like she was growing stronger.
She got up from the bed with a groan. Kit opened his eyes and looked up. He quickly sat up in bed and asked, “Do you need my help?”
Sarain groaned again and said, “No, I’m alright, sore, but alright.”
Kit watched as Sarain moved around and asked, “Should you really be up and walking around like that? Won’t you rip your stitches or something?”
“It's okay,” she told him, “I heal fast.”
Kit gave her a frumpy look like he didn’t believe her, but it was true; she did heal fast, she always had. He got up and made Sarain breakfast for a change. This was something she could get used to. It was just simple scrambled eggs, but she appreciated the gesture.
Kit sat down at the table, across from Sarain and asked, “Are you going out again tonight?”
“No, not tonight,” she rapidly replied, “I’m still too sore to fight.”
“Good,” the boy responded in a tone like he wouldn’t let Sarain leave anyway.
She smiled at Kit realizing his concern for her; she wasn’t used to someone worrying about her. She found it rather endearing, but her thoughts soon turned troubled; she had lost all chance of catching Winston with his guard down. After last night he and his men would be on full alert. While she did manage to kill one vil sang and wounded another, who knew how many more were down in those catacombs under The Purge. It was obviously the city’s haven for the demon kind. It was a lot bigger of a job than she was used to dealing with. She would have to give it time before making another move, if she didn’t scrap the mission altogether.
She had never abandoned a job before, but she had Kit to look out for now, and the vil sangs would be out looking for her at this point; she had made herself known. Perhaps this one was just too much for her.
Sarain sat outside breathing in the cool air; this was the first night in a long time that she hadn’t gone hunting. She had forgotten how nice it could be to just stop and look up at the stars. Maybe she could go straight for a while, for Kit’s sake. Get set up in a new place, and get a real job. Sarain knew that these were just empty dreams; she would find herself walking the streets again, hunting for creatures that lurked in the shadows. This is what she did, this is all she knew.
Sarain sat alone; Kit was inside, probably reading a comic. She had needed time to herself to think, so she had come outside, promising Kit that she wouldn’t leave the curb. She thought of her mother, whom she had very few memories of. Her mother had died of an illness when Sarain was only five, but she remembered her mother being special; extraordinarily special to her clan.
Sarain wondered how much different her life would have been if her mother would have lived, or her clan. Would her life still be so filled with demons? Her clan of people who trained and taught the ways how to destroy the beasts; a clan of warriors who for centuries hunted the creatures, but even with that, her life hadn’t seemed so surrounded by demons until that fateful night.
Was it really her choice to abandon the path that had been so strongly forced upon her? She felt that no matter where she hid or ran off to, that her mission would still find her. But she was tired, so very tired.
Sarain sat there thinking. She heard the sounds of footsteps coming up behind her, and she said to Kit, “So you finally came out to get me.”
“I didn’t realize that you were expecting me,” a deep voice replied.
Sarain’s eyes went wide, that wasn’t Kit’s voice. She immediately spun around and saw Winston standing behind her. Her hand went to her side before she recalled that she hadn’t brought a weapon out with her.
Winston noted the look of surprise on her face and said, “Perhaps it wasn’t me you were expecting.”
Sarain jumped up and backed away from him, then looked to her house, and thought of Kit. No, with the barrier around it Winston wouldn’t be able to get inside.
Winston took a small step closer to Sarain and stated, “You’re not really one for words, are you?”
“It’s foolish for you to come here,” she said, ignoring his comment.
“Foolish? I don’t see why, you’re wounded and appear to be unarmed. Foolish is walking into a den of demons alone,” he said making an observation.
“You’re just a weak half breed. The vil sang name alone means vile blood; even the dirt thinks you’re filthy,” she declared to him.
Winston “tsked” her and took another step closer while saying, “Those are strong words from someone who can barely stand,” then he gave her a once over and said, “Then again, maybe you weren’t as seriously injured as I thought,” he stopped short from approaching and asked, “Didn’t you hit you head last night?”
Sarain felt her forehead, the scar was already gone. So she replied, “That was barely even a scratch.”
“A scratch that gushed blood?” Winston questioned. He looked at her curiously.
Just then the door to the house came bursting open, and Kit came running out yelling, “Sarain!” Evidently he had noticed that his injured guardian had company.
Winston peered over his shoulder at the boy, and Sarain quickly shouted with panic, “Kit, get back inside!”
Kit stood there for a moment, looking worried, he didn’t want to leave Sarain alone, but did as told and hurried back inside.
Winston turned back around, apparently uninterested in the boy and said, “Sarain, so that’s your name. I really don’t know why you couldn’t just tell me yourself.”
“What is your obsession with knowing my name? Does it really matter who it is that is going to kill you?” Sarain pressed on.
“You do like to talk big, don’t you? I think you are the one who is obsessing over me; showing up at my work, my home, interrupting my private moments. I never did anything to you. And now you’ve gone and made a lot of people angry. This is not a game little girl, and you apparently don’t stand well against many, so why do you keep trying to get yourself killed?” Winston proclaimed, wanting to get his point across.
“Why are you even here? If you’re going to kill me then do it already, I’m tired of listening to your rambling,” Sarain stated with exhaustion. She was tired, tired of fighting an endless supply of monsters, and now having to deal with them mocking her on her own ground. If Winston wanted to kill her, she would let him, she wasn’t going to fight back, not tonight.
Winston stared at her as though searching through his thoughts. Sarain didn’t bother to wonder what he was thinking, she didn’t care; she just wanted this to end.
He finally broke the silence by saying, “I prefer my fights to be fair. Even though I may be ‘filth’ as you so poignantly point out, I still have my standards.”
“Fine, then leave,” Sarain gruffly said, then she made a bold move, she walked right past Winston, leaving her back to him. It left her open to an easy attack, but this didn’t make a difference to her, either way. He stayed standing as she passed him by, making no attempt to attack her, true to his word. Sarain walked to her house, opened the door, and went inside without giving him a further look.
Winston waited for a while, half expecting for Sarain to come back with a weapon, but she didn’t. He looked back at her house. The night was still early, but his rendezvous with her was over, for now.
He started to walk off, down the street. A few yards away a creature stirred in the shadows of an alleyway, having watched the whole scene play out from its unseen hiding spot. It stepped out, approaching Winston.
It was a short creature, but its sharp scales and long claws made it a formidable monster. It stared up at him with large red eyes, and spoke in a high raspy voice, “Why didn’t you kill the girl?”
“Not yet, it would have been too easy,” Winston said not looking his hideous companion in the eye.
“Easy is all the better, but the difficulty should make no difference, you should do as you are told. The master will not like this,” it said to him with alarm in its tone.
“Let me worry about him, you are not his second in command,” Winston stated forcefully to the small beast.
The creature backed off with a shuffle, but stared him down. Winston ignored its empty attempt of a threat, and left the little demon standing alone. It gave Sarain’s house one last look through the corner of its eye, and then followed Winston into the night.