“I’m so sorry, Carrie, again. You must think I’m an awful friend.”
“Riley, you haven’t done anything---”
“But I have. I do hope that you don’t believe what that . . . that monster said about Andrew.” He paused. His bottom lip began to quiver as he stared into Carrie’s eyes, and he once again broke down in front of her.
It was a curious thing, witnessing a grown man crying, no less at the rate and intensity Riley did. She hesitated at first, her hand in the air only an inch from his shoulder, but then placed it upon him in a reassuring way. Exasperatingly, she stared at him. The stress of the trial had worn them both down--- Riley in the sense that he was prosecuting such horrid people, and Carrie because she had to see Christian’s potential killers every day for the past week. The effects that it had forced upon them had made their relationship that much stronger.
“H-He ca-can’t have kill-ed Chris-Christian,” he said between sobs, his hands over his face, his voice muffled. “He was s-such a g-ood b-boy.” He attempted to impede his breakdown, but he found that he didn’t really mind to in Carrie’s presence and just let go of trying to withhold it. Riley knew that she wouldn’t judge him as others would, getting so worked up over what a meager prisoner had said. Mathews could have told the jury his son’s name just to get a rise out of them, see where they went in the case. See if it could get him off. But Riley had really taken it to heart, and for his son to even be thought of being involved in this heinous crime, of someone his friend Carrie had loved so much, shriveled his insides.
After a few minutes of Carrie whispering reassuring words to him, he lifted his head up, drying his tears and nose on the back of his sleeve. He turned around, mumbling to himself of how silly he was. Carrie handed him a clean tissue and gave him a weak smile.
”It’s all right, Riley. I know that you had nothing to do with this.”
He nodded, sniffling. He breathed in heavily and began to pace the room, thinking. Carrie smiled at this, wondering how he could continue to have that same signature stance even while he was absent from the courtroom.
“Carrie,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her from the seat at his kitchen table, “I want to thank you for helping me through this. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”
She grinned, looking down and away from his penetrating, overly grateful stare. “You’re welcome, Riley. I could say the same for---”
But she was interrupted with the feeling of his lips pressing onto hers. His kiss was urgent, imperative, and Carrie certainly did not care for it. Millions of confused, mixed thoughts surged through her brain. Pushing him kindly but with evident energy, she broke the kiss with a worried expression.
Carrie opened and closed her mouth, torn between slapping the man in the face or breaking down in tears. Her breaths were coming quickly, her heart beating with prompt speed. That seemed to be her retaliation these days, the weeping. It seemed to be everyone’s. “Riley, I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” She paused, realizing something and she covered her mouth with a pale hand. “Christian . . .” She then turned on her heel and headed toward the front door, but he prevented her from doing so by grabbing her shoulders from behind. He stuttered something unintelligible. But unlike the last time, she did not allow him to stop her. She literally ran through the doorway after she had unlocked the door, stepping into the afternoon sunshine quickly and forlornly, tears marring her beautiful features. She Apparated on the spot, Riley calling a few more rounds of apologies after her.
Carrie figured that they were deserved this time around.
~ * ~
Carrie busied herself around the house for the rest of that day. Taking a quick bubble bath with the television playing one of her favorite shows kept her mind occupied. Reading an intriguing book, Wuthering Heights, for the rest of the enduring afternoon made her only think of Heathcliff’s own nerve, his evilness. But then she remembered her own romance troubles and it set her in a right state. Riley was now the wicked one in her life, and she couldn’t stand him. She finally ended up confronting her problems, thinking on them, rather than ignoring them.
Riley knew where she lived because of his occupation [he had assisted with the witness letters]. If he showed up on her doorstep begging for exoneration and pity, she knew exactly what she would do. Stomping on his foot, she would laugh in his face as he requested on one knee for her to accept his heartfelt apology, that’s right. Her heart beat rapidly with her wild imagination, but reality set in and she realized that she could never carry out something as impious as that.
She had wanted Christian to be the last person that kissed her. How childish it sounded, but true. Only Christian could make her heart melt during a kiss, during an embrace, a prolonged conversation.
Carrie found Riley’s presence comforting, a bond with a companion she wished she had all of her life. In no way, shape, or form did she think he would ever take Christian’s place in that of friendship, and she didn’t even consider him a future prospect as a husband. Carrie only enjoyed his company. They both had lost someone near and dear to their hearts, and were only looking for a friend to help pick up the pieces afterward. Yet, there had always been something about Riley that caused Carrie to feel somewhat uncomfortable while in his presence.
Well, she thought,, the kiss just confirmed why you’ve been thinking this way. Riley apparently didn’t think in the same manner as she did. Carrie loved him for his ability to listen, for being a friend--- unfortunately, nothing more. She had always felt somewhat uneasy around him. Not enough to wish she were not in his company, but enough to feel her stomach becoming perturbed. Carrie recognized flirting, intentional or not, and he had always had the daring to slip in a few awkward phrases of his own liking, as well as those overly affectionate hugs he would give at such inappropriate times. It almost made her roll her eyes right there in the moment in near anger for his audacity--- and especially while the wounds Christian had produced were still so fresh! She didn’t want to ruin their friendship just from something as small as the kiss, but Carrie didn’t know if she could get over something like this. Riley knew, more than anyone possibly, how close she had been to Christian, and four months after his death certainly was not enough time to begin dating or even kissing someone else, no matter how charming Riley was or not. That, and she wasn’t fond of her friend the way she had been of Christian. Friends was as far as she wished to go, with anyone, at this point.
And she wasn’t even counting the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Lowe had not called to check in the past two days like they usually did, every day.
She curled deeper within the confines of the quilt her mother had given her, fighting tears, and sighed.
Her mother. How she wished, so very, very much, that she could just pick up a phone and call her. She probably had no idea of Christian’s death, of how her daughter was doing. When she had sent out invitations to the wedding, Carrie had made completely certain that all of her family members were included, had even tucked a small apology note on the inside, but she hadn’t even received a response back. They hadn’t shown up to the church the day they had scheduled, which had also been the day of the funeral, so they obviously didn’t care. And they had always claimed that they loved her so much--- why couldn’t they take part, even for just the reception, in what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life?
The angst of losing everyone in one solitary day came raining down upon Carrie and once again she submitted willingly to the tears that she knew would make her feel better for the moment.
~ * ~
Carrie sat in her usual seat beside Mr. and Mrs. Lowe. She bit her tongue as her mouth refused to cooperate with her brain. Her lips wished to apologize for whatever it was that she had done to upset them. Her brain told her to just keep her eyes forward and remain silent.
So she did the latter, and noticed that instead of Riley Grey standing at the front of the room there was another man--- the same build, but obviously not her friend. She turned to the woman beside her, whom she recognized as Tyler Mathews’ mother, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but finally gave in to what she wanted to know. After all, it wasn’t they that had had anything to do with the crimes their son had been blamed for. “Excuse me,” she said, catching her attention, “do you know where the other prosecutor is?”
The woman nodded, shifting her eyes to the front and eyeing the new man. “The Wizengamot deliberated last night and decided that they couldn’t have a prosecutor that was so personally involved in the case. Andrew Grey, the person that Tyler Mathews---” the sound of her son’s name came out in a strangled sound from her throat, “---said killed Christian Lowe, was the prosecutor’s son. They couldn’t keep him on the case any longer for that reason.”
Carrie nodded. She chatted for a few moments about this fact and thanked her as the hearing began again.
Time passed, and the Dementors never brought in the prisoners. A few people of the crowd began to murmur confusedly, but Faraday stood up, calming them quickly.
“Tyler Mathews has agreed to give a full account of what happened the night that Christian Lowe was murdered. He has only agreed to do so if the other two prisoners, Avery and Foreman, are not present. If any members of the Wizengamot object to this, please raise a hand.”
No one dared to contradict a prisoner who offered information. Not one hand was raised, and Faraday nodded to the new prosecutor to begin. Tyler Mathews was soon brought out and chained to the solitary chair in the center of the room by the Dementors that he was so afraid of.
“Hampton, go on.”
“You may begin at any time, son,” Hampton, the prosecutor, told him, looking down upon Mathews with hard eyes. He was obviously another very accomplished attorney, older than Grey. He had almost certainly seen more cases like this one as well, and was not astonished at its developments.
Tyler Mathews searched the room for someone, anything that would make him stop with what he was about to do, but no one even moved in their seats. Shaking his head, he pushed his hair over his face and narrowed his eyes to the floor. He took a deep breath.
“As I’ve already said, the Dark Lord put the newcomers with other loyal and trusted Death Eaters. Gaston and Nicholas and I were paired initially, but with much deliberation the Dark Lord then allowed Andrew into our group.”
“Why did it take longer for Andrew to be placed in the group than for you to be?” Hampton’s voice was startling to Mathews, who figured that he had free reign to tell the story without interruptions.
“Because the Dark Lord didn’t trust us,” Tyler answered. “He still doesn’t trust some of his most faithful servants, and most have been with him for years. I guess he figured that if two of the new, young people wishing to join his ranks were placed with two of his faithfuls that there was a chance that we, the newcomers, could overthrow what he had created.
“The four of us were assigned a variety of things,” he continued, still not making eye contact, ashamed of what he was doing. “Gaston and Nicholas were constantly being asked to leave our group and return to their old tasks, much harder tasks than the ones placed upon us. Usually we waited in a random place--- the countryside, an abandoned house--- until we were needed. We, Andrew and I, never did anything without the other two.
“About two months had passed since we had turned our lives over to the Dark Lord, left school. You can ask anyone who’s joined him---” His eyes turned cold, extremely frightened. “---after those first few months, everything that you’ve lived for up until that point had been for nothing. Any friends and family that you had . . . they were all at risk for being murdered if you so much as thought of leaving or betraying him, the Dark Lord. He knew those kinds of things--- it was as if he could read your mind or something. We were never to speak of or to anyone who wasn’t our kind. And if we disobeyed him, his punishment was the Cruciatus curse.” He shuddered. “Andrew suffered many times at the hand of the Dark Lord. He was always telling me that we shouldn’t do some of the things we did, and I think that Dark Lord knew his doubtfulness would interfere with whatever tasks we were assigned to.
“If Gaston returned and told our master that he had killed someone for him, Andrew would actually . . . he would cry for days on end. He was slowly realizing that the reasons we joined were ridiculous, stupid ones. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of work, none of us were in the first place--- we were all too good at heart.”
“I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with the case at hand? We are not here for Andrew Grey, but Christian Lowe.”
The prosecutor waved a hand at Faraday, urging him to be quiet and allow Mathews to get on with the story. Mathews looked back down to the ground, humiliated.
“Then the day came when the Dark Lord told us, Andrew and I, to murder for our first time. He said that we had proved ourselves worthy enough of becoming his eternal followers. We received the Mark that night.” He finally averted his eyes from the marble flooring and raised as high as he could the arm with the Mark upon it. He placed it back down gingerly. “The pain of it . . .” He shook his head. “Not only did the Dark Lord himself do it, but I think that he made sure it hurt as much as it could, just to remind us what we were getting into. It hurt for days afterward. Bathing was agony, no less someone brushing against it. A week after the event, the Dark Lord gave the information for Gaston and Nicholas to take us to a house on outskirts of London, where we would perform the deed.
“We didn’t get a chance to get the girl alone until the morning, when her mother took her to a . . . daycare center in town, I think. They would walk halfway so Muggles wouldn’t see them, and then they’d use the Floo Network at a friend’s house.”
“Alice,” Carrie breathed, comprehending.
“As they were going, Gaston told us that I was supposed to snatch the girl and Apparate back to the hillside the others were resting on. Andrew was to come with me in case things went wrong. But nothing did--- we kidnapped the girl, just as the Dark Lord had told us to. I felt satisfaction in pleasing him, but Andrew, on the other hand, detested what we had done. He wouldn’t even look at the girl as we had her. The time finally came for us to do what we had been sent out to do, murder, but Nicholas thought it appropriate to allow the worry and fear to settle into her family before we killed her.” He paused, remembering. “Learning the plan, Andrew disappeared. Gaston and Nicholas thought that his resolve had finally worn completely thin, and he had quit, despite the promise he had given to the Dark Lord. But three days later, he returned, wishing to speak to me.”
“I want to speak to Tyler alone.”
“I can’t allow it.” Gaston’s voice was obvious beside Andrew’s weary one.
Andrew sighed audibly, obviously attempting to control his anger.
Mathews could hear their conversation drifting through the closed door of the house they were now borrowing, residing in. Its walls were thin, poorly made, and he feared that they would crumble with each person that walked inside it.
Something must have convinced them, because Mathews then heard a third voice, Nicholas’s, and he told Gaston to draw back and allow Andrew to see Tyler privately. The door soon swung open, revealing Andrew, disheveled, dirty, his clothing torn and ragged.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Never mind that. I just wanted to speak to you.”
The pair vacated the house, walking past their friends seated at the kitchen table. As they stepped into the rainy afternoon, Tyler felt the frigid drizzle settling upon his bare arm, the same one that the Mark had been placed upon only days before, and it almost sizzled with the coolness from the water. He closed his eyes, feeling the relief, allowing it to saturate him. He had been so stressed with the fact of what he was doing, though he felt that he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was what the Dark Lord had requested, his master, and anything from him was perfect, right. Andrew, though, did not feel the same. He detested his Mark as if it were the root of everything evil. He would not succumb to such desperate measures to stay alive.
Tyler stared at Andrew quizzically, though he hid his uncertainty toward him well. He leaned against a dilapidated brick wall. Its bricks were worn and faded, and moss hung around its bottom as if it were a leech, sucking its life away. Crossing his arms, Andrew looked toward his friend.
“I don’t think we should go through with this.”
Mathews shifted within the limitations of his chair, sighing, and continued. “He told me that he didn’t want to murder the girl, he didn’t want to kill someone so innocent. He didn’t want to kill anyone. He no longer wished to be a part of the Death Eater life, my life either, if I continued in this way. I told him that he couldn’t just walk away, that he would either be murdered or tortured until he came back, one, but he didn’t care. He said that he would much rather be murdered than murder.”
Carrie heard the shuffling of the people in the seats nearby, and she soon felt a warm presence take its place beside her. She realized that Riley was now settled next to her. Ignoring what had happened the day before, she squeezed his hand reassuringly and released it, just as Mrs. Lowe would do to her.
Mathews sniffed, the moment obviously emotional for him. With the turning of his head to his shoulder, he wiped the tears of remorse tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “Andrew said that he had been to see the Chief of Healers at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Obviously he knew I would be confused so he went on, even though Gaston and Nicholas were making their way over to us. Quickly, he told me that Christian Lowe had been her doctor, and he was also the person leading the investigation of her kidnapping.”
“I told him what I was, Tyler. I showed him my Mark, I told him our mission.”
Tyler stared at him incredulously, his face palpably showing his surprise. “Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any idea of the trouble that you could be in for?” His voice was angry, though kept well under control because of his closeness to Andrew.
“I know. I don’t care. I just want this little girl to have a chance to grow up. It’s not fair--- why should she have to be murdered?”
“Andrew, the Dark Lord never tells his reason for why we’re murdering. You’re going to have to get used to it.”
“No.” His jaw was set and his fortitude apparent. “I won’t do it. I told Christian that I would bring the girl to him at seven o’clock sharp today. At the main bridge in the center of town.”
“You can’t just take her---”
“I don’t expect you to try to stop me, Tyler. I know that you’ll do the right thing, be my friend. I have to do this.”
Gaston and Nicholas then reached earshot, thus ending their conversation.
“Because he was a better friend to me than Gaston and Nicholas--- their friendship, I think, based purely on the fact that I was servicing the same master they were, I did not inform them of Andrew’s intentions. Thus, later that evening, I distracted Gaston and Nicholas in the back room while Andrew made his way out of the house with the girl, Alice. Gaston . . . he can see things . . . it’s odd. He sensed what Andrew was doing, so he pushed me out of the way so he could catch him in the act, to turn him into the Dark Lord, proving his disloyalty. But then Nicholas and he once again came up with another one of their plans, to torment everything and anything in the path of their destruction. They withdrew from murdering the girl on the spot--- they knew it would torture her family. They withdrew from allowing Andrew to know that he was caught immediately--- they wished to see his plan. Always for their benefit, not others’.
“So, we all followed him. They never suspected me of a thing. He met Christian Lowe under the bridge as planned, and they exchanged the girl. They shook hands. The nerve of Andrew--- I know that he knew we were there, watching, and still he didn’t plan a way around it. As Christian was Apparating, he took Andrew with him. For protective reasons, I think--- just so Andrew wouldn’t be murdered, like he knew he would be, and because Christian was so grateful for his cooperation, he obliged.
“When they had Apparated safely, Gaston then went to the Dark Lord, requesting to know Andrew’s location. He returned with the correct information, and with my heavy heart we Apparated to that location, Christian’s flat. I tried to stop Gaston, because when his anger gets the best of him he is impossible, but there was no way. We ended up in his bedroom--- the girl had already been returned safely over to the Aurors and her parents were being informed--- but Christian couldn’t be there to enjoy the homecoming.” His voice was bitter. Taking a deep breath with his mouth open wide, the breath he inhaled was loud inside the deathly still courtroom. “Andrew was helping him pack, helping him get away from us. Gaston’s ability to hold a grudge against all involved in betraying the Dark Lord, himself, is amazing. His intention was to get me to kill the girl, but it ended up being him murdering Christian.”
Christian’s shock was nothing compared to Andrew’s as the three devoted Death Eaters entered the room. Andrew dropped the pair of socks he was holding and Christian withdrew his wand, pulling it from his pocket as if he had known a battle would be coming. The suitcase on the bed was blown into the air when a stray curse failed to hit its target.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Christian told the three, whose wands had been extracted as soon as they had arrived.
“But you’ve requested it, speaking to Andrew here,” Gaston said mockingly, peering at Andrew with severe distaste. The boy had shrunk into the corner fearfully, the fright in his face unfailing to disappear.
Gaston pointed his wand at Andrew, a sneer crossing his face and rooting itself there.
“You’re going to rot where you go, boy,” he said, aversion pervading his voice.
“You’re supposed to be my friends. Tyler?” he pleaded. His breaths came in heaves.
“I am no friend to those who betray the Dark Lord. Neither is Tyler,” Avery told him.
Andrew dared to take his eyes from the wand for a brief second and stare at Tyler, who was having difficulty in deciding what he wanted to do. He couldn’t just sit there and allowed Gaston’s anger to get the best of him. But if he intervened then he would be labeled as unfaithful in addition to Andrew.
So he just stood there, his mouth sealed together with tight lips.
Christian stood tranquilly, hoping that everything would turn out for the best, allowing the scene to play in front of him. He trusted that no one would get hurt. But this was the real world, and those were real Death Eaters in front of him.
“Nicholas, Tyler--- take Andrew into the next room. I want to deal with this one myself.” Avery’s voice was full of spite, resentment, and ridicule. He was going to make this man pay for what he had done.
Nicholas willingly and immediately obliged, though Tyler took some urging. Nicholas, somewhat compassionate in nature, shot his friend a curious, obviously motivational, glance, saying that if he didn’t cooperate while Gaston was this irate he would suffer as well. Finally finding his feet, his forced them to move to pick up his best friend and carry him out of the room.
“It leaves us,” Gaston said, throwing up his hands, allowing his wand to take its aim off his opponent. Christian saw the mockery, but also saw the chance to curse him.
He missed. Avery chuckled loudly, watching the door close behind the others. But Tyler stood at the door, listening, peering through the crack underneath.
There was no limitation to the fear that filled Christian’s heart. His legs were weak, but his determination was strong. But Avery’s purpose was even stronger. Within seconds, Christian was pinned to the bed with unseen ropes, his mouth silenced by an invisible barrier.
“This will teach you to try and outsmart the Dark Lord.”
An open window then caught Christian’s attention. Turning his head, forgetting Avery for a few brief moments, allowing his mind to wander, his eyes rested on the full moon, brazen and bright against the misty night sky, dotted with stars. That moon apparently brought back millions of memories.
“He . . . he stared up at that moon as if it were the only hope he had or something. It was weird.”
Carrie took a great intake of breath, realizing why Christian had been staring at the moon. They had spent many a night staring up into its beautiful body. He had proposed to Carrie under it, told her he how he loved her. The memories came rushing back.
Tyler’s expression turned evil. “But Gaston only laughed.”
Gaston stared at him with ironic puzzlement, then began to snicker again.
“Should have gotten Greyback to do this,” Avery murmured, audibly enough to make sure that Christian heard. “Seeing as how it’s his night to shine.” He took shot a quick glance toward the full moon. “But I didn’t think about that until now. That’s a punishment, there.”
Avery raised his wand, the two words that were inside his head now itching to be used on his lips.
“Avada Kedavra,” he said, the words echoing inside the still room. Avery watched the life drain instantly from his victim’s eyes.
And so did Tyler.
“It was so unfair, what he did. All this man did was save a little girl. But Avery had his thoughts and I mine. The girl had escaped and who was at fault was all he cared about.” He halted briefly, giving time for everything to sink in. “His wrath then turned to Andrew. He claimed that the Dark Lord had given me the assignment to kill my friend.
“He handed me my wand and spit in my face. He told me that if I didn’t do it that he’d kill me too. He mocked me, mocked the dead man in the next room, Andrew. He didn’t care that he had just taken away a valuable life, it didn’t matter to him.” Mathews stopped. The jury was so intrigued, absorbed with the story that a sneeze from one of them caused many flinches to take place.
Murmurs surfed the crowd of onlookers, even a few of the Wizengamot, but they were hushed by Faraday’s raised hand. He peered intently at the boy, influencing him to go on. “Go on, please, Tyler,” he added.
Tears filled eyes. No voice could have spoken even if it had wanted to at this point. But Mathews went on, just as he was advised to.
“I didn’t do it. I couldn’t kill my friend. That’s why they hate me so much, they think I’m just like him. They can’t stand me. So Gaston did it instead, once again, no remorse stopping him. Even though Andrew had lived with us for months now, he still wasn’t bothered by what he did.” He pushed the hair from his eyes and made eye contact with Hampton. “Gaston never tried to kill me. Nicholas took Andrew’s body somewhere I couldn’t find or see him. From what I know he burned it. No trace of him was ever found, according to the papers. He’s the only friend I have left, the only person that cares about me. Gaston never thought twice on what he had done. The deed is completed, and the Dark Lord sees no further need to kill the girl from what I know. Two deaths, rather than a young girl’s, have quenched his taste for blood.”
Carrie was crying fully now. Riley placed an arm around her shoulders protectively, as if daring anyone to laugh at her in this time. She didn’t make any noise, just allowed the tears to roll numbly down her face.
Now she knew.
“I just desire the same justice for Andrew as you wish for Christian. That’s all I want.”
At least three minutes passed before anyone had the courage to move. Faraday finally gave a cautious affirmation to Hampton. This was the signal to escort the boy out instead of the allowing the terrifying Dementors he was so fearful of do so. As Hampton unchained him from the chair with a quick spell, Tyler Mathews began to cry. His body heaved with the wretched, austere sobs, and he just released all of his feelings there, in the middle of that courtroom, with the Wizengamot and crowd watching attentively, piteously. No one should have to have gone through what he had, no less a boy as young as he. Hampton gingerly helped the boy from his chair and Tyler, with his hands covering his face, abandoned the room, never looking back on what he had done.
-~ Thanks Fresca!