Continued from yesterday.
Deirdre shoved the man. Hard. He flew backwards, crashing through the wall and skidded to a halt inside the ruins. She stalked after him, long claws growing out of her fingers. The man fumbled beneath his coat and pulled a gun as she climbed through the hole in the wall.
“A gun?”, Deirdre laughed, “I thought you had better sense than that.”
He pulled the trigger twice when she was close enough to touch. Two bullets struck her chest. Her step faltered and her face twisted with confusion. She fell to her knees, black ichor pumping out of the bullet wounds.
“Ngozi blessed my pistol. The bullets were dipped in mother’s blood and father’s tears,” his voice broke into a sob, “I’m sorry.”
Deirdre dropped to her side and curled into a ball. “It hurts, Derek. It hurts so much,” she whispered, “but it’s gone. The mantle. The madness. Thank you.”
Her body contorted in a coughing fit and Derek knelt beside her, cradling him in his arms.
The coughing subsided. “It’s time, Derek.” She spoke calmly, “fill the promise you made to me the night you died. Free my soul.”
She looked into his eyes and he never looked away as he put the barrel of the gun behind her ear and pulled the trigger.
And yes, it’s the Derek we first met several decades later in Sylvie’s story.