The Dark Side of Eleanor Warwick
IT

Warwick

Warwick

Warwick

WARWICK

Eleanor gasps loudly and comes off the wall. She immediately clutches her midsection and groans in pain. Deathly pallor colors her face. A chill crawls across her skin.

A soft cry escapes her as she sees the puddle of blood she’s sitting in. Her blood. She leans back against the wall. Looking around the room, she notices something strange.

Are her eyes failing her, or is it very dark? She can’t see anything beyond the foyer but thick darkness. Worse, it seems to be creeping closer. The paint along the walls appears to peel and split as the shadow spreads. The floors warp with grime and festering age.

“I know it’s you,” she rasps.

Warwick

“Go away.”

Dying, Warwick

Eleanor coughs up a splatter of blood. “I…noticed.”

It can save you

“No.”

Dying

“There are worse things than dying.”

No

“Yes.”

If Warwick dies, Carmadie dies

Closing her eyes tight, Eleanor sniffs and leans her head against the wall. “I…I can’t save Carmadie. I can’t save anybody.”

We can

“No!” she shouts and immediately regrets it. She clutches her wound and whimpers.

“You don’t get to do this,” a familiar voice says.

Eleanor jerks up, groaning and holding her side. A figure moves through the darkness. It is tall. A raincoat billows behind it. It adjusts a pair of thick-frame glasses on its nose. A dark image of Gordon Warwick steps out of the shroud.

“You don’t get to just lay down, Ellie. I didn’t.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I know what you’re doing. That isn’t my dad.”

“Does it matter? I’m right. You’re a Warwick. You have to protect Carmadie.”

“He doesn’t want Carmadie.”

“He wants everything. And I think you know it.”

Eleanor looks away rather than admit the image is right.

“You would truly rather sit there and bleed out than take a shot at saving the city?”

She scoffs. “I know what you are. You don’t care about Carmadie. You just want to get your hooks in me.”

The image of her father shrugs. “Again, does that matter? It can give you what you need to defeat the Blackwells. What you need to save Carmadie.” It crouches down in front of her. “Do I not matter to you at all anymore, Ellie?”

“Shut up.”

“You have a chance to avenge me. The man who killed me is close by and you would rather just die. The people who tried to kill Penelope. Tried to kill Henry. The people who killed Marvin. And you’ll do nothing?”

Tilting her head down, she covers her ears and closes her eyes tight. “I said shut up!”

“What are they going to do with Jessie?”

Her eyes pop open.

“They are going to pull her apart and take everything they can use. Then they will dispose of her. Toss her in the garbage.”

Eleanor shakes in fury. She takes hard, ragged breaths, her shoulders heaving.

“You’re not just going to sit there and let it happen. You can’t.”

She slowly lifts her head. The image is gone. She can now see clearly across the room, through the foyer, and into the study. The mechanized passageway within the fireplace has somehow opened itself.

Get up, Warwick

Eleanor slaps her hand against the wall, leaving a bloody handprint. She cries in pain as she pushes off and struggles to her feet. Staggering, she leaves a crimson trail across her House. She glances down at Marvin as she slinks past, clutching her side.

Falling against the wall just inside the study, her lip trembles and she whimpers softly.

There’s not much time, Warwick

Growling, Eleanor grits her teeth. She crosses the study with an unsteady gait. She takes the stairs leading downward one at a time, frequently leaning against the wall. She reaches the chamber and promptly collapses. Struggling to her knees, she looks up.

A massive sphere of inky black hovers above a small stone pedestal. Mist drifts off its surface. The Dark Force; a source of incredible power, but at a price.

Eleanor reaches out with her trembling hand but pulls up short. The Dark Force’s surface ripples, sensing her hesitation.

Warwick

You need it

Dying

Jessie

“Just shut up!”

Holding her breath, Eleanor closes her eyes and reaches out to touch the sphere.

She feels nothing.

Slowly opening her eyes, she replaces the Dark Force gone. She glances around the chamber. The large orb completely vanished. Looking down at her side, she moves her bloody hand. The stab wound is gone.

Slowly, Eleanor begins to stand. A sudden lurch in her stomach sends her back down. She groans, hunching forward. She convulses and heaves as though she desperately needs to vomit, but can’t.

Her body trembles. She feels white hot and ice cold at the same time. She twists and writhes as a crackle runs along her spine and grips the back of her neck. Pain roars through her body.

Thoughts and feelings flash across her mind. A desire for retribution. Violence. Domination. She feels her personality being nudged aside.

Eleanor grips her hair in both hands. She sobs in horror and agony, shaking her head furiously. “No! No! No! I changed my mind! I don’t want it! I don’t want it!”

Her body goes stiff, dark veins run across her skin. Her eyes open wide, her glistening blue eyes turn black.

A bloodcurdling scream echoes through House Warwick.

The ceiling is blurry. She feels around for her glasses. Returning them to their perch, she stumbles to her feet. She looks around the chamber. It feels so small now. Like a prison cell.

Running her hand along the wall, she ascends the stairs and reenters the study. The air is different there. She looks around the room, glancing disinterestedly at a few books.

She looks out the small window at the world outside. Making a quick pace, she crosses into the foyer. She callously steps over Marvin’s body and out the door.

A light drizzle falls. She steps down the walkway. Small droplets of water splash on her upward-turned palms.

“I can hear them,” she says softly. She pans around her city. “I can feel them. Pattering feet. Heartbeats. City streets. Why am I talking out loud? And rhyming.”

“Hey!”

Eleanor looks up at the sky, rain splattering on her glasses. She only sees a gray sky. There’s certainly no one there.

“Hey! You!”

She turns to face Adrian Blackwell. He stands a few feet down the sidewalk. He raises his arm and points to the door to House Warwick.

“Did you just come out of there?”

“Out of where?”

He scoffs. “Where I’m pointing, idiot!”

She turns and looks at the door and then back at him. “Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“That…is a tough question to answer right now.”

“Oh, for fuck’s- what is your name?”

“Eleanor Warwick.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I very nearly was. Let me guess; Adrian Blackwell?”

“That’s right.”

“So you want to finish the job.”

“Actually I came looking for Morneau and the old man. Cleaning up Dad’s mess will just be a bonus.”

Eleanor looks him up and down. “Well, you better hurry. The clock’s ticking.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing. Say,” she approaches him as casually as can be, “your Dad said something strange to me. Maybe you can help me make some sense of it.”

“I’m not here to talk.”

“Yes, yes. Man and old Morneau. Clean up Dad. Just indulge me for a second. He said…” She drifts off and looks around slightly puzzled. “What was it? Um…it was…uh…” She drums her fingers on her head. “Oh! It was ‘memory is unreliable at the best of times’. Ironic that I couldn’t remember it. What did he mean by that?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“I asked him about Jessie. About how you all treated her. Was he implying that Jessie misremembers her own life? Did you keep her in an attic?”

“I don’t give a shit about that!” He takes an aggressive step toward her. “I said I’m not here to talk!”

Balling up his fist, Adrian lunges forward. His fist flies toward Eleanor. Eleanor raises a single finger. Adrian’s punch suddenly stops mid-attack. Eleanor gestures her other hand. Adrian’s head jerks back as he’s struck under the chin with the force of a sledgehammer. Groaning, he drops to his knees.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk, I guess I’ll have to replace the answers for myself.”

Eleanor presses her palm against his forehead. Adrian’s body goes stiff. His eyes roll back in his head. Images flash through Eleanor’s mind. Adrian’s entire life plays out before her. It’s overwhelming for a moment.

She would never have been able to cast such a spell so easily before. She wasn’t prepared for the effects. The memories move quickly, but she focuses and gets a sense of what she’s seeing. She hums curiously as she begins to see two versions of the same moments. One version feels like a strange pantomime of the other.

“Well, that’s interesting.”

She removes her hand and Adrian falls forward. He slowly picks himself up. He stares forward. His body shakes and his eyes well with tears.

“What…what did you do to me?”

Eleanor shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m not sure, actually. Did you see all that? The weird double memories?”

“I…I saw…No. That didn’t happen.”

“Are you sure? It kind of seems like your memories have been tampered with.” She waves away the idea. “No, you’re right. That’s ridiculous. Your family doesn’t mess with each other’s minds, right?”

A moment of disbelief and confusion passes. Adrian’s face twists in rage. He rises to his feet. “Motherfucker! I’ll tear him apart!” He looks at her. “You! You can help me!”

“Yeah? You want to kill him?”

“I will kill him!”

“He’s a dead man?”

“Fucking dead!”

“Oh, Adrian.” She pats him on the shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. “He got you first.”

Adrian tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

Suddenly, he clutches his chest. He groans in agony. Dropping to his knees, he grips his hair with his other hand. A burning orange shines through from below his skin, spreading across his face. His veins bulge as the light makes its way down his neck. He looks up at Eleanor, gasping desperately.

“Help...me,” he wheezes.

Eleanor stares down at him. “You know, if this had happened yesterday, I probably would. But then you would have been alive today to hurt my friends. To murder and destroy in my city.”

Tears run down Adrian’s reddening eyes, but they fizzle and evaporate on his burning flesh.

“I’ve been in your head. I know who you are. You are violent and cruel, brimming with unearned arrogance. The world will not miss you.”

Adrian reaches out to grab her, but Eleanor steps out of his reach. He cries out in horrified pain as his eyes burst. Light, heat, and smoke project out of his sockets. His mouth falls open slackly. More smoke.

Adrian Blackwell’s body slumps to the side and then drops pitifully to the pavement.

Eleanor stares down indifferently. One down. Three to go. Recalling the location of the Blackwall’s loft from Adrian’s memories, she walks into the cold streets.