Adam Parrish (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
incognoscibilis) wrote2015-11-09 05:44 pm
incognoscibilis) wrote2015-11-09 05:44 pm
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When seeds that you sow grow by the wicked moon
There was supposed to be a plan and they were supposed to stick to it. None of them went out at night because that was when the monsters emerged. They took so many different shapes: Persephone's corpse, night horrors, Barrington Whelk. Adam's own monster took his form, all twisted and terrible. The worst was that Adam could see his reflection in that other self. It twisted and warped like the surface of a brass mirror, catching the light and dipping into darkness.
They'd taken to carrying improvised weapons. At first it had felt savage and terrible but the more nights wore on, the more Adam saw the reason to it, even though he hated the reality that he carried something that could physically hurt someone. It was bad enough what his words could do.
He walked along the edge of the street, a dented aluminum baseball bat dragging along the pavement behind him, when he heard the sirens. How had it gotten so late? Cursing, Adam threw himself into the nearest building and immediately wished he hadn't.
Logically, he knew this had to be a trick. You didn't just enter the courtroom from the street door. You had to pass through the clerks, the metal detector. None of that made a difference as the Judge's platform loomed above him and in its chair lounged a dusty boy, his cheeks roughened with pale stubble, a beer in his hand, and his stained flannel shirt open over a white wifebeater. The Other Adam smiled at him, his eyes pale blue rings surrounding black pupils. "I was wondering when you'd join me."
"I'm not joining you in anything." Adam was careful with his words, maintaining a tight, neutralized accent where his doppelganger drawled.
"Give it up, Parrish. Everyone knows what you are. You're a hick. A piece of shit redneck and you're never going to be better than that. It's just too bad your daddy couldn't beat enough sense into you."
Adam gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. "You're not me!"
"You're right, Parrish. But everyone knows I'm what you'll become."
They'd taken to carrying improvised weapons. At first it had felt savage and terrible but the more nights wore on, the more Adam saw the reason to it, even though he hated the reality that he carried something that could physically hurt someone. It was bad enough what his words could do.
He walked along the edge of the street, a dented aluminum baseball bat dragging along the pavement behind him, when he heard the sirens. How had it gotten so late? Cursing, Adam threw himself into the nearest building and immediately wished he hadn't.
Logically, he knew this had to be a trick. You didn't just enter the courtroom from the street door. You had to pass through the clerks, the metal detector. None of that made a difference as the Judge's platform loomed above him and in its chair lounged a dusty boy, his cheeks roughened with pale stubble, a beer in his hand, and his stained flannel shirt open over a white wifebeater. The Other Adam smiled at him, his eyes pale blue rings surrounding black pupils. "I was wondering when you'd join me."
"I'm not joining you in anything." Adam was careful with his words, maintaining a tight, neutralized accent where his doppelganger drawled.
"Give it up, Parrish. Everyone knows what you are. You're a hick. A piece of shit redneck and you're never going to be better than that. It's just too bad your daddy couldn't beat enough sense into you."
Adam gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. "You're not me!"
"You're right, Parrish. But everyone knows I'm what you'll become."
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Gansey was pale, with coltish, wild eyes as he stumbled to the floor. He picked himself up, all limbs and anxiety, with false starts and a wobble that nearly brought him to the floor again, nearly had him bashing his chin off of the hardwood.
He was not the figure of assured justice and calm insistence that he had been that day.
The thing followed him. It never got close, but it never stopped pursuing, and at all times Gansey heard it like a throb in his mind, a distant droning.
"Adam!" he shouted. He collided with the other boy, arms grabbing for his clothing.
The faker caught a hateful glare.
"Jesus, Adam. You were all missing."
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"Shut up," Adam said. His fists tightened and he tried not to listen. "Gansey, you have to go. Please."
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There was something else to be worried about out there.
"Where am I going to go?" he asked Adam honestly. He glared at the Not Adam with eyes filled with a sort of resentful hate, the hate he'd always had to swallow down. It would only have made Adam's problems compound. It wouldn't have helped. That didn't mean Gansey hadn't felt it.
"Everywhere's as hateful as the next place. This is where everyone else has been, isn't it? Jesus. Adam, I'm not going anywhere without you. How could I?"
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The courtroom, the first time, Adam clung to that memory. Gansey who regarded Adam as an equal, as a man. Why did the memory seem so faint and difficult now?
"He doesn't respect you," Not Adam said. It was hard to tell if it was meant for Gansey or Adam to hear. "The charity case. The favorite son. What a joke. How long would you wait? How much money would it take for you to admit what you are to him? A pet project. A resource. Nothing but a photo opportunity."
Adam gritted his teeth and, impulsively, shot out a hand to grasp Gansey's. If Gansey gripped back, then all of this was fake. All of it was real.