A Supernal Glimpse
Denise was back on the drugs.
Crowley knew it from the moment she turned up to rehearsal with that vacant look in her eye. She hid it well, he would admit that, but over time, that look had gotten stronger. Suspicion; hope against hope; a ruthless desire for the truth, had urged him on in the end. It hadn't helped that he'd looked at the band with the Sight and had seen how badly the threads had degraded. A quick study of Time, too, had shown him the inevitable in the inexpressible vista's that only those versed in the Supernal could see.
It had taken him weeks to work out the best course of action. This way, he could at least salvage a future for Frank.
So here he was, hunting through her stuff. It wasn't hard to find the paraphernalia of the user; he moved, unhurried by time and the sound of pounding feet as she chased him through the house. Time has no meaning when you see where Denise hid her gear.
She hides from herself, squeezed between the chest of drawers and the wall. She thinks the bed can hide her from view. She can't hide from herself. There... she stops rocking, her body relaxing as Need is sated. Eyes lazily track the crack in the ceiling, but she comprehends it not! She's still out of it when the vision fades.
He continues his search. Stone in his gut; fingers and eyes burning from the Sight.
The gear is all wrapped up in flannel, placed in an overnight bag and neatly squirrelled away in the bottom drawer. She has developed a ritual for this: for hiding it away. Hiding it from herself. Crowley smiles grimly; its taken him days to work out the rough time frame that would let him capture the best moments in his backward-looking gaze.
She is almost at the door now. Frank is pounding not far behind. Crowley waits for the right moment - and tears the drawer from its frame. Contents: clothes and hidden bag - all explode onto the floor in a dramatic flourish. Crowley could make a lunge now for the bag. He doesn't. He's seen the future and standing back is the best option: Denise lunges for the overnight bag. She is hugging it when Frank bursts into the room.
Frank's eyes lock onto the bag. He see's the way Denise is cradling it. As he's suffered with the same demon himself, he now recognises Crowley's prophecy for what it was. The words come. Crowley only has to watch as the the strands explode: Frank and Denise's connections fray and burn; the ties between Crowley and Denise (high school friend, groupie, musician, addict) wither away too - passed beyond a point of recovery. Their time is done. Frank and Crowley's ties fracture but hold: they have work to do in the future but for now they need time apart. This way, Frank will hurtle toward the waiting tangle of threads, just over the horizon, that should furnish him with friendships that will last a life time.
The Enchanter doesn't need the Sight to tell him that their band, Dark Trinity is done. It is still a kick in the guts to see the awful fate lock in place for Denise. Crowley can see it in the downward spiral of Time and the severed connection of Fate. He hates it. No matter where she turns the darkness will come for her.
He hears the thunder of argument and each syllable is like an axe cutting him to the core.
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