Continued from here...

"RUN!"

West yelled at the two Necromancers, reeling to regain his bearings. His hand came up, firing his pistol at Vector, hating his subconscious decision. Green eyes danced with delight as full lips spoke before elongating into feline features: I've been waiting for this.

Some mornings, he found himself washing his hands, over and over, trying to get the blood off; the specks and smears that burned. JoAnne's blood. Thomas' blood. Her blood.

His mouth filled with blood as Vector turned his own shots back at him, striking true twice, and claws raked his ribs and face. The Mysterious Rook moved between the moments, as he had so many times before, claiming his birthright.

He knelt over the woman, watching the man disappear into the haze of the rain. One hand held his stomach, held parts of him inside, the skin and muscle that normally did it shredded. His other hand fiddled with the flaps of skin hanging down his face, trying to arrange them to where he could see... until he realized a claw had ruined that eye.

Leaning over, he rested his head on hers, human again upon death, for a few moments. He didn't want to rise; the pain beckoned him to a warm, dark place. A place without secrets. Without mistakes.

But there was the envelope.

The one he always carried; the one the Wraith had given him. You're leaving me now, but you'll be there when I die, James... and this is important.

He didn't know what Ash had heard... but he knew he had something important to add to it.

West stepped through, and over moments, bashing the window in and starting the car in the blink of an eye. Moved the car through the river of time, faster than the Fallen would condone. Gritting his teeth, he added the Abyss's claw marks to hers, unwilling to let it loose.

And there they were. The Sybil's Sight strobed around the truck, as he tried to stay conscious, trying to catch them. Even as he lost control of the car, trying to take the same turn, he cursed himself for not listening to Ankh; for not driving more often.

He sat in the mangled car, staring dully at the pool of blood and entrails that had splashed out, this time... waiting... for the blackness to come, to shroud his failure.

Don't place faith in human beings -
human beings are unreliable things.
Don't place faith in human beings;
human beings or butterfly wings.
- Machines of Loving Grace, "Butterfly Wings"