Chapter 7

It's been quite a while, hasn't it?

Seeing that I miraculously obtained a social life, my writing was put on the back burner. Plus with the random flow of ideas I've been having, my drafting process had been random as well. At the moment, I have a majority of chapter 8 written, half of chapter 9, parts of chapters 10 and 11 and a whole lot of little scenes I have to cram into a linear plotline. *sigh* My muse is a sadistic son-of-a-banshee. So sorry for the wait!

The first part is another gory flashback. If you're squemish about that sort of thing, just skip the first chunk of italics. If not, enjoy the angst!

"Haven't you learned your lesson yet, foolish Saturday? There is no escape."

Four crimson roses bloomed across his sleeve as piercing nails dug through the fabric. Zak gave a small gasp as they deepened, then clutched around his arm once more. He gave a feeble groan of pain, bracing for impact as his body crumpled against the floor. The freshly drawn blood scattered across the room, glittering like rubies in the fiery torch light.

"Let go... of me." Zak flinched as cold, ashen fingers cupped his trembling chin, tilting it upwards to meet his captor's gaze.

"Tell. Me." Argost whispered in his ear, his touch too soft and his voice too calm.

"N-n-never." The boy let out another strangled cough, dying his teeth. He spat out the offending substance, fighting off nausea as fought to keep breathing. Argost's neutral stare flickered, showing his emotions for a split second.

"Oh, but you will. You will tell me. Because you know what will happen if you don't."

Zak remained stubbornly silent, staring down his captor with bloodshot eyes.

"Very well."

Zak closed his eyes, not knowing or caring what Argost did to him. All he felt was unidentifiable pain. Everything was pain. Zak struggled to stay silent. Argost didn't need the satisfaction of knowing his techniques were effective. No, he would just have to grit his teeth and bear it.

He couldn't hold in the hiss of pain as two burning lines darted across his chest in quick succession. A bloody 'X' seeped through the already stained fabric, the remaining held together by mere threads. These lines were traced relentlessly, silently.

Again and again, again and again, until the edges of his vision finally faded to black...

The only sounds in the whitewashed medical wing were the muffled, strangled cries of the pre-teen Saturday fighting his subconscious demons. He gave another pitiful moan as he trembled with the subconscious fear that coursed through his veins.

He gave a small gasp as sobs racked through his body. His mind made the sharp transition from dreamland to reality, flooding Zak with a frightening awareness. His eyes flickered behind closed lids, searching for the assailant who had long since disappeared. They clamped themselves tighter, not knowing what or whom they might face when they opened. Zak hoped, prayed, that he wasn't back there. Anywhere but the nightmare factory that had haunted his dreams...

His hands stretched out hesitantly, softening with relief as they grazed over soft fabric bed sheets. At this touch, he allowed his eyes to work their way open, blurring at the half-lit bulbs hanging over his head. He turned his gaze rightwards to the beeping EKG emblazoned with the Saturday's symbol. All doubt was swept from his mind. He was home. His rescue was no dream.

His breath hitched in his throat when he thought about the battle for Kur. 'How many more people are going to get hurt because of me?'

A deafening snore brought him from his thoughts of reverie. The sight of a certain redhead dozing by the nightstand stopped his mind short. Amusement was the first emotion that came to mind, but all Zak could manage was a hollow chuckle. He shuddered as he put a hand to his chest.

'Is that really what I sound like?'

His gaze turned back to Doyle. His face was pressed against the metal stand, fidgeting slightly in his slumber. 'I bet he's supposed to be watching me.' Zak joked dryly. Not wanting to disturb his uncle, Zak settled back down on the mattress and tried to fall back asleep.

Fifteen minutes later, his patience finally waned, and he turned on his side to face Doyle.

Giving his shoulder a slight shove, Zak sighed, "Doyle, get up."

"Nngh... leave me alone." Doyle mumbled into his sleeve, his speech slurred from his half-asleep state.

A real smirk crossed Zak's lips, but faded just as quickly. "Come on, you dork." Zak prodded him again, this time spurring a reaction from the ex-mercenary. He turned to the pre-teen with a look of annoyance before realizing just who had awakened him. He shot up in his seat, relief and surprise widening his eyes.

"Zak! You're awake! How long have you been up? Are you feeling alright? What-"

Zak cut in, a reassuring grin plastered on his face. "Doyle, I'm fine. Keep your hat on." He combed his fingers through his two-toned bangs. As long as he kept up this façade, everything would blow over. Just a lie here and there; no one will get hurt.

Doyle sighed, dropping back into his chair. "That's a relief. You were in a pretty bad way when we got you here." His expression darkened, "There were times that we thought you might not..." He shook his head, regaining his positive countenance, "No. We always had hope. I know I did."

He gave a small nod, his mood lightening by fractions, "Thanks for coming when you did. You've always had a tendency to show up just in the nick of time."

"Don't sweat it, mini-man! I'm actually starting to enjoy this hero stuff." He gave his signature laugh, folding his arms behind his head. "I think your dad's finally starting to respect me for what I do."

'Mom and Dad!' Zak thought with "How are they? Were they hurt too badly?"

"They're just fine. A couple of scratches here and there, but nothing they can't handle."

Zak nodded, losing himself in thought once more. "How did you know where to find us? Did Mom and Dad tell you?"

He shook his head. "When I went to the house, nobody was there. But one look in the lab and I knew exactly where they were heading."

"I see..." Uncomfortable silence grasped the two for a few aching minutes. The Doyle pulled on a fake smile, changing the subject in an attempt to lighten the increasingly awkward atmosphere.

"You know... I just recently went to London."

"No kidding?" Zak joked, "Just decided to take a vacation?"

"Less of a vacation and more of a business trip."

The pre-teen smirked, his amused expression not reaching his eyes. "Didn't think your kind of people lived in London. I thought that place was all about L'Amour"

"Hey, France isn't as pretty a place as it seems. Especially not where I hang out." He chuckled at Zak's questioning glance. "A business is a business, okay?"

Zak rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah..." He stretched his arms, flinching as his healing scars protested the movement. This motion of discomfort didn't go unnoticed, much to Zak's chagrin.

"Whoa, don't hurt yourself!" Doyle started, "You okay?"

"Just a little pain. No big deal." He rubbed his throbbing side, hoping to quell some of the discomfort that came to the surface. One look into Doyle's eyes and Zak knew this wasn't over. He wouldn't be satisfied with passing comment. 'Keep your cool. You don't know how much they've got figured out.'

Doyle groaned, dreading the conversation that he was about to start, "You're hurt really badly, and I... we know those aren't all from the Kur battle."

'Damn! How'd they catch on so fast?' His mind reeled, searching for an explanation, a way to put this off... but his mind was pulling blanks. 'Looks like it has to go down the hard way.'

Shrinking back into the pillows, Zak turned towards his uncle. "What do you think you know?" Hesitance cracked his voice, revealing his nervousness.

"Not near enough, that's for sure." He sighed, pausing for a good half-minute before speaking again, the words carrying a worried weight, "What happened in there, Zak?"

Zak froze at the question, his gaze turning downwards. He expected this. He knew the exact words that would leave Doyle's mouth. Yet to hear them spoken triggered something dark in Zak's mind. His eyes drifted to a place only he could see, squinting in pain as he fell into his memories...

"Yes, you're the good little traitor, aren't you?" Argost smiled, his lips brushing the folds of Zak's ear.

"No..." Zak mumbled weakly, shuddering at the contact. He pawed feebly at the gnarled hand that clutched his neck, but that only served to amuse his tormentor.

"Wouldn't your mummy be proud of you? Couldn't even last two days before breaking. So fragile." He laughed, "You're making this almost too easy for me. It's no fun playing with someone so weak."

"I'm not weak..."

Another mocking laugh filled the barren chamber, "Little Saturday... little traitor..."

Traitor... traitor...

"Zak? Zak!" Doyle's concerned voice broke him out of his thoughts. He wiped the sweat from his brow, facing Doyle with what he hoped was a brave face. He turned up his eyes, wincing internally at Doyle's fearful expression.

In that instant, Zak realized that this would happen again. He would worry them, make them hurt, all because of his weaknesses. 'All of the worry they have, all of the hurt they feel… all because of me. This can't affect me. I have to learn to keep my emotions in check for their sake.'

"I'm fine, Doyle." He mumbled, hoping Doyle would have the sense to let it go.

"You're not fine. What just happened? What's going on?" His voice was now hushed, but insistent. "What did he do to you?"

"Please, Doyle. I can't talk about it. I can't talk about him." Zak pleaded, tears welling in his eyes.

"Damn it all, Zak! You don't need to go through everything by yourself! That's what you said to me, remember? We're family." The calm in Doyle's features as he said this scared Zak even more then the intensity in his eyes. Zak glared, a sneer crossing his features. 'Why can't he just leave it be?'

"Bad breakups can be fixed with a Band-Aid and a pep talk." He spat, warning venom dripping from every word. "Two weeks in Weird World cannot."

Doyle jeered, his frustration translating into malice, "Stop being so difficult, Zak! You need to talk about it! How can we try to help you if we don't know what's wrong?"

"I don't need your pity! I don't need your help! Why aren't you listening to me?"

"Oh, now I see what's going on!" Something inside Doyle snapped, his demeanor making a complete 180º, "Let me guess, Uncle Argost wasn't who you thought he was? What's the matter, no autograph? No souvenir photo?"

With that, the last of Zak's battered resolve crumbled.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Zak cried, sitting up in the bed so that he met Doyle's eyes.

"Then enlighten me! Unless you think your tales aren't grandiose enough to tell."

"I'm not saying anything!"

"Why? What possible reason could you have-?"

"I just don't want you to be disappointed in me!" Zak put his face in his hands, trying in vain to hide the sobs wracking his frame.

Doyle gasped, brought back to reality with a jolt. His heart clenched at the sight of his broken nephew, calling back the words spoken mere seconds before.

"I was weak. I made some huge mistakes. If you knew what I did... you'd hate me for sure." He pulled in his knees, arms wrapped around his legs.

"Zak, I…"

"No. Don't say anything. Just leave. I need to be by myself." Zak turned his gaze to the darkened window, sounding far too weathered for his years.

Doyle's face fell in a sign of defeat, "I'm sorry. I'll let you rest." He trudged through the doorway, sliding the door shut with a muted click.

"I'm an idiot." Doyle spat, "What the hell's my problem?" His mind ran rampant with self-berating thoughts. His memories buzzed relentlessly, the scene playing again and again in his mind. By then had passed regret; he was just numbed by the experience. Giving one last glance at the hospital doorways, he set off to his room. In those seconds, Doyle decided against telling his parents of Zak's awakened condition. Chances were that they'd try to have the same conversation, ending with the same results.

Doyle sank to the ground, leaning against the wall for support. 'He's too young for this. Eleven years old, and already holding so much weight on his shoulders. He shouldn't have to be this brave.'

He had lost.

It was incredible, almost inconceivable. Somehow, someway, he had failed.

Argost stood in his manor, staring out the window into the light rainfall. His eyes glazed over the dew-dusted garden, his attention not held by the peaceful scenery.

Argost pursed his lips, demeanor matching that of a stubborn child. He couldn't have been wrong. Something must have been missed. How could it be that he had miscalculated so grossly…?

The rush of footsteps and the click of a door brought Argost from his rumination. He remained motionless, not turning to greet the mercenary that entered his office.

Van Rook approached the desk, stopping a few feet short of the Weird World host. He waited expectantly, not wanting to be the first one to break the calm.

Minutes passed in silence.

Van Rook drummed his fingers, visibly annoyed by his bosses' action, or lack thereof. Sensing the mercenary's irritation, Argost heaved a sigh and began to speak.

"I was a fool." Argost grumbled, running his fingers through his white hair. Van Rook opened his mouth, a smart-aleck comment on the tip of his tongue, but he decided it was best not to speak.

"Blinded by passion...," he continued, "It is not possible that cryptid was Kur... just unthinkable. A mere boy could not defeat the king of cryptids. It just isn't possible."

Van Rook rolled his eyes, annoyance present in his Russian drawl, "What did you expect? We went to the tomb, found the cryptid... what did you think was going to happen?"

Argost threw a sharp glare in his direction. "I must have been wrong. Somewhere along the line, despite my best efforts, there was a flaw in my plan. The question is where I went wrong."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Van Rook growled. "What is all this nonsense? 'A flaw in the plan'... What is that supposed to mean? Were all of our efforts for nothing?"

"But there aren't any other options. If that was not Kur... I fear that we may have to start over again."

"I'm almost afraid to ask." Van Rook sighed, "What's the plan now?"

"Well, since we are back at square one, I would assume more research is in order."

"More research?" An incredulous look found its way across Van Rook's face, "You have the freaking stone, the supposed key to Kur! What else could you need?"

"Perhaps," Argost mused, "that is not the only piece to the puzzle."

"I give up." Van Rook threw up his hands in exasperation, "I knew it was useless to reason with you, old man. Fine with me. Call me when find something useful." With that, he stormed out of the office, muttering to himself.

Argost shook his head, pushing Van Rook's antics out of his mind.

'I do not understand...'Argost thought, tracing his fingers over the aged engravings. 'I've translated every passage, unlocked every secret, but there's something I'm still missing.'

He gave a grim smile as his eyes skimmed over a familiar etching. 'I followed the instructions to the letter. Perhaps that was my downfall.'

While he had read some of the legends, a few assorted cryptozoology reports, and other documents of the like, he still had much to learn of Kur's past. How the king of cryptids came into being. It was there that his research was severely lacking.

"However," he murmured, gaze fixed on the stone-cut snake, "I know someone who does."

Van Rook slumped on a dark blue couch, eyes flicking from the clock to the video screen. An hour had passed since he contacted his, but she had still not shown up.

'Argost does not like to be kept waiting.' He thought with chagrin. 'Where is that girl? If she doesn't come soon-"

As though on cue, a masked, black-haired woman made her way through the window, shutting off her jetpack and falling gracefully to the floor.

Less then impressed with her acrobatics, he gave a groan of annoyance, "There you are, apprentice. I thought you would never show." He rose from his seat, making his way towards the den.

"You sent for me, Van Rook?" Abbey said, removing her mask and straightening her hair.

"Argost called. He said something about a change of plans, but he wanted us both to be here." He gestured to the oversized screen behind him, finger poised over the blinking power switch.

"This can't be good." She grumbled, "Well, get him on the line."

Van Rook flipped the small switch on the wall. Argost's ghostly visage flickered onto the screen, a small half-smile gracing his masked face.

"Ah, Abbey. So glad you could make it. I hope the trip over treated you well- nasty storms coming in from Scotland this week."

Abbey rolled her eyes, "Spare us the pleasantries, Argost. This isn't a tea time social. Why are we here?"

"Straight to the point, then?" Argost chuckled, clasping his hands together, "I wish to speak with you about your current obligations"

Abbey nodded, motioning for Argost to continue. As he began to speak, the two mercenaries' faces read first bemusement, the shock, and finally annoyance.

The apprentice shook her head, "I don't believe this! After all of the time-"

"And money" Van Rook growled.

"And money," she added, "we spent on this project, you are still removing us?" Abbey cried indignantly.

"Ah, my dear, you misunderstand. I am merely... changing the game plan a little."

Abbey felt a small knot form in her gut. Nervousness. It'd been a while since that emotion had been sprung on her. 'This doesn't feel right. Something's just... off.'

Regaining her statuesque composure, she responded impassively, "Go on."

"I need you to keep a close eye on the Saturdays for me."

"Like I haven't already." Abbey quipped, a look of annoyance darkening her countenance.

Argost held up a hand, "Without the intention to kill, I must add. I need to know their location at all times from the moment they step foot out of their home. They must not be out of my sights."

"How do you expect me to do this?"

"You are the mercenary's apprentice, not me."

She glanced at Van Rook, "I take it I'll be bugging the airship? They use that thing daily, and if they go anywhere 'important' it'll be in that."

Argost gave a small smile, "Excellent idea. I knew you had it in you."

Van Rook cut in, "May I ask why you want to spare them? It seems quite odd that you of all people would have a change of heart."

"I assure you, Van Rook, personal feelings play no part in this. I have a theory forming that requires the Saturdays to be alive. I will give no further details until I am confident in my plan's success."

"Yes, sir." Abbey dryly responded, giving a pointed glance to Van Rook. This motion of discomfort did not go unnoticed by Argost, who chuckled in response.

"Now now, Madame. No need to fret. All will be revealed in due time. And I assure you, you will be duly compensated for your hard work."

"We will not disappoint, Argost."

"Good. Keep me posted. I have a very long to-do list and altercating with the Saturdays is not on it. Au revoir." The image flickered and faded, replaced with a dial tone and a blank screen.

"The old man's up to something." Abbey said, "You think his 'meeting' went well?"

Van Rook shrugged, "It's safe to say that what's good news for him is bad news for us."

"And the rest of the world." Abbey grimly nodded assent, making her way towards the open window.

Just one last thing to clear up. Yes, Zak is Kur. That whole revelation will come up in a couple of chapters.

A final word- I have an opening for a new Beta-Reader. If anyone would like to take pity on this poor, unexperienced author, send a message my way!

Thank you!

-UltimateShipper2009

PS: I like reviews. A lot. *hint hint*