Chapter Text
“Do it.”
Heavy clouds swirled with ominous shades of gray and deep navy. Rain pours down in relentless sheets, creating puddles along the gritty, uneven ground and casting a reflective sheen over the iron tracks. Sparse, flickering lights from distant streetlamps add a faint, eerie glow, which barely penetrates the dense shadows around the pair.
Alex stood soaked and tense, his back to the tracks of a dimly lit train car. His expression was a mix of fear and defiance, though his trembling hands betrayed him. Inches away, Nigel held a gun trained on him—specifically, a 12-gauge double-barrel shotgun. Not a classy way to go, Alex thought grimly, his face partially obscured by rain-slicked hair.
Nigel’s expression was hard, his narrowed eyes focused with an unsettling intensity, conveying both determination and perhaps a trace of regret. Rain dripped down his arm and hand, clinging to the slick metal of the weapon.
The rhythmic patter of raindrops on the tracks, punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder, created a tension that pressed down on the two figures like a physical weight. The unsettling stillness between them was almost unbearable.
“Jack,” Nigel said, his tone calm, composed as ever.
Alex’s jaw tightened at the sound. He could never stand that about Nigel—his unnerving composure, his ability to remain collected no matter the chaos. It didn’t matter now. It never did.
“Stop it, walking away, Jack,” Nigel continued, his voice even, almost dispassionate.
“Do it… DO IT!” Alex’s voice cracked, the raw edge of desperation cutting through the rain. He wasn’t sure if the trembling in his voice came from the yelling or his unraveling composure.
Nigel stepped forward, his pace quickening, the gun still pointed meticulously at Alex. The weapon seemed foreign in his grip, as if he’d never held one before. The awkward way he handled it made the situation feel even more unhinged. A high-pitched screech echoed from a nearby train, its blinding headlights casting a cold, eerie glow over the tracks.
“Get off the tracks.” Nigel’s tone shifted, more expressive than usual, tinged with urgency. The coy smile he so often wore was gone, replaced with a calm yet haunting glare. His pale complexion, now flushed from the frigid air, gave him an almost spectral appearance.
“Do it, Nigel!” Alex shouted, his voice grating and raw. He stumbled backward, his footing clumsy on the slick, uneven ground. His mind raced, the same thought replaying over and over: I can’t believe this. Nigel’s Fuck. He’s always been Fucked. No matter how hard Alex tried to escape Nigel’s mess, it always found him, dragging him back into its devastating grip. Nigel was like a plague, his presence infecting and ruining everything.
“You had no issues killing your parents, so why stop now? DO IT!” Alex’s voice rose to a wail, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself.
Nigel’s grip on the gun tightened. “You killed my father, Alex.”
Alex’s eyes burned with fury as he spat back, “No! You set this up. This was your doing!” He stepped further back, his voice shaking with anger. “That courtesan woman you call a mother? That was your doing, too!”
An angry visage flashed across Nigel’s face briefly “She was my Maraclea, she was chosen, Jack.”
A disgusting display this was to Alex, how Nigel’s falsehoods of religion were so badly warped he’d resort to incestual relations with his own mother.
“I showed you the card, remember.” The train could be heard blaring its horn loudly, deafening to all around,
“It’s written for eternity,” Nigel began, his voice steady, almost reverent. But before he could continue, Alex lunged forward, shoving both of them off the tracks. They hit the ground hard, the rain-soaked earth muffling the impact as Alex wrestled the gun free from Nigel’s grip. In one swift motion, he turned it around, the barrel now aimed squarely at Nigel.
“We’re not part of your stupid Templar bullshit, okay?” Alex snapped, his voice sharp with anger and conviction. “There are no more holy wars to fight, Nigel! Who’s the enemy now?”
Nigel’s eyes met Alex’s, his expression calm but his voice low and gravelly as he replied, “We are.” He paused, his composure cracking just slightly as his voice trembled. “Because… because we wanted more than what life had to offer.”
“You’re deluded, Nigel. You know that,” Alex shot back, his voice biting.
“Why?” Nigel asked, his tone rising with a hint of desperation. “Why am I deluded? It’s all fate, Alex. Every piece of it!”
“Shut the fuck up”. Despite holding the gun his finger was never on the trigger; in all honesty, he’d never shoot Nigel.
“Pray for me,” Nigel whispered, his face contorted into an expression that was both pathetic and haunting. The rain streaked down his pale features, accentuating the hollow look in his eyes.
Alex froze, his composure cracking under the weight of those unexpected words. “What… what are you doing?” he stammered, his voice unsteady, his grip on the gun faltering. Nigel’s slow, deliberate movements only heightened Alex’s unease, the surrealness of the moment leaving him completely thrown off.
“Pray for me… Jack…, pray for yourself” Nigel’s hands now placed on the gun his finger gripping the trigger,
“We're one now”
As a deafening bang cried out across the area
Forever and for eternity
Or so he thought. The gun, drenched from the relentless rain and clogged with mud from their scuffle, malfunctioned as Nigel pulled the trigger. The barrel buckled under the pressure, blowing apart with a deafening crack. Pellets scattered, a few slicing through the air to nick both Alex and Nigel.
“Ahhh, fuck!” Alex yelled, instinctively dropping the shattered weapon. His hands throbbed with pain, small shards of metal and pellets embedded beneath the skin. Blood trickled from the wounds, mixing with the mud and water clinging to his soaked clothes. He glanced down at himself, dishevelled and bleeding—a pitiful sight. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making every beat feel deafening.
“Look at you... Jack, quite pathetic indeed,” Nigel said, his voice sharp despite the strain in it.
Nigel wasn’t faring much better. Blood stained his tattered clothing, a dark crimson spreading across the white of his tank top near his chest. A long, jagged cut marred his left cheek, the blood from it dripping down his face like the rich red of aged wine spilling from a cracked porcelain cup. Despite the wound, there was a strange beauty in his appearance—eerily calm.
The two of them collapsed onto the rain-soaked ground, sitting side by side without a word. Their shoulders almost touched, but neither acknowledged the other. The rain continued to fall in steady sheets, the rhythmic hiss of droplets blending with their labored breaths. Water and blood trickled from their hair, pooling in the mud around them.
Alex shifted uncomfortably, stealing a glance at Nigel before quickly looking away, his lips pressed into a tight line. His hands fidgeted in his lap, restless and unsure, as though they wanted to reach out but couldn’t. Nigel stared straight ahead, unmoving, his expression unreadable.
Nigel raised a hand to wipe the blood from his cheek, his gaze never meeting Alex’s. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both returned to staring into the gray, heavy downpour, bound by something unspoken yet divided by a chasm of unresolved tension.
“Let’s go, Alex,” Nigel said suddenly, his tone low and serious.
The abruptness of his words caught Alex off guard. He stood quickly, stepping back with a frantic shake of his head. “Go? Go where, Nigel? This whole situation is fucked! I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I-”
Before Alex could finish, Nigel leaned forward, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him down to his level. Without hesitation, Nigel kissed him—a quick, forceful act that left Alex stunned. He released Alex just as abruptly, leaning back as though nothing had happened.
Alex stood frozen, his mind racing. What just happened? Why did he do that? What does he want from me… and what do I want? His fingers brushed against his lips as if trying to make sense of the sensation.
“Let’s go home, Jack,” Nigel said softly, his voice gentle and calm, his expression unreadable. He seemed deep in thought, his mind far away, as if the chaos surrounding them didn’t exist.
Alex remained silent, the rain continuing to fall as the weight of Nigel’s words hung in the air between them.
3 days later
Alex woke with a start, the unfamiliar surroundings pulling him from a restless sleep. The room was dim, the faint glow of morning barely filtering through heavy curtains. His heart raced as his eyes darted around, taking in the cluttered space—Nigel’s room. The air felt heavy, almost oppressive, and the only sound was the relentless ticking of an old clock on the wall. Each tick seemed louder than the last, pounding in his ears like a reminder of what he’d done.
Paranoia clawed at his mind, his thoughts circling endlessly. They’ll find out. Someone’s going to figure it out.
He tried to steady his breathing, but the unease only grew, the weight of guilt and fear pressing down on him like a physical force.
Suddenly, a loud noise echoed from somewhere beneath him—a clatter, followed by muffled thumps. Alex stiffened his nerves already on edge. His thoughts scrambled to make sense of it.
What the fuck is Nigel doing down there? he wondered, his fists clenching the blanket as he strained to listen. The sounds grew louder, more erratic, as though something heavy was being dragged or thrown.
Nigel crawled through the undercroft, his body moving in tight, fluid motions between the narrow spaces, avoiding the clutter that littered the damp stone floor. The dim light from a flickering lantern cast long shadows across the room, the cool stone walls seeming to close in around him. The air was thick with the smell of old books and the faint, musty odor of the preservation chemicals that lined the shelves. Each breath he took felt heavy, saturated with the scent of dust and forgotten memories.
Rows of aging bookshelves stretched across the room, sagging under the weight of countless neglected volumes. Leather-bound tomes and faded journals sat haphazardly on the shelves, some spilling over onto the tables below. Their cracked spines and yellowed pages whispered of secrets long buried in the forgotten corners of the world.
The unsettling presence of taxidermy creatures dotted the room, their glass eyes frozen in an eternal, lifeless stare. A fox, caught in the act of snarling, rested on one of the tables, its fur matted with dust. Nearby, a large owl’s skeletal wings stretched out across the wall, the bones eerily clean and white in the dim light. The dusty air clung to their fur and feathers, giving them a ghostly, unreal quality as they remained frozen in time, caught between life and death.
Nigel’s pale hands brushed against the cold, damp stone of the room as he made his way toward a massive, antique armchair. Its cracked leather groaned under his touch as he passed it, the cobwebs clinging to the furniture like forgotten remnants of a past long abandoned. His eyes shifted to the mounted deer’s head hanging above, its antlers curving ominously and its glassy gaze watching his every movement. Shadows gathered around the edges of the room, casting unsettling flickers across the dark, cluttered space.
He reached the desk, the one place in the room that seemed to hold some form of organization. There, sitting in the middle of the clutter, was his father’s suitcase. The old leather was battered and worn, the surface covered in scratches and scuffs that had accumulated over years of travel. The brass clasps, tarnished and barely holding on, seemed to whisper of long-forgotten journeys, of a life that had slipped away. The handle, frayed and cracked, revealed softer leather beneath, worn down by the years. A few faded travel stickers clung stubbornly to its surface; relics of destinations now lost to time.
Nigel gripped the suitcase handle tightly, pulling it closer with a slight groan. He set it down on the desk with a soft thud. “Shit, too loud,” he muttered, quickly opening it. His eyes scanned the contents with quick, practiced urgency. He pulled out a silver pocket watch, its surface gleaming faintly in the weak light. How refined this must’ve felt in my father’s grip, he thought. Wrapped in a faded handkerchief, a few loose coins jingled as they dropped to the bottom. He tossed both onto the desk with a rough motion, the clink of metal seeming too loud in the stillness. His fingers lingered on the pocket watch for a moment, its cold surface grounding him in the quiet.
1 Hour Later
Alex pulled himself up and out of Nigel’s bed, planting his bare feet on the cool, dark floorboards beneath him. He sat there, lost in thought, his expression blank as he stared down at the grain of the wood. I should probably see Father, his inner voice urged, though the thought alone filled him with a familiar sense of dread. The idea of going to him felt almost unbearable, yet the thought of simply going back to normal felt even worse, hollow and somehow wrong.
As he moved through the quiet corridors of Nigel’s parents’ home, a sense of unease settled over him. The house felt stifling, the memories of what he’d supposedly done flickering through his mind, shadowing each step. The thought of anyone discovering the truth was terrifying, his stomach twisting at the possibility. And if Father knew… the fear of being cast aside gnawed at him, an ever-present reminder of what was at stake.
Reaching the front door, he opened it with a slight hesitation and shut it firmly behind him. Outside, the streets were dim but not quite dark, bathed in the fading light of late afternoon. He walked quickly toward the train station, his heart pounding with each step. When he arrived, he boarded the first train, settling into a seat and watching as the world blurred past the window.
It took about an hour for the train to reach the academy, where he knew he’d find his father.
As he stepped onto the campus, the familiar emptiness greeted him—a stark, plain landscape that always made him feel hollow and isolated. He’d never liked it here, and today, the feeling was especially strong. Alex climbed the steps of the main building, his footsteps echoing down the hallway that led to his father’s office. At the end of the hall, he stopped in front of the heavy wooden door marked “Headmaster’s Office.” He took a steadying breath, gathering his thoughts before raising a fist and knocking firmly.
“Come in,” his father’s voice called, calm and unmistakably familiar.
Alex opened the door and stepped inside, his father glancing up from a stack of papers. “Ah, Alex,” he greeted, a hint of surprise in his tone. “What brings you here, son?”
Now standing in front of his father’s large desk, Alex shifted nervously, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I… I need to talk to you about something.” His voice came out unsteady, the words hanging heavily in the quiet room.
His father barely glanced up, his voice cool. "What is it, Alex? Make it quick. I’ve got a meeting in ten."
(Context for upcoming text. Josh is Alex’s friend who died on the train in the movie)
Alex took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I was wondering if... if I could start winter break a little early this year."
His father’s eyes narrowed, a frown crossing his face as he finally met Alex’s gaze. "Start early? Why? Your exams aren’t finished yet."
Alex hesitated, the words tangled in his throat. He couldn’t tell his father the real reason. Not the whole truth. So instead, he lied. Well, sort of. "Dad, you know how Josh died. My best friend, and I—I can’t focus on anything right now. I just need some time."
His father’s expression remained unreadable, but he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest. "Alex, I understand it’s difficult. But life doesn’t stop because someone dies. You still have responsibilities."
Frustration bubbled in Alex’s chest, his voice rising involuntarily. "I’ve barely been able to sleep, and you’re telling me to just... act like nothing happened?"
His father held up a hand, his tone firm and steady. "I’m not saying that. But you can’t run from every hard thing that comes your way. Grief is part of life, Alex. You have to learn how to manage it."
Alex shook his head, his hands balled into fists by his sides.
"You don’t get it. You don’t want to get it. You never liked me anyway, so why would you care?"
A flicker of guilt passed across his father's face, and for a brief moment, Alex thought he might see something other than indifference. But then his father sighed deeply, a weary sound. "This isn’t about..., It’s about you learning to push through, even when it’s hard. But..." His voice softened, and he glanced at Alex’s tense posture, clearly weighing his next words. "If this is really what you need, I won’t stand in your way."
Alex blinked, surprised. His voice softened, almost uncertain. "You’ll let me go?"
His father nodded curtly, his gaze already returning to the paperwork. "Yes. But remember, this doesn’t mean you’re running away. Take the time to grieve, but don’t let it consume you. Understand?"
Alex nodded slowly, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad."
"Go on, then," his father said without looking up. "And Alex?"
Alex paused at the door, glancing back.
"I may not show it the way you want," his father said quietly, almost reluctantly, "but I do care. Just... be safe."
A faint, sad smile crossed Alex’s face, and for the first time in the conversation, he felt a sliver of connection. "I will."
With a final glance, he stepped out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence in the room lingered, heavy and unspoken, as his father returned to his work.
Alex walked in through the front door, the weight of his conversation with his father still lingering in his chest. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. He hadn’t expected Nigel to be there, but as soon as he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.
Arriving back at Nigel’s place, Alex didn’t bother to knock; he swung the door open and stepped inside.
“Where were you?”
Nigel’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unexpected, catching Alex off guard. He hadn’t anticipated any sort of confrontation, let alone the intensity of it the moment he crossed the threshold.
“…I just went to see my father,” Alex replied, hesitating, unsure of why he suddenly felt the need to explain himself.
“Why?” Nigel’s voice was cold, almost accusatory, as he stared directly at Alex. His gaze was intense, dark, and unyielding, as if he were trying to piece something together that Alex didn’t understand. If looks could kill, this one might have done the job.
“Why are you so concerned, Nigel?” Alex felt a rush of anger rise up in his chest, and his hands balled into fists as he spoke. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to leave. It’s none of your business.”
Nigel’s jaw tightened, his arms crossing stiffly over his chest. His eyes were hard, unblinking, and filled with a controlled anger that simmered just beneath the surface. He didn’t explode, didn’t yell, but the quiet fury radiated off him, palpable in the small space. A faint twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth, barely noticeable but telling of the intensity building inside him.
“It is my business if you’re staying here,” he replied, his voice low and controlled. The words dropped into the silence like stones, heavy and final. His brow was furrowed, a deep crease forming between his eyes as he stared Alex down. His foot tapped out a relentless, uneven rhythm against the wooden floor, a steady beat that seemed to punctuate the tension filling the room.
Alex’s own anger flared, matching the intensity of Nigel’s silence. “
Who said I was staying?” he shot back, his voice laced with defiance.
The room fell silent, each of them holding their ground, neither willing to back down. In the quiet, Alex could feel the weight of the unspoken things between them—the expectations, the resentments, the questions that hadn’t been answered. It wasn’t just about where he’d been; it was about everything that lay unsaid, simmering in the tense stillness that neither of them seemed willing to break.
Nigel’s jaw clenched as he stared at Alex, his arms crossed even tighter across his chest. The fury in his eyes was unmistakable, but beneath it, there was something else—betrayal, suspicion.
“You went to see your father,” Nigel repeated, his voice cold, almost spitting out the words. “Did you tell him about… us? About what we’ve been doing?”
Alex’s eyes widened, realizing the depth of Nigel’s anger. He took a step back, raising his hands slightly as if to defend himself from the accusation. “What? No! Nigel, I didn’t say a word about you—about any of this.”
Nigel’s gaze didn’t soften; his fists were clenched now, his whole body wound tight with suspicion. “Really? You don’t expect me to believe you just happened to go and have a nice chat with your father and didn’t bring up anything about us?”
“I didn’t rat you out,” Alex insisted, his voice rising with frustration. “I went to see him because…” He paused, struggling for words, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Because he’s my father. And I thought… maybe…” He swallowed, shaking his head. “It
wasn’t about you, Nigel. It was about me. About things I needed to say to him.”
Nigel studied Alex in silence, the distrust still evident in his expression. But he didn’t interrupt, letting Alex’s words settle.
Alex took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I know you think I’d turn on you, that I’d go running to someone the minute things got tough, but that’s not who I am. I’ve kept everything quiet—everything about you and… everything we’ve done. I would never do that to you.”
A flicker of doubt crossed Nigel’s face, his rigid stance softening ever so slightly. His foot stopped its relentless tapping, and the tightness in his posture loosened, if only a little. But his eyes remained wary, searching Alex’s face as if looking for the truth he wasn’t sure he could trust.
“So… you’re saying you didn’t say anything? Nothing that would make him look twice at me?”
“Nothing,” Alex replied firmly, meeting Nigel’s gaze. “I went because I had things I needed to work out for myself. Not to drag you into it.” He hesitated, then added, “Nigel, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to betray you.”
A long, tense silence followed, but something shifted between them. Nigel’s shoulders slumped a bit, the anger in his eyes dimming. He let out a slow breath, some of the fight draining out of him.
“Fine,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll take your word for it. Just… don’t go disappearing like that again. Not without telling me.”
Alex nodded, relief washing over him as the tension between them eased. “I won’t. I promise.”
Nigel gave a small, reluctant nod, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his gaze before he looked away. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the room feeling a little less heavy, a little less charged.