Chapter 337
Clementine:
He stood with his fists clenched. His face was hidden behind the darkness inside his hood.
He began to walk toward us, taking slow steps. Oriana ran until she reached the space behind us.
Ian, Yorick, Haiden, and I stepped forward, forming a wall to keep him from reaching the others.
The Whisperer began whispering again, speaking in tongues. We waited for someone to break under his control.
“I am guilty,” a voice said beside me.
I turned and saw Ian looking my way.
“I am guilty of tearing your family’s pictures. I am guilty of bullying you,” he whispered.
Then he closed his eyes and chuckled. He turned to the Whisperer.
“That is all you are getting from me. You cannot force more than that,” he said, showing he had broken the hypnotism.
None of us understood how, but there was no time to question it.
Another voice spoke.
“I am guilty of leaving Clementine with the ogres,” Troy yelled.
My heart skipped because the Whisperer seemed to be targeting people I loved, likely to punish me for exposing his curse.
“Everyone stay alert,” I stated.
“I am guilty,” Haiden said. I turned to him.
“I forgive you,” I replied.
“I am guilty,” Yorick said from behind me.
I turned, confused because I thought the Whisperer worked on one person at a time.
“I am guilty of hurting you,” Yorick uttered.
“I forgive you. I forgive you all,” I told them. Panic started rising.
“What is going on?” I whispered.
“Ian, get them out of here. All of them,” I yelled, because everyone began speaking at once.
“I am guilty p>
“I am guilty p>
“I am guilty p>
Their voices overlapped until it was impossible to make sense of anything.
No one could forgive anyone, because they were all too busy speaking their guilt.
“Ian,” I muttered, right before a sharp pain hit my chest.
It spread toward my head. I kept looking at Ian, and the realization hit me.
To escape the Whisperer’s magic, we needed to stand in front of the person we had wronged, so they could either forgive us or watch us die.
But with everyone trapped in their confession, there was no one available to forgive anyone.
Then it reached me.
“I am guilty of making you feel so bad, Ian, that you took the poison for me,” I said.
Ian’s eyes widened. My hand moved on its own. I took the knife from my pocket, but Ian lunged forward and tore it out of my grip.
My body still pushed to reach for it. I needed the blade. I needed to drive it into my throat.
“I forgive you. I was never angry with you about that. You had every right to be upset with me, Clementine,” Ian said, holding both my wrists and shaking me back to awareness.
My eyes turned toward the others. Every single one of them was now scrambling for knives or anything sharp.
Yorick began banging his head against the wall. Others bit each other or grabbed whatever they could use.
Ian sprinted forward. He slammed his shoulder into the Whisperer’s stomach.
The Whisperer fell, and Ian climbed on top, punching him, but every hit sank into the empty darkness of the hood where a face should have been.
The Whisperer shoved Ian off with one sharp push.
Ian landed on the hard ground, but the moment he hit it, he pushed himself back up.
As soon as he stood, he ran toward the Whisperer again.
I rushed in at the same time. I grabbed the Whisperer’s arm and pulled it back to give Ian a clear hit. His arm was solid.
The darkness inside his hood did not react. There was no face to read and no eyes to meet.
He swung his hand at me. The hit threw me against the wall.
My breath left my chest for a moment, but I forced myself up before he could turn back to me.
Ian had hooked both his arms under the Whisperer’s arms from behind, trying to lock him in place.
The Whisperer twisted his body with sudden strength and broke out of Ian’s hold even while fighting both of us.
He lunged at me. I punched him before he could reach me.
I aimed for his ribs instead of his hood. The hit landed clean.
He staggered but stayed on his feet. I punched him again, this time at his side, and felt the force run up my arm.
He grabbed my wrist and tried to hurl me away. Ian charged in and slammed his shoulder into the Whisperer’s side.
All three of us hit the floor together. For a second, I saw the others around us begin to wake up from the Whisperer’s hold.
They were wounded and unsteady, and the knife I had almost used on myself lay a few feet away.
Ian rolled fast and pinned the Whisperer’s legs. I knew I could go for the knife, but I chose Ian instead.
The Whisperer was the real danger, and if we controlled him, the others had a chance.
I climbed up and pressed my knee to the Whisperer’s chest. That was when I saw it.
The darkness under his hood shifted, almost like something inside turned toward me.
I froze for a second. He lifted both hands and aimed at me.
A burst of wind hit me and pushed me back, but Ian grabbed my arm and pulled me down before I could fly across the floor.
He steadied me on my feet.
I punched the Whisperer again. Ian punched him too. We hit him again and again to keep him from whispering or moving.
He threw both arms outward. The blast of wind knocked us back, but Ian grabbed my waist before I slid far.
We got up at the same time he did.
The Whisperer aimed his hand at Ian. I ran in and struck his wrist before he could release another blow.
Ian took the chance and punched him in the chest. The Whisperer stumbled.
I followed with a kick to his knee. His leg bent, and he dropped down a little.
While he was on his knees, Ian grabbed his hoodie and pulled it back.
Both of us gasped. His face began to form out of the darkness.
His eyes moved until they locked on mine. Heat rushed up my throat, making it hard for me to breathe.
I stared at him, unable to look away.
“Father,” I whispered.