The Light Between the Trees Ch. 15

Author's note: Traumatised by being held hostage in the cafe siege, Chloe has chosen a new direction in her life. She gives up her steady boyfriend and stable job to seek out new thrills in risky encounters. Covalent has laid out his plans to make her disappear and Chloe finds herself spiraling deeper and deeper into his fantasy of total control.

The story contains themes of female submission, edge play and autassassinophilia. Discretion is advised: please check the story tags to see whether this a series you'll enjoy.]

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THIN AIR

We're on a little path threading its way through the trees. Covalent's leading the way, a daypack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts that show off the muscles in his legs. I'm watching them bunch and stretch as we make our way over the terrain, the shape of his arms, the broad, powerful shoulders. He works out, whatever else he does for fun, and I find myself fascinated and enticed by his body.

I try to keep up, but I'm barefoot. He made me slather myself in suncream before we set out, especially on my shorn scalp, and my skin is glistening subtly in the sun. I'm conscious of the air, the way my bare body moves through it, feeling the stirrings of the warm breeze against my naked skin. I'm still dirty from yesterday's dust, the patina of grime is etched into my skin like I'll never get clean again, but I don't expect to. Covalent has decided that I'm like this and I have no say in the matter.

We stop for a rest, and he takes out the water bottle so I can drink. I can tell there's something on his mind, so I wait for him to speak. I'm being deferential, and it's so alien to me; I've always been the one leading the conversation, getting things done, the boss bitch, and now I find myself here. I'm stripped bare, stripped of everything from my life, at his mercy, waiting quietly for him to talk. Finally, he fixes me with a look, taking the drink bottle from me and taking a swig of water himself.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asks.

"Because you brought me here."

"I didn't mean that. I meant, why did you go along with all this?"

There's enough boss bitch left in me to flip the conversation and redirect. I don't want to give him that answer, not after recent events.

"Why did you?" I counter.

To my surprise, he laughs and says, "You're wily."

"You're avoiding the question."

"So are you."

I don't reply. I can hold a silence when I want to. I play that particular game at Olympic level.

"You mean, where did it come from? How did I get the idea of doing this to someone?"

"Yeah, that."

He shrugs, and I'm ready for him to misdirect me. I'm determined to get an answer, regardless of how he evades. But, he shocks me by coming straight out with it, and it sounds entirely like the truth.

"You might have figured this out about me by now, Raven. I'm a sociopath."

What? What the actual fuck?

"It got rebranded, after all those goddamn movies. The clinical diagnosis is psychopathy."

"You mean you're a psychopath."

"That's a pejorative term these days."

"That's fucking important data for me to know."

Despite the warmth of the day, I feel suddenly cold. This was not how I expected the conversation to go.

"Yeah, I guess."

"What does it mean?"

"For you? Nothing. For me, it's, uh, I guess it's a constant battle."

His conversational tone unnerves me and I feel an itch all the way down my spine. I already know there's no escape from him. Is he going to flip out? Am I suddenly going to get slaughtered? Holy shit. I have literally no options.

"Raven, it's okay. I can see you're freaking out. You don't have to."

"Really? Fucking, like, you sure?" I hiss.

His reaction shocks me: he drops his eyes and stares at his hands, dolefully.

"This is why I never do this," he rumbles.

The way he says it makes me pause. He's trying to tell me something, something deeply personal.

"Do what?" I ask.

"If I ever try to have this conversation. You think I'm unstable right? I promise I'm not going to freak out on you or go crazy. I'm not psycho."

He shrugs again, but still doesn't make eye contact.

"Well," he mutters, "I guess technically I'm, uh, I'm not, uh, psychotic, that's a different diagnosis entirely. This is a spectrum disorder."

For the first time, he's unsure. I can see it in his eyes, a sudden hunted look. It's something he's deeply ashamed of, but he's telling me. I need to get my shit together and not freak out. I need to do that immediately.

"Where are you?" I ask, tentatively, "Where do you sit on that spectrum?"

He looks up at me with a rueful grin. He opens his mouth as if to tell me something, but stalls. I can tell he's struggling.

"That's what I love about you. You're one of the few people who's smart enough to get it. You're one in a million."

I'm taken aback. I blink, stunned by his words. I'm just not used to him expressing feelings about me.

"I tend to see people as things," he says, "As objects to be moved around, to be made to do what I need them to do. It makes me exceptional at my job, because I can take the human element out and get on with what needs to be done."

"You never struck me as the cold type."

"Yeah, no, and that's the important thing. I grew up thinking there was something bad inside me, like maybe I was evil or something. But there's just something missing. It's like being born without a thumb, or with only one kidney. It's something that other people have that you don't."

"You think you've learned to live with it, then?"

"Uh huh. But I guess it's more than that. I've had to overcompensate. I had to learn empathy from scratch, the thing that you just take for granted. I've spent my life watching how other people do it so I can be better at it myself."

He reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. It's warm on my skin.

"I can see when you're scared but I can choose whether or not to let it affect me. I can twist the knife indefinitely without feeling any remorse if that's what I decide. I can make you beg and plead and it'll have no impact on me."

I'm watching the play of emotions on his face, reading his expressions closely, fascinated to be up so close to something so lethal.

"If you want me to end it all for you, I'll do it. I can do that easily."

"No remorse."

He pauses for a moment and there's a strange look in his eyes.

"I'll miss you, Raven, very much. Like I said, I've never met anyone like you. But I can live with doing that to you if that's what you want."

I can see it, right there: the unashamed honesty. He's letting me know that if it comes to it, he won't back down or shy away. I can rely on him to do what he says he's going to do. There's a hollowness in the pit of my stomach, and the words bubble up from deep inside me. I'm powerless to stop them.

"Have you decided when?" I ask.

He slides the water bottle back into his pack and slings it over his shoulder.

"It depends. Is it still what you really want?"

I stare at him. There is a word on my lips, and my heart is hammering in my chest. I just have to say it and he'll do it, that's what he's made sure I understand. I open my mouth: just one word. It's like vertigo, a dizzying drop, calling me towards it like a siren song. I'm so mortally afraid, and yet there is an endless longing. He's shown me how it's going to happen; there will be such exquisite bliss. I feel my eyes closing as I draw breath to answer him.

He kisses me, stopping my mouth with his lips. My body is burning for him, all at once. He breaks off and my eyes flutter open.

"Think about it," he tells me, "Then give me your answer. We don't have to decide now."

Rendered speechless, all I can do is stare at him. I can feel the tension in my core, a deep arousal. I'd been so close to answering him, but now he's moving on, walking away down the track. I'm left standing in the forest, barely able to breathe.

"Coming?" he calls over his shoulder.

My legs stumble into motion.

---

The track has petered out and we're just walking through the trees, crunching over the brittle, dry twigs. Our progress has slowed to a snail's pace as I pick my way over the forest floor.

"Do you want me to carry you?" Covalent asks.

"Where are we actually going?" I retort, my frustration showing.

"Not far now, I think."

"You think? Really? We could be anywhere."

"Just a bit further."

"Is this like the water pump?"

"How?"

"Where you had no fucking idea what you were doing."

That's too harsh, and I bite my tongue. I went too far. To my relief, Covalent just seems to acknowledge the comment with a shrug.

"I'm ninety percent sure we're nearly there, if I read the map correctly."

"Ah, shit. Wait. Really? Are we lost?"

He comes to a halt so abruptly that I nearly walk into him.

"We're lost, aren't we? Fuck. We could die out here."

He turns to me and there's a strange expression on his face. Now that he's confessed his clinical diagnosis, there's something infinitely more menacing in his moods.

"Maybe that's the plan," he tells me.

He must see my reaction, because suddenly his dark mood evaporates, and he smiles.

"It's just there," he continues, "See those rocks? We're here."

He leads me to the rocks, and as we climb up over the top of them, I come to a halt. The trees have given way, revealing a panoramic view down the valley, all the way to the distant blue horizon. We're on top of a sheer drop. Tentatively, I peer over the edge to see a thick canopy of trees a hundred metres below in the narrow crevice of the valley head. I look back at him in wonder.

"It's beautiful. How did you find it?"

He waggles his phone.

"Satellite view, plus the terrain map. I figured there'd have to be something here."

"So, not from user reviews?"

"No. No-one's seen this spot."

It feels impossibly remote, looking up from on high across an endless sea of trees.

"Maybe no-one's been here," I murmur, "Ever."

I stand on the flat top, relieved to have smooth rock beneath my bare feet for once, looking out, taking it all in. After weeks of being able to see no further than the tree-line on the perimeter of the paddock, the world suddenly feels immense. On the horizon, there is a towering pillar of dark grey cloud rising up into the clean blue sky.

I turn, to see that Covalent is unpacking his daypack beneath a tree. Its gnarled roots grip the rocks, worming into crevices to support its bulk. Twisted branches fan out, overhanging the drop, providing shade as Covalent sets out a picnic. I find myself staring. It's just about the least expected thing he could do. He beckons me over, patting the rug, and I sit.

"Nice spot," I tell him.

"Good, I hoped you'd like it."

"You're being nice to me."

"I am."

He sets out cheese and crackers, and conjures up two plastic wine glasses. There's a bottle of red, and my mouth actually salivates: it feels like years since I've had a glass of wine. I wait patiently as he fills the glasses and puts them on the side of the little chopping board. I stare at the cheese.

The picnic would require pre-planning. He must have picked up the cheese and the wine when he left to resupply. Covalent would have driven back intending to bring me out here for a nice surprise and instead I had betrayed his trust. I feel awful.

"Not hungry?" he asks, frowning.

"Yeah, I am."

His face creases, "Oh, I didn't ask. Are you allergic to dairy?"

"No."

"But you don't like cheese."

"Cove, I love cheese."

I don't know where it came from. It just slipped out and my eyes snap to his face, trying to read his thoughts. He seems to be mulling it over.

"Cove?" he asks at last, "Are we back to that?"

I feel suddenly very stupid.

"If you actually gave me your real name, I'd use that."

"You already know it, when you looked through my emails."

His expression doesn't change but he's making a point, and a part of me is infuriated by it, as if the worst part is that I broke into his laptop to find out who he is, not that he's a monster who breaks people for a living. He's still smiling at me, but it's a little forced now, as if he's trying hard not to have the moment ruined.

"You can use Cove if you want," he says, "I don't mind."

Just like that, he's deflected the conversation away from the discussion of his actual identity, and I feel a sense of uneasy relief. I don't want to face it, I want to believe he's like he is now, not what he does for a job in some darkened room somewhere.

"But, what about the picnic?" he insists.

I shuffle around awkwardly on the rug until I'm on my hands and knees. I lower my face to the board and raise my rear into the air, parting my legs to display my crotch. I don't know why, but it feels correct, like I'm showing him I'm learning.

"Stop."

I freeze, my mouth hovering over one of the crackers.

"You can eat normally. We're on a picnic. You're allowed to just eat."

I don't move for a few seconds, and then I pull myself back up, sitting on my haunches, looking down at the little board.

"Or do you want me to feed you?"

I meet his eyes, and then I nod. Covalent cuts a slice of cheese and places it on a cracker, lifting it up to my lips. I open my mouth and he pushes it in. It's so intimate, so very sexy, to let myself be fed by him. He waits until my mouth is empty before proffering the wine glass to my lips. I take a sip and it's wonderful. It's the best wine I've ever tasted. He cuts me another slice of cheese.

"Make yourself comfortable," he tells me, "You're not on display."

I lean back, propping myself up on an elbow, my bare body stretched out on the rug, being fed tiny morsels by a man who has confessed his capacity to do anything to me. After we finish the food, he leans back against the trunk of the tree and pats his lap. I snuggle up against him, feeling the warmth of his body around me, letting him refill my glass and bring it up to my lips so I can drink. I feel supremely pampered; I don't have to do anything. That other thing, that cloud on the horizon, his other life, it doesn't have to be addressed now, we can just be together.

We look out at the view, the treetops swaying in the breeze, the leaves shining in the late afternoon sun. It's cooler here than in the stifling air between the trees, freshened by the wind blowing up the valley. The inky column stands like a warning on the horizon in front of us.

"Looks like a big fire," I remark.

"Yeah. There's a blaze over by the main road."

"How do you know?"

"I'm reading the news."

"How bad is it?"

"It's big, but no-one knows what it's going to do yet. They're drawing up containment lines."

I look up at him, but his attention is on the horizon, lost in thought. I lift my head and kiss him on the chin. I don't know why I did it, but then he looks down at me and kisses me back, on the lips. I wrap my arms around him, feeling how wide he is, cementing the kiss. He's unhurried, enjoying the moment, and he enfolds me in his arms, kissing me more deeply now. I feel the passion rising up in me, summoned by the soft touch of his lips as I lie in his arms.

This isn't like all the other guys since the day I nearly died. I still have the overwhelming urge to fuck, but it's tempered, moving at his pace, progressing only as far as he permits it. The old me would have stripped him, got him hard and plunged down on him, looking for my climax, leaving him no room to manoeuvre. The old me wouldn't have taken no for an answer. But I'm content to kiss him, even though I'm burning with lust. I want to share this moment. This isn't even like it was with Toby.

"How're you feeling?" he asks.

"After yesterday?"

Covalent nods. "Yeah, after you found out."

"I'm still here."

It's a strange thing to say, with multiple connotations. It's true that I didn't run overnight, though he left me on the verandah on my mat as usual.

"Did you think I'd be gone?" I ask.

"Yes."

I remember him standing in the field with the noose around his own neck, after having told me about the people who employ him, what they're capable of, how far they'll go to defend their secrets.

"You could be home by now," he says, "You could have called it in."

I shrug. "My life's in your hands," I reply, "Your life is now in mine, too."

"And you're still here."

"What am I gonna go back to? Some job where I tell a machine how to...."

I stop, suddenly.

"Tell it what?"

"Nothing."

"No, go on, what were you going to say?"

"It's complicated."

"Is this about the AI? Try me."

It's about the Everything Engine, it's about the siege. Suddenly, I'm on the precipice of a revelation and I'm stalling.

Here's the truth at last, because we all like the truth, don't we? We all like to feel we have the inside track.

Well, here it is: I've realised something about Covalent, about what he does for a living, and I compared it to what I did for a living, and you know what? I can't see a fucking slightest bit of difference.

"The siege," I begin, "The guy. I looked him up."

There is a knot in my stomach. I need to get the words out, but it's so hard. I've held onto this too long, but I need to say it.

"I found his profile in Kikster," I confess, "I looked up his history log."

"What did you find?"

The horror gets me, all of a sudden, and I have to struggle to keep it at bay. I need to tell him.

"I traced him all the way back, to when he was looking for DIY tips. I traced it through that, through survival videos, through preppers, through videos from people talking about the fall of civilisation, to posts about the end of the world. I watched the Everything Engine serve it all up for him, connecting him with more of the same, less of everything else, until he was caught up in his own little bubble."

I break off, but I need to finish it. I need to confess.

"Because of what I wrote, the system I created, he went from being a lonely guy who wanted to fit out his garage, to a warrior trying to prevent the rot of society. He was in the café that day because of me. He pulled out the gun because of me. They stormed the place and he fired back and Kaylee took the bullet. There's a two-year-old girl who'll never know her mother, and it's all my fault."

I feel his arms tighten around me, and it means more to me to feel his touch than anything in the world.

"Who knows how many more there are, because of the thing I created? I'm a monster. How do I live with what I've done?"

I lapse into silence, waiting for Covalent's judgement.

"I see."

It's all he says, but I need more. I wait.

"Raven, how did we find each other? It was your engine. For every one of him, how many people are brought together instead? It can destroy us but it also connects us, sorting through all that data to help people find each other," he smiles, "Even monsters, even us."

I shiver in his embrace, even in the heat, looking up at him. I'm unsure of what he'll do next, whether my confession will change things between us. As if in reply, he kisses me again and I answer him with a passion. I needed those words, that absolution from someone who has done unspeakable things and understands what it means to have to live with your actions.

Eventually he pushes me back and I find myself kneeling, watching his movements silently. He strips off, dumping his clothes and his boots in a pile before leaning back against the tree, naked. His manhood is already fully erect, and my eyes are drawn to it. It's a mark of just how far we've come that my first thought is not to position myself over him, but to lean forward and pepper his erection with soft butterfly kisses.

He strokes my head as I pay tender attention to his cock, running his hand over my bare scalp. It's a trigger for me, as if he's conditioned me somehow, making me feel just how much he's changed me. He shifts position, threading a leg between my knees, spreading himself wider. I feel his shin pressed against my needy pussy and without thinking, I begin to grind, moaning softly, then freeze, startling myself.