The Annals of Fear

I



Matt saw the legs of the tripod being lowered down, but he called out. "Hold on, just two secs." It wobbled slightly, no doubt because Deontic was trembling up there. A little voice in the back of his head told him that he should be talking to her, just to keep them both calm. But he\'d had nothing to say to any of them at Wammy\'s and he still didn\'t. They were the others. The people outside the little circle of himself and Mello. They were nothing to do with him.



He stepped back, right up against the wall, using his mobile \'phone to photograph the red symbol painted on the floor. It took some doing, because it was quite cold in here and he was shaking a little because of that, as well as having to hold the torch. The picture kept coming out blurry. He took a few, until he got one which properly captured it. It was the same as the symbol on the album cover. Matt eyed the dead foliage, dried and brown around the edges of the tiny room. He photographed those in sections too, then turned his attention to the sheep\'s skull and candles. None of these things had been mentioned to Mello. Matt had gestured wildly upon sight of them not to mention them to Mello. Not while the blond was so agitated up there.



"Matt!" Deontic cried out and the legs of the tripod disappeared upwards again.



"One moment." Matt murmured, but neither knew or cared if she heard him. He photographed the little jar in situ too. That had been mentioned before he could stop Century. They seemed to have got away with it. Matt had to admit that Mello was doing his head in. Usually the unpredictability and the violence were turn ons, but then Mello generally did it in style. This evening, he had seemed more like a petulant child, tantrumming because he wasn\'t getting his own way. Attacking Century was like kicking a kitten. It wasn\'t sexy. It was immature. Actually, they were all annoying him. Deontic, so often reserved and professional, had been weeping and fawning like some girl. Century had channelled all of that Wammy\'s House rebellion, that he was so infamous for, straight onto Mello. If Century didn\'t keep winding Mello up, then the Slav wouldn\'t be half so bad right now.



His pictures finished, Matt pondered on how he was going to handle Mello after this. Matt had been enjoying the game until now. Letting Deontic see how many times he could stand up to Mello and Mello would just let him. But Mello had started to notice and it was piquing his paranoia. It was fucking awkward. Matt sighed and called out, "I\'m ready for the camera now, Dee." There was no stirring up above. Matt shone his torch towards the ladder and did not see the tripod legs. "Deontic." He rasped, a little more loudly, in case she couldn\'t hear him properly down here. He was gagging for a cigarette. He would have one as soon as he\'d placed the camera. He stepped forward, looking up. There was no glimpse of the room there. Matt shone his torch up, his eyes widening at the sight of floorboards. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."



Matt leapt onto the ladder, his hand rising to push them off. It wasn\'t funny. It wasn\'t a joke. The floorboards didn\'t budge. Matt reeled backwards, standing at the foot of the ladder, hardly daring to try and reason this out. He had heard no banging. There was no way that the floorboards could have been secured. He would have heard the nails being hammered back in. He would have heard the scraping of furniture being piled on top. This wasn\'t happening. Mello was going to hit the roof. Matt wiped his mouth and climbed up again, whacking the floorboards hard with his gloved fist. They were stuck tight.



Matt jumped down again and hunted through his pockets for his cigarettes. There was no lighter. He systematically explored all of his pockets, then remembered that there had been matches next to the candles. He took one and lit his cigarette. He pretended not to notice how much he was shaking. The room quickly became extremely smokey. It was not a big room. Matt didn\'t care. He sucked on the cigarette waiting for the rush of calm that would allow him to reason this out. The important thing was not to panic. Mello was out there. An insidious voice in his head kept demanding to know how the floorboards had even been slotted into place without his hearing them. It had to be Deontic. Matt paused. He wanted to believe that it was Deontic, because anything else was seriously going to freak him out. He called up, "Dee." There was no response. Louder now. "Deontic." Nothing. "Pek Wan, come on, this isn\'t funny." Not even the sound of her footsteps.



"Fuck it." Matt shone the torch at the wall, where some 16th century painter had created a crude image of Christ and his Mother. He focused on them, as if that would telepathically get a message to Mello. Then he smiled. He didn\'t need telepathy. He had a mobile \'phone. Good, the nicotine was working. His brain was working again. He clutched his \'phone in his left hand and unlocked the keypad again. He used the speed dial and the screen lit up with Mello\'s name. But it was not ringing. Matt took a sharp intake of breath and inspected it. There was no signal in here. Why had he taken his headset off downstairs? "Fuck it!"



Stay angry, Mail. He told himself. Don\'t panic. This isn\'t an oil tanker. It\'s not a cave underneath a chalk mountain. It\'s a fucking room in a house. Stay angry. Matt kept trying, moving around the tiny space, lifting the \'phone up to the ceiling and down to the floor. The rest of the house had a signal. There had to be one. There was none. He took a drag on his cigarette, held the smoke in his throat, then slowly exhaled. Now he yelled, at the top of his voice, "Mello! Mello! Mello!"





II



Deontic tried not to feel alarmed, as she watched first Century, then Mello leave. There was still Matt. She was not technically alone up here. Still that didn\'t help at all when bending over the gap in the floorboards rendered her with her back to the rest of the room. Her imagination supplied the rest. Drowned, ghostly women standing behind her. Footsteps and music starting up with her right at their epicentre. Spectral entities at the window. She tried to banish them from her mind, as she lowered the tripod down. The camera was still attached to the top and the lead was now fixed into place with gaffa tape. All Matt had to do was take it, then he could open the legs again, put it down, climb up and they could be out of here.



"Hold on, just two secs." Matt said, in that soft, uninterested voice of his. Deontic could have strangled him. She was visibly trembling with fear and cold and he was faffing around doing something in that hole. Mello would be back in a minute, demanding to know why they weren\'t following right behind him. The two boys might be seemingly immune to his yelling and intimidation, but it still cut her to the core. It was as if Greece and all that she had said to them had fallen on deaf ears. They didn\'t want to get along, even if co-operation here meant them all watching each other\'s backs. All Century had gone on about, while they were in Aberystwyth, was that this case ought to have been his.



Deontic peered fretfully over her own shoulder, but the room remained empty and without supernatural sounds. She stayed looking, in the highly irrational belief that if she was watching, then nothing would happen. It would be when she took her eyes off the scene that something would creep up behind her. She glanced at the doorway, but the Mother Mary figurine had gone. She hoped that Mello had taken it.



She sighed, her arms aching with holding this tripod so long into space. She shouldn\'t have come. She knew that now. She was too emotionally knocked about by the death of Lamond. It had been bad enough losing the others, but Lamond\'s death had been the final straw. Suddenly every hurt and loss had flooded her system, as if a dam had burst and allowed the waters through. She had managed to keep it in check, until a long night talking with Linda and Luigi had finally prompted Deontic to see the psychiatrist that Hal had installed in Wammy\'s House. It had helped. It had really helped. But right here, it felt as this house had undone everything.



Deontic sniffed, determined not to cry again. She concentrated on another nagging thought, which was that she should call Hal. Hal, who had called her up with barely suppressed glee in her voice, stating that the three people whom she most wanted watching were going to be in a Watari owned house overnight. Deontic had arrived with a duel task. She was to assess Century\'s well-being, as an independent observer, so to tick a few boxes in Watari\'s duty of care towards a minor; and she was to watch Mello and Matt together, to see if there was any accountability vis-a-vis Matt\'s dependency upon a violent husband. Deontic inwardly snorted. That seemed laughable now. If anything, Matt was the quietly dominant one. Mello had appeared downright vulnerable several times, while Matt could be a right bitch sometimes. It was...



Downstairs, there was gunshot. Deontic nearly dropped the tripod in shock. "Matt!" She called out, in alarm, and pulled the tripod back up. Mello\'s anger and Century\'s provocation sped through her mind. She set the tripod against the wall and fled the room, her mind racing through the First Aid for gunshot wounds. She wondered if the police were still here. They couldn\'t be. Even Mello wasn\'t that crazy. But the main thought in her mind was \'please don\'t let him be dead!\' Deontic landed in the sitting room, hearing and feeling the silence heavily in the house. They weren\'t in here. She knew that before she had even hurried into the kitchen, then out through the other rooms. Had the shot come from outside? Deontic scurried to the window and cupped her hands around it. She saw Century. He was running down the slope. Her heart caught, skipping a beat, but she ran too, past the pile where her coat was folded, snatching it up en route.



The backdoor was open. She followed the draught and hurtled through it There was no sign of Mello. She imagined him up there, on the mountain, firing down on the teenager. The police had gone! Deontic pulled on her coat as she ran, around the outside of the house and through a small patio garden. She leaned on a drystone wall and peered over. Century was down there, still running. Deontic yelled, "Century!" But the wind took her words. She span on the spot, looking for any sign of Mello; cursing Matt for not being behind her. "Mello!" She called out. "This is stupid! Leave him!" She was being watched. She could feel the gaze burning into her skin. "Mello, please, please. This isn\'t worthy of you!" She leaned over the wall again. Century was passing out of view.



Deontic opened the metal gate and raced down the slope. The steepness of it took her by surprise. It felt like she couldn\'t stop running now if she\'d wanted to. It was all she could do not to fall down there, rolling the rest of the way to the river at the bottom. All the time, she feared that second shot, the one that would ring out, revealing Mello\'s position and maybe killing one of them. It occurred to her that he could already be down there. Chasing after Century out of her view.



Deontic half ran and half stumbled down the mountainside, until the mists covered her. She could hear the river roaring, so close, but Century had to be here somewhere. She yelled again, "Century! It\'s Deontic! Where are you?" But the furious waters drowned her words and the thick fog deadened them even to her own ears. She turned this way and that, but couldn\'t see him. "Mello!" She called out, in case he was closer. "Mello, it\'s Deontic, let\'s talk about this." No response but the gushing river. She remembered what Matt had implied about Mello needing praise. Too often watching Near receive it all. "Mello! You were always my hero!" She yelled. "You beat us all!"



She took a step backwards, not daring to go too far forward. She didn\'t know the land and it was foolishness to attempt it blind. She stood on the spot, not knowing where to go or what to do. This was ridiculous. She was a Wammy\'s House alumnus. What would L have done? She had heard much praise for his fearlessness. He wouldn\'t have hung around indecisively fretting. Deontic rushed forward down what she could see of a dirt track. It must be the river path and he had to have gone down this way. There were footprints in the soil. Deontic hurried on, the mists swallowing her environment all around her as she moved. Then she placed her left foot and the ground gave way beneath it. Deontic tumbled through mud and brier, until she landed on a bed of rocks right at the water\'s edge. Her feet were in it, sopping wet and freezing. She yelped and withdrew them, reaching out for foliage and whatever else her hand could find to gain purchase. She stood, hands clasped and panic rising. She allowed herself a little stamp on the spot, shrieking out her fright, then stood several deep breaths and steadied herself.



She was alright. That was the important thing. Disorientated in a world that was suddenly water and mist, but she was alright. Deontic attempted to climb back up the way she had come, but it was all prickly branches scratching her hands to shreds. She gave up and peered into the mists either side along the riverbank. Rocks rolled on as far as she could see, which wasn\'t far. She took a few paces along, back in the direction that it must pass the house. The ground underfoot became soggy, as the river seeped through the stones. She stepped back, trying the other way and thought she saw movement in the mist. "Century!" She called out, hearing the fright in her own voice. But there was no reply. "Mello!" Nothing. She trudged on anyway, until she suddenly realised that, on either side of the large rocks upon which she scrambled, the river was cascading down. She was walking into it! And it was ferocious, raging like the drainage from a monsoon. Deontic stopped dead, unable to see through tears. "Ebu, Abah," she whimpered, "Tolong!"





III



Century felt quite sorry for yr heddlu. They were just ordinary police officers, who had received a call from Watari. They were stonily professional, yet a closer inspection saw the concern in their eyes. This could be a call with really far-reaching consequences. He could practically watch their thought-processes pass from \'this could help my career\' into \'am I going to get into trouble for this?\' He doubted that any of them actually knew who Watari was. It would have been someone higher up the chain barking orders, though he did note a sergeant\'s three stripes upon one arm. They were demanding access, whilst keeping one eye on Mello, who was on his mobile \'phone getting this sorted out.



"Mae\'n ddwrg \'da fi." Century apologised for probably the twentieth time, because it tended to stall them. Every time he noticed them gearing up to asking to come inside again, he threw in another \'sorry\'. Then steered the the conversation onto innocuous things, like the weather. "Mae\'n wyntog." He asked, exaggerating his shiver in the next gust of wind, though it was actually quite warm. "Oes yna storm o daranau y mynd i fod?"



The eldest heddwas was doing all of the talking, while his sergeant watched Mello like a hawk. He responded with conversational politeness. "Mae\'n mwygl iawn."



Century nodded, sympathetically. The weather was a safe conversation. The Welsh liked to talk about the weather; probably because they had so much of it to talk about. There was a squeal on the sergeant\'s radio and she responded to the voice hurriedly talking through it. Watari was ordering them to withdraw. Nothing to see here. All a big misunderstanding. Century could tell that they were dying to ask questions and to linger, but they couldn\'t. There would be someone in authority wanting this done by the book. Well, by whatever book they had to deal with mysterious organisations like Watari. "Hwyl." He waved, trying to look like a friendly seventeen-year-old. "Nos da."



"Nos da." Came the response from several voices, some suspicious, some gruff, the spokesperson heddwas still diplomatically cheery. With the last \'goodnight\', they returned to their cars and were gone, a lot more quietly than they\'d arrived.



Century was alone with Mello. It was precisely the situation that he had wanted to avoid. After that episode with the gun, Deontic had promised him, over a cup of tea in Aberystwyth, that she would personally ensure that he was never alone with Mello. Yet here they both were. "What did Hal say?"



Mello seemed pre-occupied, turning to look back through the kitchen window several feet behind. "Where are Matt and Deontic?"



Century shrugged. He didn\'t know; and he was blowed if he was going to make small-talk with a man who had twice attacked him. The whole right side of his body still hurt. Century pushed a lollipop into his mouth and shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets. The wind really was cold for August, though it felt close. He hadn\'t lied to the heddwas there. Mello was heading back in, but Century reasoned that while he, personally, was outside, he should go and see if his \'phone was around. If it had survived the fall from the window, then he would need it. He cast a filthy look at Mello\'s back and wandered away towards the side of the house. Mello\'s voice trailed after him. "Century, where do you think you\'re going?"



Century huddled into himself, as he quickened his pace, like he could already feel the punch in his back, or the grabbing of his throat. Mello was indeed running after him. Century called back over his shoulder. "Going to find my \'phone that you..." The wind, whipping around the front of the house, took his breath away at the corner. Century could feel his teeth starting to chatter, as he dithered there. He heard Mello call his name again, but Century ignored him. He and Mello would have words sooner or later, but he\'d rather not be in a gale when it happened.



There was enough light spilling out from the windows to illuminate part of the small garden. Less than Century would have hoped, but he quickly scanned what he could see. There was no such luck in seeing it quickly, so he could grab it before Mello came to make a scene. He saw a promising shadow and headed towards it, praying silently that his \'phone was intact and not soaked in dew. He bent towards it, but it was only a piece of the rockery. That\'s when the gunshot whistled right overhead. Century didn\'t wait. The same instinct that had kept him alive when he was eight galvanised him now. He\'d fled before he\'d even had chance to consciously note that, had he still been standing straight, the bullet would have gone through his head. He was halfway down the hill and behind a bush, before the shock had properly formed. Mello had actually tried to kill him!



Through all his past fears and the hysteria of the night before, it occurred to Century now that, deep down, he had never believed that Mello could pull the trigger. Fear was Mello\'s weapon of choice, not bullets. The gun was a prop. Fenian had told him years ago that the trick with Mello was not to show fear. If you stood up to him, he tended to shrink away. All bullies did. Not that that helped Fenian much, as his fear was too stark, but Century had played the tactic well. At least he thought he had. Until yesterday. Century bit hard on his lip to try and still the sound of his breathing. He peeped through the bush, but he was too far down here. A whole section of the upper slopes were blindsided. Mello could get within ten feet, if he crawled on his front, before Century would even know he was there.



That was all the thinking that Century needed. He was back on his feet and hurtling down the hill. It was open countryside and therefore he would show up on the slope in the moonlight. Equally though, it forced Mello into plain view and Century couldn\'t see him. He needed cover and there was only the river down there. Century\'s mind span through the geography, which he had made a point of noting. There was the woodland. He would head for that. He could climb again under cover of it and make for the road. There might be a passing vehicle, which he could flag down.



Century ran. He concentrated on the running, trying to keep at bay memories of other gunshots and another flight across a Welsh mountain. That was further north, but the parallels were there. Century couldn\'t think of that. Not now. Especially not now. He ran on until he met barbed wire and beyond it the wood. He leapt at the post, one hand out as leverage, scaled the fence and was over. He\'d made the wood! He was safe, unless his luck ran out and he met Mello in the darkness. Mello\'s genius mind tracking him through the trees, then a gunshot. Execution. Century\'s breath caught in phobia and he plunged forward, away.





IV



Mello watched through the kitchen window for any sign of Matt and Deontic. It bothered him that they hadn\'t followed them down yet, unless, of course, they were in the sitting room. On the kitchen table, the bank of laptops illuminated the back wall; their presence an accusation against his own incompetence. He should have been on the ball. He set this thing up with Chrissie and Salvo, so he should have ensured that they got the all clear. To be fair, Chrissie wasn\'t having a go at him. She was in conference call with himself and Hal, but seemed mostly concerned that they were alright. Mello heard the subtext anyway. He\'d fucked up and Chrissie knew it. Half of freaking Wammy\'s knew it. He glanced at Century, but the teenager was still engaged in conversation with the police-officers. Over the \'phone, they could hear Hal in the background, on a different line, calling the officers away.



Chrissie sighed, "Mello, do you still need us to watch? Only it\'s getting quite late and we don\'t get much sleep as it is with the baby."



Mello\'s gaze locked upon the sergeant\'s. She was precisely what he didn\'t need. She looked sharp. Mello flashed her a smile, which he hoped showed all of his nastier inner demons. He didn\'t like her. "Yes." He replied to Chrissie. "A lot of things aren\'t adding up and those which do aren\'t pretty." He stared back through the window, trying to discern movement in the far room. "Sorry."



Hal was back. "They\'re going to leave. Mello, is there anything that I can do?"



Chrissie answered her. "Yes, you can monitor messages from the house. Once an hour, they...."



"No." Mello interupted. "Chrissie, there\'s a reason it\'s you and Salvo. You know us." He hesitated, considering the fact that they really didn\'t. They had all spent their formative years ensuring that none of them knew each other. "Sorry, Hal, but Chrissie has known us longer. She\'d get it in an instant if any of us were behaving out of character."



"Is it really that important?" Chrissie sighed. In the yard, the police officers were leaving.



She seemed to be gearing up to say more, so Mello responded with a curt, "Yes. Got to go." He hurriedly said his goodbyes and cut the connection. The cars were leaving, in a ribbon of red lights. Mello watched them leave through the gate and heard the click as it was closed behind them. The sound of their engines became muffled by the mountainside, but their lights could still be seen, almost ghostly, as they moved away.



"What did Hal say?" Century asked.



Mello stood on tip-top to peer back through the kitchen window. He couldn\'t see movement at all in there. Cold fear gripped his insides, but he forced himself to remain icily calm. "Where are Matt and Deontic?" He took a step towards the backdoor, but a crunch of boots on the cobbles alerted him to the fact that Century was wandering off. Mello bit down the stab of annoyance. He desperately wanted to be inside. Alarms bells were ringing in his mind and he hoped that that was just paranoia. If he could just see Matt, he would be fine. He tore his attention from the window and turned to where Century had been drifting. There was no sign of him. He\'d gone around the corner. Mello swallowed the rush of anger. He called out, calmly enough, "Century, where do you think you\'re going?"



There was no response. Torn between going inside or following the teenager, Mello momentarily froze on the spot. He hated indecision, particularly in himself. Mello frowned. Since when had he even been indecisive? That was unlike him and that shot another flare of alarm straight through his psyche. They weren\'t safe. Fuck paranoia. They weren\'t safe. He would grab Century; get inside and grab Matt and Deontic; jump into a car and drive them away from here to think outside this house\'s influence. Mello blinked. The house had influence? Mello fist closed over the crucifix at the end of his rosary, then, inwardly berating himself, he ran in the direction that Century had taken.



Around the corner, Mello nearly fell into the sudden hole in the ground. With split second reaction, he leapt and cleared it with a jarring sensation that agonised his feet, then spread up his legs. He touched the wall to steady himself, then danced on the top until the pins and needles subsided. It thankfully happened quite quickly. In the meantime, he peered back at what was, on further inspection, an open cellar entrance. Its wooden doors were thrown right back and he was vaguely smug at the distance he had cleared in jumping over it. Inside was darkness. Mello gingerly tested his ability to walk and discovered that his legs had now recovered. He had released his crucifix, but his hand tightened over it now, as he stepped around the doors and crouched to peer inside. There was a smell of sulphur and chalk down there. "Century?" He hissed, just as a gunshot sounded.



Mello had always prided himself on his ability to keep still, even when startled. It had served him well in the Mafia. While others panicked, dashing around like headless chickens, he had seemed unflappable just sitting there. Even when the Death Note had flown preternaturally from his hand; even when a shinigami had appeared in front of him; even when a text message had told him that Kira was killing the Mafia. While huge, butch men had fled screaming for their mothers, Mello hadn\'t budged an inch. All of this was why it was even more personally shocking now that he did jump. His arm jolted and the chain of the rosary, with its crucifix still clutched in his hand, snapped. Mello felt it go. He watched a bead fall down those steps into darkness. He saw the end of it loose in his hand.



He froze inside, but there was someone shooting and he had no idea where it had come from. Mello dashed onto the stairs and down into the darkness. His mind was riot of conflicting thoughts. The safety of himself was paramount, though that was clenched in a fist of dread when he thought of Matt\'s safety. And Century, out there with a phobia of guns. Was it Matt shooting? He was the only person other than Mello himself who had a gun. At least as far as Mello knew. He couldn\'t hear Century screaming. Was Century shooting? Maybe the phobia was an elaborate hoax in order to engender the element of surprise. Colliding with all of this were the messages coming from his nose. The distinct smell of rotten eggs and saltpetre. Gunpowder. He was smelling gunpowder. It was all around him. Mello\'s gun was in his hand, the other still gripping the torn end of his rosary hard enough to risk crushing it. He stumbled into a shifting pile and heard something metallic crash onto the floor. He jumped backwards.



Weaving in and around these thoughts was another bred from pure emotion and memory. Another rosary, another fallen bead, another loose crucifix in his hand and the smell of burnt meat. Mello tried to rein that one in, encase it mentally in a granite hold, but it was incessant. A small child\'s pain and distress rose up inside him, nearly obliterating the adrenaline driven adult. Mello choked back a sob, leaning against a wall, blinking back tears. This was neither the time or the place for tears. His kitchen, back at home, hadn\'t been the moment either. There would never be a time to feel this, because Mello did not want to revisit that place. The Domovinski Rat was over! It wasn\'t here!



Here was a place where there was cellar filled with gunpowder and his family up above. Here was a place where his rosary had broken. Mello caught a breath and held it. Suddenly this was Domovinski Rat. His mind\'s eye raced through images that he didn\'t want to see. His parents. He pushed them away, but the memories were coming thick and fast now. He was vaguely aware of feet running past the entrance to the basement and a voice inside his head screamed for him to emerge. But he was too distraught. Fear coursing through. What if he was going mad again? Some inner self grabbed at a childhood memory. It was a poster. Soldiers in full kit, marching towards the camera, holding their guns in their hands. They were slightly red and black, against a plain white background. The legend blazed out, \'Hrvatska vas zove!\' Mello blinked. Hrvatska didn\'t need him at all. He whispered fiercely at the air, "Mail vas zove!" And pushed himself up from the wall. He took several deep breaths, aware finally of how tightly he was gripping both crucifix and gun. He really needed chocolate right now.



Mello sniffed, trying to assemble his thoughts into something that made sense. He tried to find that stillness inside that all of their Wammy\'s House training had attempted to instil into them. This was here and this was now. There was someone shooting. Someone had been running. There was a cellar in darkness which stank of gunpowder. Mello hated the fact that he was trembling. He did not tremble. He never used to tremble. Whatever happened, he had to find Matt. That was the most important thing. He crept cautiously to the stairs and peered up. There was a flash of light up near the top of the mountainside. It lit up the whole slope. Anti-aircraft? A bomb? The stench of gunpowder was overwhelming him now. Mello turned back around, his night vision making out the shapes of boxes but nothing else. Why all of these weapons? If the bombs hit it, the whole building would blow. Ice flooded Mello\'s veins. His family was up there.



There was a loud, rumbling bang out on the mountain. Mello actually cowered. Then let pure rage rise up to carry him. He roared out defiance and span around with the intention to rush up the stairs. But the doors were closed. There were little patterns cut into the wood, like peepholes through into the world beyond. It was a spiral triskele, but in Mello\'s eyes, he saw the Fleur de Lis and, through them, only flashes and flames.