With a shudder, I stare into the eyes of my elixirman.


    I step back, almost fumbling onto the mound of bricks, before my fear makes me scan for a weapon in his grasp, but I see nothing. Nothing in his hands or hidden in his fouled clothes.


    I truly don''t know what to make of this.


    ''Here to see me?'' I eventually ask in a whisper as if anything louder could unleash my tormentor.


    My elixirman stops just beyond the last step of the cellar''s stairs and replies with no menace, no change in his usual demeanour, ''I am.''


    ''Funny, you always know where to find me, don''t you?''


    ''It''s not that hard.''


    ''Or maybe you followed me here? A habit of yours perhaps?''


    ''I have no need for that.''


    ''I see you''re not wearing your cloak. Lose it somewhere?''


    My elixirman glances past me before saying, ''No. I know exactly where it is. And it will always be with me.''


    Is this some sort of riddle? Is he playing with me?


    ''And what happened to you?'' I then ask. ''Were you injured out there in the attack? Or helping the injured?''


    He peers down at his blood-stained and shredded shirt. ''You don''t remember?''


    I shake my head. ''Remember what?''


    My elixirman looks back at me and creases his features with judgment. ''You did this.''


    ''Did what? You''re not making sense.''


    He frowns like he always does. ''You killed me.''


    Stunned, confused at the words, I''m voiceless, but anger soon starts burning inside and I growl, and no longer in a hushed tone, ''Why are you jesting with me like this? Are you mad?''


    ''Mad? Not I.''


    ''Are you the Night Cleaver? Are you the one that attacked me?''


    ''Not I.''


    ''You are testing my patience for the last fucking time! Explain yourself. Explain what the fuck is going on.''


    My elixirman grabs a tear in his shirt and pulls it apart, making me gasp at what he reveals.


    It''s a wound, deep, hacked mercilessly.


    The man pulls apart another tear and then another, each one revealing a different yet similar laceration.


    ''How-how-how is it that you are still alive?'' I stutter.


    ''But I''m not. I told you, you killed me.'' My elixirman glances past me again, his gaze dwelling on the blue cloak.


    The words I utter in reply are of more irritation and probing than anything else. ''If I killed you, how is it that I can see you?'' This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ''Because what you see standing before you is a figment of your wounded and dying mind. I am your creation.''


    ''What madness is this?''


    Rage now grips me tight. It thirsts for action. I''ve had enough with these fucking games.


    I Iunge, run at the man, pulling back my arm to land a fist, to break whatever this spell is.


    My elixirman doesn''t flinch and says calmly before contact is made, ''Your leg seems to have healed, Pannor.''


    I stop my attack dead, realizing the man is speaking the truth.


    My leg doesn''t hurt.


    ''What in the gods–'' I say, staring down at my limb, making it move with ease. And I wait for the pain to return, to send an agonizing shudder through my body but it doesn''t appear.


    ''Another symptom of your decaying mind,'' my elixirman says.


    ''Have I died and gone to the underworld?'' I spurt. ''This truly is madness.''


    ''Madness, yes. Delusion. Your delusion. Your hallucinations.''


    ''My hallucinations? I have no such malady.''


    ''You''ve never had the courage to face it.''


    ''What are you speaking? And if you are to be believed, if you''re not truly standing before me, you''ve been the only one.''


    ''Have I?''


    ''Stop with this,'' I yell. ''For the love of the gods, stop with this.''


    ''I will not. There have been many others, figments, the most recent being the one that attacked you down at the reservoir and also at your home.''


    ''My attacker? The Night Cleaver? But that''s impossible. The Night Cleaver has never been a figment of my imagination. He is real. With real victims.''


    My elixirman shakes his head. ''Indeed, he is real, because I''m looking at him.''


    His words confuse me even more. ''Looking at him? But you''re looking at me.''


    ''Indeed I am.''


    My face muddles, my thoughts too, until I realize what he''s trying to tell me.


    ''Enough with this,'' I shout. ''This is lunacy. Fancy. I, the Night Cleaver?'' I give out a chuckle at the invention and then another before I catch myself cackling, giggling. ''I''m sure I''d remember if I murdered my wife, butchered her beyond recognition.''


    ''Not if your madness committed the crime.''


    ''My madness?''


    ''It shows itself when you refrain from your medicine, the elixir.''


    ''I take the elixir for my leg.''


    ''That''s what we made you think.''


    ''We?''


    ''Your leg is fine. A delusion of yours like I said. The elixir was to help with the blackouts, the hallucinations, the memory loss, and to quell your madness.''


    ''You keep on saying ''we''. Who is ''we''?''


    ''Your wife and I,'' the man replies with too much tenderness. ''On that day, the elixir was no match for the rage your madness conceived, a rage you have only felt when on the battlefield.''


    ''On what day?''


    ''The day she was taken from this world. The day you saw us together in the park. You saw us kiss and that was it, the Night Cleaver was born. You killed me first before slaughtering your wife, leaving her to be displayed. You hid me in the storm drain running from the pond in the park until you could sneak me out in the dark, bringing me here, down in the cellar and hiding me away, bricking me up.''


    I want to contest. I want to deny it all. But no challenge springs from my lips. I look down at Fey''s scarf and start to feel a frenzy, a fit deadening my soul.


    I snap my gaze back at my elixirman with a titter. ''I always had a suspicion that something between you and Fey had started. I should never have introduced her to you.''


    ''She still loved you but she couldn''t take your decaying mind any longer, your delusions, for they were getting much worse year after year. That''s when she came to me, wanting me to help, to find you an elixir. More and more time was spent with each other, and at the start every conversation was of you, but those words and thoughts diminished with time until a relationship bloomed.''


    My fevering fury claws over me like festering blood rot. My body bulges with veins. I can feel it. I can see it writhe over my hands. It spreads up my neck, choking, growing. And when it advances, caresses my mind, images of my wife, Trin and all the other victims of the Night Cleaver churn before me. Then with a voice I don''t recognize – or do I – I growl, ''Harlots. Fools. Swines. Witless.'' Sir Blouf and the blacksmith join the women. ''More fools who prattled too much.''


    It''s then that I hear something glorious and wonderful. It makes me giddy with excitement.


    I contort my head to the sound of the Breaching Bells ringing above through the ever growing explosions and screams.


    I cackle.


    I cackle until I turn back to see that my elixirman has vanished. But he hasn''t left me alone. A masked figure now stands before me. The masked figure. Slowly he takes off his metal disguise, revealing my twisted and deformed face, my eyes glaring with an evil never seen before.


    Then I speak.


    ''It''s time to set me free, to let me be truly unshackled.''


    I can feel a wrathful grimace knot my mouth before words rush into my mind.


    Kill. Kill. Kill . . . .


    THE END