by Dark Angel
I follow as he turns, leading me deeper into the cathedral. We come to a door I’ve not noticed before, tucked as it is into a dark corner.
“This way,” he says.
I step through the doorway, inspecting the new room with hopeful eyes.
I see something I never expected to find.
In the very center of the room, sitting elevated on a platform, is a casket. It’s made of fine, dark wood, polished to an almost inconceivable shine. The fittings on it look like, and may in fact be, gold. The lining is of fine white silky satin.
“I know it’s a bit morbid,” Father Lawrence says. “But we do need it to look real.”
I nod in understanding. If I’m going to play dead, I’ll need a coffin.
“Should I...” I gesture towards it.
“Yes, yes. Once you drink the sleeping liquid, you can just climb right in. It should take effect very quickly. Anyone looking won’t be able to tell you’re still alive. It’s very effective.”
I feel hesitant, the thought of climbing into a coffin unnerving me.
Still, I hold out my hand. What other choice is there?
He places the vial into my outstretched palm, nodding as I close my fingers around it.
“You’ll see,” he says. “This will all turn out alright.”
I can only hope he’s right.
I unstop the bottle, sniffing curiously at its contents as I hold it up before me. It smells like nothing, not even water.
“Well, cheers.” I say, tipping the tasteless liquid into my mouth.
The moment I swallow it, Father Lawrence takes me by the hand, guiding me towards the coffin.
“The effects really should manifest quickly,” he says. “Best to climb right in.”
I do as he says, stepping into the casket, chills rushing down my spine as I do. I lay my head back onto the silken pillow, breathing deeply to calm my nerves.
“Thank you,” I say, gazing up at Father Lawrence.
“It’s my pleasure, Isobel.”
My eyes immediately begin to feel heavy, my body relaxing on its own.
I have just long enough to marvel at just how quickly this stuff works before things start to go dark. With one final thought of Tristan, I’m carried away into darkness.
33
Tristan
I’m in a steel cage. I can’t get out.
I have to get to her. It’s all I can think about.
Sitting behind bars is an absolute nightmare when the love of your life is out there. Isobel’s out on her own, and I’m in here, all because of the fucking Governor and Isobel’s father. The battle lines have truly been drawn now, and I vow that when I get out, I’ll kill every last one of them.
My mind is wracked with guilt about Isobel.
Is she okay? Is she frightened? Is she back in the hands of her father?
I feel so fucking helpless sitting in my steel cage, and it’s the worst feeling. I have somebody else to take care of for once in my life. And that’s my top priority.
I pace the cell like a tiger, stalking back and forth, just waiting for action or news.
I know I won’t be locked up for long. I have too many guys out there working for me for that.
But this has been a delay, for sure.
And I’m not sure where Isobel is and if she’s okay.
That’s the worst part. Waiting.
Just as I’m starting to really get fed up, the cop comes over to me and he unlocks the cell.
“You posted bail,” he says.
I go through the process of getting out and see Benny waiting for me.
Of course, it was Benny. I should’ve known he’d be there to pick me up as soon as possible. He’s always one step ahead.
“Thanks, man,” I tell him. “We have to get to her.”
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine. But I have to find Isobel. I don’t know what happened to her after we left the cathedral.”
We get into the limousine, and I tell the driver to hurry. We race down the streets of the city, and soon, the cathedral’s in view.
I take a deep breath. I know she has to still be there.
I jump out of the moving car before it even stops. Racing up the steps of the cathedral, all I can think of is seeing her beautiful face. I walk right into a scene of Capulets mourning.
What the fuck?
Everyone’s dressed in black. Candles and flowers are everywhere.
Benny comes in, and he holds me back.
“Don’t go in there, Tristan. It’ll be a bloodbath if they see you,” he says.
I’m looking around the room, just trying to figure out what’s going on. And then I see it. I look up at the altar, and there’s my beautiful angel lying in a casket, dead.
My heart starts racing a mile a minute. I think I must be in a bad dream.
That can’t be her.
She can’t be fucking dead.
Blood rushes to my face and head, and I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I’ve never fainted in my goddamn, life but the thought of this being real makes me fucking lightheaded.
My princess...dead.
In one second, it all starts to make sense. The Capulets are here at her funeral.
“What the fuck is going on, Benny?” I ask him almost wildly.
“I don’t know, Tristan. Just calm down. We’ll figure it out.”
Benny’s pulling me away to the back room, and I’m fighting him the whole time.
I need to get to her. I need to hold her and cradle her and make her come back to life.
“Benny, let me go, man. I have to get out there. I have to get to her,” I say to him, feeling frantic as ever.
“Tristan, don’t do it. It would be suicide. They’ll kill all of us. Just hang back, and let’s figure out what’s happened.”
“What do you mean what happened? She’s fucking dead. This is all my fault.”
Just when I think I’m gonna to explode, Father Lawrence comes in.
I grab him by the collar and demand to know what happened.
His eyes look sympathetic as he says, “Tristan, I’m so sorry. She did it after you left. She said that being in the middle of these warring families and having you arrested was just too much. I think that she thought you’d be behind bars forever.”
I look at him, hoping this man can somehow deliver me good news.
“What are you talking about, priest? She didn’t commit suicide. Tell me she’s still breathing.”
He reluctantly hands me a note. I take it with trembling hands.
Dear Tristan,
If you’re reading this, that means you’re somehow safe. I just couldn’t do it anymore. My marriage to the Governor and the pressure from my family, well, it was all too much. And then having you arrested just put me over the edge.
I can’t live a single second without you. I chose to do this.
Love, Isobel.
I hold the note and read it over and over again.
Was I too late? She really committed suicide?
My mind is going wild. All I can think about is opening fire on the crowd out there. I’m just about to go do so, but Benny pulls me back.
“Tristan, be reasonable. If you go in there now, it’ll be suicide. But if you wait, then we can form a plan to get revenge. I promise you we’ll take them all out. But first, we have to be smart about it.”
His words don’t fall on deaf ears.
Yes, I feel like dying. If she’s dead, I want to be dead too.
But it’s funny because at a time like this, in the middle of my awful grief, I know his words ring true. It would be better to seek proper revenge on all of them, and then kill myself.
If I go in there now, shooting the place up, only a few Capulets will die before I’m taken out. But, if I form a plan, I can take out the whole fucking family before ending my life. They all deserve to die. And first on my list is the Governor.
“That’s a good idea, Benny. Let’s go to the pe
nthouse.”
Inside, my heart is exploding. It’s all I can do to contain the tears that threaten to stream down my face. I’ve never had somebody die under my watch that I actually fucking cared about.
I’ve never been in love before, and I was with her—and now she’s fucking gone.
I don’t say any of this.
I’m stoic on the outside, unemotional. I’m a pillar of strength to the world.
Nobody can know what’s going on inside of me. No one can know that ultimately I plan on committing suicide with her. I know if I tell this to Benny or Merc, they would stop me.
No one can stop me now. I’ll have her family dead, and then, I’ll have death.
34
Isobel
My eyes flutter open slowly. My mind is heavy with confusion.
I blink, trying to clear my eyes of the fog that’s descended across them. Everything is blurred, objects seeming to merge together. I’ve never felt so tired in my life, each second a struggle to keep my eyes open.
Sleep pulls at me fiercely.
I slowly lift my head, and it’s as if it’s been tied to a cinder block, my neck too weak to support it. My eyes seem to be the only thing I’m capable of moving.
I search the room with them, my vision beginning to clear as I do.
This isn’t the cathedral. In fact, I’ve never seen this place before.
My heart beats hard with worry.
I glance down at my body, breath catching in my throat as I so.
Oh god, no.
White lace drapes over my frozen form, intricate beading trails up my chest, my feet are shod in ivory heels, stitched with design.
I groan within my chest.
It’s a wedding dress.
I’m a bride. Even in my drug-induced stupor, I know whose bride I am. Father Lawrence has betrayed me, delivered me into the grasp of my worst nightmare.
This must be the Governor’s mansion.
I look at the bed on which I’m lying. This must be the Governor’s bed.
Panic races through me body, adrenaline pumping quickly into my veins.
No, No, No.
This can’t be happening. I struggle to sit, pouring every ounce of my will into the act.
Still, I don’t even budge.
I have to escape. I have to get away from the Governor. I can’t bear to have those hands on me again, not for one second.
I hear a door open, footsteps coming towards me. The Governor himself comes into sight, standing at my side as if drawn by my thoughts alone.
Speak of the devil.
“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with menace. “How nice of you to join us.”
“Wh-where am I?” I choke out.
My lips, like everything else, are trying to resist my will.
“Home, of course. Your new home! Our home.”
“No,” I say. “No, never.”
He laughs, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.
I grind my teeth in response.
“Oh you silly, silly creature. Your home is wherever I say it is.”
He leans towards me, his rancid breath caressing my face.
“Did you really think you could resist me?”
That laugh again, my skin breaks out in chills.
“I won’t do it. Nothing you could say would ever make me marry you!”
His smile has nothing at all to do with happiness.
“You don’t have a choice! You’re my bride, and very shortly you will be my wife. I’ll admit, your antics were a bit amusing at first, but I’ve had it with this game. You and I are going to be married because it’s my wish. I don’t care if you have to be drugged every day of the rest of your life—you’ll be mine! From this day forward, you belong to me.”
I stare up at him in dismay, wishing that I could go back. Wishing that I had plunged that dagger into my chest before Father Lawrence could stop me.
Tears sting my eyes, and I struggle to hold them back.
I feel hopeless. Trapped.
My future reduces to a single image, the face grinning evilly down at me. I wish for death more than I ever have before, praying for an end to this misery.
The sound of knuckles rapping against wood pulls me from my thoughts.
“Come in!” the Governor chimes.
Father Lawrence appears at the edge of my vision, his face splitting into an oversized grin when he notices my eyes on him.
“Good, you’re up,” he says.
There’s a look of pure malevolence on his face, a lunacy I’m amazed he managed to hide.
“I wasn’t sure I gave you the proper dose,” he goes on. “Tricky drug, that. Glad the timing’s worked.”
“How could you?” I demand, my sense of betrayal burning hotter than ever now that he’s in my sight.
He snickers.
“How could you?” he parrots, his voice a piercing falsetto.
The Governor laughs deeply, as if this impression is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“Oh, Lawrence,” he says. “Very good.”
He turns his attention back to me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dear, I must get ready for the ceremony. How would it look to be late to ones own wedding?”
He turns before I can answer, quickly leaving the room with a slam of the door.
I try again to lift my head, meeting with the same impenetrable barrier.
“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t be able to move for some time yet,” the priest offers. “Like I said, tricky drug. Really though, quite perfect for our needs. I’ll need you pliable for a while.”
“Why?” I ask, fearful.
Lawrence acts as if I haven’t spoken, instead racing down to grab me in his talon like hands.
“Up we go!” he singsongs, pulling me from the bed to drape me across his shoulder.
His hand finds my thigh, rubbing experimentally at it in a very un-priestly way.
“I can imagine you’re quite surprised,” he says. “Waking up here and all. I’ll tell you a secret, I’m probably even more surprised than you. I mean, why a man like the Governor would want to marry some Montague’s whore is totally beyond me. If you want my opinion, I think he could do much better.”
His hand slides from my thigh to my ass, groping hard against me.
“Not that you don’t have your perks,” he continues as he squeezes me. “But a whore is still a whore. I think we’d all be better off if he just slit your throat.”
I bite my tongue to keep from agreeing. I don’t want to agree with anything that slithers from this monster’s mouth. My hands hang limply beside his back, fingers trailing motionlessly.
I focus onto one, willing it to move, to twitch.
Anything.
Still, the drug holds me captive. I struggle to keep my eyes open.
“Nothing to say?” Lawrence asks.
I keep my silence.
“Very well,” he answers. “Personally, I think it’s about time you shut up anyway.”
He opens a door ahead of him, stepping through in a hurry. I feel him lowering me, laying me flat on what appears to be an altar.
It’s fitting, I think, I certainly feel like a sacrifice.
Tristan’s face flashes through my mind and my heart aches.
What I wouldn’t give to see him smiling at me, just one more time.
“Well, I better go finish setting up,” Lawrence says. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Isobel.”
I feel great relief as the door closes behind him, leaving me alone for the first time since waking. I try to sit, to squirm, anything. My body betrays me at each turn.
Tears sting my eyes again, and I allow them to fall, now that there’s no one to see.
This is hopeless. Still, I have to try.
I focus my energy onto my head, willing it to rise. It feels like it weighs a ton, my neck completely incapable of lifting it. I don’t stop.
All of my energy pours into the act, groans of frustration escaping my
mouth. Tears fall freely from my eyes, and my groans turn to screams between my lips—but still, I press on.
I can’t give up hope. I just can’t.
The ghost of Tristan’s face swims before my eyes, urging me ever onward.
I have to find a way out of here.
I have to see him again.
35
Tristan
Night is darker without Isobel.
Everything is darker.
Everything will be dark now that her light is gone from the world.
The last spark of starlight died with her last breath.
Her letter falls from my fingers. I lounge in my penthouse. Flickering candles do little to light the massive space.
The room was full when she was here. Now, the cavernous ceiling threatens to swallow me whole.
I take a drink. Wine tastes like nothing. I will taste nothing since I can no longer taste her.
Love, Isobel.
A command.
A promise.
A benediction.
I pull out my gun. Merc takes a sharp breath. He and Benny watch me from the fireplace.
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder.
There is no triumph in senseless death.
Isobel’s death was senseless.
They drove her to it. They took everything from her and made her…
No. They didn’t do it.
I did.
I wasn’t good enough or fast enough to stop this. I fucked up, got myself arrested, and left her alone and vulnerable.
“I can’t live without her now,” I say, still looking at my gun.
“Killing yourself doesn’t solve anything,” Benny says softly from across the room.
“Killing the fucker who stole her from me does,” I say, standing. I check my gun and look at my friends. “Ask for volunteers—but not ones with family at home. I’m going in. The Governor will answer for her death. Should’ve done this in the first place.”
Merc has his phone out, already calling in the troops.
The Montagues will rise. We will take down the Governor’s mansion, and I will take down the Governor himself.
“Benny, you and Merc stay here. I might need you to bail my ass out again,” I say, trying to smile, but my oldest friend sees through me.