(2014) Deep Inside

by Jack Parker

  Why did he always have to affirm what she was thinking –what she was feeling? Why did he always have to spell it out to her and analyze her feelings with such ease as if she were some sort of an open book, its pages splayed before him, stretching over the carpet and screaming out with their bold print and block capitals?

  It made her more nervous to be affirmed in what she was actually thinking. It made it more real. But the thing was, she didn't want to be scared, yet she was.

  And the feeling just wouldn't go away.

  "Why would I be scared?" She tried to make voice sound cool, confident, the question rhetorical. She knew he wouldn't take it that way and, even if he did, he would still reply.

  "It's your first kill. You're entitled to be."

  The word, kill. It sounded so harsh, so gritty, so wrong.

  She slipped her arm from his grasp and let it lay by her side. "Am I?"

  He looked up, his eyes resting over the ceiling. "It's always hard the first time."

  Lia blinked, then stepped back and tugged on some of her hair. She bit her bottom lip. He was still staring at the ceiling. She watched him, his words ringing through her head.

  The first time…

  Did that mean that he had killed more than once, and if so, why? But it wasn't the right time to ask. She could see it in his expression. She went for a different approach.

  "How do you do it?"

  She had never expected to ask anyone that question. Hell, she had never considered it up until now. She had always thought it as simply taking your gun and shooting someone, point blank, but for some reason it felt so much more complicated than that.

  He didn't answer for a few moments. She thought he hadn't heard her, so she opened her mouth, about to ask again, but was cut off by his reply.

  "When you kill someone –" The light from the lampshade flickered over his features, cutting through the shadows cast by his bangs. "–Your target becomes your prey. You detach yourself and your single aim is to hunt it, destroy it, and only then will you be satisfied." He paused, then continued. "You become the hunter and he, the hunted."

  She tugged on her hair, then met his gaze. "And the guilt?"

  He offered her a ghost of a smile. "If you allow yourself to feel guilty, you'll never be able to get anywhere. You have to embrace it, accept it, accept what is handed to you. Only then will you be able to move forward." His voice had adopted a harsh edge; there was finality to his words. He pulled open the door, then looked back at her, then the lampshade. "You'll want to turn that the right way round. The carpet could catch fire."

  He left, closing the door behind him. She made her way to the lampshade, lifting it up and gazing at the dim amber light. The brightness hurt her eyes. She squinted, then switched off the plug, encompassing the room in darkness.

  Lia stood up and tugged at the bottom of her dress. There was no light. She walked towards the direction of the door, her hand resting on the steely metal handle.

  Embrace it, accept it, only then will you move forward…

  She turned the handle, then stepped out into the main room. Light flooded her vision, causing her to squint. The red dress glistened beneath the amber hue.

  They were all stood there, waiting. Carmon was slouched on the sofa; Lacey lingered by the kitchen door; Jude and Cal leaned against the doorframe; Emilie and Leigh stood by the window. They all turned upon her entrance.

  She met Cal's gaze. He regarded her levelly.

  She nodded. "Let's go."

  It was time.

  And there was no turning back.

  * * *

  Jack shuffled his feet and knocked on the door. His hands itched from holding the flowers so tightly and the stems were itchy, anyway. He didn't understand what the girls saw in them.

  "Coming!" Her voice echoed from the other side of the door.

  He waited patiently. He would rather have met her by his car –Seb's car, to be exact – but he knew that she wouldn't appreciate that. She would think it rude or something, or say that it was a typical guy thing to do and that guys were all lazy and then go into one of her long lectures.

  He wasn't in the mood for a lecture. Not one from her, anyway. Her lectures were scary, and she was scary when she was giving lectures. He wanted a nice, scare-free evening.

  The door slid open. He stepped back and waited.

  Jack blinked.

  Her dress was black, sleeveless, and it fell beneath her knees. Her hair was in ringlets and she was wearing heels. Two elegant silver hoops fell from her ears and she was wearing a moderate amount of makeup.

  All in all, she looked really hot. And she had nice legs, he mused, which was always a bonus.

  He handed her the flowers, desperate to get rid of them. He was sure that his hands were red. Maybe he was allergic to them?

  "Um, for you." It was lame, but it was the only thing that he could manage to get out.

  She smiled, making her look even hotter than she did before. "Thanks." She gazed down at them with a look of adoration. "That's so sweet of you. You didn't have to."

  He still didn't get what girls saw in flowers. He could have just pulled out some random weeds from the local park –which he didn't, because he had bought them– and she would have still been pleased.

  Women were such a mystery.

  "Let me find a place for them, then I'll be right out."

  She went back inside with the flowers, then returned a minute or so later. She was wearing an elegant black jacket over her dress now. She pushed a curl behind her ear.

  "Let's go to the car," he supplied.

  She smiled. "Okay."

  He led her into the corridor, then out of the building and to the car.

  Hopefully this would be a good night.

  * * *

  Lia stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the pavement as she ascended. She flipped back her hair and gazed out at the clear, night sky as it stretched above her. It seemed endless.

  A pair of hands circled her waist from behind. He brought his lips to her ear. "Don't be so scared," he whispered.

  She leaned back and placed her hands over his. "I'm not." She tried to wrench them off. He didn't budge.

  "You're shivering," he stated.

  "It's cold." She let her hands rest.

  Cal dug his face in her hair. "There's more to it than that."

  "Is there?" Her voice sounded soft, even to her own ears.

  He waited for a few moments, before replying, "I'm going in with you, so you won't be alone. I'll be there."

  His hands fell to her hips and rested there for a few moments, before he let go. He began to walk forward, towards the building. She leaned against the car. Carmon was watching her, confusion etched over his features.

  She ran a hand through her hair and took in a deep breath, then went after him.

  Melan's heels clicked against the pavement, her arm resting in his.

  And he felt so nervous.

  There was a man stood at the door. He was elegantly dressed and he regarded them placidly. Jack let his gaze stray towards the building. It was massive, even bigger than the one that he had gone to a party at a while back.

  "Names, please," drawled the man. He had a checklist in his hands.

  "Jack Harlton, Head of Sector four, LAFFAT. And this is my date."

  The man nodded and allowed them entry. Jack was surprised at how easy it was to get in, but when he entered he understood.

  The main hall was large and filled with hundreds of figures all dressed luxuriantly. They all looked so rich and opulent, so powerful as if money fell from their very beings, seeping from their fingertips and wrapping over their forms to produce elegant figurines formed from the finest gold. And the air they commanded, their very presences, reeked from affluence, grandeur and lives spent counting pools of coins and attending parties seething with those painted with aristocracy, fuelled with high blood.

  He knew that he could never compare to them.

 
They made him feel low, unworthy. It felt as if all eyes suddenly fell towards him upon his entry, watching his form and singling him out as the one who did not lead their lifestyle –did not fit into their society.

  Yet as he watched them his very being was pumped with an overwhelming feeling of longing, pain, as he viewed those born into a lifestyle that he had once possessed –a lifestyle that had trickled beneath his fingertips and seeped back into the ground whence it came.

  If his parents had lived, he would have been one of them. This would have been his world and he would no longer have been the watcher, the spectator; he would have been the watched, one of them.

  And he wanted it so badly.

  How could you be so near, so close to something, yet at the same time be so far away? How could something so close be so unreachable, so untouchable, save for those short times within his most pleasant of dreams when everything was normal and nothing required so much thought, so much consideration?

  How could one event rip apart, destroy, so much?

  And he was still there. Standing on the edge of a hall full of people and never before had he felt as alone as he did now.

  "It's so beautiful." Melan's voice was filled with awe.

  He allowed a light smile to form on the edge of his features. "It is."

  But he was so used to it and it felt like he was stepping back in time, stepping back into an era which had been left forgotten and wrapped up in sheets of paper, then shoved to the deepest corners of the cupboard and left to fester beneath years of lost hope and broken dreams.

  Because that's all they were now, dreams.

  And that's all they ever would be.

  * * *

  His hand felt warm against hers as he dragged her into the hall, her dress swishing behind her.

  She smiled. "How did you get in so easily?"

  They stopped, then he offered a lopsided grin. "I have my ways."

  She cast her gaze over the inhabitants of the hall. They all looked like such snobs. His grip on her hand tightened as he continued to pull her along.

  "Stop dragging me!"

  He laughed. "You sound better."

  She bit her bottom lip. "I live for the present and don't think about the future!" she announced.

  He raised an eyebrow. "And is that one of your new philosophies in life?"

  She wrinkled up her nose. "I wouldn't want to be a philosopher. They're just loads of old men with nothing better to do with their time."

  "Not necessarily."

  "It's likely."

  "And I call that prejudice," he replied.

  She stuck out her tongue. "Call it what you want. It doesn't bother me."

  "I'm sure it doesn't."

  She grinned. "Is that sarcasm?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

  She brought a hand to her heart, then gasped. "You wound me with your harsh words, good sir."

  "And may those wounds fester and scab and peel until all that is left are the scars of your inner turmoil, milady."

  Lia creased her forehead. "Ewww."

  He laughed. She grinned and watched as the corners of his eyes began to crease, then he stopped.

  "What?"

  She shrugged. "Why do the corners of your eyes always crease when you laugh?"

  He arched an eyebrow. "Because they do."

  She rolled her eyes. "What an eloquent answer."

  "Only as eloquent as the question."

  She ran her eyes over the hall, searching. The room was large, massive even. It would be hard to find him, but they would be able to manage it. The ceiling was high and hanging from its exterior were nine chandeliers: three along each side and one in the center. Each chandelier was adorned with rich diamonds, diamonds that glistened beneath the warm amber light like hundreds of fireflies flickering in the night sky. Pristine white pillars supported each corner of the room accompanied by a few ornate, arched doorways that probably led further into the building. A flight of stairs led to a higher level, like some sort of veranda, and she could see people strolling along the white marble above her.

  It was like some sort of dream.

  Dresses swished by, accompanied by long black tailcoats and the faint scent of perfume.

  She scoured the veranda, then spotted Carmon. She met his eye and nodded. There were guards stationed along the edges, all poised and ready to shoot if anyone seemed suspicious.

  It was why it had been so easy to get in. They didn't think that anyone was stupid enough to try to get in if not invited. Even the slightest glint of something dangerous would result in instantly getting shot.

  Of course, that wasn't the plan.

  She felt an arm wrap around her waist. He brought his lips to her ear. "The only way we're going to find him is if we go further in," he whispered.

  "How do we do that?" She kept her voice low, hushed.

  His breath tickled her ear. She could feel his smirk. "Simple."

  His grip tightened and, before she could reply, he had pulled her onto the dance floor. He kept his arm around her waist, sending goose bumps creeping over her flesh. He took her hand in his and led her along the floor.

  "Cal, what the f –"

  He pulled her towards him and put a finger to her lips. "Don't talk. I'll lead, you follow."

  He twirled her, then pulled her towards him and continued to lead. She felt dizzy as he twirled her again, her dress belling out around her and causing the air to lash against her legs. The red glinted beneath the light of the chandeliers, the light which danced over the hall's surface, crisscrossing and intermingling like stars flickering in the night sky and shooting over its surface, crashing against the planets and omitting hundreds of jagged rocks all painted a rich gold as they poured out from its many craters and glistened beneath the wavering light of a setting sun.

  Gold light danced across her vision –a rich amber hue. He pulled her closer. His shirt was soft beneath her fingertips, his movements slow, rhythmic, beneath the soft melody of a music playing in the distance, playing so far away yet at the same time so near as its soft harmony reverberated through her ears and overcame her senses.

  They were so close she could feel his breath against her face, their foreheads touching. Her skin felt hot, yet at the same time chilly.

  "Are you wearing perfume?" he murmured. He rubbed his forehead against hers, causing their noses to brush lightly.

  She smiled. "Blame Lacey."

  He twirled her again as the music changed, reaching its crescendo before dropping once again. He caught her, both arms around her waist.

  "You smell nice."

  "Thank you."

  The amber lights dimmed, suddenly, the only light that remained was that which escalated from the chandeliers above them, a pristine white glow that flickered over the darkened, laminated flooring.

  Small beads of white light swam across the now shadowed surface of the room, like miniscule droplets of water pouring down from a gray sky and skittering over the tarmac before forming puddles and slowly rippling with their white light. The glistening of the diamonds seemed more noticeable now and everything seemed faded, dreamlike.

  Lia could hear a few faint gasps as the lighting dimmed, but she ignored them. It just looked so beautiful, felt so beautiful, beneath the continuing harmony of the piano as it filtered through the room and washed over her senses.

  And then the light returned.

  She rested her head in the crook of Cal's neck, peering over his shoulder.

  And then she saw him. "Spotted."

  He dug his head into her hair. "Good."

  Cal twirled her again, hundreds of colors screaming across her vision before they were once again replaced by a stark solidity. They were moving back, slowly. He had spotted him, too.

  It was time for phase one of the plan.

  * * *

  Melan's grip on his hand tightened. "Can we?"

  Jack bit his lip. "I'm not that good…"

  She rolled her e
yes, then pulled him further into the hall. "Everyone says that, but they never really mean it."

  "Trust me, I do," he replied. He had danced before, on numerous occasions, and he was terrible at it. He could still remember the lessons that he had to have when he was a boy.