Flawed (Perfection)

by J. L. Spelbring

  “Hey.” Eric grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

  Patting his hand, Mathew said, “No problem.”

  “I owe you.”

  “When we get the hell out of here, I’ll make sure you pay up.”

  Eric groaned and lay back on his pillow. “Chop. Chop. You’ve been summoned,” he said, closing his eyes. “And don’t forget to put on those nice new clothes and shiny boots.”

  Unlike the chilling temperatures of the barracks, the Commandant’s office was toasty warm. Almost too warm. Or maybe the heat Mathew felt was because of the commander’s hate-filled glare. Seemed the officer wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.

  The Commandant sat across the desk from Mathew in his leather chair. Everything about the man was rigid, from his posture to his crisp, dark-blue Waffenrock, right down to the shiny brass buttons.

  After a moment, the commander leaned against the back of his chair. “I was hoping after a few days to think things through logically, you would have some answers for me.”

  Mathew felt deflated. For the last hour, he’d repeated over and over again the same words he was about to say now. “I have nothing to say.”

  “Why? It isn’t giving any valuable information to betray your beloved family.” The Commandant spit the word family out like it tasted bad on his tongue.

  Mathew scooted closer to the edge of his chair. “Why don’t you tell me exactly the reason you have an interest in Ellyssa?”

  His face hardening into stone, the commander of the camp’s lips formed a rigid line under his nose. “Regardless of other parties’ interest in you,” he seethed, “let me remind you I run the show here. You are dangerously close to crossing the line.”

  Careful to keep his poker face in place while a rising tide of worry washed onto his shore of courage, Mathew wondered how much further he had to go before he toed that line. Not that it mattered. Whether or not the requested information would compromise the Resistance, the Commandant was barking up the wrong tree. For all the people who had died for the cause, more than he could probably fathom, he would honor them.

  “Are we done now?” Mathew asked.

  The Commandant’s ears shaded red. “Get out,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

  Mathew thought it wise not to press his luck. He rose from his chair and went to the door.

  “Oh, and Doc?”

  Hand on the knob, escape within a turn of his wrist, Mathew stopped.

  “There is more than one way to inflict pain.”

  The Commandant’s voice was low, like before, only this time there was no mistaking his words. Fear trickled into Mathew’s blood. He wasn’t exactly sure what the Commandant meant, but he figured he’d find out soon enough. He also figured he wasn’t going to like it. Twisting the doorknob, Mathew went to meet the soldier who would escort him back to his drafty barracks.

  Wind whipped outside, rattling the metal door against the frame with a hollow, eerie sound. Cold crept under the crack of the door and across the floor, meeting the cold that had seeped through the walls.

  A chill crawled along Mathew’s spine and jabbed into the back of his skull. He shivered under his thin blanket. Pulling his legs into his stomach, he lay on his side in a fetal position, looking toward Eric’s empty bunk. He could see just barely see the outline of the metal legs and thin mattress, courtesy of the low, flickering flame burning in the stove.

  When Mathew had returned from his meeting, the barracks had been empty. He’d assumed Eric had been ordered back to the ever-important job of pushing piles of snow from one end of the compound to the other. But when the crews returned with no Eric, a deep foreboding had taken root. Then when no one had known where Eric was, and when he hadn’t shown up during mess, the foreboding had sprouted and continued to flourish as the night progressed.

  He’d kept hoping his old friend would show. Maybe he’d been reassigned to another detail that required a late night to make up for his absence earlier in the day. But every time the door had opened, followed by the progression of soldiers for the seven o’clock count, the eight o’clock count and the nine o’clock count, and still no Eric, the hope sizzled into an ashen lump.

  Guilt slithered in Mathew’s midsection. His friend was gone, and it was his fault.

  The Commandant had been right. There was more than one way to cause pain.

  And it sliced Mathew deeper than any riding crop.

  18

  Aalexis stiffened her fingers and delivered a knife strike right at the throat of the wooden dummy. The faux opponent wobbled back on its rounded butt, then flipped right back into position to be knocked down with a perfectly executed front kick to the chin. It skidded across the mat and rocked back again.

  The well-ingrained movements were performed with little thought, one flowing into the next into the next, by now ingrained into her. Her gi snapped at each execution. A right punch followed by a left uppercut, followed by a spin kick to the gut. Already, the dummy was showing wear, just like the sand-filled punching bag she’d knocked off the chain the day before.

  Aalexis had always found quiet in the performance, the feel of her taut muscles twitching under the exertion, the tendons moving under her skin, her deep and even breaths. It freed her mind for other pursuits, like what atrocities her sister had committed, and how she and Xaver would extact revenge.

  Spinning around, Aalexis finished with a back kick hard enough to lift the dummy off the ground, then, dropping down on her haunches, she whipped around and swept what would have been legs out from under her wooden opponent. It landed on its side with a crashing thud before it rounded back upright.

  “The bait has been set,” Xaver said.

  Xaver’s voice wasn’t a surprise. Her brother had been watching her for the last five minutes. Not only did she feel the difference in temperature when he opened the door, but his scent cloaked the exercise room as soon as the door shut.

  Looking at the rocking mannequin, Aalexis stretched her neck from side to side and spread her arms wide, releasing the tightness in her chest and biceps. She strolled back over to the bench and picked up her towel. Slowly, as she wiped her face and neck, Aalexis faced Xaver.

  Xaver stood next to the treadmills, his body lean and muscular under the white tank top that clung to his midsection, defining every line of his stomach. The gi bottoms hung low from his hips.

  Aalexis’ insides quivered.

  She didn’t understand the feelings he elicited in her, the warmth in her midsection or the how pleasing his outdoorsy scent was, but eventually she’d have to confront them. If she could say she feared anything, it would be to break down like Ellyssa had, and end up a feeble creature, unworthy of her father’s brilliance. Aalexis forced her eyes back to Xaver’s face.

  “The location has been released?”

  “Yes. If Ellyssa is still in the area, the news will carry with the traitor.”

  “Good,” she replied. “I am growing impatient. What of construction?”

  “Proceeding ahead of schedule.”

  “Finally, things seem to be moving.”

  “Also, the Commandant reported. He assures us that the prisoner is still well.”

  “We might need him if we do not apprehend Ellyssa right away. Her love for the Renegades will work against her.” She started to turn away.

  “Emotions weaken.”

  Halting, a chill crawled over Aalexis’ skin. Did Xaver know her about her lapses?

  Lids narrowed to slits, Aalexis turned back toward him. Xaver stared at her, but nothing in his posture alerted her to a challenge. Instead, his face held a look of…of fondness? Maybe? It looked somewhat like an expression that had crossed her father’s face on occasion, soft and relaxed; the corners of his lips slightly curled upward.

  The display was alien on him, confusing to her, but that didn’t stop her heart from accelerating or warmth from spreading. For a moment, time seemed to slow as she tried to decipher what was happening.<
br />
  “Would you prefer a live opponent?” Xaver asked, breaking the spell, his face now blank, his voice lackluster.

  Aalexis averted her eyes, reining in the eerie whirlwind inside her. She shoved it into the deepest, darkest recesses of her being. Under control, anger—the emotion she understood, even if it was caused by the disorder her body was experiencing—surfaced.

  “Brother,” she stated, her voice amazingly calm under the circumstances, “I might be younger, but I have grown stronger. I will prove to be a most formidable opponent.”

  A wicked smile flicked across Xaver’s face and disappeared as if never there. “I know.”

  Without another word, Xaver barreled toward her, his bare feet slapping against the mats. He was nothing more than a blur of movement, and Aalexis barely had time to drop the towel she’d been holding before Xaver was upon her. Within a blink of the eye, he stepped left and dropped, swiping his right leg out. Aalexis felt the swish of air as she flipped over his extended leg and landed on her feet a meter away.

  Relentlessly, Xaver came at her. Aalexis scarcely had time to move to the left as his fist blazed toward her, overshooting above her shoulder. She twisted to the side and executed an elbow strike, clipping his wrist as he was pulling back.

  Somewhat proud, if Aalexis was to name the exuberant feeling, she met his eyes. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw pride on his face, too, right before they hardened to an icy blue. Xaver unleashed an merciless series of uchis and tsukis. Aalexis countered with ukes, knocking his strikes and punches away from her.

  He advanced, and she backed up under the fierceness of his attack. Her brother’s skill matched and, if she were to be truthful, exceeded her own with age and weight. But that didn’t make Xaver impossible to defeat. Aalexis kept her eyes peeled for an opening.

  As he pulled his leg in for a roundhouse kick, Aalexis seized the opportunity and went on the offensive, easily avoiding his foot and retaliating with strikes as powerful as he’d just exhibited. He blocked them, one after the other. With him on the defensive, her strikes sure and precise, Aalexis stepped forward, pushing Xaver back.

  Like a graceful choreographed dance, they continued moving back and forth across the mat, matching strikes with blocks, agilely evading kicks and sweeps, each holding their own against the other.

  Then, Xaver moved to the right, and Aalexis countered, but not before he struck her in the ribs. The pain was excruciating and refreshing at the same time. He stepped in, putting his left foot behind her, grabbed her by the neck, and she landed on her back. Before Aalexis had a chance to recover, Xaver was on top of her, his knees on each side of her, rendering her incapacitated.

  “Do you know your mistake?” he asked.

  Aalexis was speechless, liking and hating the feel of his weight against her. His muscular chest rose and fell with short breaths. He leaned closer, a perfect brow raised over one eye, and his scent assaulted her nose.

  “Well?”

  Anger at letting him get the best of her, but more so for the barrage of incomprehensible sensations now, licking through Aalexis’ veins. She bucked, hard, and flipped him over her. Xaver landed on his back, and before he had a chance to move, Aalexis sprang to her haunches and pinned his neck under her knee. Minutely, he moved as if readying to counter, but she pressed down harder, cutting off his air supply.

  For a moment, she thought how easy it would be to end all the conflicting feelings storming around in her. A slight movement of her knee and his neck would be broken. Easy and over with.

  But she couldn’t.

  Besides the protection Xaver afforded her, his intelligence or her father’s wish of them being inseparable, Aalexis couldn’t imagine the absence of him from her life. A detail she chose to ignore for the time being.

  “Do you know yours?” Aalexis asked.

  He gazed at her, his eyes no longer flat or cold, but flickering with something she couldn’t quite identify. Something that made her insides twitch in response.

  “Indeed I do.”

  19

  Ellyssa wiped away the condensation from the frost-covered window and watched Woody cross the backyard. He moved hunched over, his ash-blond hair and the parka whipping in the wind. He opened the door to the barn and disappeared inside.

  Things had been fine, normal even, until Rein and Tim had gone into the radio room and Trista went to take a shower, leaving the two of them alone. Soon afterwards, Woody had mumbled something and escaped into the grey day.

  “I think I’ll help Woody,” she said, turning around as Sarah entered the room.

  “Be sure to bundle up,” Sarah answered.

  The older woman went to man her regular post, the stove, and stirred spaghetti sauce in a big black pot. The air smelled heavenly with garlic and oregano. Ellyssa’s stomach made itself known.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ellyssa called over her shoulder as she shrugged into the parka.

  Harsh, icy wind clawed at Ellyssa’s cheeks as soon as she opened the door. Taking a deep breath, she rushed over the threshold and into the frozen air of the Missouri winter.

  The hood of the coat caught by the drawstrings in her fist, Ellyssa quickened her pace across the path, each step a struggle against Mother Nature’s forces. Ominous clouds swirled angrily in the sky, holding the promise of a cascade of snow. Tim had said blizzard-like conditions were possible in the evening, and it seemed the possibility was more than likely.

  Reaching the barn, Ellyssa opened the door, only to have the wind snatch it out of her hand and bang it against the siding. Woody flipped around on his heels, his arms flung upward as if to protect himself. He visibly relaxed when he noticed it was her.

  “Close the door,” Woody said. “It’s cold enough in here.”

  The door slammed shut without much effort on Ellyssa’s part, the blustery weather’s way of lending a helping hand. For a moment, she stood unmoving, the cold knob in her hand. Words fumbled around in her brain. She knew what she wanted to say but was not sure how to say it. Ellyssa wanted him to know how much he meant to her for all the things he did, for the things they shared. Since they’d blown The Center into a skeleton of its former self, things had spun into their future so fast, leading them to this point of time.

  Most of all, though, Ellyssa wanted to know what was up with his mood swings, something she’d thought about over the last couple of days. If what she kind of thought was true, the air needed to be cleared between the two of them.

  She owed him that much.

  Ellyssa loved Woody. Not the same way she loved Rein—of course she could distinguish the difference—but she loved him nevertheless. Funny how, just a few months ago, sitting in her sterile room of her old home, the thought of love or friendship, or family for that matter, had never crossed Ellyssa’s mind. Her joys and sorrows she had carefully filed away into a box, never to be exposed. Now, Ellyssa stood in a cold barn, hiding in Missouri, preparing to launch another expedition into an unforeseen future with hope of finding missing friends alive, as the feelings she’d denied so long curled and writhed and heated inside her.

  “So, did you leave the warmth of the house to stand in the cold?” Woody asked, his voice holding the same irritation she’d heard in the dilapidated old store where she’d taken refuge after she’d escaped, what seemed a lifetime ago.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked at Woody’s back as he wiggled a box with a red cross marked on the side free from the shelf. Ellyssa lowered her head as she moved to the middle of the floor. “Woody, may I have a word with you?”

  He paused for a moment, careful to avoid eye contact with her. After a second longer, he lugged the box over to a table and opened it without saying a word.

  Life would have been so much easier if Ellyssa had just swung her gate open to Woody’s thoughts. At the very least, she would be certain what he was thinking, instead of playing a guessing game that she really didn’t excel at.

  A thank-you seemed to be the best way to
start. “I’ve never really had a chance to offer you a proper thank you.”

  This time, when he stopped, his grey eyes met hers. Woody’s eyebrows dipped over the bridge of his nose. “For what?”

  “For helping me. With everything. For Rein. If not for your insistence on coming with me, he wouldn’t be with us today.” She swallowed a lump that’d formed after the words came out. “I would have failed alone. You risked your life and saved all of us.”

  “No need to thank me, Ellyssa. He would’ve done the same for me…as I’m sure you would’ve, too.”

  Ellyssa took a step forward. “Without a second thought.”

  A brief smile tugged at the corner of Woody’s lips. “That’s what we do for each other,” he said, before he averted his gaze back to the box. “Was that all?”

  Ellyssa watched as he pulled out a small plastic container filled with bandages, antiseptic cream, lip balm and other first-aid supplies. The group already had ten stored away, along with boxes of MREs, tents and sleeping bags, and other goods, in the white van parked behind a copse of evergreens. It was another vehicle Tim had used for emergency transportation of Renegades, and had given to them for their trek into Texas. For precaution, Tim had replaced the plate with numbers untraceable back to him and Sarah.

  “No.”

  Still not looking at Ellyssa, Woody paused again for a moment before he started to rifle around in the box as if searching for something. “Then what?” he snipped. “Why else are you here?”

  She was a little hurt at the way he sounded, and mad because she was pretty sure he knew why but was going to make it difficult on her. “This is why,” Ellyssa blurted. “You. Why do you act like we’re friends one moment, then like you’re trying to avoid me the next? A minute ago, you smiled at me; now you won’t even look at me.” She waved her hand at the box. “We don’t need any more medical supplies. You just came out here to avoid me, and don’t think I don’t know it, either.”