by M. A. Phipps
How else could it possibly end?
“He means it’ll kill me,” I breathe.
Ezra’s eyes widen the instant those words leave my mouth. It’s as if he’s only just realized what he’s said, and he’s desperate to find some way to unsay it.
“I—”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I guess a part of me always knew that’s what would happen.”
The way he looks at me is unbearable. Yet, it’s not what undoes me. It’s the others. It’s the extreme sympathy and horror written across both of their faces.
“Wynter . . .” Rai gasps.
I take a step back, unable to deal with this. “I . . . I have to go,” I mutter clumsily.
I turn on my heel and dash from the room without a backward glance in their direction. I can hear Jenner and Rai’s concerned voices calling after me. I ignore them. Ezra doesn’t call after me, but he doesn’t have to.
His expression says it all.
I don’t turn back. Instead, I stumble through the corridors, trying to figure out the best place to go to be alone. I try to remember the tour that Rai and Jenner gave me before. However, all I can think about are Ezra’s words. They echo in my ears, replaying through my thoughts.
At first, I was afraid of dying at the hands of the DSD. Then, the new threat became PHOENIX. The entire time, I knew what this condition was doing to me, and I guess, on some level, I knew what the outcome would be. Still, of all the menacing forces pursuing me, I never allowed myself to even once consider that I would be the one to bring about my own end.
The idea of inescapable death frightens me to the point where it acts as a trigger for the very thing I wish to avoid. My vision blurs as that horrible fire-like heat rises up across my skin.
The familiar cycle begins once again.
I continue to run, but my legs grow weaker with each passing second. Spotting an open doorway, I force myself through it, thankful when I see where my subconscious has led me.
I stagger through the bathroom and nearly collapse in the shower. My fingers frantically reach for the handle. A loud scream breaches my lips when the cold water hits my skin.
The vision strikes me at that same moment. I see it all so clearly, just as I did that first time. I see the emptiness. I see the debris. I see the destruction.
More than that, I see myself.
Blood streams from every orifice on my face, mixing with the tears spilling from my solidly black eyes. Screams escape my cracked lips, intermingled with hysterical, crazed pleas.
“I’m afraid!” I cry. “I don’t want to kill anyone else. I don’t want to die!”
I can’t see who I’m talking to, but I can hazard a guess. After all, he’s the only other person who is ever present in this vision.
It’s only now that I realize why I even saw this at all. It was never about Ezra. No matter how much the DSD wants to blame him for what will happen, it was never about him, but about me.
This power I have, it won’t simply kill me. It will grow until it has the power to kill everyone else as well.
The tiled walls crack beneath my touch, my fingers slipping away as they reach for my head. The pressure builds up inside of me until I can no longer take it. It rushes out of me in a single wave of release.
The pipes in the walls burst in response, showering me with excessive amounts of water and forcing my already weak body to the floor. I succumb to the pain and to my impending unconsciousness, desperate to avoid the realization plaguing my thoughts. Tears flow down my cheeks, making me relive the truth—the brutal reality I can no longer escape.
It’s always been about me. This entire time, and in spite of all the signs that seemed to indicate otherwise, it was always about me.
I am the one who will end the world.
“WYNTER.”
I hear someone call my name, but everything is hazy. I can’t see anything.
All I can feel is pain.
I’m trapped in a strange place between unconsciousness and waking, causing the voices around me to be muffled and distant. I can’t tell them apart. I can barely even remember who they belong to in the first place. All I know for certain is that I’m dying. Slowly, one piece at a time. Torn apart from the inside by this disease coursing through me. Overtaking me until eventually, I won’t be able to control it.
“Is she breathing?”
“I don’t know—”
I try to wrap my head around the words entering my ears, but all I can focus on are the pictures in my thoughts. They surround me, engulfing me in that same familiar vision once again.
I witness the world ending just as I did that first time. Except now, I see it differently. Whereas, originally, I looked at it with only fear and apprehension, I’m now consumed by a tremendous burden of guilt.
The world will end. I know that. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing I can do to protect anyone from the person who will cause it.
From me.
“Why is there so much blood?”
Static suddenly distorts the picture, changing it. Now I see Ezra again. I see his dirt-stained cheeks. The tears flowing from his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Wynter.”
Why? Why are you sorry?
Why . . .
“I’m sorry . . .”
Why do you cry?
Static again. Now I see myself—or rather, the monster I’ll become. Black, soulless eyes. Blood covering my skin, symbolizing the evil rotting within me. This power, it’s like a parasite interweaving itself into every facet of my being.
There’s no running from it. There’s no escaping it.
This . . .
This frightened but deadly creature . . .
“Help her. Do whatever you have to.”
This is what I’ll become.
My body feels light, as if I’m being carried. The hands holding me are warm and supportive. Protective. Shielding me from outside dangers—staying with me while I fight against the threat growing inside of me.
“Wynter . . .” Ezra says to me.
His voice is like a distant light, calling to me from a place I have no hope of reaching. I search anyway. I search for the light, desperate to find it.
Desperate to join it.
“Please wake up . . .”
The light rushes toward me, swallowing everything in a blinding flash. Once it dissipates, I open my eyes, and I’m surprised to find myself back in the compound—back in the room Ezra told me was mine. Back when he asked me to stay here.
I blink. No one else is around. Despite the voices I heard surrounding me, I’m completely alone, and what’s even stranger is that I’m standing as if I’ve been awake this entire time.
Is this real or is it a dream? It must be a dream because I know I’m asleep. I have to be. Unless it’s something else altogether.
I turn in place, feeling somewhat disoriented. My eyes scan the room, but nothing I see can tell me what’s about to happen. Nor when.
My feet inch forward, but a sudden sound behind me instantly paralyzes my every movement.
“Wynter.”
A shudder runs up my spine when I hear his voice. It’s so familiar to me now, interlaced in my every waking thought. His voice is always in my head. Always speaking to me.
Always haunting me.
Hesitantly, I look over my shoulder. The air catches in my chest when our eyes lock.
“Ezra,” I breathe.
“You can’t do this,” he murmurs.
I stare at him, bewildered and taken aback by his words—even more so because I can sense the anger behind them. But why?
What could I have possibly done this time?
“Do what?” I ask.
At this exact moment, another voice enters the conversation.
My voice.
“I have to,” it says.
My heart pounds wildly, overflowing with anticipation
as I shift from being the center of this vision to nothing more than a simple spectator. Because this isn’t reality, I know that now.
At least not yet.
I stare at where the other me sits on the bed. She busies herself rewrapping her wrist, but I get the impression she’s only doing that to avoid his gaze. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear Ezra’s next words.
“Look at me,” he says. He storms over to the bed and tears the bandaging from her hands. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he growls.
“And you do?” she asks, finally glancing up at him.
I wait for something to happen—for one of them to speak, but neither of them do.
The tension and suspense seem to reach impossible heights until it gets to the point where I feel like I could scream. A strange fear burrows in my stomach as the confusion overwhelms me.
What’s happening? Why is he so upset with me? But most of all, how did we get to this point?
The other me seems to know these answers, but for whatever reason, she fails to show them to me. Not like I can blame her, though. After all, she doesn’t exist yet.
Another shiver crosses my skin as I watch the friction between them inflate until it’s practically visible. I can hardly bear it, so it’s a wonder either of them can. Eventually, it clearly becomes too much for her as well, and in a hurried movement, she rises from the bed. Without a single glance in his direction, she heads for the door.
It’s at this moment I see something I could’ve never anticipated. Something I might not believe if I didn’t already know about the accuracy of these visions.
It’s like a strange dream—one you wake up from but know isn’t real. Except this . . .
This is real.
His hands shoot out, turning her body around to face him and preventing her escape. Then, without uttering a single word, he kisses her.
He kisses me.
Their embrace seems to last a lifetime, as if the world surrounding us has somehow frozen. My heart races in my chest, and I find myself desperate for answers.
Why is he kissing me?
What will happen that will lead us to this?
I watch in disbelief as they pull apart, each releasing quiet, fast-paced breaths. Their eyes lock, and the expression on her face matches the one on mine now.
Stunned.
Bewildered.
Lost for words.
I try to speak, to say I don’t understand, even though they won’t hear me. I can tell that she doesn’t understand either. How could she? Ezra and I come from different worlds. Maybe not originally, but he escaped our warped society far sooner than I did. This leaves me unfamiliar with the emotions burning in his hazel gaze, as well as with the confused feelings currently raging in my heart.
“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers.
I can almost feel his warm breath against my lips, despite being in the past and him standing in the future. It’s as if we’re connected somehow, even across time.
I now realize that, from the very first moment I saw him in my vision, I always sensed something linking us—anchoring us together in a way I could never quite explain. From that very first moment, I could feel myself changing. The emotions, everything I was told to suppress in order to survive, he’s pulling them out of me one by one.
“Stay here,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”
Stay.
Stay . . . ?
Where would I go?
I take a deep breath as the uncertainty consumes me, and suddenly, I find my eyes opening once more. However, now they’re welcoming me back into reality, leaving me with nothing but the memory of what awaits in the future.
But was that actually a vision or is it possible that was all only a dream? If it was a dream, why would I see that?
Why would I have those thoughts about him?
My head pounds as I try to make sense of the images running through my brain. Which, of course, are only made worse by the déjà vu that hits me as soon as I look around. I gaze upon the room. I’m back in my new quarters, and just like in the dream, I’m not alone.
“Ezra . . .” I whimper.
Shifting in the chair positioned beside the bed, an expectant look crosses his face when he hears my voice. He seems almost startled at first, but within seconds, his expression changes. Now, all I see is immense relief.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
He moves closer to me, but I can’t help but notice the distance in his gaze. Even his tone has an air of resistance to it, as if he’s walking on eggshells because of what’s happening to me. Because of what will happen to me.
I clear my throat. “Honestly, I’ve felt better.”
He sucks in a sharp breath and lowers his eyes, looking down at his clasped hands.
“I’m so sorry,” he mutters.
While a part of me is sincerely taken aback by his apology, another part of me can only think of one thing.
Those words ring through my thoughts like a bell, reminding me of the future that stands before us. But I can’t face it.
Not right now.
“Still not it,” I whisper. When he peers up at me, I make an effort to look as serious as possible. “You’re not off the hook yet,” I add.
It’s only when I smile that he realizes I’m joking—something I never would’ve thought I was capable of. Thankfully, he seems to relax, and for a few seconds, we simply look at each other, enjoying this one moment of peace when we’re both well aware that it can never last.
Eventually, I turn away from him.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
I try to sit up, but my entire body is aching. Ezra leans forward to help me, and I slump back into the pillow the instant his hands leave my body.
“Sleeping,” he says. “It’s three in the morning.”
“How long have I been out?” I gasp.
My vision occurred sometime in the afternoon, so in all fairness, it could be less than a day since it’s happened. Whether or not I actually believe that is another story.
He inhales deeply before answering, and I can see the hesitation in his gaze. “It’s been a week,” he breathes.
My heart nearly stops, and it takes everything I have to hide the panic rushing through me. A week? It’s been that long?
I bite my lip, disturbed by the toll this disease is taking on my body. The longest my unconsciousness has lasted up until now has only been a day at most. To jump from that to an entire week . . .
My hands tremble nervously as I wonder what it means. All I know for certain is that it’s getting worse, and if things continue to progress like they are now then I don’t feel optimistic about how much time I have left.
“There’s something else,” Ezra says, breaking my depressing train of thought.
I wait for him to speak, but for some reason, he seems reluctant to continue.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “We received a transmission while you were out. It was from a high-ranking member of the State who claims to want to work undercover for us. For PHOENIX.”
“Who is it?” I ask. I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice, and I can tell that he, too, seems doubtful about it. Doubtful or . . . apprehensive?
“His name is Wren Bilken. He’s a senior advisor for the State, who works in direct correspondence with the city magistrate. He’s also the acting CEO for W. P. Headquarters.”
My entire body immediately tenses.
From the moment he said that name, I knew something wasn’t right.
Wren Bilken. I’ve only met him once before, but once was enough. He was the person who conducted my work placement interview and ultimately decided which sector I was projected to enter. He oversees all of the education leading up to the exam from the moment we’re old enough to enter school.
I only saw him one other time—on the screen, wishing us luck at the beginning of my exam.
The coincidence of it all seems too unlikely. Be
sides, why would he, of all people, want to help PHOENIX? How could he possibly benefit from the State losing power? It’s also somewhat suspicious that they would receive this transmission only after I came here. Either something isn’t right, or it really is just remarkable timing.
No, I tell myself. It’s not.
“It’s a trap,” I whisper. My eyes lock on Ezra, hoping he’ll hear the urgency in my voice and realize they must not believe this transmission, no matter what it says.
He settles back into his chair. “Probably,” he admits.
He says it so casually that I’m not sure he understands what I’m trying to tell him. I’m not guessing that it’s a trap.
I know it is.
“You don’t understand,” I stammer. “I know Wren Bilken. Trust me, he isn't someone who will turn against the State!”
Ezra continues to seem unfazed by my words. The frustration running through me is like an itch I can’t scratch. If my body wasn’t so weak, I would jump out of this bed and shake him until he grasps what I’m saying.
“What choice do I have?” he finally asks me.
For the first time since waking up, I see the exhaustion in his face. I see the desperation in his eyes.
“The people here expect action, and to be honest, we can’t afford the possibility that it’s not a genuine offer. We’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time. That transmission . . . well, it could be that opportunity. This could be the very thing we’ve been hoping for.”
“But you could die,” I breathe.
I stare at him, amazed by his stupidity and the remarkable lengths he’s willing to go to. He knows that, more likely than not, this transmission is a trap. Still he’s prepared to go—to take the chance that it won’t be. He’ll risk everything, including his life, for the possibility of a better future.
Not only for him, but for everyone here.
“Good thing it’s a cause worth dying for,” he murmurs.
Our eyes meet, and I know that nothing I say will change his mind. He’s going. With or without my blessing.
In a halfhearted breath, I ask, “When are you leaving?”
“I delayed it for as long as I could,” he answers. “I wanted to see if you’d wake up first.” When he sees my expression, he adds, “I couldn’t just leave things like that. Especially if I might not come back.”