by R. H. Scott
“Why does Stone have to arrange these meetings on days where I just want to sleep?” Elijah complained.
Sloan glanced over the letter from the Infirmary as they walked down the hall, telling her to come in for her quarterly CI. They turned down the corridor, pushing into the training hall. Sloan made a mental note to go by the Infirmary later.
“What’s the letter about?” Elijah asked, pulling open the door to Stone’s office.
“Nothing.” She shrugged, folding the paper up and shoving it in her pocket. They stepped into the general’s office, saluting before taking a seat.
Stone took his seat and eyed her up slowly. “Kevin Young’s body was found this morning.”
She saw the sentry, falling dead, listlessly discarded from her hands. Sloan looked away from the general. She studied the crooked blinds of Stone’s office window, refusing to close her eyes for fear that Kevin Young’s face would appear.
I did what I had to do—I saved Elijah.
“He was found at the base of Green Peak and as you hoped, it has been believed that the fall snapped his neck.”
She could still see the look of mortification in Elijah’s face—the way he tried to revive the body.
“As such, everyone believes it was an accident.”
Sloan stirred at his sentiment. They all believed it was an accident. “Well, at least we know the truth.” She could taste the bitterness of her own words. Elijah and Stone stared at her darkly. Elijah turned in his seat, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“It was an accident.” He corrected Stone’s inference.
Sloan offered him a meek smile. “Falling off a cliff is an accident—snapping someone’s neck is not.” At her rebuttal Elijah let his pensive gaze fall away.
“Elijah, give me a moment with Radcliffe,” Stone ordered, leaning forward once more and pointing to the door. Elijah hesitated, glancing to her for some direction.
She raised her eyebrow. “What do you want? Permission to leave?”
The level of her own rudeness surprised her—but what did he expect, what did any of them expect? They had dragged her into this world, made her a killer, and then when she did just that—they treated her differently. Elijah treated her differently. Sure, they had grown closer, but she couldn’t forget the look in his eye or the tone in his voice when he had demanded what exactly was wrong with her?
Elijah shrugged off her comment, shaking his head as he left. Closing the door on her.
Stone stared at her, his tired eyes studying her impatiently. “Talk to me, Radcliffe.”
“Nice weather we’re having here, General.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You know what I mean.”
Sloan readjusted in her seat, staring back at him. She wished Stone had never taken an interest in her. She wished she had never known the truth. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Sure you do. You’re angry, you’re disappointed, you’re coming un—”
“I’m wondering what does any of that matter to you? You’re the reason I’m like this.”
“You keep saying that—keep blaming me,” he said, and his vehemence took her aback slightly. “Made you like what, exactly? Like an angry, petulant child? You think you’re the only one who is disappointed?” He shook his head, leaning forward to carry on.
“I expected so much more from you . . . and this is what I have to deal with every day.” His words confronted her, pushed her further back into her seat. He stood, rounding his desk.
“I thought you were stronger. I thought you had more control. Had I known that all you were was some façade, something that only existed because of Jared Dawson, then I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“How dare—” she began, but he towered over her, arms crossed, his heavy grey glare stilling her in her chair.
“I do dare. Because clearly I was wrong. He broke you beyond repair, and then, not only can I not rely on you to be the soldier I thought I had so aptly chosen, but then you go and kill someone.” He shook his head. “You’re a wreck, and a dangerous one at that.”
Sloan stood abruptly, her chair falling back. “My life was made up by those I cared about! You—you betrayed me! Jared lied to me, abandoned me. Tandy—she was taken from me! You trained me to kill and then took away everything that kept me sane.”
He took a step towards her and she backed away, stumbling over the chair. She fell against the wall, shaking. How could he be saying these things to her? He’d made her into something, something that required certain parts in order to function, and then he took those parts away from her and wondered why she was broken?
“There you go again—blaming everyone else for the horrible things you have done. Were you even thinking the day you killed Young? Honestly, Sloan, you were trained to know better, and if you didn’t know better, then the least we expected was that you could do the bare minimum—kill and move on. Instead, you’ve let it destroy you.”
“You.”
Sloan stepped away from the wall and pushed at the general, knocking him away from her. “You destroyed me! You—the Order—you ruined my life. I loved him and you wrecked him, you let me get given to Elijah, like some trophy, and then you bring me into this web of deceit and conspiracy. Yes, I killed someone, but it was him or Elijah and from everything you’ve taught me—that’s not a choice at all. If I’m a killer then thank yourself because it’s your damn fault!”
Sloan’s voice broke over her tears. She pushed the general again, until he leaned against his desk, retreating from her. She hit him wildly in the chest. She pounded her fists against him and fought for breaths. She cried, breaking. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her against him, locking his large arms around her, pulling her face against his heart.
“Just let it out, Sloan.”
After a moment, he spoke softly. “It was an accident, Radcliffe. I never wanted to hurt you—I never wanted to see you this way. If I could have done something about Jared and Elijah, I would have. I’m sorry you’re the one who got hurt. You saved Elijah’s life in the woods, you saved all of us—the ones who know—and I am so sorry you have to carry that around with you.”
She hiccupped against his chest, letting him support her. He soothed her, taking back all his angry words.
“I know why you’re disconnecting. The pain is too much, but you need to feel it. I hate to see you cry but I needed to do something to bring you here—this is good. You need to feel all of this suffering or you will hold on to it forever. Feel it . . . and then let it go.
“And when you do—come back to us.”
She shivered in his arms, pain coursing through her. Stone held her tightly, rocking her against him gently. “I have never been more proud of anyone in my whole life. Since your first day here, you’ve amazed me. You have overcome everything you’ve ever faced—you will overcome this too. You’re too strong to break.”
She shook her head against his chest. She wasn’t strong—any strength she once had was gone. Stone released her, tilting her head up to look at him, as though he could sense her doubt.
“You belong to no one, Sloan Radcliffe. We’re all here for you, but what makes you different from the rest is that you are strongest when standing alone. Jared, Elijah, me—we get strength from you, not the other way around. You’re not just a survivor, not just some prize. You’re a fighter—a champion.
“Never forget that.”
Sloan struggled through an apology to Elijah—she had been less than kind to him recently.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he promised, holding her hand over the kitchen table. Stone had helped her feel something more than anger; he had brought her back—she had let her own pain get the best of her, haunted by so much death.
“Maybe you think that, but you’re wrong. I shouldn’t have taken so much out on you.�
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He took a deep breath. “Well, if we are doing this now then I guess I should apologize too. I forced you into a relationship with me . . . I thought, for a minute there, that I would be enough, that if you could just have the same time with me that you’d had with him . . . I don’t know.” He sighed.
She squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t really work that way . . . but you were right in bringing me into all of this. You were the only person willing to tell me the truth.”
The truth about the Order was bigger than her. No one soldier was more important than the whole army. Stone was right—she had to let go of her pain to be of use to the mission.
“I just wanted us to have what you had before—” he began, but shook his head, changing his thoughts. “You still love him, though? Don’t you?”
“Yes. I still love him.”
“Then that’s all—” He stood, pulling away.
“Elijah—stop. We both know what’s important here, and you trying to compete with him for me, well, you won’t win that way. You’ll just be living in pain.”
He nodded at her slowly. “Will you ever be able to see past what I’ve done? Forcing you into this union, telling you . . . what I’ve told you.” He cupped her face, searching her eyes hopefully.
She shrugged her shoulders softly. “I can’t lose anyone else.” She knew it wasn’t really an answer, but it was the truth. She couldn’t lose him and carry on alone. She didn’t want to.
And then—he kissed her. Sloan kissed him back, uncertain of her feelings really . . . She was selfish—she knew that his longing for her would keep him around. But they both knew how he saw her differently after seeing her true nature, and if letting him kiss her made her selfish, then what did actually kissing her make him?
He held her face and breathed her in and finally, he rested his forehead on hers. “I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
“Good grouping, Radcliffe,” West said, eyeing up her target. She offered him the handgun, turning away from target practice. It was a particularly hot day and she had been working with West for the past four hours. Her hands were a little shaky; it had been a while since she had been on the range. The praise helped. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and turned to follow West back to the safe room, where the weapons and ammunition were stored.
They found two sentries standing watch over the dial-lock door. She turned from West as he entered the code, but he didn’t acknowledge her courtesy. Was this how Kenny had so easily gained access to the room—simply by watching one of the trainers idly entering the code?
Sloan followed West into the massive room. He flicked a switch and the fluorescent light fixtures flitted on, one by one, lighting up the long hall of weapons. He placed the gun on a rack for cleaning later and led her back out, securing the room shut behind him.
“How’s everything with Elijah?” he questioned, leading the way back through the corridor to the pods.
“Complicated.” She was close to West, but she knew that everyone needed to believe in her newly formed union.
“Well, whatever has happened, Jared’s a wreck. He needs to pull it together before his ranking ceremony.”
Sloan turned to him. She hadn’t seen much of Jared outside of their silent, oddly timed runs. “What do you mean?”
“He mostly stays in his quarters, which is definitely unusual for him, but when he’s not in there he’s busy picking fights.”
Sloan hadn’t heard anything about this. She knew his temper, though, and she could easily imagine him raging against anyone who came too close. “Who’s he hurt?”
West shot her a peculiar look. “Himself mostly. He picks fights and then barely throws a punch. He’s letting himself get beaten up over something.”
Sloan thought back to the corridor—to the way he had grabbed her, to the crazed look in his eye as he shook her. Stone had pulled her through her pain; couldn’t someone do the same for him? She glanced up to the major. “Have you talked to him?”
But West could only shrug his large shoulders. “I’ve tried. He won’t open up to me.”
They came to a stop at the pods. She thought of Jared, running so far ahead of her each day, letting himself lose fights. He was punishing himself . . . he was trying to feel. Apparently West had come to a similar conclusion.
“I get that you two aren’t betrothed anymore,” he said, “but that doesn’t change much.” Sloan shot him a quizzical look but he just shook his head at her thoughtfully.
“You’re still his, Sloan, and he’s still yours—you two are the same person. That boy will never stop loving you and you’ll always be the one thing he needs.”
Sloan raised her hand to stop him; she didn’t want to have this conversation. She wasn’t allowed to have this conversation. “I am betrothed to Elijah—”
West cut her off quickly. “And that’s all well and good, but Jared is a loaded gun. Sure, he’s always been dangerous, but you kept him sane; you kept him safe.
“He needs you, Radcliffe.”
Sloan looked away. “Well, what if I don’t need him?” she asked, her voice a low whisper as she voiced the absurd sentiment. West half-smiled at her, arching his brow.
“Who are you kidding, Sloan?”
In her dream, Sloan was lying in a glade with Tandy, searching the clouds for faces, laughing over one another’s perception.
“I don’t get it, Sloan. You swore you’d die without Jared.”
Sloan sat up, her friend’s question an abrupt change of pace. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Tandy stood, her white dress grass stained. “Sure you did. Look what Kenny did to be with me.”
With her words, Kenny appeared, still in white uniform, hand outstretched to Tandy.
“It’s not the same,” Sloan cried at her friend’s dark suggestion. “Jared’s still alive.”
“He won’t be for much longer.” And as she began to laugh maniacally, Tandy’s white dress turned red with blood.
Sloan bolted up, panting. The dreams had been less frequent since her talk with Stone, but when they came they were still as vivid as ever. She crawled off the bed, leaving Elijah sleeping peacefully. She dressed and made her way into the pod. It had been a week since her conversation with West and she had suffered restless nights. She tied her running shoes as the pod twisted its way through the still-sleeping Academy.
As the doors opened up she thought of Elijah—he would wake soon. Despite keeping a friendly distance from her, she could feel his watchful eyes, his concern and his longing. He was falling back into his love for her with each day that she returned more and more to her former self . . . and she had nothing to offer him but poor companionship. She almost pitied him, because he longed for the Sloan Radcliffe who confidently dominated these halls, not the haunted girl she had become. Sure, she was recovering in a sense, but she would never be who he had first loved—who he wanted her to be.
Thanks to Stone, she was no longer running on pure rage, no longer filled with such anger, but she was no longer certain of who she was, or who she was becoming. She had nothing save the unrequited love of a boy she was pretty sure she could never love back.
Sloan made her way down the corridor and stepped out into the early-morning light. The milky violet sky was hazed with dampness and clouds, dewy grass underfoot, a stillness that marked the early hour. Still except for one thing.
There he is.
Running circuits, a hooded jumper on, arms confidently pumping at his side, legs extending in measured paces. She broke into her slow-paced jog, following after him, like she always did. He knew she was there. She knew he could feel her, running after him, chasing him the way she always had.
This was all they had been allowed to hold on to—this measured distance. They had history enough to reach into the spaces between them. They h
ad words, spoken and regretted, spoken and missed, unspoken and longed for, bounding back and forth between them. She pushed her feet hard into the damp grass, lunging herself further ahead, increasing her pace. Without ever glancing back, Jared knowingly sped up. His increase in pace spurred her on and she found herself running him down. She was breaking their routine.
She was gaining on him.
He was fast, though, and when he sensed her approach, he bolted. But she cut the grassy corner that he ritualistically followed, and came up on his side. He sprinted down the field when he saw she had caught up to him, and with a deep breath Sloan let herself run wild. She pushed through the tightening of her chest, she ignored the slight roll of her ankle and she blinked away the sweat that coldly pressed over her eyes. With all the speed she could muster she came up on his side once more and lunged in front of him. She immediately doubled over, taking in deep breaths, as he knelt down, wiping his face.
She crouched forward, dabbing her face against her sleeve. After a moment, they both had caught their breath, and sat there, silent, eyes on the ground. Slowly, she glanced towards him, his head bowed down under his hood. She took a moment and stared at his hunched-over form. She didn’t know how to feel. She knew she was supposed to stay away from him—she had been ordered to stay away from him—but that knowledge came second to the one she had known her whole life . . . she loved him.
She could feel inside her the longing she had always had for him . . . and she felt, on some level, as though her mere presence here was a betrayal to Elijah. Despite all she had said to him, she knew he pursued her still—and yet, she was here, with Jared. Her life was a mess of contradictions: in loving the one she could not have and being bound to the one she did not love, she was somehow betraying them both.
She looked him over and saw his pain. She thought of Stone and how he had ambushed her in his office, determined to break through her anger by voicing her greatest fears. She knew what Jared needed because it was what she herself had needed. The only difference was, she could give him absolution, but there was no way she could be forgiven for failing all those she had lost. The dead couldn’t forgive.