by Emma Couette
“What do you think?” I ask.
I rush at her, but she’s fast.
Her hands wrap around the back of my neck and something cold and metallic pricks my throat. My eyelids droop.
Somewhere, I can hear Trey crying.
“I’m sorry, Night; so sorry I failed you again. The first time by running and now by hiding, but I won’t give up on you yet. Keep fighting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I wake to a buzzing silence, one that presses in on me, one that strikes fear into my heart, but I soon shake that off. Silent Night is not afraid of anything. I open my eyes and it seems that someone is trying incredibly hard to prove me wrong.
I’m sitting in a vast circular room, my hands tied to the arms of the wooden chair they’ve propped me up in. At least forty pairs of eyes are watching me. I try not to crumble under their unforgiving gazes. I recognize the two men at the front: Jenson, and Nicholas Ross.
Then it comes back to me. I’m here because of what I did to Natalie. They want to punish me for breaking the poor princess’ spirit, and nearly slitting her throat.
They can try, but I’ve been trained to withstand torture.
“Ah, Assassin,” Jenson drawls, taking great pleasure in calling me that now that I’m tied up and can’t kill him for it. For the moment, at least. “Good of you to finally join us.”
“Was the drugging necessary, Jenson?” I ask him.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, “I will do the talking.”
Oh, I do believe someone just secured themselves a spot on the top of my kill list, after the Charger, of course.
“So you thought you could get away with violence in my base, did you?” he asks me. There is a fire in his eyes I have not seen before.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Assassin. Trey says you admitted to assaulting Natalie, there’s no use trying to deny it now.”
“Oh, that...” I mutter.
“Yes, that. What do you have to say for yourself, Assassin?”
“Nothing, except that the little bitch deserved it.”
Ross stands up and yells at me. “Take that back, you insufferable monster!”
I smile at him. “Not a chance, your majesty.”
Jenson gives the both of us a look and tells Ross to stand down.
Point: Silent Night.
“Fine,” Jenson says, “you don’t regret it and it wasn’t an accident. We can take that. In fact, I might actually get to enjoy this now.”
He wants me to suffer for what I’ve done. I can see that desire in his eyes, but I can also see a hint of sorrow, though not for me.
“So, what exactly is the punishment here for assaulting someone?” I ask. “You know, at the Guild, I would’ve been rewarded for teaching the brat a lesson. At the Guild, I probably would’ve finished the job instead of toying with her. I could’ve done so much worse.”
“Which does nothing to excuse your behaviour. At the Resistance, we don’t condone such violence, we protect those under our watch or we die trying.” That sorrow surfaces again, but he seals it away with a scowl. “You’re in my base, Assassin, so you play by my rules or you can go.”
“So you’re saying I don’t get to plead my case?”
“No, you have done enough damage already,” he snaps.
“Am I to be executed for my crimes or will your soft hearts take the easy way out and simply imprison me?”
His fire seems to flicker when I mention execution.
I knew he wouldn’t have the guts.
“Did you know that was my job at the Guild, to bring traitors to their executions? I dragged Rachel to her death, after I caught her talking with Avery, and then my fellow assassins tore her apart piece by piece. Is that what you’ll do to me? I’ll warn you, I won’t go down without a fight.”
I grin, showing my teeth and Jenson doesn’t say anything. The room is hushed at my confession, horrified by the Guild, horrified by me.
“Oh, don’t spare me now, Jenson,” I spit. “Don’t give me sympathy. I did what I had to do and so will you, but you better decide soon. I’m not a patient person.”
“You’re playing with fire,” Jenson says finally, face unreadable.
“No, I’m simply deciding my own fate,” and with that, I stand up, receiving gasps of shock from those gathered.
While they had been distracted by my attitude and threats, I had been focused on removing my bonds. My wrists are chafed and bleeding now, but it’s worth it.
“So, while I’d love to stay and watch you all hem and haw, Jenson,” I go on, “there are places I need to be.” I grin. “See you around.”
I run for the door, hearing Jenson’s yells behind me as he comes to his senses. “Somebody stop her!”
Catch me if you can.
I hang a left out the door and break into a sprint. Then I wind my way through the halls, going this way and that, until any pursuer would be hopelessly lost. I know I’ve succeeded when the only footsteps I hear echoing are my own.
I slow to a walk. No need to run now and raise suspicion; though I’m sure my black attire is a dead giveaway of who I am, I don’t need to add anything else to the list. I’m in enough trouble as it is. I have no idea what kind of punishment Jenson and Ross have in mind, but I’m not going to wait around and find out.
Ten minutes after fleeing the trial room—as I decide to call it—I reach room 2413 again. It’s time to pack up and head out.
I tear through my closet, pulling out random items of clothing and shoving them into my rucksack that’s lain in the corner since my arrival. Then I suit up. I grab my two swords, throwing knives, daggers, and then my guns. Thankfully, all of my weapons were recovered from the train battlefield.
I toss a case of spare bullets into my sack.
That should do it.
Goodbye, room 2413, I hope we don’t meet again.
I head out the door and come face to face with Blake and Ajax.
“What do you want?” I growl.
“We...” Blake starts. “We wanted to talk.”
“Well, I don’t want to so...”
I try to walk past them, but Ajax pushes me back towards the door. “Shut up and listen for once, would you?”
The nerve.
“You watch it, Forrester,” I spit, “or I’ll slit your throat like I did your mother.”
My words elicit the exact reaction I was going for.
“Shut up, Assassin!” he snarls.
I laugh. “You hate me so fully now, don’t you? Funny, just yesterday, you were telling me how much you loved me. Tell me, Ajax, was it a lie then?”
His face softens a bit. “No, of course it wasn’t a lie, but you’re not the person I fell in love with, not anymore. Besides, this...this isn’t about what happened to us. You’ve slipped back into your old ways and we... It hurts to look at you.” I can see the pain in his eyes and I relish it.
Serves him right.
“We...” he goes on. “We just came back from seeing Natalie. Why did you do that to her?”
“Why?” I scoff. “Because she’s a heartless bitch that needed to be taught a lesson.”
“And you’re a heartless assassin,” he retorts. “God, Silent, what happened to you? I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“And maybe that’s exactly how I want it.”
“You...” he starts, but Blake cuts him off.
“Leave her alone, Jax,” she says. “You’re not helping.”
“Not helping... Look at her, Blake.” He throws his arm out towards me. “She’s beyond help.”
Blake puts her hands on her hips as she faces him. “Yeah, and you want to know whose fault that is? Ours. We call ourselves her friends and yet we weren’t there when she needed us the most. We left her alone to cope and she did what she does best. She rebuilt her walls. She returned to the version of herself that can’t be hurt by anything. It’s our fault she’s like this. We failed her in eve
ry way that matters.”
“How can you side with her?” Ajax snaps. “You saw what she did to Natalie!”
“You know Natalie, Jax. I’m sure she isn’t entirely innocent.”
“It doesn’t matter, Blake. No one deserves to be treated like that, no one.”
I decide to step in. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of my choices,” I say, “but this is who I am—take it or leave it. Judging from the look on your face, you’re going to leave it, and guess what, Ajax? I don’t care. I gave it a try, but I’m done caring now. It’s pointless and stupid and everyone gets hurt in the end because we’re all going to die eventually.
“So goodbye. It was nice knowing you, but I’ll be going now. I’d say I’ll see you in the afterlife, but, well, you’re all going to heaven and we all know I’m headed in the opposite direction.”
Blake steps forward, tears in her eyes. “No, don’t say that, Night.”
“Why? You see these names on my arms; I’m a monster. You think they’re going to let me through the pearly gates? I’ll tarnish the air just by breathing. You guys enjoy it though; I hear it’s nice up there.”
And with that, I turn and walk away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It doesn’t take me long to reach the exit, meeting no resistance on my way. I slip past the guards at the door and into the night, sighing as the cool breeze hits my face. I missed this, the great outdoors, roaming the streets at all hours of the night. I missed the freedom.
I run through the city, past office buildings and sleeping houses. Everything is dark, save for the homeless fires that pop up here and there. I have no idea where I’m going, but that doesn’t matter. I just need to be gone. I need to put as much distance between me and the Warehouse as I can without stepping foot into assassin territory. I need to feel the wind fly through my hair.
There is nothing better than this: this feeling of complete liberation.
I run until my leg starts to protest. Then I slow to a walk and look for a place to rest.
Eventually, I come to a familiar red brick house. It doesn’t surprise me that my feet brought me here. This is where it all began. It makes sense that this is where it should end.
I sigh and walk up Lincoln McColl’s front steps.
The front door is unlocked, so I step right in, closing it quietly behind me. The house is cold and dead, silent as a tomb.
I can’t believe it’s been months since I was last here, that it’s been months since the Charger’s betrayal, since everything I knew was turned upside down. It’s been months since my life changed forever, but it will soon be over. Tomorrow, the Resistance will attack the Guild, and I will enact my revenge. The Charger will die for his crimes and I will rise up as the new Master Assassin, defied by no one, ruler of all. Someday, the Resistance will bow before me too.
I stand in the cluttered kitchen a minute more before heading up the stairs. Unconsciously, I skip the fifth step, some part of me remembering that it creaks.
At the top of the stairs, I stop for a moment. I’m unsure of where I’m going exactly, but some part of me knows.
I open the door to the storage room and peer inside. It’s empty—of humans at least. The Resistance removed Lincoln’s body long ago, yet all of the boxes are still here. I step inside and rifle through a couple of them, not the same ones as before.
The first box I open is full of pens, blank paper, and shredded documents. Nothing is readable. The second box holds something much more promising: an old faded yellow photo album. I open it up to the first page and almost faint when I see the picture, when I see my mom’s blue eyes staring back at me.
For a moment, I’m frozen, suspended in time, trapped in the memories of days gone by. My mother... She looks exactly like I remember her: long wavy brown hair frames her honey-coloured skin and her sparkling blue eyes smile back at me.
Mom...
A single tear escapes my eyes, splattering against the laminated page.
Oh Guild, how I miss her.
Then time crashes forward again and I’m hit by an enormous question. Why the hell did Lincoln McColl have a picture of my mother?
I turn the page to find another photo, masterfully preserved by the lens. I flip again and again...
Soon the pages are flying through my fingers as countless pictures of my mother turn into blurs before my eyes.
Mother as an adult, a child, a teenager...
Wait.
Mother as a teenager, her arm around a teenage boy with matching hair and eyes, and a face I recognize from the picture on the mantel downstairs. Lincoln.
Were they...involved?
I pull the photo out of its sleeve, nearly ripping it in my haste, and turn it over. In the bottom left hand corner, a note is written in a neat, curly script.
I read it once. Twice.
Assassins below.
It’s not hard to understand, I just don’t want to believe it.
Ismae and Jean Ballinger, 16.
Lincoln and my mother had been siblings—twins.
I killed my uncle.
Lincoln’s final words come back to me.
What happened to that cute little girl who used to help her mother plant tulips in the front garden?
He knew.
He knew because he was there. He probably planted some of them with us. He sacrificed himself so I could learn the truth...
Tears stream down my face.
I... I have to go.
I get up and leave the room, but I don’t make it far.
I head into the spare room, the room I scoffed at when I first came here.
I suppose this is the room Lincoln would have offered to his “niece.” Too bad she isn’t real. My own voice echoes in my head.
Oh, she’s real all right. She is far too real.
I collapse on the bed and pull my weapons off. One by one, they clatter to the floor. Then I lay back and close my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me away from the horror of reality, the horror of what I’ve done.
Memory and regret tug at my heart until sleep drags me under. It is a welcome relief.
…
Colours swirl together and separate again. Dust motes decorate the air, floating in the sunlight streaming through my open curtains. I recognize the faded flower pattern.
Am I...?
I sit up in the bed, a bed that’s far too small, and look around.
I am.
I’m in my childhood room. Everything is covered in a layer of dust and colours are muted, as if asleep, as if...empty. It would be haunting if not for the sunlight, but it reminds me of a tragic morning. It’s the same scene, but different. I’m not five years old anymore.
I get to my feet.
As I walk to the door, I realize my feet don’t leave footprints in the dust.
I exit the room and a door that always creaked doesn’t make a sound.
The floorboards don’t squeak beneath my tired feet as I take the familiar route to my mother’s room, down a hall I’ve trodden countless times in my nightmares.
It’s too early to tell if this is yet another one.
The silence around me is not unnerving though. It’s almost...soothing.
I reach my mother’s door and I don’t hesitate. I push it open quick and avert my gaze for a moment, afraid of what I might see.
“Honey? Why aren’t you asleep?”
Tears stream down my face as I look up at my mother, sitting on the edge of her bed with a frown on her face.
The pillows are intact, crisp and white.
Sunbeams dance all around her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks me.
I wipe my eyes. “Nothing,” I whisper. “Nothing at all. Not anymore.”
She stands and almost floats as she walks over to me.
“You’re such a beautiful young lady,” she says, brushing the hair out of my face, “but this blue does not become you.” She tugs at the blue strands, almost faded down to nothing now.
&
nbsp; “I’m proud of you, my girl,” she whispers.
“You are?” I ask.
“I am.”
“Even after everything I’ve done? Mama, I’m not the innocent girl I once was. I don’t deserve your pride; how could I have possibly earned it?”
She smiles. “And yet, I see the shame in your eyes, the guilt. You do not pride yourself on the horrors you have committed, and that is why I can be proud of you. Look how far you’ve come, my girl. You are not the child I remember, but neither are you the woman you were a couple of months ago. You’ve survived, you’ve grown, and you have not been defeated.”
My tears fall faster. “But what if I slip again?”
“You will get back up,” she says. “You always do. You are strong, my flower, so strong. Never underestimate that.”
She takes a step back and I reach out to take her arm, but it passes right through her and for a moment I see the windows instead of her face.
“No. Don’t go,” I gasp.
“I am already gone,” she whispers. “You don’t need me anymore. It’s okay to let me go.”
A butterfly flits across the room and lands on my arm.
I blink at it once before turning my gaze back to the half-faded presence of my mother.
“You are strong,” she says. “You will do the right thing,” she nods at the butterfly, “but it’s not up to me to judge. It’s up to you.”
She smiles and then fades away completely. The curtains sway in her absence and the butterfly follows the pull of the breeze, out the open window.
“I love you mom,” I whisper to the empty room. “I will do the right thing.”
Then the room fades too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I am awakened by a great booming sound and the shaking of the bed. I sit up and reach for my sword, only to come up empty.
Where…?
Then I recognize the grey walls and remember where I am. I’m in Lincoln’s house, in his guest bedroom. Lincoln, who is actually Jean, Jean who is my uncle. I remember last night, remember dumping all my blades on the floor before collapsing into the bed.
Another boom sounds and I almost fall off the bed. It takes a few more minutes and a couple more near falls to realize what the sound is. The Resistance is bombing the south end, just like they said they would.