Hello.
So... it's been a while. I apologize.
This is a little something different. I hope you enjoy it. :)
All the usual warnings and disclaimers apply.
Waking up is one of the things I dread the most.
Everything is more painful, and the mind tends to linger in the land of regret; regret about every possible god damn thing. If I let it wander too long, there would be only dust between my hand and the gun in the holster beside my bed. I could reach down, put it into my mouth - so the last thing I taste is my own misery - and pull the trigger. But I don't. I never do.
The air lingers with the mixed smell of smoke and alcohol. Even in my bedroom, while I find it hard to rub the sleep from my face, pushing deep into my eyes, the heaviness of expectations weighs like lead on my shoulders. I'd passed out with my uniform still intact, a normal routine that could be classed as almost a habit by now.
Questioning at what point did my life take such a turn is pointless and I ignore it - a dry mouth and a foggy head tend to do that.
I'm not alone in my bed. Being slightly aware of the silhouette under the covers, I see my flies laying low. Though, I'm not too bothered. I'd be surprised if I even got it up as a bottle of whiskey currently curdles my stomach.
I step over the devastation - a bottle, a shirt, which is not mine, papers with a list of names. Heading for the door, I peer out to the living area. It's as I expected, both couches occupied. My mate, Jimmy, is down on the floor with a jacket under his head for a pillow. It looks harmless; they all look harmless, and I wonder how men like this change for the sake of advantage and points.
We don't have to do what we do, but we do it anyway. And there is no chance of backing out. Frank made sure of that. I'm hitting twenty-seven, but to youngsters like this, a promise of good times, no struggle, and women are irresistible.
And that's what all of this is, right? A good time? - That's life. That's how it should be.
Wrong.
It's wrong when your priorities change for the sake of a faux brotherhood. When the only way out is at the hands of Frank. When the motto isn't faction before blood, but us before them.
In my haze I make it to the bathroom and rub a speck of dried blood from my cheek in the bathroom mirror, feeling like I could retch at any minute. It's not my blood. I didn't shoot them. But I may as well have, as, like the others, I took a step back and let Frank deal the final blows with a hungry, crazed look on his face until the man's head was nothing but pulp and his wife's screams blew my eardrums.
"Sick motherfucker," Jimmy, our newest and youngest member, had whispered to me. He was white as a sheet, jaw swinging, praying to some God that he doesn't get sent straight to Hell for all the bad things he's done.
All I could think in that moment was that this was all over antibiotics and few measly points that weren't coughed up in time. But the man's name was on the list, and if their name is on the list, then they're already dead.
And while I'm being honest with myself, if they're on the list - if Frank doesn't do it - I will. That, admittedly, is becoming hard. Especially as I try to face myself in the mirror.
Shrugging off my jacket and stripping off the musty shirt that smells like yesterday's mistakes, I'm interrupted. "Yo, Eric." It's Heath and I barely acknowledge him, turning on the tap and putting my head under the water. He looks like death himself, and if I was in a better state of mind I would almost believe he had come to collect me. "You got anything to eat?" The water feels glorious and I rinse my mouth out.
"Go to your own damn place and eat," I grumble, flipping him off.
He shrugs off from the doorframe. "Fuck you, man."
"You're not my type." The water drips down onto my chest, the coldness reminding me that I'm still alive for one more wretched day. I catch a glimpse of a result from my own stupidity - a pink jagged line and rub my shoulder, the everlasting result from a break in my collarbone that leaves me with a persistent ache and a bad temper.
I open the mirror, for inside is an array of shelves and my painkillers; the beginning of my lifetime agreement to abide by the rules - and to the list.
Every morning is a briefing that requires me, Frank, Max and a few others who invest their time in training and running Dauntless. And every morning it's the same loathsome shambles as it was the day before. I enter the room and every head turns to see me. Somehow, I've managed to fake normality, a shower fixing most of my woes, the smell no longer stuck to me.
"Well, if it ain't the boy." Frank's sitting with a specific smile planted on his face, slack back in a chair on my left facing towards everyone else. He manages to pull off the burden of our lives without a single trace of evidence from the night before. It's almost inhuman. With his jet black hair slicked back, his long trademark trench coat still on, I could beat him off his chair. "And he looks mighty beautiful, don't he guys?" He laughs a laugh I sometimes hear in my dreams.
Max is never impressed with him, and he's not afraid to show it; his jaw tense, boring holes into him from across the room. "Let's just get this done, shall we? I don't want to have to explain to a class that their Leaders were testing each other for points on flattery before breakfast."
"It's always a pleasure with you." Frank gyrates in his chair, motioning for him to continue with a long exaggerated sweep of his hand. I take a seat next to him and rub my shoulder. I'm not in the mood for fighting words, not yet.
"We have a few days left on the batch of initiates we've had for the last six weeks. We keep the pressure on regardless of what we already know about who's passing and who ain't." Max gets up and walks over to a whiteboard that has names on that I don't even recognize. But it's all the same shit. We've done this a million times. I've done this since I became a Leader and Frank way before me. "These names are who is passing, split into groups into what section will be given to them after the ceremony…" Max's voice drones on as Frank hits my leg.
"Make sure this afternoon is clear," he speaks in a whisper. My eyes would be the only give away that I'm listening while Frank sniffs and leans on his legs, hunched over. "I got a list. And there are a few initial warnings for our little scandalous debtors."
I look to Max again only briefly, kind of jealous that he isn't involved in anything we do. "Who's to go?"
Frank's eyes are as dark as his hair, his teeth blindingly white when he chuckles. "You, me, Jimmy, Heath, Leroy-"
I sigh in exasperation, Leroy is my least favorite person. We don't read the same lines from the same page, and he licks Frank's ass, ready to attack anyone that doesn't take the same viewpoint as them. The thing is, I see different to Frank all the time, and I'm not afraid to say so. What annoys me most though, is that Leroy will be whispering treacherous things afterward - some of which Frank laughs off with me like it's all fun and games. But I don't like people who talk shit like a little bitch while my backs turned. He's not in my click, and it's safe to say I don't trust him as far as I could throw him.
"Leroy can stay in the car." I bite back to stop myself from further insulting him, or wasting my air.
"Come on, man." Frank taps my leg. I don't like being touched in the mornings, my frown almost painful. "He's just learning the ways of our brotherhood. Look, he's been good to me so far. I trust him."
"I don't."
"Who do you trust? That's a pretty hard fucking question," he scoffs, but it's heavy.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back. "If he stays out of my way, we aren't going to have a problem. But he makes it perfectly clear he likes to step on my toes."
I was just about to reminisce about the last person who did such a thing but Frank beats me to it. "Shit. Just don't go all fucking terminator on him like the last one. That was messy to clean up."
"You're one to talk," I smirk over my shoulder, just as Frank fakes his arm as robotic and grabs his throat, pretending to throttle himself, the letters spelling HATE across his fingers prominently showing on that hand.
He laughs too loudly, reaching into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it carelessly. It's only after he's done it that he looks up to the others in the room staring at him, a burning of hatred flashing across Max's face. "Can you not smoke in the boardroom?" Max asks into the silence.
Frank takes a long drag and lets the smoke billow out in curls before he replies, "We do this every damn morning. Everyone knows what they are doing." Max doesn't let it go by continuing to glare, and I keep myself expressionless. There's a tip of the iceberg between these two and what lies beneath isn't going to be pretty once it melts. "Excuse me." Frank drops the cigarette on the floor and stubs it out with his boot. "I thought this was a room full of Leaders, not the granny knitting patrol discussing who's going to pick up the next grandpa. Why don't you cut us a little slack and let us just get on for the day?"
Max has puffed up to twice the size and I know some murderous thoughts wander through his mind. I'd be a fool to think Frank doesn't see it too. "Maybe you should be standing up here instead?"
"Jeez, I'm flattered. And I'd like that. But unfortunately, you are still alive." Frank smiles. "But you know, since we're all rather tired, I'm just going to be the first and exit this shit show. You call me if you need me now." Frank stands up and dusts his pants off. "Eric?"
For the sake of Max being my trainer, I hesitate. But I know I've got things to do. "I'll watch my emails," I say, standing up and following Frank out the door. Beyond it, our small group waits, and Frank makes a display of greeting each of them enthusiastically. I nod to Leroy without a word, and Jimmy comes to stand beside me.
"That man in there is a dead man!" Frank announces. He walks ahead, turning every now and then, trench coat flapping behind him. "I'll see to it."
"Thanks for letting me crash at your place," Jimmy says to me over Frank still swearing revenge.
"You crashed on the floor, don't thank me for nothing." The boy's still new to it all and I can't blame him for remembering something his mother taught him. "Jim, you stick with me later."
"Sure."
There's nothing to him, he's not built like us. I don't know why Frank has allowed him into the circle and I'm highly suspicious. I should trust this group, I should. But I'm smart, and it's only a matter of time until someone clashes with the other or one wants out. I have a feeling Jimmy is going to be asking to leave as quickly as he came. And I think Frank knows it too.
Leroy turns back and looks at Jimmy, and I don't like it. He's unafraid to meet my eye, and just by staring straight back at him, I let him know that I'm watching him.
My class is ready. They are trained. They fight orderly. No one gives up until they give in. The women are as good as the men, and I don't have to do as much work as I did before. Most of the time I linger back, pacing, and judge for the sake of fights that only break out in anger - which most of them don't anymore, they are beyond that. This is my individual class that has got me on the relatively good side of Max beyond the irritation that Frank gives him. I'm still respectful because he was my trainer, but I outgrew him years ago.
And between those multiple discrepancies, it keeps anyone off my back and free to do pretty much as I please. I drew a fine line under my class management years ago, using different techniques for punishment rather than the infamously rumored 'dangle over the chasm'. I was young, the same time that I fell into Frank's group after my injury had healed, which I earned trying to fight drunk at the bar.
But reality is still hard. Years of self-inflicted abuse fuck with my mind. I could be watching my initiates train and my brain would freeze frame in jumpy pictures and disassociate as I stood there. It was like a train, pummeling from in the distance. I could sense it coming - for a long time before it arrives.
It gives me a bad case of the shakes. And it reaches far into lunchtime where it peaks. I take a seat on one of the many tables, clenching and unclenching my fists, anxious of the crowds pouring in, the voices too loud, my knee jack-hammering under the table. I pop a painkiller dry like my life depended on it.
Sex, money, drugs, loyalty - it's all passed around like the common cold. There is nothing nobody holds dear that they aren't willing to give to get what they want.
Sometimes I wish a comet will just fall from the sky and burn us all into oblivion. We deserve it. Or maybe, I alone do. But I'm not hesitant on taking everyone with me.
I walk out to find Frank perched on a wall in the Pit, random people surrounding him, trying to get a nose in. Heath is closest to me when I step into the circle and nudges me. "You okay, man?"
"Dandy." Maybe I'm not pulling it off as well as I think I am.
"Eric!" Frank calls and motions for others to get closer. From here in, he speaks quietly. "The deal is, ladies and gentlemen, that we are leaving at Five. We have about seven house calls for a premier warning. After that, we know the deal. We take two cars. Abnegation and Candor is our sweepstake tonight. Place your bets."
"Abnegation," I say immediately. Candor does nothing for my patience. "Jimmy's with me."
"Interesting," Frank hums. "Well, I'm with Eric, Leroy's with me. That leaves you, Heath, to gather the rest and go to Candor. Can I rely on you?"
"Totally," Heath says in awe. "I got this." He gets patted on the back and looks like Christmas has come early.
"Keep your head cool."
Through it all, I see Leroy staring at me out the corner of my eye. And with my mood slowly dissipating, I turn to him. "What the fuck's your problem?"
"I'm wondering if you've got a stiff one for the young'un." He smiles and shows a set of teeth, the front two chipped.
"I got a stiff fist for your face-" I grumble. But before I either of us can get at each other, Frank jumps up and steps between us.
"Boys, boys, this is our fucking brotherhood, that we, yes we, have brought up to speed." He grabs my shoulder and squeezes hard. "We will go down like a pile of shit on a slope if we start going off at each other." I can barely hear him, my fists curled at my sides, counting to ten as Leroy continues to smile. "You like the lives you got, right? You don't want that to change?" The others agree and answer but I only glance at Frank, his eyes passing judgment on me quickly. "Right?" he asks again.
Everything screams for me to defy, but I'm also a terribly good liar, and certainly don't want the advantage of my painkillers taken away. "Right." I hardly sound convincing, imaging myself snapping back his hand so fast that it splits the bone. I comfort myself with my father's voice from years ago: never hate your enemies, it affects your judgment, then his smile as he ruffed up my hair and added, but make sure you have a good time riling them. When my lips rise to form a smirk, Leroy's expression falters, but it satisfies Frank.
"Good. I'll meet you outside at five, no later." The group shifts to move off but Frank holds me back. "Eric, can we talk for a minute?"
"I've voiced my opinion and that asshole. You know what I think."
He waits until we are alone, putting an arm on my shoulder and guides us back towards where he was sitting previously. "This animosity has to stop, for the sake of the group. They get a sniff there is a divide, it spells trouble. People start taking sides."
We stare at each other for a moment. "Is there sides?" I ask. "Sorry, if I'm a little defensive that I hardly know the guy and yet he keeps talking at me, over me, and not to me. And the others see it too. Who's place did they crash at last night? Mine!"
"Leroy has a good relationship with Erudite. He pulled through for us. He got the stock in and the cover we need so we don't get our asses handed to us by Max."
"It's just all a little convenient." Like me, Leroy deflected from Erudite. He's been in Dauntless for three years but only recently went to Frank in the last few months to see if there was an opening. The checks I've run say he has no relations and no dependents in Dauntless, so it can't be for the benefits.
"Jesus, Eric!" Frank throws his arm up in the air. "There's always a fucking problem."
"Because I think before I act," I point out, saying the words slowly. "Last night was unacceptable."
Frank grins, then says, "Don't tell me you've gone soft." My shoulder begins to throb and I roll it out, turning my head towards a bunch of overly loud teens. He licks his lips and moves closer. "You are the only one who gives it to me straight, no sugar-coating. Don't tell me I'm losing that boy?"
"You wanna tell me the plans you have for Max? Or is that between just you and Leroy now?"
Frank laughs lightly. It turns into a hum and he looks up far to the glass ceiling above us. "Who am I trying to fool? I merely wanted it to be a surprise." Not answering, he continues, "There is a shift in hierarchy. Max and his group of goons are losing it. Every interaction comes from Jeanine first, through us." He pulls out his cigarettes and offers me one, which I take gladly. "We have more info on each faction by our visitations. We know what's going down way before Max, and hell, the factionless have put in a plea for our medicinal meanderings." He cups a hand and lights his cigarette, lighting mine on the same stroke.
"Taking on the factionless is a wasted thought. They have no loyalty to anything."
"What if, we can make them have a loyalty, through us. That the last word on whether points or favors that don't get paid are still reinforced with no intervention from… whatever the fuck is the policing they abide by because they sure as hell don't give two damns about Dauntless."
I sigh heavily, flexing the quake in my hand and state the obvious, "You've already broached it."
"Mrs. Queen Bee likes the idea. It gives a strategic advantage. And better yet, in the future, there may be no rebellion or snotty little mix-ups Dauntless have to get involved in and waste our fucking time over. But it's to be all hush-hush. Factions won't like it." He takes a long drag. "I wanted time to think it through and of course, I wanted to ease the idea onto you." Frank chuckles. "But it seems you know me all too well."
"And yet, you don't want to hear what I say about Leroy?"
Holding the cigarette between his teeth, he lifts his shirt. "Why we didn't crash at yours last night," he explains, a bandage over a wound which I assume was from a knife. Ash drops down onto his leg and he dusts it off. "You walked in on my cameo after I got dug out by the man. Leroy was there. You weren't. I got sloppy." Shaking my head, I don't know what to think. But Frank seems to be on an epiphany and can't see beyond his nose. "This gets bigger, I want you and Leroy tight. We front this thing."
"We are already fronting this."
"Your pain, it still there?" Frank asks out of the blue. He'd seen me earlier no doubt. By not answering it speaks the truth. "We make this bigger and better. We make it official. We take Max off the high-horse and from chewing our asses, our medical bills are cleared and we get to run this piss poor fucking rubble. Hard work pays off."
"We are dealers and debt collectors."
"And Mary was a virgin and birthed a baby. We all lie." He stands up, rubbing his forehead quickly. "Think about it. I'll give you some time, a few days. You're still with me, man, aren't you? You're my number two. You've been there for me."
He knows he can't make this all work without my influence. The Eric Coulter, the once epitome of Dauntless, a leader the moment I passed my initiation, the face people will accept easier if Max suddenly disappeared. Flicking my cigarette, I meet him straight in the eye. "I'm told first."
Who am I kidding? Power is why I joined Dauntless. If I lose that sense, I'm going to lose myself.
Frank's giddy with laughter, growling as he claps my shoulder. "I fucking knew it. You fucking had me there. You fucking little…" he trails off, nodding his head for me to follow him.
I stare off down the street to a lone lamppost in the Abnegation street, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on my leg. The car is smoky from Frank puffing in the back, Leroy next to him, and Jimmy barely taking up the passenger seat next to me. It's the hit of the evening and it's still early. There is always one that can never chalk up in time.
I'm busy chewing my lip when I hear Leroy roll his window down and throw something out. "The kid does this one," he says gruffly like acid is burning his throat.
"Interesting choice. What do you say, Jim?" Frank taps the back of his chair.
My eyes briefly flick towards Jimmy as he turns, holding the seat belt. "What? You want me to-"
"It's the house directly in front of the lamppost, you can't miss it," Leroy insists. Jimmy looks to me but I turn away. "You're not pussying out on us now, are you?"
"No. I just didn't think I'd be going in alone."
"You're not," I say, glancing in the rearview mirror. "We'll be behind you."
"Well, I don't know about you, but a stiff drink is calling me. So, whenever you two decide…" Frank trails off, opening his door. "Lead the way, Jimmy, there's a good boy."
Jimmy hasn't lead a hit yet. This will be his first. I know, and they know, that he's the worst physically and mentally of our group, let alone being the newest and only viewing the late-night meet and greets from a distance.
"The house... by the lamppost?" Jimmy asks unsurely, pushing a hand through his hair and his breath curdling in the air quicker than the rest of us.
"Yeah," Leroy says, leaning on the car and flicking his hand when we all look to him. "Some Mr. Gordon. Late payment. Ignored the premier warning. He pays now with points or with his life. You know the drill." He pulls out a drink in a small flask and downs some before Frank snatches it off him.
Jimmy is panicking internally, his face paling considerably even in the patchy moonlight. "Just get it done," I hiss, grabbing his gun from his holster and shoving it into his trembling hands. "Confirm who he is, before you pull the trigger."
Jimmy nods slowly, then takes a quick stride towards the house, a wheeze of laughter sounding off behind from Frank. Instead, those two stand by the car with their flask, still chuckling, and I take it upon myself to follow to at least make sure he gets it right. I'm not a fan of sitting out here for the rest of the night.
My eyes automatically close in exasperation when Jim holds the gun up the moment the front door opens and somebody screams. "You've had your premier warning!" Jimmy's uncertain voice is anything but authoritative. He moves inside the door and I follow quickly behind, closing it. "You have to pay!"
There's an old man on his knees, hands held up in mercy, a younger girl clutching to him, all in their fucking pajamas.
"We-we don't have anything to pay!" he begs, erratically glancing between us.
There's movement on the stairs; an older woman that has Jim throwing his gun around like he's lost the plot. "Keep it steady," I demand from behind him, but I don't think he can hear me.
"You can't pay, you die. Now's your chance!" he shouts like a lunatic.
"We don't-" I'm not prepared for the gunshot that rings in my ears. It takes me by surprise, but it's no surprise to see that Jim didn't hit where he intended to. There's screaming and sobbing from everywhere and we've no doubt woken the whole neighborhood. Blood spills out of the man's hand from where he tried to defend himself. In slow motion, I see Jim take aim again, firing a second shot but this time somewhere in the old man's stomach, sending him backward and into the arms of the young girl.
"Jim!" I knock his gun away, disarming him. He's managed to fuck it up, just like we all knew he would. I steel my face to make my point, and ask calmly, "Is he Mr. Gordon?"
The old woman rushes down the stairs, arms flailing, "No! He's not! They live across the street! What have you done!?" Between the chanting pieces of abuse and blame, I find Jimmy over my shoulder. "Why did you shoot him?!" the old woman demands, filling his silence perfectly, and asking the question I want to.
Jimmy's shaking his head, backing off as the man begins gasping, tensing up while breathing his last, the wound gushing as he bleeds out. "Congratulations, you just killed an innocent man," my voice is steady, regardless of the mayhem around us.
"It was a mistake!"
I unclip my gun, shoot three shots without a pause, and holster it. "Make sure it's only them in the house." My eyes are still locked on the three bodies now slumped in front of me. Jimmy peels up the steps and I crouch down next to the young girl, rubbing a hand over my face slowly. She could only be sixteen at most.
That train, it's coming. That rhythmic beat flooding every one of my senses.
"No one," Jimmy breathlessly replies as he stumbles back down. I stand up, Jimmy following me out the front door. "Eric?" he says my name maybe in an attempt to stop me or talk to me. But I don't respond.
Frank and Leroy watch us approach, stopping whatever conversation they were just having. My chest hits Leroy's as we come face to face. "House directly outside the lamppost, huh? That's what you said."
He puts his hand on top of the car door to steady himself and I turn away as if my anger had got the better of me. "My bad. Abnegation doesn't exactly have house numbers on them now, do th-" I boot the door and it bounces off him, jarring his hand, and Frank grabs me, pulling me away.
"I'll see to it that he gets this written up as a factionless incident," he holds both my shoulders steady. "You listening?"
"I'm not working with him again."
"It was a mistake," he tells me.
"Funny, because that was what Jimmy was saying when he shot an innocent man by accident." I shove him away but he comes right back, holding me steadfast, gritting his teeth together.
"And when did you start to care for the innocent? Huh? Bullshit, Eric. Bullshit!"
"Do you know what, get the fuck off me…" Pushing him away, Frank shakes his head. "Get in the car." Jimmy's still gawping at us and as I pass I slap him upside the head - hard. "Get in the car, idiot."
Leroy is still gripping his wrist and Frank gestures for him to get in without a word; just a shrug - a knowing shrug.
That train has hit the station; that anger that I can never seem to control, the one Frank likes to mock, rears its ugly head. Frank sparks up a cigarette and I turn on them, "Mr. Gordon has paid his debt," I say affirmatively.
"Bullshit," Frank calls.
"He's paid his debt, every morning waking up to a family wiped out over his own doing. His debt is paid. Jimmy doesn't make a hit again." The car revs loudly as it starts, my foot on the pedal to skid us back around towards Dauntless.
"Easy there, boy," Frank says, watching through the back window until we are straight again. "Someone might say you're trying to get one of us killed."
"Out of this car, I could pick quite easily."
Jimmy has been looking into his lap the entire time, only moving to grab the side of his seat as the car takes a corner sharply. "Eric, I'm sorry, man."
"Don't talk to me."
"I mean it, I'm sor-" He's cut off as I lash out sloppily, hitting him wherever, his hands guarding his face.
"Fucking sorry, huh? You're sorry?" Finally, I land a hit to his face and split his lip. He's like a whimpering child and I can't even bear to look at him. In my mind's eye I see myself turning the wheel too sharply and rolling this bitch; maybe wrap us around a tree or an old building, or if we're lucky, hit head-on and go up in flames. They always say fire is the best way to vanquish evil.
Dauntless open up the gates without question in the parking lot, and when the engine dies, Jimmy and Leroy almost jump out. But Frank leans up from behind, grips my shoulder in one hand, and holds a small paperlike square on the tip of his finger in the other. "I don't want that," I say. The high I was feeling earlier is gone, leaving nothing but a heaviness.
"You don't want it, but I think you need it." He keeps the little dissolvable, sweet paper presented to me. "Go live the Dream for the night. Feel nothing."
The letter D imprinted on the paper is tempting me. It could almost be a D for Dauntless. In my contemplation, the inside lights die in the vehicle and it's the darkness that grips a hold, forcing me to choose. I take it from him, hearing him exit the car, and put the paper in my mouth, feeling it dissolve instantly.
I wake up in a sweat, sitting bolt upright in my bed, fully clothed, and alone. I'm not sure of the night; to what extent or where it had ended or who with. But I remember Max. I remember the disappointed look he gave me; lowering his head and brows furrowed - flashes of different surroundings.
"You said you'd check your emails," his voice is echoing while I rub my face in the morbid morning, trying to put the pieces together. I know I was in the Pit. Heath was there. Frank with some girl in the corner. "Have you taken something?"
"No," I say into my bedroom, but hear it faintly in the back of my mind.
"I think it's time you went home."
"I am home," I say, but Max shakes his head.
"Check your emails."
As the dream fizzles out, my shoulder brings me back to the now, and I rush up for the bathroom. I open my door a crack and I'm surprised to see Jimmy on the couch this time and no one else. We must have put that shit behind us.
My phone beeps in my pocket and I pull it out to scroll through the messages. Random missed calls, multiple emails, a lone message Frank had sent branding me a dickhead. The latest one is from Max, saying I should get to his office now.
I'm still studying the message, trying to figure out why he'd need me so urgently. "Jimmy! Get up and get out!" My voice is off, dry like I spent all night shouting.
Just an ordinary night, then.
Max's office is not what anyone would imagine from a Leader of Dauntless. Hell, I don't even visit my own - if at all, for days on end. It's bright apart from a section of a neighboring building being the view from the window. His desk is clean, files organized precisely, and the most amusing thing - classical music on a low volume. My skin is still buzzing from a freezing shower, and I roam inside, my hands are pocketed, using the back of my boot to let the door close slowly behind me. He smiles, for what it's worth, and then motions me to the bucket seat in front of his desk. "Coffee?" he asks. From this display of polystyrene cups and a brewed pot of coffee, I know he's been waiting for me.
I express a grand smile for him only, casually dropping into the seat. "What's all this about?"
"Did you check your emails, or were you too busy having fun yesterday?" We stare at each other for a minute while I try to process what he knows. "Apparently there was a factionless robbery-gone-wrong last night. You know much about it?"
"First time I've heard," I successfully feint sincerity.
Again with his condescending grin, leaning forward to pour out two coffees. "I'll update you when I have all the facts."
"Thanks," I say, taking my coffee, checking it before I sip it.
"I'm not one to lace a coffee, Eric, you know me."
"Shall we just cut to the chase? Morning meeting starts in half an hour."
Max leans back and drums the desk. "I've got a proposition for you."
Rolling my eyes, I down a fair amount, letting it burn my tongue. "I'm not interested."
"Why? You got too much to do?" The silence after says everything and nothing at all. Eventually, his face softens to one I can recall from when I was a teenager. "What the fuck you doing? Where did all that spruce that you had get up and leave - at what point? Is it the job, Dauntless, a relationship I don't know about? Did you get fooled by a girl-"
"I didn't come here for a psych analysis. I thought you may have needed me for something a little bit more important, you know. And besides that, it's none of your goddamn business."
"Despite the fact that I'm head of command, this involves you, whether you like it or not. Where your interest lies - for the good of the factions, is being called continuously into question. It's a headache I am beginning to get tired of. Did I make the wrong choice to put you forward all those years ago to watch you go off and spit it back in my face? What would your dad say-"
I crush the empty cup feeling like he's just dug the knife in and twisted. "Don't you fucking talk about my dad."
"Why? People never want to talk when there is guilt involved... You feel guilty? Is that what plays on your mind?"
No words escape me apart from a scoff. My will to retaliate against the old heartfelt, cold grip of family ties lays placid. Yes, if that is the answer he is looking for, guilt is one of the things I feel. He had expectations of me for staying on in Erudite, taking over his life-long work of faction cohabitation, to see the in-depth point of view many miss as to why the factions work, why everyone needs a place, and to spend my life writing about it like he did. But I didn't do that. I told him Erudite wasn't for me, and though he was disappointed, he sat down and explained the good I could do with such a steady head and a constant drive to firmly get my point across. To make it work, even if it was in Dauntless.
And on that cold December fifth, while waiting at the station to meet me - a train I never took because I was too busy with my head up my ass - Coulter senior was struck with a sudden heart attack there and then, and died alone, cold, perhaps suddenly, but who is to say? The fact is, he is dead, and maybe he wouldn't be if I'd taken just a little time out and went to meet him.
"He was a good friend of mine," Max breaks the trance I've been sat in for I don't know how long. My posture is terrible, I look downtrodden, but the moment he wheels himself closer to the desk and sits upright, I mirror him, holding my head high. "The world works in mysterious ways. It's not your fault, you couldn't have known."
I could have sent a message, I could have called, there is a lot of things I could have done.
"And in some ways, you are exactly like him. That stubbornness. You want to know how I met him?" Max asks. I don't know how they knew each other, I've just known Max most of my life, and more so when he became my trainer. "He was trying to get a personal account from the factionless. Surrounded by them as we pulled up. Must have ruffled some feathers. He'd gone in alone with an audio recorder and a notepad and pen. I asked him what the hell he was doing and what he thought he was going to do if they turned on him. Do you know what he said?"
"Kill them with words?" His voice is the one I hear when I say it.
Max only nods, gripping his hands together on the desk. "Look, I called you here because Amity have an inspection they were hoping for me to participate in. I can't be there, and I can't send just anybody to represent Dauntless. If you read any of your father's work, he talks about reliable, known faces and presence consistency. His books are my guide."
"You want me to go to Amity to write up a report?"
"It has to be precise. State the sources you use. Your conclusion. Amity is off the beaten track and not much is ever provided informatically or timely, that's why it's important. ...You look like you could do with the country air anyway."
"Is that your sweet way of telling me I look like shit?" I ask, a smirk tugging at my lips because it is no lie. My class coming up to the finals do not directly need me to watch over them anymore, they will all pass. And Frank always talked about broaching Amity. But with their herbs and home remedies, the interest and distance have always been a bother.
"Well, I didn't wanna say, but some vitamin D could do you some good…" He begins laughing loudly with its signature rasp. "Your pale ass is looking whiter than a white man's bare butt cheek."
"Get the fuck out of here," I say as I stand up, feeling incredibly lighter than I did before, but worse in my sense of confliction with loyalty. Turning to Max, remembering mine and Frank's previous conversation the moment I meet his eye, for a split second, my mouth almost begins moving before I can think it through, wanting to mention something; a warning of some type. But then that disloyalty is on me because I know and without a prompt, I wouldn't have mentioned a word.
In fact, it's the first proper thought I've had over it. And it couldn't have come at a worse time after just speaking with him so personally. He's right, it is guilt.
"Oh, hold on," Max says, reaching down to a drawer and pulling a book out that looks well-read and dropped a couple of times. "Why don't you take this and read it? It was your dad's first ever copy of it. I know it well. You should have it."
It's hard-backed and in a navy blue cover, Michael Coulter printed on the bind. I pick it up and feel the weight of it in my hand. "By the way, the young kid, Jimmy, I'll be taking him with me."
"No problem," Max says while picking up the phone on his desk and putting it to his ear. "You have an hour before your departure. Two days to get a summary together. Don't worry about the granny meeting this morning."
"This doesn't mean I'll be picking up every Amity-Adventure-Pack from here on out. I'm not being alone in this." He's smiling at me but is too busy talking down the phone to reply. Once I'm out in the hall and close his door, I breathe in a lungful of air. I better find Jimmy and pack some shit.
I find out later that I'm not driving, nor is Max allowing a truck to rest at Amity for the length that I'm there. Maybe he's afraid I'll hightail it as soon as I feel like it. I sure do now more than I did before.
Jimmy is next to me keeping quiet, a reluctance to go that seeps off him. But I try to focus on the task at hand while gripping the handle of my holdall with all my possessions. We know we hit Amity when the road widens, turns to dirt, and there isn't the usual rubble of the buildings. Whatever was left in this part of Chicago had been torn down and reused by these folks. On some of the houses out from the center of Amity - holding cows in pens and I can practically smell the shit in the air without a window being open - I can see parts that have been reused on the structures, parts that don't blend in and stick out.
"Why did the chicken cross the road?" Jimmy mumbles, staring ahead of us as we come hurdling in our truck straight for some brave cock strutting in front of us.
"To get hit by a Dauntless truck," I humor him, just on time for the thump under the wheel. Not driving and being a passenger makes me nauseous, but I can't bring myself to open the window, opting to run a hand down my face while it's still clean.
It's about eleven at the latest, and for our arrival, a lot of the Amity people have gathered along with a small squadron that lives out here and swaps over every two weeks. Though, there has been no hostility or problems like there has been around the other factions and their presence seems useless. Amity like to keep to themselves. Johanna is the representative of this faction by the people's vote, but her voice is not the only voice that has to be heard on any decision, but it may as well be.
Everything is too bright, too joyous, the sun shining warmly, not like the grey feeling Dauntless seems to cast. There are carts and horses, women carrying firewood in baskets, and children running down the tracks. I feel Jimmy's stare on me. "I've never been to Amity before," he says but not sourly, it's like he's enjoying the view.
"Trust me, in a few hours you're going to be wanting to leave." Throwing the cab door open I drop down, straight into a fucking puddle. Lifting my foot to view the damage, Jimmy almost bumps into me. I grab his arm and pull him back from wandering forwards. "Get the bags." He huffs and turns, shouldering mine and his.
"There was a storm last night," a voice says, an old man with greying hair and a beard, his clothes loose and flapping in the slight breeze with a smile on his face. His eyes are dark while he watches the truck unload, the former squadron packing their stuff on board. It's always two birds with one stone with Max. "Johanna's dealing with some laws of the land but will be with us shortly. I'll take you to where you are staying in the meantime." He steps forward and holds out a hand. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Coulter. Amity welcomes you."
I grip his hand firmly and shake it with Jimmy as my witness over my shoulder. "We'll only be under your feet for two days. Today being one of them."
"I hope your stay is as pleasant as possible," he says, motioning a hand for us to follow. "Only good weather is predicted from here on out. Seems you brought the sunshine with you."
I make a face at Jimmy who smirks and follow him. We stopped the truck just down the track from the classic dome glass building that represents Amity. The long wooden structure of the stables and offices merged together on my left, further in the distance. Between the trees, the path is winding and offset to what I assume is living quarters. The old man stops by the nearest cabins that are opposite each other, covered by trees, ones that I can't help but look up to as the leaves sway high above us.
"Keeps it cool in the summer," the man explains. "And covers us in the winter."
"Practical," I hear myself say quietly.
"How rude, I'm Joe. You'll find me around. If you need anything."
The cabins have their own dark wooden porch, basic infrastructure, and I dread what is inside. "Keys?"
Joe laughs. "What on Earth for? They are both open."
Staring after him when he begins to walk away, I look to Jimmy who hands me my holdall. Without a word, I step up to one of the cabins, the wood creaking underfoot, bowing and distorting, and I wonder how old it is - or whether I'm about to fall through. It's a simple hooked doorhandle and it opens up to a studio type room; small sink and counters for the kitchen below the window, a bed on the right made-up. The lamp is on beside it.
I stand in this compact space, loathing the seconds being in it. But what I can appreciate is the silence. There is nothing. But it's a lighter nothing to what I feel in Dauntless. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and put my elbows on my knees, peering down to my bag. Tugging on the zip, the first thing I see is my father's book inside, the navy cover and his name in print staring up at me.
I pick it up and open it, viewing the contents. There is a section at the end of the book about Amity, which I flick to.
The Amity way of life. Broken down easily by stepping one foot onto the overturned soil. It is not power or hierarchy that they value, nor tend to have any interest in said subject. It is just living.
Biting my lip and leaning back, I'm not in the mood to read further. I check my phone instead, seeing a missed call from Frank a few hours ago after I messaged him that I wouldn't be around for a few days. The moment I see it is the moment the signal goes. Could have expected as much. No signal, I type, sending it, hoping he will get it when the reception comes back.
Johanna has a section of her office on the first floor over the barn with a long wooden table - a poor effort to the boardrooms at Dauntless, but at least nobody smokes here. It's warm and stuffy, smelling like pine with a fire lit on the furthest side of the room. Johanna's wrapping up a conversation she'd brought to the meeting, conveniently set over lunchtime.
While Jimmy tugs at the collar of his uniform, plates of food offerings are set in front of us. I ignore them, scowling at Johanna's ignorance to leave us lingering for so long. She catches me watching and waves off the woman hanging over her shoulder.
"I apologize, Eric. It's been a rather…" she side-eyes the woman. "Torturous morning." At least she has a sense of humor. "Max was too busy to attend, I see. When you see him tell him I said hello."
"It's an inspection, but that doesn't mean we are expecting any other additional treatment. Normal everyday life can continue as is, otherwise, the assessment is misinterpreted. I'll write up a report and be out of your way by tomorrow afternoon." Licking my thumb, I flick through some notes in front of me. "It does mean I need access to everything."
"Nothing is locked so your access is already granted." She smiles at me when I frown upwards, her bangles on stubby arms hitting the table in front of her.
"About that-" I begin, but I'm interrupted by a bowl of fucking strawberries being placed beside me. "That's already an issue. It's hardly safe. Trust in your people can only go so far."
Joe is here, placed to her side, and he sighs to himself.
"It's been this way for many years. I will not change it now."
"Either way, it's going in the report," I shrug. "I'll need access to stock, law, initiate quotas… the works. But I already suggest a reassessment on security. It would be good to prepare."
Jimmy's eating next to me, Johanna even divulging herself. I begin to get the feeling I'm in the canteen and not in a provisional meeting. "What's ours is yours, I have every faith in Dauntless," she says.
I'm offered cold meats on a tray and wave them off. I'm losing my patience. "Is there anything you'd like to say now before I begin?"
"Oh, yes…" Johanna licks her fingers. "We had a group of factionless come by. We fed and watered them and sent them on their way. It didn't go down in one of the files, so…"
I'm offered something to drink, this time turning to show my displeasure but stop when I see henna tattoos along the woman's arms serving me. "Why?" I ask, my question sounding off as I watch her round to Jimmy.
"They were a very poor looking group. There was no threat. And it was hardly a good use of the Dauntless soldiers time chasing after them," Johanna says. I'm caught watching the woman because she looks up at me from serving Jim. Not one to look away first, I wait until she does.
Kicking my legs out under the desk, I try my best to realign my thoughts and bite my tongue. "Did it not occur to you that this could have been a potential risk?"
"It occurs to me that Dauntless despise the factionless and don't like time wasters." Johanna smiles so sweetly, I think she's beginning to mock me and I narrow my eyes for good measure, words burning in my throat. "But I can get a report for you if you need it."
"I don't like being misinformed."
"You also don't like strawberries." The bowl is taken from beside me by the same woman I spied before, a smile on her lips.
"Eric, we wouldn't mislead you knowingly or on purpose. It's not how Amity works…" Johanna drones on while I watch the woman with the long red skirt down to her ankles, a midriff from a small white top, shoulder-length hair hanging limp. I'm hardly being subtle and neither is she because her hazel eyes find mine again. Jimmy taps me and I realize that Johanna is staring blankly at me.
"Don't let it happen again." I sit up and sip my water. "It makes it difficult when it shouldn't have to be." I'm not making sense. I don't even know if that is what she was expecting me to say. "We done here?" Jimmy gestures sarcastically to all the food left on his plate while I see the girl slip out the back, and I stand up, patting his shoulder. "You finish your food."
"Mr. Coulter," Johanna half-stands on my exit, a confused glance around the room on maybe why I'm hurrying so quickly.
The door brings me to a flight of stairs, and peering over the banister I just catch a glimpse of red. The stairs lead down to the ground floor, a waiter's exit and entrance with a path leading to the dome. But she hasn't gone that way, instead, I find her refilling a jug of water on the adjacent wall of a makeshift counter and sink with food that hasn't been served yet. The bowl of strawberries is beside her and I stroll up quietly and pluck one out.
"It's rude to assume."
She tenses up, but other than that she continues. "A man showing no interest in food has more troubles enough to fill his plate."
"That's still assuming," I say, mirth in my voice by how she won't show her face to me. I may be in Amity, but a guy still needs something to do here, and by the looks of her...
Shutting off the tap, she turns, holding the jug. "Good day, Mr. Coulter."
Maybe I was wrong? I keep her cornered so she can't get past without spilling her bounty. "It's Eric. But you know who I am, don't you?"
"Yes. Were you assuming I didn't?" She smiles back at me and I scoff, dropping my chin and pocketing my hands, suddenly feeling like I have never spoken to a girl before as my confidence dwindles. In reality, I've never had to try very hard, and they have certainly never been so deflecting. It annoys me that I have misread the signals, forgetting I was in Amity and not in the Pit's playground. I've been in Dauntless too long. "Can I help you with something? Are you lost perhaps?"
"No," I breathe and step aside for her to pass. Maybe I am troubled? Too troubled to even hold an enticing conversation. What could I even bring to the table for someone to be interested in me other than my name or title? It angers me that I can't express myself beyond the dark cloud hanging over my head. I now even look like a fool, watching her skirt sway when she reaches the stairs. I drop my eyes, squeezing my shoulder that begins throbbing and then eat the strawberry. But she stops before the partition of wall and I don't feign my surprise.
"It's Fleur." She passes judgment on me in an instant through a long look. She is the definition of the word reluctant. "My name... is Fleur."
"Meaning flower?"
Her smile is weaker this time and she averts her eyes elsewhere. I wonder if she regrets telling me. The first ebbings of paranoia begin to dot my skin at the back of my neck. "Something like that," she mumbles.
"La vie est une fleur dont l'amour est le miel." I begin to wonder if she can hear the shake in my voice that claims my hands.
"I…" she sighs quickly to herself and tilts her head, shifting from one foot to the other. "I don't speak French."
"No, of course not... It's a dead language," I shrug it off. She forces her lips to form a pathetic attempt at a sheepish grin that spells 'fuck off' politely and then disappears up the steps. It is the last time I'll try my hand. She may as well have shot me.
The aftershock sure feels like she had, and as I turn, leaning on the counter, I pull out my painkillers. Swallowing them dry, it takes a few minutes for the fog to clear in my head. Eventually, I pick myself up, straightening my spine, and head out for the first evaluation at the dome, alone.