We point our guns steadily at each other. Fingers poised on the triggers. Neither of us blinks as we stand there, ready to fire at any moment.
"Why, Cammie?" His voice sounds hurt, confused… pleading?
I swallow painfully and shake my head gently and slowly.
"I had to," I whisper, hoarsely, back.
"But why did you join them? They took your dad!"
I think I'm imagining things, but Zach's gun seems to drop a fraction of an inch.
"I don't have to explain anything." My voice is harsh and unfeeling, echoing slightly off the dusty, ghostly white walls.
He doesn't realise that I have to do this; be who I am. For everyone. For him. They'll hurt them all if I don't.
"Cammie…" Zach speaks barely louder than a whisper, but I hear him clearly.
I can't believe that we're standing there, barely a year and a half after graduation, in the cold foyer of Macey's rarely-used Boston home, guns directed at each other.
My hands tremble slightly; shaking the gun, too.
Those eyes… his eyes… his mysterious dark eyes; they look at me with such sadness, but at the same time pain and anger. I've remembered them well. Hardly a night goes by when I don't dream of them.
A lump forms in my throat; painful and large. I swallow and try to stop the tears forming in my eyes. My lips tremble, so I purse them, angry at myself for letting my composure slip. I form the hard, virtually-expressionless mask I've relied on ever since I joined. It's served me well.
But I can't ignore Zach's expression as well as I can my own. His face is hollow, as if he hasn't eaten much lately, nor slept, judging on the dark circles under his eyes. His mouth is drawn into a thin line. He seems to have lost the playful, mysterious air I so dearly adored about him. I can't look away.
"Are you going to pull the trigger yet," I ask, tonelessly.
"Are you?" he shoots back at me, not literally of course.
"On three?" I joke slightly, as if lightening the mood is important.
His gaunt face breaks into a small smile.
"They'll be here soon," I inform him, rather breaking the moment.
Zach sighs. "I know, so will my people," he replies sadly.
We hold our guns, still directed at each other, less tensely now. I remember my mission; who I work for and why, but it doesn't seem important.
"Not long for a catch-up chat then, eh?" He laughs.
I grin slightly, and then shake my head.
"You always were the joker."
This time he smirks. We hear voices; they're distant, but gradually growing louder. I smile sadly at Zach who grimaces back.
"Back to plan A?" I ask, casually.
"Plan A?"
"Counting to three…"
He laughs again, but stops when voices come from above us; from the balcony. I look up to see the gorgeous caramel eyes of my bes— former-best friend, who's clutching a gun out in front of her, aiming at me.
We look at each other for a brief moment, before the gunshot echoes around the foyer and the hard, dirty marble comes rushing up to meet me much too quickly…