There's more to our favourite bad guy than meets the eye...
December 5th 2020
The howling wind rattled the windows and pierced through the cracks in the room leaving it frigid and cold as the storm brewed overhead. He sat in the lone chair by the fire, gazing into the empty space surrounding him. He wore the shirt she picked out for him that day, tucking them into the accompanying trousers as he stared at the tie she had knotted. The bare room was adorned with a simple armchair and end table, on which stood a picture of his radiant beauty. She wore the most exquisite dress ever seen, the materials dancing beautifully across her honeyed skin.
His eyes drifted from the tie to the photo-frame. It had been 25 yrs, but that still didn't make the pain any less easy to deal with. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered her beauty, her charm, their love. She should have been his wife. He could hear the song they would have danced to, smell the sweet scent of her perfume as he held her close, see the graceful way with which her body moved.
He remembered arriving at the church; nervous anticipation brewing in his belly. Half an hour passed and the crowd began to grow anxious at the absence of his bride, and he too felt the rising dread. He breathed heavily. Where was she? Was she hurt? Did she… did she change her mind?
As the church doors burst open and a boy in his mid-teens ran down the aisle shouting something, he felt his dread turn into blind panic. Something was not right.
"Sir, you must come with me right now!"
He was already moving before the boy had finished his sentence. "What happened?"
"Your bride… there's been a terrible accident… she was in the car…"
He couldn't remember much of what happened after that. Time just seemed to blur past him. He remembered being in the hospital room, seeing her beautiful body mangled from impact with the other car. He remembered the solid sound of an EKG flat-lining. Time of death- 10:57. He remembered grief.
There was a lot of rage after that. A man loses a lot of rationale when his reason for being is stolen from him. He had a death wish, but religion would not allow him to give in. He joined the military. At 32 he was made colonel. Most men would have been proud, honoured; he kept wondering why God would not let him die.
Picking up the picture, he looked into the sparkling eyes of the woman who had captured his heart. They were a deep brown, her most expressive feature. When he had been called upon in the name of science, he had jumped at the chance to recreate those eyes.
August 21st 2000, the shrill scream that only a new born could make filled the air as he watched the doctor cut the umbilical cord. This was the first hint that she was different from the rest; they were silent. As she was cleaned and prepped to be placed on the new born nursery, he felt compelled to hold her. Looking down at the dark hair and golden skin, he saw the sleepy eyes open and gasped as he caught a glimpse of those eyes he had convinced himself he would never see again.
As he placed her in her crib, she fussed at the loss of human contact. He turned to leave, assuming that she would eventually calm down, but as he reached the door, the fussing turned to a full out wail. Turning around, he picked up the child again and she quietened. This one really was different. The others could self-soothe from birth, but this one needed comfort and reassurance from the world. He had a feeling it would be both weakness and strength…
He remembered the day of the escape. Watched as she seized and the others moved to protect her. Saw the look of hurt and betrayal that seemed to flash across her features as he shot one of them down. In that moment, he wanted to apologies to her, to those eyes. But he had a job to do. As they jumped out the window, he couldn't bring himself to shoot lest he hurt her unintentionally; no matter what happened, those eyes must outlive him. Even if tonight they must leave his care…
Today should have been the anniversary of a new beginning, but instead it marked the end of happiness. He felt cheated out of a good life for sins he didn't even remember committing. He stared at the fire and imagined himself to be the logs of wood as the flames licked at them, turning them to ash. He didn't even realise he had stood up until his fist collided with the wall, fracturing a knuckle. This wasn't the first time he had this injury, and it probably wouldn't be the last either. He welcomed the pain; it brought absolution.
Sliding down the wall, He wept. Wept for her, wept for himself, wept for what they could have had. But most of all, he wept for the one with her eyes. He wept because he knew he had caused her pain, wept, because she would never know how important she really was, what she truly represented.
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You guys know who this is about right...
hope he wasn't out of character...
Leave a review to make a sister smile... :-)
