I felt the sensation of being moved and my eyes slowly opened. I glanced around and vaguely made out the familiar surroundings of my parents' bedroom through the blurriness. As I began to fully gain consciousness, I noticed that I was lying on the bed and that someone was hovering over me. I began to struggle against Ducain and felt pain as his fist collided with my cheekbone.
I cursed my weakness. I had not been fast enough or strong enough to kill him. He had overpowered me and delivered a blow to the side of my head with his gun which had, apparently, knocked me out for a while.
"Stop your struggling," he said. I felt something cool and metallic against my neck. I rolled my eyes in that direction enough to see that he was threatening me with my own dagger. I felt rage build in my chest.
"I was gonna kill you quick. But now I think I'll take my time."
I felt the tip of the blade pierce my skin. I made no reaction. I was far too mad to feel any pain.
"I will make you beg for death."
"Never." I spit in his face. I was bewildered to see the saliva tinted pink. I guessed my lip was bleeding.
He moved the knife from my throat and punched me in the eye. There was a line of light then blackness before I was able to see out of it again. I didn't wait that long though. I headbutted him as hard as I could. I heard the sickening sound of his nose breaking and relished his cry of pain. I repeated the action and he was knocked off me. He went to his knees, dropping the knife and covering his face. I kicked him where his hands were and he screamed. I picked up the knife and drove the blade into his neck all the way to the hilt. I felt the warmth of his blood gush over my hand. He fell to the floor as I pulled my knife back.
I stood there staring down at his body. He was poised in a hideous fashion, his legs at odd angles. His ice blue eyes were open, but empty. Blood covered his face and pooled onto the floor from the wound under his chin. I remember wondering how long it would take to get the blood out of the wood. It was an odd thought. But I wasn't in my right mind then. I had thought I might be sick at the sight of so much blood, but I wasn't. I didn't feel anything. Not then.
I heard the door open and Connor say my name, but I didn't look up. I just stood there with my eyes fixed on the man I had just killed. I felt a hand take my arm and lead me away. Yet I was still watching Ducain over my shoulder. I didn't look away until I heard glass break.
I looked at Connor and started to ask him why he had broken the window, but he didn't give me time.
"Jump!" he ordered.
I did. I landed hard on the ground below and my knees buckled. I fell, making sure to hold the knife away from my body as I did. Connor landed on his feet next to me. He pulled me up and began dragging me across the yard, toward the field in front of the house. That's when everything came into place.
"Wait! The artifact."
I tried to pull away, but Connor would not stop.
"I have it."
"The house-"
I looked over my shoulder and froze. Connor tugged on my arm, but I jerked away from him. There was dark smoke billowing from the roof and the left side was in flames. I began to run back toward my home. Connor wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tight. I struggled, but he wouldn't let go.
"Stop it!" I yelled. "Don't touch me!"
Connor restrained my flailing arms and said my name.
"Victoria! Stop! Tori!"
When he used the nickname that my father had given me, I stilled.
"There is nothing you can do."
I felt tears build up and I made no attempt to keep them from falling. Connor gradually released me and I sat down. I pulled my knees to my chest and cried as I watched my house burn. I wept in a way I hadn't since my father's death. And once I had started, I couldn't stop. I cried all the tears I had been holding back for the last two years. I cried for my father, my brothers, the house. Mostly I cried for me. For what I had been through and for what I had done. I had taken a life. The life of a human being. A life I had no right to take. The murder did not cause me pain. What saddened me so much was the lack of that peace I had hoped to gain from it. Ducain's death hadn't changed anything. I still felt the anger. The hate. They were just as strong now as they were before.
When I was finally able to stop the tears, I noticed Connor sitting beside me. His elbows were propped on his knees, his hands folded. His hood was pushed back and I could see his profile clearly. He was watching the fire.
"I know what it is like," he said, "to watch everything you have ever known turn to ash."
I wiped my eyes and winced at the pain it caused. Connor looked at me. He used his blade to cut a piece of cloth from his sash and handed it to me. I took it and wiped the blood and tears from my face.
"You fought well," he told me.
I gave him a humorless chuckle in response. I noticed the red stains on his clothes and asked if he was hurt.
"No."
"How did the fire start?"
He took his time in answering. "A lantern was knocked over."
I nodded, feeling guilty. I hadn't paid much attention at the time, but I remembered a lamp falling off the table when I was fighting with Ducain in the living room. That made the fire my fault. I felt fresh tears, but they were not as strong as before.
I looked at Connor for a while. He alternated between watching the flames and looking at me. I wondered what his story was and if he would tell it to me. I wasn't sure how to ask. I felt as if I didn't even know him at all.
"What's your name?" I asked, without being sure why.
"Ratonhnhake:ton."
"Oh."
"My mother was Kanien'keha:ka. She was killed when soldiers burned our village."
"What about your father?"
He looked at me. "The man who ordered the attack on my village. The one who controls Charles Lee and rest of the Templars that I have sworn to kill. His name is Haytham Kenway and someday I will end his life."
He said this in such a way that I was not sure if he was trying to convince me or himself. I let the conversation falter after that. We watched for a while longer as the flames spread and the roof began to collapse. Then I took a deep breath and stood up.
"Take me home," I said.
Connor got up and led the way back to town. The trip was made in silence. Occasionally, he would wait as I caught up to him. Other times he would fall behind for a bit and I would wait on him. Once he even took my hand. I am not sure if he did this to comfort me or to lead me in the right direction. I'm fairly certain that I walked the entire way in a daze. I can't remember anything I passed or getting home or going to bed.
I awoke some time in the night with a chill. There was no fire burning in the hearth and I didn't feel like lighting one. I curled into a ball and pulled the covers tighter around me to ward off the cool air. I spotted Connor laying on the floor a few feet away, sleeping soundly. He was on his back, one hand resting on his stomach, his lips slightly parted. His chest rising and falling in rhythm with each breath. I watched him, thinking how young he looked. He appeared so fragile and innocent that I couldn't imagine him being capable of the things I had seen him do. Of what he had committed his life to.
I wondered if I looked the same way when I was sleeping. If rest hid the darkness of my soul the way it did his.
I quieted my thoughts and closed my eyes. The next time I awoke, Connor was gone and bright light was shining through the window.
