Hey guys!
I am so sorry for the extremely late update. Writer's block, and plain procrastination was the reason for this. I am so sorry. Anyway, I'm definitely gonna finish this before the 6th (when school starts) so, another two chapters, I think. Three, tops.
Anyway,
Keep calm and read on-;
Disclaimer – consider this officially disclaimed.
The corners of his lips twitched into the smile I knew. Easy, like melting butter. I thought about sophomore year, when I risked my whole sisterhood for … him. A normal boy. Or so I thought. His smile gave me a little tingle up my spine, though I knew that it would be the last thing I ever felt for him.
"Ah, you recognized Joshua." Ms. Goode eased back into her chair facing me.
"How long?" I heard myself croak out.
They wore the same confused expressions when my hazel met his blue icily, "How long have you been one of them?"
"Since he was twelve. It's a bit hard to break out of the family business." Ms. Goode answered.
Everything … was a lie. The normal boy who saw me wasn't normal. His parents who baked pies and ran a pharmacy … it was all part of their cover. I no longer felt guilty about anything … after all, I wasn't the only one who lied.
"Everything was a lie?" I exhaled sharply, careful to not let the tears swimming in my eyes spill over.
"Why, of course, dear." She said easily, without a hint of guilt, "It wasn't by chance that Joshua over here decided to come over and introduce himself. You're called the Chameleon. When you don't want to be seen, you aren't. It took a little while before he could even see you."
I studied him—he was still the same. Blue eyes, with wavy brown hair and the shadows of his long eyelashes could be seen on his defined cheeks. But he wasn't the same.
His eyes would twinkle at me when I was nervous; they would brighten when he saw me smile; they would stare into me, with a look like he never wanted to lose me. They were the thing I loved most about him. His eyes were hollow now—not twinkling or brightening. He stared with a thirst to see me suffer, to see me in pain.
"Well, you must be starving now, Cammie. I'll have Joshua escort you and Zach to your room. Dinner will be served in a half hour!" She chirped brightly.
The metal door creaked open loudly, to a different room than I stayed before. It was alike in terms of the layout, however this was empty.
Josh gripped mine and Zach's shoulders tightly and walked us inside.
"Thanks, Joshua." I spat while he spun on his heel, stopped for a moment, and walked out.
My internal clock was still rusty, but close enough to a half hour later, he showed up again with two trays.
"Dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes." He growled.
My hands shook with hunger, wanting to stuff my face. The only thing that was on there was a dinner roll, some crackers, and a tiny shot glass of water. But no matter, I gulped it down within a matter of two minutes. My stomach ached a little bit, while I heard Zach stir.
"Ugh…"
"Zach, Zach, it's me."
He coughed, coming to. Though the room was dark, I saw his eyes open and drew some small comfort in the shade of brown I had come to know.
"They brought us some dinner. It looks quite lovely," I smirked sarcastically, "Eat up."
"Dinner roll, crackers and water? Nah. I'll ask for some steak. I do have some connections here."
The smirk was wiped off my face and I recoiled a few feet, my back against the wall.
"Gallagher Girl, I-I—"
I just gulped, my eyes darting to my fingernails, which I suddenly became interested in. He sighed, and started to nibble on a cracker.
And with that, our conversation died.
We didn't talk. At all.
Day after day, we drifted in and out of consciousness. We had little strength, considering they only gave us crackers and water once a day. Just enough to keep us alive, but not by much.
The silence was overwhelming. We sat beside each other, our backs against the wall. Sometimes, we found each other's heads on each other's shoulders, and we'd wake up suddenly, not saying anything about it.
I didn't know how long we sat in the room. A little past a week, I think.
It was Zach's turn to drift to sleep, his head leaning against my shoulder. And all I did was stare at him.
His eyelids fluttered open, while we shuffled to regain our positions, seated beside each other. As always, the only sound was the sounds of our breaths alternating.
"What's it like?"
"What?" He answered.
"Killing."
I didn't know where I was going with this, but all I knew was that I was tired of hearing nothing the whole week. Though I literally would've gone nuts if I was alone, having him there was only comforting in the fact that I had some company, though it seemed like there was an invisible barrier we didn't want to and could only break by speaking to each other.
He seemed taken aback, so I quickly started to say, "I-I'm sor—"
"No, no," He gave it some thought, "Well, I don't know what you mean by that…"
"Like, how does it feel? Don't you ever feel … guilty?"
His eyes bore into mine, and I almost shivered from his gaze. "All the time."
I didn't know how to reply, but I didn't have to as he went on, "You don't ever really forget it. Maybe that's only me, I guess. I'm not as … experienced as most of the people here."
I inwardly sighed in relief. I don't really know why. I guess maybe just to justify that the boy that I knew wasn't really ruthless and was still human.
"How 'experienced' are you?"
"…only one job."
I was shocked for many reasons right now—a) the fact that Zach had only done one job (I don't know whether or not if I was relieved that it was only that little or if I was upset he actually completed one.) and b) the fact that this was more Zach had been telling me about himself than I had known the past few years.
I found myself at a loss for what to say.
"Like I said, you don't forget it. Your first, and for me, your only kill. It's like you're a hunter and they're your prey."
He stared ahead, like he was digging through his memories, trying to recall, "You don't forget the way they seem so helpless while they're lying on the floor, begging for mercy. You don't forget the blood that pools after you finish them off. It's like it's always on your hands, and you can't get it off."
My stomach churned as I began to envision it. I didn't want to hear any more, but he went on and I couldn't stop him. And … sickeningly, there was a little part of me that wanted to hear more.
"There's always a little bit inside you that instantly regrets ever charging that knife at them …"
Then he looked at me again, his eyes so clear that you could see the pain and guilt he had been holding in, and instantly replacing it was the relief of finally having a burden lifted off his shoulders.
"But you know what the thing that disgusts me the most is?"
I stared back silently, waiting for him to continue.
"There's also a little bit inside you that enjoys it. You enjoy looking into their eyes, and watching the light leave them."
He paused, his fist clenching.
"As time goes by, the little bit of you that holds all the regret decreases to the point where the part of you that enjoys it replaces it fully … and you can feel yourself becoming less human, and just feeling … numb."
I just sat there, and he sat beside me, and I was starting to want the silence again instead of this. Then the door burst open, a burly man stomped in and grabbed me by the hair roughly, dragging me out of the room before I looked back at Zach, whose mouth moved.
I'm sorry, he whispered.
I found myself in a tiny room (couldn't be more than 7 feet by 7 feet) that was concrete all-around with light suspended in the centre of the ceiling.
"Why?" I rasped.
She stared back, her eyes the same as her son but couldn't be more different.
"Why am I here? Why do you need me? It's been how many freaking years—seven? How much longer will this take?"
"You don't get it, don't you?" She replied. "You know why you're here."
"IF I KNEW WHY I WAS HERE, I WOULDN'T BE ASKING YOU!"
Her eyes probed mine deeper, "You really don't know why you're here."
"Obviously." I scoffed before her palm met my cheek, leaving a red mark.
"Don't talk to me like that." If looks could kill…
She pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. "Do you know anyone named Anastasia?"
"No."
"Well, she was a good friend and colleague of mine. Until she met a man, ran off with him—"
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Don't interrupt—and eventually, that man killed someone."
"And?"
She opened the small laptop she'd been holding this whole time, pointing the screen in my direction. "Here, I think this'll help."
The camera seemed to be located in the corner. It was looking down at a figure bound to a chair.
"Dad?"
"Shh, keep watching."
"Well, Matthew, we meet again. How've you been?" The younger Cassandra Goode walked in.
Dad looked up at her, his face bloodied and bruised. "Cassandra … I've been better."
"Oh, and how is dear Anastasia? Excuse me, I mean, Rachel. I forgot she goes by her first name now."
"She's been good … how about you?" His tone was casual, like talking to an old friend, even in his current situation.
"Well, truthfully, I've been quite down. You see, I haven't seen my husband in awhile. Why?" Her sarcastic manner was tinged with venom, "Oh, that's right … you killed him."
He ditched his casual tone for a serious one. "Cassandra, he was going to blow up an entire building full of world leaders. He would've started World War III!"
"I. don't. care. It was a job that we were hired to do. He was doing his job!"
"If he did his job, the whole world would pay!"
"So you killed him. That's why my son will grow up without a father."
"I … I'm sorry." He sighed solemnly.
"YOU'RE SORRY? Oh, all's forgiven, of course. You just killed my husband and apologizing for it will magically bring him back to life! Really, Matthew?" Her eyes seemed to bulge out of her head.
"I can't do anything about it," He continued.
"Exactly, but I can."
His head shot up, his face laced with confusion while the door opened to reveal a figure walking in.
Whatever weakness she showed before seemed miles away as she stared intensely at my father. "You see, it's only fair, right? An eye for an eye?"
"W-what?"
"My son will grow up without a father," She spat, "Your daughter will grow up without one, too."
A twelve-year-old Zach stepped from out of the shadows, his right hand inside his pocket while his gaze matched his mother's.
"You see, honey," She placed her hand on her son's shoulder lovingly, "This is Dmitri. He works for the CIA, and what did I say about the CIA?"
"They don't care about us."
"Exactly. You see, this is one of their employees. And he's the reason why your father's not coming back." She whispered in his ear. "Just like I told you, okay, sweetie? You need practice."
The scene in front of me changed in a matter of seconds. My father was sitting quietly, waiting for what was to come and then … he was on the floor, lifeless.
I wanted to look away but I couldn't. All those years, I wanted to know if or when or how he died.
And I found out.
My father was Zach's first kill.
Zach was the one who killed my father.
Reviews are love.
Loveyouguys;
-S
