Life After Lies

by Fadingsilverstar16

Chapter 14

Confessions

"Our fingers laced together, only to have him pull away and then take my hand in his own, lifting it up. I was starting to sink now, starting to sink into the darkness and the silence. I had to strain myself to hear his last words, just a soft murmur in the distance.

'Thank you, Heather.'

Smooth lips laid themselves upon my knuckles.

My eyes closed, the warmth of sleep enveloped me, and the last real, raw emotion I remember feeling was pure contentedness before I floated into the blissful nothing and knew no more."


"If you could stop staring at that computer screen for two seconds and hand me my plane tickets, I'd really appreciate it." Eyes never leaving the monitor, Charlie picked up the two small slips of paper to his right from the desk and slowly placed them in my outstretched hand. I rolled my eyes at his incredulous expression, which he'd had on his face for the last three minutes as he scanned through the reports.

"Is this really that hard to believe?"

The blonde blinked up at me, holding my gaze for a second before closing his eyes and shrugging.

"The fact that we stumbled upon that video—completely by chance, may I remind you—just in time to save the Jonah kid from the chopping block is a bit hard to believe, yes," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, again.

I let out a huff and absentmindedly combed my fingers through my hair, wincing as I got them caught in a few tangles.

"First of all, it's Noah. Secondly, I'm just...kinda glad he actually has a chance of getting out of this hellhole, now."

That got me a cool yet slightly suspicious look from Charlie, which made me realize how much...emotion had gone into that statement. A sharp bout of pain ripped through my stomach—a physical self-reprimand. Trying to fix what I had just said, I countered his stare with my own, which I hoped was uncaring enough to be convincing.

"I don't know," I said, trying to sound indifferent, "but what they were gonna do to him...I wouldn't wish something like it on my enemies."

The accusing glint in his eyes left, replaced by something unreadable.

"Yeah....Well, I guess this is it then," he said.

I ripped my gaze away from his, looking down at the floor before answering.

"I guess it is."

My co-worker offered me a fist bump, which I accepted. Then I spun on my heel and made to return to Noah's cell for the last time.

"Are you absolutely sure you're not allergic to this stuff?" I asked for the third time in the last hour. Eyes closed, Noah gave a very tiny nod, as not to mess me up. I was carefully brushing some brown foundation onto his face, covering up numerous small scars and the X on his cheek. When I finished and sat back to check over my work, it looked as if my knife had never touched him. Satisfied, I dropped the little brush I had used and the foundation compact back into my bag.

"You're done," I said, rising from my seat. He also stood, following behind me as I walked out of the cell.

It was mostly quiet in the hallway that morning, and I noted with a bit of regret that this would probably be the last little moment of complete silence I would be allowed to revel in for a while, as the noise of the airport and the plane would soon be ringing in my ears, inescapable.

We were greeted by the chilled morning air once outside, and although I could tell that the cold was getting to both of us, Noah seemed to be relieved to be out in the open again. Once standing next to my car's door, he didn't get in immediately. Instead, he leaned against the vehicle and turned to gaze toward the east, where an array of oranges and pinks radiated from the reborn sun. Soft yet blazing, the colors were flawless in the way they blended together, painting the horizon and chasing away the dark of night. It almost looked unreal, more like a photo of a sunrise than the actual thing. It was beautiful, to say the least; the kind of image everyone associates with sheer perfection. The kind that's worth remembering.

Closing his eyes, Noah inhaled deeply, like he wanted to absorb as much of that fiery glow as possible.

Almost feeling like I was witnessing something private, I looked away to stare aimlessly at anything but him. There are few perfect instances such as that. Most have already passed before they can be genuinely enjoyed, and it's funny how a lot of them seem to come at a time when our lives are anything but perfect. Noah deserved to have that one to himself.

It was only a second later that he entered the car, and I backed out of my parking space and sped off without a word.

Neither of us got out at first after I parked in a lot near the airport. Stopping the car, I pulled my key out of the ignition a little slower than needed and then leaned back in my seat for a second, most definitely not in a hurry to get to what I had to do next. Breathing a small sigh, I leaned over toward the passenger's seat, reaching for the glove compartment.

The first thing I pulled out was a simple dagger—the first "gift" the organization had ever given me. Never having been used, its flawless blade glinted in the light of the sun as I held it. The second object was a standard issue gun—incredibly smooth and black as sin. I hid them both on my person, wincing as the knife's cold metal pressed into my skin. Noah's eyes darkened the sight.

"You won't get past security with those," he murmured.

"The organization has more power than you think," was all I said in return.

Airport security was easy enough to bypass. When we reached the front of the line, I'd already fished my wallet from my coat pocket and had it in my hand. The guard operating security was tall and heavy-set, greeting me with a bored look.

"Please remove your shoes, wallet and any metal you might be wearing or have with you," he said gruffly. Both of us did so, but I never touched the concealed weapons. I wouldn't need to.

Attempting to look as intimidating as possible, I narrowed my eyes and flashed him my ID card. He seemed to spot the grungy white skull on the ugly-looking thing immediately; the slight widening of his eyes gave him away. He knew what it was. He couldn't play dumb.

"Thought the government had taken you punks out years ago...." I heard him utter, but he punched in a code on his computer, anyway. When I walked through the security scanner, no alarms went off.

As we boarded the plane, I got an inordinate amount of glares from passing flight attendants and other employees. Apparently, the news had spread around pretty quickly. I'd had used a skull card, and that meant I had something to hide. No one said anything, though, and it was better that way.

Time flew by. Hours seemed like minutes and minutes like seconds. It was as if I was stepping out of the plane and into the airport, and suddenly I was standing on the sidewalk of one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Canada. The only detail worth remembering from the journal from Vancouver to our destination was that a feeling of tension, tight and heavy in my middle, worsened with each fleeting moment.

It had been raining on and off throughout the day, and the drizzle had just started up again when we arrived. The sun had disappeared long before. Leaving no afterglow, it had sunk behind an expanse of dark clouds in a much less spectacular way than it had risen earlier. The street lamps, dimmer and older looking than should've been, provided some light, but nothing for warmth.

Shivering, I noted the sight of my breath becoming fog as it met the freezing Ontario air. I crossed my arms and mentally kicked myself for not wearing a heavier jacket, but soon forgot about it and went back to staring at the building before me. The house, owned by Rosalina Elena Mendez, was white and fancy looking, though not as much as some of the other houses on the block. All in all, it had a kind of cheery, sophisticated look, even with that ominous sky in the background. One could easily tell that someone important lived there. Whether it was just this stick-figured model or not remained to be seen.

I shut my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, letting the smell of rain flood into me.

I bit my lip and walked over to Noah, who had left my side and moved to sit on the sidewalk. Like several times before, Noah didn't acknowledge it. Slightly hunched over and unmoving, he stared hard at the ground as if it were responsible for all of his problems. Despite its relatively small size, the house seemed to loom over him like a threat. He still hadn't taken a good look at the place; hadn't even glanced.

Something, an emotion, struck me right in the heart, then spread to linger on in my chest. Sympathy. Along with the initial physical burn, there came the urge to say something. Anything.

I sat down next to him.

"Y'know...it'll all be over after—"

"Why did you do this?"

Having been thrown off by the interruption, all I could do was stare. When it sunk in what he was asking me, another emotion welled up from inside. Reluctance.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked. My mind was racing, and I wanted nothing more than to find a way to dodge the question. Just the idea of answering, for a reason I still don't know, made my stomach churn.

Noah raised his head to look straight at me. Behind him, two gnarled streaks of yellow twisted through the sky. His eyes seemed to flash along with them, and it was enough to make my blood run cold.

"Because you've done more for me in less than a month than anyone else has in my entire damned life."

That statement, said in such a simple, honest way, was something no one had ever had said to me before. Even as my mind scrambled to find how I, Heather, could ever drive another person to say that, I knew I would never truly accept it simply because it was so unbelievable. I couldn't move; couldn't think. He appeared to notice that, and kept speaking.

"When it finally sunk in that everything about my dad's death was a lie...I waited. I—" he stopped, closing his eyes, to let out a shallow breath. "That's all I could do. Just sit and wait for him to save me. I knew he would. After all...I'm his son, right? Thinking about that was the only thing I could do to keep myself sane.

"But then those people came and forced me down and beat me until I wished I could just suffocate and die from the stench of my own blood...all while my father watched and did nothing." That last word was just a whisper, which he spoke in more broken a tone than ever before.

The rain had grown bit harder, then. Cold and cruel, it plummeted to the earth without mercy. It was also starting to soak through the black fabric of Noah's jacket. He didn't seem to mind, though, raising his head for a moment to let it reach his face. Almost as soon as he did, one droplet landed his on eyelid, then moved to run down his cheek like a tear.

"Before, I'd spent all that time alone, making up excuses for him. Hell, if he had shown just one hint of concern that day, I probably would've forgiven him on the spot, but no. Nothing. So I was forced to abandon my precious lies, and even though I hated myself for making them up up in the first place, it was a hard thing to do. I'm still wondering if I really deserved it or not. Maybe that was all punishment for being indifferent to other people all my life; for only caring about myself. But it wasn't all bad..." he opened his eyes and looked back at me, and though it wasn't enough to truly be significant, that gaze was surprisingly...gentle.

"I did have you."

My eyes widened. My breath hitched. The numbness in my hands, how freezing I was, and the lump in my throat...all seemed to disappear, or maybe my brain just stopped registering everything save for that last little sentence. I couldn't move; couldn't think. The only thing I had left was just the capacity to repeat those words over and over again in my head.

"You didn't have to do any of what you've done for me and you know it," his eyes became hard again, but with curiosity instead of spite. "If it weren't for you, I'd be rotting at the bottom of the Atlantic right now. That's more than I can say for him or anyone else I've ever known. You saved my life, Heather, and I just want to know what possessed you to care when not even my own father would."

...Wow.

I was still frozen, half from shock and half from the cold. An icy, rancid feeling in the pit of my stomach made my head spin, but I welcomed the pain. It was the only thing convincing me that this wasn't some hallucination brought on from skipping my daily dose of caffeine. Reluctance still weighed me down, encouraging me to stay quiet and keep it all locked up. It held me back, waging war with the part of me that wanted to say something. And for some strange reason, I didn't want to let it win. I forced myself to speak.

"On November seventeenth, two thousand eight, I decided I was going to slit my throat with the same knife I used to cut up your face," I started, cursing the itchy feeling that assaulted my eyes as I did so. "I'd gone through the whole depression thing, after hitting rock bottom and realizing that I had no one to blame but myself. I still find it funny that it took me as long as it did to seriously start considering suicide. The option had always been there, but at first, whether it was cowardice or hope that I would get over it... I—I just couldn't do it. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. When I finally made the decision, the only comforting thing I could delude myself into believing was that I was just one of those people the world was better off without."

I paused, clenching my fists and closing my eyes. Hot, sour bile rose up in my throat.

"So, I had everything ready. The knife, the note, the red towels to fall and bleed on so I wouldn't stain my mom's ugly new carpet," I said, astounded and horrified at how well I remembered the scene. "I got so close. The knife had already cut into my neck just enough to make it bleed a little when I got that call. I have no idea why I stopped and picked up my phone, but I did. The woman on the line told me to put the knife down. She told me that there was a way out; that I didn't have to kill myself. She told me that there was a place for people like me. She told me all about the benefits. She told me I would retire a rich woman. The list goes on and on. The last thing she told me was that it would be best for everyone if I accepted the offer, and there was a threat in her voice."

My voice was soft, so the emotion in it was hidden and I could pretend everything was fine. I blamed the wetness in my eyes on the rain, the slight trembling of my shoulders on the cold, the pain in my chest and stomach on the cold I was probably catching, anything but me. If I'd blamed myself then, even for a moment, I would have died.

"I think that might have been the first time in my life that I ever thought of my family first. I mean, I didn't care about myself anymore, so whether or not they targeted me wasn't an issue. But my family...they had lives to live, and I found myself actually caring. They hadn't already ruined it all for themselves like me. So I took the offer, even if I really didn't know what I was getting into, just to eliminate the possibility of them being killed.

"As for the the whole organization thing, I figured that after a while I'd just get used to it. You were supposed to be my first real assignment. It was supposed to be easy. I thought I could take it..." I hesitated, brows furrowing, but it was too late to try and get out of this, now. I had to continue. "But there's a difference between thinking you can do something and actually being able to do it. Yeah, I'd known you didn't deserve it. Yeah, I'd known I was going to be torturing you. Yeah, I'd known how awful this was, but that was just me thinking about it. Then, that girl hit you. Then, I was ordered to torture you. That was when it all became real, and the guilt, even before I'd actually done anything, was just unbearable."

I opened my eyes, realizing something.

"And I may have offered to be civil with you to help me feel better about what I was doing, but you know what? I think I might have done it...because I felt sorry for you, too."

Despite myself, I nearly laughed.

"Heh, I know, right? It makes no sense. I'm Heather. How could I ever feel sorry for anyone? How could I even care...? God...."

The first thing I felt after trailing off was some sort of relief, the kind that comes as a temporary comfort after taking a risk and surviving to tell the tale. Mostly, though, I was focusing on why the hell I'd let myself go on for so long in the first place. A better, shorter way of getting my point across had to exist, right? But no, I had to pout out my entire damned soul to Noah, of all people.

I closed my eyes, attempting to banish the urge to cry. My cheeks turned hot and red in shame. Bringing my hand up to the center of my neck, my fingertips ghosted over the scar there—a dark, permanent reminder of what could have been. I hadn't thought about the ugly mark in weeks, but now it seemed to burn as if it were fresh again. My throat started to throb. 'Get a hold of yourself,' I thought. 'After all you've done, no one will feel sorry for you.'

One more crash of emotion within brought my shivering to its peak, and I had to struggle to keep from losing it. I bit my lip so hard it bled, curling into myself and blocking everything else out. I could still feel Noah's presence next to me. I knew we still needed to get up and go confront Wilshire, but not now. I needed to keep control.

Just then, Noah rested his hand on my shoulder. I burst.

For the first moment or two, each tear I cried would have to fight for the right to escape, but it wasn't long before I was overwhelmed. Although it only made my cheeks grow more flushed with embarrassment, I surrendered and let the salty drops fall from my swollen eyes at will. Hopefully, they would just blend in with the rain. Every sob that forced its way past my cracked lips was choked and restrained, as if I still had some dignity left to salvage.

A few minutes passed before I was able to quiet my pathetic whimpering. Noah just sat there all the while, his hand never leaving my shoulder. Strange, his touch even managed to warm me through my coat and the fact that this stupid wind blowing around us was freezing. I couldn't look at him; couldn't even glance up to see the condemning stare that I knew would be there. The gesture of comfort he'd most likely done so I wouldn't drown in the depths of my own insanity. I still had to help him out of this horrid situation, after all....

Noah removed his hand from my shoulder, that incredible heat disappearing along with it. Opening my eyes, which were still clouded with tears, I swallowed and turned to look at him. When my vision finally cleared, I saw that his gaze was...

...deep with empathy.

He stood, looking toward the forgotten house behind us, and I will never forget what he said.

"Y'know, you told me something about hitting rock bottom. Well, all I know is that once you get there...you have nowhere to go but up."

He offered me a hand to help me up, which I accepted although I didn't need to. After I stood, our hands stayed together a second longer than necessary, and the looks we exchanged confirmed that we would never talk about this again.

Tears forgotten, I looked at the house. The lights were still on in the windows.

I started toward the building, Noah following close behind. As I walked, a mix of feelings swirled around in me, but the one that stood out most was dread. 'But there's no reason to worry,' I told myself as we reached the door. 'It'll all be over after this, right?' My inner self wasn't impressed, though, the emotional storm in my chest only roaring in response. Pushing the thoughts of how this could possibly turn into a disaster from my mind, I set my jaw and turned my head slightly towards Noah.

"Remember," I said, "you're my prisoner. Play along."

I got a grim nod in response.

I laid my hand on my abdomen, right above where my gun was hidden. Then I clenched it into a fist, nails digging into my palm. Showtime.

Inhaling deeply, I raised my arm, put on a cold, determined expression, and knocked.

Aaaand another chapter done. Wow, this is my longest chapter yet, and let me say that it was a pain to write. Aaagh. Anyway, thanks for reading!

Happy Holidays, everyone,

Gigi