Chapter 3

After Simon had left, Sydney had stayed sitting in the kitchen chair for hours. Just seeing Simon had brought on so many thoughts. Her mind was like a ping-pong ball, being hit over and over and over again. She brought her legs up, curling her arms around them. Her cheek rested on her knees. She had used to think her life was complicated, but compared to now, that was nothing. And seeing Simon... well, that had only made things worse. She had been able to avoid thinking about all of that, but now…

The prophecy. Damn that stupid old man. She cursed him every day. He had completed ruined her life. She would never be free. People would always be looking for her, be after her. The only thing she could do was run. Or kill them. She glanced at the clock. Twelve am. She closed her eyes, sighing. She was never going to be able to sleep. Because he… Sark was on her mind, and when he was on her mind… she never slept.

She never thought she could hate someone as much as she hated him these past few months. He had lied to her, used her. She had trusted him. What a joke that had been. Why was she so fucking naïve? She should have learned by now that no one can be trusted. She, whose own mother had shot her, should know better. She glanced at her wrist; the burn was gone now, replaced by black ink. She had woken up one morning to find it there. She didn't even bother wondering about it. There was no a point. Thinking about it would just bring up more questions that would never be answered.

And Simon… Simon had thought she was… that she was… Oh god, she didn't even want to think about it. No. She stood up, walking into her bedroom. She pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, slipping on a pair of shoes as well. She grabbed a black duffle, starting to stuff the rest of her belongings into it. She surveyed the room one last time before exiting. She didn't bother with anything else, just walked out the door. She had hidden for long enough. She knew exactly what she had to do now.

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"What? Not even going to hold the door open for your brother whom, I might add, just woke up from a coma?" Nikolai followed Sark into the house, shutting the door when Sark ignored him. The man obviously had no sense of humor. But of course, he had lost the best thing, in Nikolai's opinion, that had ever happened to him, so he did have a reason to be humorless.

"Simon called," Sark spoke over his shoulder to Nikolai as they walked into the kitchen. "He said he should be here tomorrow. And just to make this clear," he turned around to Nikolai. "Ciara is eight. So don't get any ideas." With that, he turned back around and continued walking.

"Damn. I'm so disappointed," he stared at Sark's back darkly, "'cause I would've loved some-"

"Nikolai." Sark said his name crisply, which meant he didn't want to hear it. Nikolai rolled his eyes, opening the fridge. He looked around, finally settling on a beer. He popped the top off, and was about to take a swig when Sark grabbed the bottle out of his hands. He glared at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sark ignored him and walked over to the sink, pouring the liquid into it. He threw the bottle into the garbage once he was done, walking towards the door.

"I know you've got a stick up your ass because Sydney-" before he even got to finish his sentence, Sark had him pinned against the wall, his face full of rage.

"If you want to kill yourself, fine, but you are not doing it in my house," he spat out quietly, "So if that's what you want to do, fine, but go find another fucking place to do it in." He pulled away, letting Nikolai go. He walked out of the room, leaving an emotionless Nikolai behind. Finally, some emotion.

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Simon paused outside the stone building. His… daughter was in there. Oh fuck. He turned around, intending to walk away when he stopped. What the fuck was he doing? He didn't have a choice… this was his daughter. He had to take her. Wait… did he have to take her? Maybe she had another relative somewhere. Yeah, he thought. That's what he would tell them, to find another relative. With a sigh, he walked into the building.

The building was a tiny orphanage, small children running around everywhere. He walked to a door labeled "office". He walked in, giving the old lady behind the wooden desk a small nod. She smiled at him.

"Hello, dear." She motioned to a chair sitting in front of the desk. He sat. "What can I do for you?"

"Ah, I'm… I'm Ciara's-"

"You're Ciara's father? Mr. Jones?" The woman smiled again, standing up. "How wonderful! We've been waiting for you to come pick her up." Simon watched the woman for a moment, at a loss for words.

"Right, uh… I was wondering, isn't there someone else, another relative somewhere-"

"Oh no," she woman shook her head furiously, her eyes sad, "you are the only relative. She doesn't have anyone else."

"There has to be-"

"I'm sorry, dear," she smiled at him sadly. "I can see you're having a few doubts-"

"A few?" Simon snorted, "try a fuckin-" he caught the woman's shocked look, "uh… a lot."

"Well, young man," she pulled him to his feet, "why don't you come with me and we can go see Ciara, then you and I can talk." Simon shook his head.

"I don't think-"

"Don't you worry," She pulled him out into the hallway, down to a room at the far left. She knocked once, then opened the door, pushing Simon in. She walked in behind him, shutting the door behind her. Simon regarded her in horror. The woman had practically forced him into the bloody room. What kind of-

"Ciara," the woman spoke to someone behind him, "this is Mr. Jones. He's come to take you." She smiled at Simon, motioning him to turn around. He stared at her, shaking his head. She just kept smiling, and after a moment, Simon finally turned around.

A small girl was sitting on the ground next to a bed. She had her back to them, her long dark hair tied up on her head. She was wearing a pink sweater, staring at something on the floor. He glanced at the old woman one more time before walking over to the small girl. He walked around her, coming to stand in front of her. He knelt down, noticing her hugging a brown teddy bear to her chest. He opened his mouth, closed it.

"Ciara," She looked up and he felt something tugging at his heart. She was so beautiful, so innocent. Her eyes matched her hair, dark brown, almost black. She looked so much like her mother. He smiled at her hesitantly. "Mind if I sit down." She shook her head, he sat.

"Uh, I'm sorry about your mother," He finally spoke. She turned her head, looking up at him.

"Are you Simon?" Her voice was so soft, so quiet.

"Aye, I am," He was shocked she knew his name. "did your mother talk about me?" The girl nodded.

"She said that you were my daddy." She said, pulling her teddy bear tighter.

"What else did she say?" He was curious what Shannon had told her about him.

"She said that if she ever got hurt, you would take care of me." She looked up into her face, her eyes big as saucers, "Are you going to take care of me now?" Simon looked away, swallowing. He closed his eyes, opened them. He turned back to her.

"Yeah, babe," He gave her a small smile, "that is if you want to come live with me." The girl glanced back at the old woman still standing in front of the door, she looked back at Simon.

"I want to," She finally said, "I don't like it here." Simon nodded.

"Yeah, I suppose living with that old bird doesn't really have its perks." The girl giggled, and Simon had never heard a better sound. He stood up, nodded towards the door.

"So what do you say? Ready to go?" The girl nodded, standing up. She took his hand in her little one, pulling him towards the door.

"Can we go get Casey now?" Casey? Who the hell was Casey? Simon sighed. This was going to be a long day. There was no way he was bringing back two little girls. Hell no.

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Sark jerked up in bed, the sheets pooling at his waist, glancing around quickly. Everything was dark, the only light coming from a lone window. He threw the sheets to the side, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, walking towards the window. He was so caught up gazing at the sky he didn't notice the person sitting in the chair in the corner of his room.

"Miss me?" He turned around quickly, watching as Sydney rose from the chair, walking over to him. He watched as she came over, stopping as her body touched his. She met his eyes, bringing a hand up to run gently down the side of his face. He closed his eyes, sighing softly. His eyes opened, watching as her face moved closer. Her lips touched his. She pressed against him, her tongue pushing past his lips to touch his. She pulled away.

"Sydney…" He called her name softly. She leaned up again, touched her lips briefly against his. He gasped in pain as he felt a blade slice through his abdomen. She pulled away, her face expressionless. He looked down, his hands covered in blood, his blood.

"You should never have lied to me, Sark." He watched her as he fell to the floor. His abdomen was on fire, the pain intense. He watched her as she stared down at him, unmoving. He looked at the ceiling… it was getting so far way…

Sark jerked awake in bed, his breathing fast. He was covered in sweat. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window. He looked at the chair in the corner. Empty. He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. Oh fuck. He was dreaming again. Just what he needed right now with everything else going on. He opened his eyes, pushing himself off the bed. He walked into the bathroom, flicking the light on as he stood in front of the sink. He turned the faucet on, splashing the cold water onto his face. He turned it off, reaching for a towel.

He glanced up in the mirror, taking in his appearance. His face was littered with dark blonde stubble. He had shadows under his stormy eyes. He had never seen them this dark. Damn. He glanced at the scar on his shoulder, the one he had received from Sydney. He looked away, his teeth grinding together. Things weren't supposed to be like this. They weren't supposed to… fuck. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You look like shit, Sark." He glanced up in the mirror. Sydney. He spun around quickly. She was standing in the doorway, her brown hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Blood was spattered over her neck and chest, as well as her arms.

"Sydney-" Before he got to finish his sentence, Sydney lifted her arm, gun in hand, and shot him square in the chest.

TBC...

A/N: Pleaseleave a review if you're reading this! It really makes me want to write more knowing people are actually reading it. All comments are welcome!