Chapter Nine: The Fallen
There were eight of them in the Cabinet, and they stood and clapped as the new Prime Minister entered the conference room.
"Nevermind, nevermind that. Everyone: sit," growled Prime Minister Oehler.
They sat. Most had expressions of uninhibited respect. A few looked curious.
Oehler leaned over the table with dark eyes. "Please," he said, "there shall be no applause until I get good news. Has anyone good news regarding Kimball's assassination?"
Well, she's been assassinated, thought one in particular, though he put on a reluctant face like all the others. That should be good enough news in itself.
His name was Rudyard Sturgess, and it was long enough that he waited for this sort of opportunity: Secretary of Public Relations in the Prime Minister's very own Cabinet. Imagine!
The Prime Minister wasn't a complete fool. He knew the Primists were aching for power, and would become more hostile if he didn't include some in his Cabinet. What he didn't know was that it was Rudyard Sturgess, avid Individualist who was one of the Kenshi who suggested Kimball's assassination in the first place. She was a pitiful woman, to say the least, and he knew that any action against her would please Joseph Allen to favour him over others.
In just a few months, it turned out that Rudyard was the highest ranking government official of all the Kenshi, and was in the perfect position to put some fireworks in motion to ensure his own place in the future.
No, the Prime Minister wouldn't be killed. Not just yet.
She fumbled and jumbled and nearly tripped trying get the dress off, but once she did, she picked up another hanging nearby and pulled it on to herself. Once she finished, she pushed her hair back behind her ears so that was no longer in her face, breathed a few times so that the previously stated face was not so red, and used the mirror to see herself from every possible angle.
"Clarisse?" a man called from outside the dressing room. "Clarisse, how are you getting along?"
"I..." Clarisse flattened out some wrinkles and sucked her stomach in, twisting herself in front of the mirror. "I definitely like this one better than the other. The style is... better. A lot better. It's just the colour; I don't think it's that good on me. Perhaps, if it was a more blueish violet, instead of a reddish one. Perhaps... I think... umm..."
She stepped out, simultaneously placing her hands on her hips, sucking her stomach in, and walking on the balls of her feet. "Inderpal? Which do you like better? This one or the green?"
The man named Inderpal Bettany had knobbly hands and a head of thick brown curls. He blinked a few times, inspecting the dress as Clarisse twirled around in it. "Are you serious? Are you really asking me?"
"Yes, of course. What do you think?" she asked again, checking the seams under the arm in front of the mirror. "I was thinking that I love this neckline-- do you see, right here? Very flattering to the front, but again the colour. I could just die! Should we ask if they have it in a different colour?"
Inderpal swallowed and came to his senses. "No, of course not! What do you need to be flattering for? You're too damn beautiful to begin with!"
The dress stopped twirling.
Crossing her arms, Clarisse stepped up to the man. She bent over and looked him in the eye so much that he scooted back in his seat. Then, she laughed, and hugged and kissed him.
"You're so lovely, Inderpal. So lovely and perfect. I love you so much," she smiled, sincerely and wrapped his arms around him, while he wrapped his arms around her. "You know, if Jeremy hadn't been killed, do you think we would've been together? Do you think we would've ever even seen each other if not for your father and my father and all this Kenshi business?"
Inderpal shrugged and took her hand. "Probably not. I don't think I would respect you half as much if I didn't have to watch over you 24/7."
"I'll consider that a compliment, I think," said Clarisse, standing up. "And I think I'll take the green dress. Less for you to worry about when other men keep their eyes off me, yeah?" She rolled her eyes, laughing again, and went back into the dressing room.
When Ian was five and Elizabeth seven, they found a can of paint in the shed. Ever since, the Ferguson front door was no longer white, but a deep shade of violet, as few other colours could be effectively cover drawings of red horses, light blue flowers, and a green thing that Ian called a "skirl."
Twenty-seven years later, the door was still violet, but no matter how hard you looked, the drawings beneath it could not be seen. The front standing light was replaced by a lamp on the side of the door just above the doorbell. The bushes that had been planted just after Elizabeth's birth were now hedges that hugged the house in so that it actually looked old.
From nowhere, Elizabeth appeared. She saw her breath from the front light, which illuminated the doorstep and tops of two bushes on either side of the door. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and rubbed her hands together as she hopped up the walkway.
Without fail, Ian came from the front door. He looked grim for it being the eve of Christmas Eve. His eyes couldn't be seen from the light, and he didn't shiver even though he was only wearing a sweater.
"Beth, I need to talk to you," said Ian, stuffing his bare hands into his armpits.
Elizabeth nodded, shivering. She alternated feet to keep herself warm. "Sure thing," she nodded and reached for the door.
Ian stopped her with an arm, guiding her back to the step. "We can't talk in there," he said in a flat tone, while Elizabeth looked on, confused. "This needs to stop. I can't have you going on like this."
She laughed it off. "Ian, you're being ridiculous. It's freezing out here. What are you even talking about?"
"You know very well," he licked his lips. "Three of Mum's friends are dead. Killed. It's a war, now." Ian shivered a bit, but continued harshly, "You can't have a foot on either side of the line. You need to make a choice. Us or them."
"Since when was it 'us?'" Elizabeth snarled. "Since when have you ever supported Mum and Dad wanting to kill a man we've never known? You were always with me, Ian, ever since we were children. Open in mind and in heart. We were never killers."
Ian raised his voice with eyes that shone in the light. "And now we are, Elizabeth. You're a killer and I'm a killer for letting this happen, and there's no escaping that. It's a silent war now, between the Kenshi and the Fergusons. What matters now is allegiance. Elizabeth, you can't be on both sides. I'm telling you, if either side were to find out, you will be... Beth, please. The consequences outweigh the rewards."
"You're talking about the perks of being a Kenshi?" Elizabeth swallowed. "If I stay committed to Joseph Allen's side, and he wins, I'd have power. I'd have influence; be swung up to the top of my career ladder. I'd be royalty; at the right hand of God. I'm nearly there, anyway. I'm nearly a Kensei, not a Kenshi. I've been protecting him from the beginning."
As Ian's breath drew, Elizabeth licked her lips and carried on, "but if he wins, he'll have to kill all my family. My parents and their friends, the people who cared for and raised me since I was born. And my brother. And what reason do I have to support a group made primarily of Primists? I've always been an Individualist, supporter of governing according to ability and the freedom of occupation. To support them would be to disregard the Dissociation War. And gone would be my homelife, my wonderful house in beautiful Israel, the land the teleports fought so avidly for."
The wind blew steadily, making Elizabeth's scarf ripple. She didn't shiver.
"But still, the question stands," she said, herself. "Do I have loyalty to my family, my past and all the pains brought by it, or do I have loyalty to myself, my future, what I could become in spite of my past. Ian, do you really want me to choose? Do you want me to pick a side?" This last question came bitterly, like a cry.
Ian nodded, slowly. He swallowed, and shivered.
Elizabeth sniffled and said, "Fine. My answer is neither. If I have to choose to save myself, as you say, I don't pick either side. Neither side has a better chance, a better outcome, nor a better way of getting there. It'll all just end in blood, and some time from now, history will repeat itself, once again as it has been doing since time existed. Then, the best choice is no choice at all."
For a moment, she shook as the wind blew harshly again, but Ian swallowed and the sight of his breath from the cold was stopped. He nodded slowly, blinking as equally slow, and he understood her. He didn't say anything back.
Understanding him, Elizabeth rubbed at her nose. She turned away and disappeared. This time, the wind brought flakes of snow.
A/N: Ah, no more Heroes till February. :( But a good episode. Kind of dumb in some parts. Sylar was crazy awesome as always. I think they randomly knocked people out far too much. All in all... decent. No greater feelings.
Except, the final scene. With the President?
Nice touch, NBC. Really nice touch. xD
In other news, this chapter is named for a song by Franz Ferdinand. I really thought it described Adam well. Then I read it was actually about Jesus.
Ha. Ha.