Chapter 8—Blinding Light

March 27, 2016

When Lana returned to her office from her lunch break, she saw that there was an envelope on her desk. As she got closer, she recognized the handwriting as belonging to Miles.

Probably a thank-you note, she thought. After sitting down, she opened the envelope and read the letter inside.

My dearest Lana,

Thank you for the tea. It pleases me to know that you still care about me.

With love,

Miles

Lana had dropped off some expensive whole leaf black tea in Miles's office before work as a birthday present—she knew how much of a tea connoisseur he was. It didn't exactly say "I love you," but the short letter she had left with it did. It was little more than a way of showing Miles that she had not forgotten about him and that she looked forward to her freedom—and, hopefully, their wedding.

There was a knock on the door of the office. Before Lana could allow the person to come in, the door was opened. Gant walked in. Lana put away the letter from Miles.

"What innocent person do you want condemned this time?" she asked, making sure to emphasize in her tone of voice how much she hated him.

"Oh, no, no, no," Gant said, his hands clasped and a jolly smile on his face concealing the fiendish mind behind it. "This isn't about forging evidence. This is about you, Lana."

"Don't call me by my first name," Lana said through gritted teeth. "You don't deserve that honor."

"Fine. Skye, the detectives want you to stop participating in the investigations. They say you make them nervous."

"It's only natural; their salary's at stake if they miss anything. But then again, you want them to miss some things, don't you?"

"Now, now, I don't mess with every case, Ms. Skye. I just make sure White doesn't get in a mess."

"It seems more and more people are becoming threats to him."

Gant laughed. "Well, some of them are threats to me—or you."

"Why would you ever help me? I have nothing on you."

"Because if you got in trouble, I'd lose my best tool!"

"Hah. You could just make someone else's innocent sister look like a killer."

Gant laughed loudly. He was then silent. "Now, Ms. Skye, you and I both know your little sister is the reason—"

At that moment, Gant was struck hard in the face by a well-thrown pen holder—complete with pens.

"My sister is INNOCENT!" Lana exploded, standing up so her body language could better express her rage. "You only framed her so you could control me! You and I both know Darke killed Marshall!" Lana stopped to breathe. She realized her hands were shaking, her breath intense and oozing hatred.

Gant's left hand was on his nose. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a bag of tissues. Lana noticed that his nose was bleeding. No matter. He deserved much worse than that.

She had no proof that Gant had framed Ema, but she couldn't believe that her sister would kill someone, even by accident. She hoped that by pressing him, she could get more answers. Someone had framed Ema, possibly inadvertently, but no evidence existed that explained who had done it or how. Perhaps Darke had shoved Marshall into the sword and then been knocked out somehow when Ema struggled. Perhaps Gant knew. Still, it was futile to try to draw the answers out of him.

"I used to be a kind woman who never wished death on anyone," Lana said, rage still overflowing from every word. "After what you did to me and Ema, I am no longer that person. I sometimes sit here thinking about ways to kill you without implicating anyone."

"Too bad you can't," Gant gloated. "Until the day I die, you'll be doing every little thing I want. Now, about the investigations…"

"I won't participate in them anymore."

"Good girl."

Lana glared at him with such intensity that even Miles's glares looked weak in comparison. "Now get out," she spat. "Soil your own office with your foul blood."

After Gant left, Lana collapsed into her chair. No matter how much she insulted him, no matter how many ways she harmed him, he still came out on top. The feeling of powerlessness was so familiar by now that she had almost grown used to it; like the hellish traffic that plagued Interstate 5, it was an unwelcome part of her life. Her mind again drifted toward the torment of feeling weak and helpless as her fate was dictated by the actions of others. She had almost no control over her own life.

Realizing that she was entering a painful area of thought, Lana attempted to divert her mind toward the few things in her life that were absolute and good. Miles still loved her. That much was a fact. He was still painstakingly navigating the darkness contained within SL-9.

No, even that was not absolute. What if Miles discovered the truth? Even knowing that Lana had lied to him, given him falsified evidence, helped him prove innocent people guilty, even knowing that, would he still love her? And what about Ema? What terrible fate would await her if Miles learned the truth? Lana could not believe that Ema would kill Marshall, even by accident. It had to be Darke. But how could she possibly prove that? It was impossible.

She had met a composer who tended to make references to light and darkness, how they are two sides of the same coin. In staying within the grasp of SL-9's shadows, she was under the control of a fiendish man, yet in allowing such shame to befall her, her precious sister, Ema, would be safe. The light that Gant kept locked up and concealed would burn right through her heart if it was ever unleashed. Though she would be free from Gant's dungeon, Ema would be believed to be a murderer, and Miles would surely abandon his love for her and never look back. The light would shine so brightly for all who saw it that few, if any, would see all there was to see. Lana was the only one who knew the truth and had any cause to reveal it all. There was no way that anyone would believe her, though. Gant would incriminate Ema in an instant if his light was unleashed, blinding people to the truth that she was framed, the truth that Lana only forged evidence to hide a lie. Some lies could not be defeated by the truth alone.

No wonder Miles held onto his pride so tightly. He knew how torturous it was to feel weak, to be unaware of one's own path. He had his doubts about his way of prosecuting, but he kept them under lock and key. As long as he looked only at his job, to prove people guilty, and took it at face value, he would at least know what he had to do. That was what Lana was trying to imitate. In looking only at what was before her, she could tolerate her situation. If she ever thought about how her actions hurt Miles or Ema, though, she started to feel weak.

Still, that was the path she had chosen. The kind lady who always looked out for others, listened to them when they had problems, went out of her way to help them, and worked tirelessly to ensure no innocent people were arrested, was dead. It was possible that she could have stayed that way, but that meant others would take an interest in her problems—an interest that would threaten Ema's future. She also didn't want to deal with the torment of turning away help when it was offered. For Ema, and for herself, the old Lana had chosen death over a life of pity and helplessness.