Chapter 8: Somewhere In Between the Beginning and the End

"Maybe there's something you're afraid to say,

Or someone you're afraid to love,

Or somewhere you're afraid to go.

It's gonna hurt.

It's gonna hurt because it matters."

-John Green

Another day, another job. Maybe if it had been a different job, I would have been fine, but I couldn't do this. I couldn't.

Yet I found myself that close. My knife was thatclose, pressed against the scum's chest. Shea wasn't the least bit afraid—her heart didn't pound, her lips weren't quivering; she must have known that I wouldn't do it as she stared me down. Her black-brown eyes were too human, too deep, and all too familiar for me to extinguish the light within them on such a whim of Bereave's.

They called me weak. I was weak, it is true. But not because I refused to kill. I was weak because I had considered killing for even the blink of an eye, the length it took to draw a single breath. I was weak for giving in to Bereave, Kris, and Time.

Trust was a major issue for me, let's say. In case you haven't figured that out by this point. Still is, for that matter. Seriously, though, think about it.

I didn't tell anyone about my jobs. Or my family. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't know, because technology was faulty around me, and I had actually threatened Fury. He didn't take it seriously at first, but people learn quickly that there are certain things that they simply cannot control.

Not even Danny knew. I most certainly had not breathed a word to Ava, Sam, or Luke, let alone the web brain. Ava was a friend, that was it. Sam was a bystander. Luke watched me, and I think that he probably had the best idea of what was going on, when you consider his past. Danny knew something was up.

I waited too long to tell him what that something was.

He thought it was Ali or another issue of that nature. Helping people, you know? Halfway there. Not quite, though.

To think that I hadn't even faced the truth about Time yet, and my life was already that messed up. I was extraordinarily valuable at that point. What can I say? I'm powerful without Time or the curse or the prophecy. Add that to my lifestyle (which isn't what you'd call calm and relaxing), and you may as well write VILLAIN across my forehead.

What am I? I have no idea.

At that particular moment, I was weak. Like I said before, revenge wasn't my downfall. Nor was my downfall anything villainous or heroic or plain. It was something that only my family could have thought of. Too bad that my family suck. Except for Ali, of course.

Back to the original subject. Getting sidetracked.

I missed a lot for that failure. I didn't stick around to see Time's reaction, or Bereave's, but I didn't need to see them to know what they'd do. By sparing Shea, I had just doomed my real family—my friends.

They had never failed to depict the suffering that would ensue in the event of my failure. Kris was especially detailed on the torture of Danny; as our relationship grew, so did the gruesome tales. Danny was about as innocent as a boy his age got, if you know what I mean. He was the most deserving person that I knew, so unselfish and good and—

Yes. I was in love. Still am. And that's what makes me cry so much, because how can I still love him?

Tell me, have you ever really loved someone? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I doubt that you could comprehend his suffering when renowned empaths cannot.

You know that feeling? Guilt? Yes, I'm sure. Well, multiply the worst that you've felt by a trillion and two, and you've got one percent of a perspective on how I felt.

I was just playing. I knew that. Like an actress, only living her part; I could never be Ergo, nor Emma. I would always be Emmaline Carlson, Hayat Ruh. Destined for greatness, they all said. None of them bothered to help me up when I was six years old and bleeding to death on my mum's cold tile floors. The only people who ever loved me were Ali, Luke, and Danny. They were my family, my only family.

Six months wasn't a very long time. Not at all. But, really, it was. Ali got better then worse, I fell in love, and met new people. There are certain people who creep into your heart, dare to swim in those dangerous waters, then lay anchor there. Beach themselves. Except once they're there, they can't leave. They're stuck, like a splinter, but more a part of you than your fingers or legs or arms, or anything else. They're not you, they are more than that.

Others stay for awhile. Wave from the horizon. You can't really see them from there, though. Empaths are the sort of people with really cool telescopes and binoculars who see them waving, and understand. The rest of you may as well be blind to each other, fumbling and groping in darkness. You drag each other down. Is it not much better to sacrifice yourself so that others may love?

I was never a sacrifice, exactly. I was more of a plot twist that authors throw in just to make the readers cringe. Like Rogue back at Xavier's, I couldn't touch anyone—until Danny.

He was the hero that everyone loves and roots for. Innocent, caring, kind, compassionate, brave, fearless—no, he was perfectly imperfect, beautifully flawed, wrong in all the right ways. We fit like two puzzle pieces, or a lock and a key; we clicked into place like our hearts were shaped by cookie cutters instead of life, unchanging in their own glorious ways, when we were only human.

Neither of us seemed human to others. Danny had such a unique perspective and acceptance of life that nobody tried to understand, making light of meaningful words. I was something that shouldn't have existed and was liable to kill them all, a ticking time bomb who actually cared an awful lot about those random strangers.

No, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't understand us, however much they may have pretended to. We were as much hostages as we were guests. "Free will" was only a politically correct way of telling us that we were bound by chains that others had wrought simply to cut into bare skin and restrict the flow of life.

I was ashamed, miserable. How could I have done that? These weren't choices, they were traps! I hated myself.

You know what, though? We were still alive the next morning. Everyone. Yes, I was buying time. No, I did not have any idea what I was messing with.

I was being an ignorant person, just like everyone else. That gives me no excuse, as simply because other people have done the same—well, that is no reason to do something at all. Hitler caused the Holocaust, but you should not make the same mistake and claim innocence because 'he did it'. There is no such valid excuse for treachery.

It was that morning, though, that I realized something. Something important.

I had been looking past all of the other people. Those little lives. People that came and left before I could blink; I didn't want to say goodbye. Something was going to happen. I didn't want to accept it. Life was passing me by, but even worse was that I didn't care. There was something bigger going on here—I just knew it.

I hate being right.

All of these other lives. They belonged to people, and I had plucked the stars from their skies as if the very sun were mine. Pretending that I ruled the universe, when my meager throne did not even extend past our weakened solar system.

Everyone talks of the stars. Distant, far away, beautiful. Yet no one sees the star we have right here, at home. We call it another name, as if that should demean its power and might, its glory.

I was one of those people. Being lead along like a lost puppy begging for love. Begging for life. And I hate that I did that. I won't say that I hate myself, but rather that the deed was terrible. Wasn't it Gandhi himself that said Hate the sin, love the sinner? Something like that.

There was something that I had to do.

…

Now, I didn't have any duties at the time; I never had before. Most certainly did I have responsibilities, but those differ from your duty. Nearly everyone else that I knew had a duty in some way, shape, or form. Danny had to fulfill his role as the king. Even Lilly had her duties.

Has she grown up since them. My God. The title 'princess' does not—can not—describe her. She molds the throne to her taste without dishonoring it in any way; instead, she expands the horizons, so to speak, and brings new light to heaven on earth.

I stooped down, touching a small puddle. The city wasn't so grand after all, although the people more than made up for it. What had I expected? I knew the brutal honesty of the real world that parents want to shield their children from for as long as possible.

At night, the buildings loomed over me, threatening to devour the inhabitants. The paved streets were often quite damp and glistened in the bright lighting. Each corner was like life itself; hiding its secrets behind closed doors. Sometimes I thought that the neon signs made the city less dark than in the daytime; they tried to make themselves seem larger-than-life with their loud color tones and insistent humming.

The entire place stank. I hated that smell. It made me feel nauseous. I slid my shoes off and deposited them in my bag, slinging it over my shoulder like an old sack. Then I undid the tie that bound my unruly waves of hair into the braid and let it tumble down my back. Brown locks fell in my face, and I let them stay there, a curtain between the world and I.

My enormous spectacles slid down my nose, and I pushed them back up far enough that my lashes brushes against the lenses. I yanked my sweatshirt off and chucked it in the bag; I only donned a tank top, the wind biting against my bared flesh. My skirt swished around my ankles. As a final precaution, I tucked a barn owl's feather into my hair and hid my pendant from view. The last thing I needed was anybody recognizing the famous stone on the chain, or its engravings.

Blood speckled the pavement. This was the place.

It was a modern skyscraper. The elevator ride seemed long and drawn out to my impatient young mind. As I made my way to the office at the end of the hallway, sobbing echoed from one of the room. True to my stupid nature, I peeked around the corner. Ever curious.

A girl, likely around twelve or so, was keeled over on the ground. Her light brown hair was tangled and hung in desolate ropes around her face, dampened by tears. Pools of blood framed her figure, making her seem even more doll-like and surreal. White feathers lay on the floor, scattered here and there around the room. She was in a white sundress—strange for this time of year, but that was not the terrible thing.

Presented in front of her were a pair of broken, bloodstained wings.

…

My hands shook the next morning, both from lack of sleep and from—the other reason. I was beginning to realize that I hardly trusted some of these people. Why did I even stay here?

Danny, for one. Mostly Danny. Yet he would be leaving quite soon...

Ali.

And, of course, S.H.I.E.L.D. They could hardly muster up the courage to allow me to interact with people on a daily basis—forgetting, of course, that they did not own me. I was no toy for them to play with, and nor was I a weapon.

That was really it?

I needed to move on. Strangely, amongst the whispers of concern, I wanted to leave all of this behind.

Were Sam, Ava, Peter, and Luke really my friends? I cared about them. I wanted to save everyone. 'No' is not an option for me. I suppose that I am stubborn in that way.

Typically, that was a bad time to be having this train of thoughts; as I walked into the kitchen (if you could call it that), Ava and Sam turned on me.

"Where the hell were you last night?!" Ava's brown eyes flashed with anger.

"Yeah—"

I cut Sam off. "Please. Just leave me alone."

He managed to look offended. "What do you mean, 'leave you—"

My watch began beeping. Nick's face appeared on the screen. "Get your ass down here right now."

"Ooo, busted!" Sam did a brief little jig on my behalf. I rolled my eyes in annoyance, and shut off the watch. "Wait, what? Since when do you hang up on Fury?"

"Since today, Bucket Head," Ava snorted.

Whatever. Without another word, I took off down the hallway. Coulsen was waiting for me.

"You do realize that whenever you call me here, it's only bad news? More rules, more restrictions? Nothing helps. Just leave me alone."

Phil gave me a tight-lipped smile. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Carlson."I glowered at him. "What? A new drug? Get a clue: it won't work."

"No, Miss Carlson. I'm afraid that your little contract has expired."

Something inside of me seized up. "Contract? What contract?" My insides felt frozen, and my empty words echoed through my mind as if it were a hollow cave.

Phil looked at me. For the first time, I thought I saw pity mingled in his often impenetrable eyes. "You are property of the government. You have to realize, you're a lethal weapon." He ruffled through a stack of papers. "Far too many things could go wrong. We had a deal, and you broke our agreement. It's through."

I stared at him. "You broke the deal," I said, the world blurring. "I never did anything! You promised to help me. But you're only a bunch of liars, like the rest of them."

"Miss Carlson—"

"NO," I continued. Strangely, I felt utterly calm. "Liars. Just like Xavier, Magneto, Time, HYDRA, Doom—there's no real difference." I stood and walked out of the room. Nobody stopped me; it was like I was invincible. Or maybe just invisible.

Nobody cared when I walked right out of the Helicarrier. The streets of New York were oblivious to my presence, to my complete horrendousness. It was like I had nothing to lose, for those brief minutes. Until everything crashed back down on me. I had responsibilities, duties.

Ali needed me. And I needed Danny. I hated having that reliance on someone, hated having only him to hold on to, but I didn't have a choice.

I slid down against a brick wall in a lonely ally. The darkness loomed overhead, and I put my head between my knees. After a while, somebody tapped me on the shoulder, so I looked up. Peter's eyes met mine.

"Uh, hey… I didn't know it was part of the S.H.I.E.L.D. job description to hang around in dark allies…" I didn't say anything, so he continued, "Why are you here?" His eyebrows arched comically up in such a bewildered manner that I almost cracked a smile.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, uh, to be honest," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and peering around the corner, "I'm sort of hiding from Flash. The guy who shoved me in the locker."

Any other person would have asked him why he—a superhero—was hiding from an ordinary kid, but I already understood. To the most basic point, that was what I was doing right now. So I simply nodded. Before Peter could say anything else, I stood up.

"Mind if I ask why you're wearing that?"

"Wearing what?"

"That." He pointed at my oversized shirt that hung past my knees.

I shrugged. "Why not?"

"Hey, where're you going?"

Again, I shrugged. "Nowhere. Just walking. You can follow me if you like." Peter quickly caught up to me. It began to drizzle, and the sky turned grey.

"So, where's nowhere, exactly?"

"You should know better than to ask that question," I mumbled. "Nowhere is anywhere, and anywhere is everywhere."

"Wait, what?"

"Never mind." I stared at the sidewalk. Strangely, I felt like I was being watched. "Whaddya think of your team?"

It was Peter's turn to shrug.

"There was once a girl, you know," I said, halting in front of a closed shop. The windows were darker than the sky above us. "She first dreamed of leaving home, for adventure. Her mother had sought a home for all of her life, and her father had built them one. Then danger came, and with danger, adventure tends to follow.

"So she and her mum fled. They fled to the city, where the girl found she did not like it. All she wanted was to return home. Fate laughed, and Time found her in a lonely house with her parents' friends, abandoned. But she never called herself abandoned. She waited.

"One day her father came for her. To bring her home. But then, that very same day, he was killed. Murdered. Her mother tried to find her, and died in the process. The girl became rich, famous, an adventurer. But the one place she couldn't find was the place she grew up.

"The faint memories haunted her. So you know what she did?" I paused, kicking a pebble. "Do you know where she went?" Peter shook his head. "Nobody does. But she's going the same place I am."

"And where would that be?"

"Somewhere only we know."

Peter jerked his head at me and shivered. "You sure know how to tell freaky stories."

I opened my mouth, about to respond, then shoved Peter to the ground, jumping. For a moment, I seemed to fly, floating in midair, but then I tumbled to the ground.

"What the heck?" Peter's face floated above me. "What was that about?"

I smiled, feeling nauseated. Then my hand unfolded, like a flower blossoming. There, in the palm of my hand, was the blade, clutched between my bleeding fingertips. The world seemed to be spinning, around and around. "Gotta go," I mumbled, shoving my way into the crowd. I disappeared, and the only trail I left behind was that of the blood dripping from my hand.

And it wasn't mine.