April 10, 2022

I hated being here. I hated the small room, the uncomfortable bed, the drab color of the walls. I loathed it. I knew all I had to do to get out was commit to the faction of the Brotherhood that held me. I just had no idea why that was so important. Why I was important. I tried asking Pete and Desmond. Both just dodged the question, saying it was up to Jack to answer. It had been a week already, and I had still not even met the man. He was keeping me waiting on purpose. I just had no idea what that purpose was.

Pete had also mentioned there was a way for me to see Connor. I had almost believed him at first. Now I realized that had been a lie. Every time I even mentioned my husband, Pete would just tell me to be patient. Patience had never been my strong suite. Mine was wearing thin quickly. As much as I wanted to believe Peter was being honest with me, I had yet to see any proof of anything.

The eighth day is when I finally met Jack Wilkinson. Or saw him again, for the first time since I was ten years old. We had already met. And I already knew I hated him. He looked the same as he had when I had lived with him, except the gray in his hair and the scar on his face. I couldn't keep from scowling at the memories of all the time he had hurt me when he walked in the room.

"You've grown up." That was the first thing he said. As if we had been friends, not enemies. As if he had somehow expected to see me again and the meeting was fortuitous. As if he thought I would be happy with his assessment.

I wasn't.

"What the hell do you want?"

Jack only watched me for a long moment, studying me as if I was a specimen under a microscope. It irritated me.

"You wanted to speak to me," he said.

I had asked to see him daily. But that was before I realized who he was. He was the man who had hurt me. The one who had given me the mark on the back of my neck. I didn't want to have anything to do with this man.

"Fuck you." That was all I could think to say.

Jack grinned. "You still haven't learned to control your temper."

"You're still a bastard."

Jack didn't respond to that. He stood easily, relaxed. I wondered if I would be able to punch him before he would get a chance to deflect. I had never been able to before. But that had been years ago. I had been a small, weak kid then. Now I was an adult. And I had combat training. Only a couple of years' worth, but enough that I could hold my own.

As I watched him, Jack's brow arched. It was as if he knew what I was thinking and waiting for me to attack. He wanted me to strike at him. The only reason I could think that he would want that was to show me that I still didn't stand a chance against him. I was still a defenseless child in his eyes. As much as that angered me, I controlled myself. I balled my hands into fists feeling my nails dig into my palms as I struggled against the urge to lash out. Jack just waited.

He let out a deep breath, grabbed the chair from the corner, placed it a few feet from the bed and sat down, watching me. "If you have nothing to say, you can listen."

"I'm not listening to a word you say."

Again, the smile. I hated that smile of his. "You'll listen, Faith."

I stayed quiet. He was right. I would listen. Only because I wanted an explanation. I had questions I wanted answered. I had a feeling he was the only one who could provide me with such information.

"Did Pete tell you about your mother?"

I nodded. The second time Peter had visited me he had told me the story about the woman who birthed me. Laura Evans. A junkie whore who had overdosed in a gas station bathroom when I was two years old. I wasn't sure why that had been kept from me all my life. It wasn't as if I had never inquired about my mother. I had many times. But no one had ever told me anything. Until Pete.

"Good," Jack said. "At least that boy can follow orders sometimes." He met my gaze. "Did he also tell you that I'm his father?"

I nodded again. After discovering who Jack really was, I couldn't believe this man was dad to such a nice boy. Pete was funny and kind. Jack was the complete opposite. I suppose Pete had gotten all his good traits from his mother, Clair. I had met her as well. She took out my IV and had checked on me a few times. I liked her. I wondered what she had ever seen in a man like Jack. I didn't think he had the capability to show kindness.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Jack began. "But I doubt you will get the answers you want. What I can tell you is that you belong here, Faith."

"What the hell does that even mean?" I couldn't keep the bite from my tone as I spoke. This man had a knack for pissing me off like no one else. Any respect I had learned from Achilles left me just being in the same room with him. "Belong where? In a cell? Or with the Assassins?"

"The latter, of course. Why else would I have brought you here?"

"I have no idea of your motives, Jack. Nor do I care to know. But if you're looking for my help with anything, you can forget it. I will never be on the same side as you."

"You would let the Templars gain even more control out of spite?" Jack laughed. "You haven't changed at all."

My only ties to the Brotherhood had been Connor and Achilles. It was because of them that I had even wanted to join in the first place. That, and to show whoever was in charge that they had no control over my destiny. I was not a pawn in anyone's game. Even the Assassins'.

"You don't know shit about me."

Jack leaned forward, never taking his eyes off me. "Do you know why I gave you that tattoo?"

"Because you're a sadist," I retorted. "You enjoy tormenting little girls."

His only response to my antagonizing was to shake his head slowly. "To remind you of what you are. You were always meant to be an Assassin, Faith."

"Again, you know nothing about me!"

Jack's temper was finally rising to the point where it was difficult for him to maintain control. I could see it in the way he sat. The way his hands steadily clinched and released. He had always been quick to anger. I did remember that. What I didn't remember was him having so much restraint. Had I talked to him as a kid the way I did now, he would have smacked me in the face. Now he was just accepting my taunt. I couldn't believe that he had changed so much.

"Faith -"

I groaned loudly. I hated the way he said my name. He had no right to even use it. As a child he had always called me girl. I preferred that to the personal bond him calling me Faith inferred.

"Why do I even bother wasting my breath on you?"

"Don't," I told him. "It's not like I want to hear your voice."

"Dammit, girl!"

That was so more like the man I remembered from my childhood. The irritated curses at my backtalk, the exasperated expression. Even the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was so familiar that I couldn't keep from smiling. The fact that such bad memories gave me a sense of nostalgia was pathetic. I really had no other attachments to compare it to. I had been closest to Jack than any of my other foster parents. Which was sad all on its own.

Jack noticed my expression and calmed. "I told you that you belong here," he reiterated. "I meant it. You are one of us. That was determined long before you met Connor."

The words made me curious. It pained me to have to admit that I wanted Jack to tell me everything. But I had to know. I needed to know the truth. About me, about my tattoo and about my family. I had already guessed that my mother wasn't an Assassin. Just as I had guessed Jack's recruitment of me had not been a coincidence.

I looked at the man, studying his features. I had never paid any attention before, but now I could see it. Our eyes were the same shade of gray. We both had a dimple in our chin. That was hereditary. My mother didn't have that in the picture Pete showed me of her. In fact, I really looked nothing like her. Not only because she was aged prematurely from addiction, but because I just took too much after my father.

"Who gave you the tattoo?" I ask. My voice was steadier than I would have guessed. I actually felt calm. I wasn't as angry as I thought I would be.

"My father."

I made a noise of understanding. Jack watched me, maybe to see if I would lash out. Maybe to see if I would show any emotion at all on discovering that he was my father. I didn't.

"Does Pete have one, too?"

Jack nodded. "But that was his choice. I didn't treat him the same as I treated you."

I ask why more out of instinct than curiosity. It didn't really matter why Jack had been so hard on me. I wasn't jealous that he had been a father to my half-brother and treated me like I was nothing. I didn't even mind that he had given up on me so quickly. I only wanted to hear him say that he was wrong.

"Because of Clair," he told me.

"Do you expect that to change anything?" I ask. "Am I supposed to agree to join you just because we're family?"

"No, Faith. Our relationship doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is the commitment to the fight. That's the only reason you're here. That's why I brought you back."

"Brought me back from where?"

Jack frowned at me. "Don't you remember? You died, Faith. October 11th, 2013. Nine years ago."

A chill made me shiver. Pete had never told me a date. All he had ever said was that I had recovered from my attempted suicide. Now Jack was telling me that I hadn't survived. I had actually succeeded in killing myself. That couldn't be true. It just couldn't. How could nine years have passed without my knowledge? One or two was a possibility. But nine? I couldn't process that. My head began to swim. I doubled over, putting my forehead on my knees.

Jack was still talking, but I couldn't understand a word he said.

"Leave me alone."

I wasn't sure if he heard me or just grew tired of my silence, but Jack did leave.

When he was gone, I lay curled on the bed contemplating all he had told me. I couldn't get my mind around it. The fact that I had died – twice – and was still here baffled me. Was this because of the spirits? Or was there another, more convoluted reason my life was so messed up?

It didn't matter. I couldn't deal with it right now. I needed time. I closed my eyes, wishing more than anything that I had Connor with me. At least if my husband was beside me, I wouldn't have to go through this alone. I missed him so much.

I began to cry. I cried until I fell asleep.