Dawn’s eyes flash as she looks up at him, her lips pursing as a sour expression takes hold of her oddly delicate features.
Finn watches as her throat concaves with a gulp and her expression changes. It reminds him of the look girls get at clubs when they take a shot of tequila. Inwardly he shrugs, still confused, although now he is considering that perhaps Terracio is right and Dawn is losing her cool.
From the corner of his eye, he sees her nod in agreement and he quickly attempts to relax his own face, imagining that all expression is melting away until he hopefully appears to be as statuesque as Terracio himself.
“Finn, you have been less than worthy of my forgiveness.”
He cannot help but tense. This cannot be good...
“He did try sir,” Dawn says softly, surprising Finn.
“Trying does not help anyone, succeeding is the only thing I will accept. For example, you failed me and you should be dead for it.” Light glints from the round lens he wears over his right eye, transforming it to gold like the eye of a tiger before the beast rips at the jugular of its prey.
Finn takes a deep breath. The air around him tastes stagnant and smells of cold dungeons during museum tours. He glances at the two bodyguards that now flank Terracio. One blonde, one brunette, both have long unkempt scraggly manes, and then he speaks, “It wasn’t her fault. I witnessed the whole thing. She tried to shoot the boy but his father got in the way causing her to shoot her cousin instead. Last I saw there was blood everywhere. It looked bad and it was in Cris’ gut. She could have died within the hour.”
Dawn scowls.
“Is this true Dawn?”
“Yes, but I failed you. I understand that. I had the opportunity to shoot her and end this as soon as I arrived, but my emotions got the best of me. It won’t happen again, sir.”
Instead of looking down at her boots in shame Dawn stares straight at the man she fears, her pupils still contracting and expanding.
Finn shakes his head unable to believe what is happening. Finally, he can’t take it anymore. He steps between the two of them and yells, “But you did shoot her! Dawn! Don’t you understand?”
Dawn remains motionless. Her pupils freeze. They appear dilated. Finn steps back, his head tilting back as he glares at the ceiling in exasperation, his fingers pushing through his short thick hair.
“Do you mind returning to your position Finn?” Terracio asks.
He remains where he is until he hears the tapping of Terracio’s nails on his desk. Rubbing his sweaty palms against the rough texture of his pants he inhales deeply and turns, stomping back to his original position.
Terracio is staring down at his nails as he taps them one by one against the table, his chin cradled by his palm. After five taps he focuses on Finn.
“The point, Mr Grindle, is that she did fail. It matters not who was shot. The makings of the prophecy were met. They both died exactly at the moment they were meant to and not before or by Dawn’s hand, as was agreed. Do you understand now why she must be punished?”
Dawn answers before he can. Her jaw tense. “I understand.”
But what kind of man is he if he stands by and watches this happen? He can’t shut up. He's seen too much and felt too much for silence to ever be appropriate.
“This is ridiculous!” He spits. “What is wrong with you people? You have completely brainwashed this girl. Is that what you do here? Turn orphans into killers? Dawn gave you the paintings, she shot her cousin. Her own flesh and blood for you! But you’re still going to throw her in solitary?”
Terracio’s white eye meets Finn’s grey. His other remains hidden behind the glare of his monocle. “Mr Grindle, if you interrupt me once more you will be escorted from this room, do you understand that, at least?”
Finn glowers at him. His body pumping with adrenaline and anger. “I do,” he replies flexing his fists at his sides in an attempt to calm his rage.
Flashing his teeth Terracio continues, “Fantastic. Perhaps now we can get this meeting over with.” He pauses as if waiting for one of them to disagree.
Finn remains silent. Tasting blood on his tongue and having no idea how it got there. He won’t argue. Not when he can’t wait to get out of this room and as far away from the institute as possible.
“As I have stated previously the most Dawn will receive is a trip to solitary not because she failed but because she has become soft. She is failing to hide her emotions which is unfortunate for both of our plans. Yes, I received some astonishing artwork and I do plan on using this to my advantage. I am not a hard man. I am a smart man, and now I am left with one remaining question, what have you done for me, Finn Grindle?”
“I... nothing sir.” He's speechless. What can he say to that? Turning his eyes to the stone floor he concentrates on keeping the flesh between his eyes smooth.
Terracio lowers his hands so that they lay flat on the surface of his desk, his arms stretched out like a lion. “I admit I was tempted to dismiss you but I don’t know... You appear to have a valuable gift. A gift I feel I can use with these paintings to right the world.”
“Sir!” Finn looks up at Dr Terracio, his eyes wild. His mind just connecting an important piece of the puzzle. He will give him this, he decides - one puzzle piece in exchange for his life.
Dr Terracio glares up at him, his face ferocious. “Finn, I did say that if you interrupt me one more time that you would leave did I not?” He indicates to the burly beasts flanking him as Finn nods his understanding.
“I know something, sir, something that will help you.”
“Have you seen something so suddenly? More to the prophecy perhaps?” His tone is sardonic.
Finn nods fervently. “Yes, I couldn’t put it together before but after looking at the paintings - you need to know something.”
Dr Terracio looks from Dawn, who is staring at Finn with interest, and back to him.
“Proceed.”
“Uh...” Now that he is about to offer up the information, he isn’t certain it is such a good idea. Terracio had already ordered Cris and Jesse dead, what would he do if he knew the truth? What would he do if he learned what killing them would result in?
Terracio snarls from behind his desk. “Grindle, I am waiting for this intoxicating titbit of information... Or were you just stalling for time while you thought something up?”
Opening his mouth Finn glances down at the rug beneath his feet. It is blue and red and gold but faded to the point the colours are almost non-existent, each intertwining with the other to create an antiquated pattern.
He has to say something...
“The two teenagers from the prophecy... they may still be alive.” He says it quickly not looking up to see their reactions. Guilt is squeezing at his gut forcing a new species of nausea up to his Adams-apple.
Dawn shrieks, startling Finn. He turns his chin towards her as her face contorts in horror. He knows what she fears as soon as she begs the question, “What do you mean they are alive!”
Dawn had attempted to murder them and if they told anyone about what had happened Terracio might actually kill her.
Finn tastes the sour tang of bile behind his tonsils. What has he done? Why didn't he just make something up?
Terracio is just as flustered. His face has turned a summery shade of peach red much like the ripening colour of a nectarine. Spittle flies from between his lips as he commands Finn. “Explain!”
He's in too deep... He shrugs in an attempt to seem nonchalant. “It appears that there might be more parts to the prophecy. Cris and Jesse sacrificed themselves for our world so that it did not get destroyed by the numerous nuclear bombs set off worldwide. The second part of the prophecy holds that at least one of them is alive.”
Dawn pulls at her fingers. It looks to Finn like she is giving them Chinese bangles. “So, the next prophecy can happen even if the one is dead?” She asks clearly perplexed and most probably, Finn realizes, because if she had killed one of them, most likely her cousi
n, it would have been for nothing.
“I don’t know. It isn’t really important at this point. What troubles me is what their sacrifice did to our world. I saw something troubling while analyzing Valentine's painting sir.”
Terracio appears to have collected himself, replying coolly, “Has it to do with me?”
“No, but it has to do with everything you have built. Dawn told me your plan - that only people like her and you would be alive after the bomb, after World War Three... A new master race.”
He can feel Dawn’s glare on the back of his neck. The feeling is uncomfortable to say the least, like a little fly you can't swat away. And then there is the smell. The more he stands in the windowless room the more he can smell the blood that clings to him. It tingles in his nose coalescing with the stink of stale sweat.
“She had no right to inform you of that information Finn, but continue.”
“It has happened without you.”
There is a moment of eerie silence, broken by the legs of Terracio’s chair scraping back against the stone floors. He stands, his hands pressing against the rim of the desk as he asks, “And what is meant by that?”
“When the nuclear bombs were triggered, they tore a hole in the veil that separates us from other worlds. More specifically from our alternative universe where everything we fear runs wild. The bombs created a wormhole allowing our universe to link with the other. This was our saving grace, without it we would all be dead, and now we are left to face the reality of our fears...”
“What nonsense is this?” Dr Terracio growls, his shadow looming over Finns as the man leans over his desk.
“Maybe you should go outside instead of hiding behind these walls where people like Dawn worship you and call you master.”
Terracio doesn't speak. Instead, he stands up tall and clicks his thumb and forefinger together. His bodyguards, who have been statues behind him the entire time, now step forward. The blonde’s face illuminated with a sly smile, his eyes filled with bloodlust while the dark haired one scowls, clicking his knuckles as he stomps towards Finn.
The blonde’s thick fingers grab hold of Finn's arms. A shooting pain explodes from his biceps to the start of his neck. “You need to hear this Terracio!” he yells trying to dodge as the dark-haired bodyguard’s fist connects with his jaw.
“I have no desire to be attacked in my own residence by a good for nothing child.”
Knocked to the ground, the blonde holds him down as the brunette kicks him repeatedly in the ribs. Finn hunches up, waiting for the next blow as he manages to wheeze. “The worlds merged... It is all true... Dawn – The Minotaur.”
The next blow doesn’t come as he'd expected, instead the guards pick him up by his armpits and drag him to the giant wooden door. He is relieved to see it.
“Moragon. Lucio. Drop him. Dawn, what does he mean?”
Finn can vaguely make out the blur of Terracio’s feet as they move to stand before Dawn on the Persian rug.
He watches as she bends down before him as if he is a king and she is his loyal knight.
“I saw a beast, and it did resemble a Minotaur.”
“A world that coincides with myth and legend,” Terracio mutters to no one in particular.
Dawn straightens, rubbing at her hamstrings.
“It appears that we will have to devise a new plan. Finn Grindle, you are valuable after all.”
Finn suspects that's as close to a ‘thank you’ as he's going to get from Terracio. Tired and sore he watches the blood drip from his nose onto the stone beside his chin.
He doesn't want to move. He wants a hot shower and a bed and then he wants to figure a way out of this mess. If only the mad man would let them go. Then maybe he could summon the last bit of his strength to get out of this godforsaken room. He closes his eyes. A dim light flickers behind his eyelids. What about Cris and Jesse? Will Terracio go after them now that he knows they are alive?
He realizes belatedly that he has asked the question out loud and groans into the coolness of the stone floor.
“Of course, I will be sending someone to kill them Finn. None of these monstrosities should be allowed to live.” He smiles, his thin lips pulling back to display the white pink of his gums. “And I think I just came up with the perfect plan.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Granules of sleep collect in the corners of my eyes and cling like hard cement to my lashes.
Rubbing them, I blink away the debris and with it, my grogginess. I lie on my side staring at the grooves between each slat of wood that makes up the wall before me.
Confused, I squint, ignoring the mad rush of a baby spider as it vaults over each crevice of panelling. This isn’t my bedroom wall... My wall is a vibrant shade of sunset orange.
Rolling on to my back I look up at the boring underside of a bunk bed. My eyes drift to the left, towards an unfamiliar ceiling and immediately zeros in on a large, dark stain. I can only presume it is the result of a persistent leak.
My mystification continues to stir and bubble in the recesses of my mind. The ceiling, the wall, the bed I am lying on is all foreign to me. I don't recall drinking last night. When was last night even? And why can’t I remember what I did to end up here?
I can call Jezebel... My best friend wouldn’t have just ditched me. Would she?!
In a panic, I fight to remove my arms from a tangled pile of knit blankets but the more I struggle the hotter and more desperate I get. Until finally, my flushed arms come free and I am able to lift the blankets up and peer down at my body. I spot the familiar design of my shirt and sigh in relief. I drop the blankets back down and resume my contemplation while staring at the stain on the ceiling.
The room is stuffy and heavy with the scent of brine. Licking my lips, I taste spearmint. I wrinkle my brow. Something hadn't been quite right when I looked before. Lifting the blanket, I tilt my head gazing into the dark confines of the blanket tunnel. Why are my clothes ripped? Something itches at the back of my mind, and then, like a sandcastle bashed down by wild children, so is the murkiness of my memory.
Pirates. Teleportation. France.
The heat in my arms returns, begging for me to pull them out from beneath the blanket oven. I give them what they want, pulling them free, I wonder how long I've been in this bed.
Glancing back to the roof and the wide strip of sunlight, I'd say it's been about a day. My eyes dart back to my pale, skinny arms. I'm disappointed to see that they still show no sign of a blemish or a scar. The thought reminds me of another scar. Just before the bombs had gone off, my cousin, Dawn, shot me. The memory still leaves me reeling.
She'd practically been raised as my sister and yet she'd aimed a gun in my direction and pulled the trigger with the sole intention of killing me. Thanks to Jesse, who'd knocked me out of the way, all she'd managed was a fairly bloody flesh wound. Jesse had taken off his shirt in the pouring rain and ripped and knotted it to create a makeshift bandage. My cheeks heat at the memory and I wriggle so that I can remove myself from the uncomfortable heat suctioning blanket pile that shares the weight of a pygmy hippo.
Pulling up the remains of my Guns and Roses vest I inspect the area just above my hip. It's smooth and clean. I shift into a sitting position running my fingers over the spot. The tickling sensation has me exhaling raucously. It feels like every nerve in my body has intensified, not to mention the area I have just touched now homes a small, hardened and raised bump. Bending closer I see a very faint scar, most probably near invisible because of how pale I am. A tan would soon have the distorted half-moon stealing the show.
The world around me sways sideways and I am forced to grab hold of the grooves on the side of my bunk. If I hadn’t been sure if I was still with the pirate’s or not, I now am. No other normal structure sways on a whim. I just hope I have an iron sea stomach! With that thought, my iron stomach in question gurgles loudly, reminding me that I need substance. I sniff the crook of my arm scrunching up my nose. I don’t smell bad, just
odd, like ash and lime and my skin feels dry. I glance around the tiny cabin. It comes across a bit gloomy due to a lone ray of light pushing through the small, circular and typical ship window. The bunk I am sitting on is positioned directly across from what looks to be the main door. Curious to explore the rest of the cabin I shuffle off the bed, careful to bend my torso so that I don't knock my head on the top bunk when I stand.
I feel like a giant in a hobbit burrow as soon as I am standing. The cabin is small and narrow, along the wall to my right is another door that looks as if it slides open and closed. Everything is wooden, a beautiful mahogany ruby wood.
The ship lurches and like a newborn calf, I stumble forward grabbing hold of the sliding door and pulling it open. I let out a rasping whoop of delight. It's a bathroom! Not a contemporary bathroom, but it has a bucket that I presume is the toilet and a makeshift curtain-less shower. Okay... Maybe the ‘shower’ is actually just a greenish looking pipe and a hole in the floor but it's more than I'd expected from people who don’t even know what electricity is...
Eager to feel warm water wash over my sensitive skin I immediately begin peeling the rags of my once normal clothes from my body. Dropping them to the floor I step under the pipe and twist the knob beneath it. The pipe groans and squeaks, the water making a glugging sound before spurting out and over me. I yelp, jumping back.
Okay, so the water isn’t warm. More like freezing, but it is still a shower and I'm grateful. After five minutes of the hair on my arms and legs standing on end, and having the follicles literally hurt from the cold, I turn off the faucet and look around for a towel. Seeing none I run back into the cabin and snatch up one of my many blankets.
The only dilemma I face now is my lack of fresh clothing so with no other choice I put my ripped, sandblasted jeans and my now cropped vest back on. The whole ensemble is anything but chic, but hey, when have I ever cared about fashion?
Placing my damp blanket over the side of the top bunk I edge towards the main door stubbing my toe on a chest as I do so.
Time Torn Page 4
