by A. M. Hooper
“If you don't kill her, you can have me,” I stated firmly. The tall man laughed, though it wasn't the evil cackle one would expect, but rather a low, barely chuckling sort of laugh. I pursed my lips in anger.
“What good are you to me?” the man prodded, apparently entertained.
“You can do with me whatever you will.”
“Anything?”
“Anything,” I affirmed. I wasn’t scared, except for the thought that I might witness my mother’s death if I didn’t give myself a ransom.
“Alright, put the boy in the car,” the tall man ordered. Two men grabbed me by the arms and led me to the car.
“Boss? The mother—should we kill her?” I turned my head and stopped walking, eyes intent on the tall, dark man, daring him to kill my mother.
“No,” the man said, the evil grin spreading across his face. “How else will we convince the boy to do—what was it he said? Whatever we will.” He laughed quietly and walked to his car. “Such a proper boy—he's perfect,” he muttered to the doorman. “Thank you, Thackar.” The doorman nodded once and closed the door behind him.
****
“You were sleeping . . .” I urged him on. Cephas jolted from his worrisome nostalgia and glanced in my direction.
“I, uh,” he began, then sighed loudly. “I woke up to my mother crying, and—”
“Asleep amid an anguished cry,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?” he asked, slowing the boat's speed. I looked up at him from my curled position on the vinyl seat.
“Oh, I was just repeating the poem, making sure I remember the important parts—” Cephas narrowed his eyes over the chaotic waves, seemingly in deep thought.
“So what happened after you woke to your mother crying?” I asked.
“Oh, well, I uh—some men came, we left the house and they chased us. My dad swerved, then over corrected, then we wrecked.” He stopped and sniffed a little and licked his lips. “He died on impact, but my mom and I survived.” He stopped talking and increased our speed. His silent thoughts permeated the salty air surrounding us. I dared not speak, fearing Cephas might lose his calm demeanor at any moment.
“They were gonna kill her,” he spoke suddenly, the emotion rising in his voice. “If I didn't—if I—they were going to—” His chin quivered and he sat dejectedly in the seat, letting off the throttle and burying his face in his hands. Tears erupted from his eyes and he sobbed—sobbed as if he had never cried in the entirety of twenty—two years. I wanted to walk over to him and hug him, maybe kiss his cheek, just so he would feel better, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. I needed to keep my distance so—
“I lied to you, Em,” he whispered, lifting his head and setting his gaze on the beach. The boat rocked gently on the waves. I listened to the water splash against the fiberglass. I knew he had lied—he had lied a lot; this wasn’t some new revelation . . . was it?
“I told you I hadn't killed anyone, that I just erased all their identities. It's true, that's what I did for most people, but one night . . . one night I had had enough. I was young, only sixteen. I—they were going to kill her, and I had to stop him, so I—”
“Cephas, stop,” I interrupted. My heart was pounding wildly with fear—I didn’t know what he was going to confess. “You don't have to—”
“No. I have to say it.” he insisted. “I have to tell you.” A single tear rolled down his cheek and he shook his head. I stopped talking, gripping the seat in anticipation of his confession. When he finally spoke, a small whisper managed to seep out of his unwilling mouth.
“I know what it's like to curl my hands around a man's throat and hold him against the wall until he nearly passes out,” he hissed, self-loathing invading his perfect blue eyes. “And then to punch his skull so hard that he does.” He held his hands in a cupping shape in front of him, disgust searing into his palms. They shook violently as he spoke. “He fell to the ground and—and he begged me not to kill him.” He stared, hating his hands, until he looked out over the ocean. “He begged,” he muttered. His eyes turned gray. I realized then that, no matter how much wrong Cephas had done me, I could never acquire to the sort of hatred he had developed for himself. This poor man—though a murderer and a liar—had learned to hate himself more than I thought humanly possible. My heart was empathetic, knowing Cephas could likely never forgive himself for committing murder, regardless of the plethora of lives he saved in return. My hand moved to my chest, cradling my heart that was breaking for Cephas. I wasn’t scared of his murderous story, only sad that he could never forgive himself.
“My mother always said I was so merciful,” he continued after a moment. “But right then, I had no mercy.” His voice was cold and I shuddered, rubbing the goose bumps from my arms. 'Mercy's eye forsake the wall.'
“Cephas!” I said excitedly. He looked over at me expectantly. I was so excited I could barely get the words out. Cephas’ confession pushed its way to the back of my mind—I would process that information later.
“Cephas—it's you! 'Mercy's eye!' You're the key to the machine!” The left corner of his mouth twitched upward and he stood from his seat, suddenly unaware of his confession as well. He pushed the throttle forward.
“You're kind of smart, you know,” Cephas began.
“I know,” I replied, sitting back in my seat. The boat took off across the ocean and we rode toward the beach.
CHAPTER 16
Ten automatic guns lifted in the air, each cocked and ready to fire. I instinctively put my hands in the air. Cephas rolled his eyes and pushed my hands down.
“That's enough,” he complained, his voice casual. The guns remained aimed at our heads.
“Cephas, I think we should—”
“Emmaline, don't worry about it. Dominic, would you mind?” he asked, gesturing at the men surrounding us. An evil face peered up from behind a mahogany desk. It was the man from the museum. I remembered him very vividly, the dark hair and black suit. His freshly shaven face made me uneasy; pristine personal hygiene was unnerving in a man that resembled the devil.
“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you, Cephas,” Dominic began.
“And why would you kill me?” Cephas asked, walking towards Dominic. Two men in the circle moved to stand in front of Cephas, who looked expectantly at Dominic. “Is this really necessary . . . sir?” Cephas asked, sarcasm ending his sentence. Dominic waved his hand in the air and the men lowered their weapons, letting Cephas pass. None of the hammers retracted, though.
“You fled the safe house with our captive,” Dominic said. “You killed three of my agents.”
“Is that all?” Cephas asked, taking a seat in a chair against the wall. He was rolling up his sleeves. I stood completely still in the middle of the room, too scared to even flinch.
“I thought I took out at least five.” The left corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“Ah, Cephas: always so sure of yourself.”
“I'm sure of one thing,” Cephas replied, starting on his other sleeve. “I figured out how to get into the machine.” He glanced momentarily at me, half smirking, half apologizing. He knew I had figured it out. Dominic looked up, his usual presumptuous impudence weakened for a moment.
“Oh?” he said, not letting his gaze meet Cephas’.
“Turns out I'm the key to unlocking it, so you need to take me to Emmaline's dad.” Dominic nodded once and motioned to the men in the room.
“Take Emmaline to the boardroom. I'll give you further instructions. Cephas?” he gestured toward the door.
“Wait—” I began. Cephas stood, looking very intimidating with his rolled up sleeves and cleanly shaven head.
“Emmaline has to come with us,” he demanded. “She's the one who figured out how to get into the machine, so she's the best person to troubleshoot any problems we may have.”
“Do you anticipate any problems?”
“You can never be too sure.”
“Very well,” Dominic acquiesced, leading the way out of the door. C
ephas grabbed me by the arm and pulled me after him. He pulled faster than I could comfortably walk. We sped down the hall. Glass windows lined the upper half of the wall, looking out over a gymnasium. The stadium was empty, only emergency lights lit the four corners of the basketball floor. The red carpet lining the floor in the hall continued up onto the wall, just like in the museum. But we weren't at the museum. Though the blank walls told little about the building, pleasant sounds weren't wafting from the foyer. Expensive pillars and high-ceiling grandeur didn't grace the building. The silence was nerve racking.
I glanced in front of me. Dominic was walking briskly in front of the entourage. His height was the most frightening part about him, with that slender figure that stretched up near the ceiling. Perhaps he chased away all of the pleasant sounds and pleasing grandeur. We approached a door and the posse of men in suits surrounded Dominic. They all seemed extremely loyal to him, with their guns always in hand. One man opened the door—he always opened the door. Was that his only job? Cephas pushed me through the opening, still attached to my right arm. I stepped into a room—a box seat? To the left, windows looked over the stadium. Comfortable looking chairs lined the floor, and steps traveled up to a flat, socializing area. A mahogany desk, similar to the one in the other room, sat positioned in the corner; a computer monitor used up most of the table space.
“Dad!” I shouted. My father sat behind the oversized desk. I tried to run toward him, but Cephas held me back. I glared up at him, but he wouldn't look at me. His eyes focused on my dad.
“Wait,” he muttered. Dominic walked over to a sofa and sat, crossing one leg over his knee. He waved two fingers through the air and Cephas released my arm. He nodded at my dad and I followed him to my father's side.
“Dad, are you okay?” I exclaimed, hugging him as I sat in the chair beside him. I felt a rush of relief as he embraced me. They hadn’t killed him! My elation didn’t last long, however; we still didn’t know what Dominic was going to do with us. I just hoped my guess was right, and that the machine would open. Cephas sat down in the chair opposite my dad. He leaned across me and moved the mouse; the oversized computer screen turned on. It appeared to be a regular computer screen surrounded by white plastic, just like my mac at home. It's size, however, was rather large, and the desktop was blank. I didn't even see a menu button. Cephas brought up the command prompt and gave a piece of paper to my dad. He whispered something to him, and my father stood to switch seats with him. My dad began to type in a small black box in the corner of the screen. His fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard until a miniature screen popped out of the side of the computer. I jumped in surprise, though nobody really reacted. I did, however, spy Dominic leaning forward in his chair. My dad got up and switched seats. Cephas placed his hands on the white keys.
The silence was eerie: all of the men in suits stood around the room without speaking. Dominic sat perfectly still, his eyes immovable; apparently he was immune to blinking. He stared at Cephas, watching him intently. Dominic’s suit pants hung two inches above his shoes in his current sitting position—even his socks were black. His hands rested on the overstuffed arms of the sofa. He looked ready to jump up and shoot somebody. Perhaps he was planning to shoot someone.
I glanced at the computer. Cephas typed a password into the small rectangle and then moved his eye carefully in front of the screen. He pushed the enter key and waited patiently. I jolted, startled as a green line scanned the length of the small screen. Cephas held perfectly still until the laser reached the bottom of the screen, blinking and beeping simultaneously. A tiny circle spun across the main computer screen, changing colors rapidly. Stupid circle. After a moment, red lettering popped up on the screen. 'Incorrect match,' it read. Dominic stood abruptly from his chair.
“What's going on?” he demanded. Cephas looked in between the screen and Dominic, searching frantically through the scraps of paper in his hand.
“I don't—I don't know, sir,” he started.
“You don't know!” Dominic demanded. “My game is in three hours and you don't know! I should have killed you,” he yelled, pulling the gun from his side. Cephas stood, pushing the chair out behind him. He put his hands up in the air.
“Listen, Dominic, you don't need to do this. We'll figure it out.” His face was distressed and his eyes turned jet black, his pupils erasing the color. I had never seen Cephas manifest fear until now. His voice was trembling. He didn't show any fear when ten guns were on him earlier. Why was he scared now?
Dominic didn't reply, just pulled back the hammer on his gun. The clicking noise was horrible, like the confirmation of certain death. I looked away from Dominic. His face was far too detestable to look upon. It was an attractive face, but his countenance destroyed the pleasing nature it could have otherwise produced. I focused on a knot in the desk while Cephas’ life hung in the air. He didn't speak, just stood still, awaiting Dominic's decision. Cephas’ scraps of paper lay chaotically on the table. Underneath the scrap with directions for the command prompt lay the poem from Cephas’ parents. Not all of it was showing, but the last four lines peaked up at me, mocking my idiotic suggestion.
'Mercy's eye forsakes the wall, Light bids the rock fall—' Light . . . light. My eyes widened and I could feel the adrenaline begin to pump through my veins. Without considering the consequences, I stood from my chair and turned toward Dominic. Cephas glanced down at me, eyebrows raised.
“I've got it!” I exclaimed.
“What are you doing?” Cephas muttered. His voice was trembling again and he sounded worried. Dominic took a step forward, his gun now pointed at me. I took a slight step toward Dominic, determined to make him listen. I lifted my eyebrows, daring him to stop me. I liked it when gumption replaced my otherwise childish emotions: I felt invincible! A smile crept across Dominic’s face, the smile that reminded me of the devil.
“You seem quite confident in yourself, girl. Not even the noble and oh so gallant Cephas will speak when I've a gun pointed at his head.”
“Probably because he knows you'll pull the trigger,” I retorted, sounding more confident than I felt.
“And you?” he asked, his smile widening.
“I figure if you don't pull it now, you'll pull it later, so I'll just try to be as helpful as I can until then.” I concluded with a smile, though I meant it with more sass than affability.
“I like you more and more,” he replied. “I can see why Cephas had a hard time keeping himself off of you,” he said, all intended wickedness revealing itself. I saw my dad flinch, anger seething across his brow. He was smart, though, and maintained his composure for both our sakes.
“Oh, I do apologize, Mr. Brickard. Does that anger you?”
“Do you want to know how to get into the machine or not?” I interrupted.
“If it's not too much trouble,” he said, feigned courtesy lacing his deep voice.
“Well, then, if you would kindly lower your gun,” I demanded. I felt my hands on my hips—they had gone there subconsciously. Dominic cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders casually. He lowered the gun to his side.
“Does anyone have a flashlight?” I asked hurriedly. Cephas reached over to the drawer beside him and rummaged through it. He shook his head.
“Nothing here.”
One of the agents tossed a flashlight in my direction: it was the doorman. I guess he did do something other than open the door. I caught the flashlight and pushed the small black button.
“When you shine light on a pupil, it gets really small, revealing nearly the entire Iris.”
“What's that?” somebody piped up from across the room. I looked over to see a rather large, muscular agent clearing his throat. His suit stretched across his broad shoulders, which spread about a foot above all of the other agents. Dark, curly hair complimented his deep brown skin. The other agents looked at him in surprise.
“They didn't hire me for my brain,” he mumbled, attempting to excuse his question. I glimpsed a smirk o
n Cephas’ face.
“It's uh—the colored part of the eye,” I replied awkwardly, unsure if I was supposed to respond. I turned my attention to the machine.
“Cephas, sit at the computer again, and type in the password. He lowered his surrendering hands and moved slowly to the computer, eying me suspiciously the entire time. I rolled my eyes and came around the front of the desk. Cephas quickly typed in the password, then looked up expectantly. I leaned down, level with Cephas face. Lifting the flashlight, I shined the bulb directly into Cephas’ eye. He blinked rapidly at first, then moved his finger to hold open his eye. I waited a few seconds, watching his pupil turn from a black hole to a speck of dust. The blue in his eyes became azure, a twisting whirlpool of cobalt and beryl. I cocked my head to the side, intrigued at the way the color swirled. It was as if I wasn't really looking at an eye, but into a magical world. I instantly shook the whimsical childishness from my head.
“Push enter,” I commanded, continuing to hold the light on Cephas’ eye. The green strip of light inched across the screen again, carefully searching for any detection of inaccurate data. It felt like an eternity; a pain began to travel up my arm as the blood refused to flow upward any longer. My hand shook a little and I steadied it with my other hand. If this didn't work, Dominic was going to freak out. A beeping noise sounded that the scanning was finished. After the screen blinked a moment, the computer made an unlocking noise, and a green light flicked on.
“It worked!” Cephas exclaimed. Dominic walked briskly over to the desk, intent on seeing for himself. His eyes wide with surprise, he looked toward the middle of the room.
“Very well, then. Cephas, take your men to the other room. I'll let you know if we have any trouble.” Cephas stood casually and meandered toward the door, hands stuffed in his pockets. He paused as the doorman pushed down on the brass handle and gallantly opened the door. The left corner of Cephas’ mouth twitched upward. He faced the front and walked out, half of the agents following after him. I tried to speak, but no words would come out. I couldn't believe he was just leaving! After I had helped him break into the machine, he was just leaving! He really had used me—again. I had told myself not to let my heart get involved, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t know what I was thinking—I guess I thought if I was worth something to Cephas, he would love me for real this time. How could I be so wrong about a person? I was so focused on shunning my own love for Cepahs that I forgot to suppose Cephas might not love me back. The thought saddened me so much that I told myself I didn’t actually love Cephas—how could I after so short a time? But that was a lie. I did love him. Who was I kidding? I had felt that . . . something . . . that unexplainable feeling that I’d never experienced with anyone else. I silently hoped the feeling wasn’t real, and that I would eventually forget about the man who had purposefully stolen my heart to get ahead . . . and my jaw gaped open after him as the door closed with a short clicking noise.
