by Ryan Casey
How that one decision of hers had caused everything. Prompted everything.
She thought of her home, burning.
She thought of Max, dying.
She thought of everything that had happened.
And as she sat there, all the desire for revenge drifted out of her.
Because she didn’t want revenge anymore.
She deserved everything that came her way.
Everything.
She didn’t want to pity herself. She knew self-pity was pointless, and she’d never liked being weak.
But right now, sitting in that chair, in the dark, desperate for a drink, alone, knowing that untold horrors were to come… Aoife felt acceptance.
She’d done this,
She’d caused this.
And she was going to pay for it.
She heard the door swing open again. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was in her mind.
She heard footsteps coming her way.
She felt someone drag her blindfold from her—one of the men, the quiet one with the red hair and the mean face and the freckles.
She saw the way he snarled at her.
And then she saw him pull back his fist and punch her.
And feeling that pain, tasting the blood, Aoife didn’t feel like it was unjust anymore.
She didn’t even fight it anymore.
Because she deserved it.
It wasn’t a fraction of what she’d put her people through.
She felt another punch, tasted more blood and felt the darkness surrounding her even more.
Chapter Forty-Two
Grace looked back at the large, abandoned hospital building where she’d left Aoife, and she had a mixture of emotions.
When she first left Aoife, she imagined her screaming. Imagined hearing her in pain. And she wanted to believe she’d feel good about that. She wanted to believe she’d get a lot from knowing that Aoife would be suffering. In agony.
But the screams hadn’t come.
She’d waited a long time. Two days, she’d spent, in the outskirts of the suburb, just watching. Waiting. Occasionally, she swore she saw movement inside and wondered if Aoife was in there. Imagined all kinds of punishment she might be going through, all to try and make herself feel better.
But she didn’t feel better.
None of it made her feel better.
All she could think about were the things she’d done.
The ways she’d punished Aoife already.
The ways she’d sought revenge.
And as she lay awake at night, one thing haunted her that she’d never thought about before. That she’d never once considered.
What if Grace deserved what she’d gone through?
What if her people deserved what Aoife had done?
She felt sick at the thought. Dismissed it, right in an instant. But the feeling wouldn’t stop nagging at her.
Because as much as she told Aoife—and told herself—that she wasn’t on board with Christopher, that so many of the people there weren’t on board with him… she had to ask herself the question, could she have done more to be less complicit?
She pushed the thoughts away as much as she could. Tried to hide from them. Tried to resist them.
But it was in those moments, lying there on the cold dark floor at night, that she thought about what she’d done.
The people she’d watched die.
The people she’d eaten, knowing full well that she was eating another human being.
The opportunity she’d had to stand up. The opportunity so many of them had to stand up and revolt.
The opportunity she’d failed to honour.
She thought about Aoife standing over her and her burning people, and for the first time, she saw it from another perspective.
From Aoife’s perspective.
The anger in her eyes.
The rage at what Christopher had done to her people. At what he’d tried to do to her and done to so many others.
She thought about that rage and then thought about her own obsession this last six months, and she felt the throes of guilt beginning to rise up.
What had she done?
She gritted her teeth. Heart pounding. Over to her right, she heard something. The dog, whining. Aoife’s dog. Even though she’d been trapped in that hospital, this dog seemed to have taken a liking to her. And she couldn’t exactly push it away. Wasn’t doing anything wrong at the end of the day.
But just seeing it here, seeing its pathetic, needy little face staring at her… it reminded her of Aoife. And it reminded her of her guilt.
She turned away from the window. Walked over to the back of the room. Sat down, went to lie and close her eyes, when she felt the dog nudge her. Felt it lie there, next to her. Whining just a little.
And having it here, having it so close to her… seeing how accepting it was of her, despite everything she’d done to its people, to its humans… it got her in a way that surprised her.
It let her off.
It forgave her.
It forgave her in a way she couldn’t forgive Aoife.
Couldn’t forgive herself.
She sat up in an instant. Bolted upright. The dog scampered away a little, back into the corner of the room.
And as Grace sat there, staring out at the building opposite, she knew deep down there was only one place she could go.
There was only one thing she could do.
She didn’t know how it would end. She didn’t know if she’d regret it. She didn’t know a thing.
The only thing she did know?
She didn’t want to leave Aoife in that hospital with those men.
Because Aoife was still hers to decide what to do with.
She looked at the dog as he stood there beside her, staring out the window.
Then, she took a deep breath.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ve got work to do."
Chapter Forty-Three
Aoife had no idea how long she’d been tied to a chair in that room.
Only something suddenly jolted her awake.
She was cold. Freezing cold. Kept waking up shivering. Usually, when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but the suffocating darkness of her blindfold, completely blocking her vision.
But there was something different right now.
She saw a glimmer of… well, it wasn’t exactly light. But it wasn’t total darkness, either.
She squeezed her eyelids together a few times. Head banging. Leg aching like crazy. She wondered if this was some kind of dream. If maybe she’d lost her grip on reality altogether.
She looked ahead and saw the big window before her. It was nighttime. The only light came from the moon, the stars. She could see her breath clouding before her in the cold. She could taste the rustiness of blood on the back of her throat. The blindfold had slipped down her face, just a little.
But enough that she could see.
Just being able to see was a relief in itself. It made her feel more connected. More alive.
And even though for a moment, she’d given up, she felt determined right now.
She felt like her desire to live was alive again.
She didn’t know why, only…
She saw movement up ahead.
Someone climbing up through the window.
And when she saw him, she realised right away this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
Because it wasn’t possible.
He stood there before her. Tall. Bearded. Well-built. Smile on his face.
“Hey, Aoife,” he said.
She looked at him standing there, and her instinct was to cry. But not with sadness this time. With relief. Relief that he was here. Relief that he was alive. And even if she knew he wasn’t real… even if she knew this had to be in her head… he was real enough for her.
“Max,” she said.
He just stood there. Smiling. Looking at her like he was just as happy to see her. “I would ask how you’re doing. Bu
t right now, it doesn’t look like you’re doing too well.”
And she laughed. Despite everything, despite the pain she’d been through, she actually laughed. “You always make me feel better. Always did.”
Max’s smile widened. A light seemed to have formed around him now. He was so visible. So… clear. “I could say the same about you.”
Aoife went to say something. But then her stomach sank. “But you’re gone. You’re not here. And it’s because of me.”
Max’s face twitched just a little. His smile faltered. His eyes seemed to drop just slightly. Almost like he was mirroring her realisation himself. “I know there’s nothing I can say to convince you this wasn’t because of you.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to say,” Aoife said. “I did this. I went against what we’d agreed at the estate, and I caused this. If I hadn’t done what I’d done… this wouldn’t have happened. None of this would have happened. And you’d still be here.”
Max looked at her. A glimmer of pity in his eyes. He shook his head, flat smile to his face. “That’s not true, Aoife.”
“But it is true. I have to own it. I have to take responsibility for it. I have to—”
“Own it, maybe. Take responsibility for your actions, maybe. But blame yourself for what happened? This could have happened to anyone, Aoife. It could have happened to any of us at any time. You need to remember who is really to blame. For everything. And it’s not you. It’s definitely not you.”
Aoife didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to accept it. She didn’t deserve that much.
“You made errors. But then so did I. I made errors with Kathryn. With David. I made so many errors with so many people. And I blamed myself for it. So many times, I blamed myself for it. But you can’t let regret define you. You can’t let regret haunt you. You just have to let it go. You just have to learn from it. And you just have to move on.”
Aoife felt those words deep in her chest, and she cried. Because as much as she wanted to hear them, as much as she wanted them to resonate with her, she knew he was just in her head. So she was hearing what she wanted to hear, in a way.
“You’re dead, and I’m imagining you saying what I want you to say,” Aoife said.
Max smirked. “It’s not ideal, is it?”
“No. No, it’s not.”
She looked at him standing there, so close but so far away.
And she took in deep breaths of that cold air and let herself sink into the fantasy that there was more to this meeting than a mere dance of thoughts.
“I am sorry for what happened,” Aoife said. “It’ll live with me for the rest of my life.”
“But you can’t let it hold you back,” Max said. “You can’t let it haunt your future. You know that’s what I would have said.”
She looked up at him, and right then, she felt those words strongly, too.
Because he was right.
Despite everything… she knew Max would never blame her.
She knew he loved her.
Just like she loved him.
“I love you.”
“I know,” Max said. “And I love you too. But I’m always here. Always. You just have to remember me. Conjure the grumpy bastard up like you’re rubbing a genie’s lamp.”
Aoife laughed again. Cried and laughed. “Look at me. Chatting to a figment of my imagination. I think I’ve finally cracked.”
Max looked at her from afar, and his smile widened even more. “Nah. I’d say you’re sounding saner now than you’ve sounded in a long time.”
He drifted, then. Drifted from view. And she wanted to reach out for him. She wanted to get up out of her chair and stop him disappearing. She wanted to get up, and she wanted to fight…
But she knew there was no catching him.
She knew he was drifting away.
She knew he was going.
She watched him fade from view.
Watched him mouth the words that both soothed and destroyed her.
I love you.
“I love you too,” she said. “I love you too…”
He disappeared from view.
Aoife gasped, opened her eyes.
She saw what she’d seen before. Darkness. Only not total darkness. Her blindfold was off.
The moon and the stars beamed through the window.
And when she looked up, she saw two men standing over her.
Smirking.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” the cold one with the dead eyes said. “We want you awake. For what’s going to happen next.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Aoife saw the man with the dead eyes walk towards her, and she knew what was coming next.
She could see it in his eyes. That look, predatory. She’d seen it in the eyes of so many other men before. Every woman had seen it in the eyes of so many other men before.
And society before the collapse never used to do a great job of holding them back, especially when they were drunk. Men seemed to be born with this feeling of a God-given right to comment on how a woman looked, with no respect for her boundaries, with no desire other than to get one thing from them before discarding her.
But now, in a world after the collapse, a world where the thin rules and ethics that were already in place had collapsed completely, Aoife knew she was always going to be faced with this, some day.
She felt him put his hands on her shoulders.
Saw the way he looked into her eyes.
Like she was barely human.
And then he pushed the chair back.
She cracked her head against the solid, hard floor. Ankles flailing.
Tied to this chair by her waist, her wrists bound together.
The taste of blood even stronger in her mouth now.
And the pain in her leg burning hot and intense.
She tried to turn onto her side, but she felt trapped. Stuck. Like a tortoise on its back. She tried to pull her wrists free of the ties, but it was no use. She was trapped. Tied to the chair. Wrists tied. Leg wounded. And two men standing over her.
She felt trapped. She felt powerless.
She felt weaker than she’d ever felt.
“You had no right to do what you did,” the dead-eyed man said.
And then he kicked her.
Buried a boot right into her kidney.
So hard it made her whole body seize up.
Blood trickling from her mouth, from her bloodied nose.
“You had no damned right to do what you did at all.”
Another kick.
Another sharp, agonising pain, right down her side.
Another suffocating blow that she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to get up from.
“When we caught you, when we brought you here… that’s when you lost your damned right to do a thing to us.”
She felt the chair topple over.
Felt herself land on her side, now.
Head spinning.
Ears ringing and blocked like there was water in there. Or blood, more likely.
Vision fading.
She felt the man grab her arm, and at that instant, at that split second, she noticed something.
One of the blades.
One of the blades Grace must’ve dropped when they’d got out of here, staring right back up at her.
She saw it. And she knew she needed to be instantaneous. She knew she needed to act fast.
“Well, you did what you did to us. And you know what? I ain’t gonna be as lenient as the boss was. I ain’t gonna hold back.”
She felt him grab her arm.
Go to pull the chair back up.
Stretched out for the blade…
The man dragged her up.
The chair upright now.
Him staring down at her. His sour breath covering her face.
And that smirk, too, as his friend looked over like he was officiating things.
The man stared down at her. His eyes on hers at all times. That smile of his wi
dening. He even looked like he was drooling, just a little.
“Any last words before I change you forever?” he asked.
Aoife gritted her teeth. “Yeah,” she said.
“Go on. Humour me.”
She leaned in, right towards his ear.
“Never leave blades lying around in future.”
She cut her wrists free.
Lifted the blade right up.
Swung it into his eye.
He screamed. Let out a cry, blood spurting everywhere.
The man behind him staring on, alarmed, as his friend staggered everywhere, his eyeball burst, his screams rabid.
She yanked herself up after breaking the ties—weak-ass ties—from around herself free.
Went to pull back the blade and stab the other bloke.
“No,” he said. And she noticed something. The pistol he was holding. Pointing at her. “Not another move.”
As the sound of the man crying and screaming filled the room, part of her just wanted to throw herself at this bloke with the gun and be done with it once and for all. Even if she went down, she went down fighting.
But then she heard something else.
A gasp.
Saw the man’s eyes widening.
Rolling back.
Saw him drop the pistol.
Saw him reach for her neck, which suddenly gushed with blood.
She stood there and stared at him as he staggered a step towards her.
Then he fell down, right before her.
Onto his knees, then his skull hit the floor with a thud.
She looked down at him.
Then up, behind him.
Someone was standing there.
No. Not just someone.
Someone she recognised.
“Come on,” Grace said. Knife in hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here. For real, this time.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Aoife saw Grace standing opposite her, knife in hand, and she felt a sudden surge of rage.
“Come on,” Grace said. “No time to stand around and wait.”
“You bitch,” Aoife spat.
“Hey. A little harsh. I came back for you, didn’t I?”
