Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  I kept an eye out for the rest of the team, but didn't spot them. So I made my way towards the rundown building and, when no one was looking, ducked inside.

  It was dark in here. Smelly, too. Mold and dust, a lingering stench of decay. Not as bad as it could've been, to be honest, and I found it tolerable enough considering the situation. I shuffled slowly through the first floor; the stairs had collapsed, not that I wanted to climb them anyways.

  I startled a family of squirrels when I entered the back room. It was large, a high ceiling supported by columns. My theory of it being an office building was confirmed by the number of overturned and broken desks lying around. Loose rubble lied around, the floor covered in dirt and dead leaves and other miscellaneous trash. There were a few broken beer bottles, like some loiterers spent their free time here.

  My legs finally had enough, and I collapsed against the far wall, my thoughts scattering as everything that happened crashed down on me at once. Lost, confused, frozen and shot, strange city and strange reflections, men with guns and revolutionaries and bombs and the Crucible and the Chairman and my hands my head it hurts it hurts so bad why can't I remember—

  I choked on my breath, tears suddenly welling in my eyes. My toe catching on the sidewalk and I stumbled, but caught myself against the corner of a building.

  Gasping, I swallowed a breath, trying to force down the lump in my throat. I leaned against the wall, bring up my arms to cover my face, bring darkness around my eyes so I didn't have to see this awful world anymore.

  Maybe if I closed my eyes, I'd wake up. Maybe if I just waited, this would all be over, and I'd wake up in my bed, back in New York City, home and safe again.

  Mom would be there. She'd have chicken soup, because I was still sick. Sick enough to cough up blood, to choke on it, to collapse and die —

  It didn't happen. This nightmare was real. Real as the cold air biting my cheeks, the rough cobblestone beneath my feet, the loose grit of the brick wall beneath my fingers. It didn't fade, even as my chest constricted, even when I felt tears burning down my face, even as I started breathing so fast I thought I'd hyperventilate and incur another asthma attack.

  I was trapped. And this time I didn't have Mom to wake me up.

  The sensation of helplessness overwhelmed me. My hands were in my hair, pulling and yanking. What was all this? Why was this happening? Why couldn't I wake up? What was the Crucible? Who was the Chairman? What did he want with me? Why was I so important that men had to point guns at me, had to chase me down and try to stick me with a needle? Nothing I did warranted that. I wasn't special. I was just a sick girl who needed help, who needed to go home.

  Home.

  The thought of Mom and Peter and Aunt May and Uncle Ben sent another waves of tears down my cheeks. I missed them. I missed the cramped little apartment, my bed and it's dozens of covers, I missed Stitch and the photos Peter gave me, I missed Mom's food, I missed the sounds of New York, I missed knowing the feeling of belonging somewhere. Of somewhere belonging to me.

  Now I was a stranger in a strange city. I was a stranger to myself.

  And there was no one here to help.

  I was alone.

  I thought I knew that feeling before. Being the only person like me that I knew. Always sick, always coughing, always on the verge of death, of being that pity story, of never being up to snuff.

  I never realized what it actually felt like to be alone. Before was loneliness, isolation while being surrounded by people I knew; not good, but not terrible, either. My family was always there if I needed them.

  Not anymore. Now I knew what it meant to be alone.

  It meant being afraid with no answers. It meant not knowing how to find them. How to get home. It meant knowing that the people you cared about also had no idea where you were, because like hell I'd still be here after six months if Peter had anything to do with. Or my mom.

  And the worse thing about it? The people who did know me, who did know my name? They wanted to hurt me.

  I coughed, throat ragged from the sobbing. I wiped at my face, my sleeve already soaking and not doing much good now. It was bad enough that I couldn't concentrate on my own surroundings, didn't pay attention when I heard footsteps — multiple ones, in fact — coming closer and closer.

  One loud crunch of boot on dried leaves, crackling in the air, loud and suddenly very, very close. I jumped, startled, and suddenly I was in a panic again, heart skipping a beat, thinking it was those men again, having caught up with me.

  I clutched at my shirt, biting at my lip and trying to quell my sobs, my breathing, keep from making any noise at all. They couldn't find me. Not now. Please, not now.

  As the newcomers drew nearer, I realized something in the back of my mind. Something was different. Not wrong, necessarily, but different. The footsteps were too light. Not from someone moving carefully, but from someone who was not a tall, heavy set man bent on chasing down a single girl throughout an entire city.

  Still, I couldn't move. I pressed my back against the wall, staring as two shadows drew across the floor. They had already heard me.

  There was nothing I could do as they came around the desk, finding me instantly.

  It wasn't those agents.

  It was a girl and a boy. Specifically, the girl in the red dress, her too-wide, gaunt eyes falling on me with a curious tilt of the head, bird-like. Next to her, a tall boy in a blue jacket, the ends of his hair dyed white. He had the same set to his mouth as the girl, serious, but with a quirk of mischief.

  I stared at them, uncomprehending, tears still rolling down my face.

  The girl stepped closer and bent down, so we were eye level. I flinched at the movement, and she hesitated, frowned. Then she held out a thin, pale hand.

  And she asked, 'Are you okay?'I blinked at the girl, shivering. I almost didn't hear her words. Couldn't make sense of them.

  'W-what?' My voice was hoarse with tears. My gaze flicked between the two, and my shoulders hunched, wary. Stuck in my little spot, they cornered me. I tried to shift away, wrapping my arms around myself. 'Who are you?'

  'What do you mean?' The girl frowned at me, her hand still held out to me. She had bony hands and prominent cheekbones, looking to be no older than me.

  I didn't know if that should make me more or less afraid.

  'I mean, who are you!' I snapped, but my tone was more fearful than angry. The outburst was loud, and I made myself jump. 'How did you find me? What do you want?'

  The two flinched, and the boy dropped to a crouch, raising a finger to his lips. 'Shh! Keep your voice down, or they will find us.'

  The boy had a bit of stubble on his jaw, just starting to grow facial hair. He was a little harder to judge, being taller and more muscular than the girl, but his voice didn't sound very old. Like the girl, his clothes were worn, torn jeans and layered shirts, the top with a lightning bolt design on it, protecting him from the cold.

  Considering they were both speaking Sokovian, as I was, I assumed they were from here. They had to know more of what was going on.

  'Who's they?' I demanded, although I had a pretty good idea now. The same people who were chasing me before. The ones working for the Chairman, whoever that was. It occurred to me that they might know, so I leaned forward, my breathing ragged, gazing desperately at them. 'Do you know what's going on? Do you know who they are? Please, I have to know.'

  The two exchanged confused looks, before going back to me. The girl said, 'But you already know that, Amelia. You were there, with us. Do you not remember?'

  'Remember what?' I said, my jaw tightening. There it was, my name again, in the mouth of a stranger. 'How do you know who I am? Who told you my name?'

  I hadn't let up with my harsh tone, and I guess that's not what they were expecting, because the boy and girl were shifting back a little, looking hesitant, maybe even afraid. The girl withdrew her hand, clasping them together, her fingers twitching. I would've felt
a little bad about it, if I wasn't already on the verge of losing my mind.

  The boy shook his head, his brow drawing together. 'Because you told us. We're your friends. That's what you said.'

  'I — what?' I was stunned. Speechless. I had no idea what they were talking about. I had no idea who either of them were. I tried to think this through rationally. This had to be some big mistake, some awful misunderstanding that somehow had guns pointed at my head and me knocking out grown men with skills I didn't have.

  I was at a significant disadvantage, I knew, by having lost my memory. These two could say anything and promise me it was true, and I wouldn't know the difference.

  And yet it didn't seem as though they were lying. Like the agents, they had assumed I already knew what was going on. Unlike the agents, they hadn't immediately tried to attack me. I remembered the confrontation in the market; they had been after the girl, too. But why? What had we done?

  There was also an earnestly in both their gazes that made me feel self-conscious, that they knew me better than I realized. My voice was little more than a whisper. 'I said that?'

  'Yes,' The girl nodded slowly, giving me a look of appraisal. She looked me up and down, something crossing her face. I thought it might be concern, or fear, but it disappeared a second later when she set her face, suddenly certain. 'You can't remember anything that happened to you? You do not know our names?'

  '...Should I?'

  The boy hung his head, muttering something under his breath. The girl tilted her head at him, as though listening, before her green gaze flicked back to me.

  She exhaled softly. 'My name is Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.' she gestured towards her brother, and with the movement, her necklaces shifted, glittering in the light. From one, twirled a Star of David. 'And this is Pietro. We are twins.'

  'Twins?' I repeated, my eyebrows shooting up as my mind was momentarily distracted. I looked between the two, taking in their appearance again. Brother and sister, fraternal twins. That explained the resemblance in their faces. The way they seemed in tuned with each other. 'Oh. I guess that makes sense.'

  The boy, Pietro, perked up. 'So you do remember?'

  'Um, no,' I quickly shook my head, wincing at having to dampen his hope. 'I just...I don't know. Maybe something. I've never met fraternal twins before.'

  Pietro flashed a grin. There was a cockiness, that tilt of his head, that made it strangely infectious. 'You said the same thing the first time we met.'

  I tried to return the smile, but it was only half-hearted, and I had to break his gaze, the happy feeling quickly fading. I rubbed the side of my face with my sleeve as I concentrated on a small patch of dirt, drying the rest of my tears. My mind felt even again, the headache starting to fade. I didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but I felt a little better. Calmer, at least. Enough to get more complex thoughts in order.

  I took a deep shuddering breath, praying I didn't break down again. I could feel it, at the edge of my throat, ready to cry at a moment's notice. 'S-so you guys know what happened to me?'

  Wanda and Pietro nodded in unison. Wanda reached out, put a hand on my knee, said earnestly, 'Please, come with us. We know a safe place to hide, and we can explain everything. Okay?'

  'It is not safe here, not on your own,' Pietro added, with a furtive look over his shoulder. I glanced down, noticed how the heels of his shoes were nearly worn through. Black at the edges, as though scorched by friction. 'The ones that chased you? They will come again, and they will not stop.'

  'But...why?'

  'Come with us,' Wanda pressed, not taking her eyes off of me. Her voice was light, but strong. Each word spoken with meaning. 'Please. We are stronger together. Too powerful for them.'

  The logic appeared sound. I definitely didn't want to do this alone. Still, I felt hesitant. I didn't know if they were just avoiding my questions, or were too anxious to answer them right away. As it was, they were the only ones nice enough to even offer. I bit my lip, glancing at a dark corner as I collected my thoughts. Then, slowly, I began to nod. '...O-okay.'

  Wanda straightened, her eyes lighting up. Literally. I swore I saw a flash of red, but it was gone so fast I wasn't sure if I imagined it. She grinned, 'Yes? You will come with us?'

  'Mm-hmm,' I nodded again, as Wanda grabbed my hand with both of hers — a strange tingling sensation flying from her fingers — and pulled me up, backing out to give me enough space to get out of my little spot. A little startled, I stumbled forward, but Pietro caught me by the arm. Without meaning to, I flinched from his touch. After being grabbed by those agents, I didn't want to be touched.

  It did not go unnoticed. Pulling his hand back, a look of hurt crossed Pietro's face, but he quickly masked it with a reassuring smile. 'It is okay. We will not hurt you. We promise.'

  Wanda, however, didn't let go of me. She kept smiling, turning on her heel to leave the room, didn't seem to notice me trying to pull away. 'Come! We know the perfect place to hide!'

  'W-wait!' I managed to say, stumbling after her as I was nearly dragged out of the building. My mouth watered for food, and I could only think of the bread I still hadn't eaten, that I had dropped when those agents started chasing me. Waste of food and money.

  Wanda came to a stop on the sidewalk, fixing me a curious look as Pietro checked both ways, keeping a look out. I gave a weak smile in return, before gesturing to my stomach, which was starting to cramp. 'You don't, um, you don't have any food by any chance? I'm starving.'

  'Oh!' Wanda said, then nodded as if this made total sense. 'Yes, you and Pietro always eat too much! Once we bring you to the safe place, we will find you food.'

  'I do not see them anywhere,' Pietro said with a quick nod, his head darting this way and that, reminding me of a hummingbird. 'Which is good. If I run —'

  'No!' Wanda snapped, suddenly severe, earning surprised looks from both me and Pietro. She turned to him, shaking her head. 'No, no running! That will make it easier for them to find us. And it will only scare —'

  Wanda stopped herself, and I felt a strange sense of foreboding when the twins glanced at me in unison. Feeling like I was once again locked out of the loop, I asked, '...What? What's wrong with Pietro running?'

  '...Nothing,' the two said at the same time. Pietro made a face. Wanda shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, 'He is just...fast. Very fast. They will not catch him, but he is easy to follow.'

  'That makes no sense.'

  'It is fine! We will walk,' Pietro said, a little too loudly, just as Wanda was about to interject. He just hopped impatiently on his feet, blue eyes alight with energy as he said, 'Can we go now? I do not like staying in one place for too long. They have eyes everywhere.'

  Well, that's reassuring, I thought glumly, but said nothing as the twins led me away.

  'Here we are,' Wanda held out her hand. 'Is good, no?'

  As it turned out, the twins hiding place was little more than another abandoned building; a theater hall, by the looks of it. The canopy over the doorway, once filled with hundreds of exposed light-bulbs, were all broken. Some of the words were still there, announcing the last show it had: December 31st, 1999 — The Nutcracker Ballet, which was longer in Cyrillic, a fact I was aware of this time around since some letters were missing, leaving me to fill in the blanks. One of the entrance doors was broken, and bits of paper was scattered everywhere, old posters and pamphlets of old showings. The Imperial, said the sign at the top, chunks of it missing, metal scorched and black like it had been on fire at one point.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The whole place had a sort of haunted feel to it, with the darkened windows and the utter lack of anyone in the area. The neighborhood we were in were filled with more buildings like this theater house, most hollowed out or rendered to brick and mortar. This was the only one that still had a roof.

  But Wanda was looking at me expectantly, her green eyes wide. So I made a weak smile, almost a grimace, and said, 'It'
s...nice.'

  'Best place we ever had! Four stars!' Pietro grinned, nudging his sister before striding inside. Her laugh in return just made me concerned. It didn't sound like they were kidding.

  Even though I didn't want to, I followed them inside, throwing one last glance over my shoulder at the empty street before the darkness of the theatre engulfed me.

  Shivering, I looked around the lobby as we entered. The floor was once tile, now cracked and torn up, probably by the same battle or war that had ruined the rest of the city. Shattered glass was everywhere, along with broken furniture, old money, rolls of old tickets. Further in was the stage, the seating area, which had been stripped of most of its seats by previous looters. The red curtains of the stage were ratty and molding, but I had the feeling that this place must have looked amazing in its heyday.

  Seeing it like this just made me feel sad. How could you ruin something like this?