03 Saints

by Lynnie Purcell

  “Is this time for real, or are you going to pass out again?” a man asked.

  There was a focus.

  I turned my head and saw a very tall man standing in the outline of my door. The moonlight didn’t cast light that far, so I was left to guess at his features. The only thing I could tell was that he was white and very tall. The feeling of tension in my gut told me he was a Watcher. My month and a half in torture-land had me on the defensive at the realization. Watchers were the enemy.

  I spotted the silver knife I had stolen lying on a table next to me. It was the only weapon I had that could prevent certain death or another beating. I wouldn’t let anyone beat me again. Ignoring the aching, searing pain coursing through my body, I sat up and grabbed the knife. In the next breath I took, I pulled the IV out of my arm and found my feet again.

  Holding the knife in front of me, like Jackson had taught me so many months ago, I tried to maintain my balance. My spinning head and weak knees did little to help. I felt like pitching over and falling asleep again, but I kept my focus on the man. The threat kept me aware that if I allowed myself to pass out, it could be the last time I allowed myself anything.

  “So…not going to pass out again…” he said.

  “I swear to God, if you step any closer, I will jam this right into your heart!” I yelled at him.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  His voice was smooth and warm. It soothed me, even as I sensed laughter in its depths. While I sensed he was capable and dangerous, he wasn’t worried about me hurting him. He found it amusing that I was threatening him. That annoyed me.

  “Don’t patronize me,” I told him. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “I’m not patronizing you…” he said in that same soothing voice.

  “To hell you’re not!” I argued.

  “Okay, I was a little,” he agreed.

  “You’re doing it again,” I pointed out.

  “Well, you are holding a knife in my general direction,” he said.

  “You’re holding me captive, so I think we’re even,” I said.

  “What gave you that idea?” he asked.

  “I…”

  I looked at the bar-less windows, the fact that the door didn’t have any heavy locks, the lack of silver around the room, and the fact that I had been attached to an IV instead of a wall. I knew Lorian’s people would have never healed me. They would have left me to die. So…where was I? And why were they healing me? I couldn’t understand. The idea that I had actually escaped was beyond me. It was too foreign after the hell I had lived through.

  “Perhaps, we could start over?” the man asked. “Exchange stories, if you will. You can keep your knife, if it makes you feel better.”

  I hesitated at the tone of his voice. He was so calm, so willing to let me have the ‘upper hand.’ I figured it was a ploy, but there was no denying the questions channeling through my body. What kind of ploy let me keep a dangerous weapon?

  “You first,” I said.

  “May I come into the room, or shall we have the conversation from here?” he asked.

  “I sort of like a little bit of distance between us,” I said.

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  Sensing my distrust of what I couldn’t see, he took a single step closer, so that the moon shone directly on his face and illuminated his features. His features were strong, well-built. He had long black hair he kept pulled back into a tight knot and thick eyebrows, which gave him a perpetually dark expression. His eyes were a color of silver that pierced the dark with their intensity. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He had a necklace on that looked like dog tags and was heavily armed. He had a knife on his right hip, a gun on his left. I could tell the obvious weapons weren’t the only weapons he had. I realized I was out-gunned and possibly out-skilled, but he hadn’t chosen to use his weapons or his skills on me. It was confusing, but I was cautiously optimistic. Something about him was familiar. The way he held himself and the way he carried cool confidence in the depths of eyes reminded me someone, though I had trouble placing the name. I realized, too, that none of the Watchers I had met in the pit had looked like him. He was something different – possibly another threat, but different.

  “My name is Reaper,” he said.

  The knife in my hand lowered slightly at his words. I let out an involuntary laugh at the ridiculousness of his name. Reaper? Really?

  He eyed me with a curious expression on his face. He couldn’t figure out what was so funny about his introduction. I could tell he wasn’t used to people laughing at him for so little.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Your name is Reaper? Here, we have the ferryman of souls himself, come to take the dead to their final resting place! Better not mess with Reaper, because it’s a one way trip to the river of the damned! It’s very terrifying,” I said dryly.

  “You don’t think it’s scary?” he asked, hurt by my words.

  “No, no, I’m sure people are very scared by it,” I said.

  He smiled at my tone of voice. “There are some who have learned to fear it…May I continue?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I agreed, trying to keep the amused smirk off my face.

  “My group, which I am a founding member of, was involved in an encounter last night. We were getting one of our own out of a sticky situation. One of our lookouts saw you take a dive into the water, and my ship fished you out of the water. We thought you were one of Lorian’s, but the person we had come to rescue identified you as a prisoner. We patched you up, and here we are.”

  “Are you Darian’s people?” I asked.

  It was the only thing that made sense to me. The brothers, Darian and Lorian, had been fighting each other for longer than most Watchers had been alive. No one knew what started the war, but all Watchers ended up feeling its effects eventually. My escape attempt had gotten mixed up in one of the brothers’ battles.

  “Nope,” Reaper said, surprising me.

  “Then, why…”

  I searched for the proper way to ask what I was doing here. It didn’t make sense that other Watchers would have dared attack Lorian. No one did. It was risky and dangerous. It was foolish, because Lorian was better equipped, better funded, and infinitely more dangerous than any group I had come to know about beyond Darian, and, of course, Marcus. I felt my heart drop. Had Marcus’ people found me? I knew they weren’t above healing me to try and trick me somehow. My suspicion showed on my face. Reaper smiled slightly and explained in that same soothing voice.

  “We are the Saints. We like to think of ourselves as freedom fighters, though that term has been used too often by people not really interested in freedom. What we do is protect those who don’t wish to be a part of the war, and we fight those who wish to take our freedom from us.”

  His words were magnetic, hard to disbelieve. I wasn’t sure if he really believed what he was saying or was the world’s best liar. Perhaps, it was a little of both.

  “So…you’re crazy people?” I asked to clarify.

  “Yes,” he replied. “But my words are the truth.”

  “I’m not saying I believe you, but there were others. I managed to get them out of their cells. Did you pick them up, too? If you really protect the weak, you’ll have seen them to safety…right?”

  “We managed to save around fifteen. I’m not sure what became of the others,” he said. “The fight was chaos. We did our best. You can talk to them, if you wish.”

  “Oh…” I said.

  I thought about his unusual appearance in my room and the way he was being so honest. Why was he being so honest with me? Why bother to tell me the truth? He could have healed me and sent me on my way. Telling me he was a freedom fighter felt planned. It was as if he had thought that knowledge would appeal to me. It did, but I didn’t understand how he had known it would. That made me suspicious again.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “It’s obvious you want something, or you wouldn’t b
other talking to me at all.”

  He smiled again, but this time it was from respect. I sensed he hadn’t thought I would catch on so quickly.

  “I have a feeling you’re not like the others we rescued,” he admitted.

  “A feeling?” I asked.

  “Well, you are the only one who managed to free the others – the only one who even bothered. You also managed to ride a Nightstalker to safety, according to my sources, and then jump into the ocean to escape Lorian’s people. That’s quite a feat,” he said.

  “And what now?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m a curious person by nature,” Reaper said. “I just want to know your story…Speaking of that, I think it’s your turn.”

  He wanted to know my story? He didn’t know the trouble he was searching for.

  “My name is Clare. My past is full of bad luck. My future is full of uncertainty. My present is full of unknown. And you seriously don’t want to be caught up in any of it.”

  “May I have a real answer?” he asked in a politely demanding voice.

  “You may be quick to trust me, but I am not so quick to trust you back. I’ve spent the past month and a half locked in a room being beaten and convinced that the next moment was going to be my last. Everything I have ever loved has been taken from me. So, you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical about the goodness of people right now.”

  “I understand…” he said quietly. He eyed me carefully. I must have looked as bad as I felt, because he nodded at the bed. “Perhaps, you should sit. You’ve been shot, tortured, and forced to endure my name, I’m not sure standing is such a good thing just now.”

  I eyed the bed, knowing that sitting would give him the advantage. My knees trembled in exhaustion in contrast to the thought. Who was I kidding? He was a Watcher – his advantage over me was astronomical. My uncertainty showed on my face. He was aware of it before I was.

  “You can keep your knife, and I promise not to get close enough to hurt you,” he said.

  I hesitated for another moment. Then, I made the choice to trust him as far as I could trust anyone under the circumstances. If he had wanted me dead, he would have killed me already.

  “All right,” I said.

  I sat down on the bed, keeping a firm hold on my knife just in case. I winced as my shoulder pulsed with a sharp pain at the movement. The last time I had gotten shot, I had been healed by Eli. I had only dealt with the pain for a matter of minutes. Dealing with it long term hurt more than I had expected.

  “We tried to patch you up as best we could. River has a bunch of medical text books, but we don’t have an actual healer. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to heal yourself as best you can,” Reaper said.

  “Yeah, I’m used to it…Listen, I’m still not sure if this is trap, but on the crapshoot this isn’t, thanks for all this,” I said.

  I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for what they had done. Not trusting him didn’t change the fact that he had saved my life. I would worry about trust later.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  He started to leave, understanding that my story would have to wait for another time. It would have to wait for trust. He paused at the door and turned to me again, his face obscured by the darkness again.

  “Can you tell me one thing?” he asked.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “You are a human, right?” he asked.

  I smiled at the question. “We all are, Reaper. I’m just a little more than you are.”

  Though I couldn’t see his face, I sensed he liked my answer. He wasn’t annoyed by the fact that I hadn’t answered him with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no;’ he was more curious than ever. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to satisfy his curiosity…not until I knew for certain he wasn’t the enemy.

  “Let me know if you need anything…or you find yourself ready to talk. I’m three doors down. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you would like. I would just prefer to know if you’re going to leave us. It’s a security thing. If you do decide to leave, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Also, feel free to wander around the grounds…My house is your house.”

  I nodded and didn’t reply. He left, humming an old song that sounded familiar to me, and I was left alone again with the moonlight, my knife and the odd feeling that I had finally escaped my prison cell.

  My mind whirled with possibilities as I tried to catch up with the situation. Was he for real? Had I really escaped? Was I free? It had felt as if I would never breathe free air again.

  I lay back on the bed, on the side that wasn’t hurt, and stared at the moonlight streaming in through the large window. It was my first real look at the moon since New Orleans. I had missed it. The moon’s light spoke to me softly; it urged me to relax, to welcome its light back into my heart.

  I cradled the knife close to my chest, and felt my brain trying to come out of the emotional protection I had forced on to it. I had kept the pain locked away behind a barrier. But not now. Not here. Feeling was dangerous. I couldn’t do it yet. It was too early to allow hope. I would decide what to do tomorrow.

  I shut my eyes, deciding the morning would be a better time for decisions.

  Chapter 4

  When I woke the following morning, the first thing I was aware of was the birds chirping a greeting to the dawn. I listened to the sound of the birds for a long time. It was the best music I had heard in over a month. Even the pain in my shoulder dulled at the soothing sound of their caroling. I felt a small smile form on my lips as I listened. Their song told me it was okay to feel what I was feeling; it was okay to hope that my freedom was real.

  Deciding I wanted to see what the birds saw, I pushed away the blankets that had somehow found their way over me as I slept and stood. The knife had fallen to the bed during my time in dream-land. I grabbed it again, unwilling to go far without my only form of protection, and went to the window.

  As I looked out, I realized I was on top of a mountain. Large trees decorated the mountain I was on top of; they were the sort of trees I had grown to love on the west coast. Rough underbrush spread out along the hills under the massive trees. The underbrush was untamed and threatened to take over the dirt driveway with its sharp foliage. I sensed it was done on purpose, to hide the path from anyone curious enough to follow it.

  I craned my neck, to look straight down, and saw that I was up high, on the second or third level of a very large, brick building. To my left, there was another large structure that looked like a barn. What I saw through the barn’s open doors suggested it had been turned into a garage. Cars were overflowing the large structure; some of the cars were what I would have expected, but others were fancy and way out of my price range. On my right, I saw the ocean and a large cargo ship on the horizon. I figured the ship to be the one they had picked me up in.

  People were everywhere on the outside of the property. Some were sitting and enjoying the sunrise, some read books, and others were hanging out in groups of Watchers. Still others paced the property, their eyes alert for threats. I knew they were the sentries. I was surprised at the number of people wandering around. My mind had put a lesser number to the people in the Saints when Reaper had told me of his group. I couldn’t see how so many people would actually agree to fight the war against Lorian and Darian. Most of the Watchers I had met were too concerned about survival to be so idealistic. I was impressed and slightly skeptical at the same time.

  “You’re awake!” a voice said from behind me.

  I spun at the voice, my heart racing at the unexpected voice. I hadn’t heard anyone walking in the hall; I had been too preoccupied. The voice belonged to the same girl I had seen between waking and dreaming. Her black hair was still streaked with purple, her clothes as dark as Reaper’s. I wondered if black was some sort of uniform. Her eyes were a brilliant blue and full of kindness as she looked at me.

  “Oh! Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she added. She eyed the knife but didn’t make
mention of it. She held up some clothes. “I brought you something to wear. They’re mine, so they might not fit right, but it’s all I had. I hope you don’t mind black…”

  “No…I don’t mind.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to take a shower?”

  I hesitated, still feeling suspicious, but her face was so full of kindness, I couldn’t help but relax.

  “Do I smell that bad?” I joked.

  “Well, now that you mention it…” she teased gently.

  “A shower would be great,” I admitted. I couldn’t name the last time I had a real shower.

  “Follow me, then.”

  “Okay...”

  We walked out into the hall. It was broad and full of light from the rows of windows lining it on the opposite side from the door. The windows ran from the floor to the ceiling. On my side of the hall, there was a long row of doors. As we walked past, I saw room after room mirroring mine. Many of the rooms were empty of people but showed off posters of girls, cars and movie stars, and junk accumulated from the person who claimed the room as their own. Other doors were shut, retaining privacy from curious onlookers. Most of the rooms held two beds per room; mine had only held one.

  “I’m River,” the girl introduced herself.

  “Clare,” I replied.

  “This place use to be a school for delinquent boys,” River told me as I looked around in curiosity. “Reaper bought it from the previous owner a couple years ago. It’s been the closest thing to a home many of us have ever had.”

  “It’s massive…” I said as the corridor stretched out in front of us in a seemingly unending line.

  “There used to be a lot of trouble-making boys, I guess,” she said. “King actually went here when he was little…”

  “So, you’re part of this…group?” I shied away from the word ‘gang’ feeling it would be offensive, though it felt close to what they were.