Endgame (Book 2): Alekhine's Gun

by W. A. R.

  Miles cleared his throat, still refusing to look at them. “And you are all alone, you say?” he asked them.

  “Yes.” Lacy spoke and this surprised both Shelly and Miles. Her voice was harsh and rough, as if she had swallowed sandpaper. She kept her gaze lowered to the carpeted floor that they sat on. Things were still for a few minutes as they took in the rising tension and the evident uncertainties that hung about them in the air. It saddened them all, this realization. Why? Shelly wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because they still had someone out there that cared enough about them to risk their lives for them while Chloe and Lacy didn’t. Maybe she was saddened because if any of the three of them were to die, their memory would carry on, while neither Chloe nor Lacy had someone left to remember them.

  “What happened to your family?” Shelly asked suddenly, her words doing nothing but adding on to the weighted burdens in the room. Both Chloe and Lacy turned their eyes to Shelly, their expressions both heated and distraught and she knew immediately that she wasn’t going to get an answer.

  “We don’t want to talk about it.” The teenager answered, her high-pitched voice wobbling and wavering under the heavy emotion that threatened to drown her. There was a sniffle and though they were curious about their past, about how they came to be alone, they weren’t going to ask any more questions about it. Shelly decided to change the subject back to the child’s original question. She lowered her gaze to the floor.

  “Yes. We have people out there that are probably trying to find a way to free us.” She paused for a moment, shifting her focus to the two women, the younger woman immensely interested in what Shelly was saying. “But just to be clear, we don’t want them to.”

  Chloe furrowed her brow at her. “Why not?” she asked and Shelly glanced at Brian. Everything inside of her began to heat at the fire in his eyes. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks flush. Damn, he was such a strong man, a strong leader. “They could save you.”

  Shelly turned back to the girl but Brian beat her to the punch. “They would be risking getting captured just like us.”

  “That’s why we are going to get out of here before they even have a chance to come here.” Miles spoke aloud to them all, lifting his head from the wall. He looked at the two women across from him. “And I mean all of us.” He told them firmly and Shelly couldn’t help but smile at his stubbornness and his compassion. It was part of who he was, just as it was with Brian and Shelly could see why Amber was drawn to him, just as Shelly herself was drawn to Brian.

  The newcomers’ eyes widened in surprise and they fought back tears. “You mean…that…you…” Chloe began but Lacy turned away, tears streaking down her cheeks from her dark eyes, her mouth turned down into a scowl.

  “Yeah,” she scoffed at them, “if we can even get out of here to begin with.” She replied and Miles simply smiled. He had something up his sleeve, Shelly just knew it.

  “We will. Give me time to determine a few things and we will.” He hesitated for a moment, and Shelly leaned forward, stealing a knowing glance at Brian before speaking. Excitement hummed in her veins as she looked at the girls.

  “Are you in?” she asked and Chloe nodded her head vigorously, the teenager obviously frightened of what these people could and would do to them, should they remain where they were. Lacy, on the other hand, looked at Shelly with a heated glare of uncertainty and shrugged. Shelly swallowed thickly, realizing belatedly that they had to have lost much to lose their faith. Shelly then looked at Miles. “So, what do you have in mind?”

  Miles spared her a look before nodding at Brian. “I’ll explain once I speak to Ryder, which shouldn’t be much longer.” He turned his focus to Brian. “He’s been coming in and out constantly, worried about you waking up.” He told Brian gently and Brian rolled his eyes before sighing in defeat.

  “I could use some water.” He replied thickly and Shelly realized then just how long it had been since they had gotten there, how long it had been since Brian had any nourishment whatsoever. Two days; two very long, very hard days.

  “So…should we get to know one another?” Chloe asked randomly, catching the three friends by surprise. Shelly looked at Brian, who licked his cracked and swollen lips weakly. Her heart twisted. He was so tired and beaten. He looked like hell, the short guy…Justin?...having beaten the hell out of him. She shook her head and glanced at the young girl. She was nervous. “I mean, I would feel better about who we are escaping with…if…if that makes any sense…” she trailed off and Shelly smiled a little at her, feeling the slight kick in her abdomen. Curiosity was evident in the young girl’s face, and Shelly knew there was something in particular that she was wanting to ask. The teenager reminded her of Cassie, and she could tell that she had the same effect on both Brian and Miles, though they were trying harder to suppress that familiarity.

  “What do you want to know?” Shelly asked and Miles snorted, glancing sidelong at her. She moved a little, glaring at him mockingly. “What?”

  “What do they not want to know?” he asked, and Shelly rolled her eyes, feeling a lot of the tension leave the room. It was better that way, to take their mind from the situation at hand until there was actually something that could be done about it.

  Chloe glanced between the three of them. “How did you all end up in here? Who is Amber and who is Damien?” she asked hastily, proving Shelly’s theory to be correct, and glanced at Brian. “You seemed fond of her, is she your girlfriend?” she asked and the three of them chuckled under their breath at her tenacity. It was pleasant, to have her curious instead of scared, to have their witness accounts to be told and recounted from the beginning. Though there were sure to be heartache in the story, knowing the three of them, they would cling to the good and they were granted, blessed to be given this opportunity in the wake of their circumstances. Brian’s eyes ran over Shelly before turning to the young girl, a new light resting in their depths. The girl shrugged, obviously embarrassed by their laughter. “I overheard your earlier conversation.” She explained quietly.

  Brian chuckled once more and Miles leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as he spoke. Yes, they were hurting, aching to the very core for their loss and feeling of defeat, but they were going to do what they did in situations like these. They were going to remember the positive and keep their faith and hope, and maybe, just maybe, give some to the two women that were slowly becoming companions. “May as well get comfortable, it is a long story and we don’t know when Ryder will be back in here.” He glanced at Brian. “You wanna start? From the beginning, I should think.” he asked lightly and Brian cleared his dry throat before opening his mouth to begin their story.

  Chapter Nine

  Five days later:

  Amber shifted on her feet where she stood, staring at the small bowl of food and the glass of water, straw included, that sat on the kitchen table. It looked askew among the various weapons that littered the mahogany table but there these items sat, taunting Amber, telling her that she was too confused, too cowardly, too angry, or even too forgiving to confront him. It had been five days. Five days of her mind wondering and racing. Damien was a constant on her troubled thoughts, as much as she wanted to deny it; he plagued her like some form of wretched disease, reminding her every single fucking day that she was just as twisted as he was. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of these thoughts, and she placed her hands firmly on her hips. Everyone else was gone from the room, from the kitchen, angered and refusing to talk to her still. The only solace she got from this was that George still spoke to her. He was angry, yes, but he wasn’t being childish about it. Buddy also spoke to her more than the others, but he only did this whenever they were sparring, whenever he was teaching her how to handle her swords. Other than that, he had barely spoken a word. Then again, she couldn’t blame the others, considering what had happened five days before. The day she became every bit of a monster that Damien was.

  That inevitably led her to where she was right at that very mome
nt. She had been warring with herself for the past five days, images of taking pieces of him and listening to him scream with a smile on her face stayed with her; images of holding her son and her father in her arms as their life left them and for very long moments she felt that every action she had taken towards him was justified. She refused him water for two days, food for the past three. It was difficult considering his limitations and the thought that he was struggling brought satisfaction to her and yet….it didn’t. Who was she? She began to hate herself. Yes, the man had done horrible things to her and her family, things that she could never forgive, but her torturing of him…was it worth her becoming the very thing she hated? Hearing him whimper and cry for water, for food…watching through a crack in the barn as he tried to move his missing appendages…it all counted against her, and that was where the war within herself came in. That was how she came to stand in front of the food and water on the table.

  Logic and compassion told her that she knew next to nothing about the man she held prisoner, and one question continued to bug her: Why did he risk his life for this mission when he could have stayed with his father? That bothered her. It bothered her because she knew without a doubt that one way or another she wasn’t going to like the answer he was going to give her. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, so no, she hadn’t actually entered that dreaded barn and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since the day she hit him. Why was this so damned hard?! She screamed within her head. He killed her son, betrayed them, killed her father…and yet…he was still human. Something was nagging at the back of her mind that maybe…just maybe…it wasn’t his choice. She recalled the true evil gleam in Lance’s eye and the venom in his voice and she knew she had never witnessed that in Damien. Angry? Yes. But never had he seemed purposefully evil. And it fucking irritated her to no end, her confusion. She hated him, and yet oddly enough he flowed through her veins driving her mad. He was repulsive and he disgusted her, and yet, once she began comparing herself to him, it didn’t seem so black and white anymore. She sighed, and before she could change her mind she grabbed the food and the water and turned on her heel, leaving through the back door to avoid any questioning glances from any of the others. After what had happened, she couldn’t confront them…not completely.

  She neared the barn, feeling both disheartened and excited at the welcome she was sure she would receive whenever she opened the door. She smiled, and then grimaced. He was terrified of her. Who was she? Once at the door, she turned and glanced around the property, her eyes resting on Buddy and Rick who were rounding the wall, deep in conversation. She felt guilt swell up inside her and she was stuck, frozen as she watched them. They didn’t know what was going to happen to her, and they wouldn’t know until it was too late. Her mouth twisted into a painful frown. She only hoped they would listen to her whenever she finally did speak to them. She prayed that they would eventually understand why she had to do what she was going to have to do. She had to save the others, save them all, and that was all there was to it. Quickly, before they looked up and noticed her, she placed the jar of water between her arm and her chest, bowl in hand, and she opened the wooden door with her free one. She turned to close it, catching a glimpse of the two men as they stopped, eyes narrowed, watching as she disappeared behind the old door. She sighed. They couldn’t know. It was for their own good.

  Slowly, she turned, retrieving the water from between her arm and chest, her eyes sliding up to the man that stared back at her. His eyes were wide with fear and regret, and she felt that familiar surge of anger that came with him feeling regret…though now it was laced with guilt. Dammit, she groaned, she wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel about anything anymore. All she knew she could do was what felt right at the time, that was all she could follow. She couldn’t allow the others to tell her how to treat him, or how to treat herself for that matter. This was personal; between two murderers, two betrayers.

  Murderer.

  Conspirator.

  Betrayer.

  These names didn’t seem so cruel any more, she realized. Instead, there was a connection between the two, a connection that he had no idea about. She felt the urge to talk to him, to try to understand him and she didn’t understand why she felt that way. She hated it, and the thoughts were bitter and not welcome in her mind, and yet they were still there, like the disease that Damien was. Why was this so important? Why did she feel the absolute need to talk to the man that had taken away the very things that mattered most to her? She wished nothing more than to continue his torture, to kill him, but she couldn’t do it. Hence, another reason for her avoidance of him in the past five days.

  She was a coward.

  There were so many reasons, no…excuses, for having avoided him and she had used them all until there was nothing left but the string tugging on her and making her sick, forcing her feet to move towards his area of residence and stand before him like an uncertain buffoon. And there she was, eyes still locked on his. He trembled a little, and it didn’t escape her notice; and she did the same, feeling the chill of the fall air in the barn. His hands clenched into fists and his breathing deepened. She fought back a grimace and forced herself to advance towards him. The table and the chair were still there, and the notebook was still there on the table as well. She didn’t look to see if he had written in it while he had been with George, didn’t care to. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know what had been written in that book, or the questions that would have been asked to incite such answers.

  She easily placed the bowl and the water on the table, running her fingertips along the front of the yellowed notebook. She was deep in thought, and yet not in thought at all. Her mind was so full, racing so quickly that everything blurred together and it was drawing a blank. She easily picked up the pen and notebook and turned to him. He stared at her every movement and whenever she reached forward to undo the strap that held his good hand down, he flinched and jerked back. She paused for a moment, sighing. What was she to do? She wanted to talk to him, no, needed to talk to him, and she very well couldn’t do that while he was frightened of her so intensely that he jerked away every time she moved. She clenched her jaw and cleared her throat, trying to gather up whatever compassion she could find for the man and use it.

  “Damien?” she said softly, surprised at the gentleness in her voice. His eyebrows lifted, his expression admitting his own surprise as well. She knelt so that she was on his level and she leveled her gaze with his. “I didn’t come in here to hurt you, alright?” He remained stock still, afraid to move. It was as if he was a timid, small rabbit and she was the big bad wolf. She motioned over her shoulder to the bowl and the glass. “I’ve brought you some food and water. Will you let me help you? I promise on my life I won’t lay a hand on you in anger. Not today.” She said. She very well couldn’t promise him that she would never do it again. She could only offer what she had left to offer right then and there. She wanted some answers, answers about how he came to be in the situation that he was in. She wanted to know if she were different, or rather, if he were any different from her.

  Slowly, he nodded and cautiously she reached forward and undid the strap that held his hand down. She expected him to swing and hit her, as she was still knelt over and slightly vulnerable. But he did no such thing. Instead, he sighed heavily through his nose in relief and lifted his arm, clenching and unclenching his fist, flexing his straining and tired muscles. He was becoming weaker and weaker by the hour. It was her fault…and again there was the satisfaction and the guilt. She shifted and placed the notebook and the pen on his leg within reach before standing and turning to grab the other chair and the bowl of food and water from the table. She turned, facing back towards him, and eased into the seat, placing the bowl on the floor.

  She lifted a brow at him. “Water first? I’m sure you are very thirsty…there…” she hesitated. Why in the hell was she being so kind? She swallowed thickly, ridding herself of any biting remarks before picking up where s
he left off. “There is more…if you need it.” He vaguely nodded and she lifted the glass, straw between two fingers as she led it to his mouth. She watched with interest as he took a greedy gulp, and she knew that he briefly just for that split second, had forgotten about his missing tongue. She jerked the water back, the straw leaving his lips as he coughed and sputtered. Some landed on Amber’s arm, a good bit dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down to his shirt. She waited until he had caught his breath, the red flush that had crawled up his neck slowly disappearing from whence it came. “Take it easy. We have plenty of time, alright?” she told him, again surprised by her gentleness and she eased the water back to his mouth. He took small sips this time, and as he got his fill of water, she let her thoughts carry her back to how she had rocked Kyle in her arms, feeding him as a small baby. He had been conceived in such a corrupt way, but leveling it with Cassie, she had never seen anything more beautiful. He had grown into a remarkable, protective and yet, like her father before him, forgiving soul. Was that why she was giving their killer a kindness that he didn’t deserve? She wasn’t sure, and that was alright with her…she just hoped no one else asked her that same question because she would have no idea how to answer.

  He took his time, drinking the water slowly, his eyes always open, watching her. She couldn’t blame him. Here he was, tied and bound, both knees, an elbow, and a forearm broken, a beaten face, a missing tongue, ear, and some missing fingers; he was covered in burns and cuts…all a torture that Amber had taken out on him from anger…revenge…information. Whatever the reason didn’t matter; what did matter was that she had done it happily and here they both sat, both feeling some form of guilt over their actions, both knowing that at some point very soon, they were going to die. Both were murderers of their own enemies, and betrayers of their own kind in one form or another. Both conspirators. It didn’t seem fair and yet it was happening. Finally, he pulled back, and she returned the glass and its straw to the table, reaching for the bowl of food next. She grabbed a spoon and lifted it, a smaller piece of meat and some kind of flavored water with it. As she turned her eyes to him, ready to offer him this bite, she saw that he had been writing. She waited, watching as he wrote, before he turned his saddened eyes to her. He picked up the notebook and showed her what he had written.