by Jack Parker
Lia didn't turn, but watched it skitter, then disappear into the waters. It sank.
"I thought you'd be here." The voice was light, casual, but it evoked the same awareness, a consciousness at the bottom of her mind which was barely recognizable yet it kindled and burnt and pulled at the bottom of her chest, flickering momentarily with no signs of diminishing.
"You thought right."
She heard the grass rustle, then the feel of a body sit beside her. Lia still did not turn, but watched the single blade of grass as it glittered beneath the sunlight. Silence ensued for a few moments, then he reached out and took the grass.
She turned and glared as he fingered it, then threw it out to the wind.
"Hey!"
"It was a blade of grass."
Lia frowned. "It was my blade of grass."
Cal arched an eyebrow, meeting her gaze head on. The single gesture was enough to tell her that she had lost. How did he always do that?
Her frown deepened and she shot her gaze over the landscape once again, purposely ignoring him. She heard a tearing, but kept her gaze averted. Something akin to anger welled up inside of her. How dare he just take her grass, then act as though she was being stupid to be annoyed by it? Sure it was stupid to be annoyed about it, but still, it had been her grass and he was just taking liberties.
The tearing resided, her gaze still averted. A hand clasped over hers and Lia turned, the annoyance evident in her eyes. She met his gaze head on but before she could say anything, he brought her hand to his lips. He turned it over and kissed her knuckles. Something inside of her melted.
Lia opened her mouth to say something, but he leaned forward and put a finger to her lips, then outstretched his second hand. A blade of grass glinted in his palm, wet with dew.
He cocked his head to the side. "A new piece of grass."
Lia laughed and took it from his hands, then put a hand to her chest. "I shall hold it close to my heart for all eternity."
Cal leaned back, his gaze intense. A few bangs of hair fell into his eyes and he brushed them away.
She creased her brow. "What?"
"It's been a whole week since you've laughed."
Her smile died and she put the grass into her pocket, then stood up. "Should we be going now? It's nearly time." Her voice was quick.
Cal ascended, ignoring the sudden change of subject. "It is." He bent down and picked up another pebble, juggling it in his hands.
"Let's go, then."
She walked away; he followed, tossing the pebble over his shoulder and into the lake. White light glinted over its surface, then it descended.
This time it didn't skitter, but merely sank to the bottom.
* * *
A music pounded through the room. Hundreds of lights flickered over the barely see able floor and the room swelled with a heavy, black heat. Melan's hand felt sweaty beneath his palm as he pulled her in, then stood there for a moment beneath the lights.
Hundreds of figures danced before them and Melan tugged at his hand. "Come on."
Jack wavered, regretting the decision to come here instead of the restaurant. It was a club, so obviously they would have to dance. How could he have forgotten that?
"I can't dance."
He couldn't see her expression properly, but he had a feeling that she had rolled her eyes. "What else do you do at a club?"
"Get drunk?"
"Jack."
"Mel-an."
She stomped her foot. "You're so boring."
"I know, yeah."
"We're going to dance."
He shook his head. "No, we're n –"
But before he could finish the sentence, she had already pulled him onto the floor. There was no escape.
Welcome, to hell.
Lia took in the scent, the heavy, crude smell of sweating bodies and spilt liquor. Music reverberated through her ears, drowning out the shouts and screams of drunken teenagers.
A few weeks back, she would have shuffled her feet and looked at each figure in turn, then looked at herself and let that feeling of shame and wavering hate pass through her veins and curdle her blood. Yet now, looking at the figures, all she felt was a cold, passive disdain and a lingering, nagging at the back of her mind –the wish to get out of there and away from all of them.
"Do you know how he looks like?" Her voice sounded foreign, even to herself.
"I do, so I'll keep an eye out."
Lia cast her gaze over the crowd. "And me?"
"Stick with me and when I spot him we'll wait, then move out. You know the rest."
She nodded placidly and followed him as he stepped into the crowd, the bodies beating against them and pressing them together. Cal grabbed her hand and pulled her to the other side of the room, then stood. She leaned beside him.
"Do you want to dance?" He was watching the crowd contemptuously.
Lia replied in a flat tone. "No." She felt the same contempt. Silence descended, then she spoke. "They're such piss heads."
"I prefer the term dickheads."
"How crude."
"As if piss head isn't."
Lia shrugged. "It sounds more –" She wavered, searching for a word. "Eloquent."
"Refined."
She bit her bottom lip. "Articulate."
"Sententious."
"Witty?"
Cal smirked. "Magniloquent."
She blinked. "What the fuck-iquent?"
"It means lofty and extravagant in speech," he supplied.
"Did you eat a dictionary when you were a child?"
"No –" he replied. "It was a thesaurus."
Lia raised an eyebrow. "A thesaurus?"
"It was zestful."
"Not that word again."
"You know you love it really."
He leaned back against the wall, drinking in his surroundings. "I've spotted him."
The words were enough.
Lia nodded and made her way through the crowd. She left the building, stepping out into the cool, night air. Her hand fell into her pocket. She patted her gun lightly, the metal cold beneath her fingertips. The sun had set and night enshrouded the landscape, an endless cavern of darkness. She gazed out at the sky and watched the clouds assemble, a few tinges of gray mixing with the black.
A chill breeze escalated her hair. Lia held out the palm of her hand. A single drop of water fell, lashing against her skin. Thunder rumbled overhead.
It was going to rain.
Darkness enveloped her and something was swinging, clicking, back and forth and back and forth. She bit hard on her bottom lip, so hard that she drew blood, but made no move to lick it off. She liked the pain; it added solidity, normalcy –it made her feel like she was still one with herself and it pushed at something, evoked something unexplainable.
The man looked down at her and she felt like she was shrinking, but the words echoed in her head. The words he had said which were so clear to her and made so much sense and they appeased something; they linked in with everything she was feeling and made it stark and real.
Something whipped through her mind and fire coiled over her flesh; wood…
Burning…
Lia choked, caught her breath and rammed down the tears, the feelings, because it was all a distant memory. She had to forget. The only way to move forward was to forget.
"They killed your parents."
The words cut, stung, and brought forward something else, something that she pushed back immediately, far back into the corners of her mind.
"You can pay them back for what they did. Everything they did to you; is it right, is it just that they get away with it?"
The answers came now, beating against her forehead and pounding through her flesh.
His question was rhetorical. He continued. "Your parents were betrayed, Lia; betrayed by them. They were scapegoats and they weren't aware of it until it was too late. After all that's happened to you, don't you want to give them a taste of their own medicine?"
Sh
e did, so badly.
"You can get revenge."
Those last words were enough.
"I'll do it."
The man nodded, evidently pleased. "Welcome to the Rebels…"
Jack leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his hair, then cast his gaze over the figure stood beside him. She offered him a lopsided grin.
"That was fun."
"It was?"
"You're not that bad a dancer." Her voice wavered.
He raised an eyebrow and she laughed. The dimples creased at the top of her cheeks, and he watched her, something burning in his chest, something hot and exhilarating. He could taste her perfume as it carried in the air and felt the intoxication wash over his senses.
She had stopped laughing by now and met his gaze, then tilted her head to the side. Gold-brown hair fell into her eyes and he pushed it back, brushing it behind her ear, and cupping her cheek in his hand. He leaned down and her hands wrapped around his neck. She tiptoed slightly and he was aware of the burning as it intensified –the heavy sweltering of heat and flames as they flickered gently.
A few bangs of black hair fell into his eyes, then he bent down further and kissed her. Everything stopped for a moment, then a hot, pulsating sensation, the fire burnt, flames kindled and ravaged; she dug her hands into his hair, his resting at the base of her neck as she opened her mouth, allowing him entry. They moved slowly, in motion, then pulled away to breathe and dived in again.
Jack pushed her against the wall, kissing her fiercely as her hands rummaged through his hair. He wanted her so bad. They pulled away again and their eyes met. Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting softly. He bent down again and kissed her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist so that he tickled her stomach.
She nudged his chin with her shoulder. "Stop it; it tickles."
"I know," he whispered against her neck.
She elbowed him this time, then took his hand and tugged at it. "Let's go back."
He raised an eyebrow. "To your flat?"
Melan rolled her eyes. "Pervert."
"My flat?"
"No."
"I have a couch."
She laughed. "How crude."
He took both hands and pulled her towards him, their foreheads touching. "I know you want to." His voice was soft, barely a whisper.
"How do you know I want to?" she breathed.
Jack rubbed his forehead against hers.
"Get me a drink first," she whispered. "Then we'll decide whether I want to or not."
He sighed. "Women."
Melan stuck out her tongue. "Men," she imitated, in an equal tone. He laughed and left.
She leaned against the wall, letting her gaze rest over the many dancing figures. Someone was leaning beside her. As Jack left, he chose to speak.
"Your boyfriend?"
Melan turned her gaze. He was an Elonsican, chestnut hair and green eyes; hot. "Yeah, sort of. You here with your girl?"
"She's gone outside. It's raining, so we're planning on heading back about now."
Melan nodded. "So are we."
"The main road'll probably be pretty blocked up by cars because of the rain," he supplied. "If I were you, I'd go down the other one. There'll be less traffic."
Melan blinked. She hadn't thought of that. "That's a good idea." She smiled. "We'll do that. Thanks for the advice."
He shrugged. "No problem."
Jack returned. Melan turned her attention to where the guy had stood but he was gone. She shrugged it off, ignoring the pin pricking sensation at the back of her neck –the feeling that she was being watched.
A figure stood in the shadows and awaited the affirmation, then left.
They crouched down in the bushes, trees towering above them and rain firing down like pellets. Lia shivered and pulled the hood tighter over her head, her eyes focused on the road.
They had arrived there beforehand and were waiting.
The headlights of a car cut through the heavy mist and Cal checked quickly, then bent down again and wrapped his arms around her waist. He nudged her ear with his nose.
"It's them."
Something clenched at the bottom of her stomach, but she pushed it away.
"Go on," he whispered into her ear.
Dominic and Lessandra Relanne shot dead last night… Officials confirm that they were carrying documents blue printing Rebel plans to destroy the Loscia Tower…
She tilted her head to the side and gently slid the revolver from her belt, his arm still wrapped around her waist.
"Scared?"
… discovered with weapons…shot dead on the spot…
"What do you think?" she replied, smiling, as she brought the gun forward and aimed.
Bomb went off a few miles away……Two killed; three severely injured.
"Ready."
…Terrorists…
"Set."
…Revenge…
"They killed your parents, Lia. They shouldn't get away with that."
"Fire."
A gunshot pierced the air, then the sound of screeching tyres.
* * *
Rain pelted the car window, the windscreen wipers working furiously and cutting through the sheets before they appeared once again.
"It's your birthday and you didn't tell me!"
Melan shuffled in her seat. "I didn't want you to make a special effort or something." She trailed her fingers over the glass, the heavy pattering of rain audible beneath their soft voices.
Jack rolled his eyes, his gaze still set firmly on the road. "It's your birthday; I'm meant to make a special effort. We could have gone to a restaurant or something and made everyone sing to you."
Melan shuddered. "Hell no."
"Hell yes."
"I'm glad I didn't tell you after all. That would have been embarrassing. One of my friends did that a few years back and I still can't live it down."
He grinned. "One of my mates did that when I was younger, too. I just laughed."
She flicked her nails against the glass.
He was shot by a sudden wave of inspiration. "I know!"
"What?"
"I'll sing to you."
Melan raised an eyebrow. "Now?"
"Why not?"
"The poor windows."
"How old is that joke?"
Melan shrugged. "Super old."
"You know you want to hear me sing."
"No, I don't."
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU-U!"
"Oh, God, no."
He continued. "Happy Birthday to you." She was holding back a smile. "Happy birthday to Mela-an." He put extra emphasis on her name, causing her to erupt into laughter. "Happy birthday –"
He was cut off, suddenly, as something pierced the air. He brought both hands onto the wheel; the car skidded to the side and tyres screeched on wet tarmac as he rammed his feet onto the brakes. His head knocked against the window, a sharp pain erupting through his temple.
Rain beat against the windows, trembled. Tyres screeched followed by Melan's muffled screams, then the crashing of bullets. He was jolted forward; the seat belt dug into his flesh.
An ear-splitting crash.
Screams.
Then silence.
His arms seared with pain as glass cut, embedded itself into his skin and his vision was blurry…so blurry.
All he saw was red; a trickle of blood, then daggers pierced his flesh.
He blacked out.
"Happy birthday to you…"
CHAPTER 18
Frost was settling, shivering over rustling grass which glittered beneath the torpid light of a pale moon. The rain had stopped an hour ago and now a chill swept the air, rustling damp leaves and cutting through the bare flesh which shook, trembled, beneath its rabid touch.
