by Clara Wake
She goes as far as asking everyone who spoke the name, how they knew about it. All they could tell her was all they knew. From the note. Even after forcing everyone to hand over the notes, she still has no idea who found out and decided to make everything worse for everyone.
“Who is Alma?” is the question of the month and it never dies down either; it only seems to trigger with every theory that is thrown around the Compound.
The Governor is shaking. She could swear now – that they were all saying her name – it wasn’t in her mind; the whispers were real.
Her screams were unheard, locked in her room. Alone. She buried herself within her mind. Trying to escape, but she can’t. Not anymore. The name, her name is known, and she has to do something about it.
She can’t let them win. She can’t let them tear her apart. She has to make sure they know They are afraid of her, and she is the boss, the superior one who they kneeled before and expressed love towards. After all, she gave them everything they needed – according to her. They should beg, pray and plead to keep her in command. They should cry, weep and writhe to have her around. They should listen and act on command. She knows better than anyone ever will.
The fire is burning, and embers animate across her eyes. Glistening in pure rage. She could feel the anger spreading through her veins, boiling and shaking her hands. She needs to take care of the matter – and only she can do so. She never relied on anyone else, they were incompetent, and never did anything correctly or in her way.
Click.
The door is soon opened, and she’s marching out with her leather gloves and a black steel baton.
Each member of her army. her guards and assistants, are ignored as she makes her way through the structure of her tower. She holds her head high, even though she is screaming from the inside – wishing, waiting to tear into everyone she passed – She remains as calm as she can, ready to make whoever exposed her name bleed out before her.
She has plans. She has procedures she focuses on, methods on how she’ll cause the most amount of pain. The most blinding techniques of torture. She wants to paint the walls once again, and she won’t hold back this time. The hesitation she once held within has vanished. Not a single glimmer of remorse exists.
The Captains and Mothers are unaware of the impending doom she wishes to spread among their squads, and she certainly doesn’t waste any time, with the screams and demands of knowing who started this.
She is raging, throwing the baton around and clashing the end with anything and everything she sees. Whether it be an innocent member of their squad passing by, she doesn’t care.
Crack!
Her swings are fierce and compelling. Growling loudly, she storms through every squad, demanding answers, and if any of them looked at her a certain way, their heads would be caved in by the baton. Blood and brain matter splatter across the walls, and she steps away and swings at the next victim.
“Who did this!?” She screams at the top of her lungs – the anger shaking her voice. She continues to yell, as she can still hear their whispers.
Alma-Alma-Alma.
Like a chant, it drives her insane, and she wants it to stop. Stop. Stop.
However, this time it wouldn’t go away. It continues to haunt and torment her. Previously in the past, they’d fade away, and leave her alone, but now, they only grew stronger and louder, and there is no way to stop them.
Even as she whipped her steel baton across the halls, and swings it against skulls, creating a path and line of blood to trail behind her. There is a hint of satisfaction that twitches her lips each time the baton connects with their skulls and splits it. She doesn’t hold back a smile as her face is splattered with the helpless victims’ blood. They are meant to answer her question, not stare at her. They are meant to speak when spoken to.
Hopping over to Earth, she’s eager to see how her Star reacts. Her entrance is heard as clear as day as she roars and screams with a splutter. “Who said it?” She screams, letting her words swarm the hallway, alerting the boys – cowering in their rooms – They can’t hide, they can’t ignore. Everyone knows what is happening, and they are terrified. Even with the excessive and intensive training they’ve learned their entire lives, they are most scared of her.
Stepping out of their rooms, the boys, for once look upon each other – and Syrus’ eyes linger on Nickolai – as if he is pleading for the elf to save him. The Governor steps towards Syrus.
“Do you know who did this?” She scowls at Syrus, who instantly shakes his head as the note is thrown at him, flinching.
“N-No,” he manages to whimper, before she steps over towards Jake and drags the steep baton across the concrete floor, letting the sound settle and trace the floor.
One of the many things Nickolai knows about Jake is that he is good at keeping secrets. His poker face is divine; only while he isn’t stressed like he is right now. Jake’s hands are flexing, and he’s constantly clenching his jaw. His dark doe eyes are drenched in fear as he pins them to Nickolai’s.
“Do you know?” She exclaims in Jake’s face, pinching at his dark curls, eager for an answer.
Jake manages to shake his head, before he clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “No,” he replies, but his voice shakes, and his answer falls too short.
Tilting her head to the side, she watches him carefully – silently. She slowly drags the baton off from the floor, and gradually brings it up, gaining her grip against the cold steel.
Suddenly, the weight of her right arm is shifted and pulled backwards as Nickolai clasps his hands around her forearm and pulls her arm backwards, leaving her snarling and losing the grip from her baton.
The Governor loses her balance from the sudden pressure to her arm. She stumbles backwards and staggers for a moment, hunched over. She finally looks up to lock her eyes with Nickolai’s and growls at him before she lunges forward and pushes him against the back wall of the hallway, only to have him smack and push her off him immediately.
“He said he didn’t do it,” Nickolai roars at her, followed by a raw huff as he creates space between them. “Before you ask, I don’t know either.” He adds, bearing his teeth in irritation. The bitch was about to bash Jake’s head in.
The Governor stares at him, baffled by the way he always speaks to her – he isn’t scared of her. He stands tall and doesn’t quiver or crawl. She hates it, despises it so much, and she isn’t going to take it anymore— not now that everyone knows her name. The question is did he know?
Without warning, she swiftly charges towards him, barely giving him breathing room and grabs a very tight hold of Nickolai’s hair, pulling it. She growls between her gritted teeth – seething – as she pulls at his hair and knocks her baton against his injured shoulder. “You’re coming with me,” she tells him as she leans in and whispers into his ear before she smacks his right knee right after she speaks her words.
A yelp shakes from Nickolai’s lips as the baton collides with his knee. dropping forwards and smacking his palms against the cold floors. Fireballs shoot up his leg, as his knee burns immensely, and he attempts to catch his own breath before The Governor again, grasps a heap of his crimson hair and pulls. “Get up!” She demands before she tangles her arm with his and pulls him up herself. The Governor then pushes the stumbling elf forwards and pokes the baton into his back. Applying pressure, she again insists he move.
Jake is spared, shaking and in shock. He has no idea what Nickolai has saved him from, being too afraid to really access the situation before him. He can feel his nerves fall, and the fear starts to overwhelm him. He soon feels the self-doubt and hatred lingering above. Why the hell didn’t he do something? Anything? He just watched as the witch struck Nickolai and forced him to go with her. He did nothing, and he couldn’t shake the anger that spread from that. He’s never felt more pathetic than this moment right now. He could have hit her, grabbed the baton and bashed her head in. Yet, there he was frozen in fear and the show is well and
truly over for him.
Shaking his head as tears drop from his eyes, he realizes then that he must do something – the determination fuels him. As he begins to breathe normally, he knows then he has to get Nickolai out of there no matter what.
With the sweltering agony to his knee, he’s unable to walk; the most he can do is hobble, or hop and still then, he can’t keep up with The Governor’s high demands. She’s in haste, and she’s not considering his injury at all. Tugging, dragging, and pulling him by his long gravity-defying crimson hair, and occasionally his sensitive and long ears. She’s dragging him through the snow and forcing him towards the Tower.
Reaching the tower, her eyes dart at the two guards standing before the main entrance, who quickly rush over to restrain Nickolai instantly, with his arms locked behind his back. He’s pushed and shoved inside, still hopping slightly as he enters. The familiar lobby area, with the small gathering zone that leads off into a hallway he’s never stepped foot in, until now.
“Take him to the bathroom,” The Governor blankly demands her guards, who of course obey her instantly and throw Nickolai towards the hallway and rush him off into the narrow and dark hallway lit by only very dim red lights. The walls are black, and the door frames are red. While red is his favourite colour, right now it feels like a fragment of a nightmare.
He struggles, forcing his weight in his feet – regardless how painful it is to his bruised knee. Leaning backwards, to stall and keep them from reaching their destination; But, of course, it is no use. His resisting only makes them more adamant on getting him to his destination.
Finally, they reach the only white door in the hallway. The door creaks, as it’s opened before the two guards shove Nickolai inside and lock the door behind him.
Nickolai can finally take a deep breath as he observes the large bathroom. The floors are tiled with the traditional black and white checker illusion.
Before him, is a very large and deep porcelain bath with golden feet, resting on a velvet bath mat.
The rest of the bathroom is in the same black and white style, with velvet curtains and accessories. It gives a small sense of comfort in the worst way. Letting out another huff, he slowly leans down to check his knee – of course, it proves difficult considering his wrists are bound behind his back, but instead he feels the smack of someone’s palm to the base of his head, pushing him forwards; he almost loses his balance.
He’s then constrained forwards towards the bath, forced to his knees and with his chest smacking against the cold porcelain. He’s leaning against the bath before his head is then forced into the cold water, laced in ice cubes.
The hand to his head is heavy and holds him beneath the water for a good few seconds, before releasing him.
The second the pressure is released from his head, he bounces up and out of the water, with a wide gasp; he attempts to breathe, but the water sends the worst burning sensation to his lungs. It hurts to take in such a deep and wide breath, and before he can even render the incident, that very familiar sound attacks his ears sending them upwards in fear. His eyes wide in shock, as his body shakes from horror tracing his entire body. He can’t even move – He’s riddled in terror, and he doesn’t know how to break away from its chains.
Soon, he’s met with the whirring of the machine, as it carves across his head, pulling the long silky crimson spikes, and tearing them from his scalp. Once again, he’s forced to watch as his hair drops and falls from his head, splitting and falling into the cold waters below, and he knew exactly who is doing this. She saw it the second she shaved his hair off the first time that he needs and finds comfort in his hair – the constant battle with his ears and who he is. What he is. She’s tearing his own coping mechanism away once again. Stripping him of what makes him confident and leaving him to stare back at himself with more disgust than he already has.
She’s started on the shorter side of his head this time. The right side of his hair grew back much slower than the left. Why? He’d never figured that out, only that he still has that annoying larger and thicker part at the back – but it blended in with his left ear – so he didn’t mind it all too much. Yet, here she is taking it away from him again while he’s vulnerable and unable to retaliate.
He’s drowning in defeat, watching his hair continue to fall and the ear-shattering sound of the humming device carving through his hair. Grinding his teeth, he’s livid that he’s back in this position, frustrated with himself, until he realizes – if he hadn’t reacted – Jake would be dead with his brains splattered across the hallway.
He did what he had to, what he could to keep his best friend safe. He couldn’t save Skye, but he could save Jake. Regardless of the turmoil he’s being pushed and thrown through now, it is all worth it in the end.
Once the whirring sound stops, and silence traces the room. He’s finally able to hear his own heartbeat throbbing heavily in his chest; he can feel the cold from the water that crawls over his ears, slips down his neck. The bitter air smacks against his neck; it’s too bare now. The cold blankets his entire head, and he hates it.
Nickolai soon feels a warm hand, pressing against his neck forcing him forwards slightly.
Until a mirror is brought up before him to see his own reflection – to once again look at the monster she created.
His eyes linger on his own features for a second, before he watches her move closer towards his ear, and the second she’s close enough he swings backwards and cracks his head right into her face with the satisfying cracking sound. He’s then curving his lips, as he hears her whimper, whine, and shout.
Looking over his shoulder, he sees The Governor squirming on the ground, on her back as she holds her nose. It’s splurging with blood; he’s broken it – surely – and lets a cunning smile slip his lips as he watches her writhe in pain. There’s so much more he wants to do to her, to make her pay for everything she’s ever done, but the restraints around his raw wrists are too tight. Even if he could release himself, he’d have to once again stumble and almost crawl out of there in the harsh cold.
Turning away – which he knows is never a good idea to turn your back on your enemy – he attempts to pick himself up from his kneeling position. His right kneecap burns endlessly as he applies pressure to it, resting against the tiled floor and holding his weight.
Seconds from looking back to watch her struggle, he can’t hold in the pure rage that claws endlessly in his chest. Releasing it, Nickolai manages to hold his own and collides his body into The Governor’s, forcing her back down and giving her a taste of her own medicine – smacking her head against the tiled floors, which of course renders the beast, unconscious immediately with one solid smack.
With the small victory, it isn’t enough time to breathe until the commotion alerts her guards, and they’re swift to knock Nickolai out before he attempts to kill their queen.
The soft chirps and soothing sounds of birds playing and fluttering their wings above fill the air, followed by the soft wind rustling the leaves. He’s surrounded by large thin trees, dancing with the wind and curling around him as the scent of earth swallows him. For a moment, as his odd-eyes flicker open, he feels like he’s home. Until the realization settles in. Laying on his stomach, his head turns to the left. He blinks through the distorted visions brought on by his pounding head, sending pain to travel down his neck the minute he decides to move.
Slowly and cautiously, Nickolai attempts to sit up. His head is still spinning, and his mind is lost, blinded by the unforgiving pain and aches. He takes a moment, inhaling solid and heavy breaths. He lets himself digest where he is, yet everything feels like a blur—foggy memories and misguided thoughts. He’s soon sitting there, with the leaves attached to his clothes. His knee, still unbearable, makes it harder to even pick himself up.
It hurts to look up; it only sends the sharpest pain to his temple where he’s been hit. The lingering scent of blood taps his nose as it taints the side of his face. Clearing his mind, as much as possib
le, he takes a deep breath and breathes in through his nose, before consuming all his strength and gathering himself to push and pull himself up from the earth.
Standing there still disorientated, he runs his hand over his head feeling the prick of the hairs fighting against his harsh palm. His hair grew a lot faster than most, whether it was his elven genetics or not. It soon hits him what’s happened and the pressure of fright stammers in his chest.
Lost, injured, and dazed, Nickolai attempts to find his way back – with only one reason.
He could run. He could hopefully find somewhere else. He could never return, but he has Jake, and he’s already been out there alone for what feels – judging by the growth of his hair – two days top. Who knows what is running through Jake’s mind right now and that itself send a drop of panic through Nickolai. He knows all too well what it feels like to lose someone – not a day or night goes by that they don’t spread through your mind – and he can’t bear the thought of Jake struggling to deal with it.
His hands cover and curl over his head, as his ears drop slightly as his shoulders hunch, wanting to run and hide. Anxiety rushes through him in hefty waves. His confidence and sense of strength are shattered.
Clenching his jaw and swallowing the thick knot in his throat, he clears his throat and starts towards the sun heading east.
He can’t shake the feeling that this particular section of forest and bush are somehow familiar, yet he’s never been here before. Each time, he darts his sharp eyes across to look at the swaying trees arching above.
He’s soon greeted with a very strong screeching sound, familiar in ways he tries to remember. It’s the same sound he heard when he saw Dana hanging by a tree. Goosebumps wrap around his entire body as he moves closer towards the sound.
