The Saint

THIRTY - NINE

THIRD PERSON

Charles's eyes went black, then red, then white, and back to black. He could feel his blood leaving him, his mind following swiftly.

But he held on to one thought.

I'd die in this room, knowing I couldn't get out or help a little girl. I'll die a bastard.

While others could argue for hours on how he was wrong, for the time being, that self pity was what kept him sane.

Or, alive, if Charles was really desperate.

And maybe in a dream, maybe as he slowly slipped, out of the brightness and into the dark, he'd think and linger to the little hope he had.

That a loud BANG, and screams would fill the area. Voices, strong, would echoed throughout the halls outside his room.

That Dominic would quickly and quietly come through that door and shut it like it would help. Charles would see his hazel eyes, warm, this time filled with emotion as he tried to help. Even if he couldn't.

That as the screams got closer, his eyes opened, really opened, and saw his guardian angel. A hope, a chance, that he didn't knew he had. That he didn't know he wanted.

But when Charles saw Aaron - his warm blue eyes, flushed tanned skin - he abandoned every thought of it being a dream.

Aaron leaned into Charles, almost like a hug, but both of them refused to think that. Certainly not at a time like this.

Every voice was muffled, even the soft bangs a few feet away - Charles knew were gunshots - were blocked out.

Charles kept his eyes on Aaron as he carried him out and into the war zone in the hall. Most were dead, yeah, but it felt alive.

A battle was still going on. Maybe it just called a time out.

As Aaron dragged Charles out of the building and into the sun, as Aurora pulled the rest of the Cruz's into the van, Victoria paced in worry.

The T.V. was on, and one only knows what that would do to a childs mind.

The news - fake or not - was right in front of her, bleeding the light into her eyes.

The reports of gunshots, attacks, violence, all of it fitting with a group. A face Victoria knew as friendly for the most part.

It was small, and pixelated, sure, but Tori knew exactly who she was looking at. And not the just the people helping her, no.

A certain man responsible for her entire life.

Victoria stepped back and fell purposely on the couch again, running a hand through her hair. It had grown, more than she had expected.

It now reached closer to her waist.

As Victoria sighed in stress, the younger Cruz brothers gathered in a separate van.

They all shared kowing looks with each other, keeping their eyes away from the blood staining and dripping off their clothes. Liam looked over to Jacob, his posture and expression.