Devil for a Lost Cause

Fifty-Two

Upon hearing the new voice, I keep my head low. I have no desire to see the face it belongs to.

"Jules," it chastises, "I believe I said not to speak with him until I arrived."

A hand grazes the collar of my shirt, and I can't help inching away from it. It tugs the material down, exposing my disfigured flesh.

There's a light sound of disapproval. "And I see you've butchered him like he's another of your victims. How cruel of you." The material drops back down, the hand moves away, and I breathe again. "You have disappointed me."

"I couldn't help myself," Steven says without inflection. "He wouldn't shut up."

"You never could help yourself. Not even when you dealt with the Rising South."

My head snaps up, and I'm looking at Andrew in front of me, Steven not far behind. I've gathered it was Steven killing for Andrew. What I don't know is whom exactly he killed.

"The Rising South?"

"You remember the Traitors Massacre, right Samuel?" Andrew asks. I see it on his face that he's entertained by my obliviousness. When I don't answer, he continues, "After I worked with the Rising South, I knew I would need to get rid of them someday. It took years, but I finally found the most efficient way to do so." He plants a hand on his chest. "I couldn't have them kill that many people and give them the chance to tell someone it was all my idea or blackmail me, now, could I? Especially with my election coming up."

That's what Genna May was talking about in her interview with that reporter. That's why she sensed she would die soon. Because Andrew was sending Steven after the Rising South. They weren't random killings. Andrew did to the rebels exactly what he did to me. He used them until he no longer needed them, and then he figured out a way to shut them up.

There's a spark inside of me, a match flicking against my insides. And then a blazing fire.

And I'm throwing myself at him, and the only thing that stops me are the chains. "Monster!" If I had any doubt in my mind before, it's gone now. "You"—my voice cracks— "how could you?"

Andrew's unimpressed by my tantrum. "I needed something to raise me up, and what better way than to create catastrophe and become a light for those in their darkest times?"

"You're sick!" I yell. "You murdered hundreds of people!"

"Yes, and if I remember correctly, most were Southerners. Not my concern."

"But they were! You were their State Leader after, and they believed in you too. They had hope you'd care for them."

"A facade they succumbed to completely of their own accord. What have I told you about being fooled twice?"

"My father—" I break off, unable to breathe. "My father was there that day," I say, as if I'd forgotten and had to remind myself, but how could you have forgotten, Sam? How?

He looks surprised for a moment but says nothing. Instead, he rubs his hands together like a praying mantis. "I hired the Rising South for their passionate anger at defying The New Arrangement. They'd have done anything for revenge, it seemed, even on their own property. But that's all I needed from them. Afterwards, I had to get rid of them. I'd been killing them off slowly for years until I met Jules. With his help, I've eliminated so many more in a short amount of time. You understand," he finishes. "It's like that Southern saying: it's simply how business is run."

The chains howl as I thrash against them, strain to wrap my hands around his throat. He's not five feet from me and all I am is powerless because I can't reach him. I lift my leg, attempt to kick him, but I'm too weak, and it falls flat.