Mark of the Phantoms

Chapter 8: The Truths & Lies We Tell

She is afraid of attracting dirt, he thought.

Of all the things that crossed his mind, he did not anticipate that she would be afraid of all things unclean. He wondered what that was like, not being able to touch another human being just because you think you can feel the dirt but not actually see it.

     "How sad," he said to himself.

He examined the paper in his office and considered the implications. If she is indeed selling information, she must die. If the information of the plan is on the document and Edward Cutler is able to intercept it, they will all perish. The risk of failure is too great. He concluded that not allowing her to send letters was the final decision.

He massaged his temples and removed his vest. Drawing a key from a drawer, he exited the office.

The key was placed in the keyhole of the office door and he shook the knob to make sure the door was securely locked. The members of his gang knew not to enter the office without permission, however, Keris had yet to acquire the habits of the place.

He walked over to his bedroom and cast a glance down the hall toward Keris' room.

     "Afraid of dirt," he laughed to himself.

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The next thing he knew, he was awake, staring out the window at the night sky. As he sat up, he became aware that he had fallen asleep earlier than he intended. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was nine o'clock at night, and he smiled as he remembered Keris having stolen his watch a few days before.

Aleixo rose from his bed and removed his shirt. As he looked in the bedroom mirror, he ran his hand through his hair. His eyes fell to the mark on his lower abdomen. The scar had been a constant reminder of the hardships he had endured to reach this point. Aleixo would not allow himself to forget, not while the scar remained.

He walked over to his bedside table and opened the lowest drawer, revealing a pack of cigarettes and other things that he hardly came for.

Aleixo held the box in his hand thinking back to when he began smoking cigarettes when he a young boy, 13 years old to be precise. All because he thought it would make him sound more manly. Most of the men he knew as a young boy who smoked used to have rough, deep voices and he considered them men even though they were crooked thieves or had a job with cleaning floors at pubs and taking out the trash. After a while, Aleixo too began to develop a deep, rasping voice.

Aleixo always felt sheepish when Armin would tell him, "Cigarettes don't turn you into a man."
Armin always told him that he still sounded "young and fresh." Aleixo stopped smoking cigarettes around Armin so he didn't have to hear him talk about him in such a childish manner, but this did not necessarily prevent it from occurring.

He ignites the cigarette with the lighter he found in the top drawer of his bedside table. For the first time in a while, Aleixo felt satisfied. Relieved. It wasn't often when he was faced with such a quiet time to think. Quiet is what he loved. As much as he wanted to and was going to rise to the top and be running all of Aclea as if they were puppets, the other side of him just wanted to live as he did when he was a young child.

He had no responsibilities and he could run out in the meadow with his puppy Marco and return home to his Mamá who would've been making Trehamá. She would tell him one of the stories he used to get so tired of as a child but he would do anything to hear again: The King Made of Gold.

     "There once was a time when a king rose to power and when he thought he could trust his people, and show them that he was made of gold, they took advantage of their king. It did not matter whether he gave them food or homes. They took his crown and limbs until nothing but his heart was left. A heart that was not made out of gold but cared for its people. A heart that gave the hungry food, that gave the poor money, that rebuilt homes and threw village feasts.