Sorrel and Myriana

Chapter 7: To Escape Chaos

5 March 1933

Spontaneous escapes reach far from perfection. There is the issue of monetary and provisional hold. Had I known my plans to flee earlier, I would have equipped myself with more capital. It is the one key for a successful break. However, abruption often disrupts the cycle of thought throwing all ideas of necessity into the forgotten. I pay a visit to a small clothing store to exchange my lavished attire with something more common. I ask the clerk about a cheap means of transportation out of the city. Though he seems perplexed by my lack of knowledge in such common matters, he directs me to the train station. The train station, as I have found, is an interconnected network of locomotives where a single ticket can be purchased for the entirety of its journey. I follow the masses as they purchase a ticket from a man trapped within a booth containing a single punctured window. I wait amongst the many individuals as a large crimson conduit with a perforated mouth guard screeches to a halt before us. The inside is lined with booths housing fabric seats. I enter the booth as indicated by my ticket. The journey would be long. It would carry me straight into the next city, Avendale. The estimated journey time would be about five hours, arriving during the peak of night. Therefore, more empty booths than personnel occupy the train.

Traveling into the night, I saw no signs of pursuit; however, sleep still eluded me. The window had shown me many pictures that changed from buildings and houses to hills and valleys. The night is concealed in deep darkness making it difficult to see the hillside. The train is quiet, and the lights are dimmed to almost darkness. It is strange that the stewardesses are no longer circulating. The feeling of unease does not leave my side. I wonder what time it is. I decide to leave the comfort of my booth in search of the time. I call out in hopes that a steward would cater to me. No response. I knock on other booths. Silence prompts me to impinge. There are no personnel in any of the booths. This section of the train is empty. I move to the other sections only to find the same. How can all the individuals on a moving train just vanish? I begin to panic as I run up and down the segments of the train.

Finally, on my third round, I return to my section to find a group of men dressed in dark suits standing full in the aisles. Their faces are blended with the shadows. Some fashion black fedoras decorated with silver ribbon. In their gloved hands, strain the burden of rifles. I swiftly turn to run away. I pry open the door to the next section and find myself boxed in by more armed ruffians. I need no introduction to know that these are his men, Idon's agents.

"Lady Myriana," one of them tips his hat to greet me gentlemanly. I hold to silence. "The boss wants to see you," he informs. I choke back on shriveled air. "This way, ma'am." He extends his hand as the men part to clear a way. I delay. I know what lies ahead. I convulse my head, looking for an alternative. I am completely and utterly surrounded. Bulky men suffocate the narrow belt of this tract. Their scents mingle as musky aftershave.

"Ma'am," says the man gently. I take a deep breath and trot slowly. The men remove their hats in respect as I cross them. It feels as if I am walking to my grave and these men are showing their respect for my loss. There is a booth with open doors. The line of gents leads there. I take another heavy breath and turn into the booth. Sorrel is sitting there fully garbed in uniform. He is wearing a black vest on a white shirt with ebony pants. He has an overcoat hung densely upon his shoulders. His tie is silver with ivory stripes. He is wearing a tilted fedora, black with a silver choker. He is sitting with his legs crossed and arms spread wide across the seats.

"I've been waiting for you, Myriana," says Sorrel whilst smiling. I quickly torque my body the other way to run but his men surround me. "There's nowhere you can run to." I do not doubt his words. There is a solid wall trapping me in this toxic booth. My feet make loose steps as I attempt to find an opening. I flip my body back and forth, each time facing another barrier assembled before me. "Give it a rest," he says. My futile attempts exhaust him, it seems. "Come," he invites, "sit." I turn to look at him. He looks utterly relaxed and triumphant. I am reluctant, but I cannot fight him. I cautiously take my seat before him. I hold my shoulders square as I fold my hands on my lap. Perhaps, if I appear firm, he might not be able to topple me. I anticipate the worst. I have endeavored at escape before, and I am too familiar with the consequences.

"So..." he begins. "What exactly do you think you're doing?" There is no indignation in his tone. He asks a simple and mundane question.

"I'm..." I venture to answer. I don't know what to say that would lighten my sentence.

"Yes?" he beseeches.

"I..." Again, I am stifled for an explanation.

"I, what?" His patience is splintered. "Were you trying to run away again?" Exactly. I am trying but failing. He was not wrong in the completion of my thought, but I just dared not say it out loud. I gulp. Here it comes – the persecution. I glare at him with anxious eyes. He sighs. "Honestly," he says in disappointment, "didn't I tell you before that actions have consequences?" I am bewildered by his lack of brutality. I should be bleeding by now. The anticipation is bitter.

"Are you..." I say in a stutter, wanting this to end quickly. "Are you going to hurt me?" Sorrel is stricken by surprise. His eyes widen, and he stills.

"Myriana," he says in concern, "what kind of man do you take me for?" I tighten my brows in confusion. He grins. This has all been a sick stunt. My body quivers at the sheer sight of that sadistic smile.

"Should I count to three?" he asks whilst preserving his satiated smile. In three, I wonder what will happen. "One," he commences. Should I run? Would it make a difference? My hands are tangled in a sweaty embrace atop my lap. "Two." He slowly steers towards my sentence. My life is game to him. In three, will I hide? Will he seek? "Thr..."

"Kill me..." I finally say in dead tone, cutting Sorrel mid-word.

"What?" Sorrel asks in perplexity.

"Just kill me," the words come out again in a slightly louder tone with more confidence and familiarity. I have released them. Now, they hang in the air. I cannot unsay it. I am ready to face death. It would be a sweeter bliss than whatever else Sorrel has in mind.

"Kill you?" Sorrel questions. "Why would I do that?" He is displeased by the idea.

"Please," I beg, "just kill me." My eyes swell with tears. Sorrel gazes upon them seriously. He reads my pathetic sorrow. His eyes drop their gaze as his mind ponders elsewhere. His lips press together in a straight line. His usual sadistic smile is not surfacing. Ultimately, he sighs.

"Do you hate me that much?" he poses earnestly. I peer into the azure of his eyes and see sincerity.

"Yes." With such sincerity, I answer with the same sincerity. We hold our gazes.

"I understand." He ends our silent scrutiny. He exchanges a glance with one of the man and nods. "I love you, Myriana," he says with great profoundness. "Good-bye." These are the last words that my ears capture. One of the men drives the back of his gun sharply into my skull. This switches my brain off leaving me lost in a blank void. The image of Sorrel is bleached out as his last words echo into tranquility. It is over. I am at peace.

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