He feared death. He enjoyed facing it, almost meeting it, the rush was to die for. Other people facing death, that death he feared. How he could bring his cousin in to this...?
You couldn't have know.
What does, 'You've been dared,' exactly entail?
That's the thing, you don't know. He couldn't have known.
But he should have.
He was stuck on his own hubris, thinking he could enter this challenge, that it was all a joke, and even if it wasn't... hoping it wasn't...
What kind of sick fuck was he?!
"We'd still be at the beginning."
Aimé wearily lifted his head. "What?"
The agent smiled kindly at him, squatting down beside him, though he didn't know when he himself came to sit on the ground. "At least, this way," the blond said, "he helped us get one step closer to saving others. He died a hero."
The brunet gave him an incredulous look. "By accepting an email request?"
He was met with a glare. "He's a HERO." That kind smile still remained stubbornly locked in place. His eyes said that if he lost it now, he might not be able to get it back. "You're a hero. If it wasn't you, it'd have been someone else. It's best that it was you, and even him." He let his eyes travel to where the medics were packing things up, taking the body to the hospital. "It's best this way," he breathed out, trying to convince himself, trying to reason out the 'why' for this pain in the grand scheme of things. "It's best." Those brown eyes tried to convince him.
Aimé didn't say anything, couldn't say anything.
---
He didn't speak English well, nor could he be blamed for such. How was he to know that learning Latin wouldn't be nearly as helpful as an actual living language outside of Vatican City?
Still. Richard was a genius. He could figure this out. English took it's roots from Latin. Ergo, it shouldn't be too overly hard to learn.
He'd learned Japanese in less time.
His lovely captive mumbled something. All he caught was, "... Jesus Christ..."
"Did you need something, Love?" he asked, turning to the next page in his English book.
A sigh passed forth from her beautiful lips. "Richard... How long are you planning to let this go on?"
Jessica, her long, dirty blonde hair flowing down the back of the chair she was chained to, seemed irritated sitting across from him, next to the fire place. Her lips were set in a thin line as her hazel eyes sought to boil his body made up of sixty percent water.
He licked the tips of his fingers, turning another page. "Until I've completed your dare."
"And what if I dare you to stop this? Put an end to this right now."
"Then, I'm afraid, I would not end it how you would want." His response was smug. His eyes were turned away from her.
Her glare continued. "You've never cared about what I've wanted."
He looked incredulously at her. "What you've wanted?" His eyes turned steely, to diamond, even, made to cut. "What about what I've wanted? What about my dare to you?"
She bit her lip, eyes to the fire. "You're request was too ambitious. It's ultimately my decision," her deadly emerald eyes flickered back to him, "not yours."
His eyebrows rose, so did the ends of his mouth. "Are you suggesting I take it by force?" He carefully closed his book, setting it aside on the nearby side table.
She scoffed. "It's already been long gone. Nothing more than a whisper in the wind."
"Then, for you to wait so long, I feel as though your dare has only grown." He edged towards her, up out of his seat, fingers brushing the side table as he passed as if his hand needed to be dragged along such solid surfaces, like a magnet. "I've kept my eye on you." His hand dragged. "No boyfriend for more than a week." It dragged up the arm of the chair, a hairs-width away from her skin at points. "No reason to believe you found any of them worthy." He rested his hand on the back of her chair, just near her head and those delicious strands of sunlight. "It's heartening to know that, in this, I can be your first," he placed his other hand on her knee, "and last..."
Her eyes wavered, her mouth line shook with the force to keep it straight. "All this... for a kiss?"
His blue eyes were wild. His hair did nothing to obscure it. "Much more than a kiss now. More than your first."
Over the countryside, a star fell.
---
Our move. We need to move.
That much was made clear by the madman who killed Moïse.
They weren't moving fast enough. They couldn't move fast enough.
The weapon that struck the government official in Hong Kong, among others and his cousin, had proven elusive, moving faster than a bullet to return, presumably, to its owner.
How fast it was moving at any given time was another matter altogether to deal with, for it obviously slowed down some upon approaching its prey, or else there'd be more of a mess to clean up with the bodies. How something could accelerate and decelerate so fast was beyond him. It had to be going as fast a a jet to start out with, probably much more than that...
"Shit." Calixte downed his glass.
Sitting there at the pub, drinking whiskey while his second cousin -- a college age student for Christ-sake! -- sat sulking in on himself, barely touching his water he ordered, claiming he was too respectfully depressed to turn to such a measure -- What a load of bull!
He downed the next glass the bartender set before him.
He was coming undone in front of this kid. He didn't like not being in control of his emotions like this, but at least he wasn't completely caving into himself like his partner. There was still hope. Their cousin gave them a lead.
They knew were the bastard was, where he was hiding. But it was a complicated situation --They always are -- and his commander said to wait.
His leg was bouncing up and down. He glowered into his glass, his distorted reflection.
Wait?!
His insides were screaming. He wanted action. He needed justice.
But so did that girl.
Captive situations were the worst. They had to consider if the person was worth saving, worth the price, which it usually was if it was at all possible to get them out of the situation. They had to at least try.
It was their duty.
But his duty was seeming less and less reliable.
Right now he needed an out. He needed to just go. There was no planning to be done. Who ever was doing this was exceedingly smart. All the planning in the world wouldn't do anything. Drones and other tech might be good to use, but who was to say he couldn't scramble all the signals, sending such ammunition back on them?
This was a game to the villain, wasn't it?
It was designed to have a villain, a damsel, and a hero. It even had a side character who was close to the hero dying in order to give him a cause. A truly story book villain in all regards.
Playing war with him wouldn't get them anywhere if all the villain wanted, all they needed was Aimé.
'And that was it, wasn't it?' he hummed in thought. 'The only one they needed to beat the villain was Aimé.'
The question was whether or not his commander would let him take the kid along on the operation. It'd already been made clear that he was seen as just another civilian, a liability. The fact that he'd decided to let the kid drive Nadine for a test run, and he did so horribly, gave them even less confidence in the kid, even if he was a major player in this game the villain was playing, and made them question Calixte's role to competently evaluate and act in this situation, in which it was fairly obvious he was way too involved in.
He doubted very much that he'd be allowed to move at all, given the circumstances.
"Fuck this shit." Aimé had his stool in a death grip, his head bowed. "Fuck. This. SHIT!" He abruptly stood up, wiping his hand across the bar, sending his glass of water flying into the wall.
The bartender's yelling at the kid seemed like background noise as Calixte numbly starred at the heaving chest of his family member. The young man's eyes seemed to be glowing unnaturally in the dark of the pub.
They needed to move, and soon, before he lost another family member to this madness.
God, he needed another drink.
'On est loin, on est loin du jardin d'Eden
Éternelle réalité'
He lifted his next glass of whiskey up to his mouth, answering the cell he'd shoved in his jacket from the box, the one given to Aimé, the evidence his agency neglected to collect, with a gruff, "What?"
"If your gonna make your move, make it now."
Click.
It seemed like his director was going to have to realize what needed to be done, even if it wasn't protocol.
"That bastard." He set down his glass and stood up, paying for their tab. "Let's go, kid."
He didn't miss the snap of blue orbs as he made his way to the door, ignoring the still screeching bartender.
---
Now he had a mother, someone to share his creator's, his father's, creativity. In fact, he always had her. Without Jessica, Richard would never have thought of him. She was as much his creator as Richard.
The problem was, she was resisting, resisting their family.
She was already a part of it.
'What was there to resist?' he wondered, as she sat listlessly on the floor.
She'd screamed and cursed his creator, but they were a family. She was Richard's love. He knew this because Rich always told him such. That he, their child, was the key to proving his worth to her, to completing her dare. She lacked understanding in this, as Richard knew she would. She was always like this, but he, their child, was also the key to her understanding.
They would live and die together, of this he was sure.
Their dares intertwined their lives. Dares were like vows, he'd learned. Dares were bonds that were not to be broken.
His mother had tears running down her flushed cheeks, eyes vacant, eyes on him.
His father was humming to himself, studying his computer screens on the other side of the room, eyes flickering back on occasion, drawn to his child.
He himself sat fixed on a pedestal between them, a spotlight shining down on him, reminding them of all that was between them because he was their creation, their responsibility. He cannot be forgotten.
They are waiting for the last dare, the last vow, the last bond. This one was different. This one was with an outsider, a man none of his creators had ever met. A dare left to chance. A dare to end all dares.
Richard had picked this young man. To what end was unclear. What this bond was, it was a mystery to him. Rich had barely mentioned him. All he knew was that the man he last killed was important, strategic, to his father's cause.
His father did not say why or how this was important, this man he killed, this hero to come. He just said he appeared as an 'interesting' candidate, laughing all the while.
It was hard to tell what his creator was thinking once he was out of his head, given physical form. It'd been disorienting, but not altogether unpleasant. His father praised him in this form, cradled him like a newborn babe, loved him.
He had a family, a life, and he was going to protect it.
---
Calixte was driving Nadine.
He didn't care where to as long as it was to that bastard, which his second cousin assured him of such.
He didn't care how they'd stop this guy, either.
Richard Lefebvre, was his name.
Aimé couldn't wait to kill him, do something to him, anything to hurt him.
He was going to play the hero, the hero who won and saved the girl, a girl he didn't know but knew she needed saving.
Jessica Fournier.
He'd save her from this man who thought it'd be a good idea to kill people and take over the world with a boomerang.
The idea of it was so idiotic that it was genius. It was working. No one could stop a fucking boomerang. STAMA, Calixte told him, had tried several times already. The only reason the rest of the world was unaware of what was really causing these assassinations was because of them. How was any government supposed to explain and/or clean up this mess? STAMA was there, but there was only so much they could do.
Calixte reminded him again that this was an off the books mission. STAMA couldn't report to the governments of the world that an untrained op was going into the field and had, hopefully, succeeded.
STAMA would come up with a cover story for whatever happened, but, regardless, they were not getting the credit, which was fine by him and fine with Calixte. He knew the older man had to spell this out to him before hand, before going in. If they failed, there would be no backup. No one would be coming to save them. If they died there, it'd be a nameless death.
Lightning cracked outside his window among dark black clouds. It was like being on an airplane in how he was able to see it. The only difference was that a flying car named Nadine, no matter how high-tech, felt less safe than a bigger machine up in the sky. Turbulence was easier to feel on a smaller body.
He felt his stomach turning over and over. He knew he should be nervous for what he was going to face with Richard, but he very much doubted all of the unease was coming from that thought alone.
"Aimé," Calixte looked worried. "If you're not feeling right, we can land and wait this storm out. I know the turbulence can't be easy on your stomach, especially if you're not used to flying all the time."
"No." He gulped, gripping the armrests, feeling his stomach do a somersault as they hit a particularly rough patch. "I'll be fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Just get us there. The sooner the better, right?"
Calixte didn't say anything, turning back to steering.
His GPS said they'd be arriving in five minutes. Five minutes wasn't soon enough.
Gazing out the window, the streaks of water droplets running across it, he glared at his faint reflection. The reflection of a killer.
His actions got Moïse killed... and dammit all if he wasn't going to make it right.
---
Aimé had been silent most of the way to this "Richard" guy's house, and what he did say didn't put his mind at ease on where the younger man's mind was.
He wished he could reassure him, tell him everything was going to be okay, but he couldn't. They both knew the risks. He was very blunt about telling Aimé them. He wanted the kid to have no delusions as to what lay ahead for them.
They were simply a two man team that was not their to face this threat. They were, to the world's knowledge, still sitting, mourning, over at that pub, pissing off bartenders with their unreasonable actions.
"You've arrived at your destination."
Perhaps house was not the word to use for what he saw.
'No, definitely not,' he thought, gazing at the layout of the behemoth from up above.
It was a modern styled mansion set in the middle of a green valley. Obviously the modern style was a remodel. He could still see some of the design and structural elements of an older home that the home owner had decided to add on top of.
"So that's it?" Blue eyes glared at the structure, as if it's mere existence was somehow at fault for their cousin's death.
"It is. You can see it used to be some old manor out here. Probably belonged to some nobleman's family, back in the day. Some of the original arches and pillars are still in tact."
Aimé glared at him, sending a chill down his spine with how much ice filled them.
Guess the kid wasn't so much up for discussing architecture and home decor.
He probably shouldn't have tried to push off the inevitable with small talk.
It was odd how much he was now dreading this. It was going to be a last stand and, at the bar, he was all jittery, too antsy to sit still and let this injustice slide. Now? He felt the flame of revenge in his stomach like he had before, but it had dulled, common sense coming in. Getting more sober after all that whiskey probably helped. After all, it was a fairly long drive to their destination, even if it was in Nadine. Plenty enough time to drink some water and get focused on reality, the possibility of more death. The fact that someone was going to get hurt in all this. It was inevitable and it hadn't overly sunk into him, running out of that bar, that he might be running to his death. That he'd probably hurt his family more than do any actual good with the kid in tow.
But, there was no helping that now. They both new the risks. They just weren't smart enough to back down now before it was too late, even if the world was probably riding on them succeeding. At least then they'd have a higher chance of living...
He landed Nadine.
---
This was it.
Adrenaline was pumping. He knew they could be caught and killed at any moment. It was the greatest rush he'd ever felt, and it was also there for the wrong reasons.
He hated the rush.
It was what caused this mess in the first place.
Aimé had to forcibly shake his head at these thoughts. He was better than this. He was smart, right?
Granted, he hadn't exactly proved that lately, especially in the last forty eight hours, but he was. He had to believe that he was less he lose what little confidence he had. He couldn't act all stone face and immovable as Calixte seemed to be right then, leading the way, confidently, down into the villains lair.
He was nothing more than a college student playing at being a hero.
Calixte shot him a look as they stopped on the last landing before reaching the end of the stairs, because this villain's lair was in it's basement, all made of stone. "Ready?"
He sighed, letting a smile pull at his lips bitter-sweetly. "I have to be." Because, like it or not, he was the hero who created some of this mess and it was his responsibility to fix it.
The blond nodded, smiling sadly at his charge. "Then let's go. He's probably waiting for us." He eyed the only things he'd brought with him. "Are you sure returning with his gifts at hand-"
"He gave them to me for a reason. You received the call. The other two have yet to be used. Maybe these," he gestured to the boomerang tucked into his belt and the hairband around his wrist, "are the key to his downfall. He was just nice enough to ship them to me."
Brown eyes appeared doubtful. "Let's hope that you're right." If he wasn't, it was obvious what would happen.
This time the brunet took the lead. "A dare can't be kept waiting for long."
Stepping through the doorway was the hardest thing he'd ever done, and the sight that greeted him was none to happy.
This was a cavern, a tall, wide cavern. He knew they went down quite a few flights of stairs, but to know it was enough of a distance going down to give way for this secret bunker under the surface was unreal. It allowed for, at the center of the cavern, a large pedestal to be raised up, almost to the ceiling. Stairs led up to what was up at the top, shining in gold in the spotlight that shone on it: the boomerang.
He wanted to growl.
He forced himself to look away instead to examine the rest of the room.
On the west side, computer-monitors were mounted on the wall above a large desk. He couldn't tell what they showed at that distance, but, if he had to guess, probably camera feeds from around his estate. It'd make the most sense.
Storage crates were everywhere else, scattered haphazardly, creating paths.
A shifting to his right drew his attention.
Against the east wall, a young woman sat, her ankle chained to the wall. She met his eyes. They were the hazel of the girl he'd seen in the picture, but they weren't the same eyes. They were unaware, void. Tired.
He moved to release her.
Calixte pulled him back, shaking his head at his demanding gaze.
The clapping of hands silenced his question, causing both men on the floor to search for the source.
"Looks like you made it in time Aimé Bonnet." The man stood at the top of the pillar, rounding the smaller pillar that displayed his weapon so well up at the top. "And it looks like you brought your other cousin Calixte Roche with you as well." He mocked him, "Careful it doesn't end up like last time."
"I doubt it will." Aimé had to restrain himself from snapping.
The blond was still there, hand on his arm still, never wavering. They could do this. They just needed to stay calm.
"Oh?" The villain, Richard, looked amused. Thinking of him by his name made him more tangible, more human. He could be beaten.
The brunet on the ground didn't waver in his stance.
"You're right," the man on the pillar relented. "It will probably end in a lot more bloodshed." He looked positively gleeful at the thought, eyes flickering hungrily towards his weapon.
Aimé drew out his own, catching Richard's attention.
"Wonderful! You brought back the prototype." He smiled. "You know, I modified it before giving it to you, gave it a safety measure. The boomerang only works if two people hold hands."
Aimé froze, posed to throw.
What an odd safety measure... So stupid... so was it actually genius?
The younger male was confused, staring down at the weapon in this hands.
Calixte, ever the practical one, said, "It could be a trap." Then he shrugged. "But it's worth a go."
They must have been truly desperate.
Richard waited patiently upon his pillar for them to come to a decision.
The girl to the east sat brokenly.
Joining hands, the cousins flung the boomerang.
It soared to the center of the room, skidding to a stop at the base of it's creators pillar.
Aimé knew it'd be a long shot.
Richard laughed. "You both look so ridiculous. I didn't actually think you'd do it." More laughter rung in their ears. "I left it as my calling card. The damn thing doesn't even work properly."
Irritate, Calixte asked, "Plan B?" His hand was already lifting up his suit jacket to rest on his gun holster
Aimé countered, "Plan C."
They split up, Calixte taking his gun out and running for cover to the left after releasing a few shots at their target while Aimé ran for cover to the right.
"I hate Plan C," his cousin grumbled as he left. Probably because there was no Plan C, or B or A. No plan period. Just show up to fight at a fight you're clearly unprepared for -- that was the plan.
It seemed to be working.
They weren't dead yet.
Problem was, neither was their villain.
He'd managed to deflect the bullets with his trusty golden boomerang, pulling it off it's pedestal to use like a makeshift shield.
He really wished they'd at least made a Plan A... Plan A would have been nice... Or a B or a C.
"Aimé!"
Richard had thrown his trusty sidekick, letting it curve towards him. It was like a bullet, and the brunet knew that bullet speed wasn't even it's optimum speed.
The villain was playing with them.
The weapon glinted in the darkness that was this 'Batman' worthy cave. The shine mocked him in it's golden glory as it shot past him.
'If it'd been platinum, it would have been worth more,' he idly thought, coming to a crouched position from his initial dodge that sent him diving to the side.
As if sensing his thoughts, the boomerang came back in an arch for it's second time around.
Aimé dodged again, just missing the stay weapon on it's return.
Bullets weren't doing any good, even as the agent drew closer to the pillar on the other side of the room. The boomerang shot lasers at the bullets, cutting them out of the air. Why they weren't directed at them and they didn't have more to worry about than a boomerang hitting them in the back of the head was not something Aimé felt like questioning right now. It just further proved that this was all a game.
What it didn't prove was whether or not they'd live through it.
The college student was out of weapons and losing strength fast. He could only dodge so many times while a mad man cackled in the background.
Pink.
He had no more high-tech weapons. They never had much to begin with, even if STAMA was supposed to deal with such tech situations.
But why be high-tech if one can be simple? Stupidly simple.
All he had to do was wait for the boomerang to pass again and get distracted by bullet fire. Though it didn't take more than a second or so, it was still a second.
He unwound it as he dodged, got it ready on the following pass, shot it on the one after that.
It was chance. It was stupid chance and he was stupid, too. This whole game was so stupid that it worked. Ingenious.
---
Richard Lefebvre fell, startled at being shot in the forehead with a pink hairband --his Jessica's hairband, the one she always wore, the one he gave to the hero as a sign of her capture. He couldn't know what it meant.
Richard Lefebvre fell, dirty blond hair in his thoughts.
"I'm sorry..."
Richard Lefebvre's neck snapped upon impact. His dare left incomplete.
---
Richard laid dead on the floor.
She always hurts him in the end.
His creation clattered to the floor, having no more genius to fuel it. It always seemed responsive to him. She wondered if it was sad, if it truly felt the loss of its master.
She wondered a lot of things; why she came here, why she was still here.
Someone was talking to her. Someone was touching her.
She jerked away at the sudden intrusion. "Get him out! Get him out!" she hysterically screeched. She saw blue eyes, blue eyes. Richard's face was intruding. He'd done terrible things, things she was sad for, things she was scared for, things that she'd cared for.
Why did she care?
"Hang on. We'll-"
She felt burning, burning right through her heart. Clutching at it, she felt blood, her heartbeat gone because it'd been blasted through.
The boomerang.
'And perhaps this for the best,' she brokenly thought. 'They both shattered each others hearts. They both knew what they were doing. And, in the end, isn't that the only thing that mattered?'
She was dead before she heard the appropriate response.
---
Death was odd. Death was not needed. Brushing with it so often was unnecessary. Death came when it came, no need to tempt it.
That was why death was unneeded in Aimé's remaining days. He saw enough of it in a span of a few to know his adrenaline seeking days were over. There was no glory in this; in mind or body.
Dead was dead.
He sat, looking at the tomb stones of the couple who died that night. They were buried with each other here on Richard's estate.
It was discovered in Richard's will, for he held no delusions in how his plan would end, that his happiness memories were made here, in this valley, in this sunlight, in this grass, where a game of truth or dare could be played.
Was he sitting here when he dared me? When he picked me?- He had to wonder.
It came to light, while going through Jessica's things, that her journal's also document this place as her safe haven as well. Bittersweet memories that kept drawing her back.
Somehow, it worked out, that she was the closest thing the man --the boy-- had to a family.
Even after all he did to her, he managed to steal her away permanently, thanks to a judge's verdict on the case, and, from what he was allowed to read, which was more than her family got to from her journals (it paid to have a secret agent as a cousin) he couldn't imagine she would argue with the choice in burial.
He sighed, getting up, cane in hand, moving through the weed and brush that had popped up in it's owners absence.
Daring death.
People were so foolish.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Authors Note:
I used quite a few French names and other words in this piece of fiction. I'll tell you what they mean in hopes that you may gain a better understanding of this work and the allusions I've placed.
Of course I can't spell it all out for the reader, but providing some background for what another language is hinting at is appropriate.
Names (in no particular order):
Nadine- Hope
Aimé- Loved Bonnet- Good
Calixte- Wine Cup Roche- rockyshore and/or can denote where french man is from
Jessica- I just like Jessica Rabbit Fournier- Baker from French fourneau "oven".
Richard- Brave Power Lefebvre- Variant of Lefévre, which is likely influenced by the Latin word faber , meaning "craftsman".
Moïse- Moses, deliver
Song lyrics for the cell phone ring tones all by Indila
For the song Dernière Danse: In all of Paris, I abandon myself
And away I fly, fly, fly, fly
For the song Ego: We are far, we are far from the Garden of Eden
Eternal reality,