She stood in front of the tall mirror on the pale wall, eyeing her new look with a certain distaste.
The previously raven black hair where now a shade lighter with prominent grey lines running through with the cautious perfection of the age she was supposed to look. She had pulled them up into sinister bun, not one stray hair out of place: fitting the typical description of how agents looked like: a casual grey shirt with black dress pants making her seem sharp and prim. Even her twenty year old face was painstakingly modified to match the decades of age she had seemed to gain in one day; the crease lines painted in brown over her olive skin, cheeks gaunt, a striking contrast to her bright, alert eyes. Her contour palette had done her face well. She pulled out a few loose grey hairs, to match the frayed ends spraying out from the face now resting with a horrified expression on the cold marble floor.
"Impressive." She murmured in a low voice as she deliberated on strangely meticulous and hauntingly familiar resemblance.
She stepped over the pool of warm blood that lay around the grey haired head. The cold metal pressed against the pocket of her pants. Even he room she was in belonged to her. It had cemented walls and a strong smell of parchment and female perfume, Channel 5 to be specific. The room was dim, but lavishly ancient with a grandfather clock ticking and chiming on one edge. It was too large; with its attached bathroom and shelves of boring books, its walls printed with the success stories of the now dead agent.
She suddenly smiled. A devious terrible smile. The agency she had so long wanted to visit, she was standing in its largest room. It had always been the Asian agency: just that, no questions asked. But now she knew. Down to every detail; the secret whereabouts, the ins and out, the strong lineage of agents that ran this place. She was now one of them. Luckily, no one was ever going to ever catch the fake identity she was now living with such a strong resemblance. And as she had stripped the dead body of the small cell phone and the wireless earpiece, learnt who were the dead agent's friends and foes. But in her head, the plan was crystal clear with only one real enemy in front of the rest of the pawns.
This was like a game of chess. A clever game whose outcome was clear in her head. The battle plan was ready, the pawns ready to be played first. So many years of planning how to defeat the unbeatable, she realized the power a gun had over mankind. Such a small cost, just human blood.
But terrible things had happened. And terrible things had to be done. All for the greater good. Every knight on the defense line had to be slowly taken down until the King acquired his rightful place. Slowly, but they would get there.
Suddenly the ear piece she had connected to her own cell phone buzzed.
"Is the job done?"
His briskness was not surprising. He had been like that as long as she remembered, tough and silent, but a mastermind at work. Her lips swirled into a smile she had no control over.
"Of course. Did you think otherwise?"
And she herself was no less of devious planner. She observed, she knew what others hid, she knew where to poke, which bark to scratch. And most of all, she knew when to strike. Like a hungry snake with its eyes set of the prey, a trap so tight it was impossible to escape. She was perfect for the job. They adored her.
"Where are you?"
"In my room, where else?"
"And where is she?"
"On my floor, dead."
She threw the woman another fleeting glance, remembering how she had caught her on the blindside.
"Not her."
She stiffened. She had understood the plan perfectly. But the dark mystery shrouding him was that other girl. The one he was always asking about. The one he had spent years searching. She just couldn't understand why that girl was so important to him. That girl brought out the best in him, the most human she had seen him so far. But she also brought out the worst: that which could attack all and everything that stood in his way.
"I don't know. Somewhere, breathing."
She knew she was testing him. She really couldn't help it. She was besotted and drunk on the idea of him. Of his power and royalty. She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
He uttered a deep growl.
"Last time. Where is she?'
"She safe. Probably in some room. They've sent the paramedics after her."
"Good." She could hear the relief in his voice. "Is she up yet?"
"Not yet." She answered.
"So that's it?"
"No. We have a bit of a problem."
"Did something happen to her?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. But something will happen to me if this dead body is not taken off my floor in a few minutes. The room will start smelling."
"Find a way to dispose of it."
"How do you expect me to make a middle aged woman disappear into air without the guards at every corner not noticing?"
She heard him sigh. "I'll send some men over. Package her into a delivery box or something."
She wanted to object but he was gone as swiftly as he had come.
~
The drug was starting to wear off. Her eyes blinked, her entire body feeling as if she had been stung by a hive of angry wasps: heavy and dull, but pricking. She tried to lift her head but the hazy world was spinning and she found herself fading out, somewhere away from this world until very thing turned black, even her thoughts. She struggled to stop herself from falling into this thick mist.
She tried to move but pain shot through her arm and a different droning pain clouded her head. Steadily her vision turned from black to white. The white was everywhere. She took in the different white shapes: her abode, washed in white, was a spotless room, illuminated by bright white, with a small bed at the far end, standing upon the clean white tiled floor. The covers were white, so were the sheets. Even the clothes she was in were white. She immediately disliked the white she was at the mercy of; it was sickening because it felt so untainted. She sat up. It was cold, the air dry and musty, smelling like disinfectant. She stared at her papery white skin: so pale; it might as well blend against the white. Both her wrists and the sides of her feet were marked by long, wrinkled, faded red crosses, each a mark of where she had been pierced. She moved her muscles before numbness consumed her as a whole, just staring at the white, silent and still. Just hearing the rhythmic beating of her heart, like a drum, that sounded annoying against the silence.
And then she realized: she was breathing.
But sanity crashed into her like a freight train, the physical pain nothing compared to the wave of reality that surged strong, and when it slammed into her, making her feel like the air had been knocked from her body; the dark realization followed by the pain.
Searing. White. Molten hot pain. She felt it trying to killing her, steadily, ripping her, gnawing her to pieces. Pain gushed out of impeccable horror. Inescapable. It enveloped everything in sight and there was nothing left. It was everywhere.
She screamed.
~
"She's screaming."
Even through those thick walls, she could hear her loud, shattering screams. That definitely meant that the drug hadn't been strong enough to knock her out for as long as she wanted. Her small cell was a few doors away from her large room, under high security but this special treatment for her was starting to irk her.
"She will." He replied. "She remembers."
"Now what am I supposed to do?"
He seemed to be thinking. She could almost imagine him, torn between this reality and his desire.
"They are going to question her. They will want to know what she knows." He said slowly, not answering her question. "And she will lie."
"How do you know?"
She knew he did not like being asked questions. Nor did he like some challenging him. But today he surprised her with his generosity.
"I've known her all my life. She is very unpredictable, but I know her defense mechanism. It's always a lie."
"But why would she?"
"Because she has trust issues. More than normal people. She will never say a word of what she knows. But we do. More than she does. Use that against her. Give her as limited knowledge as possible."
She was surprised. He spoke like he was a second skin to her instinct. It made her curious. What was so special about that thin, gaunt, screaming girl?
"How much is there that she needs to know?"
"Even lesser of what they will tell her. Make sure you have it under control. They will obviously try their best to hide her. Let them give the reason."
The plan was fitting into place. All the tiny pieces. The horrifying truth that would descend on her. The dark secrets the world was oblivious to, ready to unfold.
~
She could only count the days that passed. She realized it would be physically impossible to run away from such high security and surveillance and unknown location. Someone had found her passed out, half unconscious, but breathing. She was a hostage, all alone in this flat and empty place, struggling to escape memory. It trespassed and infiltrated her mind, effortlessly and she was helpless, almost powerless in trying to contain it in.
The night of 8th of the sixth month of the calendar. The night that cursed her to the dark. The night of horrifying memories. The bitter taste seizing. Spurred by lack of understanding. Too deep in murky confusion. The dangerous broth of what she had envisioned. The regret, the cold pain, the warm blood.
She had yelled her throat out, screamed at the top of her voice until she couldn't anymore. Just to find anyone who understood – someone who knew what loss and pain felt like. She kept screaming until her throat clogged up and kept screaming even though no sound came out. She banged her hands against the hard metal door, thrashing but she was only met by silence on the other side. She wanted to be angry, lash out all her raging fury at someone. She wanted someone out there to be punished.
But the ones to blame were too far from her reach.
She knew what she had seen that night would always be in her mind: she could not erase such a fresh wound that always reappeared, raw, grimy and bloody. It had scarred her for life. She did not want to believe it. She thought it was some crooked dream and she would wake up to find everything the way it was. But reality struck her hard when she woke up, cramped and pain coursing through her body. The events of that night prickled in her brain, still fresh and cut through like a sharp edged paper.
The one thing that kept her going was the pendant in her neck, silver and cold against her chest. She clutched onto it as if it was life, life that hung around her neck. She curled up on the floor, murmuring to herself, eyes wide open, that it would get better. She held onto her pendent which rocked against her chest and she could see it, sense it even when she sat in the cold dark.
There were voices. Angry and shrilly. In her head and her veins felt like they would explode into fragments from the tightness and the burden of her thoughts that weighed down on them. They would torment her, racing and burning her head, and she wanted to rip open her head, so the contents would spill out, along with the voices.
'Get out, get out.' She crazily repeated to herself until the words messed up into out, out, out. She screamed with every ounce of energy she could muster. Her breathing came in short rasps, thick and hateful. She banged her head against the wall, wildly clutched and tugged at her hair, anything that could make the voices go away. She wanted to see the voices dissolve into the blood she poured out from her split forehead. She wanted the red to splatter the white. Her frustration took the worst turn. Glaring at the walls, rapping at the door, screams erupting from the depths that fueled the fire searing in her throat and the acid burning through my veins. Helplessly, she convulsed, thrashing, with the agonizing pain in her head.
The hoarse screams reverberated, beating the walls with the howl of a girl who discovered her helplessness and clawed at it. She could almost hear her own raging screams echoing off the white walls.
Was this the dead end that every maze has? The one which comes across with no way out? And was seconds before you realize the screen flashes 'GAME OVER'?
~
"Tie this over your eyes."
The mysterious door finally opened. It startled her, this change in the monotony – the dead emotions alive but captive to her brain. A burly man in uniform with a badge clinging onto the left of his shirt walked in, face blank like an unshuffled deck of cards, heavy footsteps that made her stomach plummet further down. She immediately stood up, peering suspiciously at the white uniform, so spotless, it hurt her eyes. He threw her a blindfold and she stared at the black shapeless cloth and back at his face, as if he had gone clinically crazy. And this change in the monotony, with his monotonous voice made her delirious, half dead but awake, smelling the sharp cold and inhaling whiteness, the hateful, dreaded whiteness. Because whiteness was like a fake diamond that sat among the coloured gems like a crack in their perfection, whiteness was like that rough and broken scrap of paint chipping off making the smooth wall ugly, because whiteness wasn't all that pure as it claimed. Whiteness was bewildering and misleading and flicker of hope it would commence was false hope.
White was bad. The room was bad. The man in the uniform was bad.
"Where am I? What's going on? Why –"
She spoke, without a break, jostling up to her feet, until he cut her off loudly.
"Shut up. Get up and get moving."
Helpless, unable to breathe, choking on the words she bit back, she didn't stay motionless: knowing it was the only way she could get answers. With trembling hands she wrapped the cloth over her eyes and strapped it. It cut her off from her surroundings like the dark colour of a tide completely obscuring the pointed rock on the sea bed, the rock that punctured flesh. The guard tried to lead her out, but she flinched, an invisible shield formed around her to protect herself from the devious rocks that could hurt her.
"Don't touch me." She lashed out.
With the black blindfold around her eyes, preventing her to see, she was lead through several corridors with the hilt of a gun jabbing at her back, before she entered the elevator, lead through another five corridors until she entered a room. She was roughly pushed into a chair, her hands handcuffed behind her back. And without another word, the door shut behind her with a soft click. After 56 seconds of counting, she heard a twinging sound, a scratch against wall and then a voice. It felt like it was coming out of a speaker, so she guessed that a system of wired communication was installed in the room. A crisp female voice addressed her.
"Hello, This is Agent 41 speaking. Can you hear me?"
The voice was professional and almost robotic, hinting superiority as it crashed against her skull, like it was gliding on ice, piercing and slippery and cold that numbed her senses, making her sanity melt with horror. She had to stop her lips from quivering as if they were reacting to ice. Her heart was beating so fast it threatened to push its way out.
She did not answer feeling the bitter taste of bitten cheek flesh in her mouth. It was enough to make her feel like she was drowning with a metal brick tied to her neck. Like she was crushing underneath a wall. Desperately, she swallowed in that feeling, breathing out painfully.
Soon would begin the interrogation of the memories she wanted to be untrue, of the memories on the surface that jabbed without scooping deeper. She had seen everything. She knew. But more importantly, her spinning brain told her she needed to come up with a story. A gullible, easily believed story. Fast. Before they dragged her into a rehabilitation center for the rest of her life thinking the reality were hallucinations, and that the red she had seen was white, without her knowing anything about the incident.
No matter what, she couldn't succumb to this interrogation. She had to keep the raging storm at bay.
Don't trust anyone, a voice whispered. No matter what. Trust was a lie. She too deeply wove within every lie. She was a lie.
~
"The girl is crazy."
"Not really." His voice seemed to await further news. He always desperate for more. She had seen her; tall but petite, pale but hauntingly beautiful. Even with the mauve scars running down her arms, like a slender glass ornament that could topple over and break any minute. She was like a ghost in white, but scarier with the beauty she had. And she knew this attractiveness in her wasn't just skin deep.
"She keeps asking for her parents."
"And it never occurred to you she might be lying?"
"Why lie?"
She was trespassing again. But this was going to eat her up if she didn't understand the girl. There were so many indications where she had been completely baffled by her fickleness. Of that spurt of impulsiveness that she flung around like fire. But to keep adding logs to that little fire could ignite a massive flame that could be hard to extinguish. She was waiting for it: it was fun watching extremes leap into unpredictable reactions.
"She knows. She's not stupid. She's waiting for them to tell her what they know."
"They will tell her know tomorrow." She heard him suck in a breath. "Do you need more time?
"No." He finally said. "I need her reaction. She won't cry, as much I know."
His faith in her was astounding. She decided to play her last card.
"Why is this so important? Why don't we just take what we want and kill her at once? End this once in for all?"
She was special. But not enough to continue living. She had to pay for what had been done. And the past was never a clean slate. But what she couldn't have imagined was his incensed tone when he heard her suggestion. He was enraged: like a beast that had ticked off. She had never heard him het riled up so much. She hated that girl for having so much power over him that her suggestion didn't matter to him.
"You are not to speak of how this is done. She is my bloody responsibility. Mine. Say that one more time and I'll make sure it's the end of you."
"I didn't mean that." She hastily covered up. All the black inside her was seeping in, a tight knot wound with a promise that she would avenge this. "It's just that, what if she doesn't remember you?"
"She will. She has to. That drug I gave her was a stimulant. It's going to break past whatever that bloody old man did with her head to make her forget me."
"Are you sure this will work the way it has to?"
"There is no other way. What is mine, can never be someone else's. He should have never hid from me. He paid in the end for what he did, didn't he?"
She just listened to him talk. His only passion was that girl: like a savage predator lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on anything that tried to mark his prey has its. Six years, and his driving force had been her.
~
This continued on, just as she had predicted. They were cautious with their questions. Testing her how much she knew before launching into their actual investigation. They couldn't care less when she had made them believe that she knew nothing. But they were experts and they were ruthless. They twisted the questions, shifted their tones, bribed her, threatened to torture her, tortured her by cutting her food supply for a day. But nothing made her change the story she offered them each day.
For them, she did not remember anything.
But she was desperate. She was confused. And yes - she was angry - the heat filling up her skull rapidly was always a sign. The heat rose all the way to her stomach, making her feel nauseous as her determination refused to give up. She had fired questions like corn grains of cob in all directions, unraveling with raised tones, flowing with words like liquid in a trapped vessel, almost coyly at the irony of them. She acted like a girl oblivious to the dark secrets revolving around her, making her lifeless eyes seem to struggle in its binds, deliriously struggling to free herself of the handcuffs. But each time, her luck diluted, her hopes rippling and crushed as easily. She had wanted answers. But she got none.
Inside that questioning chamber, time lurched, choppy like dense fog and she was suspended in the breath she was holding, plucking away the unnecessary noise to focus. But in this cell, without the feverish commotion, the white silence was spine chilling. A clamp squeezing the veins running in her neck with the burden of the staggering amount of lies, growing steadily higher, unruffled but secluded to challenge the burning memory in her mind. Anything was better than when she was left alone to solitude. She became numb; like she was she was surrounded in blood while those scenes of red horror replayed in her mind, she could feel all emotions being sucked from her interior. She was supposed to be hurting, but all feelings of paranoia and depression were draining out, much worse when she was enveloping in emptiness: another tired, empty girl with a lonely world brewing inside. Like she didn't want her world to be fixed. She wanted it to remain shattered so she could feel the hurt, just feel.
It was times like this she felt that she was going insane. There was no way to release it all out, no one to talk to. Nothing to relieve herself with, or occupy herself with. Nothing but staring at the blinding whiteness. She would sit in the room constantly repeating the word in her head. She crouched down on the floor and murmured the words to herself.
"It was my sixteenth birthday. I was driving with my friends when I got a text. I was waiting for my surprise. I walked up to that house in the middle of that deserted street. My parents..." She choked. She couldn't go any further.
And then, she wanted to explode.