Twelve, almost thirteen years together. My guardian, best friend, father figure throughout that whole time. The man that raised me, trained me, loved me like I was his daughter, the man who was so alive only this morning, providing comfort to me in this time of need, is now cradled in my arms, staining my shirt with his blood. I sob and press my forehead to his, cradle his cheek in my hand, beg him to come back, come back, you're not dead, you can't be.... The other people in the room, my enemies, be damned, because they caused this. Simon caused this.
But James doesn't come back. He doesn't stir at all, even when I scream his name at him. After ten minutes, maybe twenty, a thought comes over me. He is in a better place, a peaceful one, with the Elder Gods and the woman he loved. No more war for him. No more stress, fear...he can watch me from the skies.
It doesn't help with the wave of grief that's drowning me.
I lift my head and glare at Simon. "I hate you!" I scream at him. "I hate you, I hate you, I will never help you, never, you murderer, you demon, I hope the Elder Gods damn you with the worst punishment they can think of, because you deserve it, you deserve suffering, you bastard, you hellish cretin..."
I continue to scream insults at him, but it's the "I hope the Elder Gods damn you" that gets to him. He gestures to the soldier-that traitor to his kind-and tells him, "Take her back to the cell. Give her a gown again. And sentenced that human to execution. She has disobeyed orders and I will not tolerate his blood on my hands."
"Oh, so you'll have her blood instead?" I say hysterically as the guard lifts me by the armpits. "You think she's interchangeable with James? You cause his death, you and your power-hungry-your need to conquer-to ruin-" The rest of my ranting is cut off by the guard clamping a hand over my mouth. I stop talking and begin screaming, a high pitch primal screech that is barely muffled by the guard's massive palm. I kick and elbow and fight the guard as he drags me back to the cell that I woke up in. He pretty much throws me in and shuts the cell door with a loud CLANG. He disappears for a moment, then comes back with the gown that I wore yesterday. He shoves it through the bars and sneers at me, "Pick it up."
I consider refusing, but I don't. Instead I take my sweet time, walking over and bending down at the knees to pick it up, not even taking my eyes off the guard the whole time, but instead throwing him my signature death look. He just smirks at me, waits for me to sit down on the cot, then punches in a code of some sort. I can only assume it's a code, judging by the way his fingers are bending and moving, even though I can't remember a key pad being by the cells. Then a faint burning smell fills the air.
"What did you do?" I demand.
The guard smirks again. "Have fun," he just says, and walks away. Odd. Whatever he did, he's not worried about it preventing me from escaping.
"Hey!" I shout. "HEY!" I jump up and grab the bars-and let go just as quickly. I can feel electricity run up my arms, into my chest, and leave through my feet. Some bolts travel to my face, sending a shocking sensation down the tear tracks on my face. I swear, and swear loudly. Then I sit down on the cot, curl in a ball, and sob my heart out. I've never felt so helpless before, so distraught. But now the events of the past two days bear down on me, and I'm struggling to hold onto hope. Bixan knows how many Keepers, Guardians, Trainers, and other people now buried under the Training Base. Astrid. And now James. It hurt too much to bear. My wails of pain echoe through the metal hall, as though the metal mourns for James too. But it doesn't. I'm the only one here lamenting his loss.
I turn my back to the bars and yank the blood-stained shirt over my head. To wear, to smell of, his blood was devastating, but I also don't want to wear the hospital gown. Which, in all honestly, really wasn't so much a hospital gown as a baggy, shapeless cotton night gown. I generally don't like dresses or gowns, depending on their length, because of how exposed I feel down there, and I don't want to feel that way in such a hostile setting. But it's either that or James's blood, and eventually the gown barely wins. I pull it over my head, then shoved my pants down (jeans? Are they jeans?). I consider leaving the pants on, to conserve my dignity, but it looks weird and I don't quite like the texture of the pants.
I am going to admit right here and now that I am rambling to distract myself. Thinking about pants and clothes is a thousand times better than thinking about the fate of my Guardian.
But thinking about other things-stupid things-doesn't last forever. And it feels like I'm stuck in this cell for forever before I have a guest. I have no idea how much time has passed, for it seems to have slowed down. It could be days since James's death, or hours. Or maybe mere minutes. For a time Keeper, I'm having a hard time keeping track of it.
I don't do much in that entire time except curl back up on the hard cot, shiver, and occasionally let a sob shake through my body. On the inside, I'm plotting. Planning. But that's hard when you only have limited options and limited information. I will electrocute myself if I reach through the bars. It won't take long before the electricity kills me, and far too shortly for me to guess the code. I'd have one shot, if that. I don't even know how long it is, or if the keypad is numeral, or lettered-and if so, Human or Azeran?
Duh, I think. That guard's Azeran, so if it's lettered, it has to be in Azeran. Right?
But even if I escaped, what would I do then? Outside is not an option. There's no way I could fly even a space pod to Azera. I'd crash, or drift off into space.
That leaves the portal. But you can't guess where you'll end up-Earth or Tura? I'd be helpless both places. I couldn't make a difference on either planet. Humans are too underdeveloped and close-minded to help. Tura...from what I've heard from Amacus and Alexa, the Turamese are selfish. That's why they entered the battle-not to protect the rift, they couldn't care less about that. They just want to protect themselves only. The Turamese won't help me unless it saved their own skin. And besides the locations, if I go through the portal, I open up a hole in between dimensions. Simon would be able to siege war on Tura.
I get so lost in my thoughts that I don't register anyone coming down the hall until I hear Simon snap at the soldier, "You turned on the electric bars? What the hell's wrong with you? Did I say, once, to electrocute the poor girl?"
"Poor girl, now am I?" I snarl, making him jump. "Funny, you weren't saying that after you killed my Guardian and threw me in a cold cell."
"That was to keep us both safe," Simon says evenly. He looks at the guard. "Let me in, Preed."
Preed opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it. He punches in the code again, then unlocks the cell. Simon steps into the room gingerly. "Leave," he commands. Preed nods his head at his superior once, then leaves.
The second I hear the guard's footsteps disappear, Simon looks at me. "Callie, I came here to say-"
Say what, I don't find out right away, because I come flying at him, arms outstretched. I slam into him, and in turn he slams into the unlocked door, causing it to swing wide open. Simon falls onto his back and I tumble down with him into the hall. I grip the front of his shirt and dig one knee into his gut and the other into his crotch. I press my face close to his and growl, "I don't want to hear what you have to say, you traitorous bastard. You killed James."
Simon throws me off of him, springing onto his feet as he does so. I'm now flat on my back, knees bent slightly. "Let me speak, child," he snaps. Then he face softens, his voice gentler. "I promise you, you can do whatever the hell you want to me. Bixan knows I deserve it."
I pick myself off the floor and gingerly sit on the edge of the cot. Simon makes to sit next to me, but I glare at him and growl, "Not a chance in hell, traitor."
Simon rolls his eyes and leans against the wall across from me. "Callie, I didn't make that woman kill James. Hypnotized people still have some free will. As such, I shouldn't have let her do that. His death was so unnecessary. I'm sorry, Callie. I truly am."
There's a definite note of genuine sincerity. But I still don't believe him. "Poppa said that you wanted him dead."
"Not any more. I regret it now. That was never my actual plan. I made contact with him, told him my plans. Told him what I wanted. He refused. I got angry, even though I knew he was only trying to protect his daughter. I said that until I got what I wanted, I would kill everyone who got in my way of the Training Base, and that his closest friend would be the last to die." He looks down at his hands. "I was having a psychopathic rage, Callie. The same one that takes over me when something doesn't go to plan. I crave perfection and I tend to believe that I'm the only one who can accomplish it, therefor I should be in control." Now he looks at me. "I acknowledge my issues, but I can't control them, Callie, can't you see?"
"So your psychopathic rage caused you to create an unnecessary war?" I ask bitterly. "Caused you to kill your own Guardian-and, perhaps indirectly, killing mine, too?"
"I hated you the moment I heard why you got that power," Simon whispers. "I thought that it ought to be for me, because I was so much smarter than you. I was ten when I first heard of the machine, when I overheard James and Matilda talking about it. I made Matilda tell me about it. You were picked for that power only for your intellect. You were the smartest person picked to be a Keeper-until I came along. But it was too late, you were already assigned Time.
"You and me, we're the two smartest people in existence, though you may not realize that. After a while of envying you, I realized I still had a reasonable amount of control. You trusted me deeply-"
"Not anymore," I snap.
Simon nods sadly. "Not anymore. I screwed that up too. But as a young child, you trusted me. I was your closest friend. As a adolescent, I didn't realize where your true loyalties lie. By the time I did, it was too late. I thought you would convince the Keepers to help me. I thought you were smart, and I thought you knew what was going on. I told you I wanted to protect something. I don't think you were listening closely enough."
"So what happened that night that you disappeared?" I ask. Finally, some things were beginning to make sense.
"I knew that James and Baya were going to have a tryst by the boiler room; I heard them talk about it a couple nights before. I wanted out. I hated Baya for no good reason other than that she was restricting my actions-protecting me, as it were. I couldn't leave without her knowing. So, she had to leave the picture. I hypnotized her into taking her own life.
"Things went downhill then," he continues. "From what I heard, Astrid was the first to know that there'd been a death. She woke up screaming, saying that someone was just killed, but James was already on his way. He found her body, just like I planned. And throughout the whole chaos, I sneaked out and walked through the night to the capitol. I needed recruitments, I needed help. I overheard a few soldiers talking about their disgust in Azera. At the time, I agreed with them."
"At the time?" I repeat quizzically.
"I realized how I really could've done things. Not drag other races into a battle that wasn't theirs. Not cause billions upon billions of deaths-and I wish I was exaggerating. But as a teenager, I wanted everything. Universal domination. I was a megalomaniac, and I set everything into motion. I can't stop now."
"You could surrender," I suggest.
"But I'm so close, Callie. Open the gate. Open it, and I promise I'll surrender." Simon's eyes are large, pleading.
"So you can take your megalomania to Tura? Fat chance."
"No. I want to start over. I want to escape this mess."
"Then why did you make it?" I scream at him. "Why put yourself into it if you can't fix it?"
"Because I was blinded by power!" he bellows back. "Don't you understand, you impertinent child? I don't give a damn about those other people, they were expendable. I want my life goal to come to fruition. And a raving teenage girl won't stop me."
"I'm not the raving one here," I say quietly. This explains it, then. The big war. He wants to make people feel small, powerless. One moment, Simon feels guilty, the next thrilled by the carnage and hell he has created. He switches between two extremes of emotions in an instant. He went off the deep end years ago.
I'm in a cell with a mad man.
"You let me go into that machine on my own time," I tell him. "Don't you force me."
Simon shrugs. "Fair enough." He pushes off the wall and turns to leave. In a flash, I grab his shirt, spin him around, and punch him hard enough to send his head snapping to the side.
"What was that for?!" he shouts, trying to grab my collar. All of Amacus's training kicks in then. I twist out of his grasp, ripping the fabric of the gown, and aim a kick for the knees. He seems to expect it though, and moves away in time, leaving me kicking at empty air. I realize that I miss when I crash to the floor. I smack my chin into the metal so hard I taste blood. I grab his ankle and pull him down hard, and he lands on the floor next to me. I scramble to my feet somehow, and stamp down on Simon's face. I feel his nose break, but before I can pull my foot away, he grabs my ankle and pulls the same move on me, only my knee goes into his broken nose. He curses and rolls on top of me. His breath stinks and his blood drips from his nostrils onto my face. I bring my knees to my chest and plant my feet on his stomach. I kick him off of me, sending him flying into the cot. I'm dominating this fight, and I don't know how.
I get up and walk over to him. He seems to be unconscious, and I turn on my heel. If Simon's down for the count, then I'm getting the hell out of here.
Stupid me. For the second time, he grabs my ankle and pulls me down. My head smacks into the metal frame and a corner of the cot goes into my eye, nearly blinding me. Now that I'm level with Simon (again) I reach out and run my nails down his face. He hisses and pulls away, but not before I see the blood running down his face where I scratched him. He staggers to his feet. I roll onto my back and see that he is trembling with anger, his face an ugly, blotchy red underneath the blood.
"You won't escape, Callie," he growls. "But good fight."
With that he kicks my chest and leaves.
I lie there for a bit, trying to catch my breath, before I realize I'm listening out for a noise. A noise that doesn't come. The noise of the cell door being shut and locked.
My eyes widen and I push myself off the ground. I don't even need to do more than sit up to see that the bars are open. But just in case, I get up and swing the door back and forth. Gingerly step out of the cell, peer down the hall a bit, step back in. I need something-a weapon of sorts. My eyes alight on the cot. Surely there's a piece loose there.
I run my hands along the metal frame. Nothing. Damn it!
Come on, I think. A scrap piece of metal. A sharp piece. There's got to be one somewhere.
I cautiously step back out of the cell and look at the stairwell. For the first time, I notice stairs going down.
I pad silently down the hall, keeping an ear out for anyone. There's nowhere for me to hide. But I don't care.
The next floor down contains more cells. It's the floor below that that strikes gold.
"Jackpot," I whisper, poking my way through the junkyard. People on Marix are complete idiots. Who stores piles of plausible weapons right under the jail?
I take my time down here, looking for something sharp. I shift through litter on the rocky floor, walk around each pile of old furniture, pick up any possible weapons. Deeper into the junk yard, I find scrap metal. I select a piece that's triangular and razor sharp on one edge. I rub my thumb on it and blood oozes out.
"Perfect," I say, clutching it in my right hand. Something moves out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to see a Cirectese in the corner. Stomping. Right. To. Me.
"Shit!" I hiss, and spin around to the exit. I find the stairwell and sprint to it, ignoring the bits of trash digging into my bare feet. I take the stairs two at a time, trying to keep a distance between me and the Cirectese. I make a lot of noise, but I don't care. So does the Cirectese. And if that alien catches me, I'm dead. They may be peaceful in their right minds, but they're strong, and this one is not in it's right mind.
On the next floor, I see the stairwell dimly down the long hall leading up to where my cell is-was-and make a break for it, realizing halfway across that there was a stairwell right above me. Whoops.
My legs beg for a break, my side threatening to cramp up, but I ignore all sensations to run as fast as possible. I stumble on the stairs but I don't stop, not until I'm out of the jail. Now I'm in the long hallway leading to the large room. I stop and catch my breath. Did I lose it? Possibly. I didn't hear anything from below. I walk briskly-then stop as the situation catches up to me.
Where am I right now? In a long, stainless steel hallway. What am I wearing? A flower-printed gown that's torn and bloody from my fight with Simon. I'm covered in bruises. What am I carrying? A piece of scrap metal that's dripping blood. My blood, because I cut my palm with it during the chase. James is dead, and wasn't I wanting to avenge someone? Isn't that how I feel now? Didn't I feel like I was being chased in the premonition? Aren't I being chased now?
I start down the hall slowly, clutching the sharp metal in my hand. I look over my shoulder occasionally, my brown hair falling in my face every time I do. The premonition is taking place as I walk. I feel it, along with my grief and anger. Everything feels...right, like how it's suppose to be, even though the situation is so wrong.
The Cirectese will catch up to me any moment now, I'm sure of it. I speed up a little. I think I hear it now, just like in the premonition. But the large room's so close.
I hear the scuttling up the metal stairs and I make a break for it. I slam straight into the doors and right through the crowd, pushing my way through, ignoring the human language thrown at me. I may have cut a couple. They don't matter right now. What does is my safety. What does is my revenge on Simon.
So, so, so, so sorry for the long pause between updates!! I wrote the last two chapters offline and I'm gonna publish them now.