Quiet

They knew they couldn't say anything.

After they'd gotten home, they'd washed the blood off.

Quickly.

Quietly.

The way they did everything these days.

Normally after something like this, Eve was able to forget what she'd done. She continued like a normal teenager, and never blew her cover. That was the most important part. It was why she had been chosen.

At least, this was the way things went until Van lay out another piece of paper on the table.

This time, though, the heavy weight that always sat on Eve's chest didn't go away. She waited patiently for days, trying to contain the blue that she felt spreading through her. She didn't speak a word to Van; she never did.

She had to pretend like everything was normal, like she always did, and she was sure it would leave.

But it didn't.

Months passed, and Van didn't drop another sheet, detailing a human person, their weaknesses, their most visited places, and their fears in front of her. Perhaps he felt it too.

Gradually Eve accepted the weight, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable. It was so heavy that she lay awake at nights, fearing to fall asleep in case it crushed her while she dreamed.

One night, several weeks after that night when the weight appeared and didn't disappear, in which Eve had only snatched snippets of sleep and dreams, her eyes shut without her realizing it, her breath evened out, and she was sleeping.

She dreamed without sound or color, which was unusual. She dreamed that she stood in a large room, light gray in color, and a faceless man stood in front of her.

He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but there were no words. Only a vague understanding.

Eve confessed in the dream.

Maybe that was what made her wake up in a cold sweat. That she blew her cover. That she confessed.

Eve spoke to Van the next day.

"We have to tell," she said out of the blue.

Van whirled around, staring at her with wide eyes. "Are you insane? Think of the punishment!" Then he slowly smiled. "Oh, I see. You're joking. Good one. You had me terrified." He turned back to the papers.

"I'm not joking," Eve said, her voice shaking. "We have to tell. Everything. Something bad will happen if we don't." She didn't know how she knew this-she just knew.

"Something bad has already happened, Eve. We murdered people. What do you not understand about this?" Van said, turning around and leaning on the table.

"Worse," Eve insisted. "Something worse will happen."

"You're not going to tell," Van said, advancing on her. "Got it?"

Eve took a trembling breath and nodded. She wasn't nodding for him, though. She was nodding to herself. An affirmation that she would tell.

Van, though, took it to mean that she understood his words, and apparently satisfied, he went back to his work.

That night, when Van was asleep, Eve slipped out of bed, broke the iron bars over her window, and escaped. She ran like a wild creature, swift and graceful, many miles until she reached the police station.

Eve burst through the door, gasping for air. Her lungs felt like they were on fire.

The woman behind the desk stood up. "What's wrong?" she asked in a calm voice, but her face was clearly alarmed.

Eve took another deep breath. Now or never. She walked up to the desk and gestured for the woman to sit down. She obeyed.

"You're going to think I'm crazy," Eve said, speaking slowly, "but I assure you I'm not. I need you to listen to me and punish me accordingly."

The woman remained still.

"I murdered someone. A lot of people. A lot of innocent people that had done nothing to harm or offend me. I need you to lock me up and punish me. I have proof if you need it. The one thing I ask is that you lock up the man who did it with me. His name is Van...Van..." Eve leaned over and whispered his last name in the woman's ear, eliciting a gasp.

"Please. I'm begging you."

"I need proof," the woman said uneasily, scooting back a little.

Eve pulled picture after picture, pages ripped out of Van's journal, the sheets that he had placed before her for years.

The woman looked through the evidence for what seemed like hours. Eve stood impatiently. Van would discover her disappearance any minute now.

The woman brought in men. Almost ten of them. One by one, they looked through Eve's evidence as the sun peeked over the flat land surrounding the station, the land Eve had run through hours ago.

The woman looked up at Eve. "This is all the proof we need. These men are going to get Van...uh...Van. Come with me." The woman stood, grasped Eve's arm roughly, and escorted her to a cell. "You'll get moved a detention center later in the day. Don't even think about any funny business."

Eve sat on the floor and stared calmly at the wall opposite her. Tears, hot and salty, trickled down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away.

This is what I deserve, she reminded herself. For doing that all those years. I just wish I could say something other than sorry.

When the sun was touching the horizon that evening, Van was shoved in the cell next to her.

From the look he gave her as he was pushed by her, they both knew nothing would ever be the same again.

This world is strange. Things change all the time. For Eve, everything changed the day she first met Van. For Van, everything changed that day that the police knocked down his front door.

For you? Who knows when things will change.

Just, please, try not to get involved in mass murdering. I promise you it's not going to end well, and you're either going to turn yourself in or be caught.

It's not a good idea.