Broken Castle

The shirt instantly soaked on the floor. Its marine cotton turning a poisoned dark blue when it lay upon the water. Although the water was devoid of any toxic or acidic substance, it was still an uncomfortable position to be in. Days of labor by tailors, seamstresses, and fashion designers was being appraised by the leftover spill.

But then, Henry rose from the floor, halting the spread. He quickly tugged the back towards his left abdomen for a better view, and attempted to strangle the stain of all vapor. The shirt hissed as it lost drop after drop. Becoming frustrated with the strenuous work it took, Henry let it swing back and slap his back.

He stumbled about, dazed from his recent fall. One hand to his head, and another feeling the stalls and air, searching for something to grab onto. The bathroom was dead white, and empty, as if he had broken into a decade old prison cell. Truth be told, that is exactly what he felt he had done.

Here is what he did remember. The roar of many feet, like thunder that was desperate to terrify him. To accompany the sinister feeling, there was a strafing of screams directed ta him for all he knew, and the terrible dread he felt. Dread for what? He wasn't sure, but it followed him every place he went, and that was something else he was ignorant of.

Pish. He loafer stepped into the puddle, and he found his way to the sinks. In front of him lay a mirror, adorned with unattended splotches and rust bordering its sides. But a large opal of it was remarkably reflective. Of himself.

He panted as he met his own gaze. After several heavy wheezes, he narrowed his eyes and raised a fist.

He shrieked.

*

It was quiet.

The entire house was holding its breath.

It wasn't even three days ago that the halls were roaring with life. Mr. Castle unleashed another one of his typical tirades on the guests and residents alike. No one knew the order in which he started to shout, largely because everyone was too preoccupied with distressing his punishments or demands. But he did make it clear to his assistant, Ms. Persephone, that he was being conned out his money like a civilian who knew nothing of this wicked world. Therefore, since demand for his companies goods has dropped further east, they would not be paying their typical 10000 to their partners. Persephone twisted her hands as she hopped to the phone to report the news at his factory, but then dismissed the thought all together.

In a similar fashion, when his son came by at nightfall to ask if he was ready to take him to see the fireworks that being showcased at Bondstreet, this made him even more furious.

The relationship between Castle and his son had always been troublesome. Perhaps it was the fact that he could not bear to expunge time with his family after his wife's untimely death, or because this world, which had gotten more cruel than most could anticipate, had declared survival of the fittest as its mantra. In what was likely a alloy of both, Castle let hell break loose on his son nearly every time he requested something.

The beatings were quick, and oftentimes just one-of-a-kind insults that sounded like nuclear explosions, before Castle quickly left to his business. And his son, will be discussed later.

Castle, the owner of the mansion and proprietor of Meister's Pride, the largest liquor business in the country, fumbled into the board room, dark lines cutting deeply under his eyes. Falling on the edge of his seat, he was hoping he would make short work of whatever terrible problem his partners had gotten themselves into.

On Persephone's testimony, the meeting was centered around the relief program spearheaded by one of the politicians in the Capital, Jericho Eames. After the outbreak of the toxic meltdown, and chaotic distribution of biochemical weapon VX, picking up the pieces of this waste meant more than simply saving lives, it meant saving economic civilization. Eames, unfortunately for Castle, was one of those greedy arses in what used to be Congress that won the public's favor. After two years of his campaign, and several large areas in the country aided by his efforts, he thought it time to reinstate levies.

As soon as Castle heard the word out whoever's mouth it was, his glass cracked from his strapping grip. They continued, explaining how this would have to mean more demand, which meant more layoffs, which meant Castle had a generous amount of work to do. And the worst was yet to come.

He threw open the doors heading to his car, excoriating the fools who put him in this position. He did this as he paced back and forth in a haze of umbrage, never finding his son who was likely hiding upstairs. He did this all they way to Dinner.

Then came what was likely a que sera sera for a great many people. Persephone called instantly for the ambulance, but by then it was far too late. She didn't even ask the undertaker what had caused it, not wanting to bear the guilt of her cooking killing him, and fearing the deserved yet malevolent glee she would feel if it wasn't her at all. His son, of course, came to the funeral, saw his grave, but said nothing and quickly headed home.

And now, after eavesdropping a long night of muffled phone calls from downstairs, several strangers enter and exit, and himself remaining silent upstairs all night not knowing what to feel, he was downstairs searching the house. And it was quiet.

After sitting there, on the red sofa, insulated with enough stuffing that he could practically bounce on it, he gets an idea. Yes, his father was gone, and now Persephone had gone off, probably to get food or find other employment, but the house was his now. He had watched his father, and even cared to learn a thing or two from him about self reliance. He also read a book on the subject as well by a famous 19th century author; well, at least he guessed he was famous. Thus, he submitted to himself, no matter what happened today, he could take care of himself. He could find friends to make a living with. He would have a plan. He always did.

The idea stems from staring at the clock across from him.

Silently, he rises from his sofa, yes his sofa, doing it so lethargically he was certain to break a herniated disc. Then, he strides forward, one foot in front of the other, and reaches the gramophone. (Some may call it old fashioned, but Mr. Castle would call it 'none of your fucking business') He searches below the desk it sits upon and finds the records. His mother's records. He takes one out, letting his eyes drift over the pristine sheet of coated aluminum. He puts it in the phone and places the needle on the spinning plate.

*

Hello.

Hi.

What's your name?

Henry.

Dr. Somerset. I'm very pleased to meet you. Do you want to come with me.

*nods*

Alrighty then.

Should I tell you what I did wrong.

Did you do something that upset yourself?

No.

Then what did you do wrong, Henry?

Nothing. But mom said I needed to come here. This is a place for bad boys.

I think you're misled, Henry. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to help you figure out who you are.

I know who I am. I'm Henry Castle. I'm just a boy, no different from the others.

The others?

The other boys here. They say i'm different, that I don't belong.

Perhaps they're right, Henry. But that's a good thing. I want to help you know who that is. Now, we're going to try a little exercise. I want you to close your eyes. Now try and imagine standing on a beach. Got it?

Yes.

Now I want you to look around and tell me what you see.

I see...a light....the sun.

What else?

The're...things in the distance.

Are they tall?

Yes.

You're seeing buildings Henry.

It's cool.

*laugh* Yes, yes it's cool. Okay, I want you to try something else now. I want you to focus on your thoughts. Can you do that? Now tell me what you're thinking.

What my inner voice is saying?

Yes, your voice tells you how you feel.

I feel....free. My mom's not here to judge me. I feel angry with her.

Did she upset you?

Yes. She's hurt me. And I don;'t want to take it anymore. I want her to stop. I want her to let go.

Henry-

She doesn't trust me, and thinks I'm weak. She thinks she knows better. She thinks that she's putting me here to try and make me a better son, more normal, like her. I don't want to be like her, Mrs. Somerset, i don't want to!

Henry, open your eyes now.

....

Henry, this is strange to say, but you need me.

Am I broken, like she says?

Yes, Henry. But that doesn't mean you're that way forever. Let me help you.

Okay.

Okay.

*

It was here somewhere. Aurelius could feel it in this house. The walls were eating themselves, and every piece of wood that once bore a tender shine of care was now forced to carry the insufferably light burden of dust. Yes, he told himself, it was a travesty of build and a discard from the salesmen, but if it still stood as proudly as the next mansion, it may have its uses yet.

Inside, there was a soft echo, of a language which only here believed he could understand fluently. Those with the persistence real enough might be able to, but in all his burning passion for the answer, the secret which he had struggled to attain which was finally in his grasp, Aurelius did not care.

He felt along the dust that clung to the bookcase. He felt immense pity for its contents, the vast sea of literature and history that was unspoiled by the horrors of the recent age, the amount of times he craved the incomparable escapism he, and many others, felt a mere few chapters in. Well, he knew where the house was, and he could always come back, once they concluded their business of course.

After savoring the touch of the many velvet spines, he broke off and made for the next room. The wood still creaked with his every hasty leap as he passed the overhang above the front door, but that did not concern him.

"Oh look at this!" A holler from down below stopped him, but he still tapped his foot in agitation. "The latest issue of women's health 'Drugs and gender Differences'. This is exactly your kind of evidence, Aurelius!"

She exited the room, dusting her hands off from what was likely the kiss of the magazine that she carelessly inspected. Her sardonic expression tickled something in Aurelius, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"Sharon," He said in a fit of impatience, "We need to keep looking. I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't certain."

"You act like you're my boss. We're all equal here, ya know."

She hurled the magazine in front of her, hitting an object. From the ailing yet powerful ring of impact, he could tell it was the grandfather clock he saw on his way in. The very first thing he took notice of. Aurelius grinned both at the silence and their shared passion for this mystery. This mystery that they, and a few other friends, were desperate to solve.

With aa turn of her heel she marched into the adjoining room, which Aruelius was surprised he didn't remember inspecting.

After scampering about the three bedrooms just in a zigzag, like a dog chasing a lightning fast rat, he exited the cross section and made for the stairs.

No luck yet. It must be up here. Shit, why did I think it was here? These bedrooms, all this dusty books and furniture, perhaps thirty years old. Probably the one place with more disregard for nice things than republicans. And spiders sharing their afternoons with dilapidated plaster and rain-

Wait, when was the last time it rained?

Aurelius couldn't find the answer to that question, let alone the one that brought him to this mansion.

Pressing on in his alacrity, at the top of the stairs, he nearly froze. All excitement, terse and thrilling, disappeared.

In front of him stood the light. Around it, the boards of the attic caved in, like a steeple in a cathedral. Aurelius had been in one before, when he was younger, when his parents realized he needed help. One of the more uncomfortable memories in his otherwise grim life. One that this room, the emptiest in the house, helped restore.

He wanted to leave but he knew the answer was here. He stepped toward the light, a single bulb at the end of a twisted wire, which flickered every several seconds.

"Sharon, take a look at this. This looks like an Anglerfish." He said out loud. Then frowned as he got closer. The light beamed.

Where have I seen this before?

*

Crash.

Shit. He thought as he slammed into a wall. I knew this was a bad idea, man. I just knew it.

Pumping his arms, Jakob flew down the grey hall, his trench coat trailing him like a cape. The building was not recognizable to him, and judging by the folded chairs and papers hanging on the doors, he guessed this was a 'Morgue'. Because of the terrible gas meltdown that happened worldwide, too much of a coincidence, the hospitals, with what little healthcare they had, were renamed. He passed several blinded windows against the night sky. Somehow the sight of the outside made him run even faster.

Jakob wasn't sure what cause brought him here, let alone where he was heading in this bleak place, but as he heard shouts behind him, instinct said that was cause enough for flight.

As he rounded another shorter hallway, taking notice that the doors were all locked for the night, he quickly turned his head over his shoulder. The silhouettes of what looked like guards intensified their shadows, and in that brief moment of pause, he noticed the pistol in his belt. His pistol.

Jakob glanced to the pristine white wall and back to the firearm, and nodded to himself. He dashed for the stairs at the end of the next hall.

Fortunately unlocked, he gripped the handrail and leapt over the side. He landed with trained precision, and swung the doors open. This, what he deduced from memory or just guess, was the ground floor. Knowing this, he followed the exit signs. This was crazy, he thought. I find myself in this bloody bad fuck and now-

Bang. The shot rang his left ear and dented the tiled wall. In a flash, he spun, and aimed the pistol at the guard. Checking him off with one shot he dove behind a cubicle.

"You can't run, asshole. We're not through with you by goddamn sight! Where're your frie-"

Asshole!? Jakob cocked his head. He was used to be damned and threatened, but what had he done to deserve this. Sure, he just sent one of their colleagues to the hereafter, but he did that sort of thing all the time. At least he thought he did.

Snapping back to focus, he saw the other exit door, just two cubicles away. His spine cracked as he raised himself to see the guard's, flashlights scrutinizing the building. A man in this position in this environment shouldn't be able to hit the alarm which hung just inside the shadows of the farthest left wall. But Jakob was no ordinary man. On that, even Aurelius could agree.

Bang. Fizzzz.

As it crackled and the adrenaline fueled attentions of the guards swung to the alarm, Jakob didn't stir. As he breached the open air another shot grazed his leg. Forgoing his urgency, he slanted and shot the guard in the face.

Oh, I do love heroes, he thought with a smile as he holstered his pistol in his coat. Should've stopped at level 1.

When he made it to the other end of the road he stopped and looked back at the building. Sure enough, his instincts were right. Five stories tall and vines caressing its walls, leaving only the windows. The night disguised the buildings sign, but he recognized the architecture.

"Stop! I'm here, wait!"

Jakob threw his head to the open window, where a blonde girl stood. Then he remembered the guards. This is the part where I run away.

Jakob had a glimpse of the girl once more, and bolted into the ally, which he knew connected to the next road. He heard the girl call something after him, but the escalating adrenaline rush blocked it. Well, won't be the first time I refused a lady.

He was in the middle of his third street when he saw the tavern.

*

Sparks of light burst from the oaks that bordered the lake. Along the plateau of grey water, the sun shook from the breeze in the ripples. Only a crescent was seen above the tree-line, accompanied by a flock of sparrows, or what looked like sparrows. Benjamin had been here often enough to make educated guesses like that.

The low flare from the sun always instilled a certain relief into Simon, regardless of his mood. Perhaps the idea that nature could produce such ethereal beauty as this scene stoked the fires of his imagination. Or perhaps, in his wise yet whimsical belief, that the sun was somehow sentient, like it reassured him that tomorrow would be better, or that if everyone turned on him, the sun never shown away.

But he suspected, that the most likely reason of all, was that he nearly drowned in those waters. It was back when his mother wasn't the person he thought she was. Forcing your soft spoken and self conscious 8 year old son to swim didn't seem like a terrible idea to his mother. But she refused to let him leave the deck until he tried. And when he nearly drowned, gasping for air five times before his mother finally saved him, needless to say, nothing was as it was supposed to be in his mind.

But whatever the reason, imagination or trauma, he stood there on the deck with relative reminiscence. This was a 150 ft rosewood pier that erected from the high dunes of the beach and did so for nearly a decade now. The bench at the end was poised a full 40 feet over the ocean, and bore a ladder to a lower deck for swimmers and fisherman. Simon, being the brave and bold young man he was, observed the lake from the top.

And observe he did. He had been here for likely thirty minutes now, and his mind had become an aether of unspeakable things and juxtaposition of things that didn't make sense. As opposed to most places, he knew exactly how he got here and why.

Who-ho! The cry came from below the pier where he stood. As Henry kneeled, he could see Sharon the full 40 feet below him, throwing her hair behind her. She smiled and waved. Exceptionally typical, he thought.

He didn't stare as she climbed the full ladder in no time at all. I'll never understand why you don't like the water. She said as she took Simon's hand while gripping the deck with her other hand. Seriously, you come here every day and you rarely sit at the fisherman deck.

She grinned at him, in the fashion that always filled him with the same warmth the sun did.

You live dangerous one day. The next, you're watching your girlfriend swim from the top of the sea.

After a moment, she stood beside him, watching the water loose its light.

How was your session with Dr. Somerset?

Fine.

Fine? You didn't make any breakthroughs?

It's therapy. If you were dysfunctional you'd understand.

It doesn't take Keith Moon to recognize what a breakthrough is. Especially if you're as smart as you are.

Should I take that as a compliment?

Take that as a goal, Simon.

*

"I found it."

Sharon looked up, slowly after being buried in her book. "Why is your hair covered in grease?"

"Oh, I was down at the factory. I was meeting my friend there."

She raised a brow. "Were you?"

"Indeed. His name's Kit and he's been accompanying me for the past few months. He's the one who I told you was going to help us."

She stood from her desk and circled around to him. "I thought it would just be us two. You do realize this is the Trove."

Henry nodded, accepting the gravity of their mission with apparently little to no trepidation.

Sharon, ever the pragmatist, thought otherwise. Any person would believe that this composure was a mask he wore whenever he was with her, but many a time when they discussed research together into latest manufactured chemicals, it was blatant that his composure was simply the result of a deeply unhealthy level of reservation or trauma. These things she only ever got clues to when conversing with his more verbose side.

"Well, I suppose we may need an extra hand. Here, I've been researching the labs near the capital more, and I think I know how they make it."

She, of course, was referring to the deadly weapon known as VX, or Venomous Agent X. He knew it was developed about two decades prior, and the fact that the politicians then were non the wiser now.

From what Henry heard, the latest chemical and atomic weapons were just being tested on confiscated areas and under the supervision of even more scrutinous legislatives. Then, apparently, the president got smart, and decided releasing the news to the nation, thereby everyone else, was a perfect way to earn much respect and send a warning to their enemies overseas.

He never actually saw the president, or recalled his name, but they said he was a very ambitious person. Henry could easily imagine his rise, a prodigious young graduate of some fine university (the kind which no longer holds any reverence), a charismatic ego that paralleled every other citizen just enough to like him, and then a complete and utter disregard for broken things.

As bad as he was however, he was nothing compared to the self righteous arses that took advantage of his sudden death. Alcohol, no realization, a man said to him once when he asked. Whatever the case, there was a silent duel between congressmen and ambassadors, leading to a heedlessly ordered preemptive strike against suspected enemies. It was some country above the Mediterranean, Germany, maybe. But, one thing led to another, here they were in this wasted city.

Henry thought it a bit ironic how the very thing that brought them this calamity was now being utilized to solve their problems. How quickly we regress to instinct, he thought. But then, he quickly did away with those thoughts. The thoughts of a cynic. The thoughts of Sharon and-

"If we have time, I can show you now and then we head over to the inn. You know, a drink."

He grinned at her offer, and didn't mourn the derailment of his train of thought.

With phosphorus chloride, he needed to methylate, that is oxidize the molecule by replacing a hydrogen atom with a methyl group. The methyl phosphorus dichloride could then be stirred with ethanal to form diester. An alkoxy, common in the labs, replaces a hydroxyl in the newly formed alcohol. Henry needed only find a suitable base catalyst, likely Naoh, to transertificate the liquid into the product N diisopropylaminoethanol. A pinch of sulfur, from the mined mineral bottles, would yield the infamous compound VX.

Although Henry was always fascinated by such accomplishments in biochemistry, this never distracted Sharon from the appalling ethics that birthed this experimentation.

"Do you think it's possible to feel such impassioned scorn and admiration at the same time...and at all this?" He asked.

The creases in her brows darkened, like the pen's ink. Her hand fluttered as she laid the clipboard to rest. For some reason, she always displayed some ill-at-ease reaction when asked personal questions.

"No. Not at all. Now, let's go."

*

The last of the lights went out as the worker took his leave. The steel door swung locked behind him, as if he had finished interrogating a terrorist. Now there was a vacant space once more.

The iron chains that hung from the roofs were looked dead, as if they hadn't been touched in years. The walls were of a dark mud dye, and the malleable yet hardy silver seemed to complement them perfectly. Some had hooks, which seemed to forlorn that they had no burden, no weight, no purpose in industrialization.

Running back and forth to the door were the wrinkled assembly lines. Crowbars, hammers, shovels, axes, screwdrivers all filled the hooks near the benches. A chainsaw sat upon a titanium slab. There was a yellow remote that lay against the nearest front wall with green yellow and red buttons.

Around the factory, among the furnaces and steel blocks were crates of chemicals. Each one held many capsules filled with a swamp colored hue that left a great deal of imagination to the viewer. Leather straps held the pyramid stacked jars in place. The crates which were actually on carts, continued to pulse a small yet striking glow.

All in all, the factory bore all the equipment, metal, and grime that a true powerhouse was expected to have. Yet now, it was silent.

Jakob hated it that way.

"Well. WELL? When the bloody hell is someone getting here?"

The question reverberated throughout the factory. He sounded like a bishop preaching in a cathedral with no one to hear. As if the lord himself spoke through his lips and made the earth tremble.

Jakob had this peculiar way of being cautious and dangerous at the same time. One time, when he was young, when he stumbled into an empty art studio, one of the few in town, he made special care to see identify and movement or noises that were foreign to him. After ensuring the abstraction of his surroundings, Jakob sized a paint brush and several buckets, and set to work. The blank canvases that lined the room were soon graced with Jakob's creative, if not chaotic, vision. Additionally, he carried vermillion and black buckets and adorned the walls with drawings of birds, mostly crows.

Jakob couldn't tell but he liked the look of those creatures. He may have remembered them from home, but their presence had become increasingly august in this place. A friend used to say they symbolized more than death, that when they flew over you, you were supposed to pray that all misfortune would glide through you and out, like the angel of death. But when it landed, they say, change was coming, and it was inevitable. Good or bad, the crows are there to record the transformation of a person, and then leave to deliver it to the Saints at the end of the universe. For judgement, apparently.

But Jakob dismissed the ideas of his friend, Sharon who speaking of which was supposed to be here.

Instead, the door at the other end of the factory opened, letting a gust of wind sing before closing quickly. The undertaker took slowly steps, and came forward under the cover of the chain's shadows.

"Kit, my boy. May the Lords Rein Forever." He hawked the customary greeting of goodwill at the young man.

"Were is she? I thought she was more invested in this than you." Kit said, glancing over his shoulder as he stepped closer.

"No, that's for Aurelius to decide, wherever he is.

"Hmph. He thinks he can organize this, sit it out, and take a slice."

Kit shot a glimpse at the back door once again, and leaned in.

*

This is where he wanted to be. There was no doubt in his Aurelius's mind about that. Looking about at the tavern, he saw the crowds of gentlemen, some streamlining the bar counters, and an occasional person shifting his person from one end of the room to the other. If it weren't for the exorbitant amount of bodies, there were tables near the center, 'the gallows,' as they were dubbed, where people traded each other's fortunes and tried their luck.

Sharon was usually there, but Aurelius didn't know for sure. He sat waiting for his cup which would be brought to him at any moment. Then she appeared.

"I see you haven't outgrown your fondness for certain pleasures." She said with a show of molars.

Katherine set two glasses down with herself. He could see she was still wearing that dark cloak that some man named Bruno once bought for her. A 'birthday present' is what she called it.

"Have you seen them?" He asked, his left resting above his fisted right.

"No. They should be on the other side of city. Clever of you." She said with a wink.

Aurelius did not reach for his glass. He perpetuated his controlled breaths, as he thought. He thought about what he was going to do. There were plenty of ways that his plan could have gone wrong, and he prepared for each of them. There was many a time on his journey that he was worried about fact checking every his every step, so that he might miss a more subtle but nonetheless detrimental one.

This anxiety morphed into terror when the time came. Although he disguised it with curt and even sardonic remarks, it followed him throughout the corridors and out the exit. When he thought he had rid himself of it then, it was only a false ease. Something he never thought he should account for.

"I was referring to Sharon. I know she's here."

Katherine rolled her eyes, and folded her hands after taking a gulp.

"She already told me what happened."

Aurelius wrinkled. "Did she also tell you we lost our target?"

Katherine winced. "I gotta say, Aurelius. Breaking into the department is a pretty good story. But losing your gold to one of your partner's good nature. Hm. You bring in two surprises for me today."

He tightened his fist. "We were hired to do a job. I was hired. Does it take shark filled waters and a thousand cuts to teach someone the wicked way of our world?"

"Yes, yes, we all have nooses around our necks in this bleak world, don't we. She knows that. She wiser than you give her credit for."

He knew that all too well. He never put his trust in anyone, but he time after time when she proved herself to him, he made sure her effort and her devotion to his many jobs didn't go unaccounted for. Some part of him wished he expressed more gratitude, but every encounter, even with her, was resolved with complete disinterest and within the window of mere seconds. There was a thief that always snatched away his altruism before he found the proper words, not that he sought to expend any time searching.

"Intentionally throwing us off course when my back was turned is anything but wise." He growled.

"Oh, you're one to speak of wisdom to me, boy. Letting you and...you be seen by the Inspector the first time you barged in here and demanded sanctuary would've been the wiser lever for me to pull. But instead I let you pervert me hospitality thrice more. You think I want to be an accessory to kidnapping and arson."

The last word made Aurelius's eye twitch. There had been plenty of reasons to blame Sharon and the others for what happened yesterday, but that bell tower explosion was his to bear.

"Realize, Aurelius, that you're only here for a fourth time because I like your stupid hair. And because Jakob, Kit, and Sharon make me rich over there."

"I don't suppose you have seen him either?"

"Ha! Kit already got himself the sixth seat at table 3. He and Jakob were here for 15 minutes, just staring into his cards. Then he went outside, and here you are you paltry little bastard."

Katherine saw a line form in Aurelius's cheek. He was suppressing a his amusement as he always did. Every time he did, she counted on giving him another free glass solely for extracting what was likely the real him. She never asked of course why he insisted on others taking things at face value when he himself never did the same. It annoyed her how easily he read others, even her, but she stopped trying to be on par with his evisceration a long time ago. Nevertheless, she and Kit were probably the only ones who saw even remote change in his cold quintessence. Finally, he quaffed half his glass and set it down.

"I should go. He'll be listening."

"Pray tell, who?"

"You know."

*

Sharon came into the office, which was far smaller than she imagined. The desk had several stacks of paper, and an oil lamp to its right. The walls were red, the chairs propped silently opposite the desk, and the open doorway to the next room was still as well.

Without thinking of the consequences, she stepped through the doorway and found him staring at the window. The sun prolonging its glow as long as it could beneath the surface.

"Hello, Simon."

He turned and smiled after awaking from his entrancement. His eyes were the emerald marvels that she remembered so vividly from many years before.

"How are you?"

"Me? I'm fine. I thought my mom would be here."

"She's probably yaking away on her phone. I'm not the only patient you know."

Sharon beamed. His hair was still in that tussled undercut fashion that he wore consistently throughout the years. Ever since the day he was brought to her mother, Dr. Somerset. He had come her for nearly six years now, but they only saw each other just a few months prior.

Come to think of it, she never knew any patient who had been here longer than him.

"Do you still have work after this, or do you think we can talk."

Simon swung his head in a loop. "We can talk here if it's not too private."

She removed a slip of paper from her pants, and held it between her two fingers.

"Do you remember how you were looking for an answer to why you didn't remember that party."

He nodded innocently, and she continued. "This was a favor from Dr. Somerset. Its the address of the house, the one that you lived in before...you know what."

Simon's mouth hung open as he drew a long breath in. He wasn't sure if this was going to solve his problems or simply complicated them.

"She doesn't know you're doing this does she?"

"You mean us?" She said with a raised brow and what looked like a blush.

Simon rolled his eyes. "I mean showing me this. What if I don't like what I find? Better yet, why won't you come with me?"

She kept the slip between her knuckles as she tightened her fist. She braced herself. "I'm afraid of ghosts."

The dead gravity with which she spoke electrified Simon's spine. He had heard those words, those exact same words, in that same tone and with that same stare of consternation. Suddenly, something came at him, like a wave.

(This could be the hospital. And the guards are coming for him after breaking in.)

*

Henry saw the light. Its intensity shifted dramatically in rapid secession, like a heart beating in fear or excitement. Henry felt neither of those things. Instead, he felt confused.

Why was he here? Why was he back in this place? This place that he thought he was taken from.

This light before him was the one he had sat beneath many a time in his youth. He recalled the pictures he drew on the wooden hassock with the colored pencils he would swipe from his mother downstairs and return before dinner.

A foot in front of the light lay his hassock. He stepped toward it, mindful of the moans of pain from the floor. Inside it was a drawer, which he pulled open slowly.

He was in awe. He pulled out a white paper, bearing a black widow spider upon it. It was the most recent picture he drew before he left. Next was their house, with every viable detail captured. It amazed him how good of an artist he was even at a young age. And the pile contained many more animals, places, and images born of his imagination. He sat and examined the rest.

In one he saw a pine dressed in white, which came from a dream of his despite never seeing the snow in person. There was a several paper story of a boy meeting a dragon, and the teo of them flying over the starlit sea. The vision may have been rooted from a novel he read, but Henry could not remember. Then he saw a blue stone, an exceptionally ordinary opal on a brown surface which may have been this very floor. This was an image that was a mystery to Henry. He didn't know why.

Beaming, he set the papers upon the ground and looked back at the light. But the light no longer flickered. It did not even struggle for any light. It just emitted an unwavering glow. It continued to glow and glow. Now he knew what was so strange about this.

This place was supposed to be old and abandoned. Who brought him here?

He did not hear the footsteps approach the attic. "Freeze! Don't move."

Henry lept to his feat just in time to see a The Sheriff flanked by two officers.

"Against the wall now!"

Henry couldn't breathe. He wailed for help.

*

Hello Mr. Castle.

I see you're upset still.

About what?

Buying you that revolver.

We both know that's a double lie. And for the record I didn't throw it away.

So you did appreciate my gesture.

It's a small price for seeing you with the little you do pay me, but yes, Aurelius.

I see you're still wearing that sweater. The one with the rose on it.

It was a gift from my mother. She's up north, away from all this for now.

Will she be alright.

At least she doesn't have to rely on trading livers to be taken care of. They're friends from when I was younger, they're running that 'charitable' business.

How expectant.

So how about you, Aurelius. Did you think about what I asked you to?

Yes.

Then please tell me. What do you think we're struggling to learn here.

Manners....and maybe-

Aurelius.

Pfft. I think it has something to do with my future. I don't know my place. Or my compass, as you call it. Have you ever read the bible. That famous book that zealots used to claim was sacred above all others.

Only when Rocco asks me too. You know the addict who's on probation now.

Yes.

Well I make hundreds by just talking to him 3 hours a week. All he can say is he's trying to walk through fire with the Lord on his side. Claptrap like that. And it's hell having to hear the name Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, Peter, and... well you get it.

...

But I digress. What about the bible. Have you found premature enlightenment?

Hardly, Doctor. But there's this story of Gideon. In it, Gideon is this boy who comes from a less than privileged family whose self worth was kept from ever being born. Surrounded by poverty and mundane aspirations, he lost all hope for himself. That is, until God spoke to him, prescribing him a fate that pronounced him as the wraith to bring ruin upon the Midianites. They were the Israelites who had neglected God's teachings for indulgences such as banditry and adultery. Despite his position within his family, and a greater extent, the entire Old Testament, God had predestined him to destroy the corrupt along with heroes like Moses.

So are you saying you want to destroy the corrupt politicians. Because there are plenty of people out there who are hard on the case.

By no means am I poor, in spirit or in coin. Nor am I as pious as Gideon was, before and after his twist of fortune. But like him, my direction suffers the tear of many strings.

Are you sure that's your problem. A lot of people whom I help claim they need direction. It's my job to help them find that.

But you're not God, right?

No. I'm not God.

But you can help me can't you.

Listen, when people like you come into my office and demand honest answers, I am inevitably forced to straddle a ravine where satisfying my clients means I must lie. The typical people, the ones like Curly and Rocco, have been with me for several years. Several years they insult my lack of decorum, despite them having no better decency in speech or attire, and they stare out the window like you're doing now-

Apologies.

Anyway, they bullshit me, and do you know why I din't send them away? Because I make progress. yes they underpay me, abut ever single day I learn something from them. The inmates at that ward, follow the same pattern.

Now you have held record for six years. I've helped closed the book on the two other people who were nearly here as long as you. They are more stable than I thought. You're the only one I'm not sure is happy.

...

Do you know who i'm talking about?

Yes.

Ap, Ap! You interrupted me, and thus you don't know. But I was going to say, you need more help than I thought.

Is that because I rarely smile. I assure you, the surgeon's at the Morgues have done all they can.

Sigh. It's because the only person you do ever converse with is my daughter.

Insinuating that Sharon is a negative influence, are we Doctor?

You know what I mean, Aurelius. The honesty she gets from you, it's... She could've won the Nobel Prize for that. Really, she's unrealistically liked by everyone, but there's something more between you two.

She hasn't told me anything personal if that's what you mean.

Has she done anything that upset you recently.

We're getting off the subject.

And what is that, Aurelius?

My compass. I don't know where it's pointing.

Why don't you remind me what you do again as a job.

I work in the Factory. The labs are mostly where I do my best. But I occasionally take jobs with others. Sometimes.

Really.

And I thought you knew.

I do.

Then tell me, what is my compass.

Your compass is in front of you, Aurelius. Your past, your mother who pushed you to swim before you could, and punished you for trying ever since. This world that's gone to complete disarray which forces people into impossible choices. But you have one. You just need to see it.

I hope so.

*

Sharon burst through the door, which was being held open by someone.

Stepping over him, she panted and then examined the contents of the room. To her left there was a boy's body with a twisted arm and bloodshot eyes. On her right were a boy and girl, who were even more disemboweled and desiccated. But there were also adults who appeared on the white floor, which had stains of red and black all over it. Necks hung over chairs, backs lent against walls, and faces pressed against the sleek ground. Some who lay behind the blocks with a limb or two showing. The macabre around her stood in stark contrast to the glossy white wall and arrangement of the books.

To the other side of the room, in front of the mirror, something else stood in contrast to the place. He had what looked like a metal blade in his hand, and was being thrust into the mouth of another limp boy. She thought she saw him struggle, but that might just be the aether-induced terror she was feeling.

He drew the blade out of his red painted face and dropped it. For a moment, he stood there and did nothing. His left arm raised to his chin and then fell to his side once more.

"What are you doing here?" He said in a soft green voice.

She spun around, and gripped the door handle, only to find it locked. Fucking lock, she thought.

Helpless, with nothing more to do, she turned to face him, the young man she thought was her friend who now bore a face more lifeless than the bodies as he walked.

"Why are you scared, Sharon?" He asked softly, shifting in front of her. She watched his hand rest upon her shoulder, and dared make no move to resist it.

"Surely, you recognize me?"

"Listen, I...I didn't. You don't need to do this."

"No, but he promised."

"Who?"

"Simon did."

"Why...what are you talking about."

"He told me that if things didn't go as planned, if anyone sold us out, we would have to fight our way to justice."

"What justice."

"The same one you aided us in gaining. The same one you destroyed when we had it in our grasp."

"No...It wasn't like that. She was my sister."

"All the same, I trusted you. Aurelius trusted you."

"I never meant for this to happen. Any of it, I....Oh fuck."

"Of course not. No one ever means to make a mistake. No one wants to break things. Break people."

"Who are you?"

"Of all things, you never asked about that. I guess you haven't met all of us. I'm Henry."

THE END

Further Notes:

*

Scurrying to the top of the hill nearly took her breath away. In her head she continued to scold herself for her tardiness, her dreamy state of mind taking control back at the town. She never could quite explain it rationally to anyone else, but when her physiological perception of the world surreptitiously took hold of her, even if she was meandering with buying a drink or giving a wave to passer-byers, it was difficult to alleviate.

At times it seemed as if some feeling had manifested itself into human form, and was pulling her strings, gently enough so she appreciated it. The freedom from full consciousness.

But still with panted anticipation, she leapt up the slope. It was the mixture of excitement and worry that disabused her of caring about the injuries her bare feet would suffer in the tall glade. Fortunately, she only felt a few pebbles and slits of grass on her heels as she reached the doorstep.

"Simon, Simon are you there?" She called before opening.

The door was unlocked

Her face went white. For a moment, she stood in silence, then her head swung to the open door. The sullen grey sea remained still above the grass, as if impatiently waiting for her to uncover the obvious.

She looked back.

"No. NO!"