Traitors Never Tell.

“Can you keep a secret?” He whispered, into the darkness. The man nodded, fear etched in his face. He knew it was coming. 

“I’m the mole,” Then he drove the knife home with a squelch that made him want to puke. 

Delilah would never get to see her husband again. And the thought was enough for him to leave the lifeless body at his feet, blood pooling around it and turning the corner to empty his stomach’s contents on the square, blindingly white tiles.  

~

The Nightshade. 

There was a time when the name had made him angry. There was a time when he planned to fight them. Fight to ensure that they would never, ever again be the cause of the pain that so many had suffered from.

It had been the helplessness that had first driven him toward the Nightshade. He’d had one too many nights without company, waiting for news, any news at all. All the rest were scores ahead; honing their skills, training, dueling, rising ranks; attending secret meetings about covert operations and secret missions; mourning fallen comrades and celebrating even the smallest of victories.

It was on these days, the days when he just waited, waited, waited, that he felt the pull, the small, crawling sensation calling to him; to relinquish his pride, his honor and join the other side. 

The downfall came when they found out about Elena.

Elena, with her blinding smile that was all the more endearing with her slightly-chipped front tooth. Elena, who wore yellow flowery summer dresses in winter and laughed when people asked her if she was cold. Elena, who smoked cigarettes and wore mismatched socks. Elena, who refused to drink anything alcoholic that wasn’t a cocktail. 

Elena, who was invincible.

Dead.

She was the fourth person who had turned up dead at their door. Fear crawled in him, looking for hold. Took over his person, pervaded his thoughts whenever he was left waiting for hours and hours on the end, waiting for another death, another casualty. And the more he thought about it, the more helpless he felt; helpless about the cause he was fighting for. Helpless about his constant nightmares. Helpless about himself, and his life.

It was the helpless that drove him to a hideout of the Nightshade, the decision to join them clutched in his shaking hands. 

~

The Nightshade welcomed him into their circle with open arms and no questions. 

He was their most valuable member, and it felt surreal. He had always been surrounded by suns, feeding off their radiance as he burned inside. He hadn’t known what it felt like to be the sun. To be necessary. To be a priority, and not an afterthought. 

It was glorious.

He provided information to the Nightshade. Gave them the locations of safehouses, the addresses of the prominent and powerful members of the organization, the places where the monthly meetings were held. Gave them information to hold as leverage over their heads, provided them with names of the weak links. 

He killed the people who caught him sneaking out and meeting with Nightshade members. He saw their expressions when they figured out he was the mole. The judgement, plain as day on their face.

But why should the dead judge? They were already gone, out of reach and incapable of any worldly significance. All his friends, all those who have fought and died; he mourned them, yes, but they were gone now. Useless.

 A ragged sigh escapes his lips. The word ricocheted inside him, stabbing at his heart like a cord of thorns. Useless. Such was his life, useless. Never good enough. Never worth anything compared to the others.

Each death ate away a little piece of his soul. But he couldn’t stop. Not now, when he finally mattered.

Not now, when he finally belonged.

~

December 25th. It was Christmas, and he had never felt as lonely as he did right now, holed up in his tiny cottage in the countryside. He stared at the floor, dragging his foot through the fine layer of dust accumulated on the old wooden floorboards. 

He thought about making himself a cup of tea, but couldn’t find the will within himself to get up from the worn out couch. So instead, he imagined. Imagined what would happen if he simply left everything behind. If he moved somewhere far, far away. France, perhaps. Or India. Somewhere where no more than a handful people knew what the Nightshade was. Somewhere no one would ever be able to find him.

He imagined his friends’ reactions, wondered if they would even notice his absence among all the disappearances that were being reported. They probably wouldn’t; they were too busy making new allies, or taking care of their families, or carrying out missions. None of his friends had any reason to think about him. He wasn’t important enough to warrant attention, not significant enough to be caught in action, not brave enough to stand up with them as they fought for their lives.

Not loyal enough to be faithful to one side. But they didn’t know that.

~

The holidays were over, and his mates and he were at one of their homes, legs stretched out across a deep burgundy rug, rolling dice and clinking half full bottles of beer. Like old times. 

This, this was his life. The tears in his eyes from laughing, the scattered pillows on the floor, the random bits of slime in his hair. The way Julian’s eyes glistened as he looked at them, the fire long gone out but none of them feeling particularly cold. 

Regret clawed at him. He thought about changing alliances for one, one blissful moment. To walk out on the Nightshade, to be with his friends. To stop the lies, the deception.

Then he returned home. Returned to his empty, cold house, and everything was as it was before.

~

The final piece of the puzzle was in the form of his ultimate betrayal. 

It was the 18th of March. The sun was setting as he made his way down to the hideout, the sky painted in beautiful purples and dark pinks. He remembered one year ago, when he’d made his way down the same road, when his mind was indecisive and his allegiance hanging by a delicate thread. 

Their hideout was in the basement of a huge, abandoned building on Abberton Alley. The structure loomed over him now, casting him in shadows. 

So he stood there, and he questioned. 

He questioned whether he was doing the right thing. Questioned whether people would understand. Questioned if he should have left his friends behind. 

Was it so wrong of him to want to join the winning side? 

None of his friends would understand. They didn’t see that they were fighting a losing battle. Didn’t see that they were banging their skulls against an impenetrable wall, hoping that the enemy was weakening but not noticing the blood running down their own face until it was too late. 

Emotions churned in his belly, thoughts fighting for dominance, rising like poisonous gas. When was the right time to forfeit one’s alliance? Was it too late? Could he turn back right now, head back to his house? Run?

He knew that he couldn’t. The Nightshade would hunt him down and kill him. And if there was one, definitive motive for all he had done, all the cowardice he’d shown, the betrayals, it was to survive.

He was a lonely rat among lions. 

He hesitated, just for a second, before he headed into the building.