Altruist (The Altruist Series Book 1) (22 page)

As the ink meets the aged parchment, soaking in my hidden thoughts, my hand trembles because I now know that I know nothing at all. I place the journal back into the bag and my muscles burn at the simple movement. For the first time in weeks, I realize how truly exhausted I am. Sleep, to sleep would be nice.

###

My gown is torn again. I can’t imagine Mother will be pleased. The crimson satin wraps crisscrossing and intertwining with creamy velvet, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve damaged the fabric. I can’t entirely say I regret riding this afternoon. There is something so simple and beautiful about the way the wind presses against my skin. I feel free.

I traipse down the winding marble stairs, further damaging the hem but at this point I doubt I can apply any more noticeable frays. A warm breeze catches my smile as I walk through the translucent drapes and pass through the courtyard.

“Stop!” The piercing sound of my mother’s voice bellows from across the grounds.

“Mother? Mother!” My shouts crowd the air and I run through the grass, my bare feet attacking the earth.

“Catherine?” my mother’s sweet lilt seems completely confused as I stumble into the garden and take by her side.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, dear, that pesky rabbit was in here again just devouring our radishes.” My heart calms and I laugh, relaxing. “Catherine! What have you done to your gown? What did I tell you about being so reckless? You know, no man wants a lady who has her brain occupied by wanderlust. Speaking of men, Abelander was around today asking about you yet again. You should really give that young man a chance. He’s positively strapping.”

I cross my arms and allow my mother to get through her rant. If I were to attempt to explain that my interests simply do not lie in entering into a relationship with a stranger, she would just object and further her line of question. “Yes, Mother, I’m aware. He is quite strapping. You’re absolutely right.”

“Catherine, are you being patronizing? That’s not becoming of you. Catherine, be a dear and hurry into the gardening shed and ask Wilhelm for a hand rake, will you?”

I jump at the opportunity to exit the lecture and walk the 20 yards to the brown shed, opening the creaking wood door. I always have loved it in here. Windowpanes, green with ivy and life make up the roof and allow beams of light to shine through. “Wilhelm? Wilhelm? Are you in here? I’m in need of a hand rake for Mother.”

The shed is quiet and I suppose he must have knocked off for the day early. I walk towards a long table, covered in potted plants being shielded from the weather.
Hand rake, hand rake, where is hand rak
e? I search between the plants and then notice a metallic object on the ground. Kneeling, I glance underneath the wooden table,
there you are, hand rake
. Reaching my hand through the wooden beams I outstretch my fingers, almost there, grasping,
got you!

“Catherine?” The accented voice startles me and I knock my head against the table. Turning my neck I see a small boy standing behind me.

“Wilhelm. Good grief, you scared me.”

His body jolts into action. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“No need to apologize. Where were you? I was calling for you.” His eyes mist and his hand grips tightly against a metal dagger. “Wilhelm? Wilhelm? What is wrong? What have you done?” Panic and confusion overwhelm me.

“I haven’t done anything, ma’am.” His quiet voice is unsteady and anxious.

“Then why are you crying, child?” I kneel down and smile at him, wiping his tears away.

“Because of what I’m about to do,” he says then plunges the dagger into my chest, taking the air from me like it was never mine in the first place. Like I was only borrowing it for a short period. I fall back against the cold ground. Wilhelm’s arm rests behind my head. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I’m sorry.”

I hear my mother’s voice cascade and fill the shed. “Catherine.” She’s calling for me. “Catherine.”

Chapter 26 - Abel

My fingertips tap anxiously at the translucent keyboard fixed into a table in the control room at Reuben’s compound. How nice it would have been to have access to this sort of technology during the battle of 1812. To be able to communicate military orders from one side of the battle to the other and beyond to the war room where my parents waited nervously for any news from the battle lines. The fleeting memory makes me feel old and worn.
I need to retire
, I think. But instead I sit at this table, floating translucent screens balance midair in the space in front of me, green and red lines mark assassination attempts in a timeline perpendicular to the memo that begins to take form beneath.

General Holleran,

        Our initial agreed upon timeline has been compromised. Due to unforeseen circumstance, we have been forced into the city. I write you from the unground bunker where Reuben Ardent resides. At this time, I request preparations from The Guild for the extended exile of approximately 15 houseguests. Please forward instructions as soon as possible as comms will be down for a brief period during the next 48 hours.

Lieutenant Cohen

“What are you doing there, son?” My fathers voice echoes slightly before being swallowed up by the walls around us.

“Filling in Istanbul,” I say.

“Ah, always on task. I’m not sure how I feel about that,
Istanbul.
I will always be partial to Lygos. Call me old fashioned.” He smirks, and his lack of concern forces me to rid the nervous energy from my bones. He moves towards the table and leans against it so that our eyes meet. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I say without skipping a beat or allowing any real time to actually contemplate that question in any sincere way. He nods his head and raises his eyebrows.

“You’re not at all worried?” He asks and the question irritates me. Does he want me to be worried? Does he want me to openly acknowledge that he is more pieced together than I am? Than I ever will be?

“Not at all,” I say, again, without leaving room for doubt.

“That’s good,” he says, nodding. “Though, you know, being worried isn’t anything to be ashamed of, son. Fear can be a helpful motivator. Forces you to focus, though, if you ignore it, it can very easily at the same time fool you into making mistakes.”

The room is quiet as I play his words in my mind. I bite my lip, an annoying habit I’ve picked up from Cate in the past few months.

“I’m scared,” I say.

“I know.” His voice is humble and meets mine head on, unwavering in comfort. “I know. But you have some broad shoulders, Abel, and there isn’t much that you can’t handle. I’m scared too.” He kneels so that he faces the side of my chair and I can’t look him in the eye. I keep my focus on the screen and feel his hand settle on my shoulder. “You and I, we are bound to one another and son, there is no length I wouldn’t go to for you. You are not alone in this, this is not your task alone.”

“I’m meant to protect her!” I say and stand, not being able to handle his kind words for a moment longer. Because I don’t believe them, I don’t believe him. I have become so entwined within my own guilt that I’m not sure how I could ever let it go. I hold tears back and stare at the floor, hand stuffed nervously into my pockets.

“I’m meant to protect her, Dad, and I haven’t. Never. Not once. I fail, over and over I fail and it feels like a curse. Like I have been placed on this earth to fail over and over for no reason. For nothing to ever be gained. And that’s on me, I take that. I can’t protect her.” The words echo through the air and I would take them back if I didn’t mean them, but I do. I mean each one, not because I’m stuck as an 18 year old self deprecating teen but because they’re accurate.

“Maybe you should give up.” His words strike me and my gaze shoots up to see him staring at the door. “Live like you’ve given up, Abel. Because you’re acting like you are. Whether you have or not, you’re acting like you are and it’s those actions that people see. That people believe, that people follow.” He says.

My mouth parts and I feel my chest heave with air too heavy for my lungs to keep in. He finally meets my eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be scared and hurt and act in all the wrong ways sometimes. If you weren’t meant to feel this gamut of emotion, you wouldn’t have been made to be capable of them.” He walks towards me and wraps his arms around me. “It’s not okay to act like you’re not capable of achieving the things you’ve set out to achieve. It is not okay to be consumed by guilt to the point where it incapacitates you from ever being able to succeed. I want you to have the world, I want you to take a hold of everything you deserve and I will give my everything to make sure you get those things, to make sure you stop hurting. But I cannot believe in a man who does not believe in himself. Take it, take this life, it is a beautiful life.”

I unclasp my hand from my arms and return his hug, my cheek on his shoulder and for the first time in thousands of years, I allow him to be my father.

“Everything alright in here?” my mother’s voice calls from the door and startles us both. I look up, eyes misty. “Yeah, mom. Everything is perfect.” She stands there and the sight must be as surprising to her as it is to either of us. “Reuben is looking for you, Eliath,” she says and smiles. He releases his arms from me and whispers, “You okay?” I manage a slight, though authentic smile and nod. And watch him follow mom out the door.

“Augusta Antonina,” I say and he turns. “That’s my preferred name of Istanbul.” He smiles and leaves.

VRRB VRRB.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Communication received and understood. Appropriate extended exfil prep into Istanbul will go into effect at 0900.

Manolete

Chapter 27

I blink back to life, back to my bunk bed, back to the subterranean facility. My heart beats steady and my skin is cool to the touch, signifying that these memories are no longer more than I can handle. I realize now that my favorite moment of the day is when I wake up. When the sleep has made me forget what is real, and for a brief moment I am free. For that moment all I want is a cup of coffee and to catch the bus. As the images of normalcy blend into the background and acknowledgement of the bunk house swiftly comes back a chuckle escapes. Those moments when my eyes open would be cruel if they weren’t so fucking beautiful. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit hunched over rubbing sleep from my eyes. I scan the perfectly square room for clocks but there isn’t a single object around other than beds. Standing, I then walk towards the door and pull on the handle but it doesn’t budge.
They locked me in… really?
I furrow my brows and knock, knocking to leave a room. My life has quite literally become a prison. I raise my fist to knock again but the door slides from its place and back into the wall before I can unleash my irritation upon it. A smiling face greets me.

“Hey, Cate, everyone okay?”

“Ben!” I laugh at the thought of my annoyance. Ben is one of those people that you could never really be upset with—he’s too kind. “Yes,” I say, nodding my head and smiling. “What time is it?” I ask.

“Quarter after 2,” he says, glancing at his watch. I’ve only been asleep for an hour or so but it absolutely felt like an eternity. I linger for a moment, not knowing what to say, but not wanting to be locked inside this cage again.

“Hey, Ben, do you think it would be okay if I walked around for a bit? I don’t think I could go back to sleep, and some fresh air would be nice.” I know before the words leave my lips that the chance of me getting out of here is slim but it’s worth a shot. Ben stares at me, and his eyes are exactly the same as Joseph’s, grey and solemn.