A Place Where There Is No Darkness

Fifteen

I heard a choked voice crying when I got closer.

I got my gun out and stormed into the room. As soon as I made sure that there was no imminent danger, I holstered the gun again and started to try and understand the situation.

It was a small room, maybe a private office. There was a desk under a window, stacked with papers and folders. The walls were painted a dull white, but they were far from dull now – splattered with the occasional red that would have gone unnoticed by anyone who had never seen blood before. A man was on the floor, unmoving, his eyes staring unseeingly into the distance. Red streamed from a wound – a gunshot wound, I presumed – in his chest.

Over him kneeled an Elite agent. His mask was pulled down and he was crying.

He was so young. Fourteen or fifteen, maybe, which meant that he was even younger than me. While I never saw myself as a kid – I hadn’t for a long, long time –, there was something unmistakably child-like about his desperate features. He was too young for this s**t. Way too young. Too young in a way I had never been.

I walked up behind him, careful to be loud enough for him to notice. The last thing he needed was someone sneaking up on him.

He jumped to his feet.

I gestured for him to turn off his com. He looked at me funnily, as if he didn’t quite understand what I wanted him to do, so I walked over to him and did it myself.

“Number?”

“One-fifteen, Ma’am.”

“What happened here, One-fifteen?”

He looked down, vainly trying to hide his tears. “He, uh … There was this guard here and I just stumbled on him. And he went for the panic button …” He pointed to an elegant, silver button under the desk. My heartbeat picked up.

“Did he press it?”

“And I didn’t have a choice, I had my gun out and I yelled at him to stop, that I would shoot, but he didn’t listen and …”

“One-fifteen, look at me.”

My cool voice snapped him out of it and his eyes found my face. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Did he or didn’t he press the panic button?”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “He did, Ma’am. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Well, s**t.

I immediately reached for my com. “One-oh-six, we have a problem. The third guard has pressed the panic button. The police are most likely on their way. Grab the money and get as many men as you can into two cars. Leave immediately, but leave the third car behind for me and One-fifteen. We’re still up here. We’ll make it down as fast as possible.”

I barely even waited for the “Yes, Ma’am,” before I turned my com off again and gave my full attention back to the boy in front of me.

“What’s your name?”

He looked at me, his cheeks wet and red, his eyelashes stuck together into spikes that looked like they could form a crown. Or a really nasty whip. “I told you, One–“

“No, no, I mean your real name.”

“Oh.” He sniffled. He was the picture of misery. “Evan.”

“You’re going to be okay, Evan. I promise.”

“But …”

“But what?”

I thought he was going to ask what would happen to him. What Orwell would do to him for failing on a mission this badly and for disregarding my order to avoid violence. Instead he looked at the floor again, desperation oozing from his every pore, and he ground out, “But I hurt a man.”

This settled it for me. He was a good kid.

“Right. Because you had to. Not your fault.”

“But it didn’t even help. He got to the button anyway.”

I sighed and went up to him. “Hey, Evan, we don’t have a lot of time. But we have time for this. We always have to have time for this.”

I stepped over to the downed guard and looked at his staring eyes. I always made myself do it. Make myself feel the dread they’d experienced in their last moments and all their judgement. Why are you alive and I’m not?

Sorry, I whispered back to him in my mind. It just happened this way.

Then, before he could say anything else, I placed my fingers on his eyelids and slowly, gently pushed them shut.

I turned back to Evan and gestured for him to come closer. This he did understand. I slipped an arm around his shoulders and brought us both down to our knees.

It had to be this way. He had to see it and to mourn it now, otherwise he would live his whole life asking himself what exactly he had done and who he had done it to. He looked down, covered his mouth with a hand and started sobbing.

I let him for exactly twenty-three seconds. Then I rubbed a hand down his back and said, “This is not your fault.” Because he needed to hear it, even though it wasn’t technically true. Not entirely, anyway.

He nodded shakily.

“This is the man you killed, Evan, and it’s not your fault. Do you understand me? This is the face that will haunt you now, but you can’t let it, okay? Do you understand me?”

He nodded again.

“Okay. Time’s up. We really need to move now. Turn your com back on. Pretend like it was never off. And don’t cry loud enough for them to hear.”

“O-okay.”

“Good.”

I took my own advice and turned my com on. An engine blared in my ear, which meant that the other guys were already getting away.

“Good, they’re on their way,” I told 115 – Evan – as I helped his shaky form off the floor. “Now we really have to hurry, okay? How fast can you run?”

He brushed a hand over his face, seemingly determined to pull himself together. “I’m a decent runner.”

I smiled wickedly. “Those are the best words I’ve heard all day. And good thing we’ve studied the blueprints of this building so thoroughly. I think we can go this way and we’ll come to the back exit.”

“You think?”

I smiled, hoping that he’d meant it as a joke. That he’d be okay again, someday. “Stop talking and start running, One-fifteen.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

***

We made it all the way to the door before we heard the sirens. I cursed under my breath and pulled the old, rusty door open, gesturing for Evan to get out. He did and I followed and we crept along the side of the building. There were no cops here, but the high-pitched screams of the police cars were warning enough. The night around us wasn’t black anymore – from behind the dark, dark silhouette of the bank, blue and crazy lights were dancing all around. It was maddening.

“I’ll just go check what’s going on. You wait here, okay?”

I didn’t wait for Evan to answer; I simply crouched low in my knees and walked slowly along the wall of the building to its front, gun drawn and at the ready. I didn’t get very far before an unknowing officer crossed paths with me. The few moments of shock were her downfall and my gift – I wrapped my arms firmly around her throat and cut off her oxygen long enough for her to land peacefully on the ground.

It wasn’t safe. If we went back to our car now – which had probably already been found anyway – we would be discovered and sent to prison, no questions asked. I was pretty sure about it.

And still, such an opportunity to get word out to the FBI without anyone suspecting anything – I couldn’t just let that go. In the end, we hadn’t found a secure way to stay in constant touch with them, so Mitchell had decided to try and make things up as we went. He had probably already succeeded in sending a few messages to his fellow agents, but this was too good a chance to pass up, even for me.

I found a stick and went to work writing in the dirt. It was a quick message, meant only to let the FBI know the Elite had been here.

To the FBI: It was them. Warehouse not far away. They don’t trust us.

Ella and Mitchell

In the dark and facing a horde of policemen, I couldn’t tell how well I had managed to write the letters or if they were even legible at all, but I knew I had little time left. It was a matter of seconds, not minutes, before someone else came looking around the corner, or, alternatively, the nice woman I had knocked out woke up and crept up on me behind my back. So I quickly picked up stones and sticks and whatever else I could find just lying around, and made a makeshift frame out of them, so that no one would accidentally trample my important message.

Job done, I quickly got up and ran back to Evan.

“So much for our car,” I grumbled as I came back, swiftly ignoring the obvious relief on his face as he saw me. Poor kid had to be terrified. Hell, if it hadn’t been for the rush of adrenaline in the face of a job after three long, eventless years, I would have been terrified.

“Do you know the way back to the warehouse?” My voice was a whisper as I carefully pulled him away from the bank and towards the forest that lay beyond. This place would be flooded with police in no time. I was actually surprised it wasn’t yet, but gift horses and mouths and all that.

He nodded timidly. I should have known that Orwell would trust a kid – with a number for his name and a ninja costume for his identity – more than he trusted me. And maybe he was right in doing so.

“How far is it?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, a few miles, maybe?”

“Okay.” I looked around. “Can you get there?”

“I-I think so. I mean, I know the general direction and then we should probably be able to find our way.”

I smiled, not mentioning that I knew the general direction too, since I had been in one of the vehicles that had brought us here. Hopefully, he had a few more details than me, but it didn’t matter anyway. We had to get out of there.

“Ever run a marathon?” I asked him.

He let himself grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was probably too tired for something like that. And who could blame him? It had been a long night. And it was about to get longer.

“I’ve told you. I’m a decent runner.”

“Good. Then let’s go home.”

***

We arrived at the warehouse when the sun was already making an appearance; sweaty, dirty and half-dead on our feet. I would have loved to take a shower or even get in a few hours of sleep before I had to answer to Orwell, but I knew that was a simple fantasy that had nothing at all to do with reality. Sure enough, Evan and I were ushered to the throne room the second we entered the warehouse.

“Welcome, Ella.” His robe hung off the armrest of his throne and as I looked at it, trying to shut the rest of the world out, I felt dizzy. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice from shaking in the face of what I knew I had to do.

“Hello.”

“How did your mission go?”

I smiled ruefully. “As you probably already suspected, not too well.”

“But you got the money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. So what were the complications?”

I took a deep breath. And let it out. Here goes nothing.

“There were three guards on the premises. I took one out when I came in, the second one was taken care of by the safe. We missed the third one.”

“And?”

“I went to find him. He was in an office on the first floor. He saw me, went for the panic button that would alert the police. I yelled at him to stop, but he didn’t, and so I shot him. He still got to press the button before he died.”

It was quiet. I felt Evan’s eyes on me. I thought I could even feel his surprise, but I didn’t turn around to look at him.

Then Orwell spoke.

“So not only did you disregard our agreement about not leaving a mess behind, you let the man call the police too? How stupid are you?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“And the other agents that were with you on this mission will corroborate this story?”

They wouldn’t. But that didn’t matter. They had all got their four hours of sleep and were probably already on patrol now or doing God knew what for Orwell. Their shift would only end in the evening, and by then, things would have already unfolded. Because I had a plan.

“Yes.”

“You know what I have to do, right?”

He didn’t have to do anything, was the answer. He never had to. He could do whatever he wanted and never suffer the consequences. Such was the nature of his position.

But he wanted to do this.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s say today at five? Will that be okay with you?”

As if I could say no. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Happiness can only exist in acceptance. Do you know who said that, my dear?”

I balled my fists and clenched my teeth, but I managed to make my voice sound neutral. “I’m going to guess it was George Orwell.”

“How right you are, dear. I’ll see you at five, then – as will everyone else. One-fifteen, you are expected to begin your duties in five hours. I suggest you get some rest until then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Off you go. Don’t be late to your duties. Either of you.”

The door opened from the outside and we left the room.

Evan leaned in closer to me and whispered, “What’s he going to do to you at five?”, as the two servants at the door stared at us intently.

I went for a smile, but it probably came across as rather shaky. “Don’t worry your head about it. I have a plan. Speaking of which, what kind of shift do you have today?”

He looked down and blushed. “Cleaning duties.”

I smiled, feeling a warm sensation spread through my chest. “That means like toilets and stuff? In here, in the warehouse?”

He nodded, still looking ashamed, but all I could feel was relief. Finally something was going my way.

We came to my door and I stepped towards it.

“That’s me. Have a nice time cleaning toilets.” I thought he seemed a little hurt and he didn’t look me in the eye or even say goodbye as he went to walk away. I quickly caught his hand in mine and stopped him. I fished pen and paper out of my pocket and scribbled a quick note.

“Oh, don’t be offended now, I was just joking.”

People could be listening. Maybe someone will pick you up today in the middle of your shift. If they do, go with them. Don’t ask questions, okay?

He looked at me, his eyes scared and confused at the same time, but his voice was steadier than expected when he said, “Well, it wasn’t a very good joke.” He took the offered pen.

Okay.

I smiled and nodded at him and he nodded back. But before I could disappear in my room, he threw his arms around me.

I laughed. When I closed the door behind me and wanted to throw the piece of paper away, I noticed he had written something else.

Thanks for sticking up for me.

Maybe I was the first one that ever had.

You’re welcome.