Chapter 2
1371 Words
GLIMPSES IN THE FIRE LIGHT
Scarlett's POV
Sebastian says, "Don't look at me like that," his voice low and menacing. Like you wonder whether I could keep you secure.
I tilt my head, rebellion boiling in my breast despite the terror snarling at my throat. "Perhaps since I am challenging it. Sebastian, you have been just half-truths and secrets. How can I believe someone who will withhold the complete truth?
He approaches, his chiseled face sharp shadows created by the firelight. His eyes are sharp and almost possessive, as though he is challenging me to push beyond. "Because right now your only alternative is to believe me. Do you believe I cannot see your hands shaking? Alternatively, the way you're acting as though you're not on the brink of anything dangerous?
I cannot help it; my voice grows frustrated. "Perhaps that is because I am! I have no idea why you keep dragging me into your mess. Sebastian, who are you? From you, what are their expectations?
His stillness is like a wall I cannot break through, his mouth closes. Our emotional conflict is intolerable, like a live wire sparking. At last he spoke, his voice a silent storm.
" Scarlett, they yearn for control. And they will find it using anyone—anything. With you included.
His comments linger in the air, loaded with ramifications I would be too reluctant to explore. The room seems smaller for a time as my heart pounds against my ribs, the walls closing in. Sebastian's hand darts out and catches my wrist when I try to back off and create some space between us. The contact reminds me of the indisputable draw between us and causes a chill down my spine.
"You're not leaving," he adds with a tight but non-painful grasp. Not until I know you are secure.
Safeway. The term seems alien, almost humorous. Safety is a luxury I have not had in a long time—not since that evening with him altered everything. Now the risk is a dagger buried in the wall, a threat written on paper, and a man hiding in the shadows of my imagination.
From what? Safe from? My voice just above a whisper, I ask. "Sebastian, I need solutions."
His eyes soften, just momentarily, and I see the man I used to know flickering. You would run if I told you everything. Right now, that is the last thing you could afford to do.
"Stop treating me as if I were delicate!" I quickly yanked my wrist free. "You are not here to decide for Sebastian. Not now.
His chuckle is sharp and cruel. You consider this to be about control? About me attempting to make the calls of direction? excellent. Let Scarlett go out that door. But when they come after you next, avoid coming to weep for you.
I gaze at him, my rage against the chewing anxiety in my chest. That's it then? You will simply frighten me into staying? Usually Sebastian is always the puppet master.
"And you are always the martyr," he says, his voice rising. "Always so willing to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders, even if it is about to crush you. Do you really hear yourself?
"Do you hear yourself"? I counter by approaching more closely. "You believe you can save everything by excluding me and acting the hero. But let me say something: Sebastian, you are not absolutely perfect. And you are most definitely not as untouchable as you project.
These days, our faces are inches apart, the air between us packed with irritation and something deeper, more frightening. His eyes fix on mine, and for a second I believe he might say anything to defuse the stress. Rather, he stretches out his hand and brushes my cheek.
"Scarlette," he says, his voice weaker now. "I'm not trying to run over you. I am attempting to guard you.
His touch is electrifying, giving me a surge of fire for which I despise myself. I should tell him his protection is the last thing I need, then shove him away. But it's difficult to think clearly when he sees me as the only person who counts in the world.
"Why do you care so much"? My voice is hardly audible, I ask. "Why now"?
His gentle gesture—tracing the edge of my jaw—fevers with the turmoil all around us. He says simply, "Because I can't lose you again."
His candor surprises me, and for a while I forget everything—the danger, the barriers I have erected around myself. I just sense him, his presence all-consuming and overwhelming.
But the moment was shattered before I could reply from the corridor. The sound shocks me like glass cracking against concrete and pumps energy through me.
Sebastian lowers his hand from my face, his body stiffening to protect me. He says, "Stay here," his voice devoid of any margin for debate.
Following him as he approaches the door, I say, "Like hell I will." "If you believe I will just watch from here—”
"Scarlette, I mean it," he says, whirling to meet me. Not a game is what this is. Should something happen to you—that is " His jaw tightens as he cuts off himself. Just remain behind me.
He opens the door, his motions careful but methodical, so I have no time to dispute further. Although the corridor is empty, the terrible quiet is nearly worse than any obvious hazard. Every stride we make is like walking on a wire; the tension coiled so tightly it seems certain to break.
It then performs as well.
Too quick to make sense, a shadow dashes across the far end of the hall. Sebastian drives me back into the wall, his arm shielded in front of me. He says, "Don't move," his voice almost heard over my heart's beating.
A man appears from the shadows, a mask covering their face before I can react. They are clutching something—a little gadget with a red blinking light that makes me shiver.
"Sebastian Cole," the man says with a mechanical, twisted voice. You have one hour to decide.
Choose? Sebastian lets out a snarl and advances. "What selection?"
The number doesn't respond. Rather, they vanish into the night after dropping the gadget on the ground. The blinking red light accelerates, its pattern like a countdown.
"What the heck is that??" Panic rising in my chest, I ask.
Sebastian grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs with a stern look. "It is a statement. And we are both dead if we cannot define what it means.
One last time the gadget beeps before deafening noise and blinding illumination cover the corridor.
Everything suddenly turns dark.
The terrible roar vanishes, then my ears ring high-pitched instead. As I try to understand what just transpired, my eyesight hazes. The air smells strongly of smoke, metal and burned wood filling my lungs.
"Scar Scarlett!" Sebastian's voice is harsh and forceful, cutting across the mist. His hands seize my shoulders and softly but forcefully shake me. "Look at me. Are you injured?
Blinking confused, I fixed my eye on his face. His normal calm has vanished and he is now in raw fear. "I... I'm fine," I stutter, yet my legs feel like jelly under me.
He continues, his tone devoid of any opportunity for debate: "We need to move." His arm tightly around my waist, he pulls me to my feet and leads me toward the steps. "This isn't done here."
A faint, repetitive tapping sounds through the smoke-filled hall before I can inquire what he means. Like a predator playing with its prey, it is slow and methodical.
"Sebastian," I murmured with a shaking voice. "What is that?," asos
As he studies the shadows, his jaw gets stiff. "They're here.."
"Who's here?" Demand, terror building in my chest.
"The folks who don't leave loose ends."
The tapping gets louder and approaches. And suddenly, from the shadows, a voice calls out, mocking and freezing.
"Scene over, Mr. Cole."
The flickering lights se
nd us into black. And at that point the actual dream starts.
- Writer
