Imprint - 27. Ch. 5 Part V

V

It was well after midnight and Tallen was seated in the back of the aether block vehicle, staring straight ahead, trying to burn holes in the unseen driver behind the wall in the forward compartment. He didn't know who it was that ferreted him around on these off the books assignments, he liked to imagine it was Sandar while doubting it was true, probably some innocent third party that didn't know nothing about nothing. Someone it would be wrong to drag screaming from the punched out front window and leave barbecued in the woods for the wild life to feast; Sandar would deserve it, he wouldn't think twice.

He passed time by curling and uncurling his gloved hands, lighting them on fire and dousing it again. He could've done it with most of his body if he wanted to, the long coat was outfitted for it same as the gloves; fuck even the sword he had to carry around and rarely used had a groove down the middle of it specifically for that (it did make him an impressive sight at demonstrations, he supposed). He ignored the file tossed on the seat next to him, once was more than enough.

Deep breath in, deep breath out; he closed his eyes and thought of the ocean. Too many years gone and he hardly had a chance to enjoy it at the time; Tallen would give anything now to go back. A little place on the coast, away from everything and everyone, where he could live a simple self sustained existence; where he could wake up to the sound of waves crashing on the shore, wake up next to -

He remembered the first time he saw someone die, a fourteen year old girl who had lived around the corner from him; he'd seen her laughing with her mother the day before she was ripped out of her mother's arms, crying and screaming. She'd crumbled to the ground and didn't move again; it was supposed to be like going to sleep, that's what his father had told him, but it wasn't true. He couldn't remember what she looked like anymore, or her name.

The beach had been beautiful at dawn, and at least once a season Elleth would get them out of bed early, whoever wanted to go and watch the sun come up. There had always been too many little kids on those trips, Tallen had wanted to go alone, just him and -

Heading through the woods, the vehicle a dark, silent presence at his back now; can't let it get too close, don't want to be seen or heard. Deep breath in, deep breath out; he could see the house in the distance, just as in the file. Looked like a nice place to live, quiet and out of the way, with a lot of windows that easily melted.

He remembered the first time he killed a man, accidentally but not regretted. The screaming had been more surprised at first before turning into raw agony; the choking grip had loosened from around his neck and he had retreated automatically, scurrying backwards from the hovering presence. When his vision came back to show him the dead man blackening under diminishing flames, Tallen had been too afraid to be relieved; that was before he heard shouting in the distance and knew the rest of them were coming, knew who they would blame. If he was to blame, if he had somehow done this, he knew then, he would have to do it again, and fast. And he had.

His armor, such as it was, was well made; he didn't get burned, could only barely feel the heat. Deep breath in, deep breath out; his hand slid through the glass, unlatched the window from the inside.

He had never felt guilty, never once. He knew he would do it again, if he had to; promised himself, in the solitary weeks that followed, the next person that came at him would get the same. Later, building a sandcastle for a captive audience, he'd decided to expand that promise to include anyone who dared lay a finger on-

That was one of his favorite memories, that sandcastle, he could still see it vividly in his mind. When he was still younger, he'd had strange dreams of running away to live inside it, disappearing from New Green River, where no one would ever find him; they'd be safe there, just him and-

The house was quiet, just some faint snoring; everyone was asleep, a man, a woman, and-

He had believed, in the beginning, that it was the same thing as before, the same kind of people that would hurt him if given half a chance, and that made it okay. And in the beginning it was probably true, when these outings were public and much heralded after the fact (with London taking most of the credit, Tallen reduced to a fancy flaming sword he wielded). That all changed in time, and the people he confronted now on these secret late night raids were less the hardened criminals ready to fight back, more-

More a couple asleep in their bed.

Doesn't mean they were innocent, even hardened criminals had to sleep sometime. There could be a basement dungeon right under his feet filled with the bodies of tortured children, an appearance of normal didn't mean everything was, he knew that very well. That was easy to think in the beginning, but they were probably no one at all; just random unlucky people caught in a power struggle between the Hunter and his knight.

Or, possibly, they were part of some underground anti-London movement, people who could see through his bullshit and worked to throw him out of power. That was a compelling thought at times, tempting to shake them awake first and ask, can I help? Anything, I'll do anything, just help me get-

Not worth the risk, if those field operatives were real, if he was being watched...

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Sorry. My hands are tied...

A few years ago he would've risked it, when there was only himself to worry about. Before he saw the trump card London was keeping in the adjoining room.

Broke the first promise, can't break the second.

There are worse things than death, you know. At least this will be over quick, you won't even wake up...

I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. If its a choice between you and-

Life isn't fucking fair. I didn't ask to be here either. You do what you have to do. You'd do the same, if you were me...

The snoring had stopped, and all was still; the knife was heavy in his hand.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. That trick worked better when he was younger, mental games just weren't enough anymore. The ocean was ten years gone, and-

Clear blue eyes, like the ocean on a sunny day. And like the ocean, out of his reach now.

There was only this: silence.

He stepped over the pile of alphabet blocks on his way to the next room.

The night was lit up around him when Tallen left; the house would be gone by morning if the fire drew no attention, if it did it would prove hard to put out. That he never scrimped on, certain as he was that any blame would fall solely on him, leaving London all alone with-

He stormed back through the woods the way he'd come; his mind quiet, attention narrowed so all he saw was the vehicle waiting for him, getting to it, getting to the lower town. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered.

Tallen had always been convinced, if London really did have people in the field watching him, he would know it. How was it possible to miss a pair of eyes focused on him?

But he always did.

The Winter Moon was officially closed for the night, but its doors were unofficially open, alcohol locked up and a different sort of vice on offer. Cath was in her usual booth, with some drunken moron Tallen grabbed by the back of the neck and tossed unceremoniously on the floor.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

“Piss off.” Tallen's focused calm had eroded in the time it took to arrive; sparks were appearing along his coat and the tips of his fingers. He knew exactly the picture he made, playing into every idea they had of him. The man on the floor wisely scrambled out without further protest; no doubt later there would an exaggerated version spread around, that ended with the idiot in a coma if not worse.

Tallen turned back to Cath, “You busy?”

Cath looked him over carefully, no judgment and no fear, quickly assessing his mood and modifying her approach to his needs. Like any good whore, and maybe that was why whores were the only company he could stand anymore. “Doesn't look like it. You doing all right?”

“No. And I'm not in the mood to play charming. You got five minutes for me or not?”

She didn't bat an eye, just dragged herself out of the booth, stretching her arms above her head; her already low cut blouse hung open, likely thanks to the drunk, she didn't bother fixing it. “Five minutes, then I'm done for the night.”

Cath was fifteen years older than him, more plain than beautiful and showing the wear of a hard life; it didn't bother Tallen much, but he wasn't interested in her face, preferred not to see it at all. It was quick and impersonal, ducking into the back alley, clothing rearranged just enough for access and no more. No touching, no speaking; it wasn't a parody of a relationship, it was release plain and simple.

He tried to think of nothing, keep a blank mind. He didn't think of hands around his throat, squeezing in the last seconds before they were burned away; definitely didn't think of blue eyes and cool fingered hands that touched him so gently and made him think, for a short time, that he could be safe.

Her eyes met his from over her shoulder, and a strong flash of emotion tore through him, whiting out any thought; he once believed it was anger, but repetition taught him otherwise. A moment of disobedience, to be sharply and forcefully corrected-

”Don't look at me.” Words he used to hear hissed against his ear, his face being ground into the nearest flat surface. Why, he used to wonder, did it matter, when he saw them every day? He understood it now; can't say he was glad of it.

Time was a half hour in Cath's company, even after a night like this, was a high he could coast on for a while; not a good high but calm and controlled. Now though, it just took the worst of the edge off and the effect was gone by the time he was back in his room. There was nothing else he could do.

The smell of smoke clung to him, always did, but he couldn't filter it out, couldn't ignore it.

His chambers were empty of everything save a bed and chest; all else had been burned in a fit of temper long ago-

“You shouldn't have bothered.” Don't bother, never bother, not with-

even the carpet was gone, just scorched stone under his feet. He still kept it littered with candles, as he'd had to before learning to affect the aether lamps; it was still more satisfying to make a flame appear, grow and diminish as he saw fit. Tallen sat on the floor, the heavy coat was off, the tinted glasses off, the gloves off, his hands so pale in the candlelight.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. So loud in the still room; like snoring, like when storing stops.

He never snored. Wouldn't move at all unless Tallen snuggled close in the night, as he liked to do; those arms would open to welcome him, wrap around him to keep him safe. He still remembered it so vividly, still missed it with a sharp ache like the last time had been days ago, not years.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Don't think; imagine nothing.

Not blue eyes, laughing and happy, looking up at you in complete trust you never earned.

“You're an animal, Tallen. You'll ruin everything you touch. And it'll be the same with-”

Blue eyes from across the room, staring wide, hurt and confused, meeting your own one last time; heartbroken, silently begging you to take it back.

“You think you can control yourself? Be realistic. When have you ever been able to do that? Or do you think a sorry will make it all better?”

….fuck it.

There was almost no one awake yet in the compound this early, just the night guard looking half asleep. Tallen still played it careful, going out the front door and most of the way down the hill before circling around and back; everyone knew about the lower town whores, let them think that's where he was going.

He had never known if his discovery was accidental, or if London meant for him to find out, timed that summons knowing he'd walk up the stairs just in time to see that figure disappearing through one of those many doors that never opened.

What are you doing here? You were supposed to be gone, you were supposed to leave...

The only thing in his life he'd ever done right, the one mistake he'd corrected before it got too out of hand, ripped away. Not just undone, because that wasn't just any door, it was the one adjacent to London's own rooms.

He played you. He fucking played you, and you let him. You did exactly what he wanted you to do. You were stupid, so stupid...

Because there was only one reason why London would keep him so close, right next door. Only one thing he could want.

Your fault. You might as well have handed him over yourself.

There was a light on in the window, from where he stood half hidden behind a tree Tallen could see a figure up there sitting on the bench beside, resting his head on the window.

(...should be asleep...he doesn't remember, he needs someone to tell him, take care of him...)

He never got closer to Frost than this, never spoke to him; didn't have the balls, not after what he did. That happy little kid that used to follow him around was long gone, a pale gaunt shadow left in his place. He couldn't face it, couldn't...

It hadn't happened yet; he would know, if it had, Tallen would see it burned into his face. Once that happened, nothing else would matter; until then, there was time. Time, but not a lot of options; it felt like counting down to the inevitable tragic end.

Tallen pulled out a cigarette, the end lighting itself as soon as it touched his lips, a reflex by now.

“Hey Frost! Watch this!”

“Wow, you're getting really good at that.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

In this moment, this place, Tallen allowed himself to remember; to wish it had been different.

The news was nothing he did not expect, but London had to be sure to maintain an air of rapt attention for the phone call which followed.

“Not only was there no delay, I'd swear this was record time.” The asshole's voice oozed into his ear, carrying traces of grudging admiration that was actually welcome to hear, “Your boy continues to perform above expectation. Impressive.”

“I did tell you, I know how to break a man.”

“Indeed. Though surely you see where I had my doubts.” A pause, “You should consider putting him down soon.”

“Why, if there is no complaint?”

“There is a fine line, you know, between nothing left and nothing left to lose. To see that end coming, is the mark of a superior mind.”

He gritted his teeth, “Is this a formal demand? If not, I thank you to mind your own business.”

The asshole's response was immediate and dismissive, “Your risk, your call. But you do understand the consequences, yes?”

“Better than you.”

“Well, you do have me there. Better than any other, I would think.”

The worst part was the asshole was right, more than he even realized. London had had the same thought, more than once, but he couldn't act, not yet. He changed the subject, “Did you retrieve the body?”

“Barely. The fire was started in the second room. Good for you your animal never lingers long at the scene, we'd be having to do this again.”

Just like Tallen, to be inconvenient without even trying; London wondered if he had perhaps guessed the actual target he'd been sent after, but it didn't seem likely he was smart enough for that. “And when can I expect to have my fragment?”

An obnoxious little laugh, “Ever eager, aren't we?” He kept his expression neutral for fear it might affect his tone; he had to play his part, after all. “Extraction is easier on the young, they're still malleable and the foreign matter has less time to absorb in. But I do not have the sophisticated tools I once did, it will still be a few weeks to rip it out.”

“I did try to help you with that,” he made himself sound bitter, impatient, hoping to spur a reaction.

He was not disappointed. “And I told you not to. And look what it got you.”

“Would have been different had you helped.” He spent months thinking up possible barbs, waiting for an opportunity to use them.

“I could not have shown my face there, and you well know it.” The asshole let loose an exasperated sigh. “You're not coming down with another stupid idea, are you? How many limbs do you think you can lose before you become useless to me?”

Better question, how much longer until I don't have to care? “Just get me my fragment. Keep to your end.”

“I always do.”

This ruse wouldn't last forever, he was surprised he had kept it going as long as he had. Surely the asshole knew what London himself had figured out some time ago; the man was arrogant but he was not stupid, he would stop underestimating London's intelligence one day. That this meaningless quest was still being indulged was by itself suspicious; why was his hope being generously kept alive, rather than sadistically shattered for the asshole's own amusement? Surely he was all but aching to tell the truth.

This fragment, or a hundred more, wouldn't make any bit of difference; it wouldn't give him his life back, wouldn't return what he'd lost, make him whole. He had already recovered as much as he was ever going to; this, here and now, was as good as it would get. This would just be another spare piece to rattle around his head, and there was too much in there already, too broken to fit back together right. He had all he needed, remembered what he had to, the rest was pointless now. Except as a distraction, to keep the asshole thinking that London needed him, until he was ready to end this farce for good.

A weak excuse, stretched thin beyond measure, but he hadn't expected to still be here, not after this long; a few months, he'd thought, a year at most and it would be done. How hopelessly optimistic; he'd once again severely underestimated the stubbornness he would face.

There was a second phone in the locked drawer now, much like the asshole's it only made one connection; he'd acquired it more than a year ago, but it had taken time to manipulate its twin into the right hands without rousing suspicion. It had paid off, now he was just waiting for the right opportunity.

Not that one will come. And perhaps...it is time to rock the boat, a little.

He held it in his hand, pressing buttons with his thumb; an aether light in the center glowed green, the open line hummed quietly.

Tallen had been weak, pitifully so; it hadn't taken much to break him. It should have been enough, Tallen's failure should have been enough.

“Its time,” he spoke into phone, along the open channel, “Wait until evening, call and check in, as we said. Be patient, keep trying. Contact me when you break through.”

There was no response; pressing another button on the side of the device turned the aether light to blue.

When the sun rose, London joined his ward next door for breakfast. Sometimes he had dinner there as well, when there were no other pressing matters, when his temper was calm and even; always breakfast though, that was sacred routine. He would always find the boy waiting for him, seated at the table, his hands folded in front of him; any work he had asked the boy to do (organizing files mostly, simple things) set neatly in front of his own chair, a welcome sign that he was anticipated.

They ate by whatever light came through the windows, he had never seen the boy use the aether lamps on his own. Little in this room was touched anymore, every bit of furniture in the same place day after day bearing no sign of use, even the bed sat perfectly made and likely not slept in; the air, too, stale and oppressive. Except for the stack of books by the window seat that changed size and color infrequently; the boy had wanted books to read and he had been given books, as many as London could find. The same could not be said for the kitchen he'd had installed, that oven had been sitting unused for years. There was a small table arrayed with potted plants that were thriving, but not as well as they could be.

The boy had the appearance of a man now, much like the animal he once trailed behind; London could feel the years ever more sharply when looking at either of them, the long empty years. The boy had grown thin, near lost in the sweater he wore, the bones showing prominently on his face; his skin was so pale, but for the dark bags under his dull blue eyes.

It was troubling. To say the least.

Simple...it should've been simple...

These meals together were quiet affairs, the boy picking through his food with near skeletal fingers, eating less and less every time and yet he always nodded when offered a plate. The boy didn't talk much now, hadn't for years and it was possible he'd nearly forgotten how; his gaze stayed on his plate but his expression would change with the tone of London's voice, a faint smile if he sounded pleased, a soft frown if he was not. London would talk, often aimlessly about his own business here just to keep the boy's attention engaged; sometimes though it was more specific, to test the boy's interest. Time and again, only one name ever provoked any strong reaction.

Why keep doing this? What is the point of being stubborn? You have nothing to be stubborn for.

They say time fixed all, but time was not something he had much of any longer, not with an unstable knight and an asshole breathing down his neck, a cover worn paper thin that could unravel any day. Time needed to be pushed along.

He pulled the boy's plate across the table when it became apparent he'd eat no more, finishing it off himself with no small amount of shame. He dropped it atop the rolling cart he brought in with him because no one else was allowed in this room; his hand reached for the phone beside it, fingers curling around it.

“Frost?” the boy still reacted to that name, his head turned though his eyes stayed lowered, hidden by a fall of limp brown hair. “Could I trouble you to do another favor for me?”

A pause, and he just saw the boy nod. Keep him engaged, keep his mind working, London never saw him at it but it was always done the next day; a good thing, he had no head for organization himself. It should have built a trust between them; now he would put it to the test.

London reached out his single hand, placing it over the boy's chilled, bony one. The boy allowed the touch, always had; dull blue eyes turned in his direction, glancing up from underneath his lashes.

“It is something different from the usual. Important. But I trust you.” He gestured with his head to the phone sitting on the table's edge, “I have a field operative on assignment. Something delicate. Progress must be monitored, and I do not have the time.”

That got a reaction, the boy's eyes widening, jaw tightening, the fingers of his left hand slowly curling into a fist. Panic; it was not a surprise.

“You do not have to talk,” he was quick to assure; it wasn't even a lie, “Just record what is said. Let me know any progress, if there is an emergency.”

The panic didn't vanish; his mouth opened just slightly, as though beginning to speak, but the sound caught in his throat. His head shook instead.

Again, it was expected; London's was the only voice the boy had heard for very long now, as was intended. He had known this would push the boy far out of his comfort zone, a risk he normally would not take but right now, he needed him to agree.

He squeezed the hand he held, comfortingly, “It is someone I know well. Someone kind. I would not ask otherwise.” A pause, and he brought out the big club, “Not everyone would discard you so easily. I never did. That boy...he was a worthless human. He was only ever going to break your heart.”

The boy's head jerked up, eyes meeting his for a rare moment, accusing, full of pain. Just like the last time, just like every time. Why, why do you do this? How could you let him have so much power over you, still, after all this time? It was supposed to be simple...

Grip tightening on cold skin, London pushed harder, “Do you know where he was tonight? Where he is every night, with a whore in the lower town. He has moved past it, without a thought. He has no thought of you.”

The hand was shaking in his grip, the boy was trying to pull away; he held on, “I hate to see you like this, wasting away, pining after that animal. He never deserved you, and you deserve to live your life again.” Give it up, just give it up. He doesn't want you, I'm the only one here for you now. Let go, it will be better for you...

He allowed the boy his escape; knowing he pushed too far, London searched for and found the appropriate apologies, readying the words on his tongue. But the boy's hand didn't retreat, it had paused there half curled in a loose, defeated fist; after a moment, his fingers wrapped around the offered phone, pulling it to him across the table. Eyes averted he offered no words, but lightly knocked the phone against the table top twice – an affirmative.

London arranged his face to look pleased, though not too pleased; the boy was no longer looking at him but he would notice any strong emotion, and that would not do. “I fear I've lingered too long, I must be getting to work.” The boy would read it as being given his peace without any embarrassment; he didn't want to stay to see the boy make himself cry, again.

“I do apologize. I do not mean to hurt you.” His hand touched the top of the boy's head, just for a moment. I would end your pain, if you gave me the chance.

He was near through the door when he heard it; a soft hoarse croak noticed only because he was listening for it. “...o-kay.”

London looked back but the boy was still in the same position, holding the phone, turned away. He considered saying something in reply, before deciding to treat it as casual and just close the door behind him.

Okay. Not don't, not stop, but okay. It felt like a victory, a small but vital step toward acceptance. He had a smile on his face the rest of the day.

The phone remained sitting in the center of the table; that evening, as the sun set, the aether light changed color from blue to red.

“...hello? Hello, you can hear me there, right?”