Chapter 55: HE’S ALREADY DEAD

A cold spike of anger drove through Leon’s gut. He tried to turn his head, just an inch to get a look at the boy’s face, but he couldn’t.

His neck muscles were locked tight, an animal instinct screaming at him not show vulnerability.

A tickle born of inhaled ash and tension built in his throat. He raised a hand, covering his mouth as two harsh, wet coughs racked him.

Dust particles clouded the air in front of his face.

A sudden, brutal shove between his shoulder blades. The force was explosive; not a clumsy push, but one meant to maim.

Leon’s breath exploded from his lungs as he was propelled forward.

His shoulder and temple slammed into the closed elevator door with a sickening crunch. Stars burst in his vision.

Chimed.

The doors opened on the second floor, causing Leon to stagger. The world tilted as he tried catching himself on the door frame.

He turned slowly, rage flooding him, washing away the pain. His eyes found the broad-shouldered boy, who stood with a slight, satisfied smile, his hands now casually in his pockets.

Jade was watching, his boredom replaced by a mild, clinical interest. Vera’s eyes glittered with an ugly delight.

“Hey! Leon,” the boy drawled, his right hand curling into a fist as he stepped forward. The knuckles gleamed. “Learn some sense.”

Leon’s vision narrowed to the boy’s face. He saw the pale blue eyes, the cruel twist of the mouth.

“What will you do if I don’t?” Leon’s voice scraped raw, but it didn’t shake.

The boy took another step, closing the distance between them. “Will you fight me?”

He leaned in, his breath hot as fifty volts of electricity. “Look at your dusty, messy hair. Even with this, you call yourself a human?”

He punctuated the insult by jabbing a finger toward Leon’s face. A low giggle came from the sharp-faced girl.

“Leave him,” Jade said, his voice echoing in a flat tone. “He’s already dead.”

Leon’s eyes darted to Jade. In that frozen second, the boy acted. A fist drove deep into Leon’s unprotected stomach.

Air left Leon’s body in a silent, agonized rush. He doubled over, stumbling backward out of the elevator and into the hallway, collapsing to his knees.

“Pathetic loser,” the boy said, standing in the doorway. “Just like your father.” He leaned forward and spat.

The spittle struck Leon on the cheek, warm and vile.

The elevator door slid shut, cutting off the sight of their triumphant faces.

“FUCK!” A scream tore from Leon’s throat. He surged to his feet and slammed his right fist into the sealed metal door.

Boom!

The impact echoed down the empty hall, causing the weak plaster to shudder and crumble. He hit it again, and again, his breath coming in hot, ragged gasps.

The datapad, still clutched in his left hand, emitted a sharp crack as his grip involuntarily tightened.

The casing deformed, plastic and metal groaning under the pressure.

“Fuck this place!” he roared, slamming the ruined device and his left fist against the door simultaneously.

He turned, chest heaving, the rage now a living thing twisting inside him. He loosened his grip on the datapad, causing it to slip from his numb fingers.

It rolled and hit the tiled floor with a sound like a breaking bone.

At his own door, Leon forced himself to stop. And to breathe. The rage was still there, but it was turning cold, sinking into his bones, becoming something harder…

Sweat and rainwater traced new paths through the ash on his face. He felt the strange, internal hum, the alignment his father had warned him about – the early morning before he heard his demise.

He fumbled the key from his pocket, its metal cooling his hot finger with cold. He inserted it into the lock and turned it right.

Snap.

The metal shaft of the key sheared cleanly off, leaving the jagged end in the lock and the head in his hand.

“Why me?!” He closed his eyes, the question a silent scream in his soul. He turned blindly and stalked to the window at the end of the hall.

He cracked his eyes open and shoved the pane open. Icy rain and wind blasted in, soaking him anew. He didn’t care.

He lifted his face to the churning, purple-black sky. And there, nestled in the fast-moving clouds, he saw the silent watching eye.

It wasn’t a trick of the light as he’d thought earlier. This time, it held a faint, unnatural luminescence around its edges. And it stared directly at him.

A fresh kind of anger rose – not hot, but glacial. This wasn’t about the bullies or the impossible tasks. This was about the pressure he had been feeling. The invisible force trying to wipe him and make him mad.

“I don’t fear you!” he shouted into the gale, his voice carrying a strength that surprised him. “No matter what you are!”

The eye didn’t blink. It just watched.

Leon turned back, walked to his door, placed his palm flat against it near the lock, and pushed.

Not with his muscles, but with that cold, focused intent. He thought of the lock’s mechanism, of the broken key.

A soft internal crunch, like grinding teeth, echoed as the door swung and clicked inward.

Darkness welcomed him as if the power had died upon seeing his face. The only light was the faint grey bleed from the hallway and the occasional flash of lightning from the window.

He shut the door behind him, sealing himself in the quiet gloom. The sounds of the storm were muffled, like a distant rumble.

He walked to the bed, his body suddenly heavy with a fatigue deeper than and stronger than his muscles. He fell onto it, the dampness of his trousers immediately soaking into the bedsheets.

He closed his eyes, willing to let the storm inside him quiet.

Something hard and unyielding dug into his back. He ignored it, but it persisted with an annoying pressure.

With a grunt, he pushed himself up. He reached under the rumpled black cloth he used as a bedsheet. His fingers closed around something slim, hard, and cool.

He pulled it out. In the intermittent flashes of lightning, it was clearly a book. A diary. It had a soft cover, worn pink leather.

Emblazoned on the front like a silver leaf was a name: ZOE QING.

It seemed to pulse in his hand, not with light, but with a terrible, tempting gravity.

The notification sound from the datapad echoed in his memory. She knows.

A war of thoughts erupted inside him.

’Open it. Don’t let her come in before you know.’

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