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CHAPTER TWELVE the butterfly effect
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
THE UNIVERSE WORKS in an intricately complicated way that perhaps only the goons at the Commission understand. Each decision one person makes leads to a chain reaction that ripples out throughout the world, like stones skipping across a lake. For example, if Nadine hadn't been in her hotel room three days ago when Henri came calling, she wouldn't have been told about the passing of Reginald Hargreeves, and might not have come up with the spur-of-the-moment decision to fly to America. If she hadn't flown to America, she wouldn't have met the Umbrella Academy, and inserted herself into their lives. If she hadn't inserted herself in their lives, she wouldn't have seen Five's return, and if she hadn't spoken to Klaus, she wouldn't know about the apocalypse or the eye. And if she hadn't runinto Five last night and inquired after the apocalypse, he wouldn't have told her about Hazel and Cha-Cha and ordered her to stay in the Hargreeves mansion. And if he hadn't ordered her to stay there, perhaps she would've actually been safe from the events that would soon come to pass, a whole fleet of stones bounding over water.
She found herself perched on the top of one of the many staircases, chewing on a frozen waffle she'd dug out of the Hargreeves' freezer. She was getting a little sick of all of this American food, and found herself craving her favourite delicacies back in France—Soupe à l'oignon (her father made it best), Cassoulet, Flamiche... or maybe she was just missing home. That could also be it. As soon as she'd reached America, she'd been launched into conspiracies and apocalypse scenarios, family feuds and wormhole appearances. She missed the dull comfort of the hotel, a monotony only broken by the occasional nightmare. She had routine there, whereas here, she was just doing whatever she wanted.
She was licking syrup off of her fingers (she'd taken her bandage off this morning—her hand had finally healed) when she heard the footsteps clomping downstairs. Assuming it was just one of the siblings, she ignored the sound, but that was when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight, and a deep, cold dread wormed its way into her belly. Her breathing shortened, and panic lanced through her as if cut by a whip, and, impossibly, before she knew what was happening, she was preparing to fight or run.
This wasn't any magic. Perhaps it was because somewhere inside of Nadine Vidal's brain, she recognized the footsteps stepping their way down the hall. And she knew they didn't belong to any of the Hargreeves.
As if on cue, that was when the gunshots rattled through the house.
Immediately, Nadine leaped up, her heart jackrabbiting in her chest, and turned her head, trying to locate the source of the sound. After only a moment she deduced it was happening downstairs, and was just beginning to back away when Diego plowed right into her.
The two of them went flying, slamming onto the ground, but Diego was on his feet immediately, his forehead shining with sweat. Nadine was just opening her mouth to ask what the hell was happening when he was grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. He was breathing hard, but he managed to choke out, "Masks—guns—intruders in the house—" and, keeping his grip tight, jerked her into a run, hand still clenched over her wrist.
