The Last Hope

23 - Sacrifice

SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER - Kingdom Fall, Claire Wyndham. Linked above! If you enjoy the chapter please vote, it means a lot. Also, I actively encourage commenting and am trying my best to reply to any as quickly as I can. Want a chat? Don't be shy!

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James Woodhouse. With his thick Boston accent, and his comically large eyes beneath jam jar lenses. Who always reeked of stale coffee and despair. Scrawny and unassuming, famous for his lack of a spine. James Woodhouse, the counsellor she'd been to only a few weeks ago, to who she'd told her horrible dreams.

James Woodhouse, who she'd bullied and threatened into dropping her counselling sessions, had turned the tables on her. And was now threatening her with a gun in a café full of people.

"React in any way, and I'll shoot." His brown eyes darted wildly around the coffee shop, his tie, and glasses slightly askew. Mercy's heart stuttered.

Growing up, Felix had been obsessed with true crime documentaries, Mercy had always believed he'd go on to be a detective. Because of this, Mercy's head was crammed full of useless facts about what to do if someone pointed a gun at her. She had hoped to never test them.

The first thing was to keep eye contact. She forced herself to meet his gaze. Forced herself not to glance over his shoulder, to where Felix sat oblivious.

The second thing was to stay calm and talk. "James, I don't know why you're doing this, but whatever the reason - we can figure it out." Mercy forced her voice to remain steady, hoping that Felix would stay at Daivia's table and not look over his shoulder. If he were to turn right now-

A beat of sweat rolled down his brow, she refused to watch it drip, refused to let her eyes stray from his. "Mercy, I'm going to need you to come with me," he swallowed nervously, and his head dipped. Mercy dipped her chin too, keeping her lock on his eyes.

Calm. Collected. Be more level-headed than the attacker. Keep eye contact. Use their name if you know it. Familiarise yourself. Relate personal stories. Keep them talking. Don't make any sudden movements.

Each piece of information flashed like a neon sign inside her head. So bright they were blinding her.

The breath she took rattled in her lungs. "James, I don't think that is a good idea. Why are you doing this?"

"She's given me no other choice. She has threatened my family. I deliver you, and she'll leave them alone, leave them unharmed. Or I fail - like Dylan did - and I die just like him."

Mercy thought she might know who 'she' was, but she asked anyway, she needed to hear it, "who?"

His muddy eyes widened with fear, "who do you think, Princess Mercy Solis Moldonaldo?"

Cressida. The Grunts had gotten to James Woodhouse the same way they'd gotten to Dylan. "James, listen to me. I can protect you. I have friends who can keep you safe. Who can keep your family safe. You don't have to do this. Dylan did everything he was told, and he still died. A Grunt snapped his neck in front of me," that stone tugged in her stomach as she pictured Dylan's face - vacant and empty. "Please, I promise you, you and your family will be safe. Just put the gun away and we can walk out of here."

He laughed bitterly. "I'm sorry, Mercy. I can't afford to fail. I have to do this. I don't have a choice."

The gun pressed deeper into her sternum; her pulse beat harder beneath the barrel; she could already feel a bruise forming. "There's always a choice, James."

Keep him talking. Don't go anywhere with him.

The thought hit her so intensely that Mercy almost reeled backwards, away from the voice in her head that was not her own.