Her eyes, his lies

Chapter 31

Nothing remained.

The firefighters could not do anything but watch. The house was mere ashes by the time they had arrived, and, with it, her mother.

She sat there, in the back of an ambulance, some sort of blanket thrown over her bare shoulders. The world was rocking around her, as if lulling her to sleep. She dearly wished she could. Perhaps, even forever.

Watson was standing before her, hands placed on his hips, jacket creaking as he shifted uncomfortably. Jane realized it was her that was rocking, and not the world.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Jane," Victoria said.

Jane only then registered that she was seated beside her friend. So disconnected was she that she hadn't even heard Victoria speaking.

Watson was pacing before them, his scowl deeper than she had ever seen it. He looked positively psychotic with hatred. A hatred that was no doubt directed towards Ryder's father.

"Animal. God damn sick animal," he muttered, beneath his breath. It was barely audible over the sounds of the firefighters working to contain the flames, which had spread to the surrounding lawn, and threatened to burn the rest of the neighborhood down.

In a staccato rhythm, the memories flashed behind her eyes. The greasy-haired man throwing her to the kitchen floor. Her mother begging for their lives. The smell of gasoline. Jackson's dead eyes as he pulled the trigger.

The blood.

Jane's gaze drifted downwards, at the caked redness that stuck to her hands. Some of it had flaked off, leaving only thin streaks where the creases in her palms were.

Despite the blanket, she shivered. It had nothing to do with cold.

Victoria rose gingerly from her spot next to Jane, as if afraid any sudden movement would hurt her. She stood next to Watson, the two sharing an unspoken sentence. There was a mutual something there. A bond, or even an understanding.

Jane's mind, broken machinery that it was, was whirring to life. The gears were clicking inside her skull, interpreting the information beaming through her eyes.

Interpreting how similar Watson and Victoria looked. How their postures mirrored each other's. How they seemed familiar with each other.

"How did you know?" Jane's chest was so numb, she had barely enough breath to speak, but she pushed through nonetheless.

Despite how quietly she'd spoken, it startled the two. They turned to her in eerily identical motions.

"What's that, kiddo?" Watson asked.

"How did you know they found me?"

Watson paused, glancing back at Victoria. "I heard chatter Jackson was making a move, I thought-"

"No," Jane's voice was growing in strength as an unfamiliar emotion buzzed through her; anger. "Back then. Before. When you first approached me. How did you know they found me in the first place?"

The tattooed man did not reply.

Victoria elbowed him in the ribs. "There's no more hiding. Look where it got us. Look what it did."

The blanket fell from Jane's shoulders. Dizzily, she realized she was standing on her own feet, looking up at Watson. His eyes widened.

"You lied to me," she said.

More silence from the accused. Victoria broke it first.

"Jane, wait, it's not what you think," Victoria reached out, her hands going to Jane's shoulder as they always did.

Jane shook her off. Her vision was spinning, but it only focused her further.

They lied to her. They've been lying to her.

"Who did you call last night, Vicky? Who took you home?" It was not a question. Jane was far beyond that point.

"My dad," she replied, tone flat.

But Jane was not blind. Not stupid. "You mean Watson. He's your dad."

Their silence was the only answer she needed.

"How long?!" Jane was screaming now, her voice carrying above the spray of the hoses and the shouting firemen. Her weakened body was shaking with rage, like fire flowing through her veins.

Victoria flinched backwards, as if Jane had struck her.

"How long have you been manipulating me?" Jane wasn't just speaking to Victoria. Her outrage was directed at the both of them, rushing forth with abandon.

"Jane-" Watson's hands were raised in a placating gesture. Jane felt anything but placated.

"Shut up! You- because of you, my mom- she's..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. Her voice sounded alien, even to her own ears. Like that of a cornered animal, hissing and spitting with overwhelming wrath.

Watson's gaze fell to the floor. His scowling features were softened by apparent guilt. The pistol at his side gleamed in the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, and Jane dearly wished she could take it and- and...

The rage was dissipating now, the sudden impulse for violence fading within her. And as the anger receded, she found her mind clearer.

"You even ran off in the street." It was strange, Jane thought. In hindsight, colored by the understanding that she had never truly known Victoria, her every interaction with Jane felt fake. Manufactured. Designed to get her to trust her. "What, you two didn't coordinate that morning? Got your little lies all mixed up, forgot to check your calendar? 'Oh, it's Monday, time to make Jane think the mob is after her'?"

"Jane, I didn't really lie to you, I just omitted some things... god, that sounds bad, even to me," Victoria said, but Jane was no longer listening.

"You faked everything. Lied to me over and over. You even made me think breaking into the school was my idea." The realization was dawning on Jane, how she had been played for a fool. "You've been using me. Both of you. But for what?"

"We knew about your record, from before you moved here. You were exactly what we needed, Jane. An absolute nobody with skills like yours? You were the perfect scalpel." If Watson thought he was helping by explaining their motives, he was sorely mistaken.

"Scalpel? A scalpel?!" Jane echoed.

"I know what this looks like, Jane, but, come on- you have to trust me. Please. It was all to take down Jackson," Victoria said.

Jane was backing up now, keenly aware of her physical proximity to the pair. She was no longer safe around them. They were as much the enemy as Jackson was.

"But why? Why do you want Jackson so bad?"

Watson spread his arms wide, back-lit by the ruins of Jane's house. "Look around you. This is what Jackson does. This is what he is. He must be stopped, no matter what."

"You- both of you. Don't you dare contact me again," Jane wasn't sure what she was saying anymore. All she knew was that she had to get away. Far, far away from the twisted father and his manipulative daughter. Far from the ashes of her home. Far from her mother's murder.

"Jane, wait. Don't run. Think about it for a sec, you've got no where to go. Come on, please, let's just talk," Victoria pleaded.

To her credit, she sounded sincere. But Jane no longer trusted her own instincts.

"No. No more talking. Just- just..." she had no more words. No more reason to stay here, bloody, betrayed, and more alone than she had ever been.

The story was over. She had been beaten.

And so, like any beaten animal, she ran. The pair shouted after her, surprised by her sudden retreat, but she ignored them. The cold night air, still stinking of smoke, whistled past her as she ran.

There was no rain this time, as she sprinted away from everything she once thought to be certain and true.