DON'T FORGET ⸺ TOM BENNET

THREE - MEETING OF BLACK

Gemma had always found sanctuary in the library.

The quiet. The peace. She immersed herself in books and found escape from the pressures of her father and life.

It was in this place she had forgotten about her mother's passing, if only for a moment; and she felt calm and grounded. There was nothing else. This was it. Her, these pages, and her imagination as she read the words off the worn parchment.

She had only felt that one other time. Recently. In the Greenhouse. With Tom Bennett.

━

Tom halted at the ceiling-high wooden doors.

He released a heavy sigh, holding his hands behind his back and glancing up, seeming exasperated.

"Back for more?" The guard on the right questioned, teasing in his voice.

Tom rolled his eyes.

The guards and staff were gruff and teased him endlessly. He was the youngest among them and had yet to be taken seriously.

He had only ever given his life to his work. He had nothing else. He had lost his father and sister. He could not lose this as well. So like every other time, he swallowed his pride and continued to face forward, ignoring the towering, dark-haired man, dressed in a suit, looking down on him.

"I asked you a question, boy."

The guard had stepped closer, nearly attached to his side.

His breathing shallowed slightly, as he held in his anger. He had learned the hard way many times, that if he reacted it would only worsen the situation. They were goading him. Waiting for him to fall into their trap. This had happened many times before when he first started. He had let his anger get the best of him. It boarded on having his badge taken. Having him lose everything. However, he was too valuable, so they kept him on, and a deal was struck. Take the place of a janitor, play the part, and get close to the girl.

The one thing he did not have was anyone's respect.

"C'mon John, leave the boy be. He's done his job and is here to report to the boss."

The other guard had pitied Tom, and strangely enough, that bothered him far more than the mocking."

John stepped forward, halting at the opening of the doors. A large room was presented and Tom walked through, not paying either guard mind.

He walked several steps forward, the only light coming from the hall he had entered.

When the doors behind him closed, he was shrouded in darkness.

"Mr. Tom Bennett." A wispy, whimsical, lulling voice called out into the dense air.

The voice of a siren, he had compared it to. Sweet and desirable.

Much of his long days on the Exeter, he secretly feared the ghost stories of sirens are their musical callings. He'd never shared with the other sailors this thought or truth. He'd coerced them into brawls and heated arguments against himself, more often than not. It eased the pain of being taken away from his family in order to avoid jail time. It covered the fear he felt each night as he laid in his cot, staring up into the empty space of darkness, letting his imagination run wild with the worst case scenario, should war be brought to them in the middle of the ocean.

He swallowed, schooling himself, as he stared into pitch black.

He felt it then. The chilling air over his bones, pulling him in, yet, he didn't move.

Push and pull. Night and day. Light and dark. Good and evil.

All things opposing yet harmonious.
That was the one who held his life in the palm of their hands.

He shut his eyes, fighting to grasp the minimal pull of his sanity he had left in the Chambers of Despair, he liked to call it.

He felt his soul drain from him with each meeting with whom they called Chaos' King.

No one ever left the Chambers of Despair feeling re-energized and whole. Something was always amiss after, but they never knew what.

This was who held his life in their hands.

Their identity, unknown.

As if underwater, Tom held his breath, hoping for air and freedom from the shackles he felt himself locked in, until they chose to free him.

"What news do you bring?"

His jaw ticked at the iciness of the voice he heard all around, but the words lapped at his ear, causing a shiver to wrack up his spine. He titled his head, hoping to center himself.

"I've met the girl. She seems easy to trust. It may be easier than planned."

"Hmm."

His brows furrow, the coolness causing discomfort.

"And what of her father?"

Tom's mouth falls into a thin, opposing line.

"He despises me. Calls me trouble and wishes her away from me."

Tom could hear Mr. Syles, demanding he stay away from his daughter. He would not obey. Could not.

"You have one month, Mr. Bennett. Do not fail me."