The Sympathizer

Chapter 6

Some of the guests rush outside, leaving the games room without being told while others are escorted out by Lazarus's personnel. 

If today's gathering was meant to gather support from the younger Plutonians, I don't see him winning their favour by kicking them out so abruptly. 

Some of the guests mutter their complaints, most too afraid to say anything too loudly. But there are a few who are too high to move. Lazarus's guards have to carry them outside to their rides. 

I take this opportunity to slip past the curtains behind the bar, through a door that if memory serves correctly, leads to the rest of the house. I find myself in a long corridor, portraits and paintings of large foreboding figures glaring down at me from all sides. 

A small shudder runs up my spine as I creep along the lone walkway, The Sympathizer's listening devices growing heavier in my pockets. 

Where should I plant them? 

I briefly look up at the corners of the ceiling. No green dots blink back at me. Generals and the Trinity usually never have cameras installed in their premises due to privacy concerns. We are allowed access to the entire empire and it's populations but no one can access us as easily. 

Our estates are all so heavily guarded and all of us trained killers. There's never been the need for surveillance. And yet, I pause and turn around, eyes squinting at the dimly lit corridors ahead. 

I can't help but feel like I'm being watched. 

I take a deep breath, ignoring the paranoia that is currently crawling across my skin and walk ahead. Why does this particular section feel so foreign? 

I've been in Lazarus's house many times before but I can't seem to tell where this place leads to. I reach the end only to find myself peering over the glazed laser reinforced barriers, overlooking a small garden and fountain. 

The beautiful structure extends from the floor below all the way up to the fourth floor of his mansion. Water cascades down the slanted leaves and flowers, all fresh and dewy with moisture. 

I walk along the barrier, inhaling the crisp air. The handles are cold under my fingers and I know I'm leaving a trail of prints behind but it would be foolish to think Lazarus doesn't know I stayed behind. 

I wonder where he is, if he's watching me at this very instant. It's the only thing keeping me from reaching out and planting a listening device behind a portrait.

I pass a closed door and my breath stills when I take in the statue next to it. A large hunched back creature with no eyes, only an elongated mouth towers over a smaller, child-like figure. The smaller statue has its hand out, the monsters claws firmly wrapped around its wrist as it forces a knife into the palm of its victim's hand.

A memory trickles into my thoughts slowly, like the water cascading down the leaves in Lazarus's fountain. 

A memory of the Trinity and the Generals gathered together for one of our usual meet ups. A small sized Lazarus standing up to reach for the meat before General Aldric could offer a toast. 

I close my eyes wincing when I remember how angry his father had been. He had grabbed his son's hand mid air and pressed it down on the table firmly. I remember how a young Lazarus had screamed when his father drew a knife and stabbed his son in front of all of us. 

The sickening sound of the sharp instrument slicing through flesh, tendons and bone now echoing in my ears. 

It had taken Lazarus a full week before he could join us for trainings again.