The Tales of Flesh and Blood

Evil Villains Are The Most Creative

I think the feeling of being absolutely helpless was the worst part of it all. Knowing that the chances of help arriving were next to none, and that even when help was there . . . knowing that I'd somehow managed to screw that chance up, too, was so fucking bitter and relentless that I wanted to strangle myself from the frustration that came with knowing that I was going to die.

My head throbbed something terrible, and my throat was dry enough that it was painful to swallow what spit gathered in my mouth. Even my eyes hurt, as if I'd spent the past few days staring at a screen without so much as a five-minute break. The only thing I could see in the back of my mind was a grinning white mask, and a part of me was screaming and shouting and crying for the chance to change, for a second that would give me the opportunity to go back and do something different so that maybe, maybe I would stumble on a path that would keep me alive. I spent what felt like forever battling that rush inside my head, trying to push through the incredibly numbing sense of being just awake enough to be aware of the emotions coursing through my body.

I wasn't quite certain which feeling was responsible for crushing my chest the most - fear or anger - but I soon determined that it didn't matter. Once I realized that I was regaining my senses and that someone was studying me, I was just so damn tired that the scream my body was preparing all this time quickly dissipated.

I was tied down in a chair, in a room of what looked like stone or concrete. It was cold; I was no longer wearing Jaxon's jacket, and the part of me that hadn't quite caught up with the circumstances hoped that the jacket wasn't too expensive to replace. I wasn't wearing my hoodie, either - or shoes, for that matter - which left me in a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. There were others around me, shuffling and watching, but only one in particular was in my full view.

It was a middle-aged woman who was perhaps in her late-thirties or early forties. Her hair might have been a simple mousy-brown, but it had streaks of gray running through it that could be plainly seen - even with the way she had it tied back in a bun. She was dressed in a pair of cheap slacks with low, one-inch heels and a buttoned-down suit that reminded me of the occasional con-artist or two that would sometimes linger around the apartments. Her face was worn with exhaustion, without a trace of make-up whatsoever. She was fixing me with such a flat, emotionless stare that something told me it wouldn't make a difference whether she killed someone or not.

Upon seeing the awareness rising in me, she gave me a curt nod.

"Good. You're awake." Holy hell, even her voice held a dismissive, dry tone to it.

I stared at her, unsure of how to respond.

"Where's Hadi?" I finally managed. It took me a few tries, but I did it. The woman shrugged.

"I wouldn't know."

"Bullshit." I swallowed, trying to work the moisture back in my mouth. "Bull. Shit. Where is she?"

The woman tilted her head, curious, as if I was a puppy barely worth taking interest in.

"We could check her lover's house, if you like," she suggested, and at my scowl, a hint of a smile curled at her lips. "Bring her here, but I don't think that's something you'd want."

My mind went uncomfortably blank. What was she trying to say? She must have seen the confusion on my face, because her smile grew.

"We try not to kill other people, dear, if we can avoid it. Only those that do not belong."

"You never had her," I said numbly, more so to confirm what she was saying. Again, she gave me another one of those curt nods. "So what, you just broke into the house, stole her phone, called Jaxon, and then went on with your merry business?"

She didn't even blink.

"Yes. We destroyed the phone, of course. Honestly, child," she reached forward to grab my chin. I tried to move my head back - I didn't want this creepy wrench touching me - but she had a surprisingly strong grip for someone with hands so small. "We're not monsters," she tried to explain.

Want to know what stress, terror, relief, sleep deprivation, and pain - did I forget to mention sleep deprivation? - does to a person? It makes you respond in incredibly stupid ways. In my case, it revolved with me struggling futilely to choke back a laugh.

"You keep telling yourself that," I said through dry, pained gasps. The woman stared at me.

"We're not," she insisted, then turned my head to the side. I tried to resist - like hell I was going to let someone examine me like a collector inspecting a foreign object - but I must have been weaker than I thought, because when I attempted to yank my head back and out of her grip, all she had to do was tighten her fingers around my jaw and cup the back of my head with her other hand. "We are simply trying to restore order to a chaotic society. My," her tone changed at this; an airy, fascinated sound that made me feel all sorts of exposed, "how did you do it? How have you managed to go unnoticed for so long?"

She pulled me to look directly at her, and I fixed her with what I hoped to be the most murderous expression I've ever mustered yet - until I realized she was studying my eyes, to which I lowered my gaze and tried tearing myself from her once more.

"You didn't even try to hide, did you?" she asked, more to herself, before she finally released me to retreat a step.

"You're crazy," I spat, wishing that I could scrub the remances of her touch from my skin. "This whole thing is absolutely bat-shit fucking crazy."

She just continued to look at me with that infuriating curiosity of hers. I wanted to punch her teeth down her throat, and I was sure that the desire to do as much showed on my face, but she didn't appear bothered in the slightest.

"Do you know who your father is, girl?" she asked suddenly. I blinked.

"My mother," I said slowly, because I was getting sick and tired of having to explain my parentage, "was a prostitute. I doubt she knew who my father was."

The insane lady gave me a sad, knowing smile, and the fear that I've been trying to suppress wormed its way up my throat.

"It was because of him that we bothered to look in your direction at all," she informed.

So I was about to get my ass beat and possibly mutilated because of a man that only knew my mother for a few hours? That about summed up my luck.

I scoffed and shook my head, ready to spice up my language a bit, but she spoke before I was given the opportunity.

"He came here, to Gallin. He was looking for a girl he never met, who might be living with a woman who was not her rightful mother."

"You know how many girls match that description out here?" came my retort. The woman held up a finger in a gesture to wait. For some odd reason, I complied.

"His own people tried to turn him away, which was how we caught him. We wouldn't have known what he was if they hadn't approached him," she tilted her head, "and he looked very similar to the girl the giants wanted, to catch a woman not unlike us."

Whoever thought laughter was an expression just for humor must have been on some serious drugs, because I was laughing again - and I was absolutely certain that I wasn't amused.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me who these 'giants' are?"

The woman shook her head.

"I can show you. It is only fair, I think, to let you learn your heritage before we begin."

That shut me up pretty quickly.

"Begin?" I repeated, my voice a notch higher than normal. "Begin what?"

She raised her hand, signaling to someone behind me. What sounded like a lever being pulled echoed throughout the room with a harsh screech! In response, I tried to look over my shoulder just as the chair I was strapped in began to shake. I wondered if I was about to get electrocuted somehow (even though it was just ropes bounding me down to an old, wooden chair) when the section of the ground the chair was on actually began to split.

A trapdoor? Of all things to expect, I certainly wasn't expecting that.

I jerked my head up to watch the woman's face as the ground fell completely, and I fell through like one of those cartoon characters that just plummeted down a hole.