Whispers of the Diamond: A Romance of Memory and Desire

Chapter 8 - Terra

Alex finally entered back through the door, and honestly, I was relieved as he unhooked the cuffs from the desk. Either I was about to die and this would be over, or I was being transferred, which was both bad and good for a thousand reasons.

"Terra Forsythe," he began—oh God, he was going to rattle on for ages now—"You are hereby formally charged with fourteen counts of destruction of property, sixty-one counts of murder, sixteen counts of handling illicit materials, smuggling, and black market trading. As punishment for these crimes, you will be transferred to the London Super Max Facility to serve out your remaining days, in exchange for cooperating in apprehending the resistance." He placed down the statement that I would quickly sign in agreement.

"Come with me, and don't think about trying anything," his words came low and dangerous. I won't lie; that had an effect—his voice always did. Get a grip, I scolded myself.

I followed him through the narrow corridor and past a locked gate. His arm had the ID reader; biometrics were a big thing in this world—everything about you stored on a chip in your wrist.

We moved through the building, Alex curtly nodding to officers who leered at me. I was just—a thing to them, drooled over. I daren't think about what some of them had in mind. Finally, we exited to the car park and crossed back to Alex's black 4x4. He opened the back door, and without question, I climbed in.

He climbed into the driver's side and started the car. Moments later, we exited the car park and out onto the streets. He seemed to know the best routes through this area. To reach the super-max, he had to go back through the main city. London District was huge, it covered most of what was southeastern England. Cities had merged over the years to form this dystopian nightmare we lived in. The prison was down in what used to be Kent, and we were currently in the heart of what was once London.

"So what happened to you, you know, after...?" I began, trying to engage Alex in conversation. I hated awkward silences.

"I..." His voice trailed off. I could tell he was questioning everything in his mind.

"I'm being taken to prison, Alex. Who the hell am I going to tell?" I reassured him, trying to ease his troubled mind.

"I hunted down all four of those responsible for you. The last one, Ricard, we took each other down. When I died... I was at peace. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in a med lab and Abigail is offering me a job. They scanned my brain... so yeah, here I am," he replied. I'd heard they could take readings even after death, but we had never managed to replicate that. They also had better memory recall than we did.

I sat with his words for a while, my mind turning them over. His trauma was so very deep. He had found peace; I left this world in trauma. I had been assaulted and killed simply because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Four hours later, I woke up, alive, with my memories a little scattered. It was the first time a resurrection from death had been successful. I was brought back younger, so it took a while for us to perfect the cloning process. Now I come back as myself, though I've only died a couple of times.

In those early days, the resistance took care of me, raised me, fed me, and helped me see the world for what it is: an imbalance of rich, ungrateful people with no regard for those of us who were considered lowlanders. I grew up with them, eventually learning what they did and, in the end, deciding my energy would be well spent helping them. I rose through the ranks, and nowadays, I am a colonel. I help case and pick targets; it takes us months of planning, but we always make sure casualties aren't civilians. That was our biggest win.

"I am grateful for that, for what you did, for loving me, and I'm sorry," I said softly.

It caught his attention, but it was too late as the crash caused glass to explode across the car. I tucked myself as far from the impact point as possible. The car screeched as it was slammed across the road and smashed into the buildings opposite. The sound was terrifying. In the next moment, gunfire erupted, spraying the front of the car. The glass of the windscreen held for only a moment before shattering. There was a grunt, and he tried to get off a shot or two in return, but it was over before it began.

The whine of machinery filled the air as the door was cut and yanked open.

"Miss Forsythe, we're here to extract you," called the man opening the door. I took his hand and climbed free of the wreckage. The entire driver's side had been buckled. The impact was incredibly violent and well-placed.

"Just give me a minute," I said, already hearing the sirens of law enforcement approaching. I looked over the driver; Alex had taken so many shots to the chest that he was stained crimson. His eyes were open, and blood dripped from his mouth—internal injuries. I yanked his head forward; the port was undisturbed. At least they could resurrect him. I should have made sure they couldn't, but this was the love of my life.

"WE HAVE TO GO!" cried one of the men who had come to rescue me. I kissed my fingers and placed them on his cheek before turning to run back to the van opposite. With a screech of tires, we tore away as law enforcement closed in.

We drove into a tunnel as the van screeched to a halt, and we piled out, ducking into a maintenance tunnel that led to the old underground. We were safe once again. I sighed, my heart aching as I had just watched Alex die. It gave me insight into how he had felt that night, except— I was the reason he was dead. Sure, they could bring him back, but it was still my fault.

I sighed once more and then followed the group deeper into the tunnels. If nothing else, we had work to do, and that was what mattered now.