chapter twenty-three: the world ended when it happened to me
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"I fight with you in my sleep, the wound won't close" -taylor swift
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AS IF IT HAD BEEN JUST YESTERDAY, VIENNA WAS BACK IN THAT NIGHT.
The night where her life changed. She'd finally found happiness, she had found the naturals. And Locke. But of course, it had all been a lie.
The woman who she thought to be like a mother figure had been lying through her teeth the whole time. Vienna should've known, she just should've.
She was forced to relive that night in her sleep as she had time-a-many.
She remembered it distinctly, one of the only things she hated about her eidetic memory.
She remembered looking at Micheal, who was bleeding profusely, she thought he could have been dying. And Dean, who was knocked out cold, his mouth slightly agape, unmoving.
The fear in Cassie's eyes was like no other. Vienna was shaking, the gun in Locke's hand pointed at her, then back to Cassie, then back at Vienna again.
Locke was insulting her, threatening to shoot her dead in that very moment. She remembered looking over to Michael. He was alive, and trying to reach his hand toward the gun which was just out of reach. He was having quite a bit of difficulty with reaching the gun, because his shoulder had just been thought.
Michael had been pale, Vienna's eyes widened as she saw his weak body inching toward the gun. She shook her head, insisting silently that she would shoot Locke. No words needed to be exchanged, because Michael could read her face as if it were an open book.
She picked up the gun with shaky fingers, her finger shaking over the trigger, almost as if she had sympathy for this woman, who had murdered so many people, one of her near-victims mumbling and crying in fear at their feet.
Vienna closed her eyes, as Locke spewed threats about how pathetic she was. She lunged forward to Vienna, but the girl had already fired.
Special Agent Lacey Locke sprawled out on the ground at Vienna's feet, the previously clean hard wood floor was now turning crimson red, a shade that resembled the woman's hair.
Vienna remembered looking down at the woman, her eyes closed, almost as if she was sleeping, her shirt that was previously white soaked through to a dark red that resembled her blood, most likely because it had been her blood.
