When Bad Meets Worse

Chapter 9

Sersha's POV 

Through the haziness of my slumber, I could distinguish voices. Both were familiar to me... 

"No... It can't be... Alec Evans?" 

Father... He must be home early today. 

"Hello Father. I'm sorry we had to meet like this." 

Jorgen... Grene...? 

"You've grown." 

I lifted my heavy lids wide enough to absorb the vague outlines of two men briefly sharing an embrace. 

How loving... 

I drifted a little deeper into the soothing realm of unconsciousness before my brain processed the information it just received. 

My eyes shot open and I sat bolt upright, spine popping in protest at my alarming jerk. I fumbled at the seatbelt of the foreign vehicle I was strapped into, and literally leaped out of the seat. I stood there, stunned, with my right hand resting on the car door and my left hand on the roof of the car, gaping at the scene that unfolded before my disbelieving eyes. 

My eyes narrowed in fury at my father and apparent brother as they approached the car. Both halted in their tracks and flinched slightly under my intense glower. 

Jorgen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he looked away, trying to evade my death glares. "Sersha..." Father started antsy. He broke off as I scowled and temperamentally slammed the car door shut. 

I stormed around the car, ignoring the sharp pain in my left leg, and ended up directly in front of Father and Jorgen. I waited there, arms akimbo, and raised my eyebrows in expectation. 

Father sighed resignedly. "Let's take this inside," he gestured to the front door. I growled and overtook them and brushed past the two stoic-looking guards. I ripped open the double doors and stepped over the threshold. Dulcet jazz tunes wafted through the speakers in the lobby, but the soothing music did little to calm my frazzled nerves at that moment. 

I passed the waiting room and entered the living room. I threw myself down the nearest armchair and massaged my temple tenderly. I was all jittery and I willed myself to calm down and think rationally. The soothing ocean blue walls, a total opposite of what I was feeling at that moment, enclosed me, as if mocking me for my dire situation. I sighed and attempted to inhibit my bottled-up emotions that were threatening to burst forth. 

I raised my head as I heard the rustle of fabric to see Father and Jorgen occupying the two remaining armchairs. We triangularly surrounded a small coffee table, in one of the three similar setups in the room. We sat there in terse silence for a minute. 

"We should treat your woun-" "That's not a priority!" My father suggested, looking distractedly at my injuries, but I cut him off. 

"What is going on?" My voice was low from the strain of holding back my wrath. My eyes darted from Father and Jorgen, who was still avoiding my gaze. 

A pained expression crossed Father's face and he leant forward with interlaced fingers. 

"Sersha, I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure of any of the details. I had been doing everything I can to dig deeper into the matter. You have every right to be angered and you should at least know the truth." 

He took a deep breath, and I braced myself for the impact. 

"A few months after our marriage, your mother became pregnant. With twins. You... And Alec here." 

He gestured wearily to Jorgen. 

"Because of this, there were... Complications pertaining to the Games. Your mother and I were at a loss, and at first we refused to contact the Upper Ciorcal about our circumstances. We feared that they may take both of you and throw you in the Games. It would absolutely break Joan's heart if both of you were to be in danger. It was hard enough as it is." 

Father's eyes were unfocused and sadness was etched into his features as he relieved the memories. 

"It just so happened that the Drewson family encountered problems and were unable to have a child of their own. It was then that the Upper Ciorcal, who had been keeping quiet, decided it was time to intervene. They told Joan and I to give one of the twins up to be adopted by the Drewsons. Give... One of our own children..." 

Father's hands were shaking uncontrollably now. It always scares children when they see their father, a pillar of strength, break down. I was no exception. Fear raked my body and part of me wanted to cover my ears and flee. But I forced myself to stay in my chair. I have to know. 

"We refused. They tried reasoning with us; explain that the child would be well taken care of, fed, loved, and all that kind of baloney. But our minds were made up. We were not sending our children to participate in these "games" anymore. Joan and I thought that the best thing for us and our descendants, was to escape the power of the uppers entirely. We secretly planned a coup de etat, and even tried contacting other families. But we were eventually found out. They wanted to make an example of us to the others..." 

He convulsed with uncontrollable sobs, and the next few words were vehement with grief and agony. 

"They killed Joan..." 

I was so numb with shocked, that my brain rejected Father's words. I looked at Jorgen, eyes pleading him to object and say that it wasn't true, but I saw a tear streaked down his face, confirming the horrible truth. 

I buried my face in my hands, refusing to believe anything about my mother's death. 

No, no, no... 

All three of us succumbed to our anguish. We sat there, immobilized by sorrow, lost in our own individual thoughts. 

Father finally pulled himself together, and shakily continued. 

"They publicized Joan's death among the families to coerce them into following their rules. It worked, and not a single soul dared to rebel against them afterwards. However, I still refused to give up, and as a last resort, they threatened to kill one of the twins. But no... I couldn't let them hurt a single hair on their heads. I swore I would protect them with my life... I swore to her." 

Father's voice was barely louder than a whisper, and he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Jorgen and I. 

"At that point my hands were tied, and I had no choice but to obey them. I'm so sorry..." 

I've heard enough. 

My body gave in and on impulse, I ran up the stairs to my bedroom. The door was wrenched open by damp, unstable hands. Sleeping pills were thrown down my throat like my life depended on it. I dived onto my bed immediately afterwards and squeezed my eyes shut beneath the cover of my quilt, begging for the reprieve that was my ticket from reality.

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hey before you start plotting my murder for making the only "good" guy in the story be her brother, let me tell you that there are at least two more "good" guys!