The Broken Crystal

Chapter Twelve

Who are you?

Savaine Miraiah saw the question in Natan's furrowed brows. The doctor's eyes picked up on every detail, every wrinkle in his forehead, every twitch of his fingers. Like sharp cameras, they watched as Natan's brown orbs narrowed in slight curiosity, his pupils widening.

Along with the previous aggravation and mournfulness forever written somewhere on the margins of his face, Natan looked like the preeminent subject. Of course, she already knew that, or else she wouldn't have been here. As she always told her husband: Every action need years of precaution to be perfect.

"Who are you?" he said, this time out loud.

At first the woman remained silent, her figure as still as stone, back straighter than the tree trunks. Then she tilted her head, smirked and said: "I'm someone with the quintessential solution."

Nate blinked a few times, as if she had just spoken in an ancient language, entirely foreign to his brain. His jaw slacked and his eyebrows knitted together in full on confusion.

"You're bewildered." Nothing but a dry fact. "Allow me to explain."

Nate still looked confused, although now his mouth was closed and he nodded, ready to listen.

Savaine didn't skip a beat. "Luke Roosevelt."

The boy kept frowning, but Savaine noticed the flicker of anger in his eyes when she said Luke's name. Her smile widened into something more sincere. Everything is going exactly as planned.

"What about him?" Nate leaned against a tree, trying desperately to feign disinterest. His eyes deceived him; they burned in unconcealed curiosity.

Savaine moved to the cross on the ground, lifting the object up to look at it. Nate held his hand out - a foolish attempt to stop her - but she turned around, ignoring his silent warning.

"Poor Igor," she said to the cross, running her palm over the decayed wood, caressing every cavity with an almost theatrical carefulness. "Luke didn't go easy on him."

Through the thin barrier of her own concerned voice, the doctor could practically hear Natan's jaw tighten, his teeth clenching as his hands curled into fists. And, when she turned around, she saw just what she wanted to: A lone boy surrounded only by dark silhouettes of trees, standing with his head lowered as an eternal war raged around him; the harsh wind and pine needles fighting one another, not unalike his own thoughts that so viciously battled against his morals, his expressions, his beliefs.

Savaine licked her lips. He's ready.

"Don't you crave revenge?" she asked.

If Nate's head could still work rationally, he would've walked away from the strange woman, who knew too much about too many things. But now all the sections in his brain were on lockdown, the only thoughts remaining being his brother's smile.

So, when the woman repeated her question, Nate didn't think twice before he nodded. And he did so without having any idea that her smiling lips were, in fact, nothing more than two lifeless puppets held up by invisible strings made of a million calculated thoughts, as complicated and twisted as the woman herself.

"I can give you that," she continued, and a flicker of a smile showed up on Nate's face. "But, naturally, there'll be a price."

"Sure." He nodded again. "What do you want me to do?"

Savaine lay the cross back on the ground, before beginning to slowly straighten up, using as much time as possible. Finally, she parted her lips and said: