The Nemesis Syndrome

3. Eliza

              

She didn't know what she was doing. Everything was a blur, from the moment she had fled the street the boy had been on, to the moment she arrived home. But she must have looked as frantic as she felt, for her parents followed her up to her room as they saw her.

'Eliza?' Her mother tried to grab her hand, but Eliza only pushed away, grabbing a bag and throwing random items in it. Shirts, trousers, a book, anything her hands could reach. 'Eliza, what's going on?'

'I have to go.' Bag thrown over her shoulder, she ran downstairs, throwing as much food as she could fit in her pockets. Then money; the biscuit tin was raided, her parents staring on at her as if they thought she was mad.

Maybe she was, for she could think of nothing else but escaping. She could see nothing else but the boy on the street with a little girl who adored him. How could she do that- kill him- or turn him into a monster.

She had to leave, leave before he knew who she was and before he found her again. So she headed to the door.

But her father stopped her.

'You found them.' He said, his voice low. 'Didn't you?'

'No!' But she had never been able to lie well enough for them to not know. 'Please. Let me go.'

'You would rather run than fight? Risk our lives because you are a coward?'

They knew nothing. Nothing about her, and that made it worse, made her even more angry because they would never understand.

'I'm not risking anything.' She whispered. 'Because he wouldn't notify the Circle.'

'He is you enemy.' There was anger in her mother's eyes.

Her mother. So soft, so gentle, so caring. And yet, a murderer, just like everyone else who had survived.

She couldn't turn into one of them. No one was worth that. Not a boy with a little sister, not a boy who would destroy her as well as stealing her heart.

'He is more than that.' And again she tried to walk away.

And then he grabbed her arm, pulling off her gloves in a move she couldn't stop. His own wrists flashed at her mockingly; he had never covered them, his victory pure in his eyes. Her mothers name was black on one wrist. Another name on the other, no longer black but red- a nemesis dead, a life forgotten.

She tried to hide her other hand, but he was too fast, she too slow, and the glove came off to a room of silence.

'That's not possible.' Her mother whispered.

'Clearly it is.' Eliza snapped. 'Are you both done, or do I really have to explain to your in words of one syllable what you are looking at?'

Silence.

And then her mother slowly picked up her glove, thrusting it into her hands. 'Go.' She said. 'Run. As far as you can. Leave, Liza. If you can get out of the country, you will be safer.'

'What about you?'

Her mother smiled. 'We will be fine. Go.'

And she did. Bag on her shoulder, she strode out of the house, slowing as she got to the road. Running would make people look at her, make them suspect. So she forced her feet to go gently, forced her face to relax so it looked like she was only going for a walk. To see a friend.

But she only got a mile out of the town before they found her.