Prophecy: Tome of Skin

7. Lifeline

Luckily the two of them were hidden in back, so when the little bell on the door rang and signaled that someone had entered the shop they were not discovered. Of course it wasn't pure luck, seeing as there was a considerable amount of pragmatism mixed into it. Because Percy was a ghost she had limited options, and because she wanted to be sure that her father didn't learn that she was still around she had even less options. Myrna had been reluctant, but eventually she agreed that Percy could hang out around the shop, help out in back, count inventory maybe. At least until they figured out what her place was.

"You just keep on like I showed you, I'll be back to check on you in a minute," Myrna reassured her as she headed for the front of the store.

"Yeah, great, at least I can't break a nail." Manual labor was not something that Percy was used to, and even in her afterlife she was impartial to it. Yet she knew the truth about her situation, so she kept her sassing and complaining to a minimum. Even though the arrangement was not ideal for either of them, they both accepted it, and Myrna was glad to be taking a break from her as she emerged into the light to see who had come to browse her wares. The smile on her face did not falter because she saw that it was Cliff, no, her smile faltered because of the way that his eyes were wrought with pain.

"I need your help." He blurted all at once, knowing that he had no right to ask it, for so many reasons. Yet he had too, and if he didn't force it out then he knew he was liable to just turn around and leave. Forget it. Change.

"Now you're scaring me." She swallowed the lump in her throat, gathering that this was what she had been waiting for all along-her chance. It was the one opportunity that she had to break through to him, only now she was afraid of what was underneath. But that changed nothing, and as she had told him, it was still all the same to her. She went over to him and took his hand, leading him up the stairs to her room so they could have privacy to talk. "Tell me everything."

"I can't, it's just too awful. You wouldn't understand, you couldn't. Oh god, the things I've had to do."

"You might be surprised. Would it help if I told you what I thought? That I believe you're doing all this out of revenge?"

"Myrna," Cliff's first instinct was to deny it, but he remembered that he'd come to her for a reason, and if she was already at the conclusion on her own then what was the point of lying? "She has to pay."

"Then why not shoot her and be done with it? You can't stay there another second." Now the agony had fallen on Myrna too, and she touched his cheek.

"That's not how it works. If I didn't get killed in the process then there's no way I wouldn't go down for it." He had considered the nuclear option, same as Alistair, and the repercussions that it would hold. His words made Myrna think that there was still something left in him, that he wanted a life above the vengeance, but what she didn't realize was that she was wrong. He had no qualms with forsaking his life if it meant taking down Monica. Yet in his soul, though he would not admit it, he wanted to believe that if he could do this-take out Monica and remain alive and free-then maybe, just maybe, Nina would return to him.

"But it's not worth it, not like this." She whispered, already knowing that there wasn't anything she could say to make him feel any differently about it.

"It has to be this way," he concentrated for a moment to control his breathing, "it's just, sometimes, I can't believe it's my hands doing these things. And now I have to," again he stopped.

"What?"

"I'm supposed to kill my boss. Chief Hendricks has apparently outlived his usefulness, and I'm stuck with the cleanup."