Part One
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"What do you mean, 'too late'?" Vellis snapped into the earpiece, then grunted taking in a sharp breath. "God, what--"
Castian reached up and turned the earbud off as the sound of the other boy getting sick came across, turning his stomach. He swallowed, forcing his own nausea down again. This was bad. But... salvageable. Right? He stared at the gun Booth had dropped. The diminutive pistol was small enough hide in a palm. It was made of wood and a dark metal with fanciful and extravagant curves and inlay. A pretty little piece of death.
He approached carefully, stepping over Booth's limp form. His boot squished on the blood soaked carpet. The assassin had stabbed him in a back, the wounds were ragged openings in his flesh. Castian stooped. The gun was still warm when he picked it up. Palming the small weapon, he moved to the door. A hole had been bore through it near the edge. He crouched and set an eye too it.
In the room beyond, four people sat; two men, two women. The women were in the middle, talking softly. One shifted in her chair and her dress shushed across the deep red carpet. Shadows clung to the room, and the folds of their dresses. Anything could hide in them, but Castian doubted much more than a fan was. At the far side of the box a man with black hair and ridiculous goatee sat. A rapier hung from his waist, tip pressing into the carpet, his eyes were focused on the play below them. On the other end, was Lincoln.
His chair sat tipped on its back legs, and his feet rested atop the railing. A cloth was bunched up under them. It took Castian a moment to decide what it was through the dark. The flag he'd seen draped from the box earlier. Lincoln's hand moved, and a moment later, a flame sprang to life. Castian jerked back, heart hammering. It was only a match. That was it. Through the hole and in the dark it had looked so much larger.
His fingers touched the handle to the theater box lightly, then he closed them over it, steadying himself. Castian took a breath. In, a single shot, then over the railing. Right? He couldn't quite remember. Living outside of time meant there was a lot more history. Time to rewrite some, he supposed. One way or another it had to be better than if he lived, right? No time to dwell on it.
Castian pushed the door open slowly. The hinges moved inward without a sound. Faint light from the hall behind Castian leaked into the room.
The man with the gouty looked up sharply. "You shouldn't be in here."
"I'll only be a moment."
Lincoln turned to face him, a pipe stuck between his teeth. He took it out, holding it in a hand. "He's right, you shouldn't be here."
"I know." Castian crossed the room in two fast steps, gun snapping up to press against the president's head.
The pipe tumbled from his hand, landing on the floor with a bounce beside a small bag. The carpet began to smolder. The other man jerked to his feet.
"Don't move," Castian snapped. He did though, lunging towards him as the woman next to Lincoln began to make shrill sounds in the back of her throat, as if she wanted to scream, but couldn't. Castian kicked out with a leg, knocking the soldier off his feet. He landed with a harsh breath. The other woman sat petrified, eyes round as marbles in her face.
Castian pulled the safety back on the gun. The soft click was a very final sound. The soldier man struggled to rise and unsheathe his weapon at the same time. Castian planted a hard kick in the his side, his foot barked in pain inside the stupid shoe. The soldier yelped breathlessly in his own pain. It almost made the throbbing foot worth it.
"Don't do something you... can't undo," Lincoln said. His voice was tight and uneven, the ends of his words tilted up as if they were all questions.
"I know all about undoing," Castian said. "Now isn't one of those times."
Castian's hand was shaking slightly. The gun dug into the back of Lincoln's skull. Stupid time slips. He'd never been in one before, whenever he did things there was no slip. They just had to send a timebound assassin. One from after Lincoln's time. He grit his teeth. No time to be annoyed, or nauseous.
"You don't--"
Castian squeezed the trigger. The gun flashed in the darkness, sounding off with a crack. Mrs. Lincoln screamed, lunging at him, her big dress weighing her down. He cracked her against the head with the gun and she dropped to the ground with a moan, atop the half risen soldier. They looked like a puddle of green fabric. The other woman stared at him motionless, lips moving frantically without a sound. Was she praying? Instead of running? Really?
He turned away, stamping out the smoldering carpet and scooping up the pipe. The ash inside it was dead. Castian shoved it in his pocket anyway, just to be safe. The bag beside it had a scorch mark on it and was smoking but hadn't caught. He shoved that into the pocket of his suit as well. The last thing he needed was the theater to catch fire. Dropping the gun, he leapt over the railing.
Castian landed on the stage hard enough to make his knees buckle. All the actors on it froze staring at him mid scene as he staggered up.
He was supposed to say something. Booth had said something. Reaching up he flicked the earbud on. Instantly Vellis began to swear at him.
"Shut up," he snarled, staring back into the wide eyes of one of the actors. "What do I say?"
"Do you not know any history? Did you not read any of what Taff--"
"Focus!"
"Thus always to tyrants," Vellis sounded more than a little annoyed, and nauseous.
"Thu--"
"In Latin!" Castian's head rang with the shout. He thought he could hear it echo distantly from Vellis hiding place."
"Excuse me, but I'm rusty on dead languages," he snapped.
Vellis rattled out a string of quick words that sounded like nonsense. He'd better be right, dammit, Castian didn't want to be the kid who'd killed Lincoln then yelled something ridiculous in Latin.
"Sic semper tyrannis!" Castian shouted, words echoing in the stunned theater. Then he pulled his own gun out and shot twice into the air.
The stage turned to pandemonium. The sound of a thousand people suddenly leaping to there feet and trying to all flee at the same time filled and echoed through the theater, accompanied by several high-pitched screams.
Castian bolted off the stage, shoving a man from his path. He fell over the edge of the stage, yelling curses.
Well that was intense XD. Hope he gets away... sort of. Of course I've already written the next like... 4 chapters... soooo.
Tell me what you thought! Comments are always welcome, isn't Castian a klepto? Steals from everyone it seems XD. In the original WIP for the first chapter he stole Hay's gun... don't question it.
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An Assassin In Time
Science Fiction(ON HOLD) If time couldn't hold you, what would you do? Castian was born inside a Field, outside of time. He has no timeline. He belongs nowhere, and anywhere. The Field he was in was destroyed when he was young, and he and four other children...
