To dodge a Bullet (UPDATE TWICE A MONTH)

Chapter 9-Petty Criminals

I  don't realize that I'm resurfacing from the darkness, what seems like years later, until I hear a voice.

"Please, Paige," Jett whispered softly at my bedside, clutching at my covers while I dream as I'm awake. "Forgive me. I know you don't understand me, but I'm sorry. I didn't want to get you involved in the mess. I'm so sorry."

He is a black bird in my dream. His talons break skin. Blood rolls out of my arm. I lie very still so he will think that I am dead. Theres no sport in carrion, and I won't let him enjoy my defeat more than he already is.

"You belong to us now."

No matter how deep the dreams bury me, there are those words. I open my eyes sometimes, and am met with the same attendants, who advert there eyes as they scrub my skin with sponges, insert and remove IV needles from my forearm, change bedpans, take notes on clipboards, and leave without a word.

"Poor baby." A disorted voice echos off the walls. A faceless woman hovers above me, stroking the ends my hair. "You didn't deserve such a cruel fate."

I don't want to wake up from this dream. I'm afraid of what I'll find when I wake up.

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Insanity is wasting your life as a nothing when you have the blood of a killer flowing in your veins. Insanity is being shit on, beat down, coasting through life in a miserable existence when you have a caged lion locked inside and a key to release it.  — Sloan, Wanted

  Jett’s P.O.V

The inhabitants of the New Jersey knitted their brows with disgust, showing their scorn towards what they considered the armpit of New Jersey: Port Famine , a place it never even crossed their minds to come. In the rubbish strewn streets, there was not a single soul, but the flood of brilliant neon that dyed the night of New Jersey drew halos on what it could reach of the half torn down walls just to avoid being accused of showing complete indifference.

Port Famine was like a tyrant who mocked the night's silence and the peaceful flow of time. All was dark… But it was not a distressing darkness. It was a darkness in which the silhouette of things could be distinguished. 

Here spread the complete decay of sensibility, willpower, and intelligence, and fearing no one, the ghost town reigned over the darkness. In the night of Port Famine, yesterday and tomorrow didn’t exist. Its haughty magnificence overtook the night, and every day, being pure incitation to corruption, it sank into obscenity. In that place, under that resplendent appearance, there was a hidden face which was repellant.

 He stepped into the murkiness, feeling the dampness of watermist on his skin. The only source of light , a single flickering overhead lamp, barley lit the long unwinding road leading up to the abandoned warehouse. Through his tinted shades, the world seemed desolate and deviod of life. Not a living thing lay in sight. Such was the emptiness in their souls that it could not be described by words. 

But he prefered it this way. Spies aren't supposed to want too much--which is ironic, but true. Never live in any place you can't walk away from. Never own anything that you can't leave behind. These were the law's of Jett's life--of Jett's world.

Jett brought the cigarette to his lips and gazed up to the sky, drawing in a long puff of smoke and slowly, painfully slow, looked away. Dark forms leaped and fluttered in the shadows, but he no longer had the will to keep his head up.