Doctored Chance #NaNoWriMo2019

14|Aftermath

The photographs from the disaster were difficult to come by. I traced them first to the props' station in that area, where once they had been stored, but by the time I could pull on my stolen police uniform and sneak into the filing room, they were gone. It took months to work out a method of accessing the Higher Defense Headquarters' records, and after much devising, it ended up being a feat too illegal to put down in writing. I cannot say that I illegally retrieved the covered-up evidence myself, for that would be condemning, but I cannot proceed to contradict that I didn't because that would be lying. Unless, I was lying in saying that I did illegally retrieve the covered-up and highly classified files, but by this time, a law-abiding and news-believing reader should be confused enough to look the other way and not throw wild accusations about illegal, or lack of illegal, activity.

The photographs depicted dusty scenes of obliterated buildings, shattered glass, and strewn remnants of vehicles and bicycles that had been abandoned to the blast. Though the cameras of our day shoot in clear and detailed definition, the particles in the air created a natural sepia filter and obscured the distance. If you were to return to the central square of East Benediction today, there would be no sign that anything had ever happened. If you asked, no one would admit that it did. But, on that gritty evening, a thousand people, against odds, survived a disaster that leveled buildings in a three-block radius, with only one hundred injured, thanks to a mysterious one-legged man who would never be rewarded.

The dust hung thick in air, mingling with foul black smoke from burning ruins of cars and stores. It smelled and tasted of rubber and clay. Nothing could be seen beyond an armlength in any direction. Light was obscured in the haze, the near distance speckled with flickering, blurred bulbs of dancing fires.

"Tobias. Tobias!" a voice hissed, so close to him that he could feel the tickle of her breath. His head lolled to one side, and his eyelids hung too heavy to open. His cheeks stung with small, quick slaps. "Tobias, wake up. The props will be here any minute. They're closing off the area. Tobias!"

Tobias moaned and unfolded his aching limbs.

"That's it. That's it," she eased anxiously, her fingers kneading his shoulder.

The child rolled limply from his arms and he dragged open his eyes as far as they would go. Viola Mae picked up the little girl and held her protectively over her shoulder, then took Tobias's hand, wide-eyed.

"We need to go, Tobias! If they find you—"

"I didn't... I didn't do anything wrong..." Tobias whispered. He held her hand against his chest. It was on fire. His chest felt like it was on fire all over again. He could feel blood seeping from his back, but he smiled wearily up at his friend all the same. "Is everyone okay?"

"I don't know. Come on, I can't lift you if you don't try, Tobias. You're too heavy." She pulled his arm around her shoulder.

He coughed and pulled it tiredly back. "I did a villainous thing. But... maybe sometimes a villainous act can... can cause the greatest good. I saved good people. So... let the props come." His breath staggered in and out drunkenly, his eyelids drooped. "Let them come, Viola Mae. I know I did the right thing. That's all that matters."

"Oh, Tobias," she breathed, grimacing. She let go of the unconscious girl to put her hands on his face. "You're too good."

He put his hand over hers, leaning into it.

"Your mask is crooked," she said. She carefully repositioned it on his face and brushed the blonde hair out of his false blue eyes to kiss his forehead. Voices sounded in the fog. A few beams of faint light swung back and forth through the dust. "I'll be with you. I promise."