EVELYN (ON HOLD)

5 ~ Gunshot

"Keep your heels, head, and standards high." --- Coco Chanel

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It's unbelievable.

There are so, so many people in this room that my heart's skipping beats and my eyes don't know where to look and my mind can't figure out why why why.

Why I couldn't see this before?

And I know that for anybody else, anybody at all, it would be normal to see such a large gathering of people. But for me it's not normal at all.

It's the opposite of normal.

There are rows upon rows upon rows of polished tables and chairs, with one table higher than the rest. It's on the left side above a few steps, and the rest are perpendicular to it.

And they're filled with soldiers standing behind chairs. Stiff, unmoving, hungry.

Archer moves my shocked body with him to the high table and pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to sit. I do. And once again, the chair is so soft that I could sleep. The tables all have a pure white tablecloth on them and it's lined with plates and cutlery.

I hear a few gasps when I sit, and it may be because I'm the only one sitting. I notice I'm the only female in the room.

Archer takes a seat right next to me and the rest of our long table is left empty.

'Sit.'

One word from Archer.

One word so powerful it brings all the soldiers down and they take the seat in front of them. They move like they're programmed. They move at precisely the same time. Not a hair out of place from another.

It surprises me.

And I now realize how much power the man beside me holds. He's their leader, and one word from his lips can do anything.

Absolutely anything.

Suddenly, doors I didn't notice before open and hundreds of trolleys wheel themselves out automatically and the most wonderful aroma fills the room.

The trolleys are programmed to go to their own tables and plates upon plates upon plates lift and place themselves perfectly on the table in front of us.

It's almost magical.

There's so much colour and flavour and variety. There's meat and coloured rice and vegetables and bread and flowers lining the plates. It's a rich meal fit for a king and I'm shocked to silence again.

I'm shocked because they had all this. So much. And yet they fed me basic scraps?

I'm furious and disgusted with their actions, whoever it may be.

'Eat.'

Another word from Archer and they all dig in to ravish the food.

They pile their plates with mashed potatoes and cheese. Meat loaves and bread. Rice grains and lentils. They fill their glasses with orange juice and pomegranate juice. Apple juice and avocado juice. There're smoothies and frappes and milk. There's no wine. Maybe because it's the army.

It's just lunch and they eat so much.

'Aren't you going to eat anything, sweetheart?' he asks from beside me, holding his fork in one hand, and a knife in the other.

Without looking at him, I reply, 'I'm not hungry.'

I can feel his eyes boring holes on the side of my head. Staring at me. Daring me to meet his eyes so he can tell if I'm being honest.

'Liar. I know for a fact that you haven't eaten anything since early this morning. It's been many hours. You should eat. You look pale,' he says, now piling his plate with rice and a type of meat.

'Pale is my skin colour. I can't do anything about it. I don't care if you don't like it,' I say, my voice monotone and unfeeling.

'I like your skin,' he says it so quietly, but I hear it and my face is fulfilling it's dream of becoming a tomato.

I focus my eyes on a plate of puff-pastry and try to stop thinking of the gorgeous human next to me, but then he chuckles and the sound makes my stomach uneasy.

He reaches forward and picks up some puff-pastries with a pair of tongs and places them on my plate.

It's a signal. A signal that's telling me to eat.

'I told you I'm not hungry,' I say in annoyance, finally turning my head to look at him and he looks back at me with challenge in his golden honey eyes.

Oh, it's on.

And my stomach decides to rumble in protest at that very moment.

His eyes widen at the sound and I think he's going to tease me and tell me that I was wrong.

But he just laughs.

It's a loud, booming laugh. It's a laugh of victory. It's the kind you laugh when you win, and he's won.

Many soldiers are looking at him in shock, their food abandoned.

I stuff a pastry in my face to stop from shouting at him and the minute it enters my mouth, my mind goes blank.

It's
delicious.

Words cannot describe how I feel.

I'm angry and happy and relaxed and furious. I'm tired and energized and confused.

'It's good isn't it?' he says smugly from beside me, and I ignore him, continuing to eat the pastries on my plate.

After ten minutes, Archer says 'stop'.

And even with the chattering in the room, his voice is the loudest, and they all stop eating. Those who were about to put food in their mouths drop it, and they all freeze.

'Stand,' Archer says, and they all stand. At the same time.

Archer get's up and I don't wan't to be the only one standing, so I stand up as well.

He gives me a weird look, but then addresses the crowd.

He picks up a square device and presses it to his lips.

'Chef 46,' he says, and his voice seems to magnify.

A man with a long chef hat and white apron steps out from double-doors on the side of the room. He's very skinny and tall, and he's visibly shaking.

'Yes, Supreme Commander Archer, sir,' he stutters. You can see the horror in his eyes.

'The salmon looks like it's been steamed for 7 minutes. I told you I like it when my salmon is steamed for 6,' Archer says, his voice deep, powerful and cold. It's very different from the way he talks to me.

The chef turns pale and shakes even more now. I don't think I'll ever be able to remove the look on his face from my mind.

'Sir! It was an accident! I can explain!' he stutters, and Archer does something that takes my breath away.

He pulls out a gun.

'Save your petty lies!' he says, and then one sound.

I hear just one sound.

The sound of Archer shooting a bullet right through the chef's head.

And then everything turns black.

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