Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 12: In Hangman's Tower

Music is Childhood Memories from the Beyond: Two Souls soundtrack. Play it!

******

The voice makes me gasp; I nearly pitch out of the window in shock. My fingers frantically grasp window sill for balance. I regain my composure, and jump down agilely, feet landing with a soft thud on the ground. My hands are clenched into fists, ready for a brawl.

The figure concealing itself in the shadows steps forward. Despite the features being half-hidden in the dark, I can still identify the intruder. I release an irritated sigh.

Of course, who else would it be but Gilbert?

"What do you want?" I say, my voice steelier than usual.

He gives me a peculiar stare. Then I realise that my vision is still blurry. I blink the tears away furiously, wiping the stains away, trying to cover up all evidence of an emotional breakdown. My ears tinge with embarrassed heat.

"Well?" I bark.

He snaps into himself. "I, uh, followed you?"

I fail to refrain from rolling my eyes. "Anything else I don't know?"

The words tumble from his mouth in stutters, sounding so feeble: "I – I just wanted to check how you were doing. You were avoiding everyone after the Marking...so I just, well – followed you, to see how you were doing, but of course I did mention it already, did I?"

"And?"

"Er...how are you doing?"

"Fine. Until you came along," I snap.

His eyes soften. "I know what it feels like," he says softly.

I stiffen. He's talking about the Marking experience.

"Look, I don't know if you want to hear it or not, but maybe, just maybe, it will help you if I tell you of the visions I experienced."

I find myself weighing the possibilities. Gilbert is in no position to harm me or to target my weaknesses, for I'm in no way obliged to share my visions. Besides, it might actually do me some good to hear of someone with a similar experience, to grant me a thin blanket of comfort. Or at least an illusion of it.

"All right," I agree with heavy trepidation. "Let's have it."

He flashes me a crooked grin as he closes the sizable distance between us. His eyes skim along the cracked walls, noting the pools of blood stains that form crusted patches on it, the ancient torture devices thrown about haphazardly. Gilbert passes me, leaning out from the window. He hauls himself comfortably onto the sill and like me before, takes in the scenery with greedy eyes.

"It's beautiful," he whispers. "How did you find this place?"

I emit a growl. "Are you here to talk about the panorama or about your Marking experience?"

He shoots me a curious look. "You're more uptight than I expected," he observes casually, ignoring my glare. He pats the empty space on the sill beside him. "Sit."

I fold my arms. "I think I'd rather stand."

"Then you won't get to know my Marking experience," he replies tauntingly.

The evil-eye I shoot him does little to deter the smirk growing on his face. Reluctantly, I join him on the sill, squashing myself against one side, placing the widest possible gap between us.

"That's better," he says.

Dense silence falls between us, permeating the very air, cold and piercing to the marrows. "Well, aren't you going to start?" I say.