Truth (a Divergent Fanfic)

Chapter Thirty Three

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”~ Martin Luther King Jr.

After they’ve all gone, Callie has something for me. A surprise, she says, and wait here for her to get back. I tell her sure, okay, but I also don’t know why she’s leaving me alone so soon after everything that just happened.

Amongst the dropped items and the litter left behind from the crowd lies Eric’s body, which no one has yet taken away. Well, he fits in with his surroundings, that’s all I can really say. They’ll be back in a minute, with a body bag - and then I’ll never see him again. Not that I ever really wanted to be near him when he was alive, but it was Eric that broke the bond between us, not me.

Compelled, I walk over to the stage, climbing up and swinging my legs over. The walk turns into a run and the next thing I know, I’m over his body. Can I find any nicer, altruistic part in him? Or was it never there - it certainly never surfaced.

Overcome by a sudden nostalgia for my home, I lay my head on his still-warm body, and it’s the only then that I realise there is something in his pocket. A piece of paper - I can tell by the crinkling sound. Reaching under the fabric, I gently extract it.

It’s an A4 sheet crisply folded into quarters, with one word written on the front. Rosie. The name he always used for me. It’s a note for me. I can’t quite hide my surprise.

Slowly, carefully, I open it.

‘Dear Rosie,’ it reads, ‘if you’re reading this, I’m dead. The only way I know this for sure is that I swore I would only carry it to my execution - and yes, I always knew I would die this way. The things I have said, both to you and other people are unforgivable, but I didn’t write this for forgiveness - because, as I stated earlier, I’m already dead. I can’t even excuse the way I’ve behaved for the last eighteen years - I was just angry at the world I guess - but I do want to try to do something to reconcile myself.

I have realised things along the long and lonely path I chose to take, Rosie, and the first and foremost is not to trust Jeanine Matthews. Ever. I made a deal with her to gain power, under the circumstances that I would get Tris and you would remain unharmed - and yet here we both are, knowing she broke both of these promises. I realise now that the deal I made was selfish and self obsessed; I thought I could con the con man, but I was wrong. She manipulated me in ways you could never imagine, making me more and more desperate to reach the light at the end of the tunnel, to reach the power I thought I deserved.

I can’t do much to help you, namely because I am a coward and Jeanine has me right under her thumb. But the file you and your friends are looking for to expose the truth is on a file on Jeanine’s private computer, not the central database. It’s marked as ‘Evidence’. I have great faith in your hacking abilities and I know that Four has taught you well but this is one password you wont be able to crack. With this letter there should be a small envelope - just in case this gets found I had to put it separately - and the code in there should do the trick.

I know that, as I died, I had a smile on my face. They all think it’s because I’m a cruel, sadistic bastard, and in a way, I suppose I kind of am, but that’s not why I was smiling tonight. I smiled because I have faith in you, Rosie. I knew somehow you’d find this letter, that somehow, no matter in how small a way, I could help.

Don’t forgive me - I don’t deserve to be forgiven. Just find a way to end this war, because your bitter coward of a brother was too much of an idiot to do it himself.’

A small tear runs down my cheek. It falls on his scrawled signature, smudging the ink ever so slightly.

‘Eric.’

*****

When Callie comes back a minute later, the notes are in my back pocket and I’m on the other side of the room, my eyes wiped. She walks over to me.

“Here,” she says.

I take the scrap of torn paper from her hand and I look at it. It’s Julian’s job application photograph. And he’s smiling and he looks happy and his eyes are all crinkled up. He was laughing when they took this photo - I can tell by the way his mouth is slightly open as though the laugh crept up on him.

“Thank you.” I clutch the piece of paper to my chest, hands holding on so tight they hurt each other. Callie puts her palm over my fingers gently, holding them.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, surprised. Are they? I hadn’t noticed. She prises them away from the picture and it flutters down onto my lap. Callie stares down at our intertwined hands, silently, thoughtfully.

“Cal,” I say, needing to tell her. “Where’s Cara?”

“Probably in the computer room,” she says, curious. “Why?”

I stare at my hands as Callie warms them up with hers. 

“Because I think I might have something that can help her.” And she holds me close while I tell her everything.