Altruist (The Altruist Series Book 1) (14 page)

He swallows. “Right, okay, I’ll go get it and meet you by the window. If you hear anything, if you make any noise, assume they heard it and move.” He slides the door slowly and nods down the hall. I creep slowly against the wall where the floor is more structurally sound, hoping my silence can remain a few moments longer. Seeing the window, I peer outside. I don’t see anyone down below and I pray there is no one blocking the entrances. I make my way across the room, feeling my way through the darkness,
this is going to be okay, this is going to work, and we’re going to get out of here
. I grasp onto Max’s dresser, feeling my way towards the window. It isn’t until I hear the thump that I even realize that my hand has hit one of his trophies. The sound stops me in my tracks and I scan the room. It’s silent, the house silent, dread fills me,
they know I’m here
. Loud, heavy footsteps begin the climb to the second level and my eyes scan the room hastily, not sure of what to do.

Abel bolts into the room, my duffle strung across his chest. “Cate, open the window, go!” he yells. I stare at him, puzzled, paralyzed. He doesn’t slow and instead, unlatches the window and pulls it open. “Jump, Cate! GO!” His voice is harsh and makes my heart pound within my chest.

“It’s too high…” I say, exasperated. “I can’t…” His hand presses into my back and the scouts race down the hall. My head turns towards the door as they reach the room.

“You’ll make it, trust me.”

I don’t know whether I jump willingly or he pushes me, but my feet leave the sill and I plummet towards the hard ground. My right shin and left foot catch my fall, smacking into the grass. I scan the yard, half looking for scouts, half amazed at my survival of the fall, then Abel grips my arms and pulls me to my feet. We take off towards the fence that encircles my house when we see a figure standing 20 meters to the right. Slowly they begin moving towards us and then faster, until their run matches my own.

“Cate, watch out to the right.”

“I see him.” I remain focused, pushing my limbs harder, soul unhinged. As we near the fence, I accept the fact that the scout will reach me before I can get over and I quickly turn right and run head-on towards the figure. Their pace slows, though only momentarily.

“Cate!” Abel calls. I clutch my fist towards my side. I will not be intimidated. As I near the figure, I swing my arm around and throw my full force into the scout, my knuckles meeting his nose. An undeniable crack resonates from beneath his skin. Without stopping I climb over the fence as the figure cries out in agony on the ground below. I hear Abel running close behind and it isn’t until we reach the terrace that my pace ever slows. I fall to my knees, chest heaving.

“What were they doing? What were they looking for in my house?” My words are punctuated by gasps of air. Abel stands beside me, his hands on his head, trying to regain composure.

“I’m not sure, maybe your charge,” he says.

I breathe heavily, trying to take in his words.
Charge
? The thought is fleeting as I remember there are more important things at hand. “Where’s my family? Do they have them? Do they have my family?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, looking up towards the sky, breathing deeply. “We sent a team to pick up Max, Sophie and your dad. Your mom’s with my parents. They’ll be safe. Cate, you need to calm down.”

I stand up, my anger resurging as the thought of Dante rushes into my soul. “They came after people I care about, Abel. And you want me to calm down?” Whatever it is he is expecting from me, I am not capable of, and for that I am not sorry. He wraps his arms around me, and I bury my face into his chest, hot tears streaming down my face.

“I know, I know. I get it. This isn’t the time though, we need to regroup. We’re fractured when we’re spread so far apart. I’m going to take you somewhere safe, near the border of the city, somewhere you can calm down and we can figure out what to do next.” I want to reply but I feel broken, I feel numb, I feel weak.

Chapter 15

We travel down dark windy roads, and by the twentieth turn my stomach begins to lurch along with the car. I touch a smooth silver button and the window effortlessly lowers, allowing crisp air, infused with winter’s breath to flow inside the vehicle. No matter how many times I take passage in a Class 4 vehicle, I feel odd. I do not belong and I feel as though the vehicle itself knows it. I rest my elbow where the glass meets the metal frame, and lean my hand against my head. Abel is quiet. I wonder if he ever had the choice to love me, or if he were simply thrust into this position by some divine power and that in all actuality he has no free will when it comes to who he loves. I want to shake him and demand that he tells me every single thing he is thinking. I know that I never had a choice. I know in my gut that every time I’ve met him must have been like this time, that it doesn’t matter how many years past. Given the chance, I would fall for him all over again. And if I can step outside of my neurotic mind for a moment, I know he feels the same. I’m tired.
I
am
so
tired
. For the first time in months I allow myself to drift away from the world until the hum of the new engine pairs with the passing of the trees and I let go.

Chapter 16 — Abel

Her slender frame just inches from mine, and I cannot say a word. She needs rest, she does, and when we reach The Manor there will be no rest in sight.
Is she ready?
She’s different this time, angrier than I’ve ever known her to be. She needs to turn her anger into something productive, something that doesn’t consist entirely of her emotions ruling her decisions. I wonder if her body, if her soul, is genuinely fighting against the tide of her responsibility; if she’s reached a point where she can’t take any more of this; if it’s my fault that it’s gone on for as long as it has. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice her lean against her hand and begin to fall asleep. I feel her drifting more than actually see it. I want to wake her and tell her that I’m sorry,
I’m so sorry that I couldn’t get to you in time.

Chapter 17 — Cate

“Cate? Wake up, we’re here.” Abel’s hand is warm against mine and I love waking up to him. I feel myself smile as I open my eyes and peer out through the tinted windows
.
A large house towers to my right, its cream and tan bricks condensed and burnt with age. Two main floors sandwiched between an attic and basement reach towards the sky, as if it is begging to leave this place in search of something better, and I can relate to that. A dark grey roof sits atop what I count as sixteen windows on the top floor of the U-shaped structure. And above the roof are six chimneystacks, in the center of which sits a hollow, marble globe, resting on four pillars. Concrete statues line either side on the tan stone driveway and beyond the statues, lush green hedges sit, alternating between circular and oblong shapes. I shift my view toward Abel and feel his gaze as I stare past him and to the landscape. I haven’t been here before and I am absolutely perplexed as to why a house of this magnitude would be allowed to remain out here so far from the city Centre. “Where are we?” I mumble through sleep’s resistance.

“The Manor. It’s a safe house of sorts. We can figure out what to do next. My parents are inside along with some other Tylins, and your parents and Willa are in a bunker on the other side of the grounds. They’re safe. You can relax.” His tone is more direct than comforting, almost as if he is ordering my relaxation rather than offering it. Although my initial reaction is to reject his cold tone, I, more than anything, appreciate that he knows the information that I need to hear before I can begin the process of relaxation. I stare down at my hands, clasping them together,
Am I messing this up for them? Am I, in some way, not what they expected, not what they need me to be?

I close my eyes, and press the button that unlatches the door.
When in doubt, make the jump,
I think. It’s quiet here, no buzz of people, no gawking stares, no loud mechanical grunting from sector gates opening. There is nothing. Silence. The air is clean and I inhale slowly, savoring the feeling it creates within my chest and whether it’s my decision or Abel’s direction, I begin to slowly relax. Staring up towards the long string of dark concrete steps leading to the front door, guarded on either side by perfectly trimmed hedges,
I’ve been here before, I’ve stood in this place.
The photograph from the dusty box in my parents attic and the one from the Cohen’s mantle meet and meld in my mind.
The Manor, this is where my parents met me
. It’s been right here, this entire time. Right here, outside of the city. Right here, waiting for my return.

A short, stout man stands on the threshold and, upon making eye contact with me, he rushes down the stairs, his arms move back and forth much quicker than the rest of his body as if his legs are simply just not on the same page. “Catherine!” he shouts, utter joy resonating from within him. The top of his grey, balding head barely reaches my chin and he gawks wildly at me from behind thick, wire-framed spectacles. He grabs my hands in his, they are rough and thick, and his closed-mouth smile exacerbates his double chin and accentuates his bright red cheeks. He pulls me down towards him and clasps his arms around me. I feel my expression drop from happy confusion to dreadful confusion and my body stiffens.

“Ephraim!” Abel shouts as he pulls my duffle bag out of the trunk. “Give her a break.” He laughs, clearly finding the violation of my personal space amusing.

“Right, right, sorry, sorry,” Ephraim mumbles, pulling away and adjusting his brown tweed vest so that it meets neatly with his matching trousers. I stare at him and he stares back and the moment lasts nearly too long before Abel interjects yet again.

“Ephraim, would you like to show us inside?” he says, nodding towards The Manor. Its frame makes me feel far away and small in its shadow, and I instantly miss the loud house with the red door,
my home.

“Yes!” Ephraim smiles. “Of course! Eliath has been anxiously awaiting your arrival. And Judah has been drafting plans for weeks, and—”

“Judah? Judah is here?” Abel asks, stopping Ephraim mid-step.

“Why, yes! He mentioned something about wanting to be on the front lines this time and what not.” Ephraim continues up the stairs, spouting off random tidbits about the architectural significance of the manor.

“Is everything okay?” I whisper to Abel.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” His stern expression is quickly replaced with a forced smile.

As Ephraim turns the gold doorknob, emblazed with the triangular symbol that I’ve come to know so well, the rich smell of oiled mahogany escapes from the room within. It reminds me of my dad’s study, except here the dark wood adorns each wooden plank as well as an intricate wooden inlay across the walls. As I near the far wall, I allow my fingertips to trace the pattern, lines and flowers, faces and swords tell the beginning of a story, or the middle, or for all I know, the very end. A soldier fights alone against clouds of darkness. I tilt my head towards the ceiling, so far from my small frame that I can barely make out what comes next in the warrior’s tale, or before. Minutes pass and the room is quiet, so quiet that I nearly forget that I am not alone.

Turning my head towards my escorts I smile and mumble an apology. “Sorry. This place is really beautiful,” I say as I take in the room, all but empty except for a running rug that measures the length of the floor and stretches to doorways on either side of the space. “I can’t believe this is all out here. Does the Council know it exists? I can’t imagine they do. Or why would the ever leave it here? I mean, at the very least, you would think they would utilize it for government ongoings. Or even a country home for our President. Yes, this is certainly the type of place a President would take rest in. How could you not? Right? How could you step foot here and not feel instantly better about every little thing in this world?” I tilt my head towards the ceiling again and smile, inhaling the musty air and allowing it to sit in my lungs, to fill them with something other than the air that I’ve always taken in. Air filled with the aftermath of too many days of refineries running and a city bursting at its seems with overpopulation issues. My eyes leave the solitude of the ceiling and meet Abel’s. “I’ve begun to ramble again, haven’t I?” I bite my lower lip and smile, shaking my head.

“I was just going to let you go. Weren’t you, Ephraim” Abel says.

“Oh, yes, absolutely, Sir.” Ephraim smiles and laughs and his structured tweed vest is unable to contain his belly from giggling slightly.

“Yeah, okay, you guys are too kind.” I say, walking back toward Ephraim and motioning my arm, palm side up. “Continue the tour,” I say smiling and slightly embarrassed.

“The Etched Hall” Ephraim says, pointing at the room around us. I narrow my eyes and scan the room,
the room, not a hallway
. I’ve never know a square room to be referenced as a ‘hall’ before and for a moment I wonder if the people who are able to own homes this obnoxiously large are able to call their rooms whatever the hell they please. I will make a mental note to take advantage of that perk if and when I ever own an obnoxiously large home of my own. In which case, I would most definitely name such a room as this a parlor, or a saloon. Yes, a saloon, this ‘hall’ most certainly screams ‘saloon.’ Ugh where is Willa when I need her, she would find my string of comedic gold hilarious. Willa, it’s been too long since I’ve been near her, since I’ve been allowed to laugh at things like the important task of naming rooms when I am some day undoubtedly very, very wealthy and take holiday residence in country homes fit for a president.

I follow Ephraim from The Etched Hall into an actual hall, lined with oil painted portraits of faces that I have never known. Faces that are faded, not by the sun but by the time that has lapsed since these faces where a part of a person who breathed and laughed and lived. Dark hues of cream and blue, black and red inflect detail into intricate strokes that make up these people who once were. And that’s it, isn’t it? They were, and now they simply are not. There is a peace in that basic understanding. That sometimes life happens and whether I live a long life or die next month, death will in fact find me at some point because death is as constant as life, and I need to learn to accept that. I’m not sure if I can or not. And if I’m able to, does that make me less human than I already am? Regardless of the lasting affect a change in my mentality towards existence may have, if I want to be focused, if I want to be strong, if I want to have a chance of getting through this life, I need to erase the fear that comes along with death. It will happen, it will come, but until it does, I will fight like hell.