"We have no leads, no evidence other than the two children who can't be found. What do we do?"
"We go back to work. Hopefully find a break somewhere, or find a break. We'll go to their homes every day if we have to."
"That stuff is going to be exhausting."
"This is work. Is there anything else you can do?"
"think."
"Very well. What's for dinner? It's late."
"Wait a moment."
"It's your turn to pick, isn't it?"
"Did you see me on the phone?" Shut up...oh my god. "
"What?"
This is the story of the last day of my life.
Yes, it sounds exaggerated, but it's true. As I prepare for my last day on this planet, my mind is free-falling through memories. As I work, the sun sets on the horizon, casting longer and longer shadows through the windows. I didn't dare turn on a light, even as I carefully picked up the broken glass from the floor near the back window I'd smashed. I had to take them all off before I completely lost the light. It wouldn't be nice if my plans were ruined by something as small as a wayward splinter cutting my foot.
I tried to convince Matt. I even went out of my way and wasted precious time to visit him at work, but he turned me down unceremoniously. I'm disappointed, but I know Matt too well to resent him. He needs more evidence to carry out this plan. I can accept. I will give him the evidence tonight and take him out. I won't hold a grudge. Matt can go back with me.
Will Jane?
That thought really freaked me out. I had to convince myself that there was no way Jane could say no to me. I can't bear to live in a world without her. Even if she rejects me, even if we never meet again, I'll be happy to have her back. As long as she can go back to where she belongs, I'll accept anything.
Isn't that presumptuous? When I claim that I know where Jane belongs, I feel like I'm also claiming that I know her better than she does herself. This feels awkward. I do not know what to do. My instinct—overwhelmingly so, like a cauldron churning in my stomach—insisted that Jane must return to Sierraville. I always trust my instincts, no matter how many doubts I have. They put me through countless dangers and trials. This is no different.
I continued to inspect every inch of the small apartment. It is surrounded by lush greenery, which I assume is maintained by gardeners as it is well kept. The inside of the place was far less tidy and organized. The garden also helps to shade the house from the outside world, providing perfect insulation. It's almost like your own private island, completely cut off from the outside world once the door is shut tightly.
I glanced at the clock. time is limited. Have I decorated my room? Is the door locked? Yes. Everything is ready.
After I separated from Matt and Blake, after I met Rey
i
Previously, I joined a small guild of thieves and mercenaries and climbed to the top. We operated by strict rules and regulations and stayed out of public view whenever the city police came knocking on the door. No signature, no business card. Avoid violence at all costs. We are like ghosts, taking what we were hired for and disappearing without a trace.
Over the years we have played by the rules and amassed so much wealth that we are richer than the titular lords of the city. With my newfound capital, I was actually able to apply some of the knowledge I had learned on Earth and manipulate traders and merchants in the market bit by bit, until soon the entire economy was under my control. My peers watched in awe as our investment doubled, then tripled. We bought up the entire city, borough by borough, until we finally declared ourselves Lords of Candor.
This, of course, caught the attention of Rennie Selman and his soldiers. To have your second largest city acquired from your servants would be quite shocking to most emperors. I was fully prepared that he would send out his personal guards to kill us all, but that day he surprised me. He came out to meet us personally, with only a guard by his side, and made me an offer.
The rest is history. My history, wait until I'm done.
Was the line in place? It was rough and there wasn't much subtlety, but I didn't expect resistance. Surprise is the key. Surprises, and applications of technology.
My mentor would look down on this. Frederick Sr. always preferred to use as few tools as possible. If you rely solely on your physical abilities and fully understand them, failure is much less likely. How could you possibly know the true capabilities of a sword, or that the trap tool of a crossbow would weaken over time and repeated use? He preferred the body as the ultimate tool, as it was flexible enough to handle almost any situation. With nothing more than a lockpick and the clothes on his back, Frederick can get in and out of any target, no matter how many people he might be forced to subdue inside.
I appreciate this philosophy, but this time I had to mentally apologize to him. I no longer had the stamina or even the muscle memory or training to do what I needed to do. I had to make up for it with my knowledge and machines he never dreamed of. Frederick didn't even believe in magic until I came back with Jane. He always thought the rumors coming from the front were nonsense.
I swear his beard nearly fell off when he saw Jane snap her fingers and light a candle, or lazily float food across the table for herself.
Looking back, I laugh. I'm looking forward to seeing the old guy again and listening to his endless rants about the Empire - no, the Kingdom, maybe now the Republic. We haven't really settled down yet. I wonder how Frederick fared after the Selmans were deposed. After I kicked my guild out of the city, we had no chance to meet.
Frederick's cottage on the outskirts of Candil. That's the first place I'm going to go when I get back. I'll bring him as much sylva as possible
di
e, every drop found along the way.
＊＊＊
By this time the sun had completely set. I was just inside the front door, sitting in a small closet next to it. I wasn't sure when I needed to get ready, but I got as much rest as I could in the afternoon. Now I'm stuck waiting, but I can handle it. I learned to be patient.
I lazily turned a pen in my hand, twirling it in rapid circles on my thumb. Glad to see I haven't lost all my dexterity. I wish I still had the strength and stamina I had gained over the years. I worked hard for it and the earth took it away.
That's why I'm so angry at Matt and so cavalier about his attitude about possibly coming back. There we won our lives by work, blood, and sacrifice. Don’t we deserve them? Or at least give him a choice?
More importantly, who doesn’t want to live in a world with magic? Magic, Matt. Earth seems so boring and empty in comparison. Heck, we haven’t even found any other evidence of life in the known universe. It is so limited, so painful, so small. Meanwhile, a beautiful world of opportunity, mystery, and wonder awaits us, and it's not far away if we can only find the door.
I yelled at him in my head, over and over again, things I wished I could say but never found the courage to say. I didn’t just want to convince Matt, I wanted him to see the benefits for himself. I wanted him to agree with me. I hope we can come to an agreement instead of dragging him through. If I had to convince him, I would never truly believe that this was his sincere desire, and without that, I would always feel a twinge of guilt that I might be robbing him of the life he really wanted.
I don't want that. If Matt really wanted to stay, I shouldn't have interfered.
At the same time, it is not his responsibility to prevent me from crossing the dimensional line again. Matt has to make a choice. I didn't want to do it, but if he had to choose a side, I would definitely force him to make a choice.
Jane and I can go back without him if necessary.
I heard the car door slam shut. I tensed up, just like I did with every other car door. I can't relax at all. You only get one chance, I reminded myself. do not miss it.
footsteps. Those are footsteps, aren't they?
Is my ability to recognize footsteps really that bad now?
My heart is racing. Somehow I knew the time had come. I felt my adrenaline surge. My vision throbbed with blood pounding in my skull. I felt every muscle in my body brimming with anticipation, waiting to strike. I am a spring coiled on the floor, a snake about to pounce on its prey.
The door handle is twisted. The room was dark, the sun had completely disappeared, and the moon had disappeared with it. He didn't notice the streetlight behind him that was covered with black tape.
There was no light to help him.
The door opened and Daniel Whitman entered.
I became nervous. Every millisecond suddenly feels like hours.
He took another step forward. His eyes have yet to adjust to being in near-total darkness, while mine are fine. He didn't expect anything. He walked forward to where he knew the light switch would be. There is no care in the world. It was just an ordinary night for him.
His feet caught the taut line.
I watched him fall, and then I took action. His hand obeyed instinct and rushed forward to catch himself, and I hit him. I pulled out what I'd been preparing for this moment.
The button squeezed in and the stun gun crackled to life. Immediately, the contact lens found its way to Whitman's neck.
His body convulsed. It was mesmerizing to watch him collapse on the floor and start convulsing. This power, in my hands, I can achieve with the push of a button, something I couldn't do even in Sierraville. As he fell, I held on to him as long as I could, trying to make sure he was completely incapacitated. Seconds later, he was on the floor, still twitching uncontrollably.
Maybe not as clean as you think, Frederick, but you can't deny that it works.
I dragged Whitman into the back room, where he happened to have put up blackout curtains. A low-cost home theater setup. I made some modifications to block out the sound and rearranged some furniture. I lifted his limp body onto the chair and quickly wrapped plastic zip ties around his wrists and ankles.
Of course, these are precautions. I didn't really want to hurt him. It's just a female gun, but as far as I know, the low voltage shouldn't cause permanent damage. Unless it's a medical condition that I don't know about, he'll be fine. I know everything about Daniel Whitman. I'm sure he'll end the night in perfect health, except for the scratch he made on the floor when I dragged him in.
Now I just have to wait for him to recover.
He will know what I need to do. He actually admitted it. Of all the people on the internet, there's one guy who happens to live close enough to me that I can reach him by bus, and he has some actual knowledge of my world. Cy
aveil. But whether out of reluctance or paranoia, he has decided not to trust me. He wouldn't reveal details that I knew he must be hiding.
Whitman must speak.
Is this wrong? A voice suddenly appeared in my mind. I forced my way into his home. I attacked him. I've crossed a line, and if I don't get the information I need tonight, I won't be able to easily turn back.
This thought only made my determination stronger. I have to get results. There is no turning back.
＊＊＊
I thought it would take Whitman ten minutes or so to recover, but twenty minutes later he was still delirious. Was he really that weak? Or had I misjudged the intensity of the shock? I began to worry that I might have caused permanent damage.
To my relief, he began to move more deliberately. He began to take control of his body again. It's time to start the real work.
"Daniel Whitman." I stood behind him, his chair facing the television, tuned to a channel with no signal. The dancing snow of signal noise on the screen shimmered with lights on the walls around us. It's all a show, a show, but I can play it well.
Whitman tried to turn his head to look at me, but he didn't turn far enough.
"What the fuck is going on?" His voice was surprisingly low. A deep baritone voice might work wonders on a radio show or podcast.
I wanted to scare him. I just want the information I want, nothing more. I'm not trying to make allies or make new resources or connections. Under normal circumstances this would usually be one of my last resorts, but in this case I don't really care what happens to Whitman in the end.
"You live alone. That's probably a bad choice."
"Well, are you okay?" He continued to struggle in the chair. I stayed calm behind him. I feel confident in these restraints, at least for the time I need them. He's not going anywhere.
"Daniel, it's time for you to speak."
"What?" He sounded less confident now. good. He was exhausted.
"You've been emailing someone lately."
"I email a lot of people. What does that mean?"
"About a fantasy world called Sillaville."
Whitman stopped struggling. "Wait, are you that person?"
"Yeah. So start talking."
"Man, what the hell is this? Some kind of hardcore RP or something?"
"You think this is role-playing?" I snapped. I felt my temper flare up. My chest felt hot, my face felt hot. I haven't made a move on him yet, but I've thought about it.
"Wait, wait. Don't tell me you really believe that?" Whitman said, his voice uneasy. "Okay, kid, listen. None of this is true, okay? I was just kidding you. Haha, good times. Now loosen up, okay?"
“Tol deka da
edek so vei!" I roared. I'm sure my pronunciation was slightly wrong, but it wasn't like Jane was correcting me.
"Um...what?"
"Don't fucking lie to me." I punched him in the back of the head. Not too hard, but enough to cause pain.
"Well, kid," Whitman growled, recovering faster than I expected. "When I go out, you will be in pain"
"Whatever you say. Now, tell me about Sierraville."
"Not at all, you idiot." He twisted his head back and forth, but he still couldn't turn it far enough to see me.
He is lying. He lied. My brain would accept any other conclusion.
We may be here for a while.
＊＊＊
It lasted at least an hour. I'll let him go into some detail about Serraville and reveal more of his knowledge. He'll claim he doesn't know, or he'll say something insulting, or after a while, he'll just stay silent. I did not threaten him physically or attack him again after the first blow. I did not do it on purpose. I wish I hadn't upgraded so quickly. If I were less reckless, I might get what I need faster and get more cooperation.
I knew if I could survive his patience, I would win. I did not allow Whitman to sleep, nor to allow him any respite after being questioned. I've done this before, more than once. Sooner or later he would give in, answer my questions, and I could go home.
"Have you seen Feindorf's clipboard?"
"No."
"When you crossed the river, were you at Calady or Loudnam?"
"Across what, the Willamette River?"
“Have you ever met anyone named Sylph? Maybe been invited to their forest?”
"It depends. Are they cute?"
And so it went on, the flippant reply irritating me but not irritating me. I had interrogated people before, and I had the patience required for this kind of work. Given enough time, men are always broke. Some people need more work than others, but at the end of the day, they always find that one thing they can't live without. It may be physical, it may be emotional, but every man without exception has weaknesses. I can only rely on willpower to uncover it.
Jen and Matt will never know, but I used some not-so-noble tactics while we were campaigning, both to side with Rainey and with them. It was a damn war, okay? Despite Matt's sentimentality and integrity, he was a fool when it came to gathering intelligence. Sure, he might have won hearts and minds when we "liberated" the village, but thanks to my men and my network, we weren't ambushed around every corner. Rainier and I play the same game. He basically taught me how to wage war. Fight smarter, not harder; that’s a mantra I shamelessly stole.
Being smart is key, and gaining intelligence comes down to two simple steps: Find the people who know what you need to know, and let them tell you. It could be anyone, and this is where most people mess up: it could be absolutely anyone. No one crosses the line. Whores hanging out in taverns, children playing on street corners, old witches who rarely leave their front porch. Any one of them could be valuable, and I can't hold back on who we select and interrogate.
It's not that I'm unnecessarily cruel. Most of them got away with it, unless I had reason to suspect they knew more than they were letting on. Even the kids we slapped went back to their lives as if nothing had happened. No, it was a few, those loyal to the Selman family late in the campaign, who brought out the worst in me.
I'm not proud of it, but it works. This may have shortened the war by weeks, if not months. This is worth it. I saved lives, returned people to their wives and families sooner, and prevented pain and tragedy. I don't regret what I had to do. One of these interrogations led me to Jane, in the pit at Venanport. I saved her desperately, relying on a lucky hunch and the vague confession of a man who had just lost all his teeth.
I will never regret that man's death. I couldn't forgive myself for not leaving him sooner.
I began to grow impatient with Whitman, even as I continued to ask him question after question about Sierraville.
“Where to buy sylva in Sarnvalan
di
The best thing about e?”
"Is that a half-wolf thing?"
Yes! I found out he was lying. "You know about Silvis. You've been lying."
"Man, you mentioned them before!" he protested.
"Wrong!" I cried. I took out my phone and eagerly thrust it in front of his eyes. "Not once." I went through each of our messages one by one. "I've never taken advantage of elves, not once. I just call them elves. Where did you hear that word?"
"You said so yourself!" cried Whitman. "About an hour ago!"
"Stop lying to me, Daniel." I walked around and squatted down in front of him. A little vulnerable now because I found out he was lying. I would exploit this anxiety and fear and give him a way out. A friendly gesture. "Just get it over with. Tell me what I need to know."
"Oh my gosh, you're still young." It dawned on me that I hadn't really shown myself until now. Is this what I meant? Did I make a mistake just now?
No, of course not. I'm an expert in this area. I didn't make a mistake.
"I could be your friend, Daniel. You remember Sierraville. You remember what it was like. Tell me you wouldn't want to go back."
"You're out of your fucking mind." Daniel tried rocking his chair back and forth again, but it was surprisingly strong and I reinforced the sides of the chair. He didn't move at all.
"Once you tell me, I disappear and your life goes back to how you want it to be. It's not that hard."
"I told you, I made that all up. I'm bored and this is better than scribbling on a picture board." With one particularly hard push, he began to lean to one side. I reached out and grabbed him, lifting him up before the chair started to tip completely over.
He couldn't be lying. I need the truth. I need my way back.
"You're not lying. Tell me how to get back."
"I don't fucking know!"
I slapped him. difficult.
"answer me!"
"I don't know!" he cried. Tears welled up in his eyes. I felt terrible, disgusting. I don't want to do this at all, but I'm at the end of my rope. I know I can't live like this anymore. I can no longer face my parents, I can no longer face my friends. Of course I couldn't face Jane again. There is no way out. I have to move on.
I slammed my foot down on his chest. The chair tilts back. His head hit the floor with a sickening thud. My heart is racing.
I immediately came to him and checked if he was bleeding. Thank God my hands were dry. What was I thinking? Why did I attack him? He was naked underneath me, his feet tied to the legs of the chair.
"Please, let me go." He said femalely. "I won't tell anyone. Promise."
I can not believe it. He saw my face. He had no reason not to tell the police, not tell anyone who I was and what I had done. They will lock me up. They're going to put me in a mental hospital. I must leave this world tonight.
"You know what I want," I said slowly. I hate myself.
I hate it all.
This must be done.
"I don't know what you want. I'm sorry. Fuck." He tried to reach for his skull, no doubt wincing in pain, the plastic cuffs scratching his wrists badly.
"Tell me how to get back."
"Go back, you fucking lunatic!" he screamed at me. His eyes widened. "go back!"
"Tell me what to do!" I roared. "Quade conditions, Daniel!"
I lost control. Worst of all, I felt like I was losing control. It was like I was watching myself in the video and another me took control of my body. This new me stood up, his foot landing with a thud on Whitman's chest.
What if he really knew nothing? The old, reluctant me screamed.
He had to know! This new, vicious me roared back.
I watched as my body began to savagely beat Daniel Whitman, and I felt powerless to stop. He tried to roll away, but the rope held him in place.
I saw blood. Why? Why can’t I stop?
Bang. raised his voice.
Am I imagining it? Whitman hasn't answered me yet. I have to move on.
I have to move on.
I had to force him to answer me.
This is good for everyone. Once he tells me the truth, I can go home and leave this world. No more trouble for anyone. Memories that fade quickly.
I swung my foot towards his face. He twisted away to avoid the blow because I had gone too far. It never landed.
I was tackled to the ground. A man wearing a simple suit, with a rough face and a pair of bright eyes.
I know this guy, don't I?
He was shouting something, but I couldn't hear it. Daniel Whitman was beaten black and blue and blood was everywhere, and my mind is still transfixed by this scene. My eyes opened wide, as if a layer of fog suddenly lifted. I saw him in bed, and saw his beaten face and frightened expression.
As I was being dragged up, handcuffed and handcuffed, I remembered - I had mentioned Silvis to him. It occurred to me as I was being unceremoniously kicked out the front door. I messed up. Whitman was an innocent bystander whom I brutally attacked out of a maniacal obsession with an impossible goal. Blake would hate me if he saw me like this. What I just did.
"I'm sorry," I yelled. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I needed Whitman to hear me. I wanted to give him something, anything to show that I regretted what I'd done. He shouldn't be like this. What I did was unforgivable and he paid the price.
＊＊＊
I barely heard a word from the uniformed officers.
The back of the cruiser was hard plastic, leaving a small space for my handcuffed wrists. They carried me through the dead of night, when the heavy rain poured down, creating patches of distorted light as we passed through the empty streets. I watched every flash of color as we drove, feeling every bump in the road like a shock wave through my throbbing skull. My head was pounding and I relived every moment that had just happened over and over again, desperately searching for answers as to how I had gotten so low.
Still, I knew it was coming. In some distant corner of my mind, I knew that no matter what, I would never live in this world again. Either I manage to escape, or I burn out in the effort. I could never live with these people, knowing what I know, seeing what I see. Over the past few days I have, to some extent, given up hope of ever staying here again. I always thought my life would end soon. I just hope that's not the case.
Never like this.
We got to the station and I got checked. My body was numb to touch. I could barely understand the situation around me, even though they tried to explain it half a dozen times. I think they thought I was crazy because they were so gentle with me. Maybe I'm crazy. I can't completely disagree. I was surrounded by a group of tall, faceless figures in vague uniforms, with deep, booming voices that I could only understand about three words. I had to string sentences together based on the limited clues the context could provide.
I was taken to a smaller room, completely isolated, and given a glass of water. They left me. At first, I thought they were going to a parent or guardian, but then I remembered: I was no longer a minor. They could do with me whatever they wanted.
There was no doubt that I was being watched. I tried to find the camera, but all I could see were thick stone walls, no doubt the first endless cell I'd been thrown into. Ah, Rey
i
. I will make your family proud. I'll end up in a jail cell like his great-grandfather - but with Cellma
Unlike the Patriarch, I doubt I'll be escaping from prison anytime soon, let alone conquering an entire kingdom as I go. In suburban Oregon, there's nothing to conquer.
A man walked into the room, wearing a plain suit. Maybe they were afraid of leaving me alone for too long. I can't blame them. He seemed nice enough, but I was in no mood to play games with him. I didn't say hello to him at all. My eyes were fixed on the upper corner of the room, motionless. I had a vague feeling that talking to the police would only make things worse in the long run. I didn't see things getting worse, but at least for now, I decided to stay silent.
I heard him ramble on and on, but I still didn't hesitate. I won't fall apart again. I'll stick to it.
So, of course, he played the trump card.
"...I suggest you stick to it."
How could he know? My deepest fear was that he punched me in the face, shaking me to the core. I felt like my body was stuck as hard as the words, not to mention the horrific images that accompanied them into my mind. I snapped back into focus and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Can I call?"
"Well, we've contacted your father and his legal counsel. Unless you have another form of legal counsel—"
"No."
"Then I suggest you remain silent, child." He looked sympathetic. I don’t need sympathy, I need an exit. I have to make sure I don't end up in that hellish place.
I need someone to vouch for me. Vouch for my story. Give me some credibility.
I need someone who won't be suspected.
I'll bring him here. I would use this cop's sympathy to my advantage. No matter what the cost, he will come and he will find a way out of it. Just like he used to.
Matt knows what to do.
