Marks of the Past - 28

Chapter 28

Needless to say, when I was finally discovered on the roof with a bunch of bodies, there were a few questions. 

The patrolmen shook me hard when they woke me and I was half frozen by then. I watched in stunned silence as they checked the other bodies and found no pulses. The wound in my side tinted my vision red but I hung on to the edge of sleep, afraid to go over again. 

One of the patrolmen recognized James and his voice was grim when he announced that the boy was dead. I could tell that the men wanted to question me but they remained hesitant. 

“Take her in,” one of them ordered. “Try to identify her.” 

It wouldn't be hard with the scar marring my face - although the men would probably be intrigued that Mark had the same mark - for lack of a better word. 

One of them tried to pull me to my feet, hands tight around my arms. I hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a move to attack. Every time I thought about running, I saw the flash of a knife and smelled the metallic scent of blood. 

My leg burned as the man behind me forced me to stand. I nearly crumpled but the man tightened his grip. “We need a healer,” he said, voice gruff. “She’s not going to make it far without one.” One of the men nodded and disappeared so I let myself go a little more limp. The other patrolmen, however, apparently shared none of the same apprehension. 

“Get up, girl, that’s not an excuse for laziness,” another one growled. 

“She has a stab wound, give her a break,” the one holding me snapped back before redirecting his tone at me. “We have to get you down, though. Do you think you can make it down a few flights of steps?”

No. I nodded anyway, trying not to picture myself falling down the stairs. 

A few of the patrolmen helped me hobble to the steps. Others were taking notes of the scene, moving Mark’s body to try and uncover who he was and how he died. I doubt they’d find out without my help. 

Just as we were reaching the door, I caught sight of two of the younger patrolmen - one of which was Kenneth - draping a white sheet across James’s body. 

A small sob built in my chest as the patrolmen dragged me along. I wanted to say goodbye, to apologize for dragging him into this and then using the life of a young girl in an attempt to bring him back. 

The patrolmen caught me watching and tugged at me harder but my knees locked. 

“If he’s dead, it’s your fault,” one of the men spat at me, giving me a small shove. I bit back a retort. 

I let them drag me down the flights of steps to the outside of the Court building. They put me into a small wagon to take me to the prison - which somehow had survived the flood during the Redemption with minimal damage. 

A healer met us outside of the prison - a young woman that looked not much older than I was. I wondered if she’d known James too but quickly pushed the thought away. 

Shackles had been fastened to my wrists but not my legs. The men assumed that if I really didn’t want to be here, I would’ve run by now. The woman made no comment as her fingers grazed my side and knitted the skin back together. Her brow wrinkled like she sensed another injury - maybe my leg or maybe my mind at this point. 

“Report?” asked one of the soldiers tasked with guarding me as the others tried to find me a uniform and a private room for interrogation and questioning. 

The healer sent a final look at me as if debating what she wanted to say. “There’s a stab wound in her side, sir. The knife was most likely short and wide, an older design I presume. She has a limp in one leg - looks like she was injured in the thigh, though I can’t tell when because she may have been healed.”

“And the scar on her face?”

“No sign of trauma - she was probably born with it, sir.”

“Very good.” The soldier fell silent, contemplating this information with careful consideration. “Are you able to stay here for a few more hours? We may require your services.”
“For questioning,” the healer sighed bitterly. “She’s not going to talk - get a mentalic to do it.”

“Won’t work,” commented one of the other soldiers with a shrug. “Only powerful mentalics can see memories - and what magician would reveal themselves at a time like this.” One of his friends shoved him playfully, asking about how the soldier knew all this. He blushed in response, but I turned my attention back to the healer.

She wrung her fingers, obviously nervous. Was she afraid of me, or maybe for me? 

I wanted to comfort her but I didn’t want anyone to know I was thinking clearly. Right now, they assumed whatever I’d seen on the roof had broken me. 

And it had. 

Just not in the way they assumed.

My best bet now was unfortunately to wait for either my family or the Shadows to come and bail me out. There was a possibility that I could plead insanity and be spared another year in prison until the next Redemption. 

That would be if they didn’t find out who I was, of course. 

We waited only a few more minutes, the healer doing a few last minute checks over my wound before a soldier emerged from the prison. 

I was led to a small room to change into warmer clothing, not stained in blood. Another cry rose in my throat when I thought of whose blood it was. It’s all your fault, Leila. You did this - to both of them. 

The interrogation room was cramped, the path that we’d taken to get there blurred with my tears. I was shoved roughly into a tiny room maybe the size of a large closet, a wooden desk in the center. I was shackled to the chair just as I had been when James had threatened me back at his mansion. The memory swelled inside of me but I pressed down, suffocating it. 

Across from me sat a woman that I could only assume was part of the Council. Her clothing reeked of unnecessary wealth. Her eyes were dark and reminded me of a bird of prey, watching my every move as I squirmed in the chair. 

“Who are you?” she asked, voice slow and deliberate. 

I kept my gaze low, ignoring her entirely as my fingers shook and the chains rattled. Let them think that you’re gone, shattered, broken. 

The woman wasn’t convinced. “Young lady, I have your file already - I know what your name is, Leila.” She spat the sound while flipping through a folder of papers, probably all about me. “Let’s see, rarely seen in public. Possible connection to the murder of a merchant’s wife, an endangerment to society, fled the Redemption.” 

I kept quiet, staring at the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. 

She could list all of my crimes if she wanted. She could insult me for days and I would ignore her. No, what bothered me the most was how similar this felt to the day James had trapped me in his office. Every time I pushed the thought away, it rushed back with even more fervor. 

“Are you mute, Leila?” continued the woman, her fingers clenched tightly and her smile forced. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Silence. 

She was becoming frustrated now, her fingers clenching the sides of the table. “If you just tell me what happened on the roof of the Court building, you’ll be spared some of your sentence.”

I refused to answer, somewhat out of stubbornness and somewhat out of fear. How could I possibly explain that I’d killed Mark with little effort whatsoever? 

“Your wounds bother you,” the woman tried. “We can heal them.” 

No, they really didn’t bother me. I’d grown used to the pain already - the only thing that was bothering me was a pounding headache. It felt as though someone had wrapped their fingers around my brain and squeezed. Was it getting worse? 

Then came the whisper. Leila? Leila, is that you? 

I recognized the feeling and nearly gave a sigh of relief. Jonah had found me after all - whether intentionally or not. Yes. 

Jonah’s presence warmed my mind, reminding me that it was going to be fine. 

Where are you? And are you injured? He sounded actually worried - which both surprised me and made me feel guilty. 

I’m in prison, I answered carefully. And I can walk. 

Jonah didn’t seem satisfied. We’ll be there in a few minutes, okay? Hang in there - and try to be safe. 

If the detective lady hadn’t been watching me so closely, I probably would’ve broke into tears right there. I knew that Jonah still didn’t know the extent of my crimes - but it felt good to at least have some care about me. 

The woman was staring at me intently, her eyes searching me. “Do your friends know how many guards are outside right now?”

She knew. My stomach seized and I tried to reach out to Jonah in a panic. He didn’t respond and I hoped that the woman couldn’t sense the fear creeping up my spine. The Shadows were good fighters, but they were no match for soldiers - especially without the element of surprise. Attacks could be seen as illegal and they could be killed on sight. 

Her lips drew into a thin smile. “I’ll tell the guards not to kill if you tell me what you did on the roof. We’ll start with an easy question - who was up there with you?” 

Two boys who I’d trusted with my life. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me?” 

The woman grinned, probably taking my speaking as a victory on her part. “I’m asking you, Leila. Who was on the roof?”

“Inspect the bodies and you’ll find out.”

“We recognized one of them as your previous sponsor - James. Did you kill either of them?”

Yes. “Was there proof of foul play?”

“The unknown boy showed no signs of murder,” the detective sighed. “But James was stabbed. Did you kill either of them?”

“Do you think I’d be capable of it?”
“I know you’re capable of murder, Leila. It’s in your bloodline, after all.” She picked at her fingers, her face blank. My nails dug into my palms as I struggled not to react. If only she knew that it was my bloodline on the roof. “That’s what’s wrong with your kind.”

“Whatever you think you know about me, you’re wrong,” I hissed. 

The woman smirked, knowing I’d played into her hands. She tapped the folder. “I have a lot of information on you - and if you want to keep it private, then I suggest you start talking.” 

I almost laughed. After everything I’d been through, blackmail was the least of my worries. I didn’t care at this point if people thought they knew who I was - their opinions didn’t define me anymore. 

Instead, I let the woman believe she had me in the palm of her hand. My lip wobbled and I let her see what she wanted to see - a scared, little girl who was ready to talk. 

“Please,” I whimpered. “You don’t have to go that far.” 

A dark grin. She called out to the guards supposedly on the other side of the door. “Aim to incapacitate, not kill.”

Her attention turned back to me. “If you think you’re clever enough to fool me, be warned. The second a lie escapes your lips, I release just a tiny bit more of your file. The world will never accept you.” 

As if they would without the files. Even I could barely accept what I’d done, I doubted the rest of the world cared whether it was documented or purely rumor. 

“Speak,” the detective ordered, eyeing me with caution. 

“I … James wanted to take me out to dinner.” Best to match the story with one James had given the guard - Kenneth. If he was called in for questioning, maybe our stories matching might bring a bit of suspicion off my case. “He wanted to show me the city. But when we got up there, another boy was already there. I think it was one of James’s cousins.” 

Who just happened to have a scar identical to mine. If they cared enough, they would’ve found our connection by now - unless the woman was just toying with me. 

“You think his cousin ambushed you,” the detective clarified, tapping a finger against her lips. 

I nodded. “He … he threw a knife. Maybe he was jealous? It hit James in the chest and I …” I let my voice trail off and tears well in my eyes. It wasn’t fake either. I could see the blood splattering, his voice cracking as he told me he saw his parents again.

I didn’t finish. Somehow I brought him back to life and killed an innocent girl in the process before murdering one of the only people to pretend to care about my wellbeing with a snap of my fingers seemed like a wrong answer. The detective remained silent, waiting for the end of a story that would never finish. 

“Do you know what I think, Leila?” the woman asked at last. “I think you’re lying.”

I paled, trying to appear shaken by the idea and not by the fact that she was right. “Wha-What do you mean?”
Her grin fell back into place. “Your fingerprints were on the knife.”

I caught myself before I could curse or give myself away. Of course my fingerprints were on there, and yet I hadn’t considered that being a problem. 

“I tried to pull out the knife to use as a weapon,” I tried. 

The detective shook her head sadly, though there was a smile stretched across her face. “Murder is a crime that we are allowed to punish by death - without a Redemption.”

“I didn’t kill James,” I protested. 

“But you never denied killing the other boy - in fact, you alluded to it.”
“Out of self-defense,” I argued. This was going too far, and the detective was going to win. I was probably being observed by someone else, my every movement and word being recorded. 

“What piques my interest is how you killed the other boy without laying a hand on him. And how you ended up with an injury,” she continued. I opened my mouth to speak but she waved a hand, cutting me off. “I don’t want your excuses - you’ve already lied and apparently your reputation isn’t enough of a motivation for you to care. I wonder, perhaps, if your life on the line would be more of a concern.”

I froze, heart hammering in my chest. Shut down, I told myself. Don’t let her see any more emotion. Let her think you’re broken, gone. 

She couldn’t torture me - it had to be illegal, right? To get me to confess to a crime - shouldn’t that be banned? The gleam in her eyes told me otherwise and I wondered how much she got paid to solve these cases. If I was nothing more than a sum of money to her. 

The woman let out a sharp whistle and the door to the room flew open. The healer from earlier strolled in with a cart and hid herself in the corner as another man straightened whatever laid on the cart. The detective let out a sharp exhale as she stood from her desk and approached me slowly. She glanced at the cart, pointing at a few of the objects on it. 

The next thing I knew, someone had jabbed a syringe into my neck. 

I must’ve looked worried about what poison raced through my veins because the woman gave a sharp laugh. The healer flinched in the corner. 

“Don’t worry,” assured the detective. “It’s a mild concoction, my dear. It’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Yet nothing happened. My pulse pounded in my ears. The detective crossed her arms. I noticed the watch on her wrist, ticking softly. Every second seemed to take hours and I could practically see the grains of an hourglass falling. 

Time was solid and I was frozen in its embrace. 

The ropes of silver flickered in and out of my vision. I could see the light pulsing inside the detective’s chest. My fingers reached for it, grabbing tentatively. I could pull - end this right here, right now. 

Sand pouring from an hourglass. 

The tiny strings shifted to ghosts, watching my every move, their faces empty and eyes dark. Their fingers reached for me, brushing my skin and pulling at my hair. Where they touched, my skin turned paler. It started with my wrists, turning me invisible and peppering me with holes that tingled as they spread. 

I think someone slapped me. 

My vision shifted again and the world was spinning. Voices calling my name. Someone grabbed my shoulders and shook me. A bottle pressed to my lips. 

Make it stop. I drank. 

The world dissolved into colors, to blurs, to shapes, and then to faces. I recognized the blonde hair, the soft eyes, the strong arms of someone who cared. 

“Hold on, Chels, I think it worked.”

I nodded, too afraid to speak in case the ghosts had permanently taken my voice. I could still feel their fingers on my skin, begging for my attention. 

“You’re safe,” Nik whispered into my hair. I think I was crying. I think he was too. 

He helped me to my feet, arms still around my shoulders as we stood. “Chels, can you give me a hand?”
“Already on it,” she replied softly, with more gentleness than I’d heard from her before. 

I saw Chelsea approaching out of the corner of my vision. There was a small bottle in her hand. A sedative. She saw my apprehensive look and offered a small smile. “You’ll wake up from this one, Leila. I promise you. And when you do, everything will be okay.”
I didn’t need her promise and I certainly didn’t need the sedative. I didn’t want more darkness to take me, I was done hiding. 

Slowly, I shook my head. “I can do it.”

The others shared a look. I spotted Rave helping the healer in the corner while Kyle tied up the man and the detective. I wondered briefly how they’d managed to win against the guards but the thought slipped my mind as I realized Jonah was missing. 

My stomach plunged, but then… 

“I’m right here, Leila.” The voice came from behind me and I spotted Jonah with his hands outstretched as though he’d been- 

“You read my mind,” I realized, a small trickle of anger flooding through me. 

Jonah didn’t seem to mind. “It was better this way. I saw everything, Leila, and I…” His voice broke and then he was hugging me. I buried my face into his shirt and let myself cry. “Ghosts, Leila, you were so brave and I’m so-”
“Don’t say it,” I whispered. “That makes it real.”

He stayed silent and so did I. Wrapped in Jonah’s embrace, I let my muscles relax just the slightest bit. 

Despite all I’d lost through the Redemption and what the Shadows had lost through Becky, we’d managed to find common ground. For some reason, it now felt wrong to be away from them. 

Because for the first time in my life, I belonged.

Author's Note

Sorry it took so long to write - it was really challenging for me to write a reasonable reaction for Leila so let me know how I did. Enjoy!