Becca’s gun is pointed at Eduard’s chest, her mind racing at the thought of a bullet penetrating it. Could she really shoot him? On purpose?
Yes, she tells herself. There’s no other way. It’s got to happen.
She readjusts her hands on the gun and takes a deep breath in, her finger steady as it hovers over the trigger.
She can hear Eduard. She knows that’s his voice. She knows he’s standing right before him, maskless and afraid. But what he had done to her… What Banshee had told her…
“No.” Becca forces the word from her throat, her diaphragm tightening as it slips past her vocal chords.
“Becca, what happened?” She hears him say. “I read your letter. Just put the gun down. We can talk about this. Please.”
“There is no talking left to say,” Becca growls like a wolf about to attack its prey. “You were too late in finding me, and I’m already gone, Eduard.”
Becca’s breathing is heavy as she stares at him angrily past the top of the wicked metal gun. The weapon that has caused so many deaths over the centuries, a few of which on Becca’s own hands.
“Becca, please,” Eduard pleads, making Becca’s heard heart falter a moment. “I thought you were dead.”
“If you cared, you wouldn’t have,” Becca says acidly, each word flicking off the edge of her tongue. “You would have never given up on me. You would have never let that thought stay inside you. You would have found me.”
“But Becca,” Eduard protests, taking a step forward.
“Stay where you are!” Becca says with a piercing cry. She feels tears leap into her eyes suddenly, and wills them away with all her being. She can’t be weak. Never be weak. Weakness will end in death, even if it’s at her own hands. She can’t fail.
Eduard puts his hands up in surrender, but keeps walking towards her. Becca takes a step back, suddenly unsure if she should shoot him or not. Her heart is cold and iced over, icicles piercing into her and making her bleed from the inside out, but her brain, something in the very back of it, something strange tells her she can’t do it. Something tells her that she cared about this boy at one time, that she can’t do what she’s told to do, she can’t shoot him.
She staggers back again, horror filling her veins. Whether it’s toward herself or the boy walking toward her with a caring look in his eye that did something so terrible to her only a few months ago, she doesn’t know.
He’s only about a foot away when she lifts up the gun, grunting in frustration at her cowardness, and shoots the glass dome above them. Glass shards start to fall down like daggers as Becca turns to hobble-run and Eduard looks up and then covers his head, running away from the danger rather than following her.
She goes into a long hallway, aware of where she’s headed, hoping he doesn’t see her and where she’s going. The last thing she needs is to be in the same room as that boy. That dreaded boy… But still something pulls at her brain, as if something in her life had been a lie, as if she had been told something so many times it had become the truth.
The door opens easily and she steps inside. She sees the words she had had Twitch write on the wall. She couldn’t write it herself. Eduard would have known it was her writing. Because of the notes. The notes… it seems like she wrote them so long ago… Like she was a completely different person.
Because she was.
“Good morning, Becca,” she had heard. She moved slightly, a pain in her chest making her wince and lay still, her breathing heavy and her energy suddenly drained. It hurt so badly.
“How are you feeling?”
She turned her head slightly, the pain throbbing through her chest and up into her head. Banshee stood with his mask off, just to the left side of her body. She tried to speak, but only a gasp of pain escaped from her throat.
“Shh,” Banshee said softly. “You need your strength.”
Becca could feel adrenaline start to pump through her system, the pain in her chest starting to ebb away, but she knew it will be back. Feeling had started to come back into her limbs, and she realized she was strapped down at the wrists and ankles. She pulled at them, starting to feel the fear that Banshee had always struck into her up until that point.
“Stop struggling, Becca Reed,” Banshee said with a small smirk. “Here, I brought you something.”
He held out his hand. In it was Becca’s old mask, burned and melted.
“A little reminder from your old life.”
“I…” Becca’s throat was suddenly on fire as she tried to talk, tried to scream.
“Don’t talk yet,” Banshee continued to talk. “You aren’t strong enough. You were shot.”
“B…” Still nothing came out of her mouth.
“Shh, shh,” he said, coming closer. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He reached out toward her with something else in his hand. A pen and paper. He set them beside Becca and unstrapped her. She had been laying on what looks like a gurney, her body stiff from however long she had been there. She tries to sit up, her head going light and her vision messed up for a moment in time.
She placed her hands against her head, willing the room to stop spinning. After a minute, it had faded away, but the aching in her chest returns, and she couldn’t breathe as well as she wishes.
She looked down at where it hurts, and saw a reddened bandage, soaked with her blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the details of that night, the night she challenged the Leader of the Clans.
They were all blurry and hazy, and she was completely unsure of who it was that shot her, along with everything else that happened that day… She remembered pointing a gun at a boy… Eduard. He had done something…
Still nothing came from her mouth.
“Use the paper to speak,” Banshee said, motioning to the pad of paper and the pen he had set down beside her when she was laying down.
Her hands trailed to it, sliding slowly, clumsily over the side of the gurney. It took her a moment to grasp the pen and slide the paper to her, her brain still trying to wake itself up.
She picked up the paper and started to write. Her letters were wobbly and almost illegible.
Banshee smiled. “Do you not remember, Becca Reed?”
Becca shook her head, and Banshee’s widening smile sent chills down her less-than-numb body. She felt like something was off inside him, inside her… But she couldn’t do anything about it. Not at that moment. At that moment, she just had to listen. Whether he told her the truth or not.