Eduard finds himself walking down the street once again, and passing by the mask with Becca’s name on it. He decides to stop. He stares at it, letting the emotions well up inside of him. No one can see his face. It’s alright to show sadness, to show anger. No one can see it. As long as it doesn’t make its way out of his mouth, he’ll be fine for right now.
Becca Reed Lives On
The mask is split like the one she had worn in her last moments. One side smiles, and the other frowns. The eyeholes are see-through, and you can see the color of her eyes between the top and the bottom of them. Brown. And exactly how he remembers them.
He looks away from them, his heart aching inside of him for a moment, and he closes his eyes. He remembers that first day he saw her. She sat down right next to her at the assembly after they had received their mask at thirteen. He was so different then, so… unafraid of anything. He learned his lesson of course, when Quill banished him from the Light Clan. His own trial had been really quick, but he wasn’t going to get sentenced to die, and he knew it. He didn’t kill someone.
Quill had talked to him afterwards, told him that he wanted Eduard on his jury because of his quick judgments. Eduard didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing, but he agreed, almost afraid to get on Quill’s bad side. But as the trials accumulated, he realized how twisted and cruel Quill could be, and it infuriated him. He wanted to learn more about what Quill did, but he didn’t have the resources to. He knew a little, but not enough.
He looks back up at the eyes that seem to watch him, as if she was really here with him. His heart feels like a thousand needles are being stabbed into it, but he doesn’t care. He’d rather feel something than nothing.
He doesn’t understand it…
How can someone become so attached to someone so quickly? How can someone have a feeling so strong for somebody that they only knew for a little bit? For somebody who tried to invade his privacy when they were only thirteen? Is it possible?
He closes his eyes and bounces on the balls of his feet as he breathes slowly. A lump has risen in his throat and he shakes his head.
She’s dead, he scolds himself, feeling a tear dare to fall from his eye. Stop daydreaming. She’s gone.
“Great painting, isn’t it?” A voice says, startling Eduard out of his stupor.
A man steps out of the shadows. A man in all black. The man with the plain mask that had attacked Becca in the woods. The man that killed her.
Eduard doesn’t hesitate.
His hands grip around the man’s neck and squeeze as tight as he can. Banshee’s Adams apple bobs as he laughs slightly, trying to breathe.
“You killed her.” Eduard growls, his vision pulsing with the beat of his heart. “You killed Becca.”
“You don’t seem to think so, Eduard. You don’t think so,” he laughs, his voice strained beneath Eduard’s hands.
Eduard pushes Banshee back up against the wall and pulls his head forward to smash it into the blackness of the painted brick on one of the halves of the mask.
Banshee chuckles again, gasping for air.
“Kill me,” he breathes. “Do it.”
Eduard thrusts forward, making Banshee hit his head into the brick once again. He squeezes tighter, hearing the soft chocking sounds of Banshee’s throat crushing beneath his strength.
“Do it.” Banshee laughs.
Eduard holds on. He feels the fire, feels the anger inside of him, the emotions rushing through every inch of him.
And then he lets go.
He backs up a handful of steps and stands staring at Banshee, breathing hard. Banshee’s neck is bright red, but he doesn’t touch it, doesn’t rub it to make it feel better. He stays still, his arms slightly away from his sides and his breathing hard and ragged. He chuckles softly, and then throws something onto the ground.
Eduard glances down at it and then back up at Banshee.
“Take it.” Banshee says, not moving a muscle.
“Because you need it. You need it badly, Eduard Millen.”
“How do you know who I am?” Eduard breathes. “And why do I need a gun?”
“Because,” Banshee cackles wickedly. “There might be a mistake made.”
Banshee laughs. “Who else?”
“What do you mean?” Eduard asks, standing completely still, watching Banshee’s still figure. “Why do I need the gun?”
“No one is as they seem. Everyone hides, Eduard. Everyone hides something. But it’s what they hide it behind that matters. Behind a mask, behind a name, behind a face…”
Banshee starts to walk away, and Eduard picks up the gun.
“And Eduard?” Banshee says, turning back around to him. “It wasn’t me that killed her.”
Eduard stumbles back, his brain spinning as Banshee starts to walk away.
“What do you mean?” He calls, starting to walk after him. Banshee doesn’t answer, so he asks again.
The black figure disappears behind a corner, and as Eduard reaches it, Banshee is no where to be seen.
He makes his way back to the wall, giving the mural of Becca one last glance before heading back out into the society.
And Eduard? It wasn’t me that killed her…
The words ring in his ears as he walks down the streets, as the gun seems to weigh heavier and heavier with each step, with each breath.
If Banshee didn’t kill her, then who did?