Red Scars Run Deep

This is my original story that I've been working on for ages. If you read this, please comment please please please with a cherry on top?! Thanks!

Chapter 24

The Simple Truth

I gape at Tyrone for a moment, all my thoughts gathering in my brain so they seem to match the volume of the crowd around me. I feel suddenly lost - how can Tyrone stand before me, looking careless, when he's discussing killing is own father?

But he is not that distanced from his own emotion; even he is not good enough an actor to disguise the look of confliction that briefly betrays itself on his porcelain face.

"Tyrone," I whisper, moving slightly closer to him so that nobody can hear us. "Your father. You are prepared to be involved in a mission to actually kill him?"

Tyrone looks at me, and does not look away. I can't read his expression, but his eyes demand my attention as I search them for any emotion. He's an actor, I think, and a good one. "Scarlett, you don't understand. I'm prepared to kill him. It's for the greater good."

"But he's your father! No matter who he is, you've got to love him, somewhere. I mean, you can't just think you'll be fine with it! You can't do that to yourself; it will eat you up, Tyrone. Come on, just ask Benjamin to be in another rank! I'm sure he'll say yes, and you won't have to do this. I mean, he's your father!" I tell him, the urgency audible in my voice.

Tyrone barely bats an eyelid. "Don't you get it, Scarlett? Just because we have the same DNA doesn't mean I have to love him. I hate him; he ruined my life, the lives of half the people here. The truth is, Scarlett, I want to kill him. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it's true. I want to kill him." And so the actor's exterior slips, and I see him as he is; broken and emotional, and the emotion is hatred. For a moment I think he is about to say something more, but he stops himself and stands a little taller, breaking our gaze. His mouth is taut, and he holds his breath as he waits for me to react. Maybe what I say won't change anything, but I have to express how I feel, even if I'm not sure exactly what that is.

"You'll regret it, Tyrone, you really will." I have more to say to him; I'm only getting started, but we are distracted by Liz, who interrupts us by handing us guns, literally forcing the silvery weapon into my hand.

"We'll need one each for our mission; they're the titanium ones, really easy to use for us rookies. Don't use them unless you have to, but our mission is the most dangerous," she tells us, and I hear the bloodlust in her voice just like I heard in Tyrone's. It kind of freaks me out, but what can I say? Maybe it freaks me out because I feel it too.

I tuck the gun into my back pocket, handling it like it's about to go off any second. I really, really hope I don't have to use it. I might have to, I guess.

"Lucinda is entering the building! The government are ready for negotiations and we have hostages! So far, so good!" calls a voice into the microphone - it's Benjamin's. I grin a little a seeing his familiar smiling face, and the crowd whoops and smiles too.

And so it begins, the march to the prison, back to where it all started and to where it must end for some of us. I don't try to even talk to Tyrone, because he's made up his mind. If he's as stubborn as I am, which I suspect he is, then his mind is made up. Perhaps it's pointless for me to even try talking to him. Instead, as the weight of the crowd crushes against us and the shouts ring in our ears, I reach out and grab his hand. I don't agree with him, but there;s no rule saying I can't hold his hand. at least, no rule I know of yet. I'm not up to date with this sort of thing.

"Aw, holding hands!" Caspar whispers in my ear, grinning. I am not too mature to make a face at him, and he only laughs in response. His laugh is strained, though - even Caspar is feeling it, the sense of pressure weighing us down.

We march on. My feet hurt and I wish I was small enough to be carried, which would only mean shrinking a few inches anyway. I don't say anything, and we march on. It's a march now, like in a war, and we feel that defiance that any rebel feels, and hope swelling in our hearts. I walk a little taller, and squeeze Tyrone's hand. We march on, and I look around, at Jasmine's encouraging smile. I note how Liz's gaze is fixed on the horizon, and how Caspar is still grinning, practically beaming at everyone.

My eyes move to Tyrone, and I find he's looking at me too. He nods briefly, and looks away, dropping my hand. We aren't physically touching any more, but there is this link between all five of us, I realize. Liz came from Ireland and Jasmine from Spain, but I know we all feel like we're going back, back to that place of our shared pasts.

We may be going back there, but we're moving forward, and there is no way we can turn around now. That's the simple, painful, scary truth.

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