Judaean | The Darkest Minds Fanfic

Chapter 1

"How about," The president's boy grinned, "you let me go?"

　　I didn't know why it became that way, but I hated how much I feel properly threatened by him. More so than any of those National Guardsmen who nearly beat me to death not three months ago, or any of the informants who turned on me...or rather, wanted to, before I could take care of them. The only one who ever came close, was...

　　Well, you know who it was.

　　"You start talking, and I'll think about it." I said, deadpan. Of course I'm not going to let him go. Not even when the Pacific freezes over. But a little lie to coax him up never hurts anyone.

　　He leaned back against the white cement wall, relaxed. "Well, where do I begin?" He almost sang, "You want locations? Schedules? Name of staff?"

　　"You have all of those?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

　　"I have anything you want, Stewart." He smirked. "The sooner you realize that, the faster we can get to work."

　　I suppressed the urges to dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, and let out a long sigh. "I highly doubt that." I returned, "But for the sake of the argument, let's begin with location."

　　And he did. Shockingly. I noted down details I needed to reconfirm later in my mind, and asking questions here and there. He kept talking. And talking. And he didn't stop. Like, for once, he was more than willing to let me shut him up.

　　"Is that all?" I asked as I realized he had come to a natural halt.

　　"There're more, but one thing at a time." He shrugged.

　　I stood to leave. "Stewart?" He called, and I raised my head. The instance I met his dark eyes, I was gone.

　　But it wasn't the same things he showed me the two times before. It wasn't the dark rooms of some Red camps, not some infirmaries with beaten up children crying helplessly. He didn't plant this into my head.

　　This is mine.

　　The first thing I felt is the sweat-soaked shirt clinging onto my back under the hot and humid August afternoon. It was my birthday, but there were no cakes, no candles. I'd be lucky if there'd be no bruises, either, but something tells me that was unlikely.

　　The two men sitting in the living room were dressed in brown and grey suits, both with hair going grey on the sides. They might as well be twins for how they presented themselves, despite their faces looking nothing alike. I sat in the dining room, where I could still see Mom sitting across the tea table from the two men, whereas the cabinet blocked out that... beast, who I knew was standing in front of the window, hovering behind Mom like a vulture.

　　I didn't hear half of what they were saying, and for the half I heard, I didn't think I understand. All I did hear was my name, and my age, and I had no idea what it had to do with either of those men. Liam was sitting on the high chair beside me, dozing off. I took the bowl off the little table from in front of his face, so he wouldn't knock it off.

　　The smell was all too familiar. The sweat, the dirt before rain, baby powder, oatmeal. And of course, alcohol. The air seemed so quiet around me, prickling my skin like statics.

　　The calm before the carnage.

　　The two men stood up, and Mom bid them good-bye. Before I heard the sound of engine starting, the howling came. I shot up from my seat and rushed toward the living room, just in time to get before the man, before he gets to Mom—

　　But she was faster. Her arm swept me aside, and before my butt hit the floor, the back of her head had smacked onto the wall in an ugly thud. A whimpering cry came out of her throat, but it was covered by a roar, so loud and so rough, it sounded inhuman. I looked up.

　　They say they're called the green-eye monsters, but when I saw my father, all I saw was red.

　　His arms were raised, balled in fists, but for a moment there, he didn't move. He doesn't know who he should hurt first. I remembered realizing this, and years later, it still makes my mouth bitter.

　　When he made his choice, so had I. His fist came toward me, and I jumped—

　　I was kneeling in front of the glass, face only inches away from it. The president's boy standing on the other side, also right in front of the glass, facing me. His eyes were closed. If the barrier wasn't there, my knees would've been pressed against his foot.

　　I scrambled backward.

　　"What the fuck?" I gasped.

　　He opened his eyes, and blinked hard, twice, like he just came out from a long sleep. "Was that your father?" He frowned at me.

　　I just stared at him.

　　"Birth father, I mean." He added, as if the unclear question was the reason I didn't answer.

　　I stood up and ran.