The Normal's Game

Ch. 4-3: Falsified Mastermind

Back to the smell of rusting iron. Back to the echoing sound of water dripping from a leaking pipe in the corner of the stone walls. Back to the tapping of footwear from the officers and guards who would pass by during the evening of the setting sun. The orange rays from the small opening on the brick wall to his left hummed a tune of a harmonica on a windy beach. That was the soundtrack for the ending of this act. 

"Corwin!" a panicked Charles scrammed down the row of prison cells, calling out for the lost man. 

"Corwin! I got all the guards to leave, I'm busting you out of here, okay?"

Charles rummaged through the pockets to his large black coat, wretchedly trying to find the keys he had stolen. 

"Cal, they'll know that you were the one who let me out if I leave here."

Corwin was leaning against a wall, still looking out the small gap in it, out into the apricot sky. His arms were folded, held closely to his abdomen, and his view was rooted at the skies of the open world, the last beautiful view he'll see in his life. 

"Who cares about that?" Charles looked at the man, finishing his sentence, and yet burdened by a heavy sadness in his chest. 

They say a man who is about to die can see the gates of heaven open above him, and that clouds would build a staircase his soul. They said that a man who has accepted his death would have angels descend exclusively for him, to carry him up to the gates themselves, welcoming him to his new home to watch down on the earth he used to live in. 

"This is just the end of my journey, Cal, and I think it's best we just accept that. My end doesn't have to be yours, so go out there and live your life, okay?" Corwin's head was still facing away from Charles. 

"No. Just, no. C'mon Corwin, there's still hope, we still have a chance!"

Corwin chuckled. "You and Arvel were so similar in the end."

Charles' eyes widened at the sight of the man as he turned his head around. It was the same man he had known for years, had worked with for years. The man he would call a partner, a friend, even a mentor. A man he was so familiar with, yet on that day, it was like a brand new song played on the old, run down radio. 

"I'm sorry, mate. This is best for the both of us," said the dead man with an upward curve on his lips. He never smiles ...

Corwin turned back towards the skies. A city that had fallen into the clutches of a sinful shadow years prior, where the people feared the steps of the cascading phantom, was nearly saved by a single flickering light. But the spark proved to not be enough and simply died as it faded into nothingness. The singular candle in the cold, wintry abyss was blown out by the everlasting frosty gale, as darkness began to fall onto the people once more. 

Charles tried to put the key in, stubborn to save his mentor, but the lock did not open. It was the right key. Of course it was, there was only one key. There was a saying of old that said, 'you can only save someone who wants to be saved'. 

In the silence of the vacant building, cleared of life, other than the two noirettes, the footsteps of a defeated Charles walking away was all to be heard. 

"Charles," Corwin called out. 

He paused for a moment. "Have a happy August, mate."

The man's steps became much faster as he nearly started sprinting out the building, his words had written an end to this chapter. An ending decorated with loss in the hearts of plenty, the death of a final hope. 

The smell of rusting iron still lingered in his cell when the morning sun began its shift. Guards were already positioned outside of Corwin's cell, waiting patiently for him to wake up. Oh, how nice of them. Once he did, they marched him to a courtyard outside, where four men with rifles had been waiting for him. 

"Good morning, Matthias," called Corwin. 

"A bit of a strange thing to say to your executioner."

Corwin chuckled. They proceeded to march him until he was in front of the men, two of the four men already had their rifles pointed at him and ready to fire. 

"I heard a body went missing a few days ago, did you just miss all your shots or something? Would be funny to imagine that he just walked out of here and no one saw him ever again."

"Are those your last words?" Matthias asked sarcastically. 

"Last words? I suppose I should say something more dramatic and creepy. Hmm, let me think."

Corwin's mouth moved for a few seconds, saying his last words, before all four rifles were ready. The date was the 16th of August, the time was 8:45 AM. Loud bangs were heard aloud that day as the blood of hope was spilled onto the ground beneath. 

The white door down a long, narrow corridor creaked open and a grey-haired man stepped inside. "He's dead, sir."

There was nothing else to be said. The grey-haired man strolled towards a dark silhouette, blue light was shining on his face from his monitor. His head leaned into it, watching through the cameras, his eyes widened to absorb as much of what he saw as possible. It seemed someone enjoyed the show. The grey-haired man handed the silhouette a letter, folded in an envelope. 

"From Corwin. He said these were his parting words to you, sir."

The silhouette's pupils transferred over to his servant at a gallop. He snatched the letter from his hands and cracked the seal open, unfolding the letter inside and reading it, but not a single word left his mouth. 

Shatter. His fist broke through the monitor. Smash. He picked up the computer and hurled it through the room, crashing into the corner. Bash, bash. He kicked the computer-in-bits again and again, but not once did his face change expressions. It was a blank canvas; void of any signs of emotion or sentience. 

"Sir, how much will this interfere with our plans?" the master did not even give an eye to his servant. Blood trickled down his fist and painted his foot red. A looming sense of chaos and calamity surrounded him, yet his breathing remained steady and regular. 

The master found no words necessary at that moment and left the room for the servant to clean. "I suppose you were right, sir. His choice wasn't as predictable as I suggested."

From then on, Corwin's final order was in motion. 

***

The hazel eyes of a familiar brunette were watery, all that he had read was news to him. Many years, past a decade, have passed since the events that were described in the document. As his thoughts spiraled, a slip of paper caught loose of the folder's grip and fell onto the ceramic floor like a leaf in autumn. Arvel picked it up to his bewilderment. 

"This is my final order to you," Arvel read. The person he looked up to, who he thought had been defeated all those years ago. The fight wasn't yet over. 

Corwin was like the queen on a chessboard. A dangerous piece and a constant threat to the enemy, the strongest weapon of one side, losing it means losing the game for most people. However, a game can only be lost in checkmate, and the act of sacrificing a full queen is a cost that is often paid for victory. There were few pieces left on the board at that moment as they have entered the endgame phase, where a pawn is oftentimes only a square away from becoming a new queen. 

Promptly, the front door of the flat creaked open and a wintry breeze found its way to the brunette, brushing his skin ever so slightly, chilling the air around him. Arvel eyed the door and its surroundings. 

"Michael?"

He stepped closer to the door, putting his head through and turning his head from side to side to get a glimpse of a person or something. 

"Michael, are you there? Where did you get this and why haven't you shown me this? Michael?"

Step. Step. No response was given back to the brunette from outside the wooden red door. Arvel took a peak out and saw not a person, not an animal, not a– chh-chh. 

"Wait–"

Bang.