Spectrum ⇒ Avengers [ 1 ]

Hollow

There's a faint ringing in my ears, the type you get after an explosion, and I'm frozen, bar the pain in my hand. When I look down, I realise that my nails are digging so tightly into the palm that they're making red indentations.

I quickly move my gaze up again, my mouth gaping like a fish, only to see the figure vanishing back amongst the buildings.
"Brynn?" Wren's voice sounds like it's coming from a very long way away, and I shake my head to get rid of it as if I'm flicking away flies.
"I- I gotta-" I don't finish my sentence. Instead, I run, sprint, push past soldiers and race across the flat of the parking lot, my vision fixated on the one spot I had seen the figure.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

My thoughts fly around me with beating wings, scepticism and panic, euphoria and doubt. It was a split second look, a glance, but I've dreamed his hair, his face, his posture a thousand times, a million times since I escaped in Ireland, so long ago.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

I'm suddenly aware of my surroundings, of myself- I can feel my heart pulsating, track each step I make on the concrete, my breath burning up my sore throat as my head swims. It feels like another dream, that no matter how fast I'm running, I'm not making any progress. I hit the shade of the building, and my skin freezes as I chase down the side of the building, cast in shadow.

Jake?

I whirl around, eyes wild. Where is he? There are empty beer cans, weeds weaving through them, and the windows are cracked and smashed on the sides of the red brick building. There's no sign of anyone, any life, until there's a rustling, and I leap at the sight of a rat, running across the alleyway.

I'm about to give up, admit hallucination, insanity, when I notice the door on the side of one of the buildings is slightly open, the red rust on the metal glinting in the small patches of sunlight. When I pull it open, it shrieks, grating chalky white against my ears. Inside, it's dark.

There's almost no light, save the triangle I create when I open the door. When I step inside, it's icy- like I've been plunged back into the water. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, and my hand instinctively goes to the only weapon I've got, the lipstick-knife Natasha gave me. I'm crazy. I'm definitely crazy.

There's a soft sound, a shuffling of pale green, and the breath chokes in my throat as I turn to see a figure with their back to me. When my shoes crunch on the ground, the ground covered in rubbish and weeds, he turns.

History stops. Every clock skips a minute. My heart stops working as every cell in my body short-circuits at once. Because there is Jake, standing and living and breathing, and impossibly there (my god, he's actually standing there), bathed in darkness and dirt with eyes a thousand years old. Eyes that look like home.

My hand stretches to him, reaches for him, and for one glorious second we are both existing, breathing in the space again. But then I feel it, sharp as a bee sting in the back of my neck, and see that his eyes are not excited or thrilled or puzzled but scared, he is scared, he is terrified.

The last thing I see as I go crashing down to the floor is his face, vanishing back into the darkness.

I lie below the tiny patch of light, tracing patterns on my skin as the Soldat leaves the room, strapping a gun to his back. He's not said anything, today, and it unnerves me. He is most gone when he is silent, and I feel like I'm losing him. Maybe I never had him.
He looks back at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, and I stare back. Then he steps aside, showing me his empty hands, and his eyes flick towards the door.
I stare.
He looks towards the door again, the open door, the incredibly open door, and then at me. I stand up carefully, taking tiny, baby steps towards him, trying to read his mind. It remains as inaccessible as always. Tentatively, I step into the doorway, fully expecting his metal arm to grab him. It does not.
I step into the hallway, blinded by how bright the light is, and take another step, and then another. And I'm walking, I'm actually walking, away from my cell and away. I start to go faster, taking quicker steps, until I'm running, sprinting on legs with twig-strength.
"Hey! STOP!" Someone howls behind me. I turn wildly, terrified as a soldier runs towards me, cocking his gun. "Stop right there!" My steps falter, begin to slow, my mouth going dry as I prepare to explain, to beg and plead- "You slippery little-"
BANG
He draws his last breath and falls, a perfect circle of red on his forehead, slumping to the floor. Behind him, the Soldat stands, his eyes cold, his gun extended. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a tiny, imperceptible nod.
Unthinkingly, I move my hand to a fluid salute, and go running off down the hallway, in search of freedom.