The Girl in The Green Scarf

F i f t y - t h r e e | Sebastian

C H A P T E R

53

– S e b a s t i a n –

  "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster."
―Friedrich Nietzsche.   

As my childhood home comes into view, brightly lit as if the world outside wasn't falling apart, I slow down, almost to a walking pace. 

The truck exhausted all the petrol before I got to the border, and I had to run the rest of the way here.

Hot acid shoots through my veins, and my heart is hammering so hard I can hear it. I am out of breath, my chest and throat hurt from the cold air whooshing into my lungs and my legs are sore, but all I can think is: I hope I don't need to use this gun.

I stand up straight, fix my bloodied jacket that reeks of smoke and death, and carefully hide the gun I took from the dead guard on the border. 

When I get closer to the gates, the five guards point their weapons at me, shouting.

"Stand where you are!"

"Don't move or we'll shoot!"

"Who are you?"

Then one of them lowers his gun. "That Mr Walsh! Put down your weapons daft cows." 

I want to point out he's one of these cows too.

"Mr Walsh, what are you doing outside the mansion? It's not safe." 

"Yes, I'm aware," I say to the guard that makes it his job to accompany me into the house. "Which is why I came back."

I let him grab my arm, I let him lead me through the entrance hall.

"Where is my father?"

"He is in his upstairs office, sir."

I let him walk me up the stairs. 

I stop abruptly and free my arm out of the guard's hold. "I want to talk to him."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir."

Ignoring him, I stride down the hallway to the stairs that lead to my father's office. The armed guards that are normally there, aren't. They're probably standing right outside his office. 

The guard rushes in front of me to block my way.

"Sir, you can't go upstairs," he says, starting to push me back. "General Walsh asked not to be bothered."  

How funny it is that I'm considered a bother to my father.

I slap his hand away.

"Well, I'm not asking," I say, pulling out the gun and pointing it at him. "So, if I were you, I'd get out of my way."

I'm totally bluffing of course, but the guard - a lame excuse of one at that - lifts his hands up in surrender, eyes wide and knees shaking with terror.

"Sir--uh--"

Not sparing him another look, I dash up the stairs, taking it two at a time. Before I round the corner to the hallway that ends with father's office, I slip the cold gun back  into the waist of my trousers. 

Just as I expected, two guards stand at my father's door--standing between me and my revenge.

I shake my head, shoving away the thought. I'm here to stop the killings to cause more. 

"Mr Walsh, you can't be here," one of the guards says.

"I don't give a rat's arse, let me in."