𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 ━━ 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴

⠀⠀𝟬𝟴. ❛ THE VANISHING ACT ❜

ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒕 ❜

chapter no. 008!

❝ YOU NEED ME. ❞
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𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗗 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗣𝗢𝗩　 　 　

     THERE HAS BEEN A COMMON STORY TOLD THROUGHOUT PSYCHOLOGY TEXTBOOK HISTORY. A story often shared with students in hopes to act as a fable; to teach the students a lesson. It goes like this: A psychologist walked around a room while teaching about stress management to an audience. As she raised a glass of water, everyone expected to be asked the classic half-empty or half-full question. Instead, with a smile on her face, she asked, "How heavy is this glass of water?"

     The answers ranged from eight ounces to twenty ounces. However, they were all wrong. "The absolute weight does not matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb and paralyzed. In each case, the weight of the glass doesn't change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes. The stresses and worries in life are like that glass of water; think about them for a while and nothing happens; think about them a bit longer and they begin to hurt. And if you think about them all day long, you will feel paralyzed— incapable of doing anything. It's important to remember to let go of your stresses. As early in the evening as you can, put all your burdens down. Don't carry them through the evening and into the night. Remember to put the glass down."

     The three men knew of this story quite well, for they'd all taken the same psychology class together when they were in college years ago. This was, of course, before they dropped out and were initiated.

     Now, Kirk Farrell couldn't help his mind from running back to this story. For every part of him twisted and shouted at every earthquake— every moment that she remained in his mind— in his world; their world. The very fact that she was out there— jeopardizing everything they had worked for— irked him. He wanted her gone. He wanted her dead. They all wanted her dead.

     Those loose lips of hers had parted and formed a sea of agonizing truths that'd been buried many years ago. Every piece of the puzzle was about to be put back in the box because she had misplaced one piece.

     "That daughter of yours has some loose lips," Joseph Arthur grumbled to the light brown-haired man that sat opposite him in the black van. The car rolled over a pothole in the gravel road that desperately needed to be repaved and everyone shifted in their seats.

     "Shut your damn mouth," Ross Valentine barked, his eyes narrowing at the man.

     The corner of Arthur's lips tugged in the direction of a cocky smirk; he knew his words itched at the man. "I wouldn't be surprised if her words get her killed."

     Green eyes flashed up as quickly as they went back down to rest on the floor that had dried up blood in sporadic splotches. "Her words won't get her killed because of our deal, remember?" he asked, not bothering to glance upward.

     Owen Sánchez quipped his head lightly towards the man, "We remember." Farrell's dark eyes flickered over to the man whom he used to idolize as a child. His father would tell him stories about the good ole days when he and Ross Valentine would go on crazy adventures around the city. There were no boundaries and no one to kick them off the high they were on. The two men had great stories to tell and Farrell grew up believing that Valentine was the coolest man alive, other than his dad, as a child.

     All that changed, however, after the events of Surrey Six and when Ross had chosen the truth over their family. He chose the truth over the man who was more than a friend, and his son.

     Another pothole on the rocky road brought Farrell back to the surface and he glared out the window of the van, the sunlight hitting him harshly and drawing attention to the bone structure of his face.

     "Do you remember the other part of our arrangement?" Valentine's voice was low and hoarse; the muscles in his neck strained as he looked over at Sánchez, who was driving. The three leaders were still, not daring to glance at one another. They remembered. However, were they going to carry out their promise? That was the million-dollar question on the light-brown-haired man's mind. "You're never going to reach your endgame if I don't corporate. You need me. Don't be dense. If you stick to your word, you will have everything you want."

     Growling, Arthur snapped his glare toward the man. "We'll never reach our endgame without her, Valentine," he snapped; his voice sharp and piercing.

     "You needed one Valentine, and now you have one. There is no use for Cara anymore. Free her from the Scorpions, clear her name and I'll give you any and everything." Silence was the only response the light brown-haired man received.

     "As soon as we get to headquarters, we will send the files," Sánchez spoke reluctantly, and the man's lips lifted to form what was supposed to be a smile of some sort.

     "I'll make sure of that."