A Window To A Soul

Chapter 18: Cal

We could still hear the screaming, along with the gunshots. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. There weren't any open windows, they were all boarded hundreds of years ago. The building was kept here as punishment to the bodyguards and butlers who did the Great One's wrong.

Dust covered every surface, minus the footsteps from past refugees. It hadn't been used as punishment in 18 years, Yan being the last one to use it. The others just executed their bodyguards.

There were a few crates in the corners. A few broken pencils were on the ground with a piece of paper. There were stairs that led up to the second floor with hallways on either side of them. As I held onto Della's arm, I could feel her shivering from either fear or the cold. Maybe both.

Either way, I turned to her and hugged her close to me. "It's okay. We made it out."

We stayed like that for a while. We both sat down on the dirty floor as we waited for the noise outside to die down. We hoped it would stop because the shooters were either arrested or killed. Deep down, I hoped that it was the latter. As bad as it was, I couldn't help it at this point.

When it finally stopped, we both waited there for a few more minutes. Then we both left and walked outside. We cautiously walked back to the mansion to see what had happened. There was a bunch of trash and smoke. There were broken glasses from the people that dropped their drinks.

Elliott's bodyguards seemed to be the only ones still there, aside from the bloodied bodies that lay on the ground limp. I saw the person that started it in front of the door. It was obvious that he had tried to run in fear of what would come next. It was obvious that he failed.

I knew that guy though. His name was James Summet. It was obvious to the trainees that he was troubled. Everyone knew that he hated Elliott ever since he was born. He was only two years younger than me and looked similar as well. I knew that his thoughts were justified, but in this world, it would get you killed to even think it. Much less act on it.

We talked every now and then but we weren't actually friends. No one was friends with him since they were afraid of what Elliott would do to them. I guess I was just like everyone else.

I looked away in extreme guilt. Maybe if I was friends with him, I could have stopped him from doing this. I could have saved his life. But no one could save him now.

Della and I turned away from his body and got ready to walk back to our mansion.

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We finally got back to the mansion. I got Della's bath ready and then went to make food for us. It was a late dinner, but we expected to eat at the ball. That didn't exactly work out how we expected.

Della thanked me as I told her that her bath was ready, and then I went down to the kitchen. As I was cooking, I couldn't stop thinking about James. I tried to tell myself that I had nothing to do with his death, but in reality, everyone was at fault. No one tried to help him. Not even the staff tried to help him. This world was truly horrible.

When you have thoughts like that, you are thought of as a rebel. Not someone with an opinion. Sometimes I have thoughts like that, about Elliott. I never thought of myself as a rebel. I just thought of myself as a person. Someone with a role in life that I can't stray from, no matter my dream.

I tried to stop thinking about it. But the thoughts consumed me. My thoughts escalated. I imagined the Great Ones dead on their thrones. I imagined myself holding a gun. I saw Della next to me. She had blood on her. Blood sprayed against her face and tattooed arm.

A voice interrupted my thoughts. "Cal! You're bleeding!"

I jumped at the sudden noise. I looked down at the carrots I was cutting up and realized I cut my hand. The water in the pot next to me was boiling over. My eyes widened when I saw the blood spilling onto the cutting board.

Della ran up to me and grabbed the hand towel hanging on the oven handle. She quickly got it wet with water and pressed it to my cut. The cut was in between my index finger and my thumb. It hurt. I looked at Della as she tried to clean my wound and saw that she looked worried.

I smiled as she tried to help me. She was always so nice. I felt warm as she held my hand. She put the hand towel down and grabbed my wrist. She dragged me to the first floor bathroom. There was a first aid kit in one of the drawers.

She sat me down on the toilet and wrapped up my hand in a bandage and gauze after disinfecting it. I smiled the whole time as she did so. Why did I feel so warm as she was helping me? I should be the one helping her. So why am I so happy?