Pain. I have felt too much of it in my day. The day Elizabeth, a mother to me, died, I was seeing red. My eyes were blurred with tears.
I had to get away to clear my head. Not even Gatlin’s sweet, trilling voice screaming my name made me look back. He didn’t need me anymore anyway. After the funeral, his father finally, or at least pretended to, accepted and took charge of him. He has finally seen what an amazing child he is, or at least he was pretending to.
I still kept an eye on him, of course, from afar. I never actually intervened in Gatlin’s life until the day that he met Samuel.
I never planned to harm anyone. My anger clouded my judgment. It all started at the School of Idiots, as Elizabeth called it. Samuel and Gatlin were chatting on and on about Jane Eyre, their shared favorite book. I was hiding around the corner.
“If I were Jane, I would’ve stayed with Rochester.” Gatlin argued.
“He had a wife living in his basement.” Samuel countered emotionlessly, factually, “She made the correct decision.”
“Well, aren’t you a romantic.” Gatlin responded sarcastically.
“Actually, I’m quite the opposite.” Samuel stated.
“Hey! New kid!” an annoying, screeching voice exclaimed, “Why are you talking to that loser?”
“Leave him alone.” Gatlin commanded, annoyed.
“You must be a loser too, I bet.” Sabrina sneered.
“He’s not a loser, Sabrina.” Samuel responded in a factual tone, “In the dictionary, one of the first definitions of the word loser is someone who has convicted a misdemeanor, which is something you do a lot.”
“Very persuasive.” she sneered sarcastically.
“Thank you.”
“I was being sarcastic!”
“Oh.” Samuel responded, dumbfounded, “I didn’t know that.”
“Who doesn’t understand sarcasm, you retard?”
She didn’t mean the ‘retard’ like sympathizer for those deemed ‘unholy.’ She meant the ‘retard’ as in ‘mentally challenged.’ That’s when I started planning my attack. It was perfect, though it wasn’t my signature. I was seeing red.
I followed Sabrina home. I spent only a few moments trying to figure out which window to enter. I entered the one I was one-hundred-percent sure was Sabrina’s. I didn’t make a single sound as I climbed into her window. She stared into her mirror, so preoccupied with her own reflection that she hadn’t noticed me, not until it was too late.
I wrapped around her neck a handful of barbed wire and pulled on both ends until her head popped from its socket and rolled onto the floor. As her blank grey eyes stared up at me from her detached head, I felt surprisingly little emotion, though I felt great satisfaction. I was doing my duty to my Oath and his true love.
I exited out the door, careful not to leave any fingerprints and ran. I ran to my cabin in the woods where I lived before I went to live with the Harris’s. It was small, but it was enough room for Xanthe and me. The trees were my roof; the animals were my companions and food source. I had nothing more than what I needed. I only ever left to keep an eye on Gatlin, my brother, the sweetest little kid I ever knew, whom I would die for.
Killing Sabrina was quite the thrill, but I longed for a tougher kill, a challenge. I wished for the sound of one certain criminal’s heart racing. I could think of no one else’s dead body on the floor.
Lyle Ford.
Lyle Ford, the ultimate prey, the one I long to mount his head on my wall. Oh, how I longed to inflict pain, at the very least, upon that boy! I have never seen his face, yet I loathe him with a passion greater than physically possible for a human being. He assaulted my brother, sweet, innocent little Gatlin. He pushed him to the ground like he was nothing. He was the one I longed to literally stab in the back, yet Elizabeth ordered me to never make any kind of contact with any of the Fords; she said that I must only see Lyle through her mirror, but even then, I only see the back of his thick, meaty neck. It’s as if someone or something doesn’t want me to look the fiendish Lyle Ford in the eyes.
“Who’d you kill this time, Emmy?” Xanthe asked in mock annoyance.
“Sabrina.” I answered plainly, “Sabrina Bryant.”
“That girl with a crush on Samuel?” she asked, “She needed to be punished. Good call, Emmy.”
“I always make good calls.” I bragged.
“Now, why are you angry?” Xanthe asked.
“I’m not angry.” I responded, “I’m just frustrated.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“You know why!” I scolded.
“You’re still mad you can’t kill Lyle?” she questioned, “You’ve got to get a life.”
“That’s just it!” I exclaimed frantically, “I don’t have any other life than this. I am supposed to protect Gatlin for as long as I live, assure his happiness, and kill anyone who gets in my way. It’s not fair!”
I stood up from the couch that was torn at the seams and lunged for the door. I needed air. I needed solitude.
“Where are you going, Emmy?”
“Out.”
I opened the door and slammed it behind me. I needed to be alone, or at least find some less irksome company. I went to the only place I could clear my mind.
~
As I stood in the middle of the baseball field as the pitcher’s mound, my mind cleansed under the night sky. All I heard was the sound of crickets and the cold wind blowing. I cared nothing for the game itself, but I imagined how the pitcher must feel, standing there, out in the open; it felt serene.
I saw a flash of blonde hair from the corner of my eye. I heard footsteps halt in my presence. Who, besides me, would be out here at that time of night? I turned around, and I saw a shadow from the dugout, trying to hide.
“You may come out now.” I yelled out to the shadow, “I won’t bite...”
...just anyone. I finished in my head.
When the shadow revealed itself, it was as if I was risen from the pit and onto heaven. I saw a boy with white-blonde curls and the biggest green eyes I had ever seen. They were two fine emeralds engraved in a sweet baby face that was nearly as pale as mine.
“You come here often?” the beautiful boy asked flirtatiously.
“Actually, I do.” I replied, mimicking his tone, “I’m just never seen.”
“I see you.”
It took everything I had to hold back my swoon. Back then, if you would have said that to me, I would have been yours in a heartbeat.
“Then you must be very intuitive.” I responded in the place of my swoon.
“That’s what they tell me.”
I’ve found him. I thought in awe, I’ve found my Bond.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
When he answered, my heart broke. I was full to the brim with shame and self-loathing. This was why I mustn’t let myself feel.
“I’m Lyle,” he introduced, “Lyle Ford.”
At that instant, the clock struck twelve. This was curfew, always had been. I had to run.
“I...I have to go.” I stammered, “I’m late. I’m very late.”
“Wait!” Lyle protested as I ran off, “I didn’t get your name!”
By the time I heard his plea, I was in the woods, running. I was running from my shame, my disgrace, and my heart. I had fallen in love with the enemy.
Lyle Ford was my Bond. He was my gravity, the keeper of my heart. He was all that was standing between me and absolute insanity. He was also my greatest enemy.
No, I thought, I mustn’t give in to The Nightingale Code.