Withering Flowers
The Blue Window – Shriya Bhatnagar
Withering Flowers
Madeleine Brown
Nicholas
It took me far too long to realize what mattered to me in this world. My innocence. My morals. My love. It wasn’t until every one of my values was stripped from me that I realized how much they mattered.
Nicholas Beuren was a smart man. At twenty-one, he’d earned what every young scientist in Landan dreamed of: a place within Grayburn Industries. The laboratory gleamed like a cathedral of reason, promising cures for the sick and miracles for the broken. He believed in that promise. Believed so fiercely that he never thought to question the silence behind its doors.
He could never have imagined that one day he would abandon it all.
Cassandra
It took me far too long to remember what it meant to be human. My name. My dreams. My pain. They took all three and called it science.
Cassandra Flore was a resilient girl. From infancy to the age of ten, she lived in Juliette’s Orphanage, patiently waiting for the day a couple would bring her to their home. When the famous Dr. Gray arrived, she believed her prayers had been answered. Instead, she was bought. For seventy-six pounds of hush money, her childhood was erased, replaced by a number stamped on a wristband: Subject C-Flore.
She had always dreamed of a day when she could leave it all.
January 3rd
Dr. Nicholas Beuren smoothed his hair and steeled his nerves as he called, “Subject C-Flore, please come out with Cane B!”
Today was like any testing day. He’d take meticulous notes as he observed multiple subjects while they hobbled around the sterile, white space. Such a mundane day, but he would take the monotony over the unsavory that took place in the lower levels of Grayburn Labs.
He never had the stomach for that.
The steel door groaned as bare feet whispered across the cool tile floor. Her head hung low, her long dark hair obscuring most of her refined features. Only twelve days had passed since their last session, but something in her shape had changed. Her frame had thinned; the pallor of her skin had become a shade lighter, something he didn’t believe was possible with how ghostly she’d been before.
Concern crept across his face. She was no longer the healthy, vibrant child who’d arrived at the age of ten. He’d only seen pictures of her at that age, having only been a doctor at Grayburn Labs for a year. She’d been his first patient.
He remembered their first session—the day she was sent up from the lower levels, broken by someone else’s experiment. Her arm had been shattered, nerves burned out by a serum meant to enhance strength. He’d been ordered to test a prosthetic that might restore her movement. She hadn’t cried or flinched when he fitted the brace, only watched him with those wide, dark eyes.
He swallowed back his emotion, forcing his expression to stay calm as the overhead light carved sharp edges across her face . . . too sharp for someone so young. But this was the job.
Grayburn broke them.
Doctors like Nicholas fixed them.
He turned back to his charts, making his notes as required: Cane B – Stability compromised, subject exhibiting a tremor.
But the words blurred. All he could see was her.
Cassandra moved carefully, the way one learns when every mistake is punished. Her breath came thin, and when she coughed, the sound cracked through the air.
Nicholas snapped to attention and was at her side in a heartbeat.
“Oh dear, C-Flore . . .” He offered a handkerchief from his lab coat pocket as she fell into another wheezy coughing fit. Another wave of worry washed over him at the sight of black spots against the white cloth as she pulled it from her lips. “Don’t worry . . . I’ve got you.”
He helped her to a chair. “Rest for a moment, let your lungs settle. I’ll meet with Dr. Gray to discuss what to do about this new situation. ” He paused, searching for the right word. “Symptom.”
As always, Cassandra stayed silent. He didn’t hear her speak much, but when she did, it sounded melodic. So soft and sweet . . . But it wasn’t the time for daydreaming.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Cassandra
Cassandra Flore sat quietly in the testing chamber, her expression tired. Her body felt wrong. Her throat was scratchy, and her stomach roiled. And now she was coughing up black blood. Of course, she was.
The symptoms had started a while ago, shortly after Dr. Gray had stuck a new prototype serum in her veins. When she had asked what it would do to her, he had smiled and told her it was going to revolutionize the world. He’d said that immortality would be brought to mankind. With her help.
Cassandra didn’t want to be immortal. Would that mean she’d stay at Grayborn forever? She didn’t like that idea. She only wanted to live somewhere beyond the white walls. To read again, though she’d long forgotten most of her letters after years without access to books. To sew like Mistress Julie back at Juliette’s Orphanage. The real world felt like a mirage in her desert of a life. So close, so possible, and yet . . . False. Cassandra couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually dreamt.
She didn’t quite understand what was going on in her body, but it was painful. The doctors whispered about a slow rejection process. She vomited daily now, her stomach raw, while her skull was constantly caught between a fog and a furious pounding as if someone were smashing it with a hammer. Today felt foggy.
Her eyes drifted around the room, searching for something new to hold on to, but there was nothing to discover. Over the 6 years she had been assigned to this particular room, she’d counted the number of tiles on the ceiling hundreds of times. 91. She knew the number of steps it would take to walk the perimeter of the room. 40. She’d rummaged through the drawers in the cabinet and could name every item that was intricately organized inside.
Dr. Beuren returned, holding a small copper device in one hand and a clear bag in the other. She recognized it instantly . . . a nebulizer. They’d used one on her Sister, L-Killigan, when her lungs failed after another failed trial. He knelt at her side, gently placing the mask across her mouth and nose. The machine hissed as a mist filled her mouth, the taste bitter and artificial, the same as every medicine in this place.
“Just breathe in, and breathe out. Alright, flower?”
She liked it when he called her that, a quiet play on her last name, Flore. In a place where everyone was stripped of names and turned into numbers, it felt like giving a piece of herself back. It was a thousand times better than C-Flore.
Dr. Beuren . . . He was kind. Kindness was strange in this place. He was kind even to her other Sisters. Once, she’d witnessed him shove Dr. Jakobsin to the ground for trying to take advantage of Cassandra’s sister, W-Parki.
Cassandra studied his face as she followed his instructions. He was about her age, maybe a couple of years older. He had nicely combed, dirty blonde hair. His skin was light, and he had a small, black mole beside his eyebrow. His eyes were green and bright. Handsome, maybe?
She couldn’t discern his expression whenever he looked at her. It was positive, at least. She drew her eyes away from his face, choosing to examine his clothing. He wore the same white lab coat as every other staff member in Grayburn Industries, but he always liked to personalize it with a burgundy tie. The color suited him. Cassandra wished she could personalize her clothes, too, rather than wearing the same white, loose gown.
“It seems that your symptoms have now started to attack- Affect.” He swallowed, not meeting her eyes. “Affect your lungs. Your left lung is experiencing tissue damage, and your windpipe is irritated, causing the… the blood.” He took the handkerchief from her, placing it in the small, clear bag. “Let’s get you some rest.”
Nicholas
How much longer must I wait before this hellish pit of helplessness overtakes me? I can no longer wait; I can’t waste much more time. Time she doesn’t have.
January 9th
Nicholas Beuren sat in an uncomfortable chair in an uncomfortably bare waiting room, awaiting an uncomfortable conversation with Dr. Gray about C-Flore’s strange illness. The head of Grayburn Industries was already in his office beyond that steel door, speaking with Dr. Walter Jakobsin. He was still surprised that Walter hadn’t reported his and Nicholas’ rather uncivil exchange last month, the one that the other doctor still bore a bruised elbow from. Then again, who would report a fight caused by one’s own wrongdoing? Nicholas’ mouth soured at the thought of what Walter had been trying to do to that girl;Some people were abominations.
Nicholas turned towards Dr. Gray’s office as the steel door began to creak open. He quickly began to collect his papers, but he heard Gray’s voice beyond the door.
“Wait, there’s one more thing I must discuss.”
Walter presumably paused on the other side of the entry, leaving the door slightly ajar. Nicholas felt uneasy about eavesdropping on a private conversation between his boss and his associate, but his curiosity got the better of him. He leaned towards the door, straining his ears.
“. . .Subject C-Flore’s condition is worsening. She can’t be of any use to us anymore. Please dispose of the girl by the end of the week . . .”
The word echoed in Nicholas’ ears like a gunshot. Dispose? Not discharge. Not transfer . . . Dispose.
Kill.
He was moving before thought could stop him. He didn’t take his eyes off the path ahead, mumbling fleeting apologies as he pushed past others in the corridors. By the time his adrenaline steadied, he was standing at her door, breath caught in his throat. He looked down at his hand and finally noticed what it held. Somewhere in the blurred rush, he’d snagged a pistol from the guards’ rec room. The gun seemed to hold all of the weight of the world. The weight of what he was about to do.
He took a deep breath and entered. Like all test-subjects’ rooms, this one was simple. There was a wooden dresser that stored the inhabitants’ clothes, a small bed with a thin mattress and even thinner blankets and pillows, and a buzzing light hanging from the ceiling. Nicholas quickly flicked the light switch, and C-Flore groggily sat up in her bed, her hair messy from an afternoon nap.
Nicholas rushed over to her drawer, grabbing some clothes. “Time to . . .” He stopped. What did he expect her to do? What did he expect himself to do? It wasn’t like she could just . . . Nicholas slowly turned to C-Flore. To Cassandra.
“Dr. Beuren? What’s going on?” Her voice was shakier now, filled with fear that was instilled within her over the course of so many years.
Nicholas spoke without thinking. “We’re leaving.”
For a moment, the world seemed to still. Cassandra stared at him with a mixture of surprise and mild fear.
“I’m . . . Forgive me, can you repeat that?”
“You’re leaving Grayburn, Cassandra.”
Hearing her name, spoken aloud for the first time in years, seemed to spark something within the poor girl. Her eyes widened just slightly, before her mouth curved into . . . God, what a beautiful smile. Nicholas was thrown off by it. How had he never seen her smile like that? How had he lived without seeing her smile like that? It was soft and delicate. So pure.
He took a moment to silently promise himself he would see her smile that way again . . . But first, he needed to get her out of there. He forced his eyes away, moving to the dresser before quickly collecting a few items, not unaware of the fact that every piece was the same stark white cotton with Grayburn Industries’ crest on the front. Cassandra moved too, walking over to him with a renewed liveliness.
“Leaving? Why? How?”
Nicholas didn’t look at her as he spoke, distracted by all the tasks that popped into his head. He’d have to trick the guards into letting Cassandra leave with him, he’d have to.
“Cassandra, I’m saving your life.”
I hadn’t read a newspaper in eleven years, but when I asked, it was the first thing he gave me out here.
Nicholas
January 10th
Nicholas Beuren had never been a daring man. People told him to let loose, but he just couldn’t. He had never let himself do any thrills, never gotten too drunk, never gotten into any real relationships. He had certainly never helped a test subject escape a highly secured medical facility.
He still hadn’t gotten over the fact that it worked. He and Cassandra had maneuvered most of the security that patrolled the labs, then they sort of ran out in a panic, alarms ringing as they stumbled into the city together. Now, rather than sitting in his apartment, comfortably watching the city from his favorite chaise, he sat in an alley while Cassandra hunched over a rubbish bin, retching. It was likely he’d never see his apartment again. The place was probably swarming with Grayburn guards. It’s a good thing he’d never wanted a pet.
He watched Cassandra carefully, his heart sinking with sympathy. He wished he’d been able to bring some more supplies with him. All he’d been able to grab without rousing suspicion were her charts, a nebulizer, and a few vials of Ephedrine. When she stopped dry-heaving into the bin and slowly moved to sit across from him against the other alley wall, he tried to spark up a conversation.
“So… Flower-” She looked up at the affectionate little nickname. Despite her newfound freedom over the past day and a half, she hadn’t talked or even looked him in the eye much yet, so it caught him off guard. “Sorry, Cassandra- It was just a nickname, cause uh, you know..Flore, flower . . .” He trailed off, his face burning. Had he been calling her a nickname she didn’t like for months?
She slowly smiled. “I know. It’s, um, nice.” Nicholas’ heart skipped a beat, and his cheeks reddened a bit more when she slowly scooted towards him, seeming more comfortable now. “My Sisters called me Cass. You know, whenever we were alone.”
“Sisters?” Nicholas raised a brow. Her documents never disclosed any siblings.
Cassandra’s face turned rosy now. It was nice to see the color return to her cheeks. Her voice was quieter now, as if she’d been caught doing something bad. “Oh. Yes, my Sisters . . . It’s just what the other girls in my cell hall called ourselves.” She mumbled something else that Nicholas couldn’t understand.
“Sorry, what was that?” He leaned in slightly, trying to catch her words while ignoring the sudden flip of his stomach. Ridiculous. He was a man of science, not a lovestruck schoolboy. Still, his palms were sweating.
“We called ourselves . . . Sisters in Hell. Forgive me, it’s rather silly . . . Er, it’s more depressing than silly.”
She seemed to sink back into that shell of hers, but Nicholas felt determined to keep her out. He liked talking with her. “No, it’s fine . . . The Labs were like hell to you, weren’t they?” His eyes softened. “And I like Cass.”
“And I like Flower . . . Maybe we can stick with that?”
Another smile. Another stomach flip.
You know what, Flower? If you want to use it, my friends back in University called me Nick. Nicholas is kind of a formal name, anyway, and . . . ” He and Cassandra slowly met each other’s gaze, an unspoken line of trust seeming to tether between them. Neither of them spoke for a moment, the silence wrapping around them like a warm blanket.
Cassandra’s body relaxed, and she finally moved over to Nicholas’ wall, curling her knees up to her chest. Nicholas watched her for a time, his voice friendly. “So . . . What’s.. Your favorite color?”
Cassandra looked at him, her eyes tired but a small smile still on her face. “Yellow. And yours?” The very word, yellow, seemed to lift her exhaustion a little bit. Or perhaps it was his question, the idea of asking her what her favorite color was.
“Guess.”
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes warm. “Yellow as well?”
Nicholas stared at her, the word blue stuck on his tongue. Time seemed to slow just slightly, and he looked up at the blue sky. Then he looked down and saw a little yellow dandelion growing out of a crack in the ground. It was suddenly so much more beautiful.
“I like yellow too, Flower.”
How come time seemed to slow when I was with her? How come our time was so short when every moment felt like a thousand years of bliss?
Cassandra
January 15th
Cassandra Flore’s body felt like glass. She felt fragile, as if one more fall would send her breaking into knife-like shards. Or had she already fallen too many times? Would that explain the pain stabbing her from the inside out? She forced down another rise of bile, her stomach tossing. She was so tired, so hungry. Over the past five days, Nick had tried his hardest to collect food, but they were lucky to have one meal each day, since their faces were practically everywhere. Grayburn had placed bounties on their heads.
Sleeping wasn’t much of a relief from hunger and anxiety. It took so long to fall asleep on the hard cobblestones, and the chilly night air certainly didn’t help either. There were fleeting moments when she wondered if she’d rather die in her cell. At least there was a bed. She rolled over to face Nick, finding it useless to bother attempting to sleep. He sat, using an old box as a table as he scoured her old documents, searching for a cure, as if he could find a way to develop something from the limited supplies he had brought with them.
“Nick . . . Can I have some more medicine, please?” Her voice was hoarse, her lungs weakened to the point that she expected them to collapse. Nicholas murmured a yes, then grabbed the nebulizer from his bag. He tapped the capsule, frowning when he saw how empty it was. He set down the device on his little table and rummaged through his satchel some more.
Cassandra quietly noticed his movements as they became more and more erratic, and she could hear him as he cursed under his breath. He began to throw things out of the bag haphazardly, muttering to himself. He absently discarded empty vials to the side. Vial after vial after vial. Her chest tightened even more when she saw him toss out a handgun.
When the bag was cleared of all its contents, Nicholas ran a hand down his face, cursing again. “Nick?” He looked at her with poorly hidden panic in his eyes. Cassandra propped herself up on her elbows, her concern rising.
“There is no more medicine.”
No more medicine. The medicine that supported her lungs and kept her breathing despite her body rotting from the inside out due to Grayburn’s failed experiment. She nodded in acknowledgement of the news, her expression inscrutable. Nicholas moved to her, his voice soft and apologetically gentle. “Flower, I.. I’m so, so sorry. Maybe I can sneak into the Labs, try to get some more-?”
“Hey! I found them!” A man wearing the familiar navy blue uniform of a Grayburn Industries guard stood at the far end of the alley, pointing. Cassandra took a moment to process what that meant, but Nicholas was already hoisting her to her feet.
“Cass, Flower, we need to run. Can you do that for me, dear?” Even in such a dangerous situation, Nicholas’ voice was gentle. Cassandra nodded slowly, and Nicholas took off, holding Cassandra’s hand as she stumbled along behind him. The guard shouted for them to stop, but they were already racing through the maze of alleyways within the slums.
Nicholas Beuren felt like an idiot. Everything was going wrong; this was supposed to be a life where he could save his Flower, where they could live together in a flat in the countryside, away from Grayburn Industries.
Now, he was racing away from guards as best he could, his body weakened from lack of food and sleep. They were catching up steadily. Cassandra’s breathing had already become wheezy from the exertion of running, and she was hardly staying upright. Why hadn’t he packed more vials? Why hadn’t he made actual, proper decisions before all this? He had never been the rash type, but apparently, love could make a person’s mind turn upside-down. It was madness. He heard the guard’s footsteps following them quickly, but he didn’t look back. They needed to hide.
He and Cassandra fell into an alcove, praying to whatever god was out there that the guards would just run past after turning onto this street. They did. For a few moments, he and Cassandra waited, trying to catch their breath. Cassandra looked pale, and she sounded close to hyperventilation. They needed to escape Landan if they were going to stay free.
He gently guided her out of the alcove after checking again that the guards were gone, and they left the slums, entering the main city of Landan.
Nicholas shielded his eyes from the bright sun that seemed to gleam off the metallic shingled roofs of the apartments and brick buildings around him. His eyes landed on an unattended horse-drawn carriage across the road. The horses looked good and strong, and it wasn’t like the driver would miss just one of them . . . They approached the horses, ignored as if they were any other beggars. They sure looked like beggars, with all the dirt and grime they’d collected from living on the streets the past five days.
He quickly rummaged through his bag for something to release the horse from the carriage with. He sighed in relief when he found a knife he had grabbed while he and Cassandra had left the Labs. He helped Cassandra onto one of the horses, a strong brown thoroughbred. Then, he sliced his knife through the leather straps that harnessed the horse.
Nicholas climbed onto the freed creature, leaning over Cassandra as she weakly handed the reins to him. He shouted for the horse to go, hyah. With a neigh, the horse took off, and the people in the street yelped, forming a path as the crowds parted. He could feel Cassandra’s weak wheezing, her heartbeat going fast beneath him.
As they rode out of Landan, the chase growing farther and farther away as the guards struggled to keep up on foot, he still felt surrounded by ominous doom.
I was his flower. He was my savior. My sisters were wrong. They were all wrong; I was able to leave the cage. I left the cage. God, I left the cage.
Now I wait for him.
Cassandra Flore’s breath came fast and shallow. She felt knives stabbing her everywhere, her skin felt too warm, and her mouth tasted bitter as she coughed up rotten blood. She was on her hands and knees, unsure of how she got off the pretty horse. Nicholas was holding her steady, saying things she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in her ears. She looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes.
“Nick, it hurts.” She coughed up more black rot, not bothering to wipe her mouth. Sweat dripped from her face. “It really hurts.” After running so fast, her body was going haywire. Her stomach roiled and cramped, her nervous system on fire. She felt so warm, but she was also shivering. God, she was about to die, wasn’t she?
Nicholas Beuren couldn’t stop the tears. He was holding his Flower as she choked on her own bodily tissues, and her skin was so cold and clammy. He ripped off part of his white lab coat, an item he had worn since the escape, trying to absorb the sweat that dripped from her face. He breathed heavily, his mind racing with panic. He dabbed her forehead, whispering to the love of his life.
“I know, sweetheart, I know. I know it hurts. I’ll try to figure out what’s going on with you.” He forced his voice to stay steady, as if that’d help. She retched again, her body lurching as she leaned onto the grass, her fingers digging into the dirt.
He already felt so helpless to stop whatever was coming for his Flower.
It’s unfair. I offered her a way out peacefully, or at least as peacefully as I could think of in that… Awful, god-awful situation. Why did I go like that? Why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she?
Nicholas Beuren, in a mess of panicked tears, ran to his bag, desperately, hopelessly, searching for anything. Nicholas looked up as Cassandra mumbled something about pretty flowers, growing more delirious. After escaping Landan, they had found an empty meadow, maybe a mile away from the city, dotted with small wildflower colonies.
The signs of sepsis were: there, confusion, clamminess, nausea, and vomiting. The young, disgraced scientist racked his mind for answers, but came up empty.
He could.. Feel it, as something just.. Broke within him.
After a moment, he looked in his bag again. A thought occurred to him. She would die in agony if he didn’t.. Give her any mercy. He looked at Cassandra again. He’d let it be her choice. He carefully walked over, carrying the weapon he had stolen from the Grayburn Labs staff and guard rec room only six days ago. He quietly sat beside his Flower, staring down at the Grayburn Industries label on it. He touched her shoulder when she got a small moment of steadiness, holding it out to her. He noticed how badly his voice was shaking.
“It will be painless. Just tell me if you want to. It’s better than dying of sepsis, Cassandra.” He couldn’t look at her. Even if he could, his eyes would still be blurred by the flood of his tears.
Cassandra Flore looked at who she called her savior with bloodshot eyes and a black-rimmed mouth. For a long moment, she felt compelled to take the offer. She was in so much pain. Then.. The light seemed to glint off that familiar little engraving.
Property of Grayburn Laboratories
Her gaze hardened. Grayburn Labs.. Stole her life. They took it from her far too long ago, and she had just gotten it back; she had just been able to defy the gods while she died. What an accomplishment that was. For six days, she dodged death just enough to be able to say her name was Cassandra, not C-Flore.
No. She wouldn’t go back to being a Sister in Hell. She wouldn’t become a bloody, beaten-down test subject on the ground floor of Grayburn Labs. Choosing the option Nicholas offered meant letting them kill her.
She chose to let Immortality kill her.
Nicholas watched as she shook her head, watched as she slowly sat up and swallowed down another round of black bile. The sun, beyond her, setting beautifully, cast a golden silhouette around her, just as charged with defiance and rage as she was. She looked behind her at the sun. When she spoke, still looking back, her voice was hoarse, but it was as strong as she could make it.
“No. They can’t kill me. Not now..” She looked back at him, exhaling. She seemed calmer now. “Nick, we never got to see the sunset in Landan, not very well. Can we watch it now?” She slowly did her best to turn around fully, but Nicholas quickly helped her, tossing the gun away. He settled her against his chest, their breaths slowly finding rhythm. His breath was shaky from tears. Hers was ragged and shallow. Cassandra stared at the sun, and Nicholas stared down at her. The sun seemed to reach across the plain, reaching her face and making the little amber flecks in her brown eyes sparkle as she smiled softly at the wonder before her. His arms wrapped around her in a gentle embrace as he shifted his gaze to the sunset. This was her first and last time seeing the sunset in eleven years. Her voice was weak.
“Nicholas, I love . . .”
Her words trailed off, and Nicholas felt her relax into him. He looked down again. Her smile had faded, and her chest had stopped rising. Nicholas looked back at the sky, his breath hitching as tears flooded down his cheeks. He held her tighter, his voice cracking as he yelled in agony he didn’t realize man could feel.
“NO!” He sobbed into her hair, a hole forming in his chest that was suddenly swallowing everything. “Flower, please, I love you.. I love you, Cassandra, please…”
I am broken glass. Sharp edges, ready to spill blood.
January 16th
Nicholas Beuren didn’t know if he was sane anymore. He didn’t feel like it. It had been a day since Cassandra had died, but Nicholas felt just as dead. He looked to where Cassandra’s body lay.
Yesterday, in a grief-driven daze, he had made a bed of wildflowers; daisies and goldenrod were the most prominent. It was the best he could do. Burial wasn’t an option since he didn’t have any tools. She would’ve liked the arrangement, at least. Yellow was her favorite color.
Now, Nicholas sat in the meadow, absently toying with a dandelion as he pondered. The horse grazed somewhere behind him. It was quiet. Too quiet. He missed the constant noise of the city as pedestrians walked the streets and farmers advertised fresh crops down the street from his apartment. Out here, the only sound was the occasional sigh of the horse and his own breathing. It didn’t match how fast his mind was racing.
He felt angry. Angry for Cassandra. For everyone in those Labs. Angry towards Gray and every other doctor who condoned it all. Angry toward himself, and how he was so indoctrinated into the lie that Grayburn was helping.
He stood, looking over at his things. At that pistol, deadly calm seemed to wash over him.
Gray needed to burn in hell.
I never realized how a man could turn to wrath so easily.
Nicholas Beuren was on his knees in a cold and sterile laboratory, the barrel of a gun resting so calmly on the back of his head. He didn’t feel fear.
After deciding he needed to kill Dr. Gray, he had done what many would’ve called the stupidest act of his life: Riding straight into Landan to find Dr. Gray. As he traveled through the city, he screamed the truth. He explained Cassandra’s story, throwing her documents to the people around him so they could see proof. He probably looked insane, but as long as her suffering was shared with the people, he didn’t care. Eventually, he’d reached Grayburn Labs. Of course, he was brought in with guns pointed at his head from all angles. Now, he waited in this laboratory, awaiting his old boss. His own pistol secretly waited, stuffed into the inside of his old lab coat. He was ready to get a bullet in that old man’s head.
He lifted his gaze from the floor as the door opened and Gray sauntered in. Speak of the devil. His suit was nice and pressed, and he had a smug smile under a thick silvery mustache.
“Well, boy.. You’ve gotten a little big for your britches, haven’t you?” The doctor chuckled, leaning down to get into Nicholas’ face. He resisted the urge to spit. “It’s been a while. Have you finished your games?”
Rage fueled Nicholas’ body as he seethed. “You killed her. You killed Cassandra.”
Gray’s smile widened. “Ah, the girl. You know, it was truly tragic that she died, but you should know that it was for the greater good! You knew that she had immortality coursing through her veins. So what if it killed her? She was a step towards the goal. Besides, it was fate. Everyone’s got to die someday.”
“She was twenty-one! She was younger than I am!”
“So what? The youth die every day, of sickness or accident. Nothing was special about her.”
Nicholas sighed, bowing his head. “You’re so wrong, Gray. She was everything. She was an angel.” He heard Gray chuckle softly, amused, before taking a step back. Nicholas slowly reached into his lab coat, finding the pistol . . .
Gray’s voice was dark. “I heard that on your way here, you tried to share some things about me with Landan. Every action has consequences, Nicholas.” He sighed, mock sympathy staining his words. “I hope you find your lovebird in the afterlife.”
Just as Nicholas whipped out the gun, his eyes flashing with defiance, a bullet blew into the back of his head.
He fell.