“Why?”
“Come,” he said gently. “Follow me now.”
And then he led her onto the landing of the villa’s second story. Away from the sumptuous and dreamy master suite full of soft cottons, drowsy fabrics, over-stuffed pillows, and a view of the garden below. Out of there and back onto the landing. Down the stairs and past the two dead guards whose look of surprise remained in death.
Through the quiet house where no other living thing besides assassin and target breathed. Then out onto the pool deck and off into the night garden.
The tree he’d spotted on the way in would do the trick.
She followed numbly, as though in a light trance. He was holding her arm and pulling her along.
She knew, inside of her, that the pills were keeping her numb. Pliable. Zauro’s doctors had prescribed them. And she’d taken them. Anything to get free of the depression and despair. And the anxiety. Especially that. It had been her constant companion through the whole impeachment phase in the House of Reason. Through her death as the galaxy’s savior. Allies had become enemies. Enemies had become victors. She’d been taught some hard lessons.
The humiliation and the shame. Yes, those had been awful. But what had been the worst was the loss of relevance. The return to being just a “no one.” That. That had hurt the worst. Like some kind of endless void at just the beginning of some forever that would be the rest of her life.
Like some kind of hell.
She stood there in the wet grass of the garden, her bare feet coming to life, listening to the first birds begin to call out to one another in the predawn darkness. She knew this wasn’t just a dream. This was real. And that today would be a beautiful day. And that… was enough. What more did one need than just a beautiful day?
She sighed.
A beautiful day was something to be grateful for. Truly grateful for. She needed to be more grateful. When she came back… she would be grateful. But she would also pay them back. She would be grateful for her revenge. And for the victory she and Zauro would show the galaxy one day.
Grateful.
She took a deep breath as the man in front of her, the dark man as she’d begun to think of him, removed a coil of synthetic rope from around his torso.
“What are you doing?” she asked, a little more awake. A little more concerned.
Still the man didn’t speak. He coiled one end of the rope around the stolid tree he’d selected within the garden. The other end, thick and knotted into something already over a sturdy dark limb, she recognized…
“Oh,” she whispered. “It’s a noose.”
He drew her over, helped her up onto a stone bench beneath the tree, and placed the noose gently about her neck.
And again…
Why? she asked herself.
“Why?” she asked the man in the dark. “Why are you doing this to me?”
But still she didn’t struggle. Couldn’t.
The man stood by her, steadying her in this moment at the edge of life and death.
For some reason, she knew she wasn’t afraid… should be afraid, but wasn’t. There was something comforting about the man. Some constant in a galaxy of uncertainties that she could feel. She’d never felt that before. And now, so close to death, she felt it. Knew it for what it was. The opposite of everything she had chosen, pursued.
It’s Mr. Death.
Some boy she’d known back in college had read comic books. The man next to her reminded her of that character. That villain.
Mr. Death.
But in his presence, coming awake now, just before the fear of what was about to happen descended on her, she felt… safe next to him. Like one might feel when they’re lost in the woods and they find a road sign that finally shows them the way out.
Safe like that.
Lost and afraid that you might never be found.
And then… found. Hurray.
Mr. Death.
“I’m going to hang you,” said Tyrus Rechs in the dark. The sky above the trees was turning a soft shade of blue.
Her mouth made that why shape, and he continued.
“Not because you conspired to murder a legionnaire,” said the assassin in the darkness.
“No?”
“You deserve it because of that. But not because of that.”
“I do,” she moaned. And he couldn’t tell whether it was a question or an admission.
“Yeah,” said Tyrus as he checked the rope.
He took a deep breath.
But she began to speak before he finished. Fighting past the malaise of the pills and issuing forth a rambling plea for leniency.
“You don’t have to do this. You don’t. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that was going to happen. I knew something was going to happen, but I really didn’t know…” She trailed off.
The wind blew. The palms around them swayed. The hanging tree stood firm.
“But really. Please. You don’t have to. I’m just trying to make the galaxy a better place. Trying to lift… trying to make it so… you know. Better. A better place. I’m… we’re… we see what needs to happen. What needs to change. What needs to go… for… for it to just be better. A better place for everyone. Is that so bad? Am I wrong? Was trying to make it a better place wrong?”
She’d started to cry. The hysteria had started to creep in as she spoke. But to her credit, once she began to speak about her vision, her mission, her destiny, some ancient steel had come into her voice, and now the lost sleepy little girl he’d led down here stared at him with cruel and imperious eyes.
“And that means some people don’t fit,” she finally spat. “What happened was… was… was… just an example. That’s all. Just a message. I may not have known it was going to happen, but… but…
