Ma Belle
by Catherine Horvath
Her feet pounded furiously against the pavement; her lungs screamed in agony as she drew in each stabbing breath. Despite protest from every fiber of her muscles she surged forward. The only pain she could feel was the thunder pushing against her rib cage, each clap fatally reporting the seconds that had slipped by. She was losing time, she was losing him.
She turned sharply, stumbling as her feet sliced through an icy puddle. She clenched her jaw to prevent her throat from letting out her heart’s chilling cry. She squinted, her arms pumped back and forth, as she fought against the cutting-edge wind that slashed through her tangled hair and froze her tears to her delicate cheekbones.
“Please,” she whimpered through cracked lips, “Please, let it not be too late!”
She pushed her body further with each plea that she uttered. Pushing harder and harder, she was beyond breaking point now. A narrow shadow cast across her path cut out all the sun’s light and a glacier-like shiver slid down her spine. The atmosphere was cooler, harsher, unforgiving. Her weight shifted as her feet hit uneven ground. Her fingers closed around the ice-cold metal of the rail and she hauled her aching body up the unyielding concrete steps. She reached out a numb hand, and with her last ounce of strength she plunged through the heavy wooden doors.
“Luke! Wait!”
Her body halted as her voice echoed in the high rafters of the ceiling. One hundred pairs of eyes turned and froze as her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes found his. She was blind to everything but him. She was deaf to every sound that didn’t come from his lips. His image alone gave her strength.
“I love you, and I know you love me still. If you need me as much as I need you, tell me now. But if I am wrong, I will let you go. And even though you will forever be in my heart, I promise never again will I cast a shadow on your doorstep.”
She gasped for breath as her throat reopened and she heard her voice reverberating around the hallow walls. His cool, sapphire eyes that had given her strength flashed through a movie reel of emotions. Shock. Pain. Intensity. Love. Pain again. Sorrow. Her eyes looked searchingly into his for the final answer.
“You’re wrong.”
Her heart beat inside her ears. A knife pierced her chest and pain shot to the tips of her fingers and toes, burning through her whole body. She wouldn’t have believed the words ringing in her ears if she hadn’t seen his lips utter them. She felt the whole world give way beneath her, and saw the red-carpeted, stone floor rise up to meet her. Sobs escaped her before she could suppress them, and burning tears spilled over, obscuring her vision.
Her body trembled as a blurred, black figure crouched before her. A gentle, sturdy arm pulled her carefully off the cold floor into a warm, familiar embrace.
“It’s not that I don’t need you,” he spoke softly, the sound of his voice soothing her pain into a dull ache. “I couldn’t live with out you.”
She slowly lifted her head. His hand caressed her wet cheek and cleared her vision. She could see into the depths of the blue irises that comforted and consoled her, where the hard edge of pain still lay.
“But I can’t be with you, ma belle,” his gentle voice strained as he methodically wove his fingers through her hair. “When you left me, I--I made a mistake…”
Dread clenched her heart in a tight fist as she forced her eyes to peer over Luke’s shoulder. The beautiful bride stood tall, her hair gracefully cascading down her back, her dress hugging her slight curves, and one hand rested over the slight bulge of her womb. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from the bride, her fingers clenching Luke’s clothing harder and harder.
“I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry…” he whispered shakily in her ear.
She turned back to him, her shock filled eyes wavering with uncertainty. She knew he was a gentleman, he would do what he thought was the noble thing to do. There was nothing that could be done. She looked searchingly into his eyes once more.
“I love you,” he murmured steadily.
She felt her frozen body lean forward, fitting perfectly against his. A shudder ran through her as she pressed her lips to his and felt the truth he spoke. With a great deal of effort she quickly tore away as she felt his lips move to kiss her back. Cold seeped down through her bones as she felt the warmth of his arms fade away, and the wind whisk through her hair, as her feet pounded her pain into the pavement and she ran once more.
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Mind Games
by Catherine Horvath
She glided past the sterile white walls. For months she had been pacing
these halls, hoping an answer would somehow seep through the blank paint.
One had not appeared. Many nights she lay awake in a room they called “hers”,
scanning an empty ceiling for a sign—a nick in its smooth perfection that would
somehow indicate the correct answer in the decision she must make. There was
not a mark in her suspiciously pristine surroundings. She laughed silently to
herself, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth, as she reached a ridged
staircase that was strategically placed in the middle of the hall. Leave it to the
CIA to never leave an unintended trace.
She sank down onto the first step and resumed a neutral expression.
She strictly controlled her emotions here—she could not risk revealing a single
aspect of herself that she did not want them to see. Every move had to be carefully made. She was inside their headquarters now; she had to play by their rules. She didn’t bat an eyelash as the sharp slap of high-heeled shoes echoed down the barren hall. The footsteps of a young field agent drew closer and closer. Her stony eyes followed the agent as she made a wide birth around her, and edged her way up the stairs. The inexperienced ones were still slightly frightened of her, how amusing. The footsteps receded to the floor above her. She heard a glass door slither open, and the footsteps disappeared.
She let out a small sigh. She had fought long and hard to be here—for a cause she was now unsure of. Nothing was made clear by achieving entry; everything was wiped clean in the face of a new perspective. She had been warned. She had not listened. And now, in a hall above her, behind sealed glass doors, she had reached a fork in her path. A decision had to be made. At one end of the bustling hall above, the CIA held a man said to be her father. At the other end a young man, who said he loved her, waited for her to choose what he believed to be the right answer. All of her strength and effort had led to this—tantalizing white walls and not a plain answer in sight. She could run. Getting out would be far easier than breaking in. She was still powerful enough—she would be long gone before any Intelligent could blink. But then it really would all have been for nothing.
She turned in her seat and peered up the staircase. She could not see over the
edge of the top stair. For the first time she could not sense it all, she was not one step
ahead of the rest. A tingling sensation spread through her body as the air in her lungs
was arrested with a realization. That was precisely what they wanted. But could it possibly be that what they wanted, what she dreaded, was what was best for people
like her? What was truly holding her back in this spacious prison? No. They wanted her to think that way. The lack of substance in this place tampered with her acute perception. She knew of their cleverness; she could outwit it. She was prepared for their games. But. Was it the fact that she wasn’t as courageous as she thought she would be? Did she not have the bravery to give up absolutely everything for her people? She thought she had given everything and surrendered—well not so much surrendered as agreed to a mutual cease-fire. No. She had one thing left to give. This was not the end; it was just the beginning.
She grabbed hold of the cool, iron railing that lined the stairs and raised herself unto her numb feet. Her soft footsteps made not a sound as she ascended the flight. Her shoes left not a trace in the wake of her steps. The path behind her remained pristine. As her foot slid over the last step, she reached the frosted glass. She saw the shadows of obscure beings moving behind the door; their motions fluid, yet pixelated. She reached out a hand and laid it gently on the glass’ serene surface. A crack appeared at her touch, and, with a hiss, the door slid open.
All movement hesitated as her image appeared before them. She stepped commandingly into the hall as the glass sealed shut behind her. The agents carried on with their tasks, and all motion flowed around her as if she were a mere bolder in a stream. A smirk pulled at the edges of her mouth. She wasn’t a bolder. She was a dam. She pivoted to her left, stepping defiantly down the crowding hall. All eyes darted in her direction—a pair at the other end of the hall was watching her back intently.
“No. Vi, what are you doing?”
The young man’s voice yelled to her back.
“You’re making a mistake! This is the wrong decision!”
Vi’s smirk curled into a full out contemptuous grin. She was not making a decision. She was making a deal. She pushed open a clear glass door at the end of the hall. A hush fell, as all eyes in the room looked upon her—some with smugness, some with contempt, some with fear. She let the door slide shut and silence the commotion behind her. She reveled in the stillness before the storm. It was time to make the last move in their game; now, as she stood where all could see, it was time to bend the rules.
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