Chapter 45 Clara
Clara ran a couple laps through the alleyways as she calmed herself and generated a plan. What she really wanted was a punching bag. There wasn’t anywhere she could go for that. So she stuck with running, hoping that would be enough to clear her mind. It almost was.
By the time she was back at the bookstore, her chest was heaving, and she wanted water more than she wanted to slam Carver’s head into the brick. Well, almost more.
Why did she care anyway? He didn’t mean anything to her. She shouldn’t care who he kissed. But she did. She realized that, the moment she stole the card and couldn’t help but think she would win Carver’s pride. She wanted his affection back. She wanted to be his. She had always wanted to be his.
He was right on one count; it was why she ended up in the army.
She did follow him. She stayed for her, but she joined because of him.
She couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from him in that way.
Couldn’t stand the idea of him being in danger while she lived a perfect life, safe at home.
She wanted to be there with him, wanted to stand by his side and face whatever would come.
He never understood that. He called her selfish, weak, conceited.
Believed she did it for the sake of control or whatever else he had called it.
If only he had listened to her for long enough to actually understand.
Though, she had never been good enough at verbalizing.
She might have tried to tell him everything, and still missed vital points.
She downed a glass of lukewarm water, and ate some cold leftovers.
Carver and Marsh still weren’t back, and she debated what to do.
He definitely saw her. She could stay awake and confront him when they got back.
It would make her look stupid, it wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it would only frustrate her more.
Or, or, she could get in bed and pretend to sleep. Once he came in and went to bed, she would be able to slip out, break into the lab, and retrieve the weapon herself.
No, that would be foolish. Or would it? Her mind spun over the idea, and the longer she waited without Marsh and Carver returning, the more convinced she became that she could do it.
She’d scare the crap out of Carver by disappearing, and then prove to him that not only did she not need his protection, she didn’t need his help either.
She also wouldn’t have to worry about leaving him to his own devices.
She’d have the opportunity to scout the lab without his concern for innocent lives.
She could kill every person in the lab, retrieve the weapon, and be back before Carver noticed she was missing.
She’d keep him from dying and fulfill Command’s orders.
The Raven would no longer be her concern.
She changed into black leggings and a tight long sleeved black shirt. Her shoes were set by the door, socks in the tops of them. She’d be able to grab them on the way out the door without nearing Carver.
She slipped the key card into the pocket of the leggings, ensuring that it was secure before she climbed into bed.
Though she was warm in the outfit, she kept the covers fully covering her body so he wouldn’t see what she was wearing.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew her well enough that if he saw her clothing, he would assume what she was planning to do. She couldn’t take that risk.
She heard footsteps on the stairs, and her heart pounded. Acting was not her forte, and making Carver actually believe she was asleep wouldn’t be easy. She closed her eyes, and counted her breaths to keep them slow.
“Clara?” He whispered as he eased the door open.
He moved silently across the room, and she almost jumped out of her skin when he laid a hand on her shoulder.
But she kept counting breaths and didn’t open her eyes.
Please let this be believable. Now that he was next to her, the idea of fighting with him was so frustrating, she couldn’t stand opening her eyes to do that.
He stood there, hand on her shoulder for what felt like an eternity.
“It was supposed to be you.” He finally whispered, and then removed his hand.
She heard him flick the switch in the bathroom, and risked opening her eyes to confirm he had closed himself in.
She rolled over, his words replaying in her head.
It was supposed to be you. Me. It was supposed to be me?
What the hell did that mean? It was supposed to be her instead of Marsh in the bar with him tonight?
It was supposed to be her? As in, they should still be together?
Her mind spun over the words, but when the bathroom door opened, she resisted the urge to toss and turn. She was supposed to be asleep.
He laid down on his mat, and after a few minutes, his breaths evened out, and she knew she was close to home free. She wanted him to fall into a deep enough sleep that she could leave without him waking, so she laid there running through her plan for close to thirty minutes.
She’d slip out, and go through the back alley until she reached the tree.
The branch she had been on was almost directly above the entrance.
She would wait there until the guard shifted, and then hopefully drop down.
That specific branch was a little too high to drop down, but she was hoping she’d be able to drop to a lower branch and then to the ground.
She had the key card, so that at least, was in her favor.
She didn’t know the code. But she remembered the pattern the guard’s hand had gone in when he entered it.
She hoped it was simplistic enough that it would be enough.
It had to be enough. She could do this. This is stupid, Clara.
She couldn’t help but think. She pushed the thought aside and kept planning.
Once inside, she would retrieve the weapon, hide until the next guard change, and then slip out.
Silently, she slid her hands over her body accounting for all of her knives. It would have to be enough.
She didn’t even allow herself to consider what would happen if one of the pieces failed.
She would find Marsh’s weapons before she headed to the lab and add those to her collection.
She was fully capable of taking on enough guards to protect herself.
She didn’t need help. She would be able to do this.
She kept reminding herself of this, letting the plan run over and over, until it felt more like a choreographed performance than something she was trying to figure out.
She counted to a thousand before she slipped out from the covers, her bare feet landing lightly.
She grabbed her boots with one hand, and eased the door open with the other.
She waited in the hallway to make sure Carver hadn’t woken to follow her.
After enough time had passed to be safe, she tiptoed down the stairs.
Remembering that Marsh had pulled out the hand drawn map from a book on the shelf, Clara wondered what else had been stored on the shelf.
An extremely thick book with some meaningless title stood out to her first. She pulled it out, and when she opened it found a small handgun.
She wanted to tuck it in the band of the leggings, but guns would be too much of a risk.
The lab was secluded, and the noise of guns plus the high oxygen levels wouldn’t end well for her.
She wasn’t willing to risk an explosion.
She found another gun, a small taser, and a set of knives in other places on the bookshelf.
Feeling more confident with the weapons in her grasp, she slipped into her boots.
She needed to get out of here. Sorting through the books had taken longer than she had planned for, and knowing that neither Marsh nor Carver regularly slept through the night, she needed to leave before they woke up and found her.
Once in the alley, she took a deep breath, feeling adrenaline already pumping through her veins.
This was the excitement of an assignment–the ability to push yourself to the brink and truly see what you were made of.
She would. She would push herself to the brink and find out exactly what she was made of. No matter what it cost.