Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GHOST
The Code: Rule #11
Friendships (within and outside of the Sanctum) are strictly prohibited.
25 years ago…
“Light’s out!” Master claps twice, and the room goes deadly silent, any sign of joy previously in the room squashed by his entrance. There’s a faint rustling as all the Rooks dutifully slide under their tweed sheets, none of the ten-year-olds daring to disobey a direct command.
It’s been five years since I entered the Academy of Phantoms. Five years since my birther—mother is a term I now refuse to use—sold me to those masked men. Men I now know to be a class of masks called Reapers.
Unlike Phantoms, Reapers specialize in security and low-profile assassination. Their training is far less intense, meaning some of them are able to retain their humanity—which makes sense when I think back to that blond Reaper and how he seemed genuinely concerned for that child’s well-being. My well-being.
I can no longer recall the fear I felt on that day when they took me in front of the Madam. The way I felt like a bug under a microscope as she had those doctors poke and prod me for hours, trying to find my weak spot. The only feeling I possess now is hate. I’m consumed by it. I want to live in it—die in it if I must. An incredibly high possibility, considering only one of us in this room will make it out alive.
I clench my hands beneath the threadbare sheet, listening for when Master eventually closes the cabin door. The room is silent for a few more minutes like we’re expecting him to come back and ensure we’re well and truly asleep.
“What a fucking killjoy, am I right?”
The room bursts into quiet chuckles as the voice of my best friend Brenden breaks the silence. I sit up, causing the bunk to rattle and sway. Brenden lets out a little yelp at the sudden motion, and I chuckle beneath my breath with the rest of the boys.
“Not cool, Ghost. Not cool,” Brenden grumbles, swinging his arm over the side and trying to smack me. I grin at the use of my new name—the name Brenden gifted me last month. I’m still getting used to it, but it certainly has a better ring to it than P-1313. Or—even worse—Boy.
“Jesus. Sounded like there was an MIT in here. You’re such a bitch, Brenden.” Randy, one of the older Rooks, chuckles like he just made the joke of the century. Madams In Training, is what he’s referring to, and though the joke is in good fun, it makes my blood boil. How dare he talk about Brenden like that? Sure, he spooks easily, but that’s no reason to make fun of my friend.
I move to stand from my bunk, but something holds me back when I try to move. I look to the side, noticing Brendan’s hand on my shoulder.
“Relax, Ghost,” he mutters, that easygoing smile of his shining dimly in the moonlight-filled room. “We’ll get him back in the circle tomorrow.”
Right. The circle. Our first real test in the program.
I shudder, looking down at my palms. They were already mutilated before I entered the program, but after five years, they’re barely recognizable compared to the hands of my classmates. The angry red scar tissue is brittle and cracked in several places, leaking pus and blood from our dagger-handling lesson this morning. I memorize the faint blue lines of my veins peeking through the near-translucent skin, wondering if I have it in me to kill somebody. If I can truly kill one of my brothers.
One of the cruelest parts of our training is the camaraderie they purposely nurture in us. The way they instill teamwork and brotherhood, only to make us kill each other in the end. I don’t understand why, but Master assures us it’s to make us the best Masks possible in order to properly serve the Sanctum.
My eyes shoot to the side where Randy and his bunkmate, Matt, whisper. I would have no problem ending one of their lives, but… I look up at Brenden, who, unaware of the war going on in my mind, gives me another one of his charismatic smiles. I could never kill Brenden. If it came down to him and me, I… I would let him live.
Brenden is the good one. With his ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and sweet personality, no one expects him to make it through the program. That’s why I’ve made it my mission to ensure he does, to protect him with my last breath. It’s the least I can do, though it pales in comparison to what he’s done for me—given me. A name of my own.
“Penny for your thoughts, Ghosty?”
I grin up at Brenden, my mind lighter just at the sight of his bright, carefree smile. “Your mom,” I say, falling into a fit of laughter as Brenden rolls his eyes.
“Fuck you. You better hope we don’t get paired up tomorrow,” he jokes with a wink.
I laugh with him, though my stomach tightens at the insinuation. I couldn’t bear to be in that circle with Brenden. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—ever hurt him.
I sigh, lying back on the straw pillow and closing my eyes. “We should get some rest,” I mutter, knocking twice on the slats above as our way of saying good night. Brenden knocks back, and I listen to the creaks and groans of the bunk as Brenden tries to get comfortable.
The rest of the brothers seem to have the same idea because soon after, a hush falls over the room—this time much more relaxed than when Master had ordered us to bed earlier.
I will sleep to take me, but like most nights, my mind refuses to turn off. I’m looking out of a train window as a thousand pictures flash in my mind, causing my heart to rush and my breath to quicken. Scattered snores fill the room now, though I’m barely aware as I run through the day my mo—the day she gave me to the Reapers. I want to know why she gave me up—what I did that was so terrible that she couldn’t live with me. I wasn’t a bad child. I was gentle and cheerful, and just wanted someone to love me.
With an angry huff, I shake off that line of thought and let the hatred swallow up every last feeling I possess. I try to bottle it up, to save it for tomorrow, but I know by the time the match takes place tomorrow, I still won’t have it in my heart to hurt my brothers.
I’m so fucking weak. I’m a failure—as a son, as a Phantom. Perhaps it will be a mercy if I’m the one to die tomorrow. If my end is swift and?—
“Ghost?”
I’m startled out of my dark thoughts by Brenden’s voice. He doesn’t sound normal, though. He sounds… panicked.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, reaching my hand up to his bunk. I can’t feel it, but I know Brenden has taken my hand by the way his breathing evens out. He doesn’t answer my question, but he doesn’t really need to. Even though he gives a carefree act to the others, I know that deep down, Brenden is terrified. He genuinely fears death, so much so that when we were little, I would have to talk him down from panic attacks before every lesson.
It seems tonight is no different. Brenden is still that scared little five-year-old boy, crying over the kitten he was forced to drown during initiation. Crying over the cruelty and the unfairness of it all. The reminder of the frailty of his—or any—life.
“I’ll protect you. It’s going to be okay,” I promise, tightening my hand around his. “I won’t let you die tomorrow, Brenden.”
“I’m holding you to that,” he says with a shaky chuckle. It’s a weak attempt at humor—his only real defense mechanism—but it eases my nerves, nonetheless. If he can make it through tomorrow, he can make it through whatever is yet to come.
I’ll make sure of it.
I squint against the sun beating down on the center of the circular clearing, every muscle in my body wound tight as a wire as I take in my opponent. Matt gives me a haughty smirk, those bushy blond brows wiggling tauntingly at me. I spit on the ground next to me to get rid of the acrid taste coating my mouth, my skin tingling with the aftermath of the Rebound we were dosed with during breakfast. Nasty shit.
“Remember, this is a test of your ability. As such, you have been paired with a Rook of equal fighting capabilities.” Master’s voice rings out from the center of the clearing, his voice easily heard by the six pairs of Rooks positioned around him in their respective fighting circles.
“The match ends when one of you is subdued—or dead.” He says it so matter-of-factly. Like the lives of the boys he’s spent the last five years with mean less than what he’s having for lunch.
Fucking bastard. I clench my jaw and discreetly peer around the circle, my heart dropping into my stomach when I see Master has paired Brenden with Randy. Randy weaves tauntingly at Brenden’s ashen figure, licking his lips with a malicious gleam in his eyes.
How the fuck is that a fair fight? My pulse thrums so loudly that I miss what Master says next. Brenden—I have to protect Brenden. If I don’t do something, he’ll?—
CRACK!
My head whips to the side, and though I feel nothing, there’s a distinct ringing in my ears that tells me Matt just clocked me in the fucking temple. I see his elbow out of the corner of my eye, and just before it hits me, I duck, sending my own fist up between Matt's legs.
“FUCK!” he squeals, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. And that’s why you wear protection, asswipe. I should use Matt’s distraction to finish the match, but my attention is caught by Brenden, his face purpling in the crook of Randy’s elbow.
No—NO! I know Randy enough to realize he’s not letting Brenden go until he’s dead—and even long after that. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.
With no regard for what will happen to me, I sprint toward the circle’s edge, my mind on one thing alone—saving Brenden.
“What the fuck are you doing, P-1313? Your match isn’t over!” Master’s voice barely registers in my mind as I pump my legs faster. I have to save Brenden. I have to?—
“GET THE FUCK BACK IN THE RING!”
I don’t care what he’ll do to me for disobeying. I don’t care about anything except for my friend. He gave me my name. He gave me my name. He gave me? —
A horrible squelching noise emanates from the back of my thigh, and for some reason, my leg gives out from under me. I look back in alarm, noticing a thick serrated blade sticking halfway out from my leg, horrible, sticky red flowing from the injury and dripping down to the dirt.
Plop… plop… plop…
Suddenly, I’m five years old in Momma’s living room. She’s screaming at me for getting the red on her carpet again, though her voice sounds funny. Deeper. Robotic, almost. Why is she screaming like that? What is this circle she keeps talking about?
I look at the red pooling underneath me, a pit growing in my gut. I have to clean this before she notices. Momma hates color on her perfect white carpet.
Mindlessly, I start scooping the blood and dirt sludge into my palms, deaf to the clomping footsteps growing closer. Have to clean the red. Can’t let her see. My fingernails dig into the earth, my frenzy growing as more and more red joins the puddle I just swiped away. Why? Why can’t I do something right? I just want to be good—that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why can’t I just be good for once?
“GHOST! Ghost, snap the fuck out of it!”
Ghost… that sounds familiar. I look up, instantly me eting Brenden’s icy-blue gaze. His mouth keeps moving, and he looks pale, but pale is better than purple. He must have gotten out of Randy’s death choke…
The last thought snaps me out of my trance, and there’s just enough time for me to hear Brenden yell, “DUCK!” before something silver swipes toward my neck. My instincts take over, and I fall to the side just before Matt’s blade slices into my carotid.
“What the FUCK is wrong with you, Boy?” Master yells, his voice filled with a rage I’ve never heard before. “Are you fucking slow? Get up and FIGHT!”
“Yeah, Boy. Go to your death like a man,” Matt taunts, swinging his dagger wildly at my chest. The tip clips me, and more red spills down the front of my shirt. I clench my jaw, jumping to my feet and pulling the knife from the back of my thigh. Bits of my muscle and sinew cling to its serrated edges, and I swallow down my bile as I raise the knife in a defensive position.
“That’s not my name,” I snarl, circling Matt slowly with my blade outstretched. “It’s Ghost.”
“Not what it says on your birth certificate, though, is it? You’re such a fucking loser, your mom didn’t even give you a?—”
Schwick.
Matt drops his dagger, his other hand reaching up to clutch his armpit where my knife is now lodged to the hilt, slicing through his radial nerve. He looks at his limp right arm with wide, alarmed eyes, not understanding why he’s unable to move it.
While he’s still in shock, I lunge forward in a crouch, grabbing his knife from the ground at his feet. Before he knows what’s happening, I bring the blade down on the top of his arch, slicing clean through tendon and bone.
An ear-piercing scream echoes across the clearing, causing some of the other Rooks to look over in alarm. As the last of his scream falls from his mouth, I reach up, pulling my blade from his shoulder and using my momentum to send it down through his other foot.
Strangled choking noises bubble from his lips as he tries to both scream and take in a breath at the same time.
“Submit,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes. He shakes his head in defiance, pathetically trying to raise his foot from the ground. I look him over, and with a disgusted huff, I turn and start walking—not running, like earlier—toward the edge of the circle. Brenden lets loose a cheerful whoop, and I smile as a couple of the other Rooks join in.
We did it. We both survived?—
Something hits my side, sending my body toppling to the ground. Before I have a chance to gain my bearings, Matt straddles my back, pinning me to the ground. Shit. Shit. Shit. How did he recover so quickly?
I can’t maneuver in this position. I let my guard down, thinking Matt was smart enough to realize I let him live. I could just as easily slit his throat, but I chose to deliver blows that were all nonlethal. Now, it looks like my generosity will be my undoing.
“You think you’re so special,” Matt breathes, an unhinged glint in his light green eyes accompanying the crazed smile on his face. “We’ll see how special you are when you’re fucking dea?—”
The last word gets cut off, and a second later, red rains from the sky, coating my head and back. There’s a soft clunk, and I crane my head to the side to see Matt’s rolling on the ground, his eyes still open wide as if in shock. My stomach flips, threatening to spew my meager breakfast all over the bloodied dirt as the master grips my arm and hauls me to my feet.
I gaze up at that faceless black circle, one single question running through my mind. Why did you save me?
As if reading my mind, the master turns to address the rest of the group. “As you all saw, the match was over, yet your former classmate thought the rules ceased to apply to him. Let this be a lesson to all who think it wise to disobey in the future.” With that, he turns from the group, his black suit tails swishing gently behind him. I watch his every move, uncertainty thrumming through my veins.
I’m not sure why, but… I think the master just spared my life.
I swing my gaze to Brenden, swirls of purple and blue already starting to sprout around his neck. He was going to let Brenden die… so why would he save me?
I have a feeling I won’t like the answer.