Page 89 of Dead Wrong

Bastien was out of his seat in a blink, downing the last of his beverage and setting the empty glass on the counter. I started down at my untouched espresso, then made the decision to chug what I could.

It was nowhere near as good as Bastien’s.

Outside of the café, Kaine led us away from the main street, weaving through passages between brick buildings and never traveling in a single direction for too long. It would make remembering the route to our destination nearly impossible, even in the daylight. A precaution I’m sure had served the Rebellion well in the past.

When we reached the outskirts of the town, the buildings growing scarcer the further we traveled, Kaine finally stopped in front of a dilapidated warehouse, a faded sign above the battered door reading “Paradise Pastries” in faded script under a flickering light.

I hesitantly eyed the entrance. “Is this it?”

“Now, now,” Kaine said with a chuckle. “It’s not a chateau, but what better place to set up shop than Paradise, am I right?”

Bastien seemed to share my concerns as he peered through a broken window pane. “There’s no one inside. Are we early or something?”

“Not at all,” Kaine replied, pushing the door open with a bit of force. It shuddered, then gave, all at once. “Inside, you two.”

“You’re not coming with us?” I asked, alarms blaring in my head.

Kaine laughed again. “You’ve got a healthy dose of suspicion, Greene. I’ll give you that. I’ll be right behind you, rebel’s honor.” He held up a hand, palm out as if pledging himself.

I looked back at Bastien once more, his own concern evident in his expression.

“Come on, chaps. Paradise awaits,” Kaine added, staring us down with an intensity that set my teeth on edge.

With nowhere left to go but forward, I ducked through the entrance and into the dimly lit space.

“Do you think they’ll support my decision?”

The door to the VanDoughten house closed behind us, the pool of light from the street lamp casting a warm glow on Lynette from the sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, still trying to wrap my head around the night’s events. Lynette was planning what essentially boiled down to a coup against our own mother, and a half hour was not the appropriate amount of time to digest the reality. “There were some who seemed enthusiastic, but most of them just looked scared.”

Lynette deflated with a sigh as she hit the sidewalk. “And you?”

“I… don’t know,” I repeated.

Lynette nodded, muttering something under her breath that I didn’t catch. She looked up at me then, reaching out for me to take her hand. “It’s so nice out tonight. Would you mind walking me home?”

I looked up at the cloudless sky. She was right. The weather was perfect, with only the slightest chill in the air. Lynette’s apartment wasn’t far from the VanDoughtens’, so I agreed, taking her hand in mine.

We moved in silence down the streets of the upper Magi City. Here, there was little foot traffic this time of night, so the only encounters we had were those of the pigeon or squirrel variety.

“Oh, look.” Lynette pointed to the iron gates across the street, the sign above reading ‘cemetery.’ “I forget that it’s so close, sometimes.”

“I haven’t visited Father in a long while,” I admitted, shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket as the wind kicked up. “Did you want to stop by?”

Lynette thought for a moment, then nodded, hooking her arm through mine as we crossed the street. Our father, a rather unremarkable man when compared to Mother, died shortly after we were born of an illness that claimed him far younger than the norm. Mother wasn’t the sentimental type, but once Lynette and I were old enough to learn about him, we’d made it a tradition to lay flowers on his grave at the change of the seasons.

A tradition that had become less important as the years marched on.

We followed the familiar path through rows of headstones, stopping on the second to last on the left. Father’s plot had always been well maintained, but there, in the middle of an autumn evening, we had to brush away the layer of leaves that hid his epitaph.

Here lies Tobias Greene, taken too soon from the scene.

Father, Husband, Adored.

May his spirit find rest in the Source.

“Hello, Father,” Lynette said, squatting down to run her hand along his name.

---