Page 50 of The Bane of a Sinner
Bane
The sun had set on my decision the second I saw her terrified face. Even before I uttered the words, I knew what I was going to do, but the peace I felt was a fragile veneer, cracking under the weight of a thousand unspoken doubts. It wasn’t just her safety I was considering; it was my own. My carefully constructed life, the reputation I’d painstakingly built, hung precariously in the balance. This wasn’t some heroic act of selflessness; it was a desperate gamble, a cowardly act cloaked in the guise of sacrifice, hoping my best friend could do what I never could. My heart, far from being at peace, thrummed a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a constant, nagging reminder of the betrayal I was inflicting on myself.
The days that followed weren’t a blur; they were a slow, agonizing crawl. Each moment was a battle, a conscious choice to remain silent, to give Montana time to do what he did best, but also to protect myself from the consequences of my actions. My silence wasn’t a shield; it was my own personal prison. Each word I swallowed felt like a compromise, a slow surrender of my integrity. I was sacrificing my beliefs, my own hard-won sense of justice, on the altar of expediency. The truth, sharp and jagged, clawed at my conscience, whispering accusations of cowardice and self-preservation. I knew with chilling certainty that this was a choice I would regret, a stain I would never fully wash away, a victory bought at the terrible price of my soul. The peace I’d initially felt was nothing more than a fleeting illusion, a deceptive calm before the storm of my self-condemnation.
Nothing, not even the threat of death would make me talk.
Before, my silence had been a mistake, but now it meant everything.
I would not cause her any more pain. Not when we were so close to the end. So, I remained quiet, a guardian of her happiness, ensuring no harm came her way. It was a role I gladly accepted, for her freedom and joy were my greatest reward.
As time slowly marched on, I knew my secret would remain buried deep within me. Her life would continue, unburdened by the truth, and that was how it should be.
My role was to protect, and in doing so, I found my peace.
A door creaked from above.
It was that time of day again.
Taking a deep breath, I readied myself for what was to come. Their relentless interrogation, their sadistic glee—it was a nauseating cocktail. The smile felt brittle, a mask cracking under the pressure. The longer I held out, the more time Montana had to find her, but at what cost? My integrity, already frayed at the edges, felt like a threadbare tapestry about to unravel completely.
He hadn’t just threatened her; he’d shown me... images. Vivid, horrifying images that clawed at my conscience. A constant, searing reminder of my powerlessness. My silence was a shield, but it was also a sword, slowly, agonizingly piercing her, and me. Was my stubborn loyalty worth the potential price? The truth—a bitter, poisonous fruit—lingered in the air. To speak was to betray everything I believed in, to compromise my principles, to succumb to their vile methods. To remain silent was to watch her suffer, to shoulder the weight of her pain, to let her pay the price of my own stubborn pride. There was no right answer, only a choice between two unbearable outcomes. My stomach churned, a tempest mirroring the storm raging within. My smile faltered, replaced by a grimace that reflected notonly their cruelty, but the chilling reality of my own impending failure.
I was going to break.
I knew it.
The question was: how? And would the breaking point be before or after Montana could find her?
Boots stomped loudly on the stairs, each heavy tread a hammer blow against the fragile composure I’d painstakingly built. It was meant to instill fear, a performance for the man who stood silhouetted in the doorway, but all it did was prolong the inevitable and highlight my trembling hands. Seeing him there, unmoving, I felt nothing... or rather, a paralyzing blend of apathy and icy dread. He wasn’t a stranger; no, he was the ghost of a brother, a mirrored childhood mockery preserved in faded photographs. While I got the life he so desperately wanted, he was condemned to a lifetime of pain and suffering.
That night—the night that stole his innocence and warped his life—haunted him, not with vivid images, but with the gnawing knowledge of my father’s inaction.
My father could have stopped him.
Should have stopped him. But fear, a chilling, paralyzing fear, had kept him silent, a silent witness to a crime that irrevocably altered his destiny, and because of my father’s cowardice, I would pay the price.
Now, he stood there, a physical manifestation of that night. He demanded something—retribution, perhaps? Forgiveness? My gut screamed at me to give him what he wanted most, to betray the man who raised me and let him deal with the consequences of his own cowardice. But a twisted sense of duty, a desperate craving for absolution, held me rooted to the spot.
I knew with chilling certainty that whatever choice I made next would be wrong. It would be a betrayal, either of my moral compass, crumbling under the weight of years of self-recrimination, or of the fragile peace I’d carved out in this fractured life. The stomping grew louder, closer, and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that I was about to make a choice I would regret for the rest of my life. A choice that would condemn me to the same hollow existence as the man slowly advancing towards me.
I just wanted to forget, and he couldn’t.
“Montana thinks he can talk you out of this mess.”
I smirked as a bitter taste clung to the edges of my morality. Of course he did. The arrogant bastard thought the world revolved around his pronouncements. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. Montana knew that; I knew that, but Morpheus didn’t, as an icy dread coiled in my gut, its jagged tendrils wrapping around my heart. This... this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. My whole life, I’d sworn I’d never stoop to his level, never resort to the same underhanded tactics, the same brutal efficiency. But the silence echoing in my ears, the weight of the threat hanging heavy in the air... it pushed me toward a precipice.
A choice clawed at me, ugly and unavoidable.Do I play this game, sink to his level to win? Do I use the same methods, inflict the same pain, to protect what’s mine?My stomach churned. It felt like betraying everything I believed in, sullying the very essence of who I was. But the alternative... the alternative was far worse.
Failure wasn’t an option.
Not this time.
A sickening certainty settled in. I’d do it. I’d become the very thing I despised, all to avoid a consequence far more devastating. My smirk faltered, replaced by a grim set to my jaw. This victory, even if it came, would taste like garbage in my mouth. This wasn’t justice; it was a descent into the darkness I’d sworn to fight against.
And the regret? That would be a constant companion for the rest of my days.
He reached for the chair tucked under the small table and sat. “I don’t know, August. Maybe he will say the right thing this time. God knows he never shuts the fuck up. And with Reaper and the Golden Skulls in charge and the Silver Shadows bringing up the rear, who knows? You may just survive this. But then again, Montana is all fucking talk. Even I know Reaper is the man with all the power.”
