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The way she moved was familiar. Her body, slender with wide hips and a small waist, reminded me too much of someone I dream about every night and think about every second of every day.My Lillith.
I know it's crazy to compare any woman to Lillith, but here I am. Curious. I saw that she has a little boy wearing a helmet. You couldn't see his face, and I wondered why. Who is she hiding him from? Who isshehiding from?
I wait until that twerp Ethan drops her off, and I look around the street, having a moment of déjà vu. The last time I was on this street was when I tracked down Lillith when she bolted from the arena in her fit of jealousy. My lips lift in a grin at the memory and the reason she bolted, but then I remember who she called, and it wasn't me. It was the asshole currently dropping off the woman they call Pyralis and her little boy.
The helmet is gone, but it’s too dark to see their faces, and I'm parked too far, but it's her. I try to squint to get a better look while she waves to the short little asshole in his car before he drives off. I should go after him, but then I would miss my chance to find out where she lives and where she came from.
I have never seen or heard of her before, but then again, I've been gone for about five years and haven't set foot on the mainland.
I wait until she enters the building under the sign where it says fortune teller.You've got to be kidding me.
The little boy follows her inside, and I open my car door to find out what the hell she is doing going in there unless she reads people their future, but I doubt it’s legit. Maybe she lives on the second floor like a lot of people do. They rent out tiny rooms to people who need a place instead of being on the street living in metal containers or abandoned trailers.
When I walk into the building, it’s dark, and black lights illuminate the dark space. It used to be a shop with shelves selling novelty items, but of course after the shift in government, causing businesses to crumble, a new world took its place. People struggled financially because there were no jobs unless you worked for the rich.
Digital currency was used to buy what was necessary to survive.
There is a weird smell the deeper I walk inside. When I get to the back, I wonder why a woman would want to live in this shit hole compared to all the other shit holes I have seen in the city. I pause when I see an old woman seated in a chair. Her face is wrinkled with glowing white eyes, but she stares at nothing.
Is she dead? She looks like a corpse sitting there, not moving.
"It took you long enough."
She speaks.
"You're alive?"
She laughs. I hate to be a dick, but she sounds like a witch when she speaks, and I don't miss the hoarseness in her voice.
"You came here looking for something or rather someone? I want to warn you. She is not the same person you knew back then, and losing your shit will not help. All you will do is push her away right into the arms of someone else who is ready to be what she needs."
I pinch my brows in confusion, looking around and not believing I'm listening to this old lady. "Who the hell are you? You don't know me."
She points her finger at me, but her eyes are blank. "I know plenty. I know you are a pigheaded asshole who wears a mask to hide who you are, but you couldn't hide who you were. Not to her. I hope losing her has taught you something. I know exactly who you are, Killian Cross. I'm blind, not deaf."
She's fucking blind? It makes sense. Her eyes are white and lifeless, and she hasn't turned her head once. "You're crazy, and you need to stop listening to shit you don't know anything about."
She snickers. "Have a look. But I will warn you, she is more beautiful than you last saw her."
"I don't know who you are talking about because the only woman who matters to me is dead."
"Stupid boy. You know deep down that is a crock of shit."
"You're blind."
"I am"–she points at me–"but so are you."
I snort and walk toward the back door leading to the stairs, wondering why I'm still wasting my time talking to a crazy old lady. She couldn't have been talking about Lillith. Lillith is dead. Now I'm more curious as to who the hell that woman with the little boy is upstairs. I need to see her.
I make it up the stairs, and a line of sweat drips on the edge of my hairline as my heart pounds inside my chest, and I don't know why. Maybe it’s the heat. It is hot up here, and this place is a shit hole. It is small, and something squeezes my chest, suffocating me, thinking of a woman raising a little boy in these conditions. Fucking government. A mixture of disrepair and hopelessness permeates the air and clings to everything in sight. The despondent monochromatic sky is seen through the blurry film that covers the windows.This is the type of shit I fought to create the grid for.Once painted in brighter hues, time has taken its toll on the walls, turning them a despondent gray. Paint peels off in flakes like discarded memories, exposing the raw, aged concrete underneath. Evidence of the passage of time and the neglect of its victims, cracks and holes degrade the surfaces.
Thinking about what to say when I barge in because knocking will not get me anywhere, I remember they won’t pay anything out from the race until the rematch. Probably the asshole judges pulling their strings for control. The pot was high, and even if they don't know exactly who is under the helmet and suit, letting someone win that kind of cash so easily is not what they have in mind. I'm dreading the reason. What if they want to eliminate Pyralis because she’s been winning? With me, they could never find who Kill represented in the city because I live on the island. The recluse with the mask who runs the mainframe for the government.
I check the knob of the old door, and it turns with a groan. I close my eyes when I pull.It's not even locked.
When the door swings open, I look inside, and I think my heart ceases in my chest. My knees go weak. I think I forget to breathe because my vision blurs.
I walk inside, and the emotions rip into me all at once—loss, joy, anger, pain, grief, betrayal, love, and obsession.
