Nephele and Faye

Naval warfare broke out in the Zafrian archipelago to the east. There, the Donavian Navy was making its last stand against the Allied forces. If the Allies were victorious, next would be Estea.

The Skybreakers were on full alert -- they went into a rotation that put at least a four-ship element ready for action twenty-four-seven. So, I saw less of them at the bar. And even less so, Nephele, because she was now their commanding officer. She stayed at the airfield even when she wasn't on duty. With the war ramping up, her superiors demanded a lot from her. They demanded a lot from the Skybreakers as if one small fighter squadron could fight against the tide of war.

They no longer used my bar for their mission briefs. They became more careful with their words around me. Paranoia was at its highest level.

Regan

When news came of the Allies decimating the Donavian fleet in Zafria, a mass evacuation began. The Black Roses became brazen in their attacks, even taking the fight to the military police on the streets. They carried weapons that could only have been supplied by the Allies. They fought fiercely. Public sympathy for their action rose. The desire for freedom was being revived in the soul of every Estean.

Regan met me again in my bar on the eve of the invasion.

"It's time, Faye."

"For what?"

Red hot bloodlust swirled in his eyes.

"The only thing holding the Allies back now are the Skybreakers. So, we need to break the Skybreakers. One in particular."

I didn't need any clarification on what he meant by that. I knew the day would come when her death was worth more than the intel. The only thing is, I no longer want her dead.

"No."

He didn't seem surprised by that answer. Instead, he seemed to expect it. He was prepared for it. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Two men I did not recognize came into the bar. They each wore assault rifles slung to their chests.

"I figured you'd say something like that. Figured once you acquired a taste for Donavian pussy, you'd become an addict."

The men chuckled at the quip.

Regan walked over to the bar, reached over, and, without much fishing, pulled my shotgun out from its hiding place. As he did this, his two men approached me and stood menacingly at either side of me, like towering creatures.

Regan cracked open the shotgun barrels, checking the breeches to ensure it was loaded. When satisfied, he snapped the action back, then motioned with his head to his two men to follow him out the door. They grabbed me harshly on my shoulders to lead me out behind him.

"I've got a lovely gift for you, Faye. A reward for your diligent effort and patience. It's waiting for you in the garage. Come."

My heart pounded heavily. I felt it in my throat. I didn't need to have much of an imagination to know that what awaited me was nothing pleasant. I feared the worst.

Regan disappeared into the garage. My escorts and I followed shortly, and I let out a yelp when I saw it. The men tightened their grips on my shoulders as I tried instinctively to run towards her.

It was Nephele, hanging from a chainfall, rope bound tightly around her chest, arms, and ankles. Her mouth gagged with a rag. Blood streaks down her face from her scalp.

She opened her eyes. They went wide when they saw me, and she squirmed frantically in her bindings. Her yells were muffled by the handkerchief gag.

Regan walked calmly up to her and stroked her cheek with a finger.

"You know, Faye, I was surprised and confused at first. But then, I saw the Widowmaker up close, and it all made sense -- how she could ever turn you into a dike. She's fucking hot! If I were in your shoes, I might have done the same. I mean, if you get to have pussy this good, fuck the rebellion!"

"What do you want, Regan?" I yelled. My voice cracked. "They've already lost. Let her go!"

I tried fighting against the men, but they were too strong, too big for me. They easily overpowered me. Regan raised an eyebrow. Smirked in that amused way one might when insulted.

"I told you already, Faye. I'm giving you a gift."

He held out the shotgun to me.

"I'm giving you the best gift of all. The chance for redemption."

My immediate thought was to tell him to go fuck himself. But I knew an opportunity when I saw one. He was handing me a loaded shotgun. It was an opportunity I needed to take. Even if there were three of them, all armed heavily, and only one of me. Even if the shotgun only had two rounds in it. I reached out for it.

But Regan wasn't going to let me have it that easy. He retracted it quickly as my hand just touched it.

"Hell, Faye. You didn't actually think I'd trust you, did you?"

He laughed and shook his head.

"No, no, no. Not in a million years. Unless..."

He tapped his chin with the end of the barrels.

"Unless I could be certain of your convictions. Unless I had insurance."

As if on cue, the garage door opened, and another man stepped into that dark place. He yanked hard on a wrist, bringing another person stumbling into the room.

"Noah!" I screamed.

"Faye!" Noah whimpered.

He was a sobbing mess. The man that held him pointed a pistol right at the underside of Noah's jaw.

"I'm sorry, Faye."

"Goddammit, Regan, you bastard! If you hurt him. If you put one fucking finger on him, I swear to God --"

"Hold on, just a minute, sweetheart," Regan interrupted. "I don't want to hurt anyone right now. Especially not my dear own nephew."

That wicked, psychopathic smile I was familiar with now grew on his face.

"But of course, that is not my decision."

He has always been a world-class sadistic bastard. But he was a damn smart one. He knew the best ways to torment people. He held the shotgun out to me again, knowing full well that with Noah here as a hostage, he was safe from harm by me.

At first, I didn't grab the gun. It took a long while for my mind, constantly darting into dead-ends, to fully comprehend that there was no pleasant way out of this hell. There were only two outcomes. Either Nephele dies, or they both die. And it was up to me to decide the outcome.

I took the shotgun. Regan moved to my side to give me a clear line of sight to Nephele.

Her body, bound tightly, hung in a way that was strangely reminiscent of a statue of a Greek muse I once saw in a museum. She hung defeated. Her head slung to the ground. Her eyes shut. Her breathing was deep and calm now.

When I raised the shotgun, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to look at me. To look at her executioner.

I stared right back. Though I couldn't tell their colors as I could only see the light of moonbeams in them now, I knew intimately that they were hazel. A hazel that I had gotten drunk on. A hazel that once made me forget that there was ever a war.

My vision grew dark. The shotgun shook in my hands. My arms wavered.

"Do it, Faye," Regan egged on.

The men crowded in on me. Their shadows in the moonlight loomed over me.

I thought it would be easy. I've done it before. I just needed a cold reason to latch on to. There were literally dozens of them: She was a murderer. An instrument of death. Executioner of my people. Of my own husband, who I loved dearly. There was Noah, whose very survival depended on doing this one simple thing. But it wasn't enough to get me to pull that trigger. I lowered the shotgun. I set it on the ground.

Then, standing straight and tall, I looked right into Regan's coal-black eyes and demanded what I had demanded before.

"Let her go."

Regan let out a single, incredulous-sounding laugh.

"Faye, how unbecoming of you," he said.

Then he raised a hand and struck me hard against my cheekbone. A strike hard enough to put me to the floor.

Slowly he prowled around me, found a plastic lawn chair against the wall, and set it in the middle of the room. He shoved me into it. Nephele squirmed. Her eyes went wide with fury. But there was nothing she could do.

Regan nodded at one of the men, and suddenly, an electric hair clipper appeared in his hand.

"I was going to save this for after. But I suppose we're going to have to be flexible."

The two men held me in the chair to stop me from struggling. But I didn't struggle. The clippers clicked on and gave a low buzz in my ear.

"The allies are starting their invasion tonight," Regan said.

He ran the clipper roughly across the top of my head, causing lumps of my hair to fall onto the ground. Then he added.

"You failed us, Faye. You let her live."

"I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

"That's precisely the problem, isn't it? Did you really think we can all get along with those fucking murderers after the shit they pulled? You think you can just... fuck whoever you want and not face repercussions."

He ran the clipper again across my head. More harshly this time.

I shook my head again.

"No," I wheezed.

Regan put a hand on my cheek. A tear streamed down my face.

"Actions have consequences, Faye."

He grabbed a handful of my hair and attacked it again with the clipper. He yanked at the hair. The blades cut into my scalp and whined as they sheared away my long hair at the roots. Blood trickled down.

"Let them go," I repeatedly pleaded, even though I knew it was fruitless. The desperate words came out hushed, like a prayer or a mantra, and I had no real control over them. I couldn't tell if fear overwhelmed me or just an intuition that none of this felt real like it was a nightmare, and if I whispered the words enough times, I would wake.

He finally finished shaving. The clipper went off. I found my hair lying on the ground in curled bunches, like dead leaves. A wet palm ran across my shaved head. The sweat from the palm stung me on the cuts. Then a hand grasped my jaws like pincers. Regan crouched down to bring his eyes level with mine.

"Now everyone will know your true color, Faye. A shame you can longer hide. But you know what? This is not enough. Hair grows back in time. You deserve something more permanent. You forgot Eli. Maybe you won't ever forget this."

He grabbed the front of my blouse with both hands and ripped it open. The buttons went flying, plinking onto the ground. I struggled. Tried to let out a scream with the hope that someone outside might hear it. But one of the men holding me down covered my mouth. Still, I tried struggling as much as possible, until it hurt, until my muscles strained with fire. And when I realized my efforts were in vain, I shut my eyes and did my best to drown out the world with a flood of mental noise.

He threw me to the ground. My head spun madly. My skull hit the concrete hard, but unfortunately, I remained conscious. Funny -- my head hitting the ground didn't hurt at all.

Regan came down atop me. Pulled my belt harshly, whipped it off, and threw it aside. He pulled off my pants. Tore off my underwear. Then pried my legs apart.

The other two men held my wrists tightly as he unzipped his pants. They really didn't have to. I was too weak to fight. I was limp as a fish on the deck of a boat, too exhausted to flop around anymore.

Right when I thought it was going to happen. When I anticipated the forceful penetration, my eyes found Noah. His eyes locked onto mine. In them, I saw something I had never known Noah to be capable of possessing -- pure rage. He uttered a barbarous cry and head-butted the man that held him right in the nose.

"Fuck!" the man screamed.

Noah went for the pistol and struggled with the man to control it.

The two men that held me were distracted by it. Distracted just for a moment, but it was enough of a moment.

They weakened their grip on my arms. The pistol grip of an assault rifle strung to one of their chests came within my reach. I wrested my wrist free and grabbed the rifle's pistol grip. My thumb automatically found the safety and clicked it to the 'fire' position. I squeezed the trigger several times, unleashing several 7.62-millimeter rounds point-blank into the other man's chest with lightning flashes. He collapsed atop me. His last breath was a long blood-saturated gurgle. The acrid smell of gun powder filled my nose.

I then pointed the gun upwards into the remaining man's jaw and watched his eyes widen in horror before I pulled the trigger. His blood splattered across my face.

Regan howled madly.

The rifle was still attached with a harness now laying lifeless atop me, so I couldn't aim it at Regan. But I thought at once of the shotgun lying on the ground. Regan had the same thought. We both lunged for it at the same time and wrestled for it. But he was much stronger than me. He easily yanked the shotgun from my hand and kicked me back to the floor. He stood over me, breathing hard. He pressed the barrels of the shotgun harshly into my breast, right over my heart. Then that smile again. And a wag of his finger.

"Faye, Faye, Faye," he said through his clenched, sadistic smile.

"Did you think you could pull a fast one over me?"

His voice turned into a rabid snarl, his eyes into firestorm.

"Did you forget who the FUCK I am?"

He drove the shotgun harder into my chest. The metal tips of the barrels cut into my skin. He cocked the hammer on the shotgun. An unnecessary act as he could have just pulled the trigger. But he wanted to drive a point home. He was always one for flair.

"Of course, you did. Just like you forgot Eli. Just like you forgot the very thing that wins wars. You forgot fear."

He chuckled, then continued, "To forget is a betrayal. As such, I cannot let you see the end of this war. So long, Faye."

"Hey, asshole! Did you forget about me?"

Regan and I turned to the source of the voice. It was Noah. Pistol snug in his hands aimed directly at Regan. At his feet was the man that he had struggled with earlier, motionless.

Regan growled. He pulled the shotgun away from my chest and swung the barrels towards Noah. An ill-conceived idea. Noah was quicker. He shot before the shotgun could come around. The pistol kicked up. He recovered and shot again. Regan buckled and stumbled backward as the shots found their marks. The first on his shoulder, the second right below the center of his collarbone.

Regan fell to his knees. His mouth gaped. He craned his neck to watch in shock as blood spread on his shirt and finally rolled his eyes upward into the back of his head.

When he was sure the deed was done, and Regan was dead, Noah let the pistol fall from his hands, came running to me, collapsed beside me, and embraced me tightly. I held him to me. Kissed him thankfully on the cheek, then looked him over to see if he was alright. There was blood on him, but it wasn't his blood.

We cut Nephele down. I removed the handkerchief from her mouth. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around us.

"Are either of you hurt?"

Noah was unresponsive. He was in shock.

I answered in a shaking voice, "No. Not hurt."

She had on her leather flight jacket. She took it off and put it around my shoulders

I grasped her hand.

"Neph. My family ranch in the countryside. Take him there. He knows where it is."

She nodded and responded, "you're coming too."

I shook my head.

"I'm staying here."

"Your life is in danger, Faye."

"I'm staying. Please, just take him."

"Give me one good reason why I should let you stay."

I could only think of one.

"My bar."

Nephele's face twisted in confusion.

"Fuck the bar."

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me. But I wouldn't budge. She didn't know what this bar meant to me. I wasn't ready to see it go.

"Shit," she muttered. "Fine. I'll deal with you when I get back. I'll take Noah. Call the MPs, Faye. Tell them everything. They'll believe you."

She left, dragging Noah by the hand with her. Noah looked back at me through the door with teary eyes. I could see in those eyes the look of someone coming to the realization that he had killed. My car rumbled to life. Taillights flashed on and painted the garage in a dim red glow. Tires screeched. The car took off and disappeared, leaving me in silent darkness along with four dead men that were once Black Roses.

***

I called the military police, as Nephele suggested. They came promptly, and their immediate reaction to seeing my bloodied, shaved head (I didn't have time to wash the blood) was compassion. They behaved with discipline and poise, considering the high rate of speed with which their occupation of this city unraveled. They called an ambulance. They treated me in the back of it. They gave me tiny stitches above my right ear where I was cut by the clipper. They asked me questions from a form that was already prepped. Other women had been punished the same way by the Black Roses for 'unscrupulous' relations with the occupiers. When they were done with the interview, and the medics cleaned my wounds, they asked me if I needed to see a counselor or a chaplain. I refused it. Instead, I told them what happened that I didn't have time to explain. I told them everything. I showed them the bodies. It didn't shock them. They didn't set up a crime scene. They didn't arrest me. I suppose there wouldn't be time for any of that on the eve of their impending evacuation. They took the bodies. They took the guns. They never questioned my story or even charged me with a crime. They only asked that I be available for any further questioning, which was more a judicial formality than an actual request. This would be the last time I would see them. They knew it, and I knew it.

I stayed up the rest of the night. There was no way I was ever going to sleep after all that had happened. For a while, I sat quietly at the bar counter. But I couldn't stand the silence, so I went to the beach out front and sat there, where at least I had the crashing waves to drown the nervous noises in my head.

Nephele came as the sun rose. She found me and sat next to me.

"Sorry, it took so long. Took a while for us to figure out how to turn the gas on in the house," she said.

"We had to ask the neighbors. He's safe now. He's comfortable."

She wrapped an arm around me. Her embrace warmed me more than she could ever know.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry for what Regan did to you. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for everything."

I nuzzled in closer to her. Close, so that I could feel her heartbeat. We sat like that and watched the sunrise. It was cold, and she shivered, so I draped her leather jacket around us. It wasn't enough to stave off the cold completely, but it was something. I didn't mind the cold all that much anyways. Something was revitalizing about it.

"I'm sorry, too," Nephele said.

"Sorry for what?"

"About Eli. I know he meant a lot to you. I know you loved him, and --"

She took a deep breath and continued,

"I know that you think I took him from you. And you're probably right. I might have been the one."

Her eyes were filled with tears. She blinked them away and wiped them with a hand.

At first, I could not tell if she cried because of any remorse for her actions, or because everything that has happened to her recently was crashing onto her like a tidal wave. But I soon saw clearly that it was more the latter, but that also, it wasn't just the recent tragedies that affected her. There were many deaths in her life, and, whether she was to blame or not, she bore each one like a cardinal sin for which penance, or remorse, no matter how deeply felt, would ever absolve.

"It's not your fault," I muttered.

My voice faltered as I said those words. Faltered because as I was saying them, I realized that these were not some empty words to try to make her feel better, but words I knew in my heart to be true. Words that came naturally. Words that were not lies. They were a proclamation to me as well as to her that she was not the Widowmaker. That, like me, she was only a bird in a storm, and she was tired of flying.