The Battle of Tyrell: Cynthia by Nicola Collings (books for 9th graders .TXT) 📕

                “She absolutely did, Rick!” squealed Sammie in excitement.

                “That means you gotta put up with swag fag snobs for three years, mate.” He replied, nudging Nicki who looked down, blushing.  “I s’pose that means you’re good, then?”

                “Good?” Amber raised an eyebrow. “She’s Pablo Fucking Picasso!”

                “Congrats!” smiled Bob, who’d appeared from the shadows after putting his spliff out on the floor.

                The group laughed and joked among themselves, making their way back to the steps; their designated hang out despite how daringly close it was to Boundary.

                To enemy territory.

                It was when foreign voices could be heard from the other platform when laughter ceased and the five of them tensed, like deer’s being stalked.

                “Yeah, got it shipped all the way form Port Caliburn! And the leather is from Wild Beast from the Crow Continent! My Father had them imported especially for me!”

                 3 figures had appeared in the dim light from the electric lamps. The  sound of rain started to come from the tin roof above and the moths that had to recently thronged the lamps disappeared. The 5 Goths didn't move. In the fleeting seconds they’d had before they were seen, only ideas of what to do had flown across thought, but no action was taken.

                “Ha! Look what we have!” one of the Boundary guys yelled. Whether they were drunk on alcohol or power remained to be seen, yet all three of them gazed across to the other platform.

                “I see they let the pigs out of the pen again! Such a hindrance! I wonder when they’ll be exterminated for good!” they laughed.

                “Wouldn’t  want them to spread their injection!”

                “We might get rabies!”

                Nicki tugged at Sammie’s arm and the 5 of them exchanged glances; their stone serious expressions completely contrasting the maniacal, almost drunk laughter of the 3 Boundary citizens.

                “I know!” shouted the one wearing the leather jacket. “We’ll have a little fun with these peasants!”

                The other two laughed, exchanging glances of their own. A single thought crossed their minds and at once, all three of them knew what they were about to do.

                The leader of the three slipped down from the platform onto the subway track and made for the other platform. At the same time, the other two split off, making for the two bridges either side that linked the platform.

                The five Goths sprang into action.

                “Shit!” yelled Bob. “Sammie, this way! Split up!”

                “You can’t run from us, fucking whores! It’s a game of cat and mouse in these tunnels!” shouted the leader form the railway.

                Nicki saw Bob and Sammie pelt down the platform and Amber race in the other direction, eventually disappearing onto the rail track.

                “Little Fly? I think we should really be going!” shouted Rick from behind and Nicki felt a tug on her leather jacket.

                She saw a pale hand grab the edge of the platform and the leader start to haul himself up.

                Finally, she turned and followed the green liberty spikes into the shadows of the subway.

                                                                                                *

                Present day...

                When the first soldier displaying it’s solemn, sentient figure at my front door, I was unprepared for the implications that came with him. It was a night like any other; a party was in full swing in one of the main rooms in Duskgate Mansion- a place considered a Hub for The Wynde Community. People came here for company, when they were in need of food or a helping hand. People looked to me for guidance, yet all I could give them was my home, left to me by my parents. When it came for me to offer my hospitality to Gus, it took me a while for his motives, his intentions and what that meant for what has been passed down through my family to really sink in.

                The party, led by the band Deadlight, took place in the huge, mahogany jungle of a lounge. In retrospect it was more of a gig hall littered with leather sofas, tables and other furniture that provided a place of socialising, of dancing in the clearing in the centre, and of music, blaring full blast from the set-up in front of the ornate fire place. The cloisters that separated this room to the right of the main entrance were elaborate, as was much of the architecture, yet most of the mansion rooms were underground, it’s ancient stone structures baring the secrets of what lies beyond the deepest of darkness.

                I stood in the centre of the landing, opposite the front door, the stair case with elaborate carvings coiled the room on either side. For any newcomer, I could see how intimidating it must be. To the right of me came the thumping heart beat of the rave and to the left came the sound of chatter, of laughter from the large kitchen. Several doors led from these two main rooms to other parts of the house, but most of them were never used.

                Just space, taken up by my parent’s memories.

                The two huge oak doors were open, sending tendrils of light into the night sky and off into the misty forest that surrounded the house and people dotted the steps, smoking, snogging or whatever else people did that required them to escape the sounds of life.

                My line of sight stretched all the way to the break in the misty fir trees, where the gravel drive met the house. The night sky was clear, apart from a tinge of red at it’s edges, like it was on fire.

                The dark figure appeared from the darkness set against the lights of the house; it looked withered and tired, or broken...

                The people on the steps ignored him as he made his way to the threshold, where he stopped. I looked down from the landing. He was certainly dressed like one of us, and it wasn’t strange to see such sorrow on The Wynde. Yet something was different and I felt it. It was like it was following him.

                I made my way down the stairs, the wood cold on my bare feet. His face came into view and I saw just how lost he was. He was tall, thin and incredibly pale, as if he’d seen a great many harrowing things. He wore nothing but boots, trousers and a denim, sleeveless jacket with a hood that exposed his chest. His ribs were almost visible.

                I approached him and he laid eyes on me.

                “I’m looking for...for the one they...” he paused as I got closer. I reached a hand up and moved to touch his face. Such sorrow. He recoiled slightly, but then let my fingers brush his cheek. “The one they say will let people in who need help.” He finished.

                “I’m Cynthia. This is my house. I offer it to The Wynde and people like yourself who need somewhere to go.”

                He looked around, uncertainly. I backed off, assuming this was just another case of homelessness or theft. I got a great many people who needed a bed for the night, people who’d been raided by the Boundary authorities or who had just been generally fucked over.

                “I...I need...”

                “A bed?”

                “Um...” He looked towards the party.

                “Come.” I said, taking his hand and leading him away. There was a door directly opposite the main door that led to the Archives. People knew not to go into this room. The Archives was a library that belonged to my parents; a room that I believe held clues to their deaths, yet a room that I also used as a personal study. Only my Disciples used this room freely yet exceptions were made.

                In this case, I led Gus through this door, making sure to close it behind me and led him past bookshelf after bookshelf. The room itself is rather large; bigger than the gig hall lounge. What makes it so cosy is the labyrinth of bookcases creating a clear path to the centre and paths to doors leading off. There was, of course, the danger of getting lost to those who did not know this room as intimately as myself. In the centre, there were two velvet sofas and a mahogany coffee table with matching end tables.  I, like few others on The Wynde enjoyed the luxury of electricity, so I’d had lamps placed all over the Archives.

                I did enjoy a bit of interior design every once in a while.

                I motioned to a sofa.

                “I need...I don’t know what I need...” Gus said, standing at the edge of the clearing of bookshelves.

                I paused, again, sensing something following him; a great shadow that yelled and screamed and fought.

                Something was different.

                “What happened to you?” I asked, sitting down. “I get people asking for help all the time, but something is far different.”

                Gus sat on the edge of a sofa, hands clasped together. It was the first time I noticed the rifle strapped to his back. Not that I looked at him in perspective, I saw the mottled frame of someone who’d been through some shit.

                “I was...I am in love.” He started. His bright blue eyes flickered up to my face and then back down at his hands.

                “Her father thought I was a disease. He would have rather his daughter be dead and have me suffer than watch us love each other.”

                “What did he do?”

                “He had his daughter killed and tossed me out, taking everything but the clothes on my back. I don’t even have an identity anymore.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                “It’s Boundary who’ll be sorry.” He looked at me. “I...I need revenge.”

                I eyed the rifle. “Didn’t you already take revenge?”

                “Not for myself. I’ve already done that. No, things need to change. I need to do this for Amelia.”

                I looked at him. He needed much more than I could give him. He needed something much much bigger.

                His blue eyes were filled with desperation, anger and a shadow that I knew was shared among many others. And inside myself I felt something trying to get out. Something that outgrew the very foundations of the mansion.

                Maybe even literally...

                                                                                *

                “Hey Little Fly. You going to the party?” asked Rick, balancing on the railing below the roof top and peering over the edge, looking at Nicki who sat on the slate gazing at the sky.

                “I dunno...I don’t really want to go...” she mumbled.  He could just make out a paint brush in her hand.

                “Hey, come on, we need to take our minds off things. And anyway, people are saying this one’s going to be different.” Rick frowned for a moment, then looked back up at Nicki, leaning on his elbow.

                “It’s just...Amber was going to go to this one.”

                “All the more reason to go!”

                “Yeah but...I’m still...you know...”

                “Hey, I get it!” Rick said as he pulled himself onto the roof top. “We’re all still grieving. I just think this would be a good way to say good bye, ya know?”

                He sat next to her, dangling his long legs over the side.

                “I’m not grieving, I’m just...angry.” Nicki frowned and squeezed the paint brush. “She wanted me to go to that university with all those...monsters! She wanted me to put up with them for 3 years, how am I going to manage that now?”

                Rick sighed. “She’d probably say something like ‘Quit moaning, Nicki, tough it out!’”

                Nicki smiled slightly. “I don’t want to go.” She murmured.

                Rick raised an eyebrow.

                “I want to stay here, with you guys!”

                “You can’t stay here, Nicki.” Rick looked down at her. She looked back, crestfallen. A look that Rick had seen melt hearts of steel. “I’m sorry, but you’re the first