Villian

Cold droplets of rain shower down on me. I run through town, puddles splashing under my fast steps.

How?

How could good, knowledgeable, kind professor be a murderer?

How could he be capable of something like this?

And how could I have been so blind as to have ignored even the possibility of it?

I wonder if Vivian knew.

She couldn't have. She wouldn't have stayed with him if she did, right?

I peer inside to see warm lit candles as the elderly converse and play cards.

What a beautifully cosy life.

But they've lived their lives. Waylen didnt get to. And even then, those who find themselves folded in the pages of books, who live and breathe literature- we are the hardest to keep content and that, that is our torment.

As lovely as it sounds, a life in a quaint little nursing home wasn't enough.

I push open the doors, more aggressively then I intended and am greeted by that same receptionist. "Ah Miss Bubbles, fancy seeing your uncle?" She asks. We both know I'm not his niece but I'm grateful she keeps up with the gimmick.

I nod quickly, stepping in front of her desk. "Room 50." She says, giving me a visitor pass.

"50? Last time I was here he was just in room 20." I question, looking at the card.

"Not that its any of your business, Mr.Chamberlain requested a more... isolated room. You could understand why. Barely has any visitors, seems everything died the day the rest of him did." She explains sincerely.

I look away, nodding slowly. "Speaking of, does he get any visitors beside me?"

"About a year ago, some man. And then a couple days ago another bloke." She mentions.

I bite the inside of my cheek, cracking my knuckles. "Alright, thank you..."

"Fern."

"Thank you, Fern." I say before heading down the hall to an elevator.

In a daze of concerning questions, I press the button and wait. The doors open to reveal a tall man, he gives me a polite smile, "Going up?"

Nodding my head, I enter.

I stand in the corner, harsh lighting atop us. I sneak a look at him, tall, older with a buzz cut and he wears a large silver ring with something black engraved on it.

"Crazy weather we're having, don't you think?" He says with a smile.

I look up, "Yes, very rainy."

"What floor?" He asks.

I didn't know what to say. I'm alone in an elevator with a stranger, who could undoubtedly overtake me.

I ignore him.

"Right. Sorry." He amends.

Before I had to acknowledge the awkwardness, the doors open. Thankfully, I see room 50 and rush out the door.

It was cold and dark. In stark contrast to the warmth of the lower floors. As though it were an attic, there were no other rooms. I grip my bag as I walk up to the door.

Hesitantly, I force up my arm and knock on the door.

Once.

Twice.

"What do you want?! I said I'd ring if I needed anything!" An old, angry voice bellows.

I twist the doorknob and the door creaks open, revealing that lonely old man sitting in his wheelchair, gazing out his large window as moonlight pours in.

"What do you want, girl?" He asks, staring at me through an angled mirror.

"Since you're not the sort for warm salutations, answers. I'm here for answers and I want the truth." I assert.

"Is that so? You just barge in and expect I'll spill every dirty little secret I have?" He asks, slowly.

"I tried sweet and polite, it didn't work. Now, what were you doing at the library tonight?" I push, becoming increasingly impatient.

"Enjoying the event. Didn't know that was a crime?"

"No, but murder is."

"Tread carefully, Miss. Burroughs. That's a large accusation." He notes.

"One that fits." I say.

"I know what really happened to you that day."

Silence.

"I know you didn't fall."

I look at the mirror. The moon's silvery sheen glistens on his dead features. His almost wrinkleless face, a byproduct of his lack of emotion.

"Then why are you here? Aren't you going to go tell your little police friends this very vital piece of information?" He finally says.

"Don't worry, the police will know everything soon. I just wanted to hear it from you." I reply snidely.

"Such a naive girl you are. I bet your heart was shattered when you heard the reality of that evil professor of yours. "How could he do such a thing?" Well he did. We all have a capacity for malice, darling. The question is: What pushes us over the edge? And do you know what it was for that prick? Power. Prestige." He expresses, disdain lacing his words.

"It was all me. All our successes, our wins- without me that bastard wouldn't have a thing to his name. Alone, he was just another high ranking student. With me, he was part of "The Oxford Four". You should've seen his face when I became valedictorian and was first of our class, red with rage- it was glorious. But that's not what sent him. It was when I was offered the very apprenticeship he was after, the one that would put my name in lights- put my name above his. Oh, his wounded pride couldn't take it anymore. Now, he wasn't just red with rage- he became murderous. I still remember the flame of fury that burned in his eyes just as his palms slammed into my chest, sending me to the depths of my despair-

God, how I wish it killed me."

His head hangs low, hand gripping the armrest. All these years of bitterness had molded into impenetrable armour, one that was slowly chipping away as was his will to live. To have worked so hard, slaved away for years on end- blood, sweat and tears, dreaming of the vibrant colours that'll make up your future only to have it ripped from your grasp before it even entered it.

His brows stitch together, lips pursed so tightly that they've whitened.

I don't look at him how I did moments before.

Was it wrong to feel for the villian? To understand their actions, almost justify them?

He didn't deserve this. No one did.

"And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" I whisper, taking a step toward him.

He looks at me,"I knew there was reason I loved Shylock as much as I did." A weak tug of his mouth.

"Empathy is perhaps the closest one will ever get to somewhat understanding another but unless you experience the very thing that burdens them, you'll never truly understand." His voice is soft, earnest and a little wistful. "I may be the villain in your story, Eleanor, but know this, it was not by my own hand and now those who wronged me shall suffer a mite of what I have." His gaze finds me once more, cold eyes- bereft of hope, of life meet mine.

I shake my head. "And what will that fix? Will it give you back your life? Your career? Will it fix anything other than subject you to more unhappiness? Four people have died, Mr.Chamberlain. Four. What has this revenge done for you other than momentary satisfaction? Have you no remorse for-"

"Did they?! Did they have any remorse for the goddamned prison they trapped me in?!" His thunderous voice silences me.

"No and they would have suffered for that. There crimes would not have gone unnoticed. You will have justice."

Deep, cold laughter erupts, "Justice? You think that I had a chance against the deception of that snake? He and that devil I once called professor made sure no one found out the truth about what happened to me, they silenced my wife- stole my chance of being a father, of becoming anything of worth. THEY RUINED ME." The pain that cradled his voice struck something in me. My eyes burnt.

He was robbed of everything.

They were horrible, what they did was inhumane- dare I say a fate worse than death, your body has died and you are forced to watch everyone around you grow old with their families, accomplish their dreams while you sit idly by, unable to move- static.

But he killed them. He took four lives.

My mind and my heart tug at each other.

"You're right." I say definitively, taking another step toward him. "They deserve to be punished. What they did was evil and traitorous but no matter how horrible they were to you, they were still fathers, brothers, friends, family. You have not just killed one but broken the hearts of hundreds- this will eat at you. You may think you are satiated, that you have gotten justice but soon you will feel the weight of what you've done and it'll be worse than the accident that has torn apart your life, for murder will tear apart your mind until it finishes you once and for all."

"And I will greet it graciously and relish in it putting me out of my misery." That poetic tongue and it's lethal prose that paralyse me in my spot.

He was too far gone.

Nothing could save him, could extinguish the fire that burned in his eyes.

I don't say anything. I can't say anything. I just nod before slowly spinning around to leave.

"Where are you going, Miss Burroughs?"

I halt at his voice. "I'm sure you can piece it together." I say, before striding toward the door. "Goodbye, Mr.Chamberlain."

"But you only just arrived." He proclaims as the door creeks open to reveal the man from the elevator.

"Hello, Eleanor. Finally, I meet the meddler that's been making my life so difficult." He greets with a gruff voice.

My eyes widen, legs betraying me as I take a step back. "Don't come near me." I reach into my bag, pulling out the gun that hasn't left my side since I received it that night in the library.

An amused huff escapes him, "You don't have it in you."

Tilting the weapon I assert, "Try me." I could barely hear his response over my heart's thunderous beating.

"Don't do anything too damaging, Dimitri." Waylen voices, almost bored.

Sharply, he lunges at me, striking my gun out of my hand. I leap out of his reach rushing to grab the weapon but he grabs my waist, hurling me across the room. My head bashes into the ground, blurring my vision but not enough that I don't see a dark figure approaching me. Crawling, I reach out my arm and pat down the ground in search for something to hit him with. A wooden stool finds me and without a second thought I whip it toward him but he grabs my arm twisting it behind me as his elbow wraps around my neck, sending me into a fit of coughing.

"You're even prettier up close." He breathed, a manical grin on his face. A pit of nausea and fear sinks into my stomach as I struggle to free myself. His other hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small blade. With no other choice, I scream. I scream so loud, my lungs ache. His rough, calloused hand smashes onto my face, silencing me. I see the fear in my eyes reflected from the blade.

"There are some things you ought not to mess with but many don't learn lessons the easy way, that's where I come in." He whispers.

I feel the tip of the knife on my chest and seal my eyes shut feeling the sting of it slicing into me as warm blood blooms into my shirt. My shouts of pain come out as nothing but muffled noise.

"Opt for more creative routes of injury such as, punching them in the throat." echoes Noelle's voice, prying my eyes open- forcing me to do something, anything.

"Enough, Dimitri." I hear the faint order of the man in the wheelchair. It pulls the former's attention away for a second, a second I take advantage of. Desperately, I push myself out of his grip.

"Speed is key." My friend's voice guides me through.

I force myself to move through the pain. I spin around to greet his furious face as he grunts, leaping toward me. Mustering all the strength I have, I punch him in the throat. He staggers back, gasping for air. Grabbing my gun, I bolt out of the room. I slap the elevator button vigorously and look back to a raging Dimitri who forces himself up. I bite my lips in fear, the doors finally opening. Scrambling towards it, I jump in as a loud grumbling begins behind me. He runs through the dark hallway, I grip the gun in preparation, praying my jittering hands don't drop it. The doors close as he slams on it, a string of curses follow me. Relief rushes over me before the pain does like a flood. I clutch the bleeding wound on my chest with one hand and with the other I push myself off the ground and unbutton the bloodied shirt, leaving me in a black undergarment.

I do not have time for the questions this will cause.

The elevator doors open and I pry myself off the walls and exert every last ounce of energy to run down the hallways, past the receptionist and out of the building.

Nausea minces my insides, darkness encircling my vision. I touch my forehead to feel beads of cold sweat and suddenly become aware of the dryness in my mouth. Dizziness swirls my consciousness and with every step I take towards my dorm, I grab the closest tree, bench, pole to stabilise me on the way.

~~~

"What the fuck?!" Shouts a male voice.

I grab the door frame, slowly twisting my head around.

Silas rushes to me, holding me from behind as I lean into him. He opens the door and helps me as I stumble inside, legs giving up.

Gently placing me on the couch, he cradles the back of my neck to prop pillows underneath me. He opens his mouth to speak but scanning me, he realises I probably won't be of any help right now. Slowly, he tugs my shirt to reveal the wound atop my breast. The crimson of the blood floods my periphery, it's coppery scent assaulting my senses- I fall victim to the comforting darkness, unconsciousness overtaking me.

~~~

The sting of cold water on the cut startles me awake. Biting the inside of my cheek, I hiss in pain and look up at Silas who finishes cleaning the wound with a wet towel. His rolled up sleeves expose his forearms as he threads a needle.

"What are you doing?!" I yell.

"Cleaning up your mess." He retorts, voice unamused- devoid of his usual playfulness.

"Its a small cut, you don't need to stitch me up." I lie, hoping he'll just bandage me up.

He doesn't say anything just shoots me a sharp look.

"Bite on this." He says, passing me a piece of wood. My brows furrow in fear as I put it in my mouth and bite down.

He jabs the needle in my skin and I bite down hard. The second stitch, harder. Third, tears pool in my eyes. I attempt to stifle the whimpering that escapes me.

He doesn't look at me once.

I don't feel anything anymore, it's numb. I open my eyes to see Silas packing up the first aid equipment. I exhale deeply. The pounding in my head, unending.

I look toward him, hair ruffled and gaze, sharp. "Thank you." I whisper.

He doesn't respond. He throws away the rubbish, checks the surrounding area and walks toward the door.

"Silas, wait." I say, weakly pushing myself up. He halts, holding the door open.

"What do you want?" He grinds out, back toward me.

What had I done? Why was he so angry?

"What's wrong with you?" I question.

"What's wrong with me?" He says in lethal slowness, slamming the door. "Who did this to you, Eleanor?"

I sigh, too tired to speak. "It's nothing important."

"It's not important? You fucking stumble in here, pale and bloody and tell me it's not important?" His voice grew louder. "You were doing it again, weren't you? Trying to find out more on this stupid case. Didn't I tell you to fucking leave it be? Sonders told you she'll fill you in on anything important. Why do you keep meddling with things that don't involve you?"

I raise my brows at him, scanning his face. "You don't tell me what to do. And don't you dare fucking yell at me like that." I say, rising from my seat, adrenaline surging through me.

"Don't do stupid things and maybe I won't yell at you." He slithers, taking a step toward me.

I glare at him. "At least I'm doing something, what the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing because I'm not an idiot. I don't mess with things I can't handle." He spits, coming closer to me.

I huff a laugh, "I'm not a fucking idiot, how dare you?" I shove him.

He laughs humourlessly, "Eleanor, you're not a spy or some trained vigilante. You're a student with no knowledge or experience in fighting or defense. Why the fuck would you go around dark alleyways or follow strangers on the off chance you might find some information on a case that is under control?" He finishes with a mocking smile, his body mere inches from mine as he stares daggers into me.

"Under control? Who are you kidding? You, I should've known that this somewhat sweet side of you was just a figment of my imagination- you're just as much an asshole since the first day I met you. Still the same controlling, arrogant.." His lip curls as he nods, agreeing with everything I say.

"Keep going." He says, coming closer, pushing me to walk back.

"Cocky, rude, pretentious bastard!" I yell, flashing my teeth and attempting to silence the heavy breathing.

"Am I?" He cocks a brow, voice low and angry as he stares at me, eyes flitting to my exposed chest. His warm fingers slide under my fallen strap and adjust it onto my shoulder. I take another step back.

"Yes. You are. God, you're worse!" I shout in his face and grab his shirt, "Why the fuck do you care anyway?!"

We breathe heavily, deeply. He shakes his head, huffing a laugh before he clenches his jaw, unwavering gaze set on me.

"I'll fucking show you why." His lips crash onto mine, slamming me on the wall. Fingers tangle in my hair, our hot breaths entwining. My hands curl up his torso, pulling him closer to me, urging the cold distance be closed. Wrapping my arms around him, I feel his mouth tug into a smile against mine. His hands travel down my head to my neck, in between kisses his fingers prop up my chin,

"You don't know what you do to me." His voice, rough and breathy. A warm, delirious feeling fills me as I gaze up at him, at his ruffled hair, the enticing darkness in his brown eyes, the softness of his lips.

He looks at me deeply, brows knitting together in desire, before he bites my lower lip and kisses me harder than the first time.