Chapter Six: James

Here is Chapter Six, finally. Hope you enjoy it!

James

March 15, 1901

            I had done something horrible. Something completely unforgivable. There would be no way to help them now; they were done for. I was the bane of my own existence. How could they ever forgive me, how could they say that they still loved me even after

Present Day

            I wake up to screaming.

            It takes me a moment to recognize my own bloodcurdling cry, and a moment more to understand why. Pain seeping into my mind, I feel like I'm drowning in it – gasping for air, thrashing in the hospital bed. The difference is that there was no relief. Not a gulp of air to sustain me. I am only surrounded by the pain, suffocating in it, forgetting to breathe through the screams as all I feel is agony until my body gives up and everything goes black.

March 15, 1901

            Run. Far and fast. Draw them away, away into the forest. Breath. Branches tearing my face, my arms, my legs but I barely notice the pain. There are greater pains in the world than a few scratches.

            But I forgot that branches also trip.

            I fell flat, losing my grip somewhere on the way down. The small brass button I had been holding onto with all my might went flying, lost in the brush. I could hear my pursuers growing close.

            Panicked, I didn’t even attempt to dislodge my shoe but instead swiftly left it behind. I scrambled through the bushes, looking for a glint that would give away the button. My clothes and hands were covered in mud, thorns, and blood. I ignored the horrible feeling that the combination gave me and continued my search. It was only when my hands began to disappear that I

Present Day

            This time I refuse to lose consciousness again. I press my lips shut and breathe heavily through my nose. The pain is less, this time; it's tolerable. Whatever is in my head is giving me a chance, it seems. I cautiously open one eye to survey my surroundings.

            My gaze finds a worried Thea perched on the edge of her chair, probably waiting for me to wake up. There's something about her expression that confuses me. It's something about her eyes – they're filled with fear. Is she afraid for me? Or is she just afraid of me?

            I suddenly don’t want to know.  I don’t want any more bad memories, I don’t want to cause her any more pain. It had been all my fault anyways, I'm just making it worse by coming back now.

            I close my eyes again. The decision is both selfless and selfish at the same time; I'm extricating the horror that my presence brings upon her, but this is mostly for me, so I can know that she might be happy. I take solace in the fact that Thea will undoubtedly look back on this someday and thank me. I had betrayed her and Tim too many times for her to make the same mistake of placing her trust in a worthless liar again. If she attempts to, Tim and/or Daniel will surely bring her to her senses.

            Then again, Thea had so much love, trust, and loyalty in her heart, she might not have been capable of completely blaming me for destroying half of the city, breaking; nay, demolishing, the bond between the three of us, and foolishly attempting to live on Earth. It’s incredible how someone like Thea, who was so seemingly ruthless, could be so tender and caring. The true irony resided in her occupation; thievery was not an honest trade, mind you. The chivalry was heavily masked with layers of sarcasm and feigned indifference. We could all see right through it, except her. At the close of every heist, in the place of a stolen item, she always slyly placed a single paper heart. Upon it, in blue glitter pens, was a scribbled “Sorry”. Thea was too kind for thievery, she always had been. I remember how fervently she protested when we initially embarked on our plight to pillage and rob the extremely rich. Tim had to compare our intent to Robin Hood in great detail before convincing her. However, the instant she had used her transformation powers to scale buildings, pounce silently from rooftop to rooftop, and covertly remove ridiculously expensive objects from undeserving owners, Thea was in love with the idea. She loved the night air, the flight, the silent grace of the art. Her guilt was the only thing in her way of being a flawless thief. But perhaps that made her better at it; she could walk away with a clean conscience instead of being haunted by the undeserved treasures. Thea took only what she needed; not what she wanted.

            I’ve taken too much of what I want and not given back enough paper hearts. It seemed like a pointless gesture that helped none, but in truth, it reminded one to be civil and careful about what they took. It held the thief accountable for each stolen Fabergé egg, candelabra, and diamond tiara.

            I owed too much, and didn’t have enough paper and blue glitter to cover it.

March 15, 1901

            I’ve heard humans say that life is too short countless times. It’s ironic to hear, because at this point, my life has been too long.

            I feel like I wasted most of it, wallowing in my own self-hatred and adopting a worn-out disgruntled disposition. Though for the little slice that was spent here, with them, I was actually doing something – it wasn’t for me, it was a greedy trade, yes, but it was in the pursuit of something bigger than just personal gain. I know that I’m not one to talk, but I think that ambition comes from somewhere other than a singular objective; greed does not exclusively drive a man to steal bread, perhaps that is part of it, but the other part loves his family, is dying of hunger, and maybe is looking for a little bit of excitement before his poor mortal end.

            So here I am, face down in the mud, half dead, and surrounded by guards, and I still don’t know what was driving me.