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Empty

Darkness without. Darkness within.

By Tami WeaverPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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After two decades, we still don’t know peace. And I’m fine with that. Each year that I’ve spent as a citizen of New Yellowstone, I’ve grown stronger and less interested in the way things used to be. War is our new normal.

The balance of power shifted in the last few years. We’ve been able to take back the Republic of Texas and push all the way to the Mississippi Wall. We are close to breaching the border now, and the Revolutionists know they are losing ground.

They’ve never stopped relocating the “Undesirables,” but as of late there has been an unprecedented influx of spies disguised as gays, people of color, atheists, immigrants, and defectors.

That’s where I come in. By assignment I am an interrogator. By choice I am a Stygian Valkyrie. I guess you don’t really choose magic though. The craft chooses you.

I became a Valkyrie on October 10, 2110, during a selection ceremony where I was submerged in the frigid water of the Grand Prismatic Spring. I’ve been told the spring was once hot, but nothing is anymore. Not since the eruption ushered in a new ice age.

When you go into the waters at the Grand Prismatic Spring, you don’t know what kind of power you will receive. In fact, you may not receive any magic at all. Only 8% of those who go in come out stronger.

If while diving in the spring, a stone finds you, then you become one of the chosen. Your rock is given to the Stonesmith, a lapidarist, who fashions the rock into a talisman locket that must never be opened.

In fact, I don’t even know how to open mine. It’s a polished black heart shaped locket with a silver snake coiled around it.

Of course, I would never open my talisman. Why would I want to lose my power? But there is no denying that I’ve spent countless hours looking for the seam, or any discernible way into the locket.

I love my talisman. I love my power. And I love my job.

Valkyries of old would go into battle and plant crippling doubt into the armies of their enemies.

My work as an officer in the military is much different. I don’t work with whole armies. I work with individuals.

Yesterday I interrogated a prisoner who was a top-level Revolutionist informant. Because of my gift, with one touch of my hand, I knew him.

I began to get to work.

Standing behind him, I placed my hands on his shoulders and moved my face close enough that my lips were brushing his ear as I whispered, “Your wife doesn’t love you. She’s in love with your best friend. She only married you because her father sold her to the government to clear his criminal record. She despises him for that, and she despises you as well. You’re a monster to her. She knows this is your last chance. If you can’t reproduce, you are a failure. You’ve failed your family. You’ve failed your country. You’ve failed yourself. You’ll be sent away. Because your wife finds you repulsive, she will do everything in her power to make sure that she does not become pregnant.”

I could feel him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“No one likes you, Donnie. Not your co-workers. Not your friends. They only include you because they pity you.”

I could tell he wasn’t ready to give up just yet, so I continued.

“Your own mother doesn’t love you.”

I hit a nerve with that one. His eyes began to shimmer.

“She left because you weren’t worth her time. When she had to make a choice between you and the drugs, she packed her bags and walked out the door. You weren’t good enough for her then and you aren’t good enough for anyone now.”

By the time I finished that sentence, my work was complete. He was broken.

“Tell me everything you know Donnie. Every last thing.”

I can usually break a highly trained soldier in less than 30 minutes. It’s exhausting work, but it never gets old.

Magic is the only reliable thing in my life, and I love the way it feels to wield this power.

Today it was stolen from me.

Estella Lynn Marie. I should have read the name on the clipboard before I entered the room. If I’d had, I would’ve either passed her on to someone else, or better yet, simply killed her and called it a day.

There are two seats at the interrogation table. I rarely use mine. Today I did.

“Eight years, three weeks and four days ago you turned me in to the Patriot Police,” I coldly recounted and slid into the brushed metal chair.

She was even more beautiful than she’d been in her twenties. It didn’t seem fair.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she said in a shaky voice.

“You made that very evident,” I flatly replied.

She shook her head slightly and trained her sad eyes on me. “What do you mean?”

“There’s absolutely no way you would have treated me the way you did if you thought you’d ever have to face me again.”

She reached for me, but her hands were cuffed to the table. I wish I had those handcuffs years ago. I wish she’d never touched me.

I wish I’d never loved her.

“This is going to hurt,” I said as I stepped behind her and placed my hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to hurt, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

“Wait,” she said as she leaned her cheek on my hand. “Please wait.”

I knew better, but I hesitated nonetheless.

“Can I at least say something?” Estella asked.

I let out a breath of annoyance.

“Please sit back down,” she implored. “I’m sure you have questions for me, and I swear baby, I will tell you everything I know, but before I do, I need to tell you…” her voice cracked and went out. Then she continued quietly, “I need to tell you that I love you.”

I don’t know what angered me more. Her calling me baby. Or that she had the audacity to say she loved me.

I returned to my seat.

“Say what you need to say if it makes you feel better. But know that I won’t believe a word of it.”

As though she’d forgotten her restraints, she reached for me. Again, the cuffs held her at bay.

“I've never stopped loving you,” she began.

“Here we go again,” I mumbled.

More times than I can count she’d fed me this line.

Estella and I met at a conservative Christian college. Homosexuality was against our beliefs, and worse yet, against the law. Ours was a secret love.

We’d be together for months, and then she’d hear something in a sermon or a speech and decide she couldn’t be with me anymore and she would leave me. Sometimes the breakups were kind and we would be friends. Other times, they were cold and harsh. Estella could be exceedingly cruel.

Every few weeks, she’d come back and say she couldn’t live without me.

It happened time and time again. My heart could not heal. It never had enough time to recover. Until the day she turned me in and I was sent away to the relocation zone. It took years, but my heart is now free of her.

Training those deep blue eyes on me, she continued. “I couldn’t have you in my life. I know you wanted to be friends, but I wasn’t strong enough for that. Every time I saw you, I wanted to hold you. Every time I heard a love song, I wanted to sing it to you. Every time I went to sleep, I wanted to be in your arms. Just being in your presence was a constant reminder of how I lost the greatest thing in my life, and I could never have it back.”

She actually managed a tear. This was an epic performance.

“You could have had me,” I corrected her. “I would have lived in secret by your side until the day I died. I never asked you to expose yourself. I never would have.”

“I’m not as strong as you,” she softly replied. “I wasn’t strong enough to love you, and I knew you needed someone who was.”

I leaned forward and looked closely at her eyes. She might be telling the truth.

“Then why did you turn me in?” I asked. “Why not just tell me you could never see me again and let me go in peace?”

“I tried that baby; you know I tried that. You wouldn’t give up. You wouldn’t go away. When I was kind, we’d be friends, and you’d make me fall in love with you all over again. So, I tried to be cruel, but you never faltered, you still remained. And I couldn’t quit you. I couldn’t stay away. This was the only way I could separate us.”

There was some logic in what she was saying. I would have never stopped trying.

Her face softened. “I knew I couldn’t be with you. And I knew that I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else in your embrace. I panicked. I made the wrong choice. It’s a decision I’ve regretted every day of my life. I wish I could take it back.”

Her words might be true. Or not. Estella was the queen of deception and manipulation. Now I was thoroughly confused. But I knew this one thing for sure. If she was looking for forgiveness, she wasn’t going to find it.

“That’s why I’m here,” she continued. “I can’t do it. I simply can’t live in a world without you. I came to find you. They arrested me at the station, thinking that I was a spy or something. But I’m not. I will tell you everything I know about what’s happening on the other side of the wall, but I’m really a worthless prisoner.”

That’s probably true. She’s pretty, she’s skinny, but she’s not the most athletic. She’s smart, but she’s not espionage smart. And if she’s not emotionally strong enough to be with the one she loves, then she is most certainly not strong enough to withstand a high intensity interrogation. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to my job.

I walked behind her and got into position. With one hand I brushed her long hair to the side, then leaned down and slowly moved my lips from her neck to her ear.

“What did you think was going to happen ‘Stell?” I whispered. “Did you think I’d be waiting for you until the day I died?”

She shivered and a line of goosebumps ran down her tanned neck.

“Did you think I’d just take you back?” I asked.

I felt her hands reach up and touch my face. I should have noticed that she was free from the restraints. Instead, I was once again, as I had been so many times before, hypnotized by her touch. I closed my eyes and breathed in the familiar cedarwood scent of her hair.

What happened next was lighting quick but I experienced it in slow motion. Estella grabbed my locket, breaking the chain as she ripped it from my neck. Effortlessly, she slipped the snake from the heart, and the stone split wide open. The interrogation room erupted in blinding black smoke.

“So that’s your secret,” her deep and seductive voice reverberated through my chest. “You guys are using magic. The dark arts.”

Within seconds the smoke cleared, and she was gone.

My locket sat open on the interrogation table, next to the handcuffs, which were now tightly in place on my wrists.

I picked up the necklace to see what was inside.

It was as empty as her soul.

fantasy
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About the Creator

Tami Weaver

Hi, I'm Tami. I'm an occasionally anti-social geek that loves board games and my cute but extra chonky pets.

Creatively, I peaked in 6th grade when I won my local Pizza Hut coloring contest.

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