Chapter Seven : New Mahone

Somebody is brushing hairs from my forehead. Then nudging my shoulder. "Sam, wake up," a voice tells softly.

A male voice. 

I am feeling confused. There's no male person in our home. Then who is it? Did Dad come back? 

I try to open my eyes, but can't, because sunlight is hitting me. Who the hell opened the damn curtains of the damn window? I raise my hands to cover my eyes, but something is in them. Something muddy.

Wait__I'm not in home, am I?

"Sam," that voice tells again. 

I snap my eyes open.

A strong face welcomes me.

I adjust myself in a seated position, glancing around. Who is this guy?

Shit! I fell asleep on the mountain top. All the night. 

I squint at the sunlight, not feeling as panicked as others should be. 

"Who are you?" I look at his blue eyes. 

"I can ask you the same question," he replies. 

I yawn, staring at my hands which are covered with soil. So do my clothes. 

"You're not the fast who slept here all the night." He sits beside me, glancing oddly.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Five o'clock."

I let out a breath of relief that I still have an hour. My mother usually wakes up at six.

"It's my spot. You shouldn't be here." I say coldly, feeling slightly suspicious. 

"I don't think so. You can't own a mountain."

I stare at him. I am trying to guess what his deal is. I've never seen him before and I should be angry and I should tell him to stay away from me. How does he know this place, anyway?

But I don't ask anything. 

Instead, I watch the sunrise. I let the light touch my skin, my feelings, my mind. The whole sky is now a mixture of red and orange. And a little yellow. 

And a little pale blue. And so artistic.

"You cried," The guy says playfully. "You have dry tears in your cheeks."

I sigh, "I did."

"Weird. Because I don't cry."

"I try not to cry." I whisper, touching the tears in my cheek. "It just....happens."

"What is in your hand?"

"Mud." I look at my dirty hands.

"No, your knuckles." He slowly takes my right hand, tracing the faint scars in the knuckles. From yesterday. 

"What are you doing?" I frown slightly. 

"You punched something earlier. Glass, right?" He tells, examining carefully.

I shrug, "They don't long last."

"Oh," he laughs. "The puncher girl."

"I know you don't know me. But I do know you." He speaks as a matter of fact. 

"Sure you do. You woke me up by calling my name, remember?"

"Right. I guess that's the part when other people say their name. It's nice to meet you, Sam." He shakes my hand.

He still doesn't tell his name.

I frown at him. Sunlight is touching pale skin, making his black hair shine. 

 Be careful, Sam. Ask him how he did find this place. Ask him what he's doing here. 

I inhale the fresh morning air and slowly take my hand from his. I brush my hands to wipe the mud away, needing water. We make eye contact. 

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Seventeen."

"You live here?"

"Nope. I am from another country."

"Canada?" I guess.

He looks a bit surprised. "How did you know?"

"How did you find this place?"

A little smile appears in his lips. "A friend of mine told me about this mountain. So I came here to examine if it was really beautiful as he said. And I found you. You should thank me, Sam. If I didn't find you, you could slip away from the top."

I exhale sadly and stand up, "Who is your that friend?"

"I don't think I'm going to tell you," he lifts himself up. "You're leaving?"

I don't reply and start to come down quickly, the ground is slippery. But I don't care.

"Whoa, whoa!" he exclaims behind of me. "Slow down, Sam. You'll fall."

"Let me show you how to walk down," I turn around and grab his hand. The next situation is pretty funny.

As we both slipped and I pushed him in front of me, he fell first and I fall on his body.

"God!" he growls, eyes closed. "Move your ass, you're smashing me!"

I laugh and swiftly stand up.

"Need help?" I ask him.

He sits up slowly, groaning. His clothes are covered with dirt, he has some minor cuts and grasses in his face and hands.

He looks at me angrily, "You pushed me."

"Be satisfied that I didn't kill you." I grimace, then laugh, showing him the inside of my waistband. 

"A Ruger LCR? You carry this with you?" His eyes are widened by shock. 

"It was a dumb move lying to me."

"I didn't lie to you."

Maybe. Or maybe not.

"Goodbye, Mahone Vandestine." I throw the moneybag in his lap and start walking. 

• • • • • •

Lynn Vandestine 

"You're not eating anything." His young uncle, Kramer, speaks to him worriedly. 

Lynn is folding his arms back of his head on the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

"I don't want to," he replies flatly. 

Kramer sighs audibly and sits on the edge of his bed. "Not eating isn't going to help you to protect her. I know you're hurt and sad and everything, but lying here all day isn't going to solve anything, Ly."

"She hates me."

His uncle hesitates. "Well__"

"You want to tell me that she has reasons to hate me." He sits upright. "I don't disagree."

"Are you still going to work for The Conditorem? After all of this?"

He looks into his eyes. "Working for them isn't something that you can quit whenever you want. It's their wish, Uncle."

"Then?"

"I'm going to take the Feingold Brothers down," he says sternly. 

Kramer shakes his head. "You can't. They have Sam as leverage, you have no idea how advanced their technology is. They're applying selective memory suppression to her, because Chief Malum doesn't trust you."

"I'm working for him now, but I'm also planning to destroy his society."

"You mean backstabbing him?"

"I'll never leave him alone for hurting Sam," he grimaces, remembering her pain.

"You need people who can help you, who have a rage against them, who you can trust."

Lynn stands up, his eyes determined.

"In a game of destroy, you don't trust anyone. You either fight or die."

At that moment, they hear a sound of glass clinking, from another room.

Lynn quickly grasps his revolver from the bedside drawer, then turns to Kramer. 

"Stay here," he whispers, pulling off the safety catch, alert of the stranger. He silently reaches to his study room, from where the sound came.

He stops, hearing. 

He takes a deep breath and kicks the door open with his legs, pointing the gun.

A guy is standing in front of the book shelves, sipping red wine, watching the books. Lynn sighs and puts the gun down, "Seriously?" 

The guy turns to face him, smiling. 

"Hello, brother."