[Agent Files - Mark Collins]
TW: Physical, emotional and implied/brief sexual child abuse, heavy violence
He felt the wooden floor against his knees, stray nails that had been sloppily hammered in sticking out and poking against his skin.
His uncuffed hand found its way towards his shoulders, tracing the scars absent-mindedly, vision blurry and mouth half-opened.
The words rang clear amidst his hurricane of thoughts:
'Are you trying to sell me broken goods, Juniper?! Nobody at the hotel is going to want that!'
The memory was like an electric shock, commanding his nails to dig into the scars.
There were footsteps behind him, quickened and profound. The smell of cigars reached his nostrils way before a pair of arms wrapped around his neck, feeling someone let all of their weight on his back
He sighed. At least she's calm today.
"You don't have to be so sad. I told her to make sure they're gentle with you. Aren't you glad I'm so nice?"
No reply. He simply stared on ahead, somewhat grateful that her warmth would at least drive away the chilly sensation of being shirtless in the middle of night.
"...Are you ignoring me now? Come on, don't be unreasonable. You're all grown up anyways, and I need the money. You don't
want to starve because we can't afford food, right?"
Not that it mattered, he thought to himself. She would starve him either way.
He opened his mouth, every fiber of his body begging him to scream and ask for another job, any other job, that he'd do anything. But not that. God, not that. The words died in his throat, fear paralyzing him. With his consciouness long gone, instincts took over giving way to carefully fabricated lies in vain hope that it would keep her anger at bay:
"Thank you, auntie. For... For taking care of me."
His voice was strained, weak and small, as if it hadn't been used in years, at least not above a whisper.
She exhaled, the warm breath hitting his neck and causing him to shudder.
"That's more like it." She smiled. He could feel her smile in those words.
He felt her pull on his hair, the sharp pain making him finally turn to her and gasp—
Before he could inquire as to why, his mouth was forced shut with her tongue.
Mark's heart sank to his stomach.
He felt himself losing grip on his own mind, thoughts merging and fading back to his early childhood. He thought of his mother, and how she'd tell him fairytales, claiming that he himself was a charming prince waiting to grow up and find a princess to kiss, and they'd live happily ever after.
In a fraction of a second, that long-awaited first kiss was stolen, snatched from his hands, its magic shattered as the shards dug deep into his heart.
He failed to notice when the tears started rolling down his face, hardly even able to focus on the figure of his aunt, who licked her lips as she watched him attently, with an unfamiliarly distant gaze as if lost in her own memories.
"Awh, I thought it would be more fun!" She stood up, looking down on him, running her thumb over his wet cheeks to lick the tear. "...Father really had weird tastes."
She walked away silently, stumbling on the way out. Mark's hands dropped to the floor, the tears neverending, falling silently without a sob and staining the floor despite his stillness. He trembled, a sharp pang of emptiness spelling out the emotions he could finally process: grief. Grief and mourning for the last bit of his childhood that died on her lips. That was to die tomorrow.
Memories flashed back to the life he once had outside. With his siblings, playing and bickering through the day. His mother, and how she'd envelop him in her arms when the night felt too cold and scary. His father, and how he'd recount bedtime stories in great detail, going out of his way to mimic the voices of the characters.
They had all abandoned him by now. All gone. Left him to rot.
His pulse quickened, ears ringing in the same high pitched tone in which he'd screamed for help countless times. A cruel truth befell his arms like the decomposing corpse of a young boy's hopes: no one is coming to save you. Do it yourself, or die like the helpless dog you are.
His aunt re-entered the room, this time in clothes more suitable for bed. She crouched down besides him, not bothering to look him in the eyes as she uncuffed him, ready to take him back downstairs to the basement where he slept, the same nightly ritual they followed day after day.
This time, his hand reached out to her, a colossal amount of effort to make himself look helpless and genuine:
"Auntie, would it be okay if I... if I slept here with you? I'll do my best tomorrow, but I wouldn't like to forget who... Who I really belong to..."
Every word felt like an insult to the few drops of dignity he still kept buried within his heart, hot vomit daring to twist and turn in his throat, being swallowed back down in a hurry.
You can only win her game if you play her game in the first place.
Her grin was the same sickening, creepy sight as it'd always been. Her teeth were yellowed due to the smoking, and something cruel always glistened in her eyes when she smiled.
"See? I knew you'd come to your senses." She placed the cuff back on him, tied to a lengthy line of chains that was secured to a metal plate on the floor besides her bed. "I suppose you've been obedient lately, so why not?"
She ruffled his hair as if he were a dog. And really, he felt like one since the day he stepped foot into this house. Juniper walked towards the bed, laying down beneath the covers. Standing up was a difficult task for Mark. He felt dizzy from the eventful night and the lack of food, yet, with trembling knees, he made his way to the other side of the bed, one wobbly step after the other.
He tried to ignore the chains, tugging as the pressure around his arm grew tighter and tighter, gaze boring into the roof as the dark room was filled by soft snores coming from the dark-haired mass beside him.
During the course of many sleepless nights, he came to learn the railway near their house in outskirts of town was still active during the early morning. At about 5am, the train would pass them by, its engine loud enough to mask the rattling of the metallic chains.
All that's left to do now is wait.
Fear served as fuel for the burning fire in his lungs, some alien mixture of fierce determination and all-consuming dread. He hardly blinked, determined to not let the chance pass him by.
There were moments when he wondered if escaping was worth it. It's not like he'd never tried before, but nobody out there believed him.
'He's been so difficult since his mother died... I don't blame him, but I wish he didn't resent me so much. I'm the only family he has left...'
Or some variation of that. It's what she'd always tell the neighbors, before dragging him back for a rougher punishment.
She snored loudly into her pillow, an almost vulnerable sight. Mark sat up on the bed, his gaze focused on her, intense and violent. His hand reached up.
He could choke her. Cut off her air and end it all here. Surely she deserved it, she would've done it to him, she would've killed him if she had the guts, he's better than her, more courageous, he has the guts, he could choke her, he could kill her, kill her, just kill her damn it—
He blinked. When his eyes saw the dim light from the window again, the key was already gone from her waistband, his hands grasping it as firmly as they could between the shaking and rapid breathing.
She rolled over in bed, still as soundly asleep as before. His own thoughts terrified him, held him frozen in place staring down at her in fear of what he could've done, what he was about to do.
The train could be heard in the distance, brutally tearing Mark away from his thoughts. He frantically shoved the key in the hole, allowing himself a single sigh of relief when the metal chains fell onto the floor, not a single discernible noise over the loud noise outside. He made his run for the door, too afraid to look back.
This was it. This was enough. Tonight, he'd run away or die trying.
He stumbled into her living room, pushing through the weakness that dragged him down like heavy weights tied to his feet. Without thinking, he seized her gun, the one kept hidden deep inside a drawer in the television rack.
Mark made a run for the door, his own heart thumping against his ribcage to the rhythm of hurried footsteps. His entire weight was thrown against it, in desperate and futile attemps to force it open. Of course, there was nothing to be done without a key.
Too much noise. He had to think, quickly. If she caught him... He inhaled a sharp breath, and braced himself for impact before throwing himself against the glass window.
Surely this time the noise from the glass breaking was enough to wake her up. It didn't seem any wise to stick around and watch.
The outside world was dark and gloomy, the ashy blue sky of the early morning hardly illuminating his path. The icy winds ran against the cuts and bruises from the glass shards, causing him to hiss in pain, as if the world itself attempted to embrace him in pity with its poisonous touch.
He wasn't fortunate enough to have that information.
What was he running from?
A gunshot rang in the distance as reply.
Unable to run any further, his legs gave out many streets away. He mustered up the strenght to crawl into an old abandoned bus, hand over his mouth to stop him from sobbing. Hidden on the floor between the once-red faded seats, he managed to regain the air in his lungs—
"C'mon, you fucking dog! You know you can't run far from your owner, don'tcha?!"
He couldn't hold back a yelp, tears decorating the corner of his eyes as his free hand gripped the gun with a never before felt intensity, body running entirely off of adrenaline.
She muttered something he couldn't quite catch, but got the general gist of: orders. She'd gotten backup. Oh, they were in for his head now...
He wouldn't make it anywhere in a broken down vehicle like this. Maybe he could make a run for the next neighborhood through the window behind him...
With no time to think, he took the chance, rolling onto the floor and managing to get a few steps in— only to be met with the despairing sight of two tall men blocking his path.
Mark held up his stolen gun, one that felt far too heavy, far too uncomfortably violent in the hands of a boy who swore to never retaliate again after having his own face forever damaged for it.
Nothing would stand between him and his freedom today, not even a life. He pulled the trigger—
Empty. The gun was empty.
"...No." It was all he had the strength to whisper out, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.
One of the men tossed away the gun and cackled loudly, an open mockery of his suffering, as the other one grabbed Mark by the wrist, holding him in place.
"Ey, Juni!" One of them screamed out. "We found your stray!"
"No, no no no, wait, please-! I can work for you, I can do anything, just don't- Please...!" The desperation in his voice rose word after word, pleading and begging on the verge of tears that dared to spill at any moment. In the distance, he spotted her, marching towards them with her own handgun.
"Ooh, she looks real pissed..." One of the men whispered directly in Mark's ear, before tossing him into her direction, causing him to stumble forward while rubbing the area around his wrist.
"Auntie, listen, I'm- I am so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking-"
With a thud, his mind went blank, all scripted apologies and requests for mercy being stripped from his tongue, giving way to a pained grunt.
It took him a moment to process his head against the metal walls of the bus, warm blood trickling down from his skull. It took yet another moment to process her fingers wrapped tightly around his neck.
"Do you have any idea how much you cost me?"
Another blow was delivered to his face, this time a punch.
"It's so cute how you thought you had the right to escape."
It was difficult to breathe through his bleeding nose. He was too dazed to process the sight in front of him, still he made the effort to make out the way her black hair fell over her face, disheveled look making her more akin to a monster.
"You cost me my image, you son of a bitch."
Each pause had her driving his head further into the metal, tightening the grip around his neck. It took every ounce of strength in him not to black out. He knew she'd be rougher if he did.
She smiled through her anger, flashing her teeth like a beast vibrating in antecipation of her feast.
"So now, how should I punish you?"
He was pushed aside onto the asphalt, scraping every part of his body as he tried to crawl away.
"Should I break your legs so you never escape again?"
The sharp pain felt on his calf exploded into the rest of his leg when she stomped on it, not even adrenaline being enough to numb the feeling.
"Argh-! Fuck, no, please.."
"Or maybe you'd like a brand new scar to match the one on your face, wouldn't you?!"
"I..." Mark tried to speak through the pain. "Please... Please, just stop.."
"Hah, I can't hear you! You wanted me to stop? Grovel and beg. Apologize for turning your back on the only one who's ever given a shit about something as useless and broken as you."
The beating ceased. Yet this part, it hurt more than any blow ever could. He finally managed to catch his breath on the cold and dirty floor.
Accept your defeat. At least she's merciful enough to let you live. Just tell her what she wants to hear before she drives a bullet into your skull.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm worthless and you took care of me when my father..."
"When your coward of a father—" She interrupted.
"...When he was locked up. I'll go back and.. And obbey so I can be deserving of your... Kindness..." His voice strained, interrupted by pained groans between every few words.
"And you're never going to step foot into the sunlight again, isn't that right?"
"Yes. I'll... Stay inside."
"Stand up." She demanded.
Mark knew to heed the command like a well-trained dog. Everything was dizzy and shaky, splatters of blood all over the floor left behind by their altercation. She grabbed him by the cheeks, digging her nails into his face.
"Thanks to your little stunt, we gotta move. You better have enjoyed this game while it lasted, cause I can guarantee you're never seeing the light of day again."
It was all he could think in the seconds between his feet leaving and touching the ground as he walked.
There was no exit from this hell.
At the very least, he was alive.
At the very least, she hadn't stripped him of all he had left: his heartbeat.
At the very least, he'd live another night, even if by her side—
"Hands where I can see 'em!"
An unfamiliar voice called out from behind them.
His aunt turned back first, brows furrowed in shock. He watched her expression attently, the way she knew no excuse could be given this time. Just like every day in his life for the past half a decade, he mustered up some force despite his weakness, and looked back.
There was a woman dressed in a suit-like uniform, seemingly leading a group of similarly dressed people of all kinds. Although his blurry eyes couldn't quite make out the details, he noticed the weapon pointed directly towards them.
"You're Juniper, eh? We've been on your case for a while. What an awfully careful woman you are!" She signaled for the rest of her group to stand in formation, all of them armed. "Never a single trace to follow. But now, you even left us a trail of blood!"
Juniper cursed under her breath, fingers on the trigger, slowly taking steps backwards.
"Bastard agents, always up in everyone's business aren't you?!"
The last think Mark could process was being abruptly pulled away, head spinning due to the injuries, before the light pressure against his head and the arm around his neck denounced his position.
"Carmen, she's got a hostage!" Another one of the people in uniform yelled out.
"Turn back now or I blow his fucking brains out!" Juniper snarled.
She had the gun against his head.
A fitting end for something like him, surely.
"I don't.. I don't want to die... Not here..." The tears streamed down his face, followed by broken sobs and incomplete pleas for a miracle. With each sniffle came another threat from his captor, his begging overshadowed by the back and forth screaming from both groups of people.
"We can't just let her kill him!" Another one of the so-called agents screamed out at the woman who seemed to be their leader.
"God damn it Violet I know— Hey, you!"
"Made up your mind? Cause I sure made up mine!" Her free hand found Mark's mouth, covering it up to muffle his cries.
There was a moment of silence, heavier than the weight of the world on the back of a young boy. Anticipation drove each of them mad, with only the sound of their desynchronized hearts beating in fear.
"Step away from the kid, and we'll let you walk away free today."
"Yeah. Hand him over and we'll let you go."
"Pfft— Do you think I'm stupid?! Alright, you two...!" She looked behind her, ready to shout orders, before realizing her friends had long abandoned her at the sight of trouble. "...Shit."
"You're outnumbered. I'm giving you the chance to walk away scot free tonight, I'd take it if I were you. Would you really risk your life for that kid?"
Mark didn't want to let himself believe. Freedom was so close, he could touch it with the tips of his fingers, taste it on the tip of his tongue, yet it felt so unnatainable each time. No, the space once taken by hope was now occupied by tears, a perpetual sense of wondering over when things will get worse.
Juniper scanned the surroundings with her eyes, shrieking in frustration when she realized there was no way out.
Mark's heart raced another mile when she pulled him closer to whisper into his ear.
"Don't go thinking you've won anything. When I catch you, and oh, I will catch you, you're dead meat. One day you'll realize you're no different from me at all."
With no warning, he was pushed ahead onto the asphalt once again, legs failing him to the point that all he could do was kneel staring down into the ground.
When he dared look back again, she was gone.
Mark felt a weight be placed onto his back. A jacket, warm and fuzzy inside. It warmed him up in the cold of the morning. Pinned to it was a badge, and in it was written:
The woman who placed the jacket on him crouched by his side until they were at eye level, strands of her dark brown hair falling over her face. She wiped the blood running from his noise, careful to not startle him, causing him to flinch nonetheless. He stared at her like prey fearing the grasp of another predator, unable to comprehend the situation or the bickering from the 'agents' in front of them.
The woman who he assumed was the aforementioned Violet smiled sadly at him, noticing how wary he behaved.
"It's okay. You made it out. You're safe now." Her voice was soft and soothing, causing the waves of exhaustion to come crashing upon Mark.
He blinked a few times, attempting to regulate his breath. His head spun and he had no energy as to speak. Behind her, he saw the sun rise in the early morning, breaking free from its own starry dark cage.
The only thing Mark remembered before passing out were four simple words he gave voice to by instinct:
"The sunrise." He muttered through teary eyes. "It's beautiful."
A pair of arms caught him before he hit the ground. They felt warm. Not safe yet, no.
But at least they felt warm.
