In Silence

CHAPTER 39

The Gavel stood alone in his dark bathroom. Naked. Trembling. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. The man who stared back at him barely resembled the one he knew himself to be.

He was sweating, he realized. He pushed the hair off his forehead. He leaned closer to the mirror. Were those tears in his eyes?

He stiffened, furious. He wasn't a child. Not some weak-bellied girl who fell apart anytime the going got tough. He was the strong one. The one whose will, whose determination, carried them all.

Without him, Cypress Springs would have been lost. They all would have been lost.

He bent, splashed his face with cold water, then straightened. Rivulets of water ran over his shoulders, down his belly, beyond. He breathed deeply through his nose. His chest expanded; he felt the oxygen feed his blood, the blood his muscles. He swelled in size, stature.

He smiled. Then laughed. They didn't understand. His eyes were everywhere. While his generals scurried pathetically about, he saw everything, knew everything. Did they think he didn't hear them whispering to one another, exchanging furtive, knowing glances? Making their plans? His enemies, it seemed, were growing in number. Rage welled up in him. Those he trusted turning on him. Those he had turned to for support-indeed, for love-planning his demise. He had given his life for them. The things he had done, the chances he had taken-that he continued to take-to make their lives, their world, a better place. All he had done for them. Was absolute loyalty too much to ask for in return? He narrowed his eyes. Apparently so. And for that, they would pay dearly.

This was his town. He was their leader. Nothing and no one would change that.

Not Gwen Lancaster. Not Avery Chauvin. Tonight, he had stood in the shadows and watched as the two women formed an unholy alliance. One of Cypress Springs's favored daughters had proved herself an outsider. And traitor.

A spear of sadness pierced his armor, he fought it off. The urge to open his arms again, to forgive. Forget. Such emotions were for the weak. The self-indulgent. The unencumbered. None of those applied to him.

His every instinct told him to silence Gwen Lancaster, do it quickly, before she caused more damage. But there were rules to be followed, a proven system to be adhered to. To willfully ignore either would be a step toward anarchy.

It only took one, he thought grimly. One spoiled fruit. One self-indulgent individual on a misdirected campaign.

How was it that only he had great resolve? Why had he been cursed with this perfect vision? This absolute knowledge? He had been born to lead. To show others the way.

It was lonely. He longed to turn from his gift, his call, but how could he? He opened his eyes each day and saw the truth.

He didn't enjoy killing. He had hoped, prayed, that each of those found guilty would take his warning to heart. His lips twisted. But they had been stupid. Ignorant and small-minded.

Liar. Killing the last had been a blessing. A pleasure. The woman had left him no other option. Meeting with outsiders, calling insiders. She had forced his hand. She should have been silenced years ago. He had allowed others to sway him.

A mistake. One of several recent mistakes his generals loved to discuss. That they used against him. Who did they plan to replace him with? Blue? Hawk?

Laughable. He would show them. Soon they would see.

They would all see.