Jester Snippet (And yes I am work-shopping that name)

I WAS BORED

For some context, this snippet takes place in a sort of alternate version of California, with one of the vigilante characters that I have made that remind me a lot of Batman. (How original, you say) But basically, this was the end of the first book with her, where she has finally tracked down her mother’s killer, with the help of her two brothers and some other questionable companions. Her brother has been locked in a sort of observation room, unable to help his sister Wynter Wester who through a bloody battle has prevailed and now confronts her mother’s murderer.

I hope you all enjoy!

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The pain that Wynter felt when she saw the face of her mother’s killer was beyond any expectation that she’d had. For the first time since entering this fight, she understood just how much it hurt.

No knife in the world could cut as deep as this one.

Pain and fury mixed together into a haze as she let out a scoff.

“You had my mother killed… For this?”

The incredulity was there, a hint of laughter in the whispered words as she loosely gestured to the room around them.

The small man in front of her, his nose bleeding profusely from a previous blow to his face, scooted back on his elbows. His one good leg tried to aid in the shuffle away from her, a gash in his other thigh bleeding sluggishly. Before he could move further she leaned over, placing a boot firmly on his wounded leg. The man let out a scream of pain as she shoved the toe of her boot into the wound, making him writhe for a moment.

“I-I had no choice! It was either me or her!” He shouted, as if admitting this piece of information might save him.

For a heartbeat Wynter couldn’t feel anything but rage, and it was as if the white hot anger inside of her suddenly caused something to snap, like a string taught over a lit match.

A bark of laughter escaped her lips and pulling away from the man she padded to his side, crouching as she reached up and undid the straps holding her shattered mask in place. Letting the broken porcelain to fall to the floor with a clatter she sniffed, wiping the blood trickling from her own nose on the back of her gloved hand as she stared down at the man’s panicked face. The fury boiling within her chest did not reach her face, which was cold and practically aloof as she eyed him cynically.

“You killed my mother for a warehouse full of priceless artifacts… Yet you won’t be able to use any of the money you gained from it in the first place.”

The man shrank away from her as she spat a little bit of blood out.

“Please, I can’t go back to jail, they’ll kill me! Please!”

His words were a pathetic whine, and Wynter tilted her head with interest.

“Oh, you thought this would end with you going to jail?” She asked, confusion in her voice as she frowned thoughtfully.

It was almost sad that the man’s expression gained a tad of hope before she laughed again. It was an icy, cruel sound, one that had never escaped her lips till now.

“Oh no, this doesn’t end with you going to jail.”

Reaching back she pulled out a gun that had been tucked beneath her blouse.

From behind her, she could hear muffled thudding, her brother suddenly aware of what she was doing. It wouldn’t be long before Nathaniel would barrel into the room, trying to talk her out of it, stopping her from committing an even worse crime than she already had.

She had, for a long time, thought that she would be the good and kind person to give up this man to the police, including Nathaniel.

But now, she didn’t care.

She didn’t care about anything but killing the man who had ordered the death of her mother.

“You know, when my mom was murdered, I thought that I might be able to hunt down her killer and hand them over to the police. But you know what?”

She grinned, leaning closer to the man on the ground, waiting for an answer.

Finally, as she placed the barrel of the gun against his temple he asked shakily, “What?”

“I lost everything because of you, so I don’t really care about the police right now.”

The man closed his eyes, fear etched on every single line of his bloodied face as she leaned over him, the gun pressed firmly to his temple.

“Even better is that this gun doesn’t have six bullets, just one. I don’t know which chamber it’s in, so you could die right now, or in a few more trigger pulls, won’t that be fun?”

Her voice was high, a note of glee in it as the man let out a cry.

Cocking the revolver, she pulled the trigger.

The man flinched, but nothing happened, and she snapped, “You could have avoided all of this by simply not killing my mother.”

Another click, and he whimpered, tears beginning to streak through the blood on his face.

“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t followed your father’s footsteps,” She hissed, watching as he blubbered harder.

Click.

“I wouldn’t be like this if you had just kept your nose out of this type of industry.”

Click.

“My father would still love me if this had never happened.”

Click.

“You’d be alive if you had only let my mother live.”

She hesitated, watching as the man below her cried like a child. The gun rattled as he shook with sobs, his crooked nose spurting as he nearly choked on his own blood.

The thudding behind her crescendoed, wood splintering as she pulled the trigger one last time.

All that resounded in the building as the last chamber clicked into place, was the sound of a door falling to the floor behind her.

A bullet didn’t ricochet through the murder’s skull, and as he cried, Wynter straightened, the grin gone as she let the gun rest on a finger. A small chuckle escaped her lips, and finally she whispered, “And you’re lucky that my mother’s life means so much more to me than your death.”

Reaching down, she grabbed the mask, placing its cracked remains on her bloodied and bruised face before turning, shoving the revolver into the holster at her back. Nathaniel stood there, genuine terror on his features as he watched her, a gun held loosely in his own hands. She paused, staring at him as his badge gleamed dully in the light of the warehouse. His chest was heaving, as if he had put all his effort into breaking down the door after running a marathon.

From beneath her mask, a soft and sad smile played on her lips.

“You really thought I’d kill him didn’t you?”

Hurt pushed its way into the pain that already tormented her heart.

Her brother’s face was an ashen color as he looked from her to the murderer on the ground.

Then, it seemed to hit her, the panic in his eyes, the sweat glistening on his brow, and the gun in his white knuckled fists.

In a heartbeat, all of the pieces clicked together.

The worried talks about finding this man. The long nights of him staying at her apartment to make sure she was safe. The planning and joint efforts to find the person who had killed their mother.

It was all a lie.

She realized then. He had not volunteered to come with her to find out who had torn their family apart. He had gone along with her plans and raids because he wanted to keep her from killing someone.

He had not trusted her to be in her right mind.

A soft scoff escaped her, slowly turning into a full blown laugh. Nathaniel looked disturbed, his gun shaking as he watched her gasp for air, laughter wracking her bruised ribs as she bent over.

Finally, as the chuckling died off, she straightened slowly.

Raising a hand she gestured to the broken skylight, smiling as she said, “Well, I guess that answers that… I really thought that you’d be different from dad, Nate.”

Now, her voice was sad, pained and broken.

Come to think of it, everything was broken.

“We need to talk, Wyn, that was… That was different. You never said you’d kill him.” He finally offered.

She watched, waiting for some sign that her brother would in good faith put the gun away and trust her.

When he didn’t, she shook her head, letting her chin drop to her chest as she flicked her wrist towards the broken glass and metal rafters above.

“Nah, I’m done talking.”

Before her brother could say another word she heard the clang of her grappling hook hit the rafters, the metal rope tightening as she squeezed the trigger on the grappling gun.

She shot upward, the mechanism in the gun whining as it reeled all of the metal rope in. From below she heard the faint shout of Nathaniel, but she ignored it. It was too much to think, to breathe, to go back down and talk it out with her brother.

The upward ascent was so fast she flew out of the warehouse, hovering in the air for a heartstopping moment before gravity pulled her downwards. She landed with a thud on the rooftop next to the skylight, the grappling hook whipping back to the wrist gun. Before she could second guess her lapse of sanity… She ran.

Roof tiles, concrete, shingles, and any other rooftop material passed beneath her feet as she fled.

She fled the voices in her mind, the lack of faith her brother had in her, the disappointment in her father’s eyes, haunting every choice she had made since her mother had been killed.

She had been called insane by the people she loved the most.

She had been rejected because she wanted justice.

She had fallen into a pit that felt endless.

Yet somehow, she was still hanging onto her mother’s teachings.

She had done the right thing, but it had cost her everything.

Her foot caught on a tile, and she went down, slamming into a flat concrete rooftop as her tired body gave out.

After her bruised body stopped rolling, she laid still, void of any emotion but a deep pain that engulfed all. Breathing heavily, she waited, trying to sort through the jumble of thoughts crashing through her head.

Through the shattered mask she saw the roof, its hard surface the only anchor to reality that she had. She laid there, unsure of how much time had passed… And all she could think of was how much she wanted her mother back.

Eventually, the sound of sirens snapped through her daze, and struggling, she shoved herself upright, dragging herself to her feet. Blood was dripping from her chin, pulsing from other wounds, and now dotting the side of her that had hit the concrete, frayed clothing matted to her skin.

Coughing, she rubbed grit from her arm as she watched the flash of lights in the distance.

The finality of it all hit her then.

She had found the murderer.

She had kept her promise to her mother.

And now, in the ashes of her own work, she had to somehow continue.

Straightening, she felt a deep and dark resolve form in her chest. It cost everything to get to this point, and there was nothing to return to in this broken place, but what would it all mean if she just gave up?

If everyone thought she was a mad vigilante, then she might as well move forward.

Her father thought she had gone insane, and now, she realized so did the rest of her family.

The only person who could have helped her, was dead.

So she would become exactly what they said she was.

A strangled laugh escaped her, and dragging herself onwards, she embraced her new destiny.

She had been called the name, but now she would accept it.

She was the Jester.