Ruptured Mind 1.2 (Ever-changing Title)

Author's note: My friends, there's something all readers need to know. This is a first draft, and for me, that means rough writing, rough plot, rough characters - my only goal being to put the story down on paper. So if you're okay with that, please hang on. :) 

Changes: Tristen isn't wearing a suit anymore, but more casual clothing. And he has no gun (not allowed where's he's going, with intense security). I'll post the new changes with each addition so you're not confused.

Thank you all~

A few moments of silence followed, and while Tristen knew it would only last a brief time, he breathed out and enjoyed them. In his time of quiet, he trained himself to let go of the past, let go of everything he used to know. This was his future, his world. All else was behind him in a place clouded over by regret and anguish. If only he’d—

The small girl skipped along the sidewalk, jumping over the cracks spidering across the concrete. She sipped a carton of orange juice, spitting her swallows onto the road, smiling at birds and opening her arms to the breeze. Her curly blonde hair danced with the—

The world behind her faded to nothing but a realm of shadows. She was no longer smiling. The orange juice was dropped behind her, empty and forgotten. She stepped over the middle of the road, stood into opposing traffic, cocked her head at the cars racing towards her. The breeze whispered warnings to her, the only noise he heard. A light footstep followed, another step closer.

The car sped closer to her. She eased another step towards her approaching death. Tristen smelled the burnt rubber from the spinning wheels, the high revving from the car stopping his heart.

The girl stopped and turned to him, her eyes wide and soft, a single tear slipping down her quivering cheeks before—

“Hey!” Zah shook his shoulder, and Tristen snapped back. He looked at his hands, clenched white around the supports, then released them with a shaky breath. A hesitant glance to the sidewalk told him the girl was far behind them, probably still walking with the orange juice carton. She was safe for now.

“Another one of those vision things?” Zah asked. He flicked the blinker, drawing to a stop. The road sign read Duke Street. One already, and not even to Alexandria. “You looked so out of it, staring off at that kid.”

“Yeah, it was.” His voice shook.

“Glad I’m not you, bro.” Zah slid into the right lane and held pedal to the medal until the landscape was a blur. “Man, that’d be a drag.”

“Thanks for that.” Tristen ran a hand through his hair, sinking lower in his seat until he only saw to the dash—no more visions. “Makes me feel so much better.”

Zah made a noise like he was going to say something, but his mouth snapped shut. For the best, anyway. Tristen knew if their conversation extended much further, it’d become either a shouting match or they’d not talk all day. And in their business, communication was essential. So for the rest of the trip, they said nothing. The only sound was the engine and the blinker each time Zah turned—once onto the highway towards D.C., switching lanes during the expected traffic jam crossing the Potomac. Tristen knew if Zah had to, he could drive here blindfolded. Even with his eyes closed, Tristen knew where they’d been at each turn.

It seemed forever until they turned the last time, driving up the ramp onto the Union Station, where they parked every day of the week. They both agreed it was better to walk a few blocks to their destination than drive close and get more attention. Here in the Station, they were one in a thousand. Tristen sat up as the shadows enclosed the car, Zah driving inside the enclosure. It didn’t take long for them to find their slot, pulling into the same they used every day.

Tristen walked around the car, working blood back into his muscles, then went over to the meter, swiping his credit card across the slot. The screen showed a few different choices, but he tapped the 24 hour choice. There was no telling how long they’d be out, and having their car towed would be dangerous. The police searching their vehicle would be disastrous for both them and headquarters. Death for them. Inquisition for headquarters.

Zah handed him his thingy. There was a technical name for his minuscule earpiece, but it was far too long to remember. He slipped it into his ear as he walked, and ensured communication with Zah. His deep accent sounded through the piece—all was good.

They walked along in near silence, Zah throwing him a few snide comments as they made their way down the sidewalk and towards the Capitol. Tristen slipped on his sunglasses and allowed the khaki shorts and flip-flops to do the rest, blending him into the rest of the tourists. Zah muttered something through the headset about how stupid their costumes were for the fiftieth time, and he rolled his eyes. To him, dressing like an American tourist was odd, while anyone on the streets dressed each day like this.

“Close yet?” Zah fumbled in his pockets for something—probably his phone, so he could turn on the GPS. Washington would always be an impossible maze to him, a weave of streets in an out with no constructive pattern to follow. So Tristen lead the way, taking them through the few blocks left to their destination.

It approached in the distance, an unmistakable mountain among the other so many immense buildings around it. The tall pillars and countless windows winding around the several levels. The entirety of the outside was built of stone, hewn and shaped into what was now a national monument—the Library of Congress. It was as though they approached a modern castle, complete even to the ornate windows stretching from corner to corner, missing only towers and moats.

“Impressed at all?” Tristen bumped Zah with his shoulder, who looked at the structure with an open-mouthed expression. He pulled off his sunglasses, as though that’d change the image.

“Y-you mean we’re going to have to w-work with that place?” Zah was careful to not say anything that’d hint towards what their job was, but Tristen knew what he meant. “That place is like a fortress, dude. Impossible.”

“You said that last time.” Tristen lightened his step, throwing a silent curse at his flip-flops, which refused to stay on his feet. His feet were meant to be in tennis shoes or boots, and nothing else. “It’ll be fine. Just, you know, take a bit of work and planning to situate everything properly.”

“You’re the guy who sits around and chews gum while I work,” Zah said. “Sometimes I wonder who has the easie—”

He stopped to stare up at the stairs leading up towards the main entrance, shaking his head—either in disappointment or disbelief. Like he hadn’t stood beneath beautiful infrastructures before, or put hands on the immoveable stone. Tristen followed him up the stair, taking each step in stride. Zah wanted to walk slow, to feel the rock beneath his fingertips, breathe in the magnificence of the columns and statue fountains. Even the gossiping tourists didn’t bother him. All of this was nothing new to him, and he didn’t care about it, anyway. He’d watch the entire damn place burn to hell with a smile. In time, all things crumbled—dreams and buildings alike.

Tristen curled a hand around a stone spire on the edge of the stairs, running his fingers over the carved crevices and rounded corners, each inscribed with an image relevant to history. So much detail in such a pointless place, but they did it because there was love inside their work, their heart, for this place.

And now it was his job to bring it to the ground.

For LMS II - 1239 words