Harrison, Truth and Lies

By Emma Bailey

~Every time I slip, I surrender.
And each time I slip, I worry that I'll fall.~

If you were on the verge of insanity, would you give into the voice in your head?
Harrison Gold has been branded as a vigilante, and a target to the entire city. Are actions justified if it was an act of self-defence? Will she finally get pushed to the brink of madness? Every action, every decision she makes has devastating consequences on the ones that she loves. How long will it take before she realises that some people just aren't worth saving? Her only friends are from a criminal background. Now she's constantly asking herself if she should believe those who influenced her change of behaviour, or if she should choose her own way out of the Brightfell contract list. It's going to take Harrison more than just her quick wits and increased stamina to get out of this hole. With one mistake leading to an all-out manhunt for the previous WM Media writer, is the vigilante known as 'Hatchet' finally going to meet her demise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326893620

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Harrison, Truth and Lies

Harrison, Truth and Lies

Copyright

© 2017 Emma Bailey

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-1-326-89362-0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Design by Emma Bailey

Harrison,

Truth

and Lies

Book one – Harrison, Speculation and Sociopaths

Book two – Harrison, Truth and Lies

1. Insomniac part one

Empress

PINK LILIES WERE HER FAVOURITE. I'd go to the market stall and buy one, placing it in a vase, watching it slowly bloom, and then after a few days, slowly wilt. When the flower began to wilt, so did my heart. And like Laurie Montoya, another flower couldn't replace the one that had died.

The adoration she felt for that flower was immeasurable. I would like to take you back to that memory. These flashbacks may seem hereditary, but I promise you, they are yours. I kept them safely under lock and key, and I kept them until I believed you were ready to receive them. Tonight, Empress, I will uncover part of the life you have since forgotten. Some of the memories will be uncomfortable to live through, but they will only make you stronger.

Being strangled by my own sanity. The memories I choose to believe. What makes you think I want to relive them? You're poison in my brain. Everything you say is a lie!

Lies are what give our lives purpose. If there are no lies, there is no discovery. And without discovery, humanity is a straight line without an end.

You're deceiving me. I'm not really asleep. I can still think for myself, and I can wake up whenever I want to.

No, you are not in control. Try and break out of this; you die.

---Memory: Brightfell Asylum. Years earlier.

Brightfell Asylum: a place for rabid animals and criminally insane people. Most of us are beyond help, but they try anyway. You're popping pills at least three times a day to try and help with your 'sickness.' I could scream 'I'm innocent' all day and they'd still block it out. A quick sedative, a trip to the padded room, and I'd be popping pills again.

Laurie Montoya was the only person who seemed to understand. Meeting her gave me purpose. Something to fight for. It was the motivation I desperately needed. Her memory, the sweet silkiness of her voice, the delicate, beautiful features of her face --- those were the things I clung to.

Days, nights, moments --- they never felt like anything more than a dream to me. A textbook routine of plain procedures which were easy to forget.

Even now, with the mattress underneath my body, and my legs curled over the side, I feel alone. There's a puddle of water droplets in the corner where the roof leaks, and I sometimes count them to try and fall asleep, like ordinary people would count sheep jumping over a picket fence.

People argue that mental institutions are worse than prisons. They're right. In here, you're losing your mind whilst they're trying to fix it. But this isn't just a mental hospital --- it's a prison, too.

Our freedom was blacklisted when patients tried to escape. These patients weren't rational, though, they were devious and cunning. The sort of people who inspire chaos, and force even the quietest inmates out of their cells to join the rebellion.

So they changed the system. Said, 'Fuck the system,' and brought iron gates and police batons to straighten us out. It was then a case of: do this, do that, go here, take this.

One of the orderlies opened the door. I stared at him, trying to search his eyes. Doctor Harding said you're allowed some time outside, he said.

Can I bring this with me? I asked, and I picked up the singular flower from the side table. I'd like to give it to someone special.

He nodded and gestured for me to leave the room, following behind at a close distance, keeping a watchful eye over my every move.

---

Walking down the small set of stone steps, a few sets of eyes drifted in my direction, then back to what they were doing. The orderly left me to it, but watched from afar, along with a few 'damage-control' guards. In a boxed courtyard surrounded by fencing, the inmates were trapped animals. Causing trouble in such a populated area would be a bad idea.

Just keep to yourself. Don't give eye-contact. And don't talk to anyone. Some of them bite.

I spot Laurie casually leaning against the barbed fence. She was staring into the open, at the life she could be living. The life we could both be living. The real world. Freedom.

I tap her on the shoulder, with the pink lily tucked behind my back.

I was allowed to go to the market stall and buy this, but I was monitored, and they fitted a proximity alarm bracelet around my ankle. There was no point in running.

If I didn't come back, the flower would have died by the time she received it. That is, if she ever received it.

But I did come back. So I could give her this flower, and make her smile. She has the most beautiful, pearly-white smile.

She turned around, and her face was radiant when she saw me.

Hey, I said, I hope I didn't scare you.

You didn't. I was just admiring the city, she explained. Do you ever wonder what's happening out there?

Sometimes. But then I remember that the world is cruel.

The world isn't cruel, Empress, she told me, only people are. She stared at my clasped hands. What have you got behind your back?

I presented the pink lily proudly, smiling. A gift. She took it gently from my fingers and looked at it with adoration.

I love it, thank you. You're so sweet, she said softly, cupping my cheek. I will treasure it forever. She tucked the flower into the top pocket of her grey shirt and looked at me with caressing eyes.

Flowers won't last forever, Laurie. Not in these conditions.

It doesn't matter, she said warmly. The gesture is kindness enough.

I only wish I could do more, I admitted, dipping my head to the ground.

She placed her fingers under my chin and gently lifted my head so that my eyes were staring into hers. You've done more than enough, she said softly, and she placed a small kiss on my lips.

You know, this is turning out to be a pretty good day.

Why is that?

Because I'm here with you.

Slowly, the light faded to darkness.

And then... fireworks.

---Memory end.

You... you gave me a very special moment. Thank you. But this isn't over, is it? It will get worse. The memories will become nightmares, my insomnia will be set in stone, and I will be traumatised. I'm not sure I'm ready to relive---

Your readiness is not imperative. I will continue, regardless.

---Memory: The residence of Empress, Laurie Montoya and Harrison Gold. The day of the uprising.

It's the typical case file for murder. And it starts just the same.

We were minding our own business, then they broke in, more than we could take on. Their bullets destroyed everything they touched. Vases, furniture, the plaster covering the walls. And I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

I don't know how he found out about my powers. But he did.

His men had us pinned, restrained, hopeless. Hunter ignored the damage he had caused. He just wanted to get to me. To use me.

I didn't have a choice.

I have a proposition for you, metahuman, he said, and he gestured his men to bring something forward. It was a large black bag, heavy duty, with a full-length zipper.

The men pushed me onto the floor, holding me in place with their automatic rifles' red dot sights accurately set on my skull.

Open it.

Nervously, I unzipped the bag, but the contents shook me far beyond my limits. The body belonged to Switchblade Jack, and his portrait was horrifying, even in death.

Please. You're not suggesting... I started speaking, but Hunter was clear of his intentions.

Show me what you are capable of, he said, and he looked at Laurie, the woman being restrained like a prisoner. Restore his body and I will release her.

And I'm supposed to trust you?

Her time is limited. It will be her life, he paused and he looked at Jack, for his.

That's not how it works! Even if I brought him back --- even if I could --- the process demands that someone else falls in place for life given. But I cannot determine who it will be. I cannot simply exchange life-for-life. It is a sacrifice, controlled by random chance.

Just get it done. I will accept the consequences.

Then I only hope the Gods are watching over me, I said, and I assumed my stance, with my fingers pressed on the corpse, and my breathing calm and relaxed. Gudk uk sra oksarvurrd. Trek dacekeum rok baam koda bae omusrar. I ok kurrae su brems rek bocd su srek vurrd. I occavs sra voem kur ossakvsems kicr o kaos. I umrae vekr sra kokasae uk kae vorsmar, I started speaking, but the ritual had not begun. (Gods of the afterworld. This decision has been made by another. I am sorry to bring him back to this world. I accept the pain for attempting such a feat. I only wish the safety of my partner.)

Is this some kind of joke? Nothing happened!

My mind was now unfocused. I was praying. It is necessary to pray before the reawakening.

I don't have time for this. Get it done now or I will kill you both! I'm sure one of my scientists can perform the same 'godly magic' that you possess with just chemicals and cell manipulation, he said. Your role in this isn't as important as you think.

I placed my hands back on the body and started reciting the ritual. I corr ivum aeui su baksuv reka ivum srek baems. Las ka kvaod sraer moka su aeui, ku aeui koae brems srak bocd kruk sra oksarvurrd, omd bocd su srek reka. (I call upon you to bestow life upon this being. Let me speak their name to you, so you may bring them back from the afterworld, and back to this life.) I raised my hands slightly above the body and continued breathing calmly.

I raksura sra kuir. Jocdkum Coem. (I restore the soul. Jackson Cain.)

The colour returned to his skin, washing over his face, and his chest began to regularly rise. His eyes shot open, and he threw me to one side. Still lying on the floor, I could only bare witness as the man got up and ripped the bag cleanly in half.

My body was wrenching after the reawakening, but the soldiers lifted me from the ground.

You are very special indeed, Hunter said, but his attention was fixated on the miracle. Mr Cain. I know you are confused but listen closely---

One of Hunter's soldiers dropped dead. A life for a life.

Jack growled and ripped through a wall, exposing the electrical wiring. He took hold of a particular wire and pulled it from the wall, causing sparks on the other end. He stretched it out and wrapped it around his hands, holding the wire in a firm, straight line.

Your anger can be controlled. I can help you control it, Hunter continued. Jack's head jerked to the side. We must purge this city of criminals. The woman with dark hair has caused an uprising. She has inspired disorder. Lady Montoya must be dealt with.

Jack's gaze switched to 'the woman with dark hair' and he approached.

Laurie.

Hey! Hunter! We had a deal! I tried fighting against the tiredness, but my powers overwhelmed my very being, and I knew it would soon catch up to me. Leave her alone!

I'm afraid it is out of my hands, he said. She is the first of many.

Mark my words. I'm going to find a way, I insisted angrily.

It was going to happen, and I couldn't stop it. Any emotion I felt --- every emotion I felt --- did nothing.

Jack proceeded further.

I tried to look away, but the universe was compelling me to watch. He choked her with it. Her delicate, slender throat was marked with a pink scar from the wire.

As she fell limply to the floor, and a pink lily fell out of her clothing, hurtling towards the ground.

It felt like a slow motion moment.

I wish it was.

She kept it. After all these years... even after it had wilted and died. The one I gave her back in the asylum.... She held onto it all this time.

Laurie... I said emotionally, and my tears couldn't be held back any longer. I broke free from the guard's grip and ran over to her. I collapsed to my knees and grieved.

Jack looked down at me menacingly, waiting for his next command. Leave her, Hunter said.

My powers are killing me... I'm sure of it. Each time it gets worse – worse than I could've imagined. Next time, maybe my body will just stop trying and give up.

I didn't even look up at his smug, ignorant face. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

We're done here, he said. Any news on the vigilante? Hunter and his men started walking away, and my vision started to blur.

Nothing more, sir, one of his men replied.

She'll be there. Did you get everything?

Yes, sir.

The sound was getting quieter, and I was starting to feel dizzy. Good. Set up a channel. Patch me through when you have a visual.

What about her?

Darkness filled every inch of the room.

Don't worry about her. She won't remember any of this.

---Memory end.

2. Insomniac part two

Empress

HE WAS INDOCTRINATED.

You know, using fancy words doesn't make you any wiser. In fact, it just pisses me off. For all I know, you're playing me. I can't believe you brought that memory back. That was one I wanted to forget!

Mr Cain wasn't in control. He was merely a puppet to Hunter Reeve's commands. Reeve would give him an order, and Jack would execute it --- no questions asked.

So, like me? Clearly, that is your intent: to use me as a puppet. Point me to a bridge and expect me to jump, type of thing?

That is not true. And I reminded you of that memory to sway your decision, should you decide that you want to leave your beloved to wilt, as that flower did.

I want to bring her back, but I can't! I can't let myself fall. I need to stop myself from falling. Further. Every time I slip, I surrender. And each time I slip, I worry that I'll fall. And if I fall, I'm worried that nobody will be there to catch me.

What about the vigilante? She has proven that she cares about you, and your safety. She would no doubt catch you, and if necessary, she would probably fall, too. Do you not believe that she will protect you?

I don't know. There's always a catch. Even if she is my guardian angel --- even if she does care --- there must be something she wants. People don't just help without wanting something in return. Not in this city.

She lost someone too, remember? That Dead Caliber assassin: Kara Osen. I am not sure if she wants you to use the reawakening ritual on her, or if she is just incapable of deciding, like you.

Your point?

My point, Empress, is that she is much like you.

First you say I have no free will, now you're saying that I'm allowed to choose? Start talking.

I am afraid that is impossible. We must continue.

---Memory: BPD Precinct. Interrogation room. 15 years earlier.

The door slammed shut and my hands were cuffed to the table. Their interrogator, Detective Asher, was a young woman, mid-twenties, easily the hottest police officer I've ever seen. But she knew the pressure points and the techniques to get a scumbag talking. Her hair was the same colour as mine: naturally brown, flowing past her shoulders.

I was barely sixteen. But I was a loose canon, a troublemaker.

Heavy boots and clinking chains were dead giveaways that she had entered the room with me.

Come on, Empress. This is the fourth time I've caught you in here, she started. Last time it was shoplifting. What have you done now?

I leant forward, with a drunken grin plastered on my face. Always a please to see my favourite detective.

Listen. I'm going to be straight with you, alright? You're drinking under age and you've already got a criminal record. I could put you in a cell right now if I wanted to. But I'm giving you a chance. That's more than most get.

I sighed. Alright, Detective. Ask away.

Tell me what happened.

I was at a party. Drank a bit too much. Kissed another girl. She outed me to the entire school the next day. We got in a fight. I broke her nose. Her parents found out, called the cops. And, well, here I am.

Who was the girl? Do you know her name?

Not a clue. Just know her by looks. Short black hair. Brown eyes. Dressed like a slut, I described.

You're free to go, she said, unlocking my handcuffs. And please, try not to get arrested again.

---Memory end.

Wait. The girl. Short black hair. Brown eyes. She looked like that reporter on the news channel. The one representing WM Media. The one who started talking about 'Panic' and got cut off by Hunter's broadcast.

That can't be a coincidence.

You are correct. Miss Victoria's likeness in the TV show matches that of the girl in the memory.

Oh shit. This is bad. She's working for WM Media, she knows about 'Panic' and she was the girl who outed me. And I kissed her.

But what happened to Detective Asher? She would be in her forties by now. Is she still a cop? Is she even still alive?

That memory seemed short, though. Like there was something missing. I have so many questions. Like, why did it start in the interrogation room? Who was in charge of the precinct at the time? And what the hell happened to me afterwards?

Ask the vigilante when you wake up. We are almost done.

What would she know about my past? We only met seven years ago, and even now I barely know anything about her. You're the only one who's giving me these memories. You must know what happened afterwards.

Believe me, you do not want to know. And that is the end of it.

---Memory: Jackson Cain's private apartment. Year unknown.

Maybe we were in a normal house.

Maybe it was an ordinary day.

One ripe with cloud-filled skies, the birds tweeting in the distance, and the leaves gently falling from the autumnal trees.

You'd hear children playing in the schoolyard, and the sirens from the police cars that roared past every hour. I didn't see the sunlight, though – only if I drew the curtains and stared through the window long enough.

But that would be a fairytale story, not the grit of real life. In real life, I don't get a happy ending.

Jack owned the place. He owned me. As far as he was concerned, I was a piece which he stole from the store. And I wasn't the first. There were many before me, and I wouldn't be the last, either.

He didn't understand consent. He didn't care.

The word 'no' was banned because it meant he didn't get what he wanted. And he always gets what he wants.

I had to watch the emotion drain from their eyes, as they remained open once the deed was done. I thought being asked to slit someone wrists was the worst he could get me to do... but I was so wrong. Like always.

Because of his influence, I killed someone.

Because of his influence, I became a murderer.

But my thoughts were interrupted by that droning growl echoing from the dining room.

Babe, I'm hungry. Make me some dinner.

Years would seem like decades, days would drag longer than twenty-four hours, and a minute would be sixty seconds too many.

I was running out of time, and patience. But I calmed myself down, sighed and moved into the kitchen.

It was a game for him.

He didn't tell me what he wanted to eat, so I had to guess. And you'd be surprised if I didn't guess wrong every single time.

I brace myself for his threatening voice. Shouting, 'wrong', 'do it again.' I keep making too many mistakes. Soon, his harsh words and his switch-blade won't be tucking me into bed at night.

Here's your dinner, I said nervously, placing the plate on the table in front of him. I had prepared him a steak, medium rare – just how he likes it, plus a side of fresh vegetables and new potatoes.

He looked at the plate, then back up at me, and his brow furrowed with disappointment.

No matter how much effort I put into it, he'll still throw it back in my face to make me try harder. It's a waste of my time, effort, and it's a waste of food. There's nothing wrong with that steak. And, honest to god, I could've purposely undercooked it so he got food poisoning, but I didn't.

I hope he chokes on it, that ungrateful schmuck.

You're god damn useless! he shouted, and he picked up the plate, throwing it on the floor. Pieces of porcelain shattered over the laminate flooring, and the food smeared grease and stains everywhere it touched. That's a mess I'll have to clean up.

His shadow towered over me. I've had it with you and your accidents.

I can't do anything right. Everything's always my fault.

It's not my fault, I didn't know what you wanted and--- I tried to justify myself but he didn't want to hear it.

Jack's mood worsened. He got closer to my face until I could feel his hot breath against my skin. I told you what would happen if you made another mistake.

He had me under lock and key.

No, please! I stepped backwards and placed my hands out. Stay back!

You know I hate that word, he growled. You've crossed the line this time. There was a small flick, and his signature switch blade was activated. That meant I'm either dead, or I'll wish that I was.

He grabbed hold of my jaw. If I flinched, he'd cut a bit deeper than just my skin. He might slice something important.

So, as much as it hurt --- and it really did hurt --- I stayed still.

The blade had made its incision.

Urrnnnh... I tried to brave the pain. He lets go of me, and the blood trickles down my cheek, feeling like a tear streaming down my face.

I ran into the hall, crying silently to myself.

Seen, but not heard.

I can see it when I look at the shattered remains of the mirror in the hallway. The cut wasn't too deep, but it stung worse than a paper-cut. I just have to think myself lucky that it was just a small cut, and that I still have some dignity left.

Emma!

I returned to the living area, feeling like I'd been summoned by a king, to go into battle... and never return.

I presented myself as calm and composed as I could, despite wanting to cry myself into a fit, and then crawl up in a ball and just die from the emotional pain.

I-I'm here, I said, wiping my cheek with a tissue, holding it in place to contain the blood flow.

I don't like hurting you, baby. But you need to learn. Now, get back in the kitchen and try again, he said threateningly.

It never occurred to me that one man could be so manipulative and heartbreaking at the same time. He makes me fall for him, so I forget why I'm angry, or why I'd want to leave.

I stay. He hurts me. And the cycle continues.

But almost breaking my hand on the kitchen wall made me realise that I've got a fire inside of me. And I'm not going to just sit and take his abuse for the rest of my life.

I'd make a move on him one day, and that was a promise.

---Memory end.

You're an idiot if you think that that man is my 'beloved.' The only person I love is a woman, and I'm fine with that, and if you're not, then you can fuck right off.

Trust me, Emma, I have no intention of ruining your relationship with Lady Montoya. In fact, I am trying to convince you to bring her back. You have proved she is your beloved, and I see clearly through your eyes that she is your world. In times like these, we must cling to our loved ones, and even though it may hurt, you must let go of them eventually.

That's depressing.

One final memory, that is all I ask of you. Stay with me.

---Memory: Jackson Cain's private apartment. Year unknown.

Do it, he ordered. I was in the bathroom. The bathtub was full of midnight blue hair dye. My skin was cold as my knees pressed into the black bathroom tiles. Jack was behind me.

In my head, I was begging for him not to push me in. Part of me, though, wanted him to. So I could go without another day of his abuse. So I could take the emergency exit and never look back.

But I'm not a coward. And he's not that shallow.

I couldn't be myself anymore... I had to become something more. Someone else entirely. After today, he would expect me to act differently, wear different clothes, become his partner in crime. Emma Zjastr is the woman who makes mistakes and hides in the corner, shaking in fear. Empress is a crime boss at heart, instilling fear into others; not herself.

If I want to survive in his house --- in this city --- I have no other option.

Do what? Drown myself in dye? I challenged.

Ha. You have a sense of humour. That's cute, he remarked. You know why I'm asking you to do this. You even said blue was your favourite colour. It's nothing against your brown locks, but blue is so much more... powerful.

You want me to look like a criminal. So I don't ruin your damning reputation, I said scornfully.

He didn't disagree. I can see you want this too, he paused and whispered into my ear, Empress.

I sighed. All right. Time to make a statement. I coated