Twenty-One ◑ The Truth

"Agnes," Lucille nearly screamed into her phone. "Agnes, answer my goddamn call."

This was the fifth voice message that she'd sent to Agnes, yet she still hadn't heard a single word back. Whether or not Agnes was doing this out of spite, Lucille still wasn't impressed. This was an emergency, and she was stuck in the noontime traffic of New York. She couldn't move fast enough. She'd already made up an excuse to get off work early, but it would be for nothing if she couldn't do what she was supposed to.

And that was to find Mia fucking Beckett.

The girl who lied. The girl who made a fool out of everyone. The girl who Lucille wholeheartedly and blindly believed.

What an idiot she was.

The traffic lights above her car glowed green. The other vehicles moved forward, but there still wasn't enough space for her to speed through the stretch of road beyond. Gritting her teeth, she stepped on the accelerator and covered the small distance before getting stuck in a throng again. She reached out to dial Agnes's number once more, but she barely touched the screen when it suddenly glowed and flashed Agnes's called ID.

Lucille tapped answer and said without preamble, "You have to find Mia and keep her in her place until I arrive."

"Um, sure." Agnes was panting. She sounded unfocused, distracted. "Yeah, I'll do that."

"What are you doing?" Lucille demanded, but as soon as she said that, her brain immediately jumped into a theory and gave her an image of Agnes and Dimitri together. Doing things other than talking. Things that make people pant and sound carefree. Things that Lucille totally didn't approve of. "Are you and Dimitri having sex right now?"

"WHAT!" Agnes shrieked indignantly. "You made me spill my drink! I was using our old treadmill and I accidentally set it too fast."

"Hmm."

"Miss Lucille, that's gross. Seriously," Agnes assured her. Then after a beat, she added, "Sex doesn't sound too bad of an idea, actually. Just not with Dimitri. Never. He's like my brother."

Lucille relaxed a little. "Okay, then. So, are you up to find Mia?"

"Yeah, I'm checking our records now." Agnes paused, and the sound of a clicking mouse invaded the other line. "She lives in Borough Park. Quite a drive, but not so bad. You want me to drop by and say hello?"

"Not just to say hello," Lucille said as she maneuvered the car forward. "Bring some rope and our little trinkets."

"What? Why?"

"Mia has a lot to answer for." Sighing, she recounted the short version. By the time she was done, the street in front of her was clear ahead. She had to drive fast. "Text me the address, and I'll meet you there."

"Okie-dokie," Agnes replied cheerfully. "I'll see you."

Her bright tone sent a wave of warmth in Lucille's chest. Hearing Agnes's voice like this after not hearing it for what seemed like years was probably the best thing that happened to her today. She passed by a crossroad and was about to take the left path to Borough Park but she couldn't turn off the call.

"Look, Agnes," Lucille began, but Agnes cut her off.

"If you're going to apologize, don't continue," she said, her smile almost audible. "I don't need to hear it, Miss Lucille. We like each other too much to tolerate apologies."

Lucille laughed. "Yeah, we do. Now let's get that lying little shit."

◑≡◑≡◑≡◑

"Oh, hey, you guys!" Mia opened the door wider. "Come in, come in!"

Lucille and Agnes stepped inside Unit 3, smiling wide despite their suppressed outrage and the smell of rot that hang in the air. They'd met at the entrance of the shabby neighborhood and walked the rest of the way to this dilapidated apartment. Slung over Agnes's shoulder was the gym bag containing all their torture devices, and in Lucille's hand was a bottle of champagne.

Whether or not this bottle was for celebration or for an extra weapon, Lucille wasn't sure yet, but she figured they'd find out soon enough.

"I didn't know you guys would come," Mia said as she gestured around. "I didn't get the chance to tidy up."

"That's alright," Lucille replied, locking the door behind her. "We won't be long."

Unit 3 was tiny, with a chipped ceiling and molding wallpaper. A stained stove and a rickety wooden breakfast table shared the rectangular space with a couch and a TV set. On the carpeted floor was an open suitcase, around which all sorts of clothes were scattered.

"You're leaving?" Lucille asked Mia as the three of them sat around the breakfast table.

Mia glanced at the suitcase before rearranging her features into a smile. "Yeah. You know, I just want to forget everything and move on."

The way she'd said those words were so realistically painful that for a second Lucille's resolve stumbled. There was still a part of her that wanted to believe that the young girl in front of her wasn't a liar, that she hadn't played everyone in her palms.

"That's amazing," Agnes chirped, taking the champagne from Lucille and waving it in front of Mia. "But first, we have to celebrate."

Lucille grinned. "I'm so close to getting Cade fired. Give it a week or two, and he'll be getting the boot."

"Really?" Mia's face lit up, but there was a dark kind of wariness in her eyes as her gaze fell on the gym bag. "Let me get the glasses, then!"

With that, she set off towards the adjoined kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets.

Agnes flashed Lucille a look that clearly said: I'm ready when you are. Then, she asked, "How have you been, Mia?"

"Oh, I'm alright," the young woman answered, taking out three wine glasses and a small towel. She began to wipe the glasses slowly. "Just a bit stressed out. I wanted to visit you guys, but I assumed it would be best not to become such a burden. After all, you'll succeed in the mission anyway. All I have to do is leave."

Lucille simmered just a little bit hotter with anger. "Why so sudden, though?"

Mia lowered the towel. "I don't know."

"You haven't even seen Cade go down yet," Agnes put in, fiddling with the zipper of the bag. "Isn't the whole point to see him suffer?"

"I don't know," Mia repeated, with less conviction this time.

"Is it because you're scared he'll come for you?" Lucille met Mia's wavering eyes. "Or is it because you've been threatened with a restraining order and a fucking stalking injunction?"

Silence. A silence so tense and so thick that it dimmed out every sound around the apartment. Mia looked away after a couple of seconds of staring into Lucille's eyes, putting down the glasses and letting her hands fall on her sides.

"Well?" Lucille prompted, drawing herself to her full height as she got up. "What do you say?"

She didn't answer.

"Okay, sorry in advance." Agnes began to unzip the bag. "It's nothing personal. We just don't like being lied to—"

"Yeah, fuck off," Mia interjected suddenly, raising her hands, which were now clasped around a gun.

A gun. The entire room seemed to expand, like it was holding its breath for what was about to come. Still, Mia's words were more of a threat to Lucille than the muzzle of the gun aimed in their general direction.

"You're here being high and mighty when in fact you're not doing the right thing." Mia's voice trembled with resentment. "Don't lecture me like you guys are any better. You're not punishers. You're criminals, homewreckers."

Lucille expected herself to be filled with indignation, but she wasn't. Under the disbelief was a sense of numb acceptance.

But she and Agnes weren't criminals, right? Much less homewreckers. No, they were far from that. Hunting down abusive partners and players who rigged the game would never count as a crime. That was what Lucille had been led to believe. That was her purpose. Agnes's too.

Had they stopped to question the second life given to them by the gods? Yes. A thousand times in the thousand lifetimes they'd spent. But had they stopped performing their duties? No. Not when a lot of people still needed them, not when their identity was still spread through word of mouth. Why? Because they weren't doing it for themselves. They weren't doing it for the sake of doing it. They were merely enacting the wishes of others. They were mere servants.

All their lives, they just . . . followed.

That didn't mean they had to like themselves while doing it. That didn't mean they were ever truly happy.

"I did it for a reason," Mia continued. Her hands were shaking violently, but she held the gun steadily, her index finger precariously fixed on the trigger. "You do it for fun. Don't act all clean. Don't act like you want justice, because in the end, it's the thrill of it that you're after."

Agnes tried to stand, but Lucille quickly extended her magic to keep her pinned to her chair. If she moved, Mia would shoot her. And Mia was looking at Lucille, anyway. She was the target.

She knew very well that she could take Mia down. It wouldn’t require much effort, or at least, it shouldn’t. Now, however, she felt incapable of doing anything.

"That's where you're wrong," Lucille said calmly, her heart pounding. There was a growing heat in her abdomen, a rapid fire that stung like a freshly cut wound. "We do not condone punishments that are unaccounted for. What the others got is what they deserved."

"And I suppose you think I deserve to get tortured?" Mia stepped forward, shaking the gun at Lucille's face. "To die? What are you going to do? You're going to kill me?" She let out a shaky, unstable laugh. "You're going to add me to your towering body count?"

"Not if you put the gun down," Lucille murmured.

She tried to snatch the weapon out of Mia's grip through magic. This would've been an easy feat even though she's keeping Agnes motionless, but it wasn't. The tugging, burning sensation in her abdomen was growing sharper and sharper the more she tried. Yet the gun was still unmoving.

Mia sneered. "I know you're not as strong as you used to be. You already screwed Cade up enough. I'll just have to do the rest."

With that, she cocked the gun and pointed it at Agnes.

Time seemed to have slowed down. As Mia's finger pressed against the trigger, Lucille dove forward, her hands suddenly covered in thin, feeble flames. She extended them towards Mia's arms, to get her to drop the weapon.

But it was already too late.

The moment Lucille's flaming palms seared Mia's skin, a bullet sailed out of the gun's muzzle and whizzed in the air.

Right into Lucille's chest.