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It’s been five days since Aaron died.
Five days since Call last saw his green eyes. Five days since Alex Strike had fled, and had presumably gotten away. Five days since Call learned what it was like to truly, completely hate someone.
There was no trial, no hearing, no plea for his innocence. Call had been carted away quickly and efficiently, despite Tamara’s protests and the chaos—both literal and metaphorical—surrounding him.
Tamara had cried. Jasper’s face had crumbled, despite the fact that he and Call had—to put it mildly—never really been the best of friends. Celia had stared at him with nothing but disgust on her face. Many of the Magisterium’s students had come out to either whisper or jeer at his presence as he was whisked through the halls.
Master Rufus had just looked on, his face as unreadable as always. In that moment, Call had hated him. Just a little bit.
He still hasn’t heard from Alistair, and honestly, Call’s happy for that. He’s hoping that his father had the good sense to run or disappear as it probably wouldn’t be unfair to assume that the Assembly isn’t exactly too pleased with him at the moment.
So now here he is. Alone. Sitting in the middle of a room so white that it put Anastasia Tarquin’s chamber to shame.
Meals are twice a day. Every so often, a guard passes in front of the clear window to sneer at him. Tamara still hasn’t visited. After Day 3, Call had stopped asking for her. It’s been made abundantly clear that she isn’t coming to visit him—the Assembly has probably forbidden her from doing so. Either that, or she just doesn’t want to. Call can’t say that he blames her.
His worst fear is that something has happened to her, that she’s in trouble or maybe worse because of him. But Call tries not to think about that.
He tries not to think about too much of anything, honestly. But there isn’t much else for him to do. So he sits and he thinks, and no matter how much he tries to focus on something else—anything else, really—his mind always comes back to Aaron. Aaron, with his stupid perfect blonde hair and his stupid smile and his stupid “Together not dying, Call”.
Stupid stupid stupid.
Call was so stupid to think it would ever work. To think they cold ever hide who he really was. To think that they could get away with it and not have to suffer any of the consequences.
And in the end, it wasn’t even Call who had to pay for what he had done. It was Aaron. Beautiful, bright Aaron who Call swears had been the best person he had ever known. Who could do no wrong.
The dreams are the worst part. Sometimes they’re just memories, heart-wrenching reminders of what he’s lost. Other times, they’re nightmares. Aaron’s face looking down at him with disgust, hating him, cursing him, blaming him. Everything without fail, Call wakes up with his heart beating so fast that he can hear it and a sharp pain replacing the constant ache in his soul. But still, he doesn’t cry. He isn’t sure why. Crying is, after all, the normal response to loosing the one person who means the most to you.
But, Call supposes, it’s already been established that he isn’t exactly normal.
So Call sits and stands and paces, still dry-eyed, left alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he’ll mutter random phrases under his breath, but he’s sure to never be too loud. He’s not naïve enough to think that no one’s watching him, observing him at all times. He is the Enemy of Death, after all. Or he was at some point. He’s not exactly sure of who he is, these days. He still feels like Callum Hunt, a strange moody boy with a shattered leg and a giant wolf as a companion.
(He tries not to worry too much about Havoc, either. He concludes that if Tamara is okay, then Havoc must be too. If she isn’t—well.)
But the difference is that Call doesn’t hate the idea of Constantine so much anymore. Because what if he was onto something? Call knows that the creation of the Choas Ridden was terrible, horrible—he’s seen it first hand himself. But if it could actually work? If there was actually a way to bring back everyone who had needlessly died, like Sarah and Jericho and Verity?
If there was a way to bring back Aaron? Well. There’s no doubt in his mind about what he would do.
It would be hard, Call knows. First he’d have to actually figure out a way to break out of his bland and boring (but nonetheless well-guarded) cell. He’d have to track down Master Joseph and ask him for help—that is, if he hasn’t already decided to side with Alex. And then he would have to practice actually doing it, trying to bring back the dead. Make sure he had every little thing planned out. Call can’t risk loosing Aaron again.
But then there’s the fact that Call might never figure it out. He could be stuck forever, unable to save the one person who matters—mattered—the most to him
In which case, Call has a Plan B. If he can’t bring Aaron back? If he exhausts every possible resource, every possible option?
Well, then Call will have to move directly into step two. He’s going to have to track down the person who did this in the first place, the one who caused so much pain and heartbreak. The person who Call now hates most in the world.
He’s going to make Alex Strike pay.