THERE WERE ALWAYS EYES ON ME.

Every move I made, every step I took; something or someone watched me.

"So," Ezra walked beside me, arm hooked around my elbows. We made our way through the spinning ladies and the gliding men. "The night's still young, M'lady." He flashed me an inviting smile so similar to a certain Gameboy Hawthorne, "What are our plans?"

"There is no 'our', per se." My eyes drank in the ballroom once more. Every person's face was skimmed over, yet my eyes chose to hit a break on him for a moment. Him with his silvery eyes. He moved with such elegance and perfection, you'd think he was born to hold that lady in his arms and raised to make her dance.

Those icy spheres were not on me, finally.
And yet I kept mine on him.

Until I did not.

It happened again. A movement so quick if I had blinked I wouldn't have caught it. Up on the balcony above, the curtains swayed in front of a closed, windless window. The vase rocked ever so slightly back and forth, before stilling once more.

Now what do we have here?

"My plan, however," My lips curved up as my eyes landed on the ladies chatting a few feet above me, "Is to do some more, er... socializing."

"And by socializing, if you are implying aimless flirtations, I would most happily accompany you." Ezra stepped closer. So he does need his job enough to do it. I held the tips of my lips up with some effort before turning and making my way to the stairs.

"As much as aimless flirtations sound good," I jerked open the hand fan, "I have more of a preference towards men. I intend to invest in some idle chit-chat."

The hall was full of gentlemen and mostly ladies, fluttering their fans, batting their eyes, and giggling amongst themselves. I doubt I was going to be able to fit in. And yet when has doubt ever stopped this Grambs?

"And also Ez?" I moved my legs.
My head held high and my fan opened wide.

"Posh language is so not your thing."

·······•✦•······

About fifteen minutes in I managed to lose Ezra and my ability to converse with any other female regarding dresses and fashion trends. Excusing myself for what felt like the fifth time in three conversations, I found myself leaning the weight of my body on my arms, against the railing. 
My eyes slipped shut.

It was starting to crowd me.
The people were squishing in.
Too much.
Too less.

I couldn't breathe.
I wasn't alone.

I wasn't alone in an empty room.

"Quite suffocating," a rich and honey-like voice brought me back to the ball, "Isn't it?" She was beautiful in the most royal way possible. Her skin was almost silky in the way it shined. Soft brown, chocolate sweet looking. Her eyes were pools into which one could drown. Dark, deep pools. Hair tied into a fall of the most intricate braids and the most dazzling jewelry clinging around her slender neck.

Forget the Hawthornes, Lib. This is divinity. 

The woman, in all senses, was gorgeous.

My eyes started to dry and I realized I must have been staring. "Oh uhm," I cleared my throat. Why was it so hard to look away from her? "Y-Yeah. I... I guess." The Pretty Boy in my head facepalmed, elegantly, of course. 

Sinful. The way her eyes narrowed and gleamed with intrigue was sinful.
"Ms. Grambs, is it?" It was different from the way he called me that. No this was sticky. Sweet.
And dangerously inviting.

Catching myself finally, I smiled, "Mhm. And you are, Miss?" There was something off about her looks. I couldn't quite place a finger on it, but it was un-naturally good. And I mean in a literal sense.

"Kezia," The woman let her hand out for me to shake, "Kezia Sinclair. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," with more than necessary effort, my gaze left Kezia and spanned over the dancing happening down. How is he still dancing? Is he a robot in disguise or something? AI's secret sentient?

Flicker.
The lights flickered.

It caused a few gasps and laughs. And then it flickered again.
Again and again and again.
Until it was all black.

The ballroom was filled with people to the brim.
You would expect the people to whine and complain or gasp and laugh a bit more.
Sounds of them stumbling, walking or even their dresses rustling.
There were about a hundred people in the building.

You would not expect deathly silence.
Not a breath to my ears.
Not a soul to my feelings.

And when the lights turned on?
In a space full of life, people, and sounds just seconds ago.

I stood all alone.

·······•✦•······

This is not happening.

None of it is real.

I am not real.

You're not real.

Arlene Amira Grambs, the two are not gone yet.
One still lives and one still roams.

How long will you run?
You'll be back to the home of homes.

Diggin and digging you'll go.

Past too, reap what you sow.

Says he so much without words.

Tick tick blows the clock.

Up at eleven, run the guards.

Which will take the arrow?
The Raven or the Dove?

Arlene, dear dolly.

Wake up.

·······•✦•······

"Good lords!"
"What is that?"
"Is this a show?"
"OMG! Look at him!"

Why wouldn't everyone just shut up?

"Mother, mother, look! It's floating in the air!"
"Who let this hideous being in?'

Why wouldn't everything just stop?

"Ms. Grambs?"

Why does everything hurt so less?

"Arlene," My eyes snap open. There are people around me. Yet only one looks at me. Kezia placed a hand on my shoulders, her dark eyes as magnificent as before. "Arlene, snap out of it."

The world was a pallet of dots.
And the dots blur into images. 

"What..." My voice was soft and hollow, "What happened?"

Were they talking about...

"You zoned out," The concern in her voice was evident, and yet little, naughty amusement creeped out as well. "'Had to shake you over so many times. You are quite a beast to wake up."

Happily ignoring the slight heat blossoming on my cheeks, I let my eyes take in the room. Most had their backs turned to me. Looking at something with utmost interest.

Something—wait let me correct that, someone, was dangling precariously off the ground.

On the chandelier.

How said someone managed to even get on the fragile decoration? Ask god. You can ask the guy too because the way he was swinging and swaying around, he was going to meet God pretty soon.

"What in the..." I made my way to the railing, Kezia right behind me. And creepily as if on cue, the man spun to face me. At that moment I realized two things:
1) That someone's face was entirely white, with black diamonds drawn on his eyes, and no eyebrows (visible at least). His actions were more of a circus clown's than a mime's.

And,

2) The normal human reaction to a creepy monkey-clown-mime guy swinging from a million-dollar crystal thing, blushing so hard that you can see it from under his white-ass makeup while looking at you... is apparently the Gojo-level urge to crawl into a ditch and die.

Kezia must have found my visible disgust hilarious because she had to cover her mouth from laughing. At me or the weird guy? I couldn't have known.

"Seems someone wants to be your Hawthorne," a familiar voice spoke behind me, "more than the actual one, huh, Leena?"

"You," I narrowed my eyes at Ezra, "are terrible at your job."

The brunette shrugged and stood beside me (granted, after winking at Avery unamused Kezia—see what I did there?). 

The mime started to dance—as much as he could, hanging upside down several feet above the ground. This was practically eye candy for all those twisted rich around me. Laughter, cheering, clapping, and joy. 

And then it stopped.

Suddenly all the air had been sucked out of the room.

The mime swished his hand as if unsheathing a blade. He turned and tossed his hands like there was an actual knife he was playing with. 
He smiled at the crowd and stabbed his fist into his abdomen.
Then fell off the chandelier. 
Bleeding red.

·······•✦•······

What the actual fuck was that?

My legs moved before my mind. My ears were ringing too loud to care for Ezra's protests. My shoulders were uptight, pushing anyone out of my way.

The body was on the floor. 
I was on the floor.

The mime was standing in front of me.
No lack of glee.
No lack of blood.

He was fine.
The woman in my arms was not.

Before I could even utter a word to the man, she groaned in pain.

Resting her head on my thighs, I tore off the closest available fabric to me: my gloves, and pressed them against the bleeding gash. How did this woman get stabbed? With what?

My eyes were frantic. Everything was dots again.
And these dots were spinning, blinking, and shaking.
My breath was too quick.
Everything was happening too fast.
It took me a second to realize, I wasn't panicking.

I was excited?

No. I was shocked.
And that gave me much more relief than the former.

My hands shook round the gloves.

What's going on?
Who was that clown?

Who is this lady?
Why her?
How her?
Why did that thing smile at me?
Why did I black out?

"Breathe."

Warm. Warmth covered my hand, firming my shaking. Silver eyes seemed to drown the panic in gold. He was here. And he was close. "Breathe, Arlene. Breathe."

Breathe. I could do that.

A moment passed by. And a moment was all I needed.
"Stab wound." My voice was low and still shaky, but I didn't dare to be. "Abdomen. Bleeding," I glanced at my inky black gloves dampening, "hard." Grayson's face was carefully calm. Not blank. Calm. 

"There might be head trauma," He gently slid a hand under her head. The furrow in his brows told me that he was right. The red on his hands did as well.

"Ezra-"

"Ambulance is on its way," He was beside me in a flash, "It'll take five minutes."

Five minutes?

The woman's face scrunched in pain. We were losing her. "Grayson talk to her." I hated the way I sounded so pleading, "Keep her awake. Keep her here."

A nod was all the reassurance I needed.

And within seconds, I began moving.
I kept the lady's wound closed, changing my gloves for some clean towels.
Grayson kept talking to her. His voice, as much as I hate to admit, kept me grounded as much as the woman.

And the blood kept bleeding.

"God dammit," I cursed under my breath, "Where is—?"

"The Ambulance?" A voice, old as time and commanding as such, boomed through the room, "I'm afraid," the man was every stereotypical military commander in his looks. He reminded me of Oren, aside from the fact he was a bit fair in comparison. Tall, buzz-cut blonde, and a scarred face.

"The ambulance will not be coming anymore."

·······•✦•······

They say respecting your elders is a form of respecting god. 
That it would send you to heaven and give you praise.

Well, I was always curious whether the Devil was hot or not.

Let's just say, the curses I hissed at the old man were nowhere near redeeming. My entire body was a spring ready to pounce. 
In a voice so bone-chilling it made my own neck hair stand up, I growled, "What the hell do you mean?"

"I mean, Ms. Grambs," The man's voice was as cold as steel, and yet a flicker of something resembling fear peaked out of his eyes, "There will be no ambulance coming for Ms. Martha."

If I'd take an eye out of two, he'd still be able to see with one. 
So it'll be okay, right?

"Mr. Douglas," Grayson's every word was a thousand crystals of ice, "Why do this?"

The man—Douglas—remained unfazed, only shooting me a wary glance before striding up to the woman in my arms, "Quite unfortunate, what has happened to you, Ms. Martha."

"Alas," He closed his eyes, hands caught behind his back, "We lose some, we win some." The man bent down to my eyes, "You are a good soul, Arlene Amira Grambs," He mused. He dared muse, "Wendy Martha was one too."

I didn't have time for this.
She didn't have time for this.

The cameras around me started to flash.
And a switch flipped.

"Call our finest doctor here! We must not trust the life of our dear Ms. Martha to any hospital." Douglas turned to the audience of the rich, suddenly with the face of a man so concerned he could faint out of worry.

Fake.

"Breathe," his voice called.
"Breathe, la mia bambola." His hands rubbed
the board-like hardness of my back.

"To kill, you would be killed."
He got up, wiping the red off his hands.
"Breathe, Dolly. This is not your target."

"This is absurd!" Kezia's sweet voice was torn up by disbelief, "She's hurt, we need to take her to the hospital." She turned to the world, in futile sorrow, "If anything happens to her, her blood would be on your hands."

Douglas simply took a pale woman's hand, walking her beside me, to the center of the dance floor. "A bloody hand?"

He danced. He danced with his wife.
Right beside me.
Clutching a dying woman.

"Now don't we all share one?"

·······•✦•······

Money is a curse.
Or maybe it isn't.
Maybe it is what comes with it.

Wendy Elina Martha lived.

A doctor, Miles Troy, had gone through the trouble of stabilizing her.
Don't ask how. Don't bother asking when. Don't bother asking why.
Don't bother asking at all.

The last few hours were the most confusing I had ever been in a long long time.

Grayson stood beside me.
Ezra leaned against the wall.
Kezia had a hand on my shoulder.

I stared at the sleeping woman in front of me.

A bloody hand? Now don't we all share one?

"We should tell this to the press," Ezra glared at nothing, "We should tell them all about that bastard. And his stupid minions."

"And what good will that do?" Grayson arched a brow, "The countless cameramen there saw it all. The only thing they will know and tell is that Wendy Martha was saved by a capable doctor in the direction of Arnold Douglas."

Ezra clenched his fists and pushed off the wall, "What they did back there—What he did back there, was wrong. And you know it damn well, Hawthorne."

"Trust me, Martin," The blonde glared right back, if not more dangerously, "I know better than anyone."

"Boys, please." Kezia pleaded.

Useless was one way to describe how I felt. 
The other was a little bit like fucked up.

My hand went into the cold embrace of the woman's.

If only I'd acted fast enough.
Maybe if I caught the clown.
What if I had sneaked you out?
Would you be awake right now?

Ezra and Grayson were arguing.
Kezia was trying to keep everything together.
I was simply staring at nothing.
At someone who was supposed to be nothing to me.

"Aimless bickering will get us nowhere, Martin," Grayson's words were firm and final. Without ever even turning towards him, I knew his eyes were on me.

"Fine," Ezra sighed, "What do we do now, Leena?"

What do we do?

Do I find the clown?
Do I find the doll?
The surgeon?
The home of Homes?
Or the dead girl?

What do I do?

"We go back," Kezia brushed a braid back from her face.

Ezra's eyes widened in protest but Grayson simply held his hand up. "Ms. Sinclair—"

"—Kezia, please—"

"—is correct." Silver clashed head-on with amber. "We go back. We dance and we play the part. A fool would decide to pick a fight right now." He could be wrong, but the sheer amount of confidence and surety in his voice made everyone in the room believe otherwise.  "And Martin?"

Ezra looked up, still frowning.

"You stay with Ms. Grambs."
Not a suggestion.
Not advice.
An order.

·······•✦•······