5 | The Hunt

Amelia's POV

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The house is old and rundown, with chipped white paint and a yard infested with weeds. I gasp as a mouse skitters across my feet, then shiver in disgust.

I'm doing the right thing. I'm doing the right thing, I think as I take a deep breath. This is most likely a scam. There could be anyone in that house, from psycho to some kids pulling a cruel prank on me.

But I have to take a chance. I've grown up with the legend of people being brought back from the dead mysteriously. People would see them buried 10 feet into the ground, and a few weeks later they'd be wandering around as if nothing happened. There's all kinds of beliefs of how it's done-- the most popular one being the government is behind it.

But then there's people like me, who think the whole rumor is bullshit. I find myself here anyway, my sweaty and trembling hand ready to grab the pepper spray from my pocket at a moment's notice.

I knock on the door feebly. I hear voices ripple through the room behind the door, along with about a minute of shuffling.

"I- it's Amelia. Amelia Beaufort? I'm here about the letter," I call.

The door swings open, revealing a middle aged man in a suit. I let out a startled yelp and stagger back a few steps. It takes all I've got not to bolt down the street.

"You actually came," the man says. "Good. Come in."

I take in a shaky breath. "Who are you? How do you know about Cyrus, and my relations to him?"

"Why, we know everything. I have access to every file in all of North America. I especially pay close attention to those who have potential in ruling this country one day, and those who prevent it from being the best that it can be."

I flinch as his words sink in. I was too nervous to recognize him. It's the dictator himself, standing before me.

I give him an awkward bow. "I- I'm so sorry! I... didn't realize who you were..."

"It's quite alright, let's just get to business."

I follow him into the house and stuff my trembling hands into my pockets. Only few commoners have the chance to see the dictator in person, which can either be for execution or great success. He sits at a rickety, wooden table and gestures towards a seat across it.

"Would you care for some tea?" He asks.

I shake my head. "No thank you."

"Suit yourself."

I sit there for a torturously long five minutes as he stirs sugar into his tea, taking a sip after each spoonful to make sure it's just right. I watch, beginning to find myself grow impatient.

"So, um... about Cyrus..." I begin.

The dictator holds a finger up with a stern glance, making me flinch. Two more minutes pass. I'm convinced he's taunting me at this moment.

"Ah, perfect. So, let's make this quick. Those rumors of people rising from the dead are true, you know. Despite this, it is highly classified."

I nod earnestly. "So you can bring him back? Like he was before?"

"Precisely."

"I'll do anything!" I blurt out.

A malicious smirk creeps on to the dictator's thin lips, sending chills down my spine. "Anything?"

I'm beginning to doubt myself.

But I nod determinedly. "Anything," I confirm.

"You see, bringing someone back from the dead means the already too large population will grow. That is, they'd have to take the place of someone else. Now, this someone would be a criminal who drains from society. Someone who would already be executed if we were able to catch them quietly. Every now and then, we send unfortunate folks like you to chase them down. In return, you get your loved one back."

"All by myself? I don't think I could take down some criminal and bring them back all the way here."

"Oh no, you'll have to kill them."

I stare at him in disbelief. Does he really think that some 16 year old girl would be willing to commit murder. The criminal detail aside, murder is murder no matter who it is.

Even so, is it really that bad to kill someone evil, if they're going to die at some point anyway? Am I willing to murder someone for Cyrus?

I'll do anything.

I take a deep breath. "I accept the proposal."

The dictator smiles. "I knew you were sensible. Here's the file, you have one month to complete the assignment. Remember, don't show or tell anyone."

After handing me the file, I'm dismissed. I hold the yellow slip with trembling hands, not sure what I just did or what I'm about to do. I stuff the file into my bag and rush off to the train station.

When I board on the train, I pull out the file and slide the papers out of it. I make sure I'm in the very back where no one can see. There's a picture in the midst of the descriptions with the bold letters:

WANTED:

Jay Maverick

The picture is of a boy, who seems to be my age if not a year or two older. The photo is a bit blurry, which annoys me if I'm going to have to catch this guy by looking for his face in a crowd. But it's in focus enough to identify particular features, such as a long, white scar that begins at the corner of his eye and ends at his cheekbone. The boy is in the midst of a busy street of a town. He looks behind his shoulder with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

Sure looks like a delinquent to me. But I wonder what he did to make the dictator so pissed off?

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That night, I leave a short note to my parents. Something that will explain my absence without revealing my true motives, yet an excuse that won't make them worry as much.

I board the train to the town that will take me to this Jay character.