I was enveloped in fear as that knife, the instrument that had been forcefully used to separate me from my tongue, glinted before me. It lay in the grasp of a tall terrible man, his dark hair clinging awkwardly to his head, held there by sweat and an excess of gel. His eyes, like amber, could have been beautiful had they not been forced into a look of madness and sheer evil. His wide shoulders bulged beneath his shirt as he breathed. Whatever shade of utterance I had owned prior to his appearing now hid, cowering in the shadows in which Gregory had hidden. His eyes darted about the broken fragments of the crystal, searching in vain for a way to piece them back together. His plans lay destroyed, mere flotsam and jetsam, on the floor. Anger filled his expression as he approached. I froze. It was as though I was asleep, experiencing my silencing once more, rooted to the spot. There was however, one fatal difference. Opening my eyes would not save me.
“What’s the matter, Myra? Cat got your tongue?” I said nothing, my half voice turning its head to the wall. Within a matter of seconds the man was within touching distance of Gregory. He licked his lips and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“I should have done this last time we met,” he said, forcing Gregory against the wall. His huge hands covered Gregory’s throat. I stared into Gregory’s eyes as he tried to free himself from the man’s grasp. He struggled in vain, pleading with his eyes. This man, whose name I did not care to know, was not about to hurt me again. Memories I had kept locked away after I lost Gregory now flooded my mind; I remembered when we had met during our tough training regime as I struggled with a large weight. I remembered the all too formal atmosphere produced by the candlelit restaurant and clink of china the first time we went out together, the two of us pining silently for a relaxed coffee bar. Then, in a flurry, came memories of kisses, white satin, gleaming rings and embraces beneath the sunset. As I held all these memories in my head, I resolved that I could not allow my fears to take my Gregory away from me. I drew my gun from its holster and ran towards the man with the machete. As I ran, my half voice returned.
“Leave him alone!” I cried. The man turned as I ran closer, crying aloud with the same refrain. He left Gregory inhaling deeply upon the floor. He faced me, grabbed me as I leapt and forced the machete into my stomach. I cried aloud in pain as I fell back onto the floor, blood coating my skin and soaking my clothes. With the last of my strength, I released the safety catch and sent a metal message to my attacker, my tongue’s torturer; it nestled snugly into his brain. With this closure in my mind, and Gregory’s arms around me, I slipped into unconsciousness.