Chapter Three

I was given my own hotel room. It was beautiful, marble walls, stone ceiling, chandeliers, million-dollar furniture.

It was a beautiful prison.

I didn't sleep all night. I found myself pacing back and forth, wanting to break everything in the room. My father was in his own hotel room, one probably not as nice as mine. How cruel it was to keep us separated on our last night together.

I needed to talk to someone, to plead with whoever is in charge of the execution, to let me die instead of my father. Surely, they'd accept that, right?

Tears kept streaming down my face, they never stopped once since I arrived at the hotel. I tried to leave the room, knowing there had to be someone here at the hotel I could speak with.

But the door was locked. I was, as expected, a prisoner until the moment my father's head hits the floor in a bloody puddle of apologies to the nation.

They could all choke on these false apologies for all I cared.

Frustrated, and still breathless from sobbing, I grabbed a large ceramic vase, and slammed it down on the door's handle without thinking twice. If they want to keep me trapped here, they shouldn't have expected it to be easy

The door's handle fell off after only a few times of hitting it with the vase. It dropped to the marble floor, making a loud clattering noise, as the heavy door swung open. I exited my hotel room with a mission.

I noticed the tiny cameras on the walls, all poorly hidden as I was aware they were watching me. There were probably guards coming for me right now, so I had to be swift.

I ran down the halls of the building, corridor after corridor, it felt like a maze. Where are all the people? Where was the exit? The walls felt like they were getting smaller and smaller the longer I ran. At this point I was almost positive that I was running in circles.

I began to open random doors only because I had no other ideas on how to pursue my mission. I was running out of time, I could hear rattling, people talking, I knew they were coming for me.

I opened a door that was nearest to me, only to result in coming face-to-face with a broom closet.

I wanted to scream.

I tried to open another door -locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Everyone I tried to get into, I ended up gripping the handles, trying to yank them off.

I began pounding on the doors, screaming at the cameras because I was hopeless, and stupid, and I had no idea on what to do next.

"Mirea?" I heard a familiar voice say in the door behind me. I turned, tears streaming down my face. Hope flared in my chest as I realized who it was.

"Dad?" That was the first true breath I had taken all day. Finally, my lungs could breathe.

I ran up to the door, pressing my body against it when the door handle wouldn't budge. Of course, it was locked. Where were his guards?

I could hear the sound of him pressing against the opposite side of the door as he spoke, "Are you alright sweetheart? Did they hurt you?"

I shook my head knowing he couldn't see me, "No they didn't hurt me. What about you, are you alright?"

There was a long, agonizing pause before he answered, "I'm fine, baby, I'm fine."

Liar.

"I'm going to get you out of here." I tell him, "I'm going to free you I promise."

Liar.

"Mirea." My father's voice was stern, cold like I'm just another political nobody he's trying to debate, "Listen to me right now." I could see them now, a few officers running towards me at the end of the hall. I pretended to ignore them, because I knew there was no way I could outrun them. "I want you to do what they tell you, do not do anything stupid, do you hear me? These people will hurt you, and they will do it just because you gave them a reason to. They don't care about you, so stay on their good side."

"They're going to kill you!"

His voice grew louder, "And I don't want them killing you too! It's out of your control, so just do what they tell you, don't give them a reason to put you on stage too."

The officers had approached me grabbing each of my arms like I were an animal. I didn't fight them, instead I chose to ignore them even more. "I love you, dad." I said, as I was sure he and I both knew I wasn't going to listen to his advice.

"I love you too, Mirea." His voice sounded broken, it hurt my heart to hear.

I was brought back to my room where two women were waiting. They didn't look angry at me, or annoyed, though they didn't look sympathetic either. One held up a bag of makeup and beauty objects that made me wince, where the other was already walking towards the closet looking through the abundant amount of clothes so foreign to me, I couldn't even look at them without heaving.

The fancier styles weren't something I would ever get caught dead wearing, at least not until now.

I was told to sit at the vanity, as the first woman began to immediately add pounds of makeup onto my face. The other began to lay out dress after dress on the bed, each more revolting than the last.

My father and I weren't ever poor. In fact, we were very wealthy seeing as he was the mayor of Oregon. My father's paycheck would satisfy dozens of families, he and I were both aware of that. I refused to live in a mansion-sized home. I refused to hire housecleaners, and personal chefs -I didn't like the idea of them going through all my stuff anyway.

It's not that I consider myself a humble person, I prefer the term 'motivated'.

A lot of my money went to things I was more passionate about. Oregon is, and always will be my home. And as it is my home, it's also the home of the beginning of a revolution, and there was no way I wasn't going to be the financial spark for its uprising. I always believed in letting the people be heard, now I wondered if that means anything at all in the grand scheme of things.

I stared at myself in the mirror as my hair was being curled by both the women. I had no idea what time it was but seeing as they were rushing to finish me up, I knew the 'event' wouldn't be long from now.

My heart was pounding.

I didn't know what to feel, my emotions were all over the place, and I found myself unable to cry because I was so anxious about what was about to happen. The disbelief was washing away, and I was left with the abhorrent reality that my father was going to be murdered in front of the entire nation within the next couple hours.

When they were finished I couldn't even look at the outcome. I allowed them to push me out of the room without a word being said. They led me to a group of officers who forced me out of the hotel, and into a shiny black vehicle that was to take me to the only place in the world I didn't want to be.

I thought about how quickly this all is happening, how only yesterday I was sitting on the couch with my father, watching the television in disgust. Walking away from him because I was free to do so. Now he's going to leave me for good and I can't help but regret not taking advantage of every moment I had spent with him.

What a horrible daughter I have been.

The entire car ride seemed like an eternity, and even if it was, it still wouldn't be long enough. I didn't want to arrive at the concert hall where they film the execution, and yet, as we arrived, they forced me out of the vehicle, holding my arms as they guided me in.

I could have screamed, cried, begged, but I didn't. I knew it'd do nothing but make matters worse. I love my father. I love Oregon.

But I'll be damned if I let them get away with this. I will punish the country for this. I will spend my entire life trying to end the tradition of The Bone Cutter. I will keep going until I see Inanis fall.

They pulled me into the building and brought me to a special secluded area to sit located in front of the stage. I was so close, I could reach out and touch the stage if I wanted to.

The stage where my father will be murdered.

Already, an abundance of people were taking their seats, excited to watch the show. These people were sick, twisted, I wanted to scream at them all.

I could barely even sit. My hands were shaking, and my entire body ached either out of horror, or anxiety I wasn't sure.

I was so focused on what was about to happen that I hadn't realized someone was sitting beside me until I looked over.

I wished I hadn't.

My mother sat there, a false sympathetic look on her face as she saw me. The first time we've seen each other in years.

"Hello, Mirea."

As if things couldn't have gotten worse, they had to sit me right beside the one woman I hated more than any other.

I gritted my teeth, I could hardly breathe because I was so nervous. My teeth chattered because I was cold, despite sweating out of uneasiness. Everything was just so odd. It didn't feel real.

"Please don't." I gasped, clenching my hands into fists, "Don't talk to me."

Her voice was gentle, like she was speaking to a five-year-old who scraped their knee. "I know this is tough-"

"I said don't fucking talk to me." I rose my voice, "We both know you don't give a damn about me, and you are enjoying this. I don't want your sympathy or your words, so don't. Talk. To. Me."

She didn't try again. Her lips pursed as she whipped her head back to the stage, her sorrow façade melted into her natural disgusted image.

The lights in the room dimmed, and the stage lit up. The crowd of people behind me all took their seats and shut up from their loud chatter. Everyone was excited, eager to watch another sick politician exit the world.

My heart was pounding and yet I couldn't find any way to get my father out of this mess.

You could hear the large cameras filming the scene click on, and I knew all of America was finally tuned in.

The spokesman walked out on the stage, his suit dazzled in the spotlight. "Hello, America!"

The audience roared.

"Beautiful voices!" The spokesman complimented the crowd, "I can tell you're as excited about this showing as I am."

I felt like I was going to be sick.

"But you're not here for me," He shook his head, "No, you're here to see the one man who tops them all." The audience was screaming but I could hardly focus on all the noise. My head was dizzy and I wondered for a moment if it would be a good thing to pass out. To miss the event all together.

"King of politicians, our savior for a better country, the one, the only, Inanis! America's Bone Cutter!"

That damn name. I never wanted to hear it again.

Inanis walked out, wearing a white showman's coat. White, so America can have the satisfaction of seeing him coated in the blood of his victims.

It's tradition.

In his hand was again, the shiny cleaver, with the jewels decorating its handle. So much death was written on that tiny piece of metal.

Inanis bowed to the cameras, as the cheers for him grew louder. When he looked up, his eyes scanned the crowd, as if he enjoyed the site of the packed room. Then his gaze landed on me. Most people would be honored to be noticed by Inanis, but as we locked eyes, he smiled at me, a cruel, menacing smile that sent shivers up my spine.

I looked away first.

As the crowd died down, Inanis beckoned for someone behind the stage to come out. Seconds later, my father walked forward, his hands bound in chains, and he was covered in sweat. Even though it has only been one day since I last saw him, his face looked pale and gaunt like he hadn't eaten or slept in weeks.

I felt the air get locked in my lungs when I saw him. I clenched the arms of my chair so tightly my hands bled white.

"Mansel Dhalmi," Inanis said, a tone smooth like silk, but deadly nonetheless. "Get on your knees."

My father is not the type to beg for his life. His pride is what he is known for as a politician. He would rather die a man than die humiliating himself by pleading. So, he did what he was told, and dropped to his knees.

No, no, no, no.

I told him I would get him out of this, but what can I do?

I watched Inanis stare at my father, hungry for violence, and that's when the idea struck me.

My father is not a pleading man, but I am not my father.

I stood so quickly my vision blurred, as I screamed, "Kill me instead!"

My mother tried to pull me back down into my seat as the audience gasped and began to murmur to one another.

Everyone was staring at me, including Inanis.

I swallowed, and spoke again, now it was just me and Inanis, I was looking directly at him, and only him. "Let me take my father's place."