The Field - Part 24
Richard lay curled in the fetal position on the floor of the black room, enveloped in a darkness so complete it felt like a thick fog pressing against his eyes. In the absence of light and sound, time had lost all meaning. He didn't know if minutes or hours had passed since he'd staggered from bed into this silent refuge. All he knew was the crushing weight of grief and guilt that pinned him in place, heavier than any chain.
Inside this void, silence roared in his ears. His own heartbeat thudded dully, a lonely drumbeat in an ocean of quiet. He pressed his forehead to his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible, as if he could disappear completely. But the memories kept finding him. Faces flickered in the darkness behind his closed eyes—Sarah's pale, tear-streaked face disappearing into a plane, and worse, the face of a young man wearing red-tinted goggles in a burning field. The thoughts splintered before finishing, too painful to complete. Richard's chest clenched. A tremor ran through him. He had replayed real and imagined moments on an endless loop, each time wishing he could rewrite it, each time slamming into the same stark reality: he had been too late. Too late to stop the violence. Too late to save a life. Now a bright soul was extinguished, a family left to mourn, and they all blamed him—he blamed himself.
He wanted to scream, but even that impulse felt pointless here. In this tomb of silence, a scream would die in his throat, unheard by anyone. Helpless. Richard felt utterly helpless. All his work, all his courage—it had meant nothing in the moments it mattered most. And now, he couldn't change the outcome, couldn't atone for the damage done. He couldn't even face the world outside this room. What waited for him out there? Accusations. Handcuffs. A courtroom of faces who saw him as a monster. Zin's disappointed eyes. He squeezed his own eyes shut tighter. Zin had been there as emotional caretaker and safe love, yet still he retreated here to the only place that made sense—the dark, the silence—because out there, in the light, everything had collapsed.
If he stayed here long enough, maybe he'd vanish into the black. Maybe the world would forget Richard existed, and he wouldn't have to feel anything anymore. Curled on the smooth, cold floor, he drifted in and out of a miserable half-sleep, chased by nightmares even in the dark. At times he wondered if he was already dead—this black room could be a coffin, the silence his grave. He wished it were. At least then, maybe the guilt would stop hollowing him out from the inside.
Zin stood in the kitchen, leaning against the sink with both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. The house was eerily quiet. In the stillness, she could hear the faint tick of the wall clock and the low hum of the refrigerator—mundane sounds that only highlighted Richard's absence. Her eyes kept drifting to the bookshelf that concealed the entrance to the black room. He was there, entombed in that silence he seemed to prefer over her company. She ached to go to him, to pry open the door, drag him out of the darkness and into the light. Maybe throw her arms around him and tell him he wasn't as alone as he felt. But she hesitated. Richard had deliberately shut her out, retreating to that soundless void where she shouldn't follow. She wasn't sure if her presence would comfort him or just deepen his despair. So Zin hovered in the kitchen, staring into her mug as if the dark liquid might offer answers.
The sudden explosion of wood and metal shattered the stillness. Zin flinched violently as the front door burst inward with a thunderous crack, blown off its hinges. The coffee mug slipped from her fingers and smashed on the tile. Before she could fully register what was happening, eight men in black tactical gear and masks swarmed into the house like a flood of locusts. Laser sights cut through the air.
"Hands! Let me see your hands!" one of them barked, leveling the barrel of an assault rifle at her.
Zin's heart seized. For a split second her mind screamed to fight—old instincts kicked in and her muscles coiled—but she forced them down. Eight guns. No cover. Instead, she raised her hands slowly, fingers spread, trying to keep her voice steady. "What the hell is this? Who—"
"Where is he?" the closest intruder snapped. Two of them rushed forward; rough gloved hands seized her and shoved her up against the kitchen wall. Her back hit the drywall hard, knocking a framed photo to the floor with a crash.
"Don't move," the team leader growled through his balaclava. He pinned her there while others began their systematic search. They had blueprints—knew exactly where every room should be, every closet, every possible hiding space. This wasn't a quick raid; they were here for the duration.
For the next two hours, they methodically dismantled the house. Thermal imaging swept the walls. Acoustic sensors tested for hollow spaces. Enhanced detection equipment swept room by room with mechanical precision. They weren't expecting to find Richard—they clearly believed he'd fled with Sarah—but protocol demanded thoroughness.
One agent wearing advanced scanning goggles passed directly in front of the bookshelf. The device whirred softly as it analyzed the wall structure. Zin held her breath. A second passed. Two. The agent saw nothing; he moved on to the next section. They can't detect it, she realized with a mix of relief and astonishment. Richard was invisible to them.
"Clear!" voices called from room after room. "All clear, no sign of him."
The team leader let out a curse and yanked Zin around to face him. His eyes behind the mask were ice-cold. "Where is Richard Smith?" he demanded, voice sharp with authority and something like frustration beneath.
Zin's pulse pounded in her ears, but she met his gaze with cold, defiant silence. She recognized the type—bullies in uniform. Her jaw set. "You barge into my home without a warrant?" she hissed. "I have nothing to say. Not without a lawyer."
He reacted instantly. The back of his gloved hand cracked across her face, hard. The sting exploded along her cheek and lip. Zin's head whipped to the side; bright pain shot through her, the copper taste of blood blooming in her mouth. She gasped, one hand reflexively starting to lower, but the agent grabbed her chin and forced her face toward him again.
"Wrong answer," he snarled.
Zin stared back at him, eyes watering from the slap, but she did not blink. A hot stripe of pain flared along old scars in her psyche. For a heartbeat, she was a teenager again, cornered by an enraged foster father demanding answers she couldn't give. Every answer is the wrong answer when evil wants to feel justified. The bitter lesson from those years surged up in her, steeling her spine. She tasted blood on her tongue, but she stayed silent.
"Where did he go?!" the man shouted, his patience gone. "We know he took off on that private flight with Sarah. You think we're idiots?"
Zin's vision blurred with tears of pain she refused to shed. Her only response was a hate-filled glare.
"You think this is a game?" he spat. In a flash of motion, his fist drove into her stomach.
The breath blasted out of her lungs. Zin doubled over with a choked cough, collapsing to her knees. White sparks danced in her vision as she clutched her midsection, fighting the urge to vomit. Just breathe... just breathe. The agent loomed over her, chest heaving. She braced for another hit, drawing on every ounce of strength to not cower.
A second voice cut through the tension from near the doorway. "Sir! We've completed the sweep. If he's gone, every second counts tracking the flight path." It was another agent, his tone urgent but certain.
The leader lingered, glaring down at Zin's hunched form. He muttered a curse. "Two hours wasted. If Richard Smith makes contact, you're required to report it immediately. Any aid or assistance makes you an accessory to terrorism charges."
In a blur, they retreated—sweeping back out the ruined front door as quickly as they'd come. One by one, the black-clad figures vanished into the morning light, leaving the house turned upside-down and Zin bruised and shaking on the floor.
For a long moment, Zin stayed kneeling, arms wrapped around her abdomen. The only sound was her ragged breathing and the quiet drip of spilled coffee off the counter. The agents were gone. They hadn't found Richard. A fierce, dizzying relief mingled with the pain in her ribs. She pressed the back of her hand to her split lip, wiping away a smear of blood. Her cheek throbbed where she'd been struck, but she welcomed the pain—it meant she was still here, still fighting.
Slowly, Zin pushed herself to her feet. Shards of the shattered mug crunched under her shoe. She staggered to the open doorway, one hand on the wall for support. The early sun spilled in, cold and unforgiving, illuminating the debris scattered across the entryway. She stepped outside onto the porch, aware of the security camera perched under the eave above her. Its lens stared impassively down, recording everything.
Zin took a shaky breath of the cool air and pulled her phone from her pocket. With trembling fingers, she dialed David. He picked up on the first ring.
"They... they know where Richard is," she said, each word measured carefully. Her voice was hoarse, but she pitched it loud enough for the camera to catch. "I think his bail was revoked. I think they're on the way to get him now." She swallowed, letting real hurt into her tone. "I can't believe he would leave the country."
There was a brief pause, and then David's voice came through, steady and grave. "I'm coming over. We'll get through this."
Zin closed her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, so softly it was more breath than sound. She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. For a second, she just stood there on the porch, wind tousling a few strands of her dark hair, trying to collect herself. She had to keep it together. Richard's life depended on it.
After a moment, she turned and went back inside, leaving the door ajar on its broken hinges.
A short time later, David arrived. By then Zin had managed to sweep up the larger pieces of the broken mug and right some of the overturned furniture, moving stiffly through the motions to occupy her mind. The front door creaked as David let himself in. He was breathing hard, as if he'd run a marathon.
"Zin?" he called softly.
She appeared from the kitchen, and the instant she saw David's face—the concern in his eyes—her composure almost broke. David took in the scene behind her: chairs askew, the splintered doorframe, the redness on her cheek and the bruise already darkening at her jaw. A muscle in his clenched jaw twitched.
His eyes hardened as he processed what Zin wasn't saying. "They think he fled with Sarah?" He pulled out his phone. "I need to make some calls. If they're chasing ghosts, we can use that."
She tried to speak, but the words caught. Her throat closed up, a strangled sound escaping instead of an explanation. She shook her head, frustrated at herself. She was supposed to be stronger than this. She pressed her lips together, tasting blood, and willed herself not to cry.
"They... came in," she managed in a rasp, gesturing weakly toward the door. "Two hours. They had blueprints. They thought... they thought he..." Her voice failed again. The rest of the sentence refused to form.
David nodded gently, understanding enough. "You don't have to tell me now," he murmured. His eyes were soft but shining with anger on her behalf. He carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just glad you're alright."
Zin let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. There were so many things she wanted to say—about the agents, about the fear that still coiled in her gut—but the words were too heavy. Instead, she gave David a faint, appreciative nod.
Her legs felt unsteady, but she had one more thing to do. With a determined inhale, Zin pulled away gently and moved to the stove. "I need to... I have to get Richard something to eat," she said quietly, almost to herself.
David looked confused, but didn't protest. He only watched as she set a small saucepan on the burner with trembling hands. He understood—this was something concrete she could do, a way to regain a measure of control. While the soup from last night heated, Zin found a clean bowl and a spoon. She added a bit of water to thin it, knowing Richard wouldn't take much.
When it was warm enough, she filled the bowl. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly spilled it, but David was there, gently taking the bowl from her and steadying it. He offered a ghost of a smile. "I've got it," he said softly.
She allowed him to carry it for her to the den. Together they approached the tall bookshelf. Zin's fingers brushed over the hidden latch. With a click, the entire shelf swung open.
David stared at the revealed entrance with new appreciation. "The room must be shielded—electromagnetic dampening, acoustic isolation. That's why their tech couldn't penetrate it."
David hovered at the threshold, reluctant to intrude. "Do you want me to...?"
Zin managed a tiny smile of gratitude in the dim light. "No. I'll take it from here." Her voice was steadier now. She took the bowl and spoon from him. "Thank you, David. For everything."
He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right here if you need anything. And Zin," he said quietly, "when you're ready, we need to talk strategy. The manhunt changes everything."
Zin nodded. Then, squaring her shoulders, she stepped through the doorway and gently pulled the bookshelf-door closed behind her, sealing herself into the quiet dark.
The black room was nearly pitch-black, lit only by the soft blue glow of her smartwatch. In that faint light, she could make out Richard's huddled silhouette. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. The air was cool and utterly still, heavy with the absence of sound. She found Richard curled on his side on the floor, a shadowed form in the darkness.
Zin's heart squeezed painfully at the sight. He didn't move at all. It was as if he were trying to become part of the floor, to sink into oblivion. She approached quietly, kneeling beside him. In the darkness her other senses sharpened—she could just make out the slow rise and fall of his back as he breathed. At least he was alive.
"Richard," she whispered, not wanting to startle him. Her voice sounded strange in the silence, swallowed up immediately by the soundproofed walls. She wasn't even sure he heard her until she saw a slight tensing in his shoulders.
Carefully, Zin set the bowl down and reached out to touch him. Her fingertips found his arm, warm through the fabric of his shirt. He flinched ever so slightly at the contact, a reflexive recoil, but he didn't pull away.
"It's just me," she said softly. She slipped her arm beneath his shoulders and gently eased him onto his back. He yielded with limp, passive motions, his body stiff from hours of stillness.
His face was drawn and ghost-pale in the smartwatch's dim glow. Zin could barely see him, but she could feel the clammy sweat on his brow as she gently touched his face. His eyes were closed; stubble roughened his jaw. The smell of cold sweat and despair clung to him.
Zin's throat tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I brought you something," she murmured, reaching for the bowl.
For a moment, he didn't react. Then, as the spoon touched his cracked lips, Richard opened his mouth obediently. He swallowed, eyes still closed. Zin released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She fed him another spoonful, and another. He took them quietly, like a man in a trance, each swallow mechanical and joyless. But at least he was eating.
"That's it," she whispered, her voice gentler than a lullaby. "Just a couple more." She slipped another spoonful past his lips. Some of the broth dribbled down his chin. Zin wiped it away with the edge of her sleeve, her touch tender, almost motherly.
Richard made no sound, no protest. He didn't open his eyes. He might have been half-asleep, or just lost in his own darkness. When the bowl was nearly empty, he turned his head away slightly, a silent indication that he'd had enough. Zin didn't force it. She set the bowl aside on the floor.
For a few seconds, she just knelt there in the darkness, her hand lightly resting on his shoulder. She could feel the faint tremor in his body, the tension coiled in his muscles even as he lay so still. He was holding everything in, shutting out the world—shutting out her. And yet, he had let her feed him. Some part of him still trusted her care, even if he couldn't show it.
"It's okay," she breathed, barely audible. She wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself. Gently, she stroked his hair, hoping the simple touch might offer some comfort. He didn't respond, but he also didn't pull away.
Zin realized her cheeks were wet. A tear had escaped without her permission while she focused on him. She quickly wiped it with the back of her hand. Not yet. She wouldn't break. Not until she'd done everything she could for him.
She leaned down, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Richard's temple. Carefully, she positioned herself over him, settling into a protective embrace they'd shared countless times before. Her weight distributed carefully, she draped herself around him like a living blanket, chin tucked against his shoulder, seeking the familiar comfort of their closeness.
"I'll be back soon," she whispered. There was no answer, but she hadn't expected one.
Quietly, Zin rose and made her way back to the door, taking the empty bowl with her. She opened the bookshelf door just enough to slip out, leaving Richard once more in darkness.
Back in the living room, David was waiting exactly where she left him, sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees. He stood the instant he saw her emerge. In the light of day, Zin's face was pale, her eyes red-ringed but dry. She gave him a small, exhausted smile.
"He ate a little," she said, her voice flat with fatigue.
David nodded. "That's good." He hesitated, then asked softly, "What happened here?"
Zin stared past him, her eyes unfocused. What now? The authorities were hunting Richard, the world thought he was a fugitive, and he... he was broken into pieces. She had no answers.
"They came here looking for Richard. One of them said they know he was on the plane with Sarah. But for some reason they couldn't find him," she whispered. "Maybe they weren't really looking for him and they just wanted to punish us. I don't know—But he's been in that room and hasn't been speaking since last night."
David offered a reassuring smile, though worry etched deep lines on his brow. He gently took the bowl from her hands. "That's interesting..." he said quietly. "I'll take care of this. And I'll keep watch."
She managed another nod of gratitude. There were no more words left.
"I'm going to sit with him," she said after a moment, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. "I can't leave him alone down there."
Zin turned and slipped back through the bookshelf door, this time stepping fully into the black room's embrace. She closed the door behind her, sealing herself in with Richard and the thick, waiting silence.
It was nearly completely dark now. Without the bowl of food to worry about, Zin didn't bother with the smartwatch light. The pitch-black enveloped them. For a second she stood there, not even sure if Richard realized she had returned.
She lowered herself to the floor beside him. Carefully, she reached out and found his hand. His fingers were cool and slack, but as she intertwined hers with them, she gave a gentle squeeze.
Richard's breath caught. She felt him stiffen in surprise, then a shudder rippled through him. He knew it was her.
Zin said nothing. In the silence, words felt trivial. Instead, she moved closer, until she was sitting right up against him, their shoulders touching in the darkness. Slowly, she lay down on her side and curled her body around his huddled form, enveloping him in her warmth. One arm draped over him, her hand resting against his chest where she could feel the faint heartbeat beneath.
That was the breaking point. Zin had held herself together through the fear, the violence, the anger. She had been strong for so long—for Richard, for the plan, for whatever came next. But here, in the darkness with the man she loved broken in her arms, she couldn't hold back any longer. Without a word, Zin pressed her face into Richard's shoulder and began to sob.
The first cry that escaped her was a raw, choked sound, wrenched from deep inside. It echoed in the silent room like a bell tolling in a vacuum, then vanished. Another sob followed, and another. Years of pain—fear, frustration, exhaustion—came gushing out in those cries. She tried to muffle them against his shirt, but in the absolute quiet of the black room, even her softest whimpers sounded loud to her own ears.
Richard went very still in her arms. Through the haze of her tears, Zin felt his chest heaving as his breathing quickened. He was hearing her. He was feeling her.
And then, all at once, he moved. Richard unwound from his tight fetal curl and turned toward her. In the darkness, their roles reversed—now it was his arms wrapping around her, pulling her trembling body against him. He held her as if she were the one who might shatter, one hand cradling the back of her head. Zin felt his fingertips weave into her hair, holding on for dear life.
That broke him open. A low, broken moan escaped Richard's throat, and Zin realized he was crying too—silent, shuddering sobs that he tried and failed to contain. His body shook against hers. She felt hot tears soak into the shoulder of her shirt where his face was buried.
They clung to each other in the dark, two wounded souls collapsing into one another. All the walls they had built to keep strong came crashing down in that moment.
Zin wept for Sarah and River, for the innocence they'd lost, for the terror of almost losing Richard to despair. Richard wept for his failures, for the pain he'd caused, and for the immeasurable relief of feeling Zin in his arms, alive and holding him despite everything.
No words were needed. Their sobs and the fierce tightness of their embrace said it all—that they were sorry, that they were hurt, that they loved, that they were scared. In that sealed, soundproof room, their cries belonged only to them, heard by no one else in the world. The blackness around them was absolute, but it didn't matter because they had found each other.
Zin wasn't sure how long they lay there on the hard floor, entwined and trembling. Time meant nothing in the darkness. It could have been minutes or hours. Eventually, their sobs subsided into soft, hitched breaths and the occasional tremor. Both of them were utterly spent, emptied of tears and strength alike.
Yet still, they held on. Zin nestled her head under Richard's chin, and he pressed his cheek against her hair. Their bodies remained wrapped around each other as if letting go might mean drowning.
In the quiet after the storm of tears, the silence of the black room became gentle—no longer an enemy, but a sanctuary. Their breathing gradually fell into a fragile unison, a duet of inhales and exhales in the dark.
Zin could feel Richard's heartbeat against her palm, a steady thump-thump that proved he was here with her, not lost to the void of guilt. And Richard could feel the warmth of her breath against his collarbone, reminding him that she was real and she wasn't going anywhere.
They stayed like that, locked in each other's arms, for a long, long time. In the silent darkness, there were no past mistakes, no looming threats, no expectations. There was just this: two people holding on to each other, sharing the weight of their sorrows together.
Finally, Richard broke the silence—not with words, but by tightening his embrace ever so slightly, an unspoken thank you and I'm here. Zin answered by snuggling even closer, her hand gently squeezing his side.
A fresh tear slid down Zin's face, but it was different from the earlier ones. It was both sorrowful and thankful at once. She let it fall.
In that emptiness, they had found the only thing left to hold on to: each other. And so they remained, two silhouettes entwined in the darkness, surrounded by a cocoon of silence, finally allowing themselves to collapse together.