The Tomorrow Trilogy - Seize the Day: Chapter Four
Seize the Day is the first book in the Tomorrow Trilogy. I'm trying to update it at least once a week, but we'll see how that goes. Previous chapters below:
1 | 2 | 3
Jazz frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as Ryin stepped hesitantly into the hospital room. “What’re you doing here?”
“I came to take you home, man,” Ryin answered, placing his hands in his pockets. He kept his arms loose and open, his eyes only halfway meeting Jazz’s. “You’re getting discharged today, right?”
Jazz sniffed, tightening his arms over his chest as he pushed himself out of the hospital bed, wincing in pain. “Yeah, but I thought we agreed that Mitchel was getting me?” he said, a current of anger slipping into his tone.
“We did, but --” Ryin sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I know the Movement means a lot to you -- and it means a lot to me, too, but --”
“It’s not worth risking your life over. I get it,” Jazz snapped, glaring at Ryin. He pulled the hospital gown off, and slipped a t-shirt over his head.
“Jazz --”
“Ryin.” Jazz jerked his pants up over his hips and hissed in pain. A hand moved to his side, holding where his bandages were for a second before he turned on his heel. “You don’t really care about equality for NBs -- not if you’re willing to hide the fact you are one.”
“It’s not fucking like that!” Ryin growled, approaching his brother slowly. “I want for us to have equal rights, I really do --”
“They why leave the Movement? Why hide the fact that you are one, once you’re Emperor? Why are you going to leave us hanging like this?”
“I told you last night, I don’t want either one of us to get killed --”
“I’ve already been shot, Ryin!” Jazz cried, cutting Ryin off. He snatched his shoes off the floor, another pained gasp escaping him as he settled into the uncomfortable chair beside his hospital bed and tugged his shoes on one at a time. “I could have died -- they told me how much blood I lost. How they almost lost me on the fucking table. And I was shot before anyone even realized who I was related to. The news still hasn’t mentioned that Uncle Frank’s my uncle, y’know? And I don’t think it’s gonna fucking come up now, so why hide the fact that you’re an NB?”
“Because -- Because I --” Ryin faltered and turned away from Jazz, his face burning. “I don’t know.”
“A minute ago you were so adamant about keeping me and you safe -- and now you don’t know?” Jazz asked, his brows bunching together. He sighed and shook his head, putting both hands on the arms of the chair as he moved to stand. “Make up your fucking mind, Ryin. When you joined the NBLM you knew you were putting your life at risk -- how is remaining in it and supporting it as the Emperor any different?”
“I -- I’m not like you, okay, man?” Ryin muttered, glaring at Jazz. He kept his hands in his pockets, feeling his fingers ball into fists. “I’m not fucking capable of standing in front of a crowd and shouting it to the world that my red hair’s not a fucking genetic accident -- that I’m pale because my parents were pale and left shit up to fate when they conceived me naturally.”
“We’re no different than the rest of the fucking world, Ryin,” Jazz hissed, moving into Ryin’s personal space. He tilted his head back, his eyes narrowed at him. “That’s what we’re trying to do with the NBLM in the first place, and if you suddenly think you’re too fucking good for us because you’re gonna become Emperor, you need to fucking put your head back on straight.”
“Where the fuck did you come up with that idea?” Ryin hissed, pulling his balled fists out of his pockets. “Where the fuck did I say that I thought I was better than you, man? Than the Movement?”
“I don’t know, Ryin -- maybe when you decided you didn’t want to let the public in on the fact that you’re a member and have been for the past five years?” Jazz shot back, picking up his jacket off from the back of the chair. He slung it over his shoulders and winced, putting a hand to his side again. “I gotta go. Mitchel’s waiting for me downstairs.”
Ryin blinked, the anger fading from his limbs as his hands unfurled. “Jazz, I’m --”
“Save it for Alexandra and the rest over at NBLM headquarters, Ryin,” Jazz spat, pushing past Ryin. “I’m sure they’ll need your apologies the most.”
***
Jazz flopped into the passenger seat of Mitchel’s car, only vaguely noticing the leather interior as he rubbed his eye with his palm. Tears continue to well up in his eyes, but he ignored them as he turned to Mitchel. “Sorry about making you wait,” he murmured, slipping his seatbelt on over his shoulder. Pain radiated from his side, dull and throbbing.
“It’s perfectly alright,” Mitchel said, his voice smooth as he placed the car into gear. “I suppose you got held up because of your brother?” he then asked, glancing at Jazz out of the corner of his eye.
“I just don’t get it, y’know?” Jazz muttered, worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “He just -- this is so unlike him. Normally he’s all for the Movement and being associated with it, and now --” Jazz cut himself off, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not really any of your business and I don’t think Ryin would appreciate me talking about him behind his back all that much.”
“He’s your brother, Jasper,” Mitchel said. He patted Jazz’s knee lightly before retracting his hand. “You’re just concerned.”
Jazz blinked, frowning as he regarded Mitchel oddly. “How so?”
“Well, when you speak of the ‘Movement,’ I’m assuming you’re talking about the NBLM, correct?”
“Yeah...”
“Your brother just received some fairly heavy news -- and you did, as well, about your uncle’s ill health. The two of you are both going to have to make some very hefty adjustments in how you live your lives and what associations you want the public to be aware you have,” Mitchel said. He spoke so matter-of-factly, Jazz wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. “He’s aware now that the media will be conscious of his every move; that they’ll rip him apart before he’s even bestowed the title Emperor. It’s...quite a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah, but --” Jazz sighed and shook his head. “If he stays with the Movement, then we can use his position as Emperor to help further our agenda in obtaining equal rights for all members of the Empire -- not just those who were genetically enhanced.”
“The genetically enhanced may have all the power, but that does not mean that Ryin becoming Emperor will change the balance, either,” Mitchel pointed out. His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment, his fingers then relaxing with a slight ripple. “He’s but one man, Jasper.”
“Jazz. Please call me Jazz,” Jazz murmured, propping his chin up with his hand. He rested his elbow on the edge of the door, looking out as the city passed them by. The cold, sterile buildings soon gave way to smaller, more inviting houses. “I really don’t like my name.”
“Why not?” Mitchel asked, curiosity lacing his voice. “It’s a perfectly reasonable name.”
“Because my parents didn’t give me that name,” Jazz answered, lifting his chin from his palm. “Mom and Dad kept my name -- my old name, the one I got from my previous ‘family.’ I don’t...exactly like it very much, because of that.”
“Ah.” Mitchel leaned back in his seat, relaxing his shoulders some. “My point still stands, Jazz: Ryin may become Emperor, but that does not mean he’ll be able to single-handedly change the tides himself. He’ll have to work with his Council, who will likely thwart any suggested legislation from him that does not fulfill their own agendas.”
Jazz pursed his lips together before biting his lip. “I know he won’t be able to change it all overnight,” he murmured, looking down at his lap. “I just -- I want him to not forget who he is, y’know? Where we’ve come from and what we’ve been through.” He paused, tears filling his eyes again as he placed a hand over his bandages. “What we’ve lost.”
“I’m sure he won’t,” Mitchel said, his voice quiet as the car pulled to a stop in front of Jazz’s apartment complex. “We’re here. Would you like for me to walk you in?”
“Please?” Jazz asked, giving Mitchel a slight smile. He reached for Mitchel’s hand, loosely threading his fingers through Mitchel’s own. “I still need to thank you for even coming to visit me and take me home.”
Mitchel smiled back, his eyes flashing with a slight spark of warmth. “I suppose I have the time for that,” he said, giving Jazz’s fingers a slight squeeze. “Though, shouldn’t you be careful with that side of yours? I’m sure that the wound hasn’t healed completely, just yet.”
Jazz’s smile grew a little wider and his face burned. “I wasn’t saying we should do that,” he managed, getting out of the car. Mitchel followed suit, shutting his door behind him softly. “I just -- I don’t wanna be alone, right now,” he admitted, looking down at his feet.
“Don’t worry, Jazz,” Mitchel said, heading towards the apartment complex’s doors. “Ryin will see that you’re right -- in his own time.”
Jazz nodded, pulling his keys out of his pocket as they made their way up the small staircase slowly. “I hope so.”
***
“Ryin -- what a surprise to see you here,” Francis muttered. He set his pen and paperwork aside and folded his hands on top of the rich cherrywood desk, a slight front on his face. “How did you manage to get past the Guard?”
“I told them I wanted to see you,” Ryin answered, sitting down in the seat opposite of his uncle’s desk. The Emperor’s Office was as lavishly furnished as Francis’s private quarters, with thick, afghan rugs covering the sparkling hardwood floor.
“If this is about my health and your -- future ‘promotion,’ Ryin, I have no desire to discuss that here, in my office,” Francis said, directing his gaze back to his paperwork. “I have several things I need to complete before the hour’s up and have no time to spare before my next Council meeting.”
“Let me come with you,” Ryin said, scooting his chair even closer. Francis shook his head. “Uncle -- if I’m going to become Emperor --”
“I said we are not discussing that here,” Francis said sharply, cutting Ryin off. “If you want to talk to me, you will just have to wait, is that clear?”
Ryin pursed his lips together, an argument catching in his throat before he swallowed it back down and sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about it later. But -- I just want to make one thing clear, okay?”
Francis looked up at him again, one eyebrow situated above the other. “And that is...?”
Ryin squared his shoulders and ignored the way his stomach twisted and turned. His uncle’s stare never relented, not even as Ryin sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. “I want to remain involved with the Movement.”
“Absolutely not,” Francis murmured, returning to his work. He tapped his pen against the table, his brow furrowing some as his eyes scanned the page in front of him. “I’m aware that the Movement is important to you, and to Jasper, but you cannot be involved with them anymore. Your birth status may be irrelevant, but if the people feel you may threaten their way of life -- and your involvement with the Movement certainly would make them feel that way -- they will not accept you as their Emperor.”
“But Uncle --”
“Please, Ryin. Save it for another time.”
Ryin frowned, but gave a slight nod of his head, anyway. He stifled another argument and got up from his seat. “Have the Guard come get me when you’re ready to talk,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. As he walked out of his uncle’s office, he sighed and leaned against the thick door. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before pushing himself away from the door. The Guard dotted the hallway, dipping their heads low whenever he walked past.
He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he and his uncle spoke again.
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3
Jazz frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as Ryin stepped hesitantly into the hospital room. “What’re you doing here?”
“I came to take you home, man,” Ryin answered, placing his hands in his pockets. He kept his arms loose and open, his eyes only halfway meeting Jazz’s. “You’re getting discharged today, right?”
Jazz sniffed, tightening his arms over his chest as he pushed himself out of the hospital bed, wincing in pain. “Yeah, but I thought we agreed that Mitchel was getting me?” he said, a current of anger slipping into his tone.
“We did, but --” Ryin sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I know the Movement means a lot to you -- and it means a lot to me, too, but --”
“It’s not worth risking your life over. I get it,” Jazz snapped, glaring at Ryin. He pulled the hospital gown off, and slipped a t-shirt over his head.
“Jazz --”
“Ryin.” Jazz jerked his pants up over his hips and hissed in pain. A hand moved to his side, holding where his bandages were for a second before he turned on his heel. “You don’t really care about equality for NBs -- not if you’re willing to hide the fact you are one.”
“It’s not fucking like that!” Ryin growled, approaching his brother slowly. “I want for us to have equal rights, I really do --”
“They why leave the Movement? Why hide the fact that you are one, once you’re Emperor? Why are you going to leave us hanging like this?”
“I told you last night, I don’t want either one of us to get killed --”
“I’ve already been shot, Ryin!” Jazz cried, cutting Ryin off. He snatched his shoes off the floor, another pained gasp escaping him as he settled into the uncomfortable chair beside his hospital bed and tugged his shoes on one at a time. “I could have died -- they told me how much blood I lost. How they almost lost me on the fucking table. And I was shot before anyone even realized who I was related to. The news still hasn’t mentioned that Uncle Frank’s my uncle, y’know? And I don’t think it’s gonna fucking come up now, so why hide the fact that you’re an NB?”
“Because -- Because I --” Ryin faltered and turned away from Jazz, his face burning. “I don’t know.”
“A minute ago you were so adamant about keeping me and you safe -- and now you don’t know?” Jazz asked, his brows bunching together. He sighed and shook his head, putting both hands on the arms of the chair as he moved to stand. “Make up your fucking mind, Ryin. When you joined the NBLM you knew you were putting your life at risk -- how is remaining in it and supporting it as the Emperor any different?”
“I -- I’m not like you, okay, man?” Ryin muttered, glaring at Jazz. He kept his hands in his pockets, feeling his fingers ball into fists. “I’m not fucking capable of standing in front of a crowd and shouting it to the world that my red hair’s not a fucking genetic accident -- that I’m pale because my parents were pale and left shit up to fate when they conceived me naturally.”
“We’re no different than the rest of the fucking world, Ryin,” Jazz hissed, moving into Ryin’s personal space. He tilted his head back, his eyes narrowed at him. “That’s what we’re trying to do with the NBLM in the first place, and if you suddenly think you’re too fucking good for us because you’re gonna become Emperor, you need to fucking put your head back on straight.”
“Where the fuck did you come up with that idea?” Ryin hissed, pulling his balled fists out of his pockets. “Where the fuck did I say that I thought I was better than you, man? Than the Movement?”
“I don’t know, Ryin -- maybe when you decided you didn’t want to let the public in on the fact that you’re a member and have been for the past five years?” Jazz shot back, picking up his jacket off from the back of the chair. He slung it over his shoulders and winced, putting a hand to his side again. “I gotta go. Mitchel’s waiting for me downstairs.”
Ryin blinked, the anger fading from his limbs as his hands unfurled. “Jazz, I’m --”
“Save it for Alexandra and the rest over at NBLM headquarters, Ryin,” Jazz spat, pushing past Ryin. “I’m sure they’ll need your apologies the most.”
***
Jazz flopped into the passenger seat of Mitchel’s car, only vaguely noticing the leather interior as he rubbed his eye with his palm. Tears continue to well up in his eyes, but he ignored them as he turned to Mitchel. “Sorry about making you wait,” he murmured, slipping his seatbelt on over his shoulder. Pain radiated from his side, dull and throbbing.
“It’s perfectly alright,” Mitchel said, his voice smooth as he placed the car into gear. “I suppose you got held up because of your brother?” he then asked, glancing at Jazz out of the corner of his eye.
“I just don’t get it, y’know?” Jazz muttered, worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “He just -- this is so unlike him. Normally he’s all for the Movement and being associated with it, and now --” Jazz cut himself off, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not really any of your business and I don’t think Ryin would appreciate me talking about him behind his back all that much.”
“He’s your brother, Jasper,” Mitchel said. He patted Jazz’s knee lightly before retracting his hand. “You’re just concerned.”
Jazz blinked, frowning as he regarded Mitchel oddly. “How so?”
“Well, when you speak of the ‘Movement,’ I’m assuming you’re talking about the NBLM, correct?”
“Yeah...”
“Your brother just received some fairly heavy news -- and you did, as well, about your uncle’s ill health. The two of you are both going to have to make some very hefty adjustments in how you live your lives and what associations you want the public to be aware you have,” Mitchel said. He spoke so matter-of-factly, Jazz wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. “He’s aware now that the media will be conscious of his every move; that they’ll rip him apart before he’s even bestowed the title Emperor. It’s...quite a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah, but --” Jazz sighed and shook his head. “If he stays with the Movement, then we can use his position as Emperor to help further our agenda in obtaining equal rights for all members of the Empire -- not just those who were genetically enhanced.”
“The genetically enhanced may have all the power, but that does not mean that Ryin becoming Emperor will change the balance, either,” Mitchel pointed out. His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment, his fingers then relaxing with a slight ripple. “He’s but one man, Jasper.”
“Jazz. Please call me Jazz,” Jazz murmured, propping his chin up with his hand. He rested his elbow on the edge of the door, looking out as the city passed them by. The cold, sterile buildings soon gave way to smaller, more inviting houses. “I really don’t like my name.”
“Why not?” Mitchel asked, curiosity lacing his voice. “It’s a perfectly reasonable name.”
“Because my parents didn’t give me that name,” Jazz answered, lifting his chin from his palm. “Mom and Dad kept my name -- my old name, the one I got from my previous ‘family.’ I don’t...exactly like it very much, because of that.”
“Ah.” Mitchel leaned back in his seat, relaxing his shoulders some. “My point still stands, Jazz: Ryin may become Emperor, but that does not mean he’ll be able to single-handedly change the tides himself. He’ll have to work with his Council, who will likely thwart any suggested legislation from him that does not fulfill their own agendas.”
Jazz pursed his lips together before biting his lip. “I know he won’t be able to change it all overnight,” he murmured, looking down at his lap. “I just -- I want him to not forget who he is, y’know? Where we’ve come from and what we’ve been through.” He paused, tears filling his eyes again as he placed a hand over his bandages. “What we’ve lost.”
“I’m sure he won’t,” Mitchel said, his voice quiet as the car pulled to a stop in front of Jazz’s apartment complex. “We’re here. Would you like for me to walk you in?”
“Please?” Jazz asked, giving Mitchel a slight smile. He reached for Mitchel’s hand, loosely threading his fingers through Mitchel’s own. “I still need to thank you for even coming to visit me and take me home.”
Mitchel smiled back, his eyes flashing with a slight spark of warmth. “I suppose I have the time for that,” he said, giving Jazz’s fingers a slight squeeze. “Though, shouldn’t you be careful with that side of yours? I’m sure that the wound hasn’t healed completely, just yet.”
Jazz’s smile grew a little wider and his face burned. “I wasn’t saying we should do that,” he managed, getting out of the car. Mitchel followed suit, shutting his door behind him softly. “I just -- I don’t wanna be alone, right now,” he admitted, looking down at his feet.
“Don’t worry, Jazz,” Mitchel said, heading towards the apartment complex’s doors. “Ryin will see that you’re right -- in his own time.”
Jazz nodded, pulling his keys out of his pocket as they made their way up the small staircase slowly. “I hope so.”
***
“Ryin -- what a surprise to see you here,” Francis muttered. He set his pen and paperwork aside and folded his hands on top of the rich cherrywood desk, a slight front on his face. “How did you manage to get past the Guard?”
“I told them I wanted to see you,” Ryin answered, sitting down in the seat opposite of his uncle’s desk. The Emperor’s Office was as lavishly furnished as Francis’s private quarters, with thick, afghan rugs covering the sparkling hardwood floor.
“If this is about my health and your -- future ‘promotion,’ Ryin, I have no desire to discuss that here, in my office,” Francis said, directing his gaze back to his paperwork. “I have several things I need to complete before the hour’s up and have no time to spare before my next Council meeting.”
“Let me come with you,” Ryin said, scooting his chair even closer. Francis shook his head. “Uncle -- if I’m going to become Emperor --”
“I said we are not discussing that here,” Francis said sharply, cutting Ryin off. “If you want to talk to me, you will just have to wait, is that clear?”
Ryin pursed his lips together, an argument catching in his throat before he swallowed it back down and sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about it later. But -- I just want to make one thing clear, okay?”
Francis looked up at him again, one eyebrow situated above the other. “And that is...?”
Ryin squared his shoulders and ignored the way his stomach twisted and turned. His uncle’s stare never relented, not even as Ryin sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. “I want to remain involved with the Movement.”
“Absolutely not,” Francis murmured, returning to his work. He tapped his pen against the table, his brow furrowing some as his eyes scanned the page in front of him. “I’m aware that the Movement is important to you, and to Jasper, but you cannot be involved with them anymore. Your birth status may be irrelevant, but if the people feel you may threaten their way of life -- and your involvement with the Movement certainly would make them feel that way -- they will not accept you as their Emperor.”
“But Uncle --”
“Please, Ryin. Save it for another time.”
Ryin frowned, but gave a slight nod of his head, anyway. He stifled another argument and got up from his seat. “Have the Guard come get me when you’re ready to talk,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. As he walked out of his uncle’s office, he sighed and leaned against the thick door. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before pushing himself away from the door. The Guard dotted the hallway, dipping their heads low whenever he walked past.
He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he and his uncle spoke again.
Next Chapter