What Lies Unborn

Chapter IX: Intervention

2008-10-05T23:02:00.004+03:00

Agent Thompson burst into his captain’s office. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, the elder man inside hushed him with an abrupt movement of his hand.

“Look here agent…” his voice was as apathetic as always while he threw him the folder he was studying. “Look at her agent. I think we have a candidate for our team. It took her less than ten days to recover from massive wounds and the first thing she went to do after her recovery was to spend a ridiculous amount of time in the shooting range. Her aim is nearly perfect, and according to those reports, she can actually perform that well in real situations too. Three targets, and all dead with a single bullet through the brain. That talent mustn’t go to waste…”

“Sir, the agency has her on probation. Her own leader has reprimanded her for…”

“For what Thompson? For almost sacrificing herself for her team?”

“But she is a fanatic sir! Even I can tell that the only thing on her mind is revenge. She is unstable.”

“She is tired, yes. She isn’t yet fully healed according to the doctors. But that vermin mobster that she hates is just a nuisance agent, a nuisance that we can easily get rid off to gain her trust. But think, Thompson, he killed just one partner of hers and she turned to a machine bent on destroying him. Imagine if she knew how many innocent humans die each year in the hands of the monsters we try to hunt. Her anger IS her power agent. Anger and revenge is, after all, the sole reason you and me started this, regardless that it has now evolved to a divine command to purge the beasts…”

“Sir, can we discuss it some other time? I have urgent news too…”

~~~

Sister Maria cracked her knuckles as she rose from the chair and stretched her aching bones. “I’m getting far too old for this…” She told softly to her patient. Sure, he may have spent almost two consecutive weeks that he did nothing but scream and sleep, but all the people she knew agreed that hearing is the last sense that leaves an unconscious patient. And so, she stubbornly refused to stop talking to the man that was bound in the bed next to her.

She looked out of the window again, at the bleak world that surrounded her small clinic, and she knew that she was lying. Yes, those past days were filled with duties and worries, yes she was spending more and more time awake, treating her patient and trying in vain to ease his suffering, but she didn’t feel older. If anything, she felt invigorated, born anew. She wondered what was it about this particular patient that made her feel so eager to even lie to her nuns about his condition. For this was what she had been doing those last days. Lying…

His physical health was perfect. All tests indicated that nothing was wrong with him physically. Yet, he spent his time screaming. Maria knew that this was his own burden to bear, his own battle with Satan to win, but on the other hand, it was the first time she had seen the tortures of hell to manifest in physical form; to cause direct pain. But she couldn’t let the rest of the sisters know from where all those observations came from. And so she was forced to keep telling them that the pain was from internal damages due to the intoxication and abuse of his system. She kept telling them that he was gradually improving and thus there was no need for him to be transferred; that his condition was slowly changing for the better…

It wasn’t a complete lie, though. As the days passed, she has felt that change; in him as well as her. The screams have lowered in intensity, his sleeping time has increased. Maybe that meant that the battle inside him was closing to an end, but she had no clue at all who would win… As for her, she felt her strength gaining, as if pushed by an invisible force, always increasing, becoming more sensitive to the slight changes on people’s auras, on their health condition, even her ever-calming presence seemed to becoming stronger. She has rationalized that, she had to help that man; it was her trial, sent by God, to judge her worth. And her soul knew that, and gave everything it had to help her through this. It was the only logical answer…

Her thoughts were interrupted with the entrance of her eldest nun. Her feet careful so as not to step on the wet towels that now rested on the crack of the door; a necessary addition so as to lessen the impact of the screams on the rest of the patients.

“Excuse me Mother. There are some people to see you.”

Maria observed the slight quirks of the woman in front of her, the uneasiness that followed her moves, the restless hands, and suddenly she knew that she was hiding something from her.

‘Well, we’ll deal with this later’

“Show me Anna”

‘…and here we go’ She thought as she saw the three people that waited in her office; her eyes lingering on the one she knew. ‘So you’re here to get him aren’t you?’

She eyed the young girl curiously, her gaze halting at her pale face, the telltale signs of exhaustion apparent even to untrained eyes. “Are you ok girl? We can probably find you a bed here to see what is wrong with you.” ‘But this is not why you’re are here, right?’

It was the man directly in front of her, the one with the darkest aura of the three, that spoke. She saw him doing a quick bow, inclining his head and lowering his eyes to the ground, and to her utter amazement, her senses told her that he meant it.

“Excuse us holy mother, but we had an anonymous call that one of your patients is a person we search for.”

‘Holy mother? Ok… and why do you struggle to say the word 'person' hypocrite?’

“I wouldn’t know sir…?”

“Agent, Agent Hill” He said as he showed her his badge, his eyes still wary to meet her own.

“Well, Agent Hill, as I told you I wouldn’t know. You see, running a clinic and supervising my nuns leaves me no time to watch the news. But even if there was a man here that you would seek, I still wouldn’t know if I would have given him to you if I thought that he needed the help that I can provide him with. You see, here is a church too. I would hope that a devout man like you would honor the sanctuary of such a place. I have nothing to hide or fear from the law, but if I estimate that it’s for the best interest of a patient of mine to stay in my care, then I have the means to make this a big deal. Now, if there is another way that I could help you, maybe by checking the health of your friend here that looks clearly ill to me” ‘And it’s not her body that I’m so worried about’ She added to herself while checking the weird steel-like color and thickness of the young woman’s aura “I would be happy to provide it to you.”

Hill didn’t even flinch; he just froze for a second and continued like nothing has happened.

“Mother, if you could just allow us to look at your patient maybe we can avoid all the unpleasantries that may follow. Please help us.”

Before she could answer, a tired voice invaded their two-way dialogue.

“Now I remember. It is you. You were the nun that I saw when I was chasing him. You… you pointed to me where he went.”

Suddenly Hill’s started speaking again with renewed vigor.

“Mother, it is imperative that we see this patient of yours. Now. Many human lives may be at stake here” It was the first time she locked eyes with this man, but she saw it clear, the zeal that burned within him was a frightening thing to behold. She knew that there were no limits for such a person; he would follow his cause no matter what…

“This place is still a church sir. And I will try to honor the asylum and sanctity of this place as best as I can by denying your request. Now please either order me to show you this person or leave.”

“Mother, I’m sorry for what I’ll say now, but there is no way that I will let that slide. But if it comes to that, I have the necessary paperwork to ensue a search of this place. You are a servant of the God, and I can see that your beliefs are strong, but I’m convinced that in this argument you are wrong. Please, cooperate with us. You have to believe me that we’re doing our best to ensure the safety of our fellow humans. I would never lie to a nun; God is with us in this search...”

Maria fought hard to restrain herself. There was only one thing that really pissed her off. People claiming that their personal agendas were backed up by God; people that thought that God was endorsing killings. ‘God is with you? He came down and told you so? Maybe he was with the crusaders that spilled so much blood too? Go on… butcher some more people in the name of the god of love…’ The last part of course having nothing to do with the current situation, but nevertheless, it was part of the same conviction that, in her mind, spoiled the name of Christ. It was only the thought that her beliefs, this instant, may border on zealotry too, that helped her regain her calm again.

“Please don’t mention his name in vain. You are inside a church. And excuse me now, I have patients to take care of.”

A small voice rejoiced inside her the moment she saw how much her first sentence hurt him. She wasn’t happy that she had hurt a man, even him, but she was glad that she had found a weakness of him that she could use later on, if she needed to ensure the wellbeing of a human. He was a true zealot. And zealots had two qualities; they were really dangerous and they were easily manipulated by their distorted view of faith.

She turned her back at them and heard the words that she knew that were coming next.

“By this search warrant I demand to search this place for a wanted man”

“Fine, follow me.”

She knew when she had lost a battle, now the only thing she needed was to find a way to turn this defeat in her advantage.

~~~

“I’m not sure this is the one…”

It took less than a minute for the team to overcome the initial shock and adjust to the constant screaming that ruled inside the small room. It took Sister Maria some time too to explain why the restrains and the screaming existed in the first place. But it was taking even longer for Liz to try to understand if this was the same man.

“I can’t be sure, I had an image of a dirty, unkempt man in my head, but this one… seems different, civilized, tortured…” ‘and damn attractive’ she added in her mind.

Liz kept staring at the clean shaved man with the short brown hair, trying desperately to remember, but her gaze kept drifting to his clear blue eyes that were open wide from the pain… She closed her eyes and tried to bring forth in her memory her brief encounter with him. But what came back was something far worse. John’s kneeling body, the blood that was rapidly covering his shirt, the empty expression of his face. She felt her heartbeat slowing down. When she reopened her eyes, she wasn’t looking at an attractive wounded man anymore. Her mind started to estimate a human being’s height and weight, his physical proportions, the hue of his hair, a million little details about him that before weren’t apparent…

“It’s him.” Her voice resounded flat, sterile of any emotion.

“Very well then agents… I shall prepare the paperwork. Bring me the doctor that will supervise him so that I can start briefing him on his condition. I guess in two, three, days, if you hurry, I can give him to you.” ‘And in the meantime I’ll find out what strings I can pull to…’

“No. We will take him now Mother. I’ll take all the papers and records of medical examinations of him as well as anything he carried when you picked him up.”

Sister Maria was stunned. They did have everything it needed, half of the papers he showed her she didn’t even know they existed… They had even come here with an ambulance. It didn’t make sense. Yet here she stood looking at the flashing siren of the vehicle that carried the man that was she was starting to feel that was more important than anything she had encountered before. It was like they knew that they would take him before they even knocked her door. ‘People like them have probably never met failure…’ She said bitterly to herself…

“Sister Anna” She called her eldest nun again. “A moment if you please in my office.”

“Sure, Mother”

“No. Not mother and daughter anymore Sister Anna. In the eyes of God we are all equal, all sisters. And you are the only one except me in this place that actually has a doctor’s decree.”

“Sister… I want to tell you something.”

“It’s ok, I know. I’m actually proud of you. You called them here didn’t you? You cared so much for the patient that you thought that we couldn’t support him as needed. Of course, the slight mistake is that you, all of you, have very little confidence in your abilities, you depend too much to me and my judgment.”

“Sister…”

“Let me finish please Anna. You already know that this place belongs to me; it’s a private property of my family. But I must inform you that on my will it is you that takes this place… alongside with the responsibility to actually run it. I’m getting far too old.”

“Sister please don’t say such…”

“Death is only a natural procedure Sister. I’m not at all unhappy that it will come to me too. I fear nothing of death, because I’ve lived my life as I wished and I’m proud of what I’ve done. When everything ends, I pray that I have lived with the way Jesus intended us to. But this place must continue, and you’re the only trained doctor that I have. So… I came to a decision. You will run it for the time being. I feel that this is needed so that you can build up confidence in yourself. To make it easier for you to adapt quicker, I will leave this place.”

“But sister!”

“No buts and don’t worry. I will pass frequently from here to check up things, it’s just that I won’t be living here.”

Anna tried hard to understand what was going on here. It surely felt like punishment for her actions but it seemed… right. She couldn’t exactly comprehend what she was told, she was lost into mother Maria’s clear eyes; eyes that told her that everything is fine. She thought that she should be getting anxious for her new responsibilities, but the only thing she felt was a tranquil calmness. She wanted to do anything to prove herself worthy at those eyes.

Maria smiled as she saw Anna leaving. Eventually she would understand. Eventually she would grow; the harshness of the world that she would have to take care of would make her grow. After all, everything she has told her was true, and if she was to get the clinic, she would have to become responsible and self-confident. But now she had to do something else, she had to care for one soul that truly needed her. She opened her small pocket agenda and flipped some pages. The financial and social status of her family would help, but she was more concerned about her own acquaintances. She smiled when she saw the number she was looking for.

‘So… agents, you think that you’re the only ones that are prepared for everything?’ She thought as she hanged up the phone some minutes later.

She double checked that she was alone in the small chapel and she prayed. She felt her consciousness drift to other holy places, places that she had visited on the past, places where God ruled mighty.

When she opened her eyes she looked at a different, almost crumbled, chapel. “You have deteriorated from the last time I saw you… I will take care of it when I have time.” She told to the cold walls and exited; only to be invaded by bright sunlight. “Ahh… The sweet smell of Rome. It has been a while..."

Chapter VIII: Vigilantes

2008-09-30T00:40:00.004+03:00

“…Are you positive that this is all you can remember about him?”

His voice scared her. Liz was used to Mark’s joyous voice, or at least to John’s calm, teaching words, but this… this cold, flat voice that was currently speaking to her really frighten her. It was almost as if the man that stood before her was somehow deprived of all kind of emotions.

‘Almost like a machine… Like the machine that I turned into when I saw John falling. I wonder if witnessing a partner die is the cause that this man now speaks like that…’

“Yes Sir. Brownish, filthy hair and a matching long beard concealed most of his face, but I’m pretty positive about the description that I gave to you.”

“And you say that the man dropped a bottle of tequila and that the diary was found on a pile of several broken bottles of the same brand of tequila, right?”

“Yes Sir…”

“And to whom else have you spoken about this again?”

“Only to Mr. Christian Clark and Mr. Mark Adams, Sir; to the first one when I got to the van in the shooting scene and to the second to instruct me on the proper path to file this… shit.”

“Please watch your words agent. You’re not speaking to a childhood friend here. This is a serious matter.”

‘Yeah… screw you too asshole’

How long has she been speaking to this interrogation machine of a man? How much more until they let her go to rest… Three days and they were still asking her about the same things. Liz felt… tired.

“You’re dismissed agent. We’ll keep you in touch with how this investigation goes. I think that the agency’s psychiatrist has asked for you to drop by.”

Liz let out a frustrated sigh and stood up to leave. This man, whom his name she didn’t even know, was really getting on her nerves. His always polite speech, his persistence for the formal titles and ranks, his annoying way to correct her when she was trying to act a little more humane, all were thing that she hadn’t experienced since she had finished her training. He almost made her feel like a child that was being accused of something.

‘Shocking news automaton: we’re not in the friggin army’

Her thoughts were so loud that one could clearly hear them as she almost slammed the door behind her.

Her mood lightened up a little when she saw that Mark was waiting for her outside of the office; the fleeting emotion of security left her as she looked into his dark eyes.

“Hey Liz? How you’re holding girl?”

“The same shitty I felt yesterday…”

“Well that’s goo… ohh sorry girl. Everything will smooth out again. Trust me. Either way I… I tried to contact my superiors to give you a week off so that you can recuperate from your experience…and ehmm… they can’t let you go, they said that they kinda need you here for this diary thingy…”

“Thanks boss. Nevermind. I can hold… Just tell me when we’re gonna nail down the bastard who shot John and I’m good to go”

Mark’s hand rested on her shoulder. His grip was slowly tightening. It almost reeked of affection, of sympathy, of pain…

“Boss?”

“I wanted to be the one to break you the news Liz. It was my investigation after all. If one is to blame for… whatever happened it’s me. They’re letting him go.”

Her voice rose above everything else in the floor. Her screaming causing Mark to flinch a little. “What the fuck Mark? Letting him go? Those morons are going to let this ruthless bastard out again? He fucking shot his wife while we were tapping him… how the fuck did he get out of this?”

“The investigators say that the only thing that they’ve found is that his wife committed suicide. He even acts like it was his fault for yelling at her, for what he claims was a wrong impression that she had an affair… The audio tape shows nothing different than that…”

“I’m gonna kill the motherfucker…”

Liz stopped in mid-sentence as she her palm rose to her burning cheek. The force of Mark’s slap forcing her eyes wide open with shock.

“Listen well Liz. We. Are. Not. Vigilantes. Got it? You think that only you feel pain about John? He has been my partner and in my team since you was still in the academy. He has been next to me far more than anyone else in our team. He was like a fucking brother to me. Yet you selfishly think that only you care about what happened. Ohhh I want Loukas go down as well little one. I want him swimming in shit for the rest of his life. But this is not our job. Our job is to ensure enough evidence that will put him away for life Liz. If we start to take the law in our hands then what is left to protect the system? There is a reason that cops and judges are two different persons. If we screw up our job description, if we start to judge whomever we want, then the system will fall. And without it say bye bye to democracy… only anarchy will remain where each one will take the law on his hands. We. Are. Not. Vigilantes. Got it?”

Liz was stunned. She had never seen Mark angry. He had never allowed negative emotions to show in his face in front of his team. He was always the cheerful anchor, the optimist that kept them going forward; those words weren’t Mark’s. But he was right. Everything he said was right. Yet as she saw his turned back leaving; only one thought lingered in her mind.

‘Screw the system Mark… Screw the system. The bastard is going down…’

~~~

A well dressed agent waited until the whole scene that unraveled in front of his eyes ended. He waited until he saw Liz moving frustrated towards the elevators. And the he entered the office she had just left; his thick dossier resting tightly in his grip.

He didn’t need introductions or a permission to start talking. His speech was as dry as his listener’s.

“Seems like the girl is right. According to the liquor store, it seems that the only one that consumed such quantities of tequila in the whole area was this drunkard. Also, according to the rest of the team that searches the place, he seems to be the only occupant of that particular room for at least the last six months. And, lastly, the tape analysis is over and pointing straight towards him.”

“Tape?”

“Yeah. Seems like this…” The suited man looked at his notes. “…John Coleman had finished setting up the audio surveillance and he was testing it on the room when this man showed up. The speech is terrible and slurred, and most of the words don’t even make sense -we believe that this is due to his state of intoxication- but there is a specific part that they managed to decipher a bit of the words. He seems to be saying at some point: leave the couple at the opposite of the building alone, or else they’ll shoot you. Indicating that, most probably, this is the author of the diary.”

“I’m still waiting for the good news agent Thompson.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any good news sir. We have yet to trace the man himself, and no one in the area knew anything about him, including his name. It seems our only way is to use official posters and pray to luck to help us find him…”

“Firstly, don’t call him man again. Secondly, I do not believe in luck agent. Luck has the annoying tendency of not being consistent and backfiring. Search the whole apartment for anything organic and sent it for tests. If this one is not archived in our files, either through fingerprints or DNA or whatever then we’ll see what we’ll do. Dismissed agent. Oh, one last thing Thompson. It seems to me that Adams’ team was set up from the inside. According to the mobster’s profile, from a quick glance that I threw at it, he’s power hungry and arrogant. I estimated that there is a slight chance that he will try to ‘show off’ at us in a vain attempt to make us cower, or to put it simply, to emphasize on his strength so as to leave him alone. Since agent Elizabeth Flores is our only alive eyewitness of this drunkard, I would hate it if something happened to her.”

“Got it sir. I’ll set some men to watch over her. But it may take a while since most of our own people are in the crime scene investigating for the man...”

It was the first time that the man behind the desk lost his calm; his fist slamming hard at the table. “Listen me well agent, for I will not repeat my words. Not man; never call him a man again. This thing we are hunting for can only be considered a beast. Understand that agent, for if you think of him too much as a common human, your resolve may wane when we will have to cage him.”

Agent Thompson gave a military salute and left the room.

A, still trembling hand, reached for a desk-drawer, as he opened it, a framed picture of a beautiful, young woman appeared. “Don’t you worry Hon’. I won’t let the beasts harm anyone else… No. Never again.” His voice different now, nearly sobbing, full with emotion and love…

Tears started running from his faded blue eyes as his other hand was nearly pulling the short, military-cut, white hair almost as if he wanted to tear them from his head.

~~~

“Fucking idiots. They call themselves doctors. ‘How do you feel agent?’” Liz imitated, mockingly, the psychiatrist’s voice.

“How the fuck do you think I feel moron? My partner was shot three days ago. ‘I feel peachy.’” She said with a girlish voice.

“Idiots. But noooo. If I told you this you would have cut me off from action wouldn’t you? Jeez… It’s not like my mind flipped. After all, there is no reason to flip at all. No sir, no reason. Just that I’ve found a diary that was speaking of events that transpired days later than they were written. Perfectly normal things…”

‘Calm down young lady NOW’ the voice in her head wasn’t her own. She knew it though; she had heard that specific command countless times. ‘I’ll put pepper in your mouth…’

Liz froze for an instant. Remembering why she had become an FBI agent in the first place. Remembering her most treasured memories of her mother… and her disdain for cursing, the same cursing she was sprouting non-stop those days. She felt something wetting her cheeks, a trickle that slowly grew to a steady river of tears, until suddenly, like an internal dam was broken, everything that she was holding inside her broke loose.

“…Mom… I miss you… why mom? Why did you have to die? Why did John have to die?” Liz finally said in between her sobs, as the tears that she had kept inside all those days were running free, blurring her vision, and almost causing her to lose the highway exit for her home.

By the time she parked her car, her cheeks have dried. The determination in her eyes has given way to dark circles and baggy eyes; the lack of proper rest finally catching up with her.

“A warm bath and some sleep… Yeap, that all I need now.” She muttered under her breath as she locked her car. Thankfully her apartment was just a few meters away, just across the street…

She was in the middle of the street when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her logic shut down, hid somewhere inside her head, as the familiar instinct of survival took over without a reason. She heard the side doors of the van directly opposite of her car opening; two figures armed with automatics started to fire. Her brain was absorbing information long before the doors had opened, memorizing the terrain, relaxing the muscles, releasing adrenaline. A mixed up sense of predator and prey overcame her as she was already jumping above her car to land to the other side; to find cover.

There were no words, no feelings, just facts and information to use in her advantage. As she lay on the ground with her back resting on her car and the deafening sounds of rapid bursts filling her ears she scanned her body. Thick red liquid was covering her right arm gushing out of a bullet wound on her shoulder. Her torso also felt wet, her white shirt already forming a dark stain near her abdomen.

‘No vital organs hit’ she evaluated as a crazed grin shined in her face. ‘One has stopped firing; he’s coming from the right to get me.’ His footstep’s sounds clear to her, audible even above the thundering, repeating fire of his partner.

Liz switched her handgun from her wounded right arm to her untrained left, counting his steps in her mind. She doubled forward, her chest resting on her knees, just enough to give her that one extra meter of vision as the muzzle of an Uzi appeared and she pulled the trigger. Without waiting to see the results she raised her hand backwards so as to align it with the bottom of her, now shattered, windows. A second bullet went flying. Her hand turned once more as she was rising in a pirouette to end facing the street; the sounds of both of the automatics silenced.

The nearest goon, the one that had tried to sneak up to her, was still holding his hand, frozen with shock. His eyes darting from his missing trigger finger to the fallen body of his accomplice. Liz’s eyes locked with his for a second, before, he too, fell to the ground with a new hole between his eyes.

Liz heard the screeching tires of the van as it lurched forward, trying in vain to get away from the massacre. Two more bullets went flying towards the distancing target, hitting both of its left wheels, forcing the van to steer towards the left; enough for the driver window to become visible, enough for Liz to plant another bullet in a thug’s head.

A sadistic low voice was whispering in her ear as she was standing there, motionless, her senses on their highest and drenched in her own blood. ‘Only three? Loukas could do better than that…’

~~~

Mark looked at his cell phone. The call recognition telling him that Liz was calling. He felt like he was treading on dangerous ground here. He had to show her enough kindness so as to overcome the pain of loss that was filling her up, but he also had to act like the stern tutor that simply has to get her on the straight way. Her talk of revenge and her, quite apparent, shift to a much more violent persona was frightening him. It was making it obvious to his experienced mind that she would fail her psychiatric evaluation test, forcing her to quit her job. On the other hand he had to battle his own internal war, for if they asked him too, he wasn’t sure that he could convince them that he wasn’t doing his best so as not to go over at Loukas' house and blast his head…

Mark decided to put on a more casual tone on his voice, until he could understand at least why she was calling, and act appropriate.

“Hey Liz? Feeling any better girl?”

“Mark… No time…”

“You’re ok girl?” Her rugged breath setting him on full alarm mode.

“Mark, send agents and ambulances to my house”

His voice rose so much that caused the nearest desks, those that were closer to his own closed office, to turn and look at him.

“Liz? Liz you’re ok? What happened?”

“They were waiting Mark… Three of them. Sent to kill me.”

“Where are you Liz? Are you ok? Answer me goddamnit” His free hand was repeatedly calling for help through his office phone.

“Yes. They’re dead. I stole a car.”

“Whaa…?”

“Shut up Mark and listen. Christian and Marcus are not answering their cellphones. I’m heading towards Marcus’ house since it’s nearer to me. Sent someone to Christian’s.”

“You stay exactly where you are kiddo. You’re listening to me? This is an order for Christ’s sake.”

“Sorry Mark. Can’t hear you” Liz said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she closed her phone.

“DAMN that girl” This time there wasn’t a single person in the room outside his office that didn’t turn to look through his drapes.

~~~

Liz saw the sirens flashing in the distance; parked in front of Marcus’ house. She slammed the brakes and darted out; policemen freezing momentarily without knowing what to do in the sight of the blood-drenched woman that was running straight towards them. Her badge that flashed for an instant and her clear “FBI” shout releasing them from their tight position.

The one that seemed in charge tried to intercept her path, oblivious to her state of mind. His brain froze in horror when she passed next to him, totally ignoring him. He stayed there, like a statue, for a second as he realized that all the red on her was blood, before he dashed right behind her shouting at her.

Liz saw the cops eyeing her weirdly, their hands resting on their guns, their gaze darting between them and the one that was following her; she didn’t have time for that now and so she paid no attention to them as she jumped above the yellow tape that they were already spreading in the entrance of the building. She ran towards the stairway that led to Marcus’ apartment, skipping two steps with each stride until she reached the second floor that he was living.

The door was open, yellow tape was sealing the crime scene off. She could clearly see blood on the carpet and men with FBI jackets carefully searching for evidence. ‘Too late’ her mind screamed.

“Show me your badge NOW” The shout of the chief policeman that has followed her was loud enough to make the agents stop whatever they were doing and look towards the open door; his gun clearly pointing towards her.

Everything crashed simultaneously inside her brain. She felt her eyes closing, spent from the effort, spent from the severe blood loss, spent from her failure to come in time…

Only one thing remained: her lust for revenge. ‘I swear to God I’ll kill you Loukas, even if it is the last thing that I’ll do’

And then everything went black…

~~~

Thompson was looking his boss with concern. He knew him far too well. He knew that this cold stare that he was giving him meant that he was bursting with anger. Yet, the voice that came out of his lips was cold as steel.

“I thought I told you to look after her, agent.”

“Sir… will all the respect, I didn’t have time to organize a squad to guard her. This incident happened just hours after I was given the command for Christ’s sake.”

“Thompson, you know I despise three things; swearing, mentioning His name in vain and incompetence. Your display of all those three simultaneously has been noted. Now, before I lose my calm, tell me what her status is. And doing so, watch your words and what you’ll report me.”

Blood has drained from Thompson’s face as he realized his captain’s veiled threat.

“She is steady and recovering Sir. No serious internal organ damages but the severe blood loss will cause her to stay in hospital for several days, if not weeks. The doctors also fear that the blood loss may have caused brain damage, but they can’t be sure until she wakes up, and they say that this will take days to happen. They say that it was almost a miracle that she could walk, let alone run like that, in her current state; and the investigators still haven’t figured out how she survived the initial trap.”

“Very good agent, very good. Just hope that she hasn’t suffered any brain damage, at least that her memory hasn’t. We need this girl Thompson. We need her to hunt down this new beast.”

“Aye aye Sir”

Thompson was relieved when he saw the glint in his boss’ –no, not boss’, captain’s- eyes. It was the same old glint that they shared from when they were at the army, from when the hunt had originally began…

Chapter VII: Clouded thoughts on a clear mind

2008-09-27T18:13:00.002+03:00

I feel the tears running from my eyes, and I know that they are mine. I’ve seen her setting the wheels on action. Why…

Thousand of vile images bombard me. Every inch of my body is set on fire. I’ve already died in every possible way. Yet, death is something that I would accept with open arms… if only I could forsake this life. My screams, I know, have stopped some time ago. Yet the tortures continue, relentlessly assaulting my frail flesh, devouring my sanity. Each moment that passes I’m certain that there is no kind of pain that I haven’t yet felt; that no part of mine hasn’t yet experienced the ultimate torture ever conceived. But humans never stop to amaze me with their cruelty. My arms and feet flail in a vain attempt to escape my prison, but I can’t move, I can’t fight, I can’t find the haven in the sweet embrace of booze. I’m left with a clear mind, a mind that continues to expand, trying to reach the ultimate understanding of time, of decisions, of fate…

At last I feel a string of my own, a memory that has yet to come in existence and maybe will never come, but at least it is about me. I’m feeling myself hanged from a ceiling, thick nailed chains holding me in place as a mob of torturers toy with me, having found the ultimate test subject for their vicious art. I see my face, and it is me. This is a possible fate of mine. Yet, in my mind, in my soul, the torture is even worse. A million strings of fate leap at every moment. Will they cut my flesh? Will they burn my eyes? Will the tear apart my skin? It matters not for me… for I feel every possible scenario that passes through their deranged minds.

And yet, my screams have stopped. I would like to think that they stopped because I’ve grown accustomed to it, because I’ve learned to endure. But no man, regardless of his strength could endure what passes on my mind now. No, I stopped screaming because I saw her act. Cursed woman, blessed woman, why did you have to open the damned diary?

If there is hell, it’s where I should belong. But I feel my mind working in strange ways. A hell of my own device, a roaring pit of lava devouring my body, and as a watcher, as a simple spectator, I watch my own, old self, giving way, and just sitting there, in the middle of a million screams and pains, and watch, tearful, something else, far away from here. Like that this scene I’m watching unfolding is greater than what goes around me…

She opens my diary, she reads, she recalls and she acts; a soldier of Armageddon, the Pawn that moves the King’s hand. Why god dammit? Why…

I watch as she reads, as she starts to comprehend, thankful that she doesn’t remember what she really is. And I can only stare, as hundreds of millions of threads of destiny start withering and fade. The carpet that fate has weaved is infinite, yet I see its edges giving way, vanishing, from what she set on motion. The knots that cannot be avoided tie themselves even tighter. The paths collide to create singularities, to force people on a set path. Some remain, just an infinity of them, but they are mostly insignificant.

I should be grateful, for each string that disappears takes away with it a hundred different pains. Like my mind is set free from their ugly reality. But I’m not. For now I see it, the end of the carpet. In the distance, all decisions lead to a single knot, and after that lies just a vast space of… nothingness. Am I blind beyond this point now, or is it where our world ends? Damn her. Bless her.

Tears never stop flowing out. I cry for all those fates that cease to exist as they where my children. I cry for myself, I cry for her, I cry now, because later there will be no more tears… Later there will be only four persons struggling to win against me. I hope they will succeed, I hope that I’ll fail. I hope that Armageddon will stop in its tracks, derailed. A prophet, a priest, a soldier and a murderer all against me… can the King be defeated. Can the King die? Long live the King…

I made my choice. I shall hasten my journey to this knot. I can only hope that by the end of this trip I will be not so tied down in those entangling lines; that I can break it from the inside, loosen it, unmake it…

My visions blur once again. Shit. I shouldn’t have rushed to a decision. Away from the comfort of doubt, I feel the scene departing, leaving me, once again, alone in my torment. I scream as pain returns to every fiber of this cursed body. The images pick up speed, rushing into my brain, into my soul. Like crushing waves that want to enter the last bit of dry land, they invade me.

Children kill children. Bombs explode on hospitals. Terrorists murder innocents… no not innocents. No one is innocent in this hell. They are all to blame for my visions; each and every single one of them. I see their stories unfolding; men that hit their wives; women that sell their spirit; people that waste their lives doing nothing. I see the governments that strive to personal gain, I see the leaders that kill for money and power; most of the times for the same thing. I feel the forest’s screams as it burns to ashes. I hear the mineworkers’ pleas as a tunnel collapses and simultaneously I hear the silent sobs of the land as she is being excavated, as holes are being torn into her for no other reason than simple rocks.

And I scream. I scream not because of the pain that those scenes produce to my body as each and every bullet that flies feels like it hits my own body, neither for the flames that engulfs me when the land itself burns, but for the reasons behind those actions. The depravity, the corruption, the negligence, the greed, the viciousness, the selfishness; all crush upon my very own soul. And I scream as I see the innocence of a child being crashed under the weight of the world; as his smile departs from his face, forever; as I see him transforming, rapidly, to another monster that will, in return, rob another one of his humanity…

And I try to laugh; I try to smile when those images change. I try to find reason to live when I see one offering a flower. A child plays, with no regards for the past or the future, and it gives my soul hopes. But then the scene vanishes. Almost like a small teaser of what could have been, not nearly enough to balance out the violence, but just enough to know what will fade in the future…

And I know. I know why this is happening; a test of our forefathers. There are only two endings for one with my gift; death or death. Either my body will cease to function, dead by default, dead because of all that cruelty, or, my soul will die, my humanity will vanish in the face of such a world. Either way, the one that will wake up will be no longer me. It will be the King.

And for the People it was justifiable. It was the least sacrifice for a perfect world; one man; a man without emotions, all burned down because of his fellow beings. One man killed, for millions to live. But who said that I wanted to be that man? Who asked me? Who said that I wanted to destroy the world for what he is causing?

I need to stick to the plan. I need to make haste. I need to reach the knot as fast as possible. The more I linger, the more will suffer. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid that when I wake up it wouldn’t be me in charge; although, to be honest, I never was…

I grasp my anchor once again. I feel her hand, strong, reassuring. I feel hope coming out of the entity that keeps me unseen company in my torment. It is my only chance; I’ll rely on her to ease my suffering, to keep me from losing my sanity. I pray, for the last time, to whatever is up there, if there is anything at all, and I let my mind free to roam in the pits of hell that is our world…

Chapter VI: A scream of sorrow

2008-09-27T18:10:00.003+03:00

Slowly the heavy wooden door opened. Not a sound escaped from its well oiled hinges; not a sound emerged from the light steps of the young nun as she entered the bright room. Yet, the small, surprised yelp that exited her mouth was enough to wake up Maria.

Despite the all-nighter that she had pulled, her eyes regained their clear shine in an instant. “What is it child?” Her soothing voice, like she was speaking to a small girl, and not a young servant of God, echoed in the room.

“I… I thought that he would be sleeping… but he’s still awake… At least he is not screaming anymore”

Maria followed the sister’s eyes to the bed that lay next to her chair. How long has it been since he had brought him here? Nearly thirty hours have passed, and most of them were full of his agony. His restrained arms and legs prevented him to thrash all over the place in his pain, prevented the thin tubes, that through them run the necessary drugs, to leave his flesh. Yet, despite the heavy painkillers, despite her hand that never left his tormented grip, he was still awake and fighting.

Maria contemplated her answer for a little, she wanted to provide reassurance for the younger girl, on the other hand, she needed her to become strong, to take care of this small place after her time was up, to grow up as a person that sees beyond the mere veil that sometimes reality threw upon them.

“I wish he was still screaming, Sister. Look at his face now, look at his cheeks. Tears stain them. It is not that the pain left his body; it is just that his sorrow overcomes it. And a broken soul is much more difficult to mend than a broken body…”

“Sister Mary, why did you bring him here? If he is half as bad as he shows, then he needs a full operating hospital. Can we provide him with everything he needs in here?”

That was upsetting, for the first time one of her subordinates doubted her. On the other hand that brought joy to Maria’s eyes. It meant that they were growing, they were starting to become independent, they were starting to care more for the patients than for her decisions.

But she couldn’t tell them yet, or anytime soon. She picked her patients according to their aura, according to what she saw in their souls. If she ever admitted that, then she would either end up caged as a lunatic, or revered as a saint, both of which would limit the time she got to spent with people that really needed her attention.

“Sister? You’re ok? You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Uh? Oh… You see my child, I always pick up people that I feel that they need our help. I’ve watched this man for several days, and the only thing that I’ve gathered is that this is a good man. His heart and mind, when not lost in the alcohol is full with kindness. But it is people like them, good people, that Satan chooses to torment, to break. I don’t know what his personal martyrdom is, but I do know that he has chosen the wrong way to fight it. He drinks to forget, and maybe that is temporarily helping, but in reality, all that this cursed thing does is to lower his defenses, to succumb, slowly to his inner demons.”

“But shouldn’t this be a fight that he has to face alone? If Satan, or God, is testing him, shouldn’t he be able to prove his own worth? And what about his physical condition? We are running a clinic after all…”

“Yes, it is a battle that he must choose if he wishes to fight or to surrender. I’m merely giving him a chance. But only when he is free of this taint in his blood the choice will be really his and not of the alcohol. When he is no longer addicted, he can decide anew if he wishes to follow the booze’s tempting path, or the painful path that leads to greatness… And I don’t think he is suffering from any real health problems, apart maybe from some slight damage to his liver. I’ve already given to the lab a sample of his blood for further analysis, and his disjointed shoulder seems to mend fine. We have him on painkillers and nutrition that his body seemed to be lacking, but until nightfall we cannot be sure. That’s why I haven’t allowed any of you younger kids to treat him…”

His screaming interrupted both of the women and hasted the exit of the younger; leaving Maria and her patient all alone in the room. His grip on her hand was getting stronger, crushing the aged bones, yet Maria knew no pain now, she just knew that he had accepted her help…

She started chanting a peaceful prayer; to calm his mind; to ease her fears. Fears that have never left her mind since he brought him here. Yes, he was special, she had seen his shoulder mending, she had sensed his liver starting to shape up in just one day of absence of the malicious substances, but above all, she had seen his aura; an aura that scared her.

As her eyes drifted to the window she gazed at the world below. This small place that acted as, both a monastery, and a small clinic, run by her as a doctor, and her nuns as nurses, overlooked the crowded city’s slums… And in there grayness ruled.

She would have been hard pressed to find a person that she could call truly evil, a man that his aura was the deepest shade of black. Equally hard pressed she would have been if she had searched for one that his aura matched the white of her own. Shades of gray, like the cement walls that barricaded their bodies also served as cells for their souls, sipping their dullness into their minds. But why did it feel like dusk was coming? Why did the shades of gray always seem to darken?

And yet, this one differed. She was almost in trance looking at the bright tongues of fire that tried to strangle his white aura. She knew not if this was a good sign, or an omen of destruction. Color was nonexistent in auras, yet he was sheathed in it. Sometimes it looked like the fire danced with the white, some others like they were battling, and sometimes it even looked like his aura wasn’t the pure white, but more like the searing light that the hottest flame can produce. She wondered if this was what auras were in the end… the fiery representation of their souls. And she feared the response on that question, did it really mean that the coals of their human souls have died out?

‘No. The flames are Hell. This one is battling with hell, the hungry, devouring, flames trying to eat up the goodness in him. That should be it. That must be it. Or else I’m dooming us all…’

Chapter V: Deus ex murder

2008-09-22T14:19:00.007+03:00

Liz scouted their temporary surveillance base; the equipment was set, the monitors online. She could do nothing but wait now. It would be a shame for all this trouble to go to waste, and she could only blame herself for her ineptitude to catch a simple drunken slob.

She checked her watch again. Less than half an hour has passed since John left to continue his damage control but it still seemed like an eternity to her. There was nothing to do, nothing to set up. All the excitement that came with the preparations for this mission has already faded away.

Her mind wandered again to John. He may have been overly dramatic and a little stuck up at times, but at times like this she valued his experience. He was quick to blend in the neighborhood; no one could distinguish him as something different than a bum if he saw him right now. And his skills at getting the information that he needed seemed to her like a faraway dream of what her own skills could be honed to.

He had reported that there seemed to be no leakage of their whereabouts from the drunkard. In fact, no one but the liquor store merchant had even seen this guy before. It was like he was a ghost, unseen and unheard of. ‘Laying low no doubt for some crime he had committed’ 'her cynical mind shouted to her.

Yet, the suspense was killing her. John was out doing his rounds, Christian was in the van some blocks away, acting as their link to the outside world and Marcus was watching Loukas house. All doing something constructive, all having something to pass their time with, while she was stuck here, doing absolutely nothing, well… watching the surveillance of an empty warehouse…

She had to do something, anything, just to occupy her mind, to throw away the anxiety that was building inside her. Her mind drifted anew. Her gaze fell upon the leather-bound diary that she had found yesterday during her clean up of the house.

It made no sense. Who would drop such a book in a heap of broken bottles, and why. Surely, the one it belonged to cared for it; it was well preserved, clean, and even seemed expensive. Yet, someone has abandoned it here…

She tried to think if it would be such a bad thing to read it, maybe it contained one’s private thoughts, but if that was the case, why throw it away? As her mind was engaged in an inner struggle; as she was still trying to debate if killing her time with something that wasn’t her own was worth it, she found that her body had already took control and was already flipping its thick pages.

It wasn’t right. The text contradicted the container. She half-expected to find some kind of a diary, a structured accounting of one’s actions. The quality of the cover said, at least, that this belonged to someone who had enough money to spare for a decent education. But the words that this –thing- contained were nothing more than a lunatic’s ravings. They weren’t even complete sentences; just words hastily written one after another in a maddening pace. And the pages were thick, quality paper. Paper made to endure hardships and time’s decay. But the scribbling itself was, at least, hideous. She had to squint just so she could understand most of them. There weren’t even proper lines, just random notes about random things written wherever there was free space on a page...

‘Who could ever want to preserve such a thing?’ She wondered again.

Lazily, she turned to the last page. Maybe there were clues there about the reason that the owner of this book discarded it. At least it could occupy her mind with that until John came back.

Stained shirt and raven black hair come.
They look at the couple.
My husband returns.
A clock chimes twelve.
A gunshot.
Pain.
The blood runs freely out of me, paints the blond hair to a crimson color.

The whispering voice of John caused Liz to break her reading. “One of those days, I’m really going to kill Christian.”

Liz slightly pulled the shutters with her fingers and peeked outside; surely enough, she could see the disheveled form that John used as his disguise closing in. The way that he blobbed and limped looked absolutely natural. He wore some torn old jeans and a filthy brown shirt that seemed like it had seen its fair amount of alcohol and vomit being tossed upon it. Even the wig that rested on his head looked like it was made specifically for him, the same wig that contained his radio and made him look like a lunatic that was currently speaking to himself. But her eyes rested on the dirty paper-bag that he was carrying.

“Huh? What’s the matter John? You wanted to look so natural that you actually went and bought some booze for ya?”

“No… Stupid Christian and his pranks. He said that he had an important piece of equipment for us and I went to pick it up.”

“So…?

“It’s frigging donuts! They actually went to buy us some donuts just to tease us!”

“Hey, donuts are essential for a good stake out. Every movie shows so…” Christian peeped in their conversation merrily.

Liz understood Christian. He wanted to cheer them up. He was usually good at this sort of things, but really…

“DONUTS? I’ll cover you up John if any accident, like a bullet in the head, befalls Christian…” Liz snapped back while simultaneously trying to hold in her chuckles.

~~~

The door slammed in the wall as Loukas burst it open, causing the small painting of his wife that rested next to it to slightly tilt. He used to think that this painting was too small to contain her beauty. Yet, the painter had done miracles. He had chosen to work only with her face, and made her eyes the focal point of his drawing. He played with the light to make her almost shine in a, sort of mystical, halo. Even slight details, like the way that her golden locks portrayed her face, only added to the whole effect that the artist was trying to create.

It was in those same eyes that Loukas now looked with hatred.

“You bitch… You though that I wouldn’t learn?” His voice was calm, too calm. As cold as ice, and as sharp; as deadly as the pistol that he drew.

Next to the painting, an old cuckoo clock chimed twelve; a bullet went flying. Before the helpless body of his wife hit the floor, bathed in her own blood, Marcus was already screaming on the radio.

“They’re on to us. Quickly abandon the mission. Get the hell away from there…” He tried to sound calm, he tried to not scream, but the rapid succession of his words, the hasty decision calling, the anxiety on his voice were impossible to hide.

~~~

Liz’s watch beeped twelve o’clock the instant they heard Marcus shouts. She saw John pausing for a second, losing a step, trying to comprehend the severity, or lack of it, of the current situation.

Hot liquid dripped on her leg. It was blood from her hand. She realized that she was biting her own hand to muffle her screaming. Her eyes were glued to John as he was falling. It was like a scene in the movies, like it was on slow motion. Him, slowly falling, his hand grasping his dirtied shirt in a vain attempt to stop the blood from the bullet wound from gushing out. A paper bag stuck in mid-air, like time has frozen, a few donuts flying out. Liz couldn’t move, thoughts were beyond her screaming mind. The only thing that remained was a nauseating feeling of déjà vu.

Her gaze finally broke from the blooded scene, and as one by one insane pieces of a puzzle that her mind, even now, refused to accept, lowered to the leather bound book that lay on her hands; the last sentences that she had read still echoing in her mind.

A clock chimes twelve.
Stained shirt kneels and grabs his chest.
Donuts fall.
Raven black hair is stunned.
She panics.

It was at the moment that she had read that sentence that John had interrupted her. Yet, as the scene replayed in her eyes, she could do nothing but stare, once again, at the journal.

“…I’m raven black hair?” It didn’t make sense. Nothing around her now did. How someone wrote this passage? How did Loukas found out about them? Why John wasn’t standing up…

She knew the risks when she tried to become an agent. She knew that they were toying with death when they embarked for this mission. But she still couldn’t believe that her partner was lying in a pool of his own blood right now. From all the insanity going around her, this was the most difficult to accept. And yet, she felt her heart returning to its normal pulse. Her mind categorizing the things she saw as simple facts. Any emotion that existed moments ago disappeared from her eyes.

“I’m probably in shock” She whispered to herself as she meticulously continued reading the journal.

Stained shirt kneels and grabs his chest.
Donuts fall.
Raven black hair is stunned.
She panics.
Possibilities start spinning again. They dance around themselves, become entwined and choke the actual meaning of a decision. Most of them end in the same knot. Most of them spawn the same pattern on the carpet.
It almost doesn’t matter what she will choose.
Raven black hair jumps out of the window, towards stained shirt. The sniper’s bullet hits her before she can even stand up. She dies.
Raven black hair runs out the door, towards the alley, trying to reach her vehicle. She never notices the assassin that waited for that. Her back was turned to him as he pulled the trigger. She dies.
Raven black hair reads my notes… oh shit…

It ended there. No more scribbles, just blank pages, just empty spaces that denied any real clues of who wrote this, but most importantly of how she is supposed to escape. Only one sentence gave her hope.

‘Almost doesn’t matter is severely different that doesn’t matter at all. And for the record Oh shit doesn’t even begin to describe what is happening. So my actions don’t matter eh? You’ve given me enough to make them matter…’ Something inside her was screaming that at this point, there were greater issues than mocking a piece of paper… issues like how something like this was even possible.

Liz stood up instantly; adrenaline and blood rushing in her veins. Almost like a fine tuned machine she unhooked her pistol and checked the clip; her movements almost thoughtless, mechanical, emotionless. She found herself perfectly relaxed; there was nothing in her mind but one thing.

In one swift move, she kicked the door open and jumped out, her back facing the road instead of the alley. In the shadows, just across the street, her eyes caught the metallic glint of a gun that moved. Her hand was quicker, as she readjusted her pistol and shot. A slight bump as she landed to the ground with her shoulder returned her to reality.

‘Did I just shoot a man in the head while in midair?’ Her brain tried in vain to wrestle control of the body. But it failed. Her instincts prevailed over her logic again. This was no time to think, it was time to act… to survive. More assassins would close in her in mere moments. Liz broke to a frantic run. She had to reach the van, both for her life, and to show the journal to someone, anyone, just to make certain that she wasn’t insane…

Chapter IV: A saint’s lie

2008-09-22T14:17:00.003+03:00

John checked his watch; it was six o’clock. They needed to make haste. “Liz gimme a hand will ya?” he shouted as he was trying to adjust some antennas.

Liz was frustrated that she had demoted herself to cleaning this place while John was readying the equipment; on the other hand she didn’t trust him enough to make this place as clean as she wanted. But what really infuriated her was that he was whining that his job was harder. Suddenly, a knock on the door froze both of them.

“What the heck” Liz muttered, “junkies don’t knock. They find a locked door and they just move to another joint to take their fix…”

A short pause. Liz and John waited patiently for the intruder to leave. Yet, the knocking persisted.

“For Christ’s sake, open up Liz before this one attracts a commotion here.”

With her hand ready to draw her pistol, Liz opened the door.

Her nose was suddenly invaded by filth. A rugged young man was staring weirdly at her. From the way that he moved, it was obvious that he was completely drunk. His greased brown hair seemed like a solid mass of dirt as they framed almost all of his face, denying Liz the opportunity to study his features. Even if the hair wasn’t in they way, the unkempt beard that reached almost to his chest would have done the same job. His clothes were a mismatch of grey and brown rags that seemed like that the last time they were washed was when it last rained, and it was summer now…

He raised his hand and took a sip out of a bottle, a move of defiance on his part, Liz thought. But while his hand indicated to her that he thought nothing of her being there, his gaze was fixated upon her, looking her like she was simultaneously the first and last thing he wanted to see. Suddenly he tried to move forward, to enter the house, as if she wasn’t there, as if he could march on, trampling over her. Her body took over; with a quick move she grasped his arm and twisted it almost a half circle, immobilizing him with pain and causing the bottle to fall with a dull sound to the ground. But his face didn’t registered pain, only shock. As he opened his mouth to speak a foul stench engulfed her.

Through his vile breath, a gurgle of sounds came forth, sounds that at some point they could have registered as words, but not as he spoke. Liz tried in vain to understand, but only some random words were audible.

“…Go… Really go… Die... Shoo… Shoo…”

“I think he wants me to leave” Liz mused, “he’s threatening me and then he’s speaking to me like I’m a dog or something… He is clearly pissed. Literally…” She told, over her shoulder, to John.

“Well throw him out and be done with it”

“Go. Leave. Don’t come back. You understand me?” Liz shouted to the drunk. The effect was unpredictable as he started to laugh.

“…Rum… DIEEEEEE.” His words more clear now. Liz’s hand moved to her pistol holder. John started to run towards the door too.

“Shit! I think he’ll become violent.” Liz shouted.

Suddenly a cracking sound came from his shoulder as he twisted his hand free, probably disjointing or breaking it. For a moment Liz and John froze with shock at his effort. Then they rushed out trying to catch up with him.

The sounds of breaking glass were followed by a dull thumbing noise of a body hitting the ground. As Liz’s body turned towards her back, towards were the sound originated, her hand had already released her pistol and pointed towards that same direction.

John was lying on his back with an expression of pain masking his face. Beneath his foot were the remains of the tequila bottle he had stepped on, a step that led to his fall. Should the situation wasn’t so dire, Liz would have burst out laughing, but now the only thing that filled her senses was rage; rage for the ineptitude of her partner.

“Fuck” John shouted as he gripped his sprained ankle. “Move Liz, Move. Don’t just stand there. Catch him quickly, if he tells anyone about us the whole mission will have to be canceled.” John shouted to her.

Liz was barely following the shadow of the drunkard as he ran. For his condition he was extremely fast; continuously gaining distance. But Liz hoped, she hoped that his lungs wouldn’t last him, that he would fall on his knees fighting for air in any second now. She would only have to tail him till that happened.

As she turned in the corner, a string of incoherent curses escaped her mouth; a crossroad; and she had no way of knowing were he went at. A curled body lay at the center of it, dressed in black. Maybe…

Her trail of thoughts was cut short as she looked at the body that was slowly trying to stand up. ‘What the hell does a nun do in such a place?’ She wondered as she rushed subconsciously to aid the elder woman.

Small, broken words escaped the thin lips of the elderly woman. “…My daughter… Thank you. Yes, yes, I’m ok… Just a random drunkard pushed me down as he was rushing towards there…” The nun said pointing to the right path. Liz was already sprinting towards there before the elderly woman had the chance to finish up her sentence.

As she saw the agent’s shadow vanishing in the dark alleys Maria stretched her body. Her wrinkled hands started to dust the dirt off her shirt. Within less than a minute, the disheveled old lady had regained her majestic stature, her movements themselves instilling respect to everyone who was to look upon her. The wrinkles in her hands and face, the only flesh that was visible through her outfit, contradicted the mirth of her eyes as they shone with the light that one can only expect from a teenager.

“I’m sorry my child” she whispered towards the, now gone, agent. “This one is worth trying saving. I won’t let him go to jail for some petty crime without doing at least that…” She ended her small speech with a melodic voice that seemed to belong to a prayer. Merrily, she started skipping with agile steps, like she was almost dancing, towards the left path, towards were her target had run off…

She found him in a heap made from dirt and his own blood; his hazy eyes and filthy skin of no consequence to her. She knew who she was; she knew why she had been gifted. When others just passed by a drunkard, she could really see the blinding white aura of pureness that enveloped this man, an aura almost as strong as hers. His gaze fell upon her for just a second, and then, probably feeling the calmness she emitted, she saw his eyes closing, surrendering himself to Morpheus' peaceful embrace, allowing him to pass out and maybe rest.

Her bright eyes rose to the sky “Thank You Lord. Please grand me the strength to bring a worthy man back to a righteous path.” She whispered her self-made prayer.

As she gripped his shoulder, she felt doubt entering her mind. It was the first time she wasn’t completely sure about her actions. She shrugged her shoulders and stood still for a second, thinking something. And then she repeated the now changed prayer. ‘Thank You Lord for granting me the privilege of doubt. Thank You for allowing me to choose my own path. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’ll fail You. But I can only see this as a test for my faith… and love.’ This time, the words, were never spoken. Instead she formed them in her mind, after all, she knew that God really only listens to hearts, not words.

Chapter III: Unwanted visitors.

2008-09-22T14:15:00.001+03:00

Loud sounds again, bright light burning my eyelids. I think I’ve have passed away. How much time has passed? As I feel a sharp instrument of pain invading my body, I scream, and I understand; long enough to have started sobering up. Deafening bangs crash in my head; one, two, three… The noises make me want to bury myself in the ground. Like a hammer crashing my mind, they smash and smash with force upon my undefended self; almost like someone has put me inside a ringing bell… That’s it, it is a bell… it stopped at the sixth beat. Does that mean that it is six o’clock? And is there a cathedral with such a massive bell around here? I don’t know… Oh God, I don’t WANT to know. My mind screams to me. How many hours have passed, how sober am I to actually comprehend what goes around me? Thankfully my trusty companion is still in my hand. I drown myself in the bliss of alcohol, and I rise again. I still need to go home.

The easy way. Follow the wall. The more drunk I am, the more the world rocks in its sea. That’s for the better, the alcohol may cause my body to drop to the ground now and then, but at least it keeps my soul from falling to the abyss. An old woman looks at me, she smiles. I think I’ve seen her somewhere before. I shrug, I don’t care. I don’t want to care. If I’ll care I’ll burst. Door. Good. Safety.

Strange, the door is closed. I’ve left it open. The least I need now is a roommate in this dump. I’ll have to drive him away. First I’ll have to see him of course; first I’ll have to enter. Weird, the door won’t budge. I don’t remember it having a lock. Actually I don’t remember it being a sturdy door at all, this one looks new.

Knock… Knock… Knock…

Why the hell am I knocking in my own house? At least I think it is my own house. I claimed it a year ago…

Raven black hair. Ok. Right. I’m seeing the same things again, that means that I’m in the same place. That’s good. But I’m not supposed to see them, I’m totally drunk. Maybe the booze is wearing off. Raven black hair looks at me funny. Ha! As if she can see me… I’m all alone in my hell…

I sip some more booze, I need her to disappear. Well… it’s not working. I walk over her. Huh? I can’t pass. Her hand stops me. It hurts as she twists it. That can only mean one thing. She is really here. Shit. That’s bad. I have to warn her.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but you really have to go. Like really, really, have to go; like if you stay you’ll probably die. I know you cannot believe me like that, but you have to trust me, leave the couple at the opposite of the building alone, or else they’ll shoot you.” I tell her, yet she stands still, looking confused. What’s wrong?

Another voice behind her. Many voices, I can’t distinguish.

She looks angry for some reason, but I can’t understand what exactly she is talking about. Apart from that being funny that is. I laugh.

“Look, seriously now, if you stay in this room, he’ll find out. You’ll probably die, probably by a headshot.” I have to insist, it’s for the better, I think it is at least.

More voices behind her.

She unhooks a pistol. Someone’s running to get me. Fuck. Not good; if they catch me we will all die. I break free from her, I think that this has caused harm to my shoulder, it’s painful, but at least it’s not death.

I run wild now. Booze might not be the best ally for running, but at least my shoulder doesn’t feel that bad. I’m sure that it will be hurting like hell when I’ll sober up. Note to self, ‘don’t sober up’.

Good thing: I know the back alleys. Bad thing: it seems she knows them too. Crossroads, I’ll go left. If she goes right she will lose me, if she goes left we will all going to die. Funny thing, life that is, something that seems like a trivial choice being the judge of so critical matters.

I pant. I think I’ll throw up, again. If only there was something still inside me to expel. Now the only thing that comes out is blood. Damn liver damage.

An elder woman looks at me. She smiles. At least she wears black; I like that color, goes well with my life. I know her, I think. I faint.

Chapter II: Lifetime opportunity.

2008-09-22T14:09:00.003+03:00

“We can finally nail the bastard down” Mark shouted.

Despite his advancing age, the joy and excitement that was painted on his face made him look much younger than what one could expect from a sixty years old man. His grinning was contagious to the rest of the people in the room.

“If our informant is right, there will be another major drug delivery this Saturday. In just three more days, we will have him behind bars.” Mark ended his speech.

The four remaining people in the office looked at each other, three long years of work were about to pay off.

“There will be just a slight change of our usual routine” Mark continued, “We cannot afford to use our surveillance van for this one. Loukas will be alert and will probably spot a van at a place that has less traffic than a country road in the middle of nowhere. Luckily for us, there is an abandoned complex opposite the warehouse that the transaction will take place, we will hide there. Liz and John, as usual, will be stationed there, Marcus will remain in our normal position to monitor Loukas house, and Christian will be near the complex just in case. We will have the local police in this on our side but they will be ignorant on what exactly we are trying to do. They will just be alert enough to be able to mobilize when the time is right. Now…”

As Mark continued to elaborate on the plan, the four agents let the joy wash off them; now it was time for work. Even a slight mistake could mean their life. As one by one they offered their opinions and views on the battle plan, they realized how risky this operation was. On the other hand, you cannot expect to drop down on a major drug dealer, with a million ties in the mafia, and expect it to be a stroll in the park.

Time was fleeting. Only three days to get ready, a small window of opportunity, and they were just a small team so as to make certain that the mobster wouldn’t have any contact in their group. A strong gust of wind blew Liz’s rich, black hair, blinding her momentarily, as she exited the vast building. She felt the need to reassure herself, an ominous feeling of foreboding was clouding her mind. She looked up in the sky and in the agency’s logo one more time, F.B.I. For some reason, that didn’t lift her spirit as it used to be, as year by year passed, she realized that the glamour that this logo held in her heart, was fading; political games and corrupted officers didn’t make things better either. She understood now, that in just a few more years, her dream will be demolished, and all that would remain from it will be a plain job.

Just after noon, Liz and John were already in the, nearly demolished, complex. Graffiti stained the cracked walls, and even that was faint behind the layers of dirt and filth that seemed to be the motif of the whole neighborhood. Luckily, the infrastructure of the building seemed intact. Even some of the windows and doors remained, although most of them were in a degenerate shape.

From the outside, the chosen room for the job, just across the street from the warehouse, seemed to be the one in the best condition.

“Heh, we have lady luck on our side for this one Liz.” John mused.

His remark was cut short as he pushed the, almost rotten, door open. The place reeked of filth, garbage was lying all over the place, and a nauseating smell, like vomit, seemed to emanate from the very walls of the room. It still had its windows, mostly, intact but for some reason no one seemed to have bothered opening them anytime in the past; trapping the stale stink inside the small place.

“Junkies…” Liz muttered with disgust as she tried to stop coughing. “We need to make this place bearable. And we will also need to secure it, so that no one can enter it for those three days.”

Thankfully, the hinges seemed intact. And in just a small time, the rest of the crew came bringing in the equipment. Among the things that lay now in a heap of the room, were some bottles of chlorine, deodorants, and a door. The last three, requests of the surveillance team that no one seemed to object to.

Chapter I: Restless Bliss

2008-09-22T13:07:00.006+03:00

My blank stare looks at nothing; dead eyes that rest their gaze at the empty space that is my wall; gray, cement walls; gray as my life; as my hopes. I raise the bottle that rests in my left hand and I make a toast to myself.

“Drown you bastard. Just. Simply. Die.”

But rest won’t come so easy; I know. I have tried to achieve the eternal sleep more than once. But failure was met with cheering. I know that I shouldn’t give up; I’ve listened to the stories. Well… it will require more than fairytales to return to my soul what I’ve lost.

I let my stare drift; from the emptiness of a fading wall, to the multitude of broken glasses; remains of a sinful life. My only companion, my booze, and I, as an ungrateful friend, have smashed its container to bits; once, twice, uncountable times; bottles have smashed on this floor, a mattress of shards. I look at them, and my hands move simultaneously. In my left hand a drink to sustain me, in my right a pen to ease my heart, my eyes… my eyes scanning the shards, lost in their perfect mirage as the light that breaks through the crumbled windows illuminates them; an illusion of colors springing out of them… and my hands move in tandem to the countless colors that leap forth; in the rhythm that the images that fill, once again, my mind dictate...

Fragments of colors.
Colors like black.
Raven black hair gently flowing in the breeze.
Shards of realities.
Cascading memories that have yet to find their way into existence.
A thousand needles that pierce the loose fabric I call skin.
A self deformed beyond recognition.
A cardboard box.
Tequila.
He moves, he enters the building.
A clock chimes twelve.
A gunshot.
Pain.
The blood runs freely out of me, paints the blond hair to a crimson color.
Tequila.
A blank wall stares intimidating at me.
Pain.
A knife, a scream; I scream.
The pencil moves again, it scratches down things.
Necessity.
Singularities that try to enter our world; one way or another; I’ll give them the other.
Alcohol; runs thickly into my veins; needed.
A blank wall, next to a cardboard; or is this the other way around?
Tequila.
A speeding truck.
A child runs to pick up his ball.
A mother runs to pick up the shattered pieces of her life.
A father cries huddling some child’s clothes.
Tequila.
“Fuck… empty”
Was that my voice? It’s been long since I heard it.
A gun.
A gunshot.
A pause.
Another gunshot.
Fragments of colors.
The color is red.
Blood red.
Pain.
A million pictures more; each one more gruesome than the other.
The cardboard rots away.
A blank wall collapses; newer, better walls start rising.
A company thinks that cement is the only thing that is needed to build a home.
Thousands employees.
He wears a red hat. He smiles. He- I supervise. I return home. My wife is missing. Tequila. Oh yeah… none left.
I need alcohol.
Lots of it; fast.
My hand trembles as I write.
No time now; no strength; later; after the booze.
Raven black hair runs.
Stained shirt kneels and grabs his chest.
Donuts fall.
Raven black hair looks at a book.
I close a book.
I need booze; I need to see the blank wall.

I feel my strength fading. My weak fingers cannot hold anything anymore; they move as if they have their own will. Something falls; the sound as it crashes to the ground deafens my sensitive ears, a book shouldn’t make such sounds. Colors fly around me as I try to stand up. Reality refuses my rightful place as a human, she starts to dance around me, tries to confuse my footsteps. Yes, she has managed it, I fall. I hit something soft, it is the cardboard … I hope at least that it is the cardboard. Images fade. Gosh I’m pissed. How much alcohol runs in my veins right now? I should have died. I shouldn’t have died. It is toying with me; destiny laughs in my face. But I know I can win right now. My hand rests on a wall, a blank wall if I remember correctly. I’ll follow this to the exit. I’ll follow this to a haven; to a liquor store.

Damn. Why did I have to go out again? Noises, they keep attacking my senses. Hell is loose in my brain. A million pains and tortures participating in a macabre dance; their only goal to have their five minutes of fame in the chaotic stage they have set in my mind. I can’t battle them, I have already lost. But there is serenity in this acceptance of defeat, there is always this fine point between apathy and bliss. I have surrendered myself as their playground, and they let me survive, even if it is only so that they can torment me more. But this is a hell I am familiar with. Each step takes me away from it, each step brings me closer to another violent pit, each step sparks another unimaginable terror in my memory. The old ones are still there; their scars too deep in my psyche to simply subside because I left. But my mind, almost like a bottomless pit, keeps devouring those new vile sensations. Pain, agony, misery, destruction; they keep adding up in the pile. Horrors that no sane human could ever conceive fill me up. I hope that I won’t burst… today. I hope that I can make the trip back and forth. I hope that this small part of my mind that isn’t yet mad will hold. I have to, or everything will fall apart.

But it is hard. The alcohol is starting to dissipate in my veins. The horrors rub their hands in glee as they get ready to enter me again; and those horrors are new. I’m unprepared to face them. I take a step. A lady runs somewhere, she is carrying a bag. An envelope rests in there. She is ignorant of what this envelope will spark; but I know… Another step. I scream. I can’t help it; a red hot iron is poking my eyes out. Someone sticks something in my nails. I don’t know what it is, but it hurts; a lot. I scream again. Burning oil covers the last remaining skin of my body. It passes and I force my worn out body to move forward.

Fresh air. It stinks of life and death. I stink of booze. I think I’m going to vomit. An elder woman looks at me; she looks weird, she smiles. I take a step towards her; and I know; she’ll die; probably by a gunshot; probably in some months. Sorrow fills my heart again, I liked that woman, for a split second I felt comfortable. But the slight images of hopes that she sparked were swiftly crashed by the weight of the world’s injustices. Another step. I’m strong now, nearing my goal, nearing oblivion. I push a door. I enter. I empty my pockets in the counter. The shopkeeper is stunned; I guess he hasn’t seen anyone emptying a bottle of tequila in less than a minute. I buy another one. I leave.

Bliss.

Now if only I could find my way back… and pray. Pray that the new horrors that have entered me are not so strong so as to win over the old ones. I need my old home now. I need my old demons to triumph above the new ones. I need to strengthen the maddening violence I felt there. It was a violence I have won over by surrendering to it; I doubt I can do so again without losing the last bit of my sanity…

The booze is starting to work. My memory starts to fade… I don’t know where I am now. I just know that this is a new place, new images, new pains. I prefer the old ones, I’m used to them. I just know that I must leave this place.