Through Tainted Glass

Whap

I watch from afar as the ship arrives into the harbor. It's white and cowered in decorations, and I find it mildly disgusting. Even from this far, the boat smells of money.

I've taken great care in staying hidden. It's an important part of the plan. The people of the island still remember, and that means we need to be very neat and careful. At least for now. No one can know what's going on until it's too late.

I watch long enough to see her coming ashore. Abby is a spitting image of her mother at her age, and I find it easy to understand why my son has taken such a liking to her. If it weren't for the plan, I might feel the need to kill her myself. But I'm not that foolish, being rash got me shot and sprawled out on the bottom of the cliff last time I was here. I don't like repeating my mistakes.

As there is no point staying any longer, I make my way back into the forest. I like it here on the island. In the cities it's much harder to disappear, even if you know the place like the back of your own hand. Here the dense foliage and the natural shapes of the earth do the hiding for me. The roads travelable by car are scarce, and that makes the Inn much easier to patrol and its inhabitants much easier to ambush.

I smile. So easy to get lost on this island. No one will notice if some quests fall of the grid.

I stop when I notice I've arrived at the Tree. The Tree of Woe they call it. I might have felt honored if the name wasn't so corny. I've grown into a man since then. Now, in retrospect, I find I had been a foolish young man back then. Charging in like that screwed everything up for myself. Almost lost the chance to ever find my son, it had been pure luck that I hadn't killed Henry by mistake.

But it proved my theory right. You have to give up what you love to become whole. Giving up, in this case, meant killing of course. Most people might not approve of my philosophy, but it didn't really matter. Most people did not matter.

Light footsteps rustled through the grass and dead leaves. Instinctively I step back into the protection of the trees, and watch her. She is right there, only a couple feet away, completely unaware of my presence.

Only she is not alone. My son arrives soon after, and takes her with him. We exchange the slightest of looks over her shoulder. His eyes hold a clear accusation. I rattle my weapon, somewhat annoyed. I wasn't going to do anything to her.

Even if I wanted to.

Given the circumstances, we can't have much contact, not until much later, when panic takes over their brains. Until then, we act mostly on a pre-planned schedule.

We have the targets, as Henry likes to call them, organized into two categories: Important and irrelevant. Important ones are mostly for him to kill, they're the reason we are doing this. We did not see eye to eye with all of these classifications, and even less with the order. My son has a twisted sense of justice in him.

I have no justice at all.

Still, my job at this point was to stay hidden and start crossing out some of the irrelevant targets, creating some chaos and distrust, if it was in any way possible. It would keep them preoccupied, and turn their minds off the disappearances. It should be fun.

Actually we had already started. It had been a bold move on his part, tying that man into the boat's propeller before they even set off. I got the feeling he was showing off. How he managed to both put him there and then remove the air tanks without anyone of his little friends noticing was beyond me. His smiles must have made them blind.

I, too, make my way towards the Inn. There are many passages through which one could slip in, if one knew what he was doing. And I knew these secrets tunnels well. I had arrived here several days before the wedding party, to get a feel of the playground.

I must have been too confident, however, as I was now almost face to face with a young girl. I remembered seeing her with the rest of the guests. She was burning a snail, and her parents were arguing farther away. I feel a strange sense of curiosity. So I whisper her a secret from the shadows. The girl listens intently, and doesn't call for help.

I tell her that people had died here before. Why, I'm not sure. Later I figured it was because the girl was, beyond doubt, very creepy and even more bored. She could prove useful later on, I figured. After all, it was only a silly ghost story told to her by a faceless man hiding between the trees.

After this detour I hide within the tunnels for the rest of the day. The child might be weird and naïve enough not to sense the danger, but an adult seeing me would ruin the whole plan. Even with a whole wedding party on the island, the risk of being recognized by someone was too large. I would show myself in due time.

I am, however, not the most patient man. I can anticipate the strike for days if needed – my years as your common fisherman taught me that – but just sitting around had never been my strong suit.

So I call her on my prepaid phone. She answers after third ring. I play her Ave Maria, just long enough for her to recognize it.

"Hello?"

I can hear the slightest hint of fear in her voice, blended into the deep confusion. I find myself smiling again, vaguely amused by her reaction, and end the call.

Later that night, I see her leave the house and go towards town. I follow for a while, just to make sure she was really gone. I can see the lights of Cannery ahead, and go closer still.

A pigeon flutters its wings and rises out of the tree next to me. The girl gets startled, and all but runs in. I curse under my breath, which I realize I had been holding. Damn birds. Abby will never forget my face, and she is the last person that should see it.

Since I was already in town, I decided to pay a friendly visit to the local Marine Museum. There I find some rather interesting and very deadly pieces of history. This will raise the suspicion of a certain someone, and that was exactly what I was after. He deserved to feel fear. It was his fault that Sarah left me, and threw away my child.

I make my way back to Candlewick in the protection of the night shadow. I hear people chatting on the balcony, and see that my son is among them. I sneak past them, and back into the tunnels. Through them, I get to the upper floors completely unnoticed, and leave our dearest Abby a little something to ponder.

Henry wouldn't like it if he knew. But if he insisted doing the things his way, I should at least be allowed some mind games to amuse myself.

When I return outside, the chatter is still there. But soon enough an older man parts from the group, and heads away from the Inn. Going for a walk, surely. It is a nice evening, after all.

Such a very nice evening.

I follow him. Closer up, I recognize him as "uncle Marty". I know he was at least somewhat important to Henry.

It would be easier, better this way. He could ease into it. And the old guy wouldn't be snooping around.

I hadn't actually planned the bridge. But it was perfect. He fell through the weak part, which I had once almost trampled through as well. I jumped of the road, headspade carried on my shoulder.

He must have heard me coming, since he calls out into the night. Pity. I hit him with the large knife, meant for beheading whales. I manage to get in two hits before I have to back off for a while. The man is armed, and shoots at me through the cracks. Lucky for me it's extremely hard to hit something that you cannot see. I move in again, and hack at the wound I've already managed to cause. It takes three hits to part his upper body from the legs. The lower part falls limply to the ground, and dark red blood gushes from the open wound.

I twist the upper part loose from the bridge, and drag them into the high bushes near the broken bridge.

I have the whole night to hide to body and repair the bridge. Come morning, nothing in this place would give any reason to suspect anything grim had ever happened here, or ever would.

Things are looking up.