Chapter 5 is finally here. For all those who were holding their breath for me to update; I will send flowers to your widows and widowers.
Past Evils
Chapter 5 - Mexican Stand-off
I can't see myself. Something's wrong, I can feel it, but there's nothing to look in. No mirrors or reflective surfaces. I start to panic. I've got to see myself, find out what was wrong. I start clawing at the walls, my fingernails digging into the plaster. My fingers and knuckles turn bloody as I scratch away. A glint through the cracks renews my efforts. I peel away chunks of the wall, revealing the glassy surface underneath. I wipe away the debris, leaning towards the reflective surface trying to see my own face. What greets me is a leering skull, flesh picked clean off it, trails of blood running from its empty eye sockets.
I wake with a start, slamming the back of my head into the wall as I sit up suddenly. I must have dozed off. I rub my head painfully until it finally registers that the phone is ringing. Reaching over, I grabbed the receiver and answered.
"Steve, is that you?" Jim's voice came over the line, sounding rather agitated. "Where've you been? I went to the theater, but you weren't there. There are bullet holes in my seats and a strong smell of industrial strength cleaner on the carpet around it. What the hell is going on?"
"They found me at the theater, Jim," I answered, watching the door warily. "I killed him, but it sounds like they already cleaned up before you got there. Listen," I continued, cutting off his reply, "these soldiers. They're wearing the insignia of my old squad. That call sign should have been retired a long time ago."
"You're in some deep shit, buddy." I heard the rustling of papers as he spoke, "I dug up some information. They're not government, but it looks like ex-military. Whether it's some sort of political thing or if they're just free agents, I don't know. I've still got some people checking on it." He pauses a minute before continuing. "These guys are real pros, Steve. I've got to get you somewhere safe. If you still don't want to go to the cops, that's fine. I've got somewhere else, but we've got to get you off the streets."
"Hey, if they aren't government, I'll gladly go to the cops." I lean back against the wall, allowing myself a brief moment of relief. "Where should we meet?"
"The park," he answered immediately, "it's public enough, but still has plenty of places to duck into in case of trouble. Meet me under the memorial tree in about an hour." Sighing heavily as I hung up the phone, I closed my eyes, just sitting quietly for a few moments. My heart beat like a piston, slamming against my ribcage as if trying to break free. I breathed deeply, willing myself to calm down. After a few horrible hours alone in the darkness there was finally a light at the end. A safe haven from the terrors that clawed at my heels.
But, as an old drill sergeant of mine once said, relief in battle can kill you as surely as a bullet. My good fortune made me sloppy; I let my guard down and forgot about being quiet. I was reminded why I had been so cautious when entering the building as I reached for the handle. Two shots tore holes in my door, one missing me, the other continuing through my left shoulder. I fell to the floor, blood already soaking my shirt as the shooter burst through the door. Luckily he came in a little too far and I was able to kick his legs out from under him.
Not giving him a chance to recover I jumped at him, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder. I was met with a knee to my gut and then a foot to my chin, sending me slamming back into the wall. I moved forward again, grabbing a chair as he rose and slamming it into his side, managing to knock away his rifle in the process. I swung again, but he was ready this time, grabbing the chair, using it to pull me forward, driving my face into his elbow.
I fell back, crashing onto the small table behind me, the wooden legs breaking under the force. I tried to pull myself back up, looking over to the soldier, fully expecting him to retrieve his weapon and finish the job. Once again, however, luck was on my side (sort of). Instead, he ignored the gun, apparently deciding to kill me with his own hands. He hauled me up by my shirt and sent me crashing through the glass doors onto my small balcony. Catching the railing to keep myself from collapsing, I looked down to the alleyway below. The world spun sickeningly around me as a roaring noise seemed to come from the ground far below me, shrieking at me in my final moments.
I was suddenly brought back to reality when the soldier grabbed me again, wrapping the curtain cord around my neck. My lungs began burning, screaming for air that wouldn't come. My mind now clear from desperation, I reached behind me, trying desperately to dislodge my attacker. All in vain. He was a professional and knew exactly what he was doing. The position I was in negated any escape attempts on my part. Flailing helplessly, I spun us around. Now facing the inside of my apartment my vision started to cloud, my small room starting to fade from view, much like my entire life seemed to be doing recently. Rage suddenly flooded my mind. I would not disappear quietly, some checkmark on a hit list.
Using the last of my strength I abruptly pushed backwards, taking the man by surprise. We stumbled back, the soldier's back slamming against the balcony's railing. I kept pushing, using the momentum and my own weight to tip us over the railing and send us falling towards the pavement below. I vaguely hear the cord snap as we fall, the pressure on my throat still denying me air. Things seem to go silent for a minute as I fall, my gaze fixed on the sky above me, the stars twinkling like bits of shattered glass.
Then we suddenly hit the dumpster by my building. The soldier is beneath me and I feel bones snap and flesh distort as his body breaks my fall. The force of the landing bounces me off the dumpster onto the cold cement. I lay there for awhile, wincing at what I'm sure is a broken rib or two. I finally push myself up, knowing I had to leave in case the dead soldier had a partner somewhere close by. Stumbling over, I searched the body quickly, pocketing his handgun and a couple clips. It was mostly habit, really. Looting dead men for weapons and ammo had been a necessity in most of my military operations, and it was almost instinct to search the body for supplies.
I stuck the gun in my waistband with the other one and edged to the end of the alley. I HAD to get to the park to meet Jim, but it was a little ways off, and going on foot was out of the question, especially in the condition I was in. Carefully sneaking into the parking garage, I went down the rows of cars, checking each door until I found one that was unlocked. Ignoring the several car alarms I had set off, I hastily pulled wires out from under the steering column, trying to remember how to hot wire it. It was another skill we had learned in the army while training for urban warfare, but it had been a long time and I couldn't quite remember it right. On my fourth try I got it right and the car came to life.
It's strange, the things that you think of at times. As I drove to the park I found myself thinking of action movies. Things always happened in quick succession in those movies. A car chase led to an explosion, which led to a gunfight, which led to over-the-top fight scenes. They never show the quiet moments, the times when the protagonist is left with nothing to do but listen to the silence around him. They never tell you how that silence presses on you, crushes you under it's weight until all you can do is concentrate on your own breathing lest you go insane.
The last few hours I had been feeling utterly lost, floundering in a sea of darkness without an escape. Truthfully, I had been real close to giving up. If not for the phone call from Jim, I'm not sure I would have even tried to escape the soldier in my apartment. Knowing that someone else was there to help me, someone who knew what was going on and had a way out for me made me feel like I was a part of the real world again. Things started to make sense again and soon I would be safe, free from the nightmare I had been stuck in.
It wasn't long before I found myself approaching the entrance to Middleton's city park. Taking the winding path down from the main road, I parked the car by the curb. The old tree was planted as a memorial to the man who started the park, Thomas Baines. It was rather large willow tree, its hanging branches providing perfect cover for picnics and just plain relaxing. Its large silhouette grew larger and larger as I made my way around the lake. The dark branches seemed to rise up as I approached, as if in greeting. The shadowed, foreboding shapes offering a strange kind of hope for better times.
"Steve," the hiss from the tree told me that Jim was already waiting for me. He came walking out from under the branches, his look of relief quickly turning to concern at my appearance. "Geez man, what happened to you?" Looking down at myself I realized I was quite a mess. The shot to my shoulder had spilled quite a bit of blood which had soaked most of the upper part of my shirt. I had several cuts on my face from the fight in my apartment and I could tell from the feel of my neck that it red and bruised.
"Had a little trouble back at my place," I replied, grimacing at another shot of pain in my side, "my own fault really. Wasn't careful enough."
"C'mon man, let's get you to the hospital," he moved to help me but I waved him off.
"Time for that later, what did you learn about these guys?" I had been going crazy the last few hours trying to come up with answers and now that they seemed within reach I found myself extremely impatient. Jim looked doubtful, but continued anyway.
"Well," he started, sighing a little, "like I told you on the phone, they're not a government operation. At least not that I can find. Your squad's call sign, Ghost Rats, WAS retired after you resigned, and the military's denying any knowledge of someone reviving it."
"So who are they?" I ran a hand through my hair, the events of the day finally starting to catch up with me.
"I can't say for certain," Jim continued, "but I did learn that..." He paused suddenly, his eyes focusing on something behind me as his hands pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. I turned, the fear that the soldiers had found us suddenly squeezing my gut in a fist of ice. As I turned, however, I found that Jim was not aiming at a soldier, but at Sidney Wilks.
"Wilks?" I hissed, "what are you doing here?"
"I, uh, followed you from your apartment," she caught the questioning look on my face. "Um, in my parent's car," she clarified, her eyes kept darting over to Jim. "Who is he?"
"You know this girl, Steve?" Jim asked, his gun still aimed at Wilks.
"Yeah, she's a student at the school," I turned back to Jim, "Wilks, this is Jim Palo. He's a detective with the police. He's..." I was suddenly cut off when I felt her hand brush my back as she pulled one of the guns from my waistband. My head whipped around, staring in shock as she began to raise the weapon towards Jim.
"HOLD IT!" Jim tightened the grip on his gun, causing Wilks' arm to pause. "Drop the weapon, now."
"Wilks, what are you doing?" I was getting a little ticked off, nothing seemed to be making sense. "I called him. He's helping me."
"He's going to shoot us." The statement was so simple, and calmly spoken that I almost thought I imagined it.
"I said, HOLD IT!" Jim repeated, as her arm moved upward a little more.
"What?" I looked back at Wilks. What was she talking about?
"He was at the school," she stated evenly, "I saw him." Her arm rose a little more.
"DON'T MOVE," Jim's voice held a dangerous edge to it as his finger visibly tightened on the trigger, "I WILL shoot you, if you don't put down the weapon, NOW." Things were spiraling out of hand quickly, I could see Wilks' hand squeeze the gun, her trigger finger twitching slightly.
"Just hold on," I stepped between them, my arms raised, trying to calm the situation.
"Steve, get out of the way."
"Jim, just..."
"He was with the soldiers at the school."
"I wasn't at any school."
"Calm down..."
"He's working for them, he'll kill us."
"Shut up and drop the gun."
"Wilks," I pleaded, facing her, "he's a friend of mine. I called him to help. He's found out some stuff about the people after me."
"Yeah, how?" Wilks' eyes narrowed, her arm rising a little more.
"I've got contacts..."
"MOB contacts," Wilks cut off Jim's answer.
"What?" I felt like I was asking that question a lot. "Mob? What are you talking about?"
"He's on the take," she answered, "He's been in their pocket for years. How do you think he affords to keep that theater?" I turn to Jim, waiting for him to deny it. One look in his eyes, however, confirms her every word. My stomach drops into my shoes as I see the confirmation in his face.
"Steve, listen. I..." he stumbles on his words as he tries to explain... what? We both know there's no explanation to give. "Steve, I'm not..." Whatever he was about to say is cut off as I feel Wilks move behind me. Everything seems to slow to a crawl as I watch her move out from behind me, the gun in her hand rising upward. I see Jim shift his aim to follow her, I see his finger squeezing the trigger.
"NO!"
I hear some one shout, and finally realize it was me. The three of us seem to be frozen, my own surprised expression mirrored in the other two people with me. Wilks looks from me to Jim, her arm still half raised. Jim stares back at me, even as I look in disbelief at him. A small cloud of smoke floats in front of my face, rising from the muzzle of the gun in my hand. I don't even remember drawing it, but its reality is a dead weight in my hand, reinforced as I watch Jim's eyes glaze over and collapse to the ground, blood soaking his shirt from the bullet hole in his chest.
For a couple minutes I can't move, then a noise to my right catches my attention. I look over to see one of the park's night watchmen stumble back from the bush he had been crouching behind. He stared, wide-eyed, at me for a second or two before turning and running. He was going to call the police. I should go to the police, be safe from the soldiers. But I shot Jim. Jim was a cop. I had shot Jim. I had shot a cop. My thoughts were coming in broken fragments, I couldn't think straight. I killed a cop. Cops were coming. I had to leave.
I doubted the guard was close enough to hear our conversation. All he had seen was me shoot someone. I would have to run. Run and hope that I could find some evidence or something that would tie Jim to the people trying to kill me. Shaking my head a little I forced my mind to clear itself.
"Come on," I grabbed the gun from Wilks' hand and pushed her in the direction of my stolen car. She stumbled for a moment, still in shock, but soon came to her senses and ran on her own. I knew I should have been more upset at Jim's apparent betrayal and the fact that I had just killed one of my only friends, but the weight of everything that was happening to me kept my mind numb. The light in the darkness that had filled me with new hope was gone. I was alone again. Lost, with no way out in sight. The grief at this realization stole the breath from my lungs and I was afraid I might black out right then and there. But I had to get Wilks to safety first. I ran on, even as the sound of sirens filled the air. Their wail like that of a banshee, foretelling the end of the world.
Okay, I don't blame you if you're mad at me. It's been FOREVER since I updated. What can I say? Anyway, rest assured that I am sincere about finishing this story. I'm hoping to have a little more free time right now, so hopefully (crossing fingers) I won't be so late with the next chapter.
