Chapter X: Romeo & Juliet
Rain fell down lightly over the cold streets. A malfunctioning headlight twitched on and off, making darkness and light alternate in its random flaw. From the second floor of the large house she had inherited from her parents, Colby Clarke peered through her window, concealing everything but her eyes from the outside view behind khaki curtains. She regarded the headlight, now going off. Her eyes moved to the sidewalk, covered in darkness. Her four-year-old trusty cell phone rang. She removed it off her rear pocket and answered, always fixed upon the dark. Then light came down so bright and her heart jumped as she replied:
"Yes?"
In the street, inside a telephone cab, someone was staring at her, someone whose face was unseen, someone bulky who wore dark clothes and a hat. Under any other circumstances, she would have found him scary. But she knew him. However, under any other circumstances, she would have been glad to see him.
"May I...?" was the dim reply.
She rushed downstairs and opened the door. A bald red-haired man, holding a hat in his hands, extended his arms with a wry grin and she threw herself into them. She delivered a kiss on his lips. He broke and walked in, closing her the door.
"I never thought..." she spoke cracked.
"Me neither. Not with them around." The man replied.
"Carlos... how long has it been?" she sunk in her sofa as he stared from the wall next to the door.
"Four years... I..." he took off his wet black raincoat "You know I couldn't stay." The reply was charged with sincerity filled with pain.
"Yes... but now, why did you return now?"
"I have to. The time has come." He said absently.
"Time? The... Gathering?" she let her head fall till it met her chest. Then it rose again. "I haven't seen any report."
"And what were you expecting? An announcement?" His answer was hard, more out of tiredness than out of causticity. "All thanks to your organisation!"
"Carlos..." she stood up and approached him slowly, measuring him and his reactions. "It's different here. The major appointed a group to..."
"I heard!" he sounded angry. "The Immortal Prevention Squad. As though that would make the watchers remain at bay. After four thousand years of secrecy, what makes you think they're unable to continue like that?"
She wanted to let her arms embrace him to make up for the lost time. She had missed him terribly. Four years in which she had shied away from social life, two years in which she had dug her nose in work, two years in which her bed - and herself - had been stone cold. But he was rejecting her. She could see it with those green eyes everyone admired of her. Not directly at least, but she could sense it. Only one question had to be asked then.
"Why did you came here?" the surprise at the detachment of her voice was much to her. He frowned and shook his head.
"I need information."
So that was all? Two years without a word, and he called in for data. But again, men had used her through most of her life. Her foster dad, a couple of boyfriends eager for a quickie, the Watcher teacher she had bribed with her body to alter her mark - something that did not happen. She was used to it.
"On what... Silas?"
He paled at the mention of his true name. For that woman was the only one whom had always addressed him using his alias since the disease had spread. For her, Carlos Guerra, born in Uruguay in the early seventies according to his passport, was his name. Not Silas, the Horseman, the butcher, War itself.
"Kronos." She blinked at the mention of the name repeatedly. "He's here too."
"I know. It's on the news everywhere."
"I have to stop him." He sounded like a caveman.
"You should have stopped him before!"
He looked away as an injured beast. "There's too much I should have done. These four years have been enlightening for me. But that's spilt milk. Now I need to know how many are left."
"There's no way of knowing." She knuckled her head to wipe away the headache that was nagging her. "According to tonight's report, there are twenty immortals whose status is either alive or unknown."
"How many are alive?"
"Connor MacLeod, Jacob Kell, Kenneth, Gilgamesh, and Vrej Ratavoussian." She recited by heart, as all Watchers were able to lately.
"There's still hope then." Silas sighed. "I must leave."
"Where will you go?"
"It's best if you don't know."
"Carlos--" she silenced as tears trickled down her cheeks. He drew in and hugged her. He hated to leave but staying could endanger her. He pushed her away kindly and grinned as he opened the door and walked out. She saw him walk into a battered Ford Falcon and drive away, waving as he left down the street.
She returned inside, locking the door. She rubbed her head, trying to order her thoughts, and realised she had sweated like hell throughout the chatter. A shower was due, and toward the bathroom she went.
-----
Twenty minutes later, wearing only a light white nightdress, Colby carried her five-inch-tall thirty-six-year-old slightly overweighed body to the bed. The heating device enabled her to sleep without covering with blankets. It felt like summer inside there. It made her feel warm and the warmth, together with the reunion with the man she loved and craved for, made her desire fly to the seventh heaven.
Her hand rested on her head and rubbed gently. It stroked down through her neck to her breasts, then the lights went on as her hand followed the one-second-ago command from her brain and squeezed. She rose to find an audience of four men, all dressed in brown outfits, all holding automatic guns packed with silencers in their hands, leering at her. She wanted to cover herself, but fear had numbed her. She was a frozen statue barely dressed, her long black hair wet and falling down, an invitation to any man with blood in his veins.
"Miss Clarke." The leader spoke. Colby's fingers twitched upon the recognition of Stefano Zanetti. "Your treason shall not be overlooked." He clasped his fingers and two of the men approached her. She jerked her arms at them to defend, but as one clutched her arms, the other ripped off her dress, leaving her completely naked.
"Oooh, nice." The man that was still next to Zanetti giggled.
"She's possessed by the Devil." Zanetti uttered. "She must pay." He took aim and fired an automatic 9-mm. A round of bullets hit Colby in the head and body. Her body hit against the wall to then fall against the bed, the former bloodstained. "It is done."
He retired, and so did his second. The two remaining men stared at the corpse. One touched the rear obscenely. The other shook his head.
"What a waste, man."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guerra is Spanish for War.
