Everyone is going to hate me. This chapter was just too long to handle it. I had to divide it up. I feel so bad for doing this, butthis was just growing and growing. This next chapter will be the last one. It will tie everything together. Now I know that some readers will be like, "WHAT THE HELL!" when you get done with this chapter and trust me, I said that to myself as I wrote it. But I figured that this will make everyone waiting like crazy people for the next update.
This chapter is brought to you by the music from Skyrim - especially the song Solvengard. It's so tense. It was perfect for several scenes.
Please, don't hate me and just enjoy the insanity that is this chapter.
Five hours.
The illuminated clock on his dashboard clicked eleven minutes past six.
The modest houses in the small neighborhood slowly brightened to lighter shades of blue; announcing the arrival of the beautiful morning to come. A small bird sang sweetly in a tree next to his passenger side window. Sitting in a small black Toyota Camry instead of his cop cruiser, Dilandau leaned his silver head against the head rest, his unusual red eyes blinking in the clear morning. His body was relaxed and his heart beating at an even tempo.
But he was no longer smiling.
A minute past five hours.
Reaching with long, lazy fingers, Dilandau gently typed his phone's password and logged in to the agency's message board. The familiar message lit up on his phone's screen and he tilted his head with almost a thoughtful expression on his face. If one didn't look in his eyes, they would have assumed he'd received a message about something trivial, unimportant-boring even. But, with one quick glance at the red-tinted fire that burned and frothed behind his wild eyes, one would fear that this would be the last thing they ever saw in this world.
He stared at the message as if in a trance. The screen flashed twice before disappearing with an auto-lock system. Placing his phone quietly on the seat next to him, the message's words twirled before his eyes like the lyrics of a never-ending song.
"Information request pending. Standby for further instruction." The words danced and twisted together in his head until only two words remained in the dizzying spin.
The two words he'd despised the most in this world.
Pending… Standby...
Pending… Standby…
Five minutes past five hours… no, now it was six…
Pending… Standby…
The only message from Miguel was three hours ago stating no sign had been found of either Fanel or the girl in the surrounding buildings. Dilandau entertained himself briefly with the image of Miguel carving lines in to his own smooth face with a dull knife and he felt a twitch of a familiar smile grace his lips. He could practically taste the terror the man would radiate. The imagined shrieks of agony twirled with the words of his agency's message.
Pending… Standby…
His scarlet eyes twitched to the digital clock. Nine minutes past five hours… the clock showed 6:20.
Pending… Standby…
His mind clicked back on the bar scene last night and his faint smile instantly vanished. A riptide of murderous heat flew behind his red eyes. He'd approached the small tavern hoping for a quick in and out mission. Seek out the target and eliminate. But… The control was gone. Dilandau's entire mission was turning into one of the biggest failures to date. His target had gone missing for an embarrassing length of time with no hope of discovering her whereabouts. She had a man with her whose background was still a mystery. A man who willingly stood in front of his target and had constantly dodged all of Dilandau's efforts.
Did his agency actually blame him? Did they think he was inadequate because he failed to recognize the fraud at the bar earlier? Was this his punishment? Waiting?
The silver-haired man gritted his teeth behind his lips and the muscles tensed on his arms. How dare they punish him! How dare they think they could ignore him!
Pending… Standby…
What if they sent another assassin in his place? What if the target was taken out before Dilandau could find her? How could they do this to him?
He was the top at the agency. No one had ever questioned him.
No one had ever tried to stop him… but…
Pending… Standby…
Dilandau slipped his phone back into the holder on his belt and flicked his poisonous gaze to the quiet house on the other side of the street. It was a simple one story. Small rosebushes lined the side of the modest whitewashed porch that surrounded front door. The small scarlet flowers contrasted so brilliantly with the whiteness. Like blood drops on snow…
He'd given his agency five hours.
He had waited fifteen minutes over.
Nothing.
No new message.
Pending… Standby…
Slowly, his lips curled into his comfortable pleasant grin. He flicked his thumb on the clip and checked the ammo count on his HK53 SMG. Nodding, he picked up his small duffle bag on the floorboards.
Millerna stifled a yawn as she flipped the bacon in the pan and watched Chid scoot his kitchen chair closer to the dinner table; his blond hair full of bed head cowlicks, but his blue eyes wide with interest. The bigger blond sat beside her son and colored ferociously with a black crayon on a blank sheet of paper. Dryden's pajama t-shirt was too short on Allen's long arms and his midriff showed slightly even when sitting down.
Despite his childish complaints, he'd sourly complied when she'd demanded he wear his own pants to sleep in. She doubted any pant size she had in her possession would fit him properly.
Chid had woken at his usual crack of dawn to find the large blond man sitting on the couch and already watching cartoons on their television. After a brief introduction, which included her son hollering at the top of his lungs about a burglar in the house, the two of them had soon settled into a strangely comfortable silence in front of the television. The My Little Ponies cartoon erased any of Chid's lingering distrust for their mysterious guest as a conversation about unicorns soon turned into an animated debate.
Hence, the current breakfast-time art fest.
"What color should I make the horn?"
Chid thought for a moment. "How about rainbow?"
Allen frowned at his crude drawing and slowly nodded. "Rainbow sounds good, but what about if we leave it white? A unicorn's horn is usually white."
"It'll blend in with the panda's fur."
"That's true." Allen smiled at Chid and the boy grinned back. "Rainbow it is, then."
"You might need to make the panda rounder. Pandas with unicorn horns are still pandas, but with horns on their heads."
The blond man made a silly face and Chid let out a small giggle. "Pandas with horns. We need to think of a better name than that."
"You boys want scrambled eggs with toast?" She called out.
"Yes, ma'am," they answered in unison. She stifled a bubbling laugh.
This was too precious.
Wrapping her pink bathrobe tighter, she traversed to the fridge to pluck out several eggs from the plastic carton all the while listening to the silly chatter of her son and his new best friend.
"Okay, so the name should be Pandicorn. Does he have special powers?"
"You mean besides being a panda with a horn?"
"Yeah, not all panda's have horns. It has to be special."
"But Allen, it already has a horn. Why does it need anything else?"
The blond man gave the child an exasperated expression. "Because it's magical!" He dropped the black crayon on the table to wave his long fingers in the air as if casting a spell. Millerna accidentally let out a snort of laughter as she cracked the eggs in the still-hot frying pan and began to stir the broken yolks.
"What powers do unicorns have? Maybe the Pandicorn can have some."
Allen lifted a hand to count on his fingers. "Let's see… they heal everything they touch with their horns, their blood gives eternal life, they can run at fast speeds, and they are distant cousins to Pegasus."
Chid grabbed a red crayon and colored in the tip of the horn. "What if when the Pandicorn stabs someone with its horn, it turns them into a unicorn?"
The blond man's smile widened and his blue eyes danced excitedly. He slapped Chid gently on the back and roared, "Like a unicorn-producer! It makes unicorns!"
"Yeah!" Chid grinned happily and turned to Millerna. "Mama, what does 'producer' mean?"
"It means you are the reason daddies can't sleep. You are the product of loud noise. Thus, the 'producer'." A drawling voice came from the entryway and Millerna looked up to see a bleary-eyed Dryden yawning into the kitchen from the hallway. Tilting her head and smiling at the tired man, she watched him rub his soft brown eyes behind his square glasses. Dryden's usual ponytail was a mess, spilling about his shoulder with stringy, fuzzy curls.
"Honey, you want eggs and toast as well?"
"Yes, ma'am," her husband crossed the tile floor and poured a cup of coffee from the brewer.
"You sure caffeine is wise? I can quiet them down and let you go back to sleep."
"I'll try to get another nap in before I open the bar later. Besides, our guest shouldn't be here for too much longer, right?"
The woman bit her lip. "Actually, Van never said how long Allen will be staying with us. All he said was he had something to take care of at the Court House and it had a whole lot to do with some guy named Caesar and motorcycle races that have been happening these past few years."
Dryden took a sip from his mug and leaned on the counter next to her elbow. "Should have known Van would involve himself in one of the biggest conspiracies of the decade and drag us in with him."
"You know Van. At least he's leaving us out of the fighting this time-"
"Get down!" Allen's sharp and uncharacteristically manly yell caught her off guard and she saw him tackle Chid to the floor. Less than a second later, the blond man yanked on the large, rectangular, kitchen table with inhuman strength, crashed it on its side, and ducked behind it for cover. Her blue eyes widened as the old yet familiar crackling sound of bullets whistling through the air leapt all around her. Dryden's strong hand grabbed her arm and wrenched her down behind the countertops just as a bullet slammed into the frying pan in her hands and knocked it on to the floor. With a quiet scream, her face pressed against Dryden's chest, his arms protectively covered her head.
The slugs continued to pound with a silent force into all of the kitchen appliances with a sporadic ferocity. Pieces of tile and chunks of ply wall flew through the air and pelted the floor. The entire back wall of the kitchen began breaking down with each ramming slug.
Suddenly the piercing loud gun stopped and the blond woman lifted her eyes to meet Dryden's wild brown eyes. His body was taut like a tight string, yet his body trembled violently. Deep, irregular breaths of a panic attack gripped him. Unlike him, Millerna's blood rushed with the challenge of this new adversity. Standing up to life-threatening situations was something she'd thrived in. Four years ago, she'd taken on each new mission with a sense of overpowering confidence. Glancing at her husband, she had always known Dryden was the soft-hearted one out of the two of them. He still had many nightmares from their days in the GIA, some that he shared with her – others he had not. He never admitted it to her, but he'd left the service with many mental scars. He was frozen now. Deep in the memories that haunted his nightmares.
Meanwhile, Millerna's mind was clearer than it had been in years. Clear and sharp with fury.
The assassin had come for them like Van had said.
And she was the only one who would have to take him down.
Her lips met Dryden's briefly before she wiggled out of his arms and pressed her back against the kitchen cabinets. Bare feet slipping in hot half-cooked eggs, she reached up to slide open the drawer next to the washing machine.
The cooking knives. Perfect. She took four.
A rainstorm of bullets once again assaulted the kitchen and Millerna's blue eyes narrowed as she judged the direction of each slug. Weighting the make-shift weapons in her palm, she estimated the blade versus handle weight and instantly calculated where to aim and how hard to throw. She backed away from the safety of the kitchen counter and crouched low to the floor. Dryden was watching her in the midst of his shaking anxiety. His long arms were wrapped around his torso. She took a deep breath to steady her own growing fear and mouthed "I love you" to him. Tossing him one of her old confident smiles from back in the old days, she saw his frosted brown eyes thaw a little. She wiggled out of her bathrobe and gooseflesh raced up her arms as the air conditioning hit her thin nightgown. Her hands remained steady with anticipation.
She was the Millerna from four years ago. The mother and wife she'd become disappeared from her mind.
Jumping instantly to her feet after the next round of ammunition, Millerna rapidly hurled two knives towards the gunman and ducked once more behind the counter. She had barely seen the man's body or position and had thrown the weapons with instinct. A satisfying scream of pain answered her attack followed by shouted obscenities. The bullets stopped and a loud clunking noise battered on the floor. She heard shuffling footsteps crunching rapidly on the ruined kitchen tile. A loud cry from a familiar voice made her heart seize in fright.
"Come out, you bitch, or the boy gets it!"
"Chid, no!" Allen's deep voice was full of tears. Millerna stretched to look over the counter. A man so blond his hair looked silver was standing shakily next to the kitchen table that lay on its side. Blood ran down the right side of his chest and looked sickeningly bright against the man's white t-shirt. Chid's head was pressed against the man's waist; his throat exposed to a bloody knife grasped in the man's shaking fingers.
Holding two more knives tensely at her side, she slowly stood.
"Drop the knives."
She didn't move.
He pressed the blade tighter to Chid's tender flesh. The boy let out a whimper of pain. "I said, drop the knives!"
She dropped them from her hand and they clattered loudly to the floor. Her brain was in a standstill. Her baby's beautiful face cried to her.
Just like that, she was snapped back to her current self. The mother and the wife.
Finally caught in her own personal nightmare, her confidence was shot.
Shot completely to hell.
"Don't move! Don't even think about moving! Tell me what you know about Fanel!" The panting man practically spat the name at her. "Tell me everything! What has he been doing since four years ago? What is he planning next? You know him, right? So, where is he?"
The man's shouting hardly phased her shocked mind. Her blue eyes filled themselves with her captive child. Opening her mouth, she couldn't speak.
"I'm waiting, bitch! If you don't start answering my questions by the count of ten, I'll slit his throat so deep you can swim in his blood, you understand me!" His shaking knife pricked the side of Chid's neck and a small weep of blood ran into the boy's pajama collar. Tears dripped down the boy's smooth cheeks.
"P-P-Ple-Please…" her voice shook so horribly the words sounded like gibberish.
"You know where he is now, don't you?! Tell me where he is! Tell me where he is hiding that piece of shit girl he's with!"
"I-I-I don't-"
The man's silver hair dropped slightly into his face and she saw – despite the heavy breathing from his wound – his lips were starting to curl into a small smile. "One…two..."
"Wait! I-I-I'll tell y-you! Va-Van is… H-He's a…"
"… five… six…"The man's face was transforming. His unusual red eyes glinted happily and were the same color of the dripping blood on his shirt.
He looked like a demon.
A smiling, evil demon.
"Van was part of the GIA!" She shouted shrilly finally finding her voice. "He was part of the government! He used to be an agent! Please, let him go!"
"Keep talking. Seven…"
"Why are you counting?!" Hot tears ran down her face as she tried to catch her breath. "I'm telling you!"
"I said keep talking about FANEL! EIGHT!"
"We were all a part of a small special divisions group! We got let go four years ago! He's no longer part of the GIA! He told me he discovered the plot to kill Hitomi through a mistake. A fluke. Someone handed him her picture last night!"
"I know all of this! You're not telling me what I want to know! NINE!..."
"Oh, God, please! I don't know any-"
Her ears heard the sharp pang before she could register what had happened. The silver-haired man's red eyes rolled backwards and he dropped the knife before falling unconscious onto the dirty tile floor.
Standing behind him was Dryden. His brown eyes clear and strong.
A frying pan with bits of crusted egg on the bottom was gripped in his hands.
Friendly eyes gleamed out from an old wizened face as Dornkirk stepped out of his simple three-story house and strolled into the crisp morning to the driveway. With a charmingly crooked smile, he nodded at the young female pawn standing next to his white BMW and the girl opened the door for him. With a grunt, he superficially labored with bending his long thin body into the back seat and made sure the door didn't catch his snowy white beard. As the door shut him into his comfortable car, his smile continued to bloom.
A male pawn, a small black scarf covering his collar, got in on the passenger side and the girl got in the driver's seat.
A small beeping noise resounded from the Beamer's phone system and the girl asked listlessly, "Call from Private Line, use the code?"
"Please."
Another small beep came from the system and the man announced, "Code confirms the call is from Zaibach headquarters."
Dornkirk's smile faded slightly. "Put it through."
The female pawn pushed a small 'answer' button on the screen. She turned back to pull the car out of the driveway and on to the empty street.
A nasally voice came over the speakers in the car. "Good morning, Caesar. An update on the current situation: The Agency failed to locate the girl. She was last seen roughly six and a half hours ago. The agents found the bodies of Master's Nicolas Jackson and Anderson Michaels. They also have lost four men of their own. Five other Masters have been reported to be in critical condition with gunshots wounds."
"I know all of this." The old man sighed. "What have they been doing to find her?"
"They have scouts searching a mile wide perimeter of the Court House."
"Obviously she is no longer near the Court House if it has taken this long."
The man on the phone was quiet for a moment. "The Agency says they are doing everything they can to-"
"I don't care about words." Dornkirk raised a wrinkled hand and waved it in the air as if brushing the excuse aside. "They can say anything they want, but the truth is, they let her escape and have lost her. They had one job and they failed."
"They have an idea of where she might be headed. The assassin in charge of originally terminating her found where they have been keeping the wrecked pawns. They've been trying to free them from the collars. He reported a hidden tunnel connecting to the outskirts of an old orphanage to the north of the city. The Agency is willing to terminate the wrecked pawns for a reduced price. They are on the line waiting for your authorization."
Dornkirk's white eyebrows raised a fraction. "I see. Well, that's good news. They lose my initial target, manage to get Jackson dead before my greatest victory against the GIA, and are willing to discount me for my trouble." He let out a bitter laugh. "I'd like to know where my 50K went if they are playing with the topic of discount prices."
"What should I tell them, sir?"
Still chuckling under his breath, he leaned against the seat and smiled. "By all means, let them finally do something right for once."
There was another pause. "I have confirmed it, sir. They will begin tracking the escaped pawns within the hour. I'll send you the verification of termination as soon as they contact me again."
"Beautiful girl," Dornkirk said pleasantly to the driver and she tilted her head slowly to listen to him. "Take me to a busy coffee shop. I suddenly feel like making a public appearance before my speech. Shaking some hands, kissing some babies."
"Caesar, if you don't mind me saying so, it might not be wise to give this speech today. The target went after Jackson. There is a possibility she may know who you really are."
"Rodger Mackmore and his 'pawn'." The old man snorted under his breath. His old eyes gleamed as a plan bloomed exquisitely in his mind.
The nasal voiced man swallowed audibly, "Sir?"
"I'm not worried. Just make sure the documents Jackson left behind are settled."
"Sir…"
"She probably knows who I am. In fact, I'm counting on it."
"You can't be… You aren't going to use yourself as bait to draw her out, are you?"
"I've always been her target ever since those two started sneaking in my games. With this speech, I am planning on publically supporting the Protection Plan that Jackson set up for me. The girl will know this if she's the one who killed Jackson. She can't let such a moment pass her by. Caesar… right before her eyes…" Dornkirk lifted his thin shoulders in an unseen shrug. "Kill her publically. Two birds with one stone. If she knows who I am, then she'll die in a blaze of a publicized assassination attempt. If she doesn't, The Agency will eventually hunt her down and kill her. Call The Agency back and tell them to send forty of their agents to get uniforms from the Commissioner."
"What good would killing her publically do?"
"Come now, boy." The old man said with a touch of his charming grandfatherly voice. "Use the brain I know is in there somewhere. I can use her assassination attempt as a way to prove the APD is just as strong as it always has been. In protecting their Mayor with such quick precision from a rogue assassin, they can protect the citizens of this city without the GIA. After that display, the VOP will have to sign the Protection Plan. Make sure to tell The Agency to surround my podium for the speech and stake out the entire perimeter. I'm sure they will be willing to do so in order to fulfill the contract they've botched up. Killing the one who was going to kill the 'Austurian Grandpa'. The media will go nuts for it." His warm smile slipped back on his face. "In trying to stop me, she'll just further increase my hold on this city. Beautiful irony is God's greatest pleasure to mankind."
"Sir, this is going to be dangerous for you. Are you sure?"
"Sir… Mr. Mayor… Mayor Dornkirk of Austuria…'Austurian Grandpa'…" Dornkirk recited slowly and let out a small chuckle. "Get the Commissioner in on the plans. Tell him Caesar's about to play his biggest move yet."
A small light flickered in his mind and it responded with a wave of sharp pain. The darkness crept over the light, but it bravely battled for consciousness. A voice snaked through his blank thoughts; waking him a little more.
"He's coming to, Dryden."
"About damn time."
The growing awareness also increased the pounding on the back of his head. A sharp pain bloomed in his shoulder as he shifted his back. His red eyes snapped open as the images of a destroyed kitchen flooded his mind. An airborne knife that had flipped expertly and embedded itself in his lower shoulder; forcing him to drop his SMG. Dilandau let out a groan as a surge of unexpected vertigo twisted his insides. Clenching his eyes against the roller coaster feeling, he noticed another dull twinge of pain on his wrists. Swallowing down the rising bile in his throat, he cracked an eye open once more.
"Hello, cutie." He tried to focus on a spinning vision of a blond woman leaning towards his face. "Good to have you back in reality. I've been waiting for this."
"Now, Millerna, let's make sure our guest is nice and comfortable." The deep voice came from a brown-haired man leaning against the doorway to his left. Dilandau flicked his red eyes around the room. The back of his head brushed against several colored coats. With a gasp, he tried to move his arms and legs and realized he was tied to a small kitchen chair. They'd strapped him into a small closet. The only light was a coming from a tiny bulb attached to the ceiling that glowed a brilliant pale yellow. Immediately feeling the back of his teeth with his tongue, he sighed at the hole in his gums. They'd taken his cyanide pill. He focused again on the bending woman in front of him and forced a smile through his dizziness.
"I'm glad to see our guest is enjoying himself."
"You caught me." He said pleasantly with a groan.
"Enough of this pleasant guest shit." The blond growled and pulled a knife to Dilandau's throat. He felt the blade prick his neck slightly. Despite the pain that shot from his shoulder and head, his heart beat rose – not with fear – but with pleasure. His blood rushed with desire for her to stab him. To take the knife and slice it ferociously into his skin, shredding his flesh, spilling his blood.
She must not have seen the ravishing glow of craving behind his red eyes for she continued her intimidation like it meant something. "You threatened my son, you bastard, and you're going to die for that."
"Not before we get some answers from him, right?" The man emphasized his words and the blond gave a short huff. Removing her knife, she continued to glower at Dilandau. It was obvious they'd had an argument about this subject right before he'd awoken.
The silver-haired man smirked and pulled on his wrists slightly. They were bound professionally with a handcuff knot. His shoes had been removed and both legs were strapped together tightly. He noticed the rope was securely wrapped around his torso and traveled down to his knees, binding him fully to the chair. His smile widened considerably.
"Guess you want me alive a little longer then. Too bad I'm not very good at answering questions."
"Well, you see, that's the thing," the man straightened up from the doorway and bent down to fiddle with an open bag sitting on the threshold of the closet. His duffle-bag. The brown-haired man pulled out a small bottle with a lopsided grin. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be one for carrying sodium thiopental. This looks pretty neat." He raised the bottle closer to his bearded face as if inspecting it. "Mixing ethanol into it could have some major results. A lot of truth serums I'm familiar with are more hallucinogens. This looks a lot more advanced. Interesting."
Dilandau wanted to laugh. If that bastard unscrewed that lid without a mask on, they'd all be under. Pity he'd never be able to taste that woman's fury. He was looking forward to a good bloody end.
"Thiopental… the GIA had that program that was been trying to adapt a more inspiration element into their truth serums while we were still in it, remember, honey?" The blond woman just smiled in reply. "They were trying to create a type of fast acting truth serum. I'm guessing this little guy is the final product of that research."
The smile immediately slipped off Dilandau's face and the craving for a bloody death faded from his mind. He felt his shoulders and hands shaking in the bindings. His fingers were cold and clammy. His breathing became heavier. He swallowed and hated the gulping sound it made.
It sounded so much like weakness.
The brown-haired man just laughed at him. "Wanna know what gave it away? I found a very helpful gas mask in your bag. When I let you take a good whiff of this, you'll tell me everything I want to know, including how you got this information from the GIA. Even if you try, you can't help yourself. I'm actually kind of excited to try it."
Dilandau didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
"We also found this fancy cell phone in your pocket." The blond woman continued from her husband, though her words were not calmly said, but spat at him hatefully. She pulled out Dilandau's agent phone and held it in front of his face. "You got a new message three minutes ago. Why don't you hold on to it, Dryden, and maybe our guest would be so kind as to give you the password."
Millerna held up the phone and the brown-haired man gracefully plucked the phone out of her fingers. "What a wonderful idea. I think we shouldn't delay any longer. Millerna, honey, I'd love some alone time, so I might need you to take care of the boys outside for a bit."
"Of course, sweetheart. Have fun, okay?" The blond woman smiled with obvious pleasure as she straightened up and turned around to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing, baby. Hand me my old cell phone before you go. I think it's time to contact some of my friends in the GIA and let them hear this with their own ears."
Millerna nodded and reached over to grasp a hand on the door.
Dilandau's heart raced – no longer with ravishing pleasure – but with a bitter, trembling feeling. It made him sick. Sicker than when he was feeling the vertigo. The Agency would brand him a rogue for going against orders and getting captured. He'd be hunted.
Pending… Standby… Pending… Standby…
Why? Why did they make him wait? This wasn't his fault! The Agency made him stop the hunt! They should have just let him keep going! The brown-haired man just watched him with bemusement. Leaning against several small boxes, he pushed his long curly hair off his shoulder and smiled at Dilandau.
Dilandau couldn't smile… He couldn't…
It may have been minutes, but it felt like hours. The woman came back with a thick black cell phone that looked several years old.
"Here you are, Dryden." She shot a quick smirk at the tied man and shut the door once more.
"Isn't she sexy? God, I love that woman." The man named Dryden sighed. "Welp, on to business, shall we?"
Strapped to the chair, he pulled uselessly on his bindings with a small cry erupting from his throat. This only seemed to make the brown-haired man even happier. The demon man loomed over Dilandau's silver head like a towering giant. The image kept shifting, swaying, altering from past to present. From his childhood boogie-man to this monstrous man before him who was pulling on the mask. His mask. Dilandau's only means of protection.
Dilandau finally realized what was making his hands and shoulders shake, his heart throb horribly, and his body grow cold with each passing second. It was the emotion he'd cut from his mind for so long. It was the emotion he drank from his targets.
Now the brown-haired man was carefully unscrewing the bottle in the small room.
And Dilandau felt it.
Fear.
The first thing to break through her comforting oblivion was the smell. It didn't hold the soothing aroma of her vanilla scented candle she always lit by her bed in her small apartment. It had more of a strange iron twinge. Like the orphanage hospital room. Like blood. Frowning with her eyes closed, she realized her right hand was completely numb. She'd slept on it weird again. Typical. She was always doing that. Shifting a leg to change position, she kicked a strange object which made a loud thud on the floor. It sounded like a box.
Wait. The floor.
She was on the floor.
Her green eyes snapped open and she immediately sat up with a gasp, banging her head against the floorboards above her. Her neck cricked and she groaned at both the pain in her neck and on her forehead. Reaching up to rub both spots, she noticed a man was lying right beside her and she almost screamed. The memories of the night before came flooding into her brain and her heart rose with panic.
The assassin! The Court House! Caesar was Dornkirk! She had to call Balgus! An image of Balgus' crumbled body washed over her and she felt nauseated. That's right. Balgus was dead. So was Grandma Nina. The Orphanage had been evacuated. Allen was with Van's friends.
Van…
She turned to glance back at the still man beside her. His long black hair was spilled around his head, his chest rising slowly with his deep breaths. His right arm was outstretched on the floor and had served as a pillow for her head. She exhaled slowly and gazed around the dimly lit hiding place. There were the small rolls of bandages she'd used to wrap his wound sitting beside her. The first-aid kit still laid wide open on a cardboard box beside his left arm. The flashlight that had burnt out from a full night of being turned on stood in the corner. Judging from the light coming from the floorboards above her head, it was late morning.
Her green eyes turned back down to Van. The empty whiskey bottle was lying on its side above his head. His steady breathing indicated he would be out for a little while longer. With nothing in his stomach, he'd passed out almost as soon as he finished the whiskey. She let a small smile fall on her lips. Who knew he'd be such a lightweight? Or maybe it was just the physical exertions of last night. Or the loss of blood he's endured.
She'd needed rest as well.
But she was awake now.
And she had something she needed to do.
Fierce anxiety filled her and she shivered. Her hands began to shake and grow colder. She remembered what he'd said last night.
Dornkirk… 2pm… Austurian National Museum…
Fixing her eyes on his bandaged arm that was resting contentedly on part of the butterfly comforter, she tried to calm down her rising fear and nervousness. He was in no shape to come with her even if she wanted him to. Van still needed proper medical care. She'd done the best she could to stop the bleeding and to keep out infection, but he was obviously very weak. There was no way he would survive. Not something like this.
"It's time. This is my only chance to take out Caesar before he can strike further. I know who he is and where he is supposed to be. You would never let me go there, would you?" She whispered to his comatose face as if Van could hear her. "You'd forbid me to leave this hole in the floor. You'd want to protect me everywhere I go. But you don't understand, Van. It's like Balgus said, 'one bullet.' That's all it takes to win this. This is my destiny..."
If it was her destiny, why did it sound so much like an excuse? She lifted a cold hand and allowed her fingers to slowly hover over his strong, tan jaw and travel up to his thick, black hair with a feather-like touch.
He didn't stir.
With an almost defeated sigh, she shifted closer to his warm body and lay beside him. Bracing herself with her left elbow, she leaned in to study the sharp profile of his face. She followed the shape of his relaxed eyebrows, long eyelashes, nose, all the way down to the small muscles lining his bare shoulders. She raised her right hand once more and placed it on his chest over his heart. It beat slow and steady. The heat of his body immediately sucked the cold from her and warmed her fingers. Lowering her head, she settled on his naked shoulder and curled her body against his. Her green eyes looked up into his peacefully sleeping face.
Safe. This was safe.
"Van, I never told you something. It has to do with my past. It's important, so don't interrupt." She smiled at her lame joke as he remained oblivious to the world around him. "I was once told from a self-acclaimed psychic that a hero would come and save me. I always just brushed it off as Grandma Nina being frivolous. You never met her, but she was a big nagger. She kept complaining at me to get a proper job, find a boyfriend, have some children. Probably in that order." Hitomi laughed bitterly to herself. "But there was this one time she came barging into my room in the middle of the night. She announced I'd have a hero that would protect me from all of this. She told me that she'd had a dream of a man who would come to save me when I needed him. This was years ago. Balgus always told her she had ate the wrong end of a bean burrito to have a dream like that, but she kept insisting it was a vision. She described her vision to me that night when she had it. She said she couldn't see his face, only his shadow, standing behind me, protecting me. She said his arm was wrapped around my waist, holding me against him." With the memory, a harsh burn appeared behind her eyes and her breathing became unsteady. "I would have never thought you'd come, Van. I wrote you off years ago. I kept wishing that you'd be here, but within months I had doubts. Maybe you would never come. Or I hadn't put myself in enough danger to finally trigger the vision. I don't know." Hitomi nuzzled her cheek against his warm skin. "But you came… you actually came for me. You held me like that. In the janitor's closet. I should have realized it then."
A tear spilled down her cheek and she moved her hand from his chest to his tan face. He didn't react to her touch, but kept breathing evenly in his sleep. She felt encouraged and stroked the small stubble on his chin. A sense of boldness gripped her and she slowly ran her thumb over his lips. He exhaled deeply and she felt the warmth of his breath on her hand.
"As soon as you stepped on my porch, I should have known. As soon as you saved me in your truck or held my hand or almost kissed me at the red light or fought with me in the alleyway or saved me from falling or calmed me with one simple touch of your fingers, I should have realized it. I'm an idiot. Maybe things would be different if I realized it sooner. Maybe it wouldn't. Who knows…?" She trailed off as more tears spilled down her green eyes and rolled onto his bare skin. "Your story, your past, you've been alone for a long time. Blaming yourself for something you tried so hard to prevent. You are so strong and yet so fragile and so real. You were always just a silly joke all these years. But now that the vision has come true, now that I have met you and realized how wonderful and brave and… a-and… this decision that I've made. To go after Caesar by myself… This is suicide, I know. But I can't have you put yourself in danger for me anymore. You are just an innocent bystander who got swept into my problems. I wish Grandma Nina had never had the vision because then I wouldn't regret what I have to do. Because I just don't… don't want to leave you alone anymore… I don't want to leave you!"
She scooted further until her head was just below his chin and cried quietly on his chest. Her sobs hardly made a sound, but the pain in them was practically overwhelming. She cried for her loved ones – dead and alive - she cried for herself, but most of all, she cried for Van and the pain she was about to put him through. No matter what she said now, she knew he'd blame himself for not being able to protect her.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She whispered thickly. "Please don't come after me. Please don't get hurt anymore for me. It's time I do this on my own. You've protected me enough. You're lying here, wounded and bleeding, and all for what? Because of me. Enough is enough. You don't have to be my hero. You don't have to have this destiny Grandma Nina dreamed up for you. Please, please choose to walk away when you finally wake up. Hopefully, by the time that happens, everything will be over. For Caesar… and for me…"
Lifting her head, she moved to lean over his face. Her short brown hair fell forward, creating a small curtain between them. Her nose inched closer to his, her green eyes spilling tears on his peaceful features. Glancing down at his lips, she swallowed her nerves and closed the gap. She pressed her trembling mouth against his and held the sides of his face with both of her hands. Her fingers played with the bits of hair at the back of his head as her face tilted slightly to deepen her kiss on his unmoving lips. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. A white-hot longing for him to kiss her back caused more tears to drip from her eyes.
If he was awake, would he kiss me back? Would he beg me to stay with him and not leave? And if he did, would I abandon everything I've worked for these past years just for a man I hardly know? Would I run away from everything just to be with him and the safety he provides?
She was afraid of her answers to those questions.
She was afraid of how she could fall so quickly. So deeply.
She pulled back and stared hard into his closed eyes.
Not even a flutter of an eyelash.
Leaning further away, she sat on her knees and wiped at her cheeks.
She'd kissed him and made a good memory. One last good memory to file away before the end.
"I know I'm walking to my death, so I want to let you know something, Van." She gave a shuddering sigh and wiped more tears away. "This is so sudden. I mean I hardly know you. But… but you have so quickly become someone I truly care for. Not just because you've saved me. Not just because you are supposed to be my hero." She lowered her head to let her hair hand in her face. "God, I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot. I think I'm in love with you, Van. I'm actually in love with you…"
The confession hung in the air and was swallowed in the silence that followed it. Breathing in deeply, she felt for her resolve inside and found it barely hanging on a thread. Grasping onto it with desperation, she looked up with clear, determined, green eyes.
Without a moment's pause, Hitomi gently grabbed Van's right shoulder and leg and – with several grunts and one small curse – turned him over to the side.
There. His pistol. She yanked it out of the belt of his pants and winced slightly at the bright red mark it'd left on his bare skin. He should have told her the gun was poking into his back. It suddenly became one of those strange moments in life when something became funny that really wasn't that funny at all. Hitomi laughed quietly at the deep imprint of the gun's handle on his lower back. Shaking her head, she knew she was probably on the verge of a breakdown. Crying one minute, confessing her love to an unconscious man in another, laughing the next.
Rolling him back over, she straightened his left arm carefully back on the comforter. Ejecting the clip out of his gun, she saw three bullets.
Every shot counted.
Smiling warmly at his unconscious face as she pushed the magazine back into the pistol, she whispered, "We both are idiots, Van. Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to you. That and you look pretty good without your shirt on." Leaning forward one more time, she gave him another kiss. This one was shorter, but as she ran her thumb over his cheeks, she felt him twitch slightly.
It was now or never.
Pushing on the handle of the trap door, she gave him one long, memorizing look before shutting the hatch back in place.
"I hope you're dreaming of me."
The people at the coffee house crowded around him like dogs to their master. Dornkirk gave his best grandfatherly grin as he touched hands with men and women alike. The rumble of excited voices, the waves of hands reaching for him, the obvious love for him that shined through their eyes. Several young children playing in a small park next to the cafe pushed their way to the front of the mass and one tugged on his pants leg.
"Hello, there, little one." The old man warmly ruffled the kid's head. The little boy, his hair a tangle of silky black curls, smiled shyly up at him. Dornkirk stopped and slowly crouched in front of the child.
"Do you know who I am, son?"
The boy nodded. "The Austurian Grandpa."
"Would you like to work for me someday?"
The child blinked and glanced up at the male pawn standing over Dornkirk like a shield. "You mean like him?"
Dornkirk followed the boy's gaze. Turning back him, he placed his wrinkled hand on the child's thin shoulder. "Exactly like him. He's cool, isn't he?"
The boy's mouth fell open in awe. With a slight nod, he whispered, "He looks like a superhero."
"You'll grow to be a strong man someday. You'll defend the city with your strength. I bet you'll be the strongest, bravest man in the city."
The child's thin face stretched into a wide toothy smile. "I will! I will, Mr. Grandpa!"
The old man laughed and ruffled the boy's hair once more. "Please, call me Dornkirk."
"Mayor Dornkirk! Mayor Dornkirk!" A pretty female reporter pushed her way into the delighted masses surrounding him. He smiled brightly at the young boy and straightened up with the help of his pawn. The woman waved a microphone in her hand and Dornkirk nodded to his bodyguard to let her through. The blank-eyed man stepped aside and she stretched her microphone through to catch his voice. "The rumors of your speech today are taking the news media by storm. You made quite a harsh statement against the individuals responsible for the motorcycle races in your speech yesterday. What could you possibly have planned today?"
"My dear lady, that is for you to find out in about two hours." The old man said happily. "I want to go ahead and tell you that I am all for encouraging the VOP to vote on this GIA decision after I am finished with my speech. In fact, I'm hoping they have their stamps already inked." He winked at her and her beautiful face immediately answered with a charming smile.
She was beautiful. Dornkirk made a mental note to get her name later.
"Many Austurians think the GIA's involvement in the investigation will save more lives. Why are you so against it?"
"I've been asked this question so many times and I always appreciate getting asked it again." Dornkirk laughed. "I want the people of Austuria to know that the APD has their back. Austuria can and will protect Austuria. The police are here for the precious citizens of this city. The Gaia Intelligence Agency has been known to accept spies with questionable backgrounds into their ranks before. They want to snatch the control they lost four years ago by taking away the power of the people."
"You mean the power of the police-"
"My dear lady, go get yourself a latte and wait for me to start my speech. Every question will be answered."
With that closure, the old man allowed himself to be swept away by the adoring crowd. One woman lifted a little girl on her shoulders and Dornkirk waved to them both from the throng. The woman blushed and the pretty child gave him a big grin. All around him faces smiled and cheered his name.
This was paradise.
This was being Caesar.
Holding the gun steady to her chest with one hand, Hitomi tried once more to pull down the small blue tank top she'd found in the apartment. Changing from her bloody t-shirt seemed like the best plan. She'd probably want to blend once she hit the streets. Unfortunately, the only shirt she found that looked remotely normal hardly covered her stomach. The woman that lived in the apartment must have been half her size.
Oh, well, Hitomi thought, giving up on making the tight shirt meet her belly button. It doesn't matter if I'm modest or not.
She squared her shoulders and took the last step on the bottom of the dark stairwell. She knew there was a high chance that a guard would be waiting for her at the front of the building. With a deep breath, she knew shooting the guard would cause way too much noise and would waste a precious bullet meant for Caesar. A sudden memory crept into her mind. Van had said that buildings over forty feet had to have at least four emergency exits. This one… though small, probably had a back exit somewhere.
Sneaking to the wooden door in the gloomy darkness of the bottom floor, she crept to the door and peaked out the small square window. Yep. There he was. She studied the man's bulky muscle mass and realized she probably couldn't take him.
She sighed quietly. Well, time to bring out the inner ninja.
Watching him yawn and roll his neck, she also noticed the streets were quite busy. Cars driving by, pedestrians crossing the street, laughing, shopping. She could blend perfectly fine. A back exit was the best option. Would he see her coming out? Would he recognize her?
Leaving the door, she made her way to the back of the building. Sure enough, a minute of silently opening doors, she saw the red exit sign with both a jolt of relief and anxiety.
"Okay, Hitomi, you can do this." She told herself. "Just act like you know what you're doing. You're good at blending in. I mean you've done it enough with the 'naps and racing. It's the same thing, right?"
Opening the door, she stepped out into the smelly back alleyway and swiftly turned the corner. She looked up immediately to see the balcony that had saved their lives. Despite her mounting apprehension, she smiled softly at the green leaves of the various potted plants littering the balcony. Van had held her hand so tightly while they hung on the drain pipe. He hadn't wanted to let go, but she had made him. Just like now.
"Goodbye." She whispered and her heart thumped horribly in her chest. Screwing on a calm expression she didn't feel, she boldly strolled out of the alleyway and instantly turned right to avoid crossing the guard's path. She waited for the warning shout. She waited for the bullet in her back. She waited and kept walking. No one looked at her. She blended in.
Her fear didn't stop until she rounded the corner of the street. Then she allowed herself a small victory smile.
Now to Caesar.
His mind was a blur of both the past and future. At one moment he was a child looking up from the dirty ground. He cried at the feet of the man he had always tried to please. The man who never loved him. The pain in his shoulder and head no more than a dull ache. As a child, Dilandau had learned to smile, even though he didn't feel like it. Despite all pain, he'd smiled. Maybe then his father would be pleased with him. Maybe his father would love him.
Other times he was old and weak, strapped to his wheel chair and decrepit. His father transformed into his god of death, waiting judgment and payment. His dark wings spread wide; trying to swallow him whole. The fangs itching for his exposed, wrinkled throat. Dilandau could not move. He could hardly breathe. The sweet scent of his father's cologne wafted around him. His father was his reaper. The demon. The one he was both trying to please and plead for his soul with.
He hardly knew what he said. He just spoke, words tumbling out of his mouth like a spout of water. He said whatever the demon wanted. Whatever his father wanted…
And then it was over. The demon opened the door, turned off the light, and shut it.
Dilandau was left alone. All alone in darkness. Faintly, he felt the strange pain in his joints, the skin around his wrists rubbing raw. His head swirled with images of dark. The coats behind him were hundreds of hands. Ones that wanted him like the demon. His death god had left him in the hands of these ruling spirits. He wanted to scream, but couldn't. He wanted to claw his eyes out, but his hands were now being held by strong, small arms. A strange jingling noise from the bracelets of the spirit rang in the air. Looking behind him, he gasped at a woman's face, her wild hair matted with blood. She blinked at him with one eye, the other half of her face missing.
Then another pair of wrinkled hands gently caressed his cheeks. He turned his red eyes behind him to a smiling face staring straight at him. Her face was close. He could smell her dead breath. Rotting.
Her friendly grin began to change into something crooked. A small raise of her lips transformed her face into a lopsided hungry look. The deep slice on her neck dripped red down her dark robes. Her pale face shining with anticipation.
The Mother Superior.
She'd come from Heaven to destroy him.
An arch-angel.
The warrior angel of death.
God had come for him.
With a strangled cry, Dilandau twisted his wrists and fought against the hands that held him. She wouldn't get him. God couldn't catch him. He was not a man to go down without a fight. Evil spirits, angels, death gods. They can all try to have him, but he would never let them.
Screaming, Dilandau ripped his bleeding hands as the strong fingers finally broke their hold on him. Shielding himself from the spirits, he quickly untangled himself from the bangle arms that held him to his chair. He felt them back away into the further recesses of the closet. Falling forward off the chair, he hit the door. It bounced open and he sprawled on the carpet floor with a grunt of pain. His head swam, his body howled with agony and fear. Turning over, he saw the spirits watching him from the closet, their eyes glowing white.
Dilandau gaped as one spirit reached out and pinned his feet together with one hand. The large strong ghost crawled out of the closet while the others waited behind.
He wasn't smiling at him like the mother superior. This one had the face of a demon…
The man… the man who was with the girl before. The bigger man at the house. The one who he'd shot in the kitchen. He was clasped on Dilandau's legs, his large body growling and snarling, ripping and pulling at him. The blood from his large stomach pooled out of his body. The red liquid dripped out of his mouth and down his thick jaw. The old man's touch felt like ice and the cold crept through Dilandau's pants to freeze his skin. Slowly, the man began to pull Dilandau back to the closet. Back to where the hands awaited him.
"You won't get her… You'll never have her…" The old man whispered as his head twisted slightly. He yanked on Dilandau and the other ghosts raised their arms out of the doorway as if to help the phantom. "I won't let you have her…"
"No… no, I won't… I won't get her!" Dilandau whimpered. "Please, I promise. I won't!"
"It's too late, sweetheart. God has judged you…" The abbess' voice was sweet and soothing, yet it burned like daggers in Dilandau's ears.
"We've come to take you…" It was wild-haired woman now.
"You'll never have her… I won't let you take her…" the old man chanted, pulling Dilandau even closer. The silver-haired man screamed and kicked. The man's white eyes had filled with fluid as if the ghost was crying. "She has a destiny. You shall not interfere."
"You shall not interfere…" the abbess repeated.
"You shall not interfere…" the wild-woman whispered. "We won't let you have her."
"NO!" Dilandau shrieked and kicked at the old man's hands. Leaning forward, his bloody fingers clawed at the man's thick arms. Screaming, he felt the old man's hands slowly releasing their grip on his legs. He kicked and squirmed and wriggled. One by one, the old man's strong fingers weakened.
The last finger fell away and Dilandau crawled quickly until his silver head hit a lamp stand on the other side of the wall. It fell and broke. His red eyes watched the heavy old man's body slowly sink back into the shadows of the closet. The other spirits watched him. All their eyes white, dazed over with death.
"You shall meet a bad end, sweetheart." The Mother's voice echoed out. It was faint… distant… "Come with us and we will take care of you."
"Like hell, I will!" The silver-haired man bellowed back, his hands clutching for the fallen lamp. "S-stay away from me!"
The dark spirits in the closet were slowly fading away. Dilandau's breath was coming in short gasps. A desperate relief washed over his entire being and he collapsed on his side. Dropping the lamp, his arms wrapped around his body protectively.
One by one, the white eyes disappeared showing only coats inside the closet. The last to vanish was the old man. The one who had held him. The one who had tried to drag him back in.
"I'll be following you…" The old man's voice ripped into his brain, yet it was hardly more than vapor. "You may have escaped now, but you'll meet me again."
Dilandau was shaking, crying. With trembling arms and legs, he pulled himself up and took several shaking steps. Opening the front door, the sun was too bright for his eyes. His heart pounded sickly and he vomited into the rosebushes on the porch.
Straightening up after a few minutes, he felt his head clear slightly. He still shook with fear, but now he remembered… the truth serum… this is what it did to people…
What power…
What wonderful power…
Still crying, Dilandau's mouth twisted itself.
And he smiled.
A small beam of light hit his closed left eye causing the darkness to turn blindingly red. Van groaned at the strange pulsing headache that followed. Damn, he was thirsty. He was always this way after drinking. Breathing in deeply, the back of Van's head gave a small jolt of pain in his neck. Breathing deeply, he sat up and his head collided painfully with the ceiling.
"Ow!"
Wait. The ceiling.
Where was he?
His mahogany eyes snapped open and he glanced all around him with confusion. He was in a small space with cardboard boxes. A bloodstained butterfly comforter covered the bottom half of his body. Several rolls of bandages, a first aid kit, and a flashlight were scattered all around. Feeling a dull throb in his left arm, he lifted it and his memory came rushing to him.
The assassins! The gunshot! Hitomi!
Van gasped and almost banged his head again as he lifted himself to search for her.
She was gone.
A sense of horror filled him. Where was she?
Kicking out of the comforter, he lifted the hatch with his right hand and squinted in the bright daylight coming from the windows.
"Hitomi?" He said her name as loud as he dared. "Hitomi? Where are you?"
Silence answered him.
Pulling himself out of the hole with a groan, the room around him spun dangerously and he had to catch himself on the floor. He'd lost a lot of blood last night. And… looking back in the hole, he noticed the empty whiskey bottle. She'd gotten him to drink it after bandaging him up. Closing his eyes briefly, he remembered telling her his past with the GIA. She'd acted completely normal. Why would she leave? She couldn't have gone without him, right? He had told her he'd protect her. What was she thinking?
"Hitomi?" He asked the apartment again.
Nothing.
Pulling himself to his feet, he shuffled from the hatch door, his mahogany eyes searching the apartment. Did she go to the bathroom? Checking through the door, he saw nothing. Kitchen? No Hitomi.
"Hitomi!" He called out.
A memory of last night swam before his eyes. He'd said something… Dornkirk… he'd told her about Dornkirk's speech. He'd told her all about it.
"What time is it?" He murmured, his voice cracking weakly. He almost collapsed once he glanced at the small round clock in the hallway.
Twenty minutes past one.
She was going to Dornkirk's speech at two.
"Oh, God…" He shook his head almost drunkenly. "Hitomi… damn it…"
Another horrible wave of dizziness struck his brain and he had to hold onto the wall to stop himself from falling over. "Shit… What do I do?" Reaching back, he felt for his gun. Missing. She'd taken his gun.
"Breathe, Van. Breathe." He said to himself. "First… first thing we need to do is get a shirt…"
Stumbling out of the kitchen, he made his way to the bedroom. Shifting clumsily through the upturned drawers, he growled in frustration. A wave of tacky pink sweaters, pink underwear, and yellow pants, but nothing big enough for him. Moving to the closet, Van pushed through dresses and shoes.
He had almost settled on a small white dress that would fit him like a frilly shirt when he saw a box in the corner that gave him a shudder of relief.
It was labeled: Ex-boyfriend's crap. Van pulled it out and shifted through it. A wrinkled black t-shirt with a skull on the front greeted him and he happily pulled it over his head. Careful of his bandage, the black-haired man stood and checked the clock once more and immediately felt sick. Did that really take fifteen minutes?
Feeling an even more sense of urgency, Van rushed out the door and down the steps. Charging through the front door, he startled a muscled man standing near the doorway.
"You!" The man yelled reaching for a repeater pistol strapped to his side.
Despite the loss of blood, the adrenaline kicked in and Van punched the man hard in the face. The guard's head cracked on the brick wall behind him and he slid down the wall in a daze. Glancing around at the busy pedestrians, Van bent and hit the man again. He saw his body go limp and the black-haired man began unbuckling the gun at the man's belt.
Straightening up with a groan and a new gun, Van's mahogany eyes nervously searched the faces of those walking by as he tucked the pistol down the back of his pants. No one saw a thing.
Glancing in the downtown area, Van went as fast as his body allowed. His heart pounding with every step.
And every step rang her precious name in his head…
Hitomi… Hitomi… Hitomi…. Hitomi…
Dilandau swerved like a mad man, passing car after car. The highway was cluttered and he pulled onto the left service road. Zipping back into traffic, he pressed the gas and the Camry let out a small groan as it accelerated. Flicking his red eyes into the rearview mirror, he felt a jolt of fear and instant relief. He'd sworn the old man was there. Watching him from the backseat. Just waiting…
"You'll never take me, old man." He whispered. "I'll blow her to hell."
Dragging the wheel to the left, he took a sharp exit towards downtown Austuria.
"I'll get her… just you wait… I'll make you watch as I blast her apart." The spirit – if he was there – didn't answer. "You hear me, old man!? I'll blow your bitch away!"
Yanking the wheel straight, Dilandau stopped short at a red light and growled at the cars crossing his path. His red eyes glared murder, hatred.
Death.
Suddenly, as if by fate, Dilandau looked to his right.
And it was magic.
There he was.
Van Fanel running on the sidewalk.
Feet shuffled loudly as the numerous nuns and 'naps marched through the dripping, echoed underground tunnels that led out of the Orphanage. Merle shifted her tired and sore shoulders and brushed her vibrant colored hair out of her eyes. Glancing around the dark, slime-covered walls, she swallowed down a feeling of apprehension and continued to lead the four 'naps in her care. Two held her hand tightly and two others grabbed the edge of her black sleeves.
"Keep holding on to my robe, Julie." Merle whispered as she felt the small hand let go of the fabric at her wrist. Julie let out a small bit of undecipherable gibberish and moaned loudly. The poor girl had been rescued only three months earlier and was still hurting from a fractured wrist and sprained kneecap. Merle was thankful the girl didn't fight her and kept going regardless of the pain, but it seemed like the poor 'nap was almost to her limit.
"Keep going, everyone! We are almost to the outside!" A strong voice echoed down the tunnel from the front. The small nun sighed gratefully and tried to beat down the bad feeling rising in her stomach. Her heart pounding heavily, she frowned at her unnatural bout of anxiety.
"Sister April," Merle called out to the nun in front of her. "Can you see the end of the tunnel yet?"
"Not yet."
The girl wailed loudly and Merle tried to shush her gently. "Please, Julie, you'll be alright. Calm down, sweetheart-"
A popping so loud it rocked the tunnel bounced into her ears. Merle gasped, but it was drowned out by the piercing screams of 'naps.
Gunshots…
What an insane cliff-hanger. I kind of hate myself. lol!
I hope you enjoyed, even though you probably hate me now.
It was posted with love and hard work. :)
Thanks to everyone!
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