He was dead . . . officially at least. The war was over and he could live once again in peace on the other side. He could go back to remembering Helen and living once more in the daylight. No more wearing the assassin's garb of black suits, but rather a simple pair of jeans, faded black t-shirt and brown leather jacket. So why was standing on the rooftop of the dormitory that he had grown up in? He had felt pulled here, although he couldn't say what it was. Seeing her for the first time in years had brought back memories he had forgotten about. Memories that were happy. They had both changed a lot in the ten years they were apart and yet some things were very much the same. The last time he saw Elisa was a couple of weeks before his 'death'. The hate in her eyes when she looked at him had been unnerving. He still didn't know with certainty why she had changed towards him and he could not reach out and contact her. He was dead after all.
Looking around the rooftop of the dormitory John marveled at how much smaller it seemed. It still smelled of dirt, old tar and that certain hint of mold that reminded you that the building had been around forever. All of that was mixed with the earthy smell of impending rain, how strange to think that he and Elisa used to sneak up here to talk, to read or engage in more lusty pursuits. While he could not boast an idyllic childhood, his memories sitting on this rooftop with Elisa were some of his happiest. Maybe that was what had brought him back here, his desire to touch some of the brighter moments of his life. He couldn't do that with the home he had shared with Helen, but this place was still here and so was Elisa.
He walked over to a corner niche and found hidden away, safe from the weather, was an old wooden crate that he and Elisa had managed to drag up here in secret. He opened it and found there were still a couple of old blankets that had gotten moldy from time and moisture as well as a green plastic sewing kit from the 1970's with a clear lid. The original contents had long since disappeared even before they had brought it up here, but it had still proved its usefulness.
John carefully lifted the plastic box from the crate and opened the lid. Inside it still held the three books he used to read to Elisa when they were children. The first was a book of old Russian folklore in its original language. The second was a copy of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory", dog-earred, folded and bent from a thousand nights of reading. The last was a hard-bound edition of "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz". Its spine was broken and the cover was separated from the rest of the book, but he knew it, just the same. He stared down at the faded image of the tinman then closed his eyes and recited out loud to himself.
"During the year I stood there I had known was the loss of my heart. While I was in love I was the happiest man on earth."
"I think you are wrong to want a heart." A woman's voice said behind him. There was no mistaking it and instantly he whirled around to see Elisa standing there. John recognized the words she was saying as the wizards from the very same book. "It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart." She took a couple steps toward him then sighed. "Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable." These words were not from the book, rather the movie, but he understood the point all the same.
John knew she was here on business because she was dressed in all black from her slacks and boots to her t-shirt. Her beautiful face that had always seemed too soft and delicate to be that of a cold assassin was now hard with her high smooth forehead showing lines and wrinkles evocative of the rage inside her. Her blue eyes seemed to shoot cold sparks that matched the lightning flashing behind her. Her strong jaw clenched against the impulse to rip the other person with her own teeth. Lips that should have been made for nothing more than kissing, were now turned slightly downward and pursed. Even her long dark brown hair moved wildly as the storm winds blew across the rooftops as if warning John that he was standing before all of Hell's fury and there would be no walking away. "I knew you couldn't be dead. Not you. No one can kill John fucking Wick."
Thunder boomed like a crack of doom a half second before her fist made contact with his face. He could have stopped her, he had seen it coming, but chose to take the blow in an effort to rectify whatever it was he had done. What he was not willing to take was an onslaught of punches which was what she was delivering. The two went back and forth across the rooftop, Elisa trying to inflict as much pain as she could, while John tried to deflect her blows. With anyone else he would have fought back and made sure his attacker suffered far more than he did. He could not, he would not, do that to her. Like himself, she was never one to be governed by her emotions so whatever wound he had inadvertently inflicted was deep, raw and savage. Not unlike what he went through when his dog Daisy, had been killed.
The rain began to pour down as she pushed him back against the wall then came another flash of lightning. In that brief second he caught sight of the bolt's reflection on the blade of a knife in her hand. Was she looking to wound or kill? He had never known her to settle for simply hurting someone and she wasn't stopping her attack so he could ask. Just as the blade was just barely touching his side, he caught hold of her wrist and twisted it forcing the knife out of her hand to the ground. She retaliated with her knee, but he was just a hair quicker and brought her to the ground. Not letting her even have a second to move he grabbed hold of her other wrist and pulled them behind her. It took all his strength to keep her from wiggling free and even then she tried to fight against him. In response he used his whole body to pin her down. Wild animals didn't fight as hard as she did. Every few seconds he had to adjust to keep her from escaping. Surely she would wear out soon.
"Stop." he whispered in her ear. "Erzsébet, please stop."
"Fuck you, Jardani!" she hissed before managing to wiggle a hand free allowing her to turn just enough to spit in his face. John could only sigh as he once more took hold of her arm and wrenched it back just enough to get her attention and pause her movements but not really injure her. "I trusted you!" she shouted. "How could you do this to me! How could you do this to my son!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" she growled, momentarily breaking free and turning to her back managed to push him away. As he scrambled to once more get her down and pin pin her he searched his mind for what sin he might have committed. Was it faking his death and not telling her? That should have had no effect on her son or her. Was it something else?
"I swear to you, I don't know." John insisted. "Please, just talk to me." To his surprise she stopped moving. Did she believe him or was she hoping he would loosen his grip so she could escape and attack again? Even as the thunder cracked as though in warning, he let her go and sat up, his back against the wall. Slowly Elisa got her knees under her and sat up, pulling the wet hair from her face. Her eyes never left his, the anger still there and as intense as ever.
"You killed The Elder, Harun's father."
"I cut the head off the snake. I was trying to put an end to it all, for me . . . for you too."
"Snake? This creature is far more dangerous there are many clamoring to take that seat above the high table. One thing they all can agree on is that there should be no blood heir to get in their way." Unable to contain her anger and frustration she punched him again. "You sent me to Hell!" she shouted before falling back against the wall in frustration. "Killers are hunting my child while you get to play dead and go back to your perfect life on the other side."