Phoenix:

2.

Hollow


2004


Serpiente Rojo, Spain


The sound of dripping water filled her ears. It made her shiver. She huddled in the dark, listening, lurking - a spider in a web she couldn't escape. Her breath fogged, telling her it was cold. Her ears listened to adapt to her sight being imperiled by darkness. She could hear movement and whispered words in a language she hadn't heard since high school.

Her remedial Spanish told her someone had said something about hearts and blood. She picked up something about gifts. They mentioned the girl, the savior, and the future. Was she one? All three? She didn't know.

Her hand slid down and cupped over the head of the dog at her feet. It had come in through a crack in the wall at some point, and she could see only the white of its fur in brief moments of moonlight between the slick stones. Its presence was a comfort she couldn't begin to define.

She wasn't alone for the few moments she could stifle the fear. She laid her cheek against its solid skull, and it licked her hand. Her nose twitched, telling her the smell of death was too close.

She knew...she wasn't alone in this cell. Someone else had died here. Someone was close by, rotting, and had rid themselves of their waste by evacuating their bowels. She was trapped in near-total blackness with a dead body that had shit itself.

She could still smell the seawater from the carnival she'd been at with her friends. She could still picture Micah's face as he held her hand, so nervous, so thrilled to be out with her. She could still see the horror in his eyes before the light had died within him.

She had to try to escape. She knew that. She had to give it everything she had. It had to be different this time...it had to be. Because she couldn't stay like this forever, waiting, terrified, living off stale bread and half-cooked meat.

The dog had returned through the wall earlier with a loaf of brown bread found somewhere. The bread was fresh, and the dog was happy. She couldn't see much of it but thought it was a boy. Because when she praised him, he'd licked her face.

He was huge, bigger than any dog she'd ever seen before. A wolfhound, maybe, or one of those dogs that herded farm animals. All she knew was that she wasn't afraid as much when he was there. She was starting to dread the idea that they would come and find the dog and kill him.

There was a rustling outside of the cell. She froze, listening, and heard them chanting as they descended the stairs. They would take her again. They would bring her up to that altar and make her watch while they sacrificed another girl. She'd been frozen, horrified, trapped, and held still the last time.

The girl had been bound, her eyes covered, her arms pulled behind her back. They'd stripped her to the waist, baring her breasts to the cold air. They'd painted her face in symbols and spread blood on her bosom. Ashley had been so afraid they'd rape her or something, but they didn't. They slit her throat and sacrificed her while she cried, screamed, and begged beyond her gag.

It was horrible...but maybe...maybe it was better than the alternative. Maybe.

She didn't know anymore.

The noises grew beyond the door. Ashley hunkered and cowered, feeling the terror eat at her bones as she whispered, "Please, no. Please, please, no."

The dog bumped her hands. She clutched at him, but he shook free and nipped at her jacket. Surprised, she glanced down at him. He nipped again, trying to move her - to what? Herd her.

He was trying to herd her somewhere.

She followed, clutching at his soft fur to let him guide her. He led her to his small hole in the cell and waited. She shook her head and urged in a scared whisper, "I won't fit!"

He waited - watching her with blue eyes.

Blue. Those eyes of his in that shaggy face. Blue.

Her eyes drifted to the body strung up on the wall behind him. Finally, in the moonlight, she could see what had become of the other girl in this cell. She was naked, bound at wrists and ankles behind her, hung on the wall like macabre art. Her belly flayed, her chest exposed until you could glimpse bone and ragged muscle beneath.

They'd taken her heart.

They'd taken her heart...and she'd died shitting herself.

Squished in a tunnel wouldn't be the worst way to die. But fear of it might mean this - reduced to body parts and left hanging on the wall like garbage.

No.

She felt the fire of survival in her as she breathed, "...no," and she urged again, "no."

Ashley finally nodded; she drew a shaky breath. She had to try. She had to try anything. What did she have to lose?

The dog went into the hole, and she followed him. She barely fit, but she did. She elbowed through, compressed into the tight space, afraid now of collapse and death. Claustrophobia set in as she fox crawled behind him. She heard the shouts in the room behind her and knew they'd found her gone.

She sandwiched herself into the narrow space and moved like the tunnel was on fire around her.

When the tunnel finally ended, she climbed free into the night.

It was her first breath of fresh air. And she could still smell the death in her nose as she inhaled hard, sharp, and too fast. It was enough to have her turn to the side to vomit on the cold ground.

She wretched, the dog pressed against her legs in sympathy, and nothing came up. It didn't surprise her. She hadn't eaten fully in god knew how long.

When her eyes opened, bleary and wet from tears shed while puking, the dog looked up at her solemnly.

But it wasn't a dog - it was a wolf.

Ashley froze, her breath caught in fear, but the wolf just watched her - so patient, neutral, and loyal. It waited as if it had all the time in the world to wait on her and wanted to be nowhere but at her side. She crouched to pet his ears, put her forehead against his, and whispered, "Thank you...my friend."

The rain peppered her face as she ran behind him now. They cut through trees and hurried, the wolf with those eyes that saw perfectly in the dying sun. It hurried, leaping over logs and waiting when she fell behind.

She could see the village in the distance, but the wolf didn't go toward it exactly. It cut around the outside, staying in the forest, leading her to safety. She ran behind, letting him lead her, letting him guide her. She trusted him.

Because he never left her.

She could see the horizon over the water, flickering like a distant dream in red and gold - blood and fire. Dying. Heading toward darkness.

The wolf reached a shed and waited, watching her on his haunches. She peeked inside, curious. There was a body on the wall. A woman, dead with a pitchfork through her face to pin her there. Blood ran in rivulets down her body, and her hands still twitched in death spasms. She hadn't been dead long.

Ashley grabbed the hilt of the pitchfork and jerked, and it came free into her hands. She turned to find the wolf watching her, patient, encouraging. Ashley hefted the weapon and whispered, "...you're the smartest damn wolf I've ever seen. I'm going to adopt you."

It seemed to smirk at her as it barked and turned, having her follow again.

She moved behind it, following it out into the woods again. It curved along a path in the trees, and she froze as she heard gunshots and shouting. Men roared, a chainsaw coughed to life, and the litany of battle followed. She scurried up the rise to find a skirmish below her. A man was kicking and stabbing, shooting, and spinning. It was almost like a dance. She paused, watching him, and realized there was something almost beautiful about it.

Or maybe she'd just been in the dark for too long.

Everything was a weapon to him. He wielded hatchets and kicked barrels, threw pots, and used hunks of wood like lances. He was amazing.

And when he spoke - he spoke in English. "That it? I've broken a bigger sweat playing in a bouncy house with toddlers."

Her brows winged up. Slang. American slang. He was American.

She glanced at the wolf. "Is he safe?"

There was movement on the rise. She glanced over to find a man with a crossbow aimed at the battle below. He lit his arrow and aimed, and she knew- he'd hit the man in the valley below if she did nothing. So, she raced at him. No thinking. Just action. He looked up, startled, and she thrust the pitchfork into his chest with a small cry of rage.

It went in; it popped out; it threw blood in a geyser that hit her face and made her shout in horror. And he went to his back with her still shoving. She landed atop him, like a Valkyrie, thrusting that pitchfork so hard it bit into the ground beneath him. He gushed out a final breath and went still.

She rose, jerking on the pitchfork. It came clean in her hands with a slurp that made her stomach roll as she turned and started running toward the rise and the man beneath. He was against no less than ten villagers. The chainsaw man was slicing through others around him like it was nothing. Blood flew, the villagers didn't even care that their friends were dying, and the burlap sack-headed man advanced on the American.

The American shot. He backed up; he shot again. He backed up, and his foot got too close to an animal trap. Ashley shouted, "LOOK OUT!"

Surprised, the American looked around to see who'd yelled. And the chainsaw man swung that nasty death machine at his head. She didn't think. She couldn't. She threw the pitchfork in her hands like a dart. It hit the ground three inches in front of the chainsaw man. He stumbled against it; the American pressed his advantage and thrust a massive knife into that burlap face.

Done.

She'd lost her weapon. But she'd saved his life. It had to be worth it. It had to be.

She scurried toward the embankment to go down to join him. Two had to be better than one. Right?

Right?

The wolf ran before her, rushing toward the house between her and the man fighting for his life. She ran behind, elated to see another person, a real person. A person like her.

The American started into the house, and she knew she had to stop him. He had to see her.

The wolf leaped around a bush, and Ashley yelled, "I'm he-"

And the trees gave a rustle as something came out of their leafy tops and landed behind her. A crunch of dead foliage and branches. A second for her heart to land in her throat and stifle her shout for help.

She ran, but she knew - she knew- she'd never make it.

The wolf turned back to help her. He raced toward her, and Ashley shouted, "No! NO! Run for your life! RUN! LEAVE ME!"

But he wouldn't leave. He raced with a growl at her attacker. And a metal snap lit the air. He yelped, leg trapped in one of those animal snares. Exposed. Waiting to die. The thing chasing her angled toward the helpless animal.

But she knew who it was. She knew. It was him. He called, "Little pig, little pig - don't you know, yet? Pigs don't run. They die."

Ashley turned back to face him, tired of running, terrified - but determined. She'd protect the wolf. She had to.

She raced at him, screaming her determination to the heavens. But her voice came out a whimper. It didn't echo. The fear made it shift on the wind like a whisper.

She tackled his vast body. He grunted and skidded in the leaves. There was a sound of a gun going off, once, twice, and the zip of a mechanical line behind her at the house. She tried to yell for help. She did.

But her voice died like her courage as she punched her tiny ineffectual fists into the big man to stop him from going after the wolf.

His hand grabbed her throat. He lifted her effortlessly, dangling her off her feet. And he grinned as he cooed in an oily voice, "Brave little pig...you just might be worth the gift you've been given."

He threw her away like she was nothing. She went through the trees, launched like a toy from a toddler's hand, and came down in a rolling heap. Her throat screamed. Her body screamed. She tried to crawl toward that house. She could see the man in the window, rising from the ground and looking around.

She squeaked, "...help me..." And her voice was hoarse and stifled.

He couldn't hear her.

He didn't see her.

But she was hoping like hell he'd see the wolf and save him.

She went to her face in the leaves as a big boot landed on her back. That oily voice in her ear promised, "Oh, princess, I'm gonna enjoy watching your crown gets covered in the blood of every bitch out there like you - too stupid to know when the goddamn battle is over."

Ashley threw a hand like she'd send her plea through the window. The man in the window turned, and she had a flash of hope - see me- she thought wildly, see me. Please help me.

Save me.

But the big man dragged her through the forest away. He tucked her over his shoulder and leaped up, up, up - until he was high above the rise on a rocky ledge. He took her away.

And her hope died in the woods waiting to be saved.


If she'd thought about that moment when Leon had burst into the room to rescue her, she'd have known it was him. She'd have remembered. She'd been so afraid; she'd seen the enemy everywhere she looked.

She'd risked her life for a wolf, and Leon found him shortly after and set him free. She'd risked her life for a stranger, and that stranger had turned around and saved her life -more than once. Again and again. And the wolf? The wolf had saved his.

"We're a team, right?"

They were.

Three hapless souls looking for each other.

She couldn't bring home the wolf with her. He was wild. He was free. You didn't try to domesticate a wolf. They were meant to run, survive, and live beyond the fenced-in yards that awaited them when they gave up their freedom.

Her hands twisted in his wet hair, tilting his face to hers to see him. Blue, his eyes behind all that shaggy hair he'd worn, blue. So blue. Like the wolf. Free. He wasn't. He was leashed. He was bound. She'd asked about him after she arrived at the hospital, and she'd gotten mixed responses from those she met.

Some claimed he was blackmailed into serving. Some claimed he was born for it. Some spoke of him like you might a demon or a ghost; if you gave it too much thought, it creeped up and scared the shit out of you.

He had names among those who knew him but was about to go from a whisper in the dark to a legend. The bodies he'd buried saving her life would make him immortal among the right circles. If he wanted free, this might be his chance.

He could ask to be reassigned. He could ask to go anywhere. To her father, he'd been priceless. If she leashed him here, like this, bound him to her with feelings and responsibility...was she any better than what had forced him into the fight in the first place?

She'd give anything to set him free, as he'd done for her.

His hands slid up her belly, cupping her breasts as he fed from her mouth. She whimpered as he molded her, cupping and rolling, touching and soothing. The bandage on her back from the shock rod she'd taken once as she'd thrown herself across him during a desperate moment met his hands as he shifted them to bring her closer.

He'd been so angry at her. So upset. But not like he hated her. Never that. Like she'd wasted herself trying to save him. When they'd been secure from the fight, he'd gripped her arms to shake her and admonished, "You don't do that! Ever! Do you hear me?!"

And she'd breathed, "...it would have killed you."

He'd shaken his head, denying that, face pale with worry and fear, "No. No. I can take it. You hear me?! I can take the damage. It's what I'm made for. It's who I am. But not you. Not you."

Her heart had sunk. She understood. She got it. She couldn't take the damage. She couldn't take the pain. She was weak. She understood.

But she'd denied, voice shaking with rage, "I can take anything you can."

Impressed, he'd eyed her face, "It's not a contest, Ashley. It's not a game. Maybe you can. But don't you get it?! You don't have to! That's what I'm here for. That's my goddamn job. Let me do it...and stop trying to be a hero."

"What happens to me if you die, Leon?" Her voice had broken, startling them both, "What happens to me!? You think I can't take a hit to save your life!? I can't do this without you. I can't!"

She'd almost shouted it, and he'd shushed her, shaking his head, putting his hand over her mouth as he soothed, "Ok. Alright," talking her down was what he was good at. His patience was legion, "Shhh. It's ok. I get it now. I understand what you were doing. But you can't do it. You can't. Do you understand me?"

He'd slid his hand away, and she'd breathed, "We're a team, Leon. Together. I will not stand by and wring my hands, screaming your name while you die. I will stay back. I will stay down. I will listen...but I won't stand there while you die. I can't do it."

"You mean you won't."

Her eyes had bored into his, "I mean, I can't."

They'd clashed eyes until he'd spoken softly, firmly, and very clearly, "Trust me, Ashley. Trust me. Or all of this, all of it, is for nothing. I know what I'm doing, and I need you to trust that."

"I trust you," she'd said without missing a beat, "I trust you. But I need you to trust me."

He'd held her look and grumbled, "Give me a reason. Do what I ask. And we both make it out alive. Trust is earned, kiddo. It's earned. And it's earned by working together. Sometimes that means rejecting what your heart tells you to do and doing what your head says."

"You mean letting you die?"

He held her eyes, "Yeah, I mean letting me die. If we're there- if we've made it, and it's the end - you run. You run, and you don't fucking ever look back. You keep running until the sun is on your left shoulder," he smacked the flat of his hand on his shoulder to demonstrate, "and you can't hear anything but the water. And you fucking keep running. You run, and someone will come for you."

She'd stared into his face, "How can you know that?"

"Because I put a goddamn tracker on you. The Roost has its eyes on you now and knows where you are. I just need to get you somewhere they can extract you without risking your life to do it."

"Do you have a tracker on you too?"

He nodded. He released her arms, "But they know how this works. If my beacon goes off, they come for you - hard, guns blazing, and they don't stop. If yours does? They leave me behind."

Her eyes flared. He held her look. So calm. So simple. He was expendable. He was nothing more than a lever to what they wanted, and he would be disavowed and left to rot. He was nothing to them but a tool.

So, she channeled what little courage she had and swore, "I won't. You hear me? I won't ever leave you behind."

And he'd battled gazes with her until he'd avowed softly, "Then I guess I better not die on you, huh, kid?"

He was nothing to them. Nothing but a weapon. Nothing but a machine - sent in to do his job or die trying. Nothing, like she'd been lying in the dark surrounded by shit and death. Nothing.

But he wasn't. He hadn't ever been. To her? He was everything. Because in all her pampered life, no one had ever fought so hard for her. No one had ever risked everything for her. Just a job, he said, but it wasn't. It couldn't be. You didn't reduce yourself to nothing to save someone else.

That wasn't a job - that...was a calling.

And she'd felt that calling the second she'd thrown that pitchfork and tried to save his life. She'd felt it again, throwing herself against him to take a shock rod. She'd felt it heaving his bulk onto that table to get the parasite out of him.

And she'd faced it, staring down the barrel of a gun that had nearly killed him.

She wanted the freedom he'd given her. She wanted to give it back to him. She didn't want to ever again feel like the weight that was dragging his world down. If she did this, now, with him...would he feel obligated to her? Would he feel trapped? Would he feel...beholden?

Would he see her as a woman or as the President's pride and joy? Would he see her as the job? She didn't want to be the job. She didn't want to be a mistake he made when he was hurting.

And he was hurting. His face slid against her body. His lips plucked at her nipple and made her body tighten with awakening. She wanted him so much. She wanted to feel him like she'd felt him the first time he'd picked her up and carried her from the fight when her legs gave out in fear. She wanted to feel anything but the horror of what they'd left behind.

But she didn't want to be one more thing he regretted. Or one more thing he wanted to leave behind. She didn't want to be something he tried to forget.

And she wasn't sure how to stop that. She knew it couldn't last. This wasn't forever. It couldn't be with what he did, with who she was - they were wrong together. Wrong. Because their worlds - they didn't blend together.

They were both hollow - shells filled with the wants and expectations of those around them. They had hopes and dreams but were lost under title, privilege, or obligation. Could they have one night together and let it be enough?

She wanted him...but she didn't think she'd ever be ok being the thing he wanted to forget.

His hand slid into her panties, where she straddled his lap. Her blood fired through reluctance, making her brain red with want and release. And it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter.

She'd never done a damn thing in her life for herself. She'd always been the good girl, the committed daughter, the golden child. She'd been taken, abused, terrified, tortured, and forsaken. And the only goddamn person who'd come for her was the man in her arms.

She was hollow before she'd been taken. Hollow. Hoping for a life that seemed so stupid now, so pointless. He'd filled her with fight, with purpose, with strength and determination. He'd given her hope.

They'd fill that emptiness inside them both with each other.

Maybe he couldn't be hers...but for a few minutes...she'd be his.

And she would finally be something that mattered.