Shackled Serenity

by Leon Logos

  At 3:30 AM the hotel telephone, which was right next to her, blared again. She picked it up immediately, disturbed by the ringing. It had awakened everybody in the room. Cackle had jolted up, wildly brandishing his knife out of reflex.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Tell the others to get ready,” Gunther replied. “You will all meet me in the lobby, no later than four ‘o clock. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, concealing the shudder in her voice.

  She heard the line click as Gunther hung up. She did the same and relayed the message to the others.

  Serenity was already ready to go. Upon accepting sleep to be unobtainable, she had dressed and washed up beforehand. Getting Garen out of bed was arduous. It took the combined efforts of Agno and Kyler to push him off the mattress. He rose to his feet agitatedly, sucker-punching Kyler in the gut as he walked by.

  Desmos began collecting all their weapons, piling them up, and tossing them into a sack. She almost forgot that they had to dispose of it all before heading to the airport. The brothers gave up their guns and knives, dismayed. Without them, they felt vulnerable with just their feet and hands to defend themselves. Not that they weren’t proficient in hand-to-hand combat. Another thing Gunther had taught them: “Become a weapon, rather than wield one. Then, you can never be disarmed.”

  Once they were set, they filed out of the room. They edged cautiously at each turn. It was unknown whether the hitman was still in the building. The good news was that if they were near, they’d hear them from a mile away. The heavy footsteps and accompanying rattling sound would give his position away. The elevator was empty as they stepped inside.

  It descended to the lobby, making no stops. The doors opened with the ding, revealing the lobby. Nobody was here except for an oblivious receptionist and Gunther, who was seated in the lounge area drinking a black coffee. She eyed the coffee yearningly; coffee was something she craved and desperately needed right now. Caffeine consumption was a handy solution to drowsiness.

  “I take it you’ve all met one of our good friends,” Gunther said, as they approached him. “He must’ve passed by once or twice.”

  “Aurelian mercenaries?” Agno spoke. “I wonder what makes them so scary. I’d love to see one in person.”

  “You really wouldn’t,” Gunther replied darkly. “They go by the appellation ‘Venator.’ Which is Latin for ‘hunter.’ I’ve only come face-to-face with them three times in my life. I often question if they’re human.”

  This was an ironic thing for Gunther to say. She often questioned whether HE was human. It wouldn’t be a surprise if revelations were uncovered, revealing Gunther’s blood to be half-ape. The civilized and sophisticated appearance he wore was merely a masquerade. A pretense.

  “Dump that bag in the dumpster, along with the van keys,” Gunther said, pointing at the sack Desmos was carrying.

  “Wouldn’t incineration be a better method?” Desmos questioned.

  “Of course, but we don’t possess the luxury of time. No harm in just dumping them. You’ll be thirty-five thousand feet up in the air in about three hours anyway. The airport shuttle will be here in about ten minutes.”

  “I’ll do it,” Cackle volunteered, taking the sack.

  Serenity knew why; Cackle had a tendency to go dumpster diving whenever the opportunity arose.

  They waited in the lounge for the next ten minutes. Serenity made herself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine. As she sipped on the steaming liquid, she gradually felt invigorated. Unconsciously, she took a seat next to Gunther, minding her own business.

  “How have you been, Serenity?” Gunther asked, strangely polite.

  Now there was no choice but to face him.

  “Fine…” she mumbled, giving a slight nod.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve spoken with you,” he continued, casually drinking his black coffee as if he was a real father, and he hadn’t slapped her wrongfully the day before. “You know, I don’t blame you for what happened recently. Even if you played a pivotal role, your eldest brother is at fault.”

  “I didn’t do much,” she said modestly, not flattered.

  “If that were true, you’d be chained in the Dungeon,” Gunther replied crossly. “You baited the target, am I correct?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Then I reaffirm that your role was pivotal. Splendid, you don’t usually serve as a useful asset to the team,” he said ultimately.

  “Thank you,” she said, though feeling objectified.

  “Father,” Kyler said, interrupting their conversation, “where did the Aurelian go? The assassin?”

  “On the top floor, I presume,” said Gunther unconcernedly. “He wouldn’t dare enter the lobby. He will only go mobile when he is certain nobody is around. Most people would be asleep as of now.”

  “Shouldn’t we be more worried?” Serenity asked; she couldn’t resist the urge to question it.

  Colloquial conversation between them was nonexistent. This “hitman” or “assassin” genuinely creeped her out. And she hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of him.

  “Are you skeptical towards my judgment?” Gunther said eyebrow raised. “Are you doubtful of my acumen?”

  “No, no, sir, of course not,” she said hurriedly, “but if he’s as dangerous as you say he is, shouldn’t we be farther? We’re in the same building.”

  Kyler answered first.

  “Which is why we’re leaving in a moment, stop worrying.”

  “I guess…”

  Cackle returned from disposing the sack. He looked perfectly clean, indicating he had passed on dumpster diving.

  “The shuttle is here!” he called.

  They all grabbed their things and left the lounge area, exiting the hotel through the rotating doors.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” the recipient said unenthusiastically, as they passed by; Thanksgiving was tomorrow.

  She was glad that she had a sweater on; the cold night air rushed at her. It must’ve been 50° Fahrenheit, give or take. Maybe even in the forties. It was dark out, reminding them that it was still very early in the morning. The driver opened the doors to the shuttle, and they all climbed inside. Every seat was empty. She took the nearest seat to the right and sat down, setting her duffel bag on the empty seat next to her. Desmos had stayed back with Gunther, who was currently speaking with him outside. She watched as they conversed for three minutes. Gunther had handed Desmos a Ziploc bag; through the window, she could see their passports (which she hadn’t seen in five years) through the plastic covering, along with a bunch of other papers and documents. The others were watching, as well.

  “Damn, gimme some of that,” Cackle stared as Desmos was given a stack of cash. “That’s at least five hundred.”

  To conclude, Gunther patted Desmos on the back, and they parted ways. Desmos climbed up into the shuttle last.

  “We’re set to go,” he told the driver.

  “Wait, is he not coming with us?” Serenity asked as the doors closed.

  Desmos shook his head and took the seat next to Agno. He securely stored the Ziploc bag into his rucksack. What was inside that bag was pertinent and necessary for their travels. The other brothers didn’t look very intrigued or curious on why their father wasn’t accompanying them.

  “But where is he going…?”

  “Do you ever stop asking questions?” Desmos said irritably.

  “I barely do,” she murmured, shutting up.

  Possibly, Desmos didn’t know the answer to that question either.

  She turned around, glancing through the windows. But Gunther was nowhere to seen in the dark. He was gone, just like that.

  The airport shuttle made several stops at a couple different hotels. Collectively, it had rounded up twelve new passengers. Nobody spoke much, considering how early it was. Everyone was too tired to even use their phones. She ruminated what life in Manchester would be like, especially as a foreigner. By mid-day they’d be in the Un
ited Kingdom, though she didn’t know the time zone difference yet. Maybe it would be early morning when they arrived? Curious, she checked it on her phone; there was an eight-hour difference between Pacific Standard Time (PST) and Greenwich Mean Time +1 (GMT). This meant that she was right; it would be early in the morning by the time they arrived in Manchester. Jet lag would definitely kick in.

  Portland International Airport greeted them in no time. The shuttle stopped at the drop-off area; they got off it one-by-one. The streets were busy and noisy, disturbing the silence that stuck with them on the shuttle. International airports were never quiet. Serenity followed the others across the road and into the entrance of the airport. It was a relief to get out of the cold and into the warmth of the building.

  She observed her surroundings; the last time she was in an airport was five years ago. The floors were multi-colored, tiled, and shiny. People were walking in all directions, minding their own business, trying to get out or catch their flights. Businessmen, families, soldiers, employees, etc. There were people of all different race and ethnicities, as expected. Thanksgiving was tomorrow; this must’ve been why the place was so busy, even if it was 4:45 AM. Flying during the holidays was not fun.

  Desmos walked over to the nearest self-check-in kiosk. He opened up his rucksack and took out the Ziploc bag, unzipping it and taking out some documents and a credit card. He inserted the card into the kiosk and began the process of printing out their boarding passes. While he was working, she glanced around the airport. A soft female voice echoed throughout the place through the P.A. system, giving announcements multilingually. Armed guards, their hands securely gripping their weapons, patrolled the area. They had K9 dogs, sniffing all passerby briefly.

  After their boarding passes emerged from the kiosk, Desmos distributed theirs to all of them. According to the pass, the boarding time was scheduled at 6:00 AM and their gate was “H22.”

  “Here are your passports,” said Desmos, “don’t lose them or the boarding passes. If you do, I’ll gladly ditch you here.”

  Then came the mundane and tedious process of getting to the gate through security. After presenting identification to the airport employees, they were clear to proceed to the lines and commence the process of inspection at the security checkpoint. Serenity took off her shoes and emptied her pockets, as loudly instructed by a TSA officer. Desmos and Agno, who were wearing belts, had to take them off. They all also had to remove their sweaters/jackets. Everything had to be put in bins. It was all a hassle; airport security was indeed prolific. Serenity stood behind Kyler, waiting for him to step through the full-body scanner and be manually patted down so that she could go next. The full-body scanner she had to stand in, but she didn’t get patted down by the security officer. He merely nodded at her, indicating she was set to proceed.

  “So they grope us dudes but not girls?” Cackle said, aggrieved, noticing this. “Somebody fire this man for being an amateur.”

  She ignored him, quickly retrieving her belongings from the bins that moved along the conveyor belt.

  “It’s just that you look harmless while he looks like a witch,” Kyler whispered, as he grabbed his things next to her.

  She smothered laughter as she put on her sweater. Kyler infrequently expressed any humor, but when he did, it never ceased to amuse her.

  The last one to go through the final stretch of security was Garen. He was patted down thoroughly, well-over twenty seconds. Garen pointedly shot venomous looks at the agent as his pockets were triple-searched. The whole process took fifteen minutes, protracted by the extensive line of people that were in front of them. Midway through the procedure, a man was tackled by guards for being caught smuggling ammunition.

  “We’re a bit early,” Agno pointed out, as they walked to their gate.

  “Just on time,” Desmos corrected. “Boarding starts in forty minutes.”

  Gate H22 was unexpectedly occupied, with half the seats filled. Everybody was disconnected, ear-buds in. Flying from Portland directly to Manchester wasn’t uncommon, for today at least. They took the nearest six empty seats and claimed it, setting their luggage down on the blue-carpeted floors. From the screen above, it stated that the departure time was at 6:30 AM PST; and the arrival time would be 7:42 PM PST. So the flight was about thirteen hours. Upon arrival, it would be close to 3:00 AM in Manchester due to the time zone difference.

  “We’ve got time to get a bite to eat,” said Desmos. “Serenity, stay here and watch the bags. Closely.”

  “But I want breakfast—” she started.

  “That’s an order, don’t argue with me.”

  “I’ll make sure to get you something,” Kyle assured her, as he followed the others to a café visible in the distance.

  She watched them go, disgruntled; there was no guarantee Kyler would keep his word. Even so, she was hungry and there was also no guarantee how long they would take. They had forty minutes to waste.

  “Hey, you mind plugging my charger in?” a voice behind her called.

  She turned around to a girl sitting directly behind her; the first thing she noticed was this person’s accent: English. She was a genial-looking girl with a nose piercing who looked a little older than herself. She had short hair obscured under a beanie. Her irises were prominently hazel, resembling a hawk. She had her phone charger outstretched, awaiting her response.

  “Sure,” Serenity replied, plugging it into the outlet beside her seat.

  “Thanks, I like your eyes,” the girl said briskly.

  Serenity smiled in return. The girl, ear-buds in, brightly mouthed the lyrics to the song she was listening to. The girl was certainly in a good mood, contrary to her brooding self. Serenity turned around to mind her own business, but the girl struck up a conversation.

  “So, what brings you to Manchester?”

  “Just visiting,” Serenity said. “Are you from Manchester?”

  “Yeah, born and raised,” said the girl proudly. “My mum and I came here to Portland for her job. She’s in theatre, scouting for actors.”

  “Cool…”“So, what are you visiting for?” the girl asked curiously.

  “Um, I’m still not sure yet.”

  “Seriously? Manchester isn’t really a tourist spot, in comparison to places like London. You’re better off visiting there.”

  “I’ve been to London before. It was nice.”

  “Well, I guess it’s none of my business,” the girl shrugged.

  Serenity realized this was a time to inquire about the place, given this girl was a native.

  “So, what is it like in Manchester? I mean, living there?”

  “You want the pros or the cons first?”

  “The pros.”

  “Okay, most people in Manchester are laid-back. Stress isn’t a big thing, even for workers. I can say a lot about the cons, though. The weather is god awful. It rains too much, so if you’re a fan of sunshine you’ll be very disappointed. The sky is always covered and gray.”

  “That really sucks,” Serenity said gloomily.

  “Yeah. Don’t you Americans have Thanksgiving coming up? You got family in Manchester you don’t know about?”

  “I don’t think so,” Serenity shook her head. “I mean, probably not.”

  “You don’t know where your relatives live?”

  “I don’t have many of them.”

  “Well, you’re a funny girl,” the girl said, giving a jerk of the head.

  After that, the conversation ended. She waited impatiently for the next fifteen minutes, looking out for the brothers. Her stomach grumbled uneasily, requesting to be filled up. Just when she was about to lose hope that they’d come back at least ten minutes before boarding, they appeared out-of-the-blue when she wasn’t paying attention. Cackle, Agno, and Garen were eating glazed donuts. Kyler tossed her a paper bag. She peered inside: it was a croissant egg sandwich.

  “It might be a bit cold,” said Kyler, as she took it out.

  “It’s all right,” sh
e said dismissively, taking a huge bite.

  “Whose charger is this?” Agno asked, who sat next to her.

  “That would be mine,” the girl replied, turning around.

  Agno took one look at the girl and his face lit up. Serenity knew where this was going. The philanderer persona was bound to manifest.

  “So, what brings you to the States?” Agno asked, leaning backward.

  The girl stared at Agno up and down appraisingly, checking him out. Her lips curved into a smile, plainly stating she was mutually attracted. She even removed one of her earbuds.

  “I’d like to ask you the same question,” she said flirtatiously.

  “My first time seeing an Englishman in quite a while. What’s your name?”

  “Sir Agno of Cambridge,” Agno said eloquently. “And you, madam?”

  “Lady Sophie of York,” Sophie responded, equally as articulate.

  “You’re kidding me,” Serenity muttered in incredulity.

  “Seriously, what brings you here? Manchester your place of dwelling?”

  “I’m here with my mother on business. And yes, Manchester is indeed the location of my abode. I was telling your sis—well, however you two are related—all about it.”

  “Well, good thing is, I’m moving to Manchester,” Agno beamed.

  “Slow down, we only met ten seconds ago. And I thought you were just visiting. You’re actually moving there?”

  “Who said I was visiting?” Agno smirked.

  “Your sister—or friend. I’m sorry, how are you two related?” Sophie asked, glancing at the both of them.

  Serenity exchanged looks with Agno; her silence signaled Agno to answer. She honestly didn’t know whether to lie or tell the truth. But since Agno was one doing the flirting, it was his call.

  “No relation, but I know you were praying ‘sister,’” Agno said coolly. “That would be your confirmation that I’m not taken; trust me, I’m not.”

  Serenity couldn’t take it anymore, cringing. He hadn’t even used one of his cheesy pick-up lines yet. She took her earbuds out of her bag and put them on, connecting it to the audio jack in her phone. It wasn’t the first time witnessing Agno’s craft, but she definitely wanted it to be the last.