“Well,” said Red. “It looks like—”
Naz ran three steps, leaped into the air and kicked him in the chest with both feet, sending him crashing through a bench. Ham stood frozen as Naz landed backwards on his hands and shoulders only to spring back up to his feet. It was clear; Naz would not engage them in macho repartee. Naz could sense, as he had anticipated, one of the boys behind him drawing his weapon. It was Mohawk, but before he could think to aim and fire, Naz located a two-by-four broken in half from Red’s fall, and in one motion spun around, propelling one of the pieces of wood with his mind to Mohawk’s hand, disarming him.
Naz ran two steps and propelled his body sideways at Mohawk, knocking him to the floor, where he would disable him in seconds with a right hand to the jaw. Naz was vaguely aware the room had grown suspiciously darker. A beleaguered Dill and Denali looked on as Naz besieged their lair.
Naz turned to face his next two attackers in a crouch. Red, who had recovered from Naz’s initial assault, and the blond with glasses were already advancing on him, drawing their weapons. By simply raising his hands, Naz sent their guns flying into the air in different directions. It was as if Red and the blond had thrown the guns themselves.
Naz met the two boys more than halfway, bounding up on them with catlike precision, blocking one punch and landing a disabling blow of his own to the unguarded temple of the blond, sending his glasses flying across the room. With a sidekick to the solar plexus, he sent Red crashing into another bench along the wall. This time Naz was sure of it. The candles that lit the room were going out one-by-one, but there was no escape for the apostles, no reprieve, and still no sign of Roffio.
Naz rounded on Dill and Denali, who had already dropped their weapons in surrender, but Naz would take no prisoners. He advanced on the terrified two without hesitation. He blasted Dill with a powerful blow to the bridge of his nose, sending him crashing to the floor. Then he turned to catch, in his hand, a punch thrown by Denali. Naz shot Denali a maniacal smirk then spun him around 180 degrees as he had done twice before.
When Soul thought Naz was not looking, he gave Ham a sympathetic look then signaled for him to escape while Naz was distracted, but Ham refused to move.
“Not the arm!” yelled Denali.
With a quick flick, Naz snapped Denali’s wrist. Denali screamed. Then with a kick to the rear, Naz sent him to the floor on top of Dill.
With the exception of a candelabra and a few lit candles on an old altar in a far corner, the place was completely dark, and Naz could hear, coming from the opposite corner of the room, the now familiar, gruff laughter of Roffio.
“Brothers to the core,” said Roffio.
“You and me, have unfinished business,” said Naz in the direction or Roffio’s voice.
“Patience. You know, the boss said you were good.”
“Boss?”
Roffio had moved and was now in the center of the room, but it was still too dark to see anything.
“Yeah. He said even you wouldn’t know how good.”
“Why don’t we find out together,” Naz said, brazen. He moved again. He’s over there now. Naz turned to his right.
Before Naz could speak, Roffio was on him, punching him square in the jaw with enough force to send him crashing to the floor on his back, dazed. He had only been hit like that one time before, the day Bearn killed his mother, and he had come to her defense.
Roffio laughed again.
Naz shook his head to clear the cobwebs, but before he could get up and refocus, Roffio, like an invisible demon in the dark, was on him again. He grabbed Naz by his jacket, lifted him to almost standing and kneed him in the stomach, followed by another punch in the jaw.
“Maybe he was wrong about you,” grunted Roffio as he sent a doubled over Naz to the floor again, sweeping his legs with both his powerful arms. Blood from Naz’s mouth splattered the floor beside him.
“He needs us,” Naz heard Soul, and then from Harvis, “It’s time.” And he knew they would come.
“No!” yelled Naz as he got up and stumbled away from Roffio, holding his side and spitting blood.
“Wait!” yelled Harvis.
Naz fought through the pain in his legs, stomach, and jaw as he stood slouched over. He closed his eyes, and before Roffio could attack again focused on him. Naz immediately knew where Roffio was and he could see Roffio’s intention to punch a second before he executed. He ducked and delivered a leg sweep, sending Roffio to the floor. Not fully recovered from Roffio’s onslaught, Naz stumbled away to further gather himself. He could hear Soul just at the front door.
“Yeah, get ’im, Tin man.”
Naz would not survive another assault from Roffio, nor could he hide as Roffio had mastered the darkness as well—but he can't know what I'm thinking, can he? There was no place to run or hide, but he could know what Roffio would do before he did it.
He blocked out Harvis, Soul, and everything else around him and listened to Roffio. He knew Roffio was approaching him, slowly this time. The voice of Roffio was constantly laughing. Something told him to duck and he did, hearing a whooshing sound and the accompanying feeling of air going by, just over his head, and he took a step back. Something told him to jump and he did, and he could hear the quick sound of rustling underneath him. Roffio had tried to sweep Naz’s feet out from under him and missed—or did I make him miss.
Roffio came at Naz with everything and without hesitation. The darkness was no longer his ally, and in a cat and mouse game, Naz made Roffio miss time after time until he felt strong again. Then it was Naz’s turn as he unleashed a barrage of punches to Roffio’s head and stomach. Naz could sense that Roffio was weary, could take no more, and was looking for a way out.
Roffio managed to make his way to the back door, where he apparently thought he would find his narrow escape. Instead, he found a right cross from Soul that put him down for good.
Naz gave Soul a slight look of disapproval.
“Sorry, Tin Man, but I’ve been holding that back all season … and you said not to let anybody leave.” Soul shrugged.
With a little help from Soul, Naz would exact his revenge, but his thirst for vengeance could not be quenched. He turned and ran at Ham, who had not moved. He grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the room.
“Why?” yelled Naz, as he was on Ham again before Ham could answer or move. This time he sent Ham crashing through the altar and candelabra in the corner. A heavy, ragged curtain over the window in back of it burst into flames. “Why?” he yelled again.
“I didn’t mean to hurt, Meri.” He could hear Ham’s voice but Ham wasn’t talking; Naz was listening to his thoughts.
“Talk!” yelled Naz. “Harvis … Soul, get over here before I kill ’im. Talk!”
Harvis and Soul hurried over and stood behind Naz. They watched as the fire that had completely engulfed the curtain behind them now traveled up to the ceiling and was encroaching upon the adjacent walls.
Soul pulled out his phone to record the spectacle. “You better hurry, Tin Man; this place is gonna go up in flames soon.”
“Talk!” yelled Naz again.
Ham refused to look Naz in the eye. “That first day of school, we weren’t the target; you were!”
The first day of school and the knife fight flashed through Naz’s mind. “You were in on it!?”
“No! No!” Ham continued. “I … I-I didn’t find out until after … when I joined. I got coach’s key copied for Roff, but I didn’t know he was gonna drown Artie to get to you. You were always the target.”
“Whose target!?” growled Naz as he threw Ham to the floor again.
“I don’t know. We never meant to hurt Meri. She wasn’t supposed to open that door; you were. We were just following orders!”
Ham’s revelation pulled Naz up short, and he had a moment of consternation.
“Look at me, and take one last breath to tell me whose orders, Ham!” charged Naz.
Ham finally looked at Naz.
“I don’t know.”
When Naz looked into Ham’s eyes, he knew he was telling the truth, and it made him repentant.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Meri,” said Ham.
Hearing Meri’s name dispelled Naz’s second thoughts. He was monstrous as he stood over the diminutive Mayan.
“You should’ve left when you had the chance.” Naz’s voice was brazen as he looked back at Soul.
“I am a proud Mayan,” said Ham, concussed and bloody.
“Then die in battle with a god, Mayan,” Naz said acidly.
Before he could pounce on Ham to issue the final deadly blow, Soul and Harvis grabbed Naz from behind by his arms.
“No!” yelled Harvis.
Naz didn’t struggle to free himself. He closed his eyes, his body relaxed, and the seven boys that lay writhing in pain began to choke and struggle for air. Soul and Harvis watched in horror as the gang members scattered around the room grabbed their throats in a vain effort to breathe. As the apostle’s lair became an inferno, Soul and Harvis looked back and forth between the dying apostles and Naz in awe and confusion.
“Stop!” yelled Harvis. “Stop!”
“Stop … stop … stop.” Naz could hear Harvis yelling as his conscious mind faded to white nothingness. And there was calm.
Naz struggled to open his eyes and bring the vision before him into focus—is it over? Is this what it looks like when you die?
He brought into focus and attention Soul and Harvis seated across from him in a conversation. He was in a hospital bed. Apparently he had collapsed from exhaustion and been asleep for two days. He continued to lay in phony slumber while Soul and Harvis unknowingly brought him up to speed concerning the events he missed after he had passed out in the burning church house.
Soul and Harvis were only able to remove an unconscious Naz, Ham, Dill, and Denali from the inferno before it came down on the other apostles. Due to Soul and Harvis’ statement and Soul’s phone recording of Ham’s confession, charges were filed against Ham, Dill, and Denali for conspiracy to commit the murders of Artie and Meri and a full investigation had been opened to discover on whose orders the Apostles were acting.
“You should’ve saved yourselves and let the rest of us die in that burning hell,” Naz said morbidly, just now alerting Soul and Harvis to his conscious state.
“Tin Man, you’re awake!” Soul said excitedly. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do. We were all guilty.”
“You’ll think differently in a few days, Naz” said Harvis.
Naz shook his head and tried to lift up only to realize the worst headache he could ever imagine. He grimaced in excruciating pain.
“Maybe we should call the nurse,” said Soul.
“No.” Naz put his hand up. “Where’s Coach?”
“He just left. He’s still in the waiting room, the whole team is … family, right?” said Harvis.
Naz nodded grimacing in pain again.
“Hey, Tin Man,” said Soul with a hint of suspicion in his voice as he looked at Harvis out of the corner of his eye. “You got a little crazy on us in there. You had us worried. H-How’d you do all those things?”
Naz thought about the things he had done that night in the burning church: the supernatural things that Soul and Harvis must’ve witnessed. They were his family now, his only family, and he decided to tell them the truth—sort of.
“My father was a magician; he taught me a few tricks,” explained Naz.
“But—” started Soul.
“I’d like to be alone for a while,” Naz interrupted.
Harvis saw to it that they both obliged.
“Thank you.” Naz watched them leave.
As they left Naz’s room, Harvis stuck his head back in.
“Hey, Naz, you know he was wrong … Ham was. We don’t get to make those choices.”
“The apostles did,” Naz said blandly.
As Harvis started to leave again, Naz called him back.
“Hey, Wordsmith, that’s not my name,” Naz smiled.
Harvis smiled back and left the room.
The first snowfall came on the day of Meri’s funeral, as did hundreds of people whose life she had somehow touched. Naz watched, hidden behind a cluster of bushes, as every teacher Meri ever had, most of the students from Higginbotham and Lincoln, the Market Merchants and their employees, Dr. Gwen, Fears and all of Naz’s teammates and faces he’d never seen before were in attendance.
As he looked on at all of those who came to pay their last respects to Meri, Naz thought back to a dream he’d had the night before his first day at Lincoln. He was trapped in the bathroom and a tornado or an earthquake was coming. There were things flying all over the place and the floor had given way underneath him, causing him to plummet to his end. He remembered Meri’s interpretation and thought how spot on it was in retrospect. He imagined her saying, “Something big is about to happen in your life. That’s the earthquake. The stuff, as you called it, flying all over the place means you’ve lost control. And finally, being locked in the bathroom and falling symbolizes your inadequacy to deal with the situation.”
And there were still so many unanswered questions. Why was he a target? Who was after him? Who was he and how was he able to do all those amazing things? What would happen to him now? He suppressed a tear as he continued to look on.
After the memorial, when he thought there was no one left and he could be all alone, he approached to pay his last respects to his queen: the only one that ever truly knew him before even he did. He knelt down and placed one rose on her casket.
Meri would not want one tear shed, so he refused to cry. He thought about all the times she one-upped him, and he smiled. He remembered how she would knock all the chess pieces on the floor when the game didn’t go quite her way, and he laughed. He reminisced on their walks to her bus stop every day and all the runs they did for the Market Merchants, and he sighed because he knew that’s what she would’ve wanted him to do—no tears. He thought about how much life she had, and it filled him up to celebrate it.
He felt a familiar presence and turned to see D kneeling next to him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be; she wouldn’t want that.”
“What would she want?”
“For you to sit with me … celebrate her life with me … for a while.”
D sat with Naz for a while. They talked about Meri’s life and all the things that made her happy, all the things that made her laugh. D kissed Naz on his cheek.
“I thought the hero didn’t get the girl at the end of the story.” He smiled.
“This isn’t the end of the story.” She smiled back at him.
When D was gone Naz couldn’t help but cry as he said goodbye to his sister one last time.
“Let your heart be not troubled my son; God still has his best yet planned for you,” said a man of the cloth as he approached Naz from behind.
“There is no God,” said Naz coldly.
“What’s your name, son?” asked the minister.
“Igod … Andersen,” he said, and he began to remember.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A SPECIAL THANK-YOU to my father, Johnnie Winston and the rest of my family for their love, support, and forbearance throughout this long process and who have always encouraged me in everything I do.
My agent, publisher, and Superwoman, Dominique Wilson—we are the corporation and my editor Allison Maruska, “was” Hunter.
Aqilah Choonara, beta reader/junior editor and my favorite niecy from the motherland, Delshawn Garner, 8th grade alpha/beta reader, booknerd, and Marcell Johnson, a future leader/reader
Daphne Kapsali, the guru of all writers, Kami Green (we gotta hook up) Toni Reilly, my soulfriend from down under, Cristen Iris, Paul Atreides, Janelle Kahele (so glad to meet you), Thelonious Legend, my brother in the round, Drea Damara, Lance Williams, Tamarah Ellen, Lola Allen, Casey Sheridan, Spencer Wolf, BK Lyon, Antonia Drew Van, Sherry Mayes
, Raveena Young, Dana S. Feldman, and RB Anderson
Ed Specialist and best friend Andre Floyd for helping me battle test this series in the classroom and talented author D.J. Bodden for helping me achieve verisimilitude in my fight sequences
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Darryl Winston is the author of IA: B.O.S.S., the second book in the IA series. He is a graduate of the Motion Picture Institute of Michigan, the Recording Institute of Detroit, and Wayne State University. He also holds a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Wilkes University. He is an educator, coach, musician, and songwriter, but considers himself an author first—mainly because he believes that miracles and dreams live in the written word. He lives in Michigan with his daughter Marquette and intends to acquire an African Grey parrot one day when he conquers his irrational fear of birds.
Website: www.johndarrylwinston.com
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1lax2Mo
Twitter: https://twitter.com/johndwinston
Blog: http://johndarrylwinstonblog.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/johndarrylwinston/
Copyright © 2013 by John Darryl Winston
All rights reserved. Published by Purple Ash Press, Publishers since 2013.PURPLE ASH PRESSand associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Purple Ash Press.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
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