Masquerade

by Derek Masters

  She’s got tears falling from her eyes, and I can tell there’s so much she wants to say to me, but she just nods, grabs the suitcase, gives me one last kiss, and makes a run for the door.

  I’m not a man that fears much, but I can honestly say that I’m scared for the first time in my life. The cartel isn’t coming to talk or tell me how disappointed they are in me. They’re coming to kill me. If I must die, at least I’ll die for a good cause. If I die, at least it will be so Chloe can be free.

  I watch as Chloe drives off, and once she can no longer be seen, I call out to my security team.

  “Are there any other traitors on this team?” I ask, watching their faces closely. “If there are, go ahead and walk out the door now before things get worse for you. I fully intend to protect my home.”

  Not one of the men standing there made a move. I hope I can trust them because I am literally putting my life in their hands right now. With that said, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let them fight alone. I run into my office and grab my AR-15 out of the safe and grab an extra clip of bullets. I am not going down without a fight.

  The air is thick with anticipation, and the silence is deafening. It’s the true definition of the calm before the storm. My team is stationed at the windows and doors, watching the road and waiting to see any unknown vehicles approaching. All of us are on edge, not knowing what to expect or when to expect it.

  The cartel manages to catch us by surprise. No vehicles approach, but shots ring out, eliminating half of my team in a matter of moments.

  “Where the fuck are those shots coming from?” I yell. “I don’t see anyone!”

  As soon as I finish my statement, I see men emerging from behind the trees, armed better than some soldiers I’ve seen. With so many of my men being taken out in the initial ambush, we’re easily outnumbered. That doesn’t stop us, though. We either fight, or we die.

  As their men approach, we start shooting, picking them off one by one. As fast as one of them goes down, I see one of my men following. We’re locked in an intense battle, and it truly is a last man standing type of situation.

  I use up my 30 rounds and quickly change my magazine. Before I know it, those rounds are gone as well, and I’m left with no ammunition. The sounds of gunshots diminish, and as I look around, all of my men appear to be dead.

  Out of ammo, I head back towards my office so I can reload. Right as I enter the door, I hear a loud bang and watch as my gun falls to the floor. It has to be the adrenaline because it takes several seconds before the sharp, intense pain becomes evident. I’ve just been shot in the arm.

  I turn to see Dimos standing there with a gun pointed right at me. Out of sorts from being shot, I take a step back and fall to the ground. Slowly, I slide myself back against the wall. I’m cornered with no-lace to go.

  “I just have one question for you before I put you out of your misery,” he says. “That bitch, was she worth all of this?”

  The pain in my arm is intense, and I feel like I can go into shock at any moment.

  “Her name is Chloe, and yes, she was worth every bit of this.”

  Dimos shakes his head and raises the gun. I close my eyes tightly just as I see the flash from the muzzle.

  Everything is silent, and I feel no pain whatsoever. So this is what dying feels like? It’s surreal. I feel completely calm and at ease. It’s the strangest feeling I’ve ever experienced.

  Soon, the calm is replaced by a horrible ringing sound. What is that? Is this the screeching of demons and tortured souls? Am I in hell?

  “It was worth it for me, too.”

  Surely I can’t be in hell because I’ve just heard the voice of an angel. I open my eyes to see Dimos dead at my feet with Chloe standing there with a gun in her hand. I wasn’t shot. She saved my life.

  “Come on,” she tells me. “There’s going to be more where these guys came from. We don’t have much time.

  Although my legs are wobbly, I stand up and move as quickly as possible to gather any essentials we’re going to need along with all the cash I’ve got in the house. In just a matter of minutes, we are in the car and on the road.

  As Chloe drives, I look behind me, realizing the life I’m leaving behind. I can never come back. This is my old life now. I’m more than fine with that since I no longer want anything to do with the one I’ve been living. I have Chloe, and that’s all I need.

  Epilogue

  Chloe

  I still can’t believe this is my life now. It has turned out so much different than I ever dreamed it would, and that’s not a bad thing at all. As I sit on the beach, watching the sunset, I think about my parents and what they’re doing with their lives.

  There was a huge news story about the shootout at Brandon’s house. No survivors at all is what’s being reported. Brandon and I were listed as missing persons, but after about a year, we were presumed to be dead. My parents had a funeral, and, from what I was able to see from online images, they really played up how saddened and distraught they were to have lost their daughter. It’s enough to make me roll my eyes every time I think about it.

  When we left his house, we drove until we reached Canada, only stopping once for gas at a small-town station. They only accepted cash, and there wasn’t a camera to be found. Brandon knew of an access road to enter the country with no customs officers to be found anywhere.

  Once we were in the country, he took me to a little villa far away from everything. He owned it, but it was registered to a Limited Liability Company that was a business in name only. It couldn’t be traced back to him. He was able to transfer money from all his offshore accounts to one in the Caribbean.

  All that was left to do was get in touch with a contact in Canada that he knew he could trust. His friend works for the government and was able to supply us each with new identities as Canadian citizens. Using these identities, we were able to get passports, which we used to come to the Caribbean to begin our life together.

  We’ve been here a year now, and I can honestly say it’s been the best year of my life. I’ve fallen deeply in love with Brandon and, in return, he’s fallen madly in love with me.

  I’ve given up on my dream of being a journalist, but haven’t given up on writing entirely. I realize that I need to keep a low profile, and journalism would keep me in the public eye so that simply isn’t a feasible career path. Instead, I’ve focused my time on writing a fictional novel based on my life with Brandon. Of course, it’s not really fiction, but it’ll have to be marketed that way. If I ever publish it, I’ll have to do so anonymously under a pen name.

  Brandon walks up behind me, carrying an empty chip bag in his hand.

  “This really is a beautiful view, isn’t it?” He asks, staring at the sky right along with me.

  “It really is breathtaking.”

  We both sit there admiring the sun as it sinks into the ocean.

  “By the way, you left this bag on the nightstand…again,” he says playfully.

  “Oh, no. How irresponsible of me. I think that’s bad enough to deserve a punishment.”

  “You’re right, I think it is.”

  “We better get you inside so we can solve this right now.”

  I gather my towel and my book, and we walk hand in hand back to our house.

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  Stalker

  If you enjoyed Masquerade, you’ll love Stalker!

  Flip the page for a preview!

  Chapter 1: Nick

  “A lot of people in your situation don’t get a sec
ond chance at life. We don’t want to see you back in here again. Are we clear on that?” the guard asked as he handed me a bag filled with the belongings I had when I arrived.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, not intending to ever be back as long as I could help it.

  I took the bag into a small bathroom, changed my clothes and handed my uniform to another guard, who tossed it into a huge basket to be laundered and made available to the next person who walked through those doors with a build similar to mine.

  I was ushered outside the building and into a small gated area, where I joined several other men who appeared just as eager as I was. It was hard to believe that the day had finally arrived. It sure as hell didn’t feel like I was ever going to make it.

  The first thing I did was suck in as much of the crisp morning air as my lungs would allow me to take. Sure, I’d been outside nearly every day of my stint, but the atmosphere tasted better on that morning that it had tasted in a long time. I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that in just moments, I’d be walking out of those prison gates as a free man. The only thing separating me from my freedom was a guard checking each ID was last time to ensure that the only men leaving were the ones who were actually supposed to go.

  If I had one regret at the moment, it was that I didn’t think to pack any clothes in the event that I was released anytime other than summer, which was when I was sentenced and began my sentence.

  I was a wearing a pair of jeans and a white, thin cotton t-shirt that provided zero resistance to the cold, wintery wind that was attempting to cut straight through my body. My muscles flexed involuntarily, making me feel like I was being chilled to the bone.

  I’d made a name for myself in prison with my hard demeanor. I never caused any trouble, but that was because I never needed to. My size was enough to keep most people at bay and the ones who looked like they wanted to take a shot at me? I made it clear that it wouldn’t be a very good idea.

  Now my tough demeanor was about to deteriorate all because my body wanted to be an asshole. I tried to fight it off but I couldn’t. I started shivering like a damn child, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering together.

  The clothes on my back didn't even fit properly. My t-shirt strained against my skin and my jeans, which were relaxed fit when I entered, were far too tight. I attempted to shove my hands in my pockets to keep them warm, but it wasn’t happening. I was able to get them in as far as the knuckles, but there was no room for my hands after that.

  I watched in awe as the gates slowly rolled open. Freedom had finally arrived. Almost as if on cue, the former inmates, most of whom had been relatively quiet, began running their mouths at the guards as they walked by. I found it funny how they’d had nothing to say inside but were undoubtedly turning into tough guys. I heard every curse word and insult in their arsenal, but I wasn’t going to take part in any of it. That wasn’t me.

  Focusing my eyes on the pavement, I quickly made my way out, distancing myself away from the idiots. I looked around and watched as they all made their way into the arms of people who cared for them. Wives, girlfriends, parents, relatives. With few exceptions, someone was waiting for them. It was a luxury that I didn’t have. All I could do is walk away. Alone.

  It was strange to be unnoticed, especially considering my size and stature. Standing at 6’4” and weighing close to 260 pounds, the majority of which was solid muscle. I’ve never been a small guy. In my life, I’ve always preferred to jobs that kept me outside doing hard, manual labor. Sitting behind a desk or pushing papers are things that would never work for me.

  During my prison sentence, the only thing I had was time. Thinking all the time drove me crazy, so I chose to workout instead. If I had free time, I was working out. It helped me stay out of trouble. I already had a pretty solid form when I went to jail, but I came out cut and chiseled. I was easily in the best shape of my life.

  When I got sent to prison, I thought I was going to be like all of those other prisoners when it was time to be released. I had people who loved and cared for me as well. At least, I thought I did. The people I always thought would be there for me, turned their backs on me when I was inside. I noticed it happening when letters weren’t being returned, and phone calls weren’t being answered. I tried to tell myself that people get busy, but after a while, it became obvious what was happening. They were still living their lives and had no time for a fuck up like me.

  Since I didn’t have anyone to pick me up in their warm car, I was left to walk. I didn’t know what my future had in store for me. All I knew was what I was doing that night. Everything else would be taken day by day.

  I was confident of one thing and one thing only. After so many shitty prison trays, I needed to get a real meal in my stomach. If I had things my way, the next meal I ate would consist of a huge steak and a much-needed shot of Jack Daniels.

  The only things I had to my name were the clothes on my back, a bag with a change of clothes that weren’t going to fit me any better than what I was already wearing, and a bit of cash that was leftover from my prison account. I didn’t buy much from commissary because I knew I’d need every penny I could get when I got out.

  Everything else was going to be for me to figure out. While everyone I knew and cared about had forgotten all about me, I was fortunate to have one friend who didn’t care what anyone else thought and stood by my side from the beginning. A true friend that was willing to give me a bed to sleep in and a job at the construction company he owned. All I had to do was get to him.

  In a world where everything else seemed dark and bleak for me, I was grateful to have at least one person in life who refused to turn his back on me. I’d never had any real family. Having grown up in a series of foster homes which made it no secret that I was only there so they could collect a check, I never knew what it was like to have a real family connection.

  The only time a foster family honestly gave a shit was on my 18th birthday, and that was only because they wouldn’t be able to collect any more money from the government for taking care of me. They couldn’t get me out the door fast enough.

  I don’t like to use it as an excuse because as a man, I realize I am responsible for my own actions, but I can’t help but feel that my upbringing had a lot to do with the bad choices I’ve made in life. Those bad decisions were followed up by even worse choices. What could have been different? What if I had been raised by loving parents who could have raised me better. Would I have still ended up in prison? Maybe, but I think it would have been a lot less likely.

  Instead, I followed a dark path that saw me spend my days working at whatever construction site would have me and my evenings sitting in bars, getting wasted and seeing what kind of trouble I could get myself into.

  Unfortunately, trouble found me one night when I wasn’t even looking for it. I’d had a bad day at work, and this asshole at the bar would not stop running his mouth. I ignored it as long as I could, but eventually, I couldn’t take his constant tirade, and I snapped. The end result of me losing my temper was five years in the state pen.

  All I wanted to do was shut the guy’s mouth. I never intended to put him in a coma. It was just a fight at the bar. There was no malice on my part, but that didn’t stop the state prosecutor’s from charging me with attempted murder.

  I was determined to fight the charge and clear my name until I found out I was looking at 40 years in prison if I were to lose. I couldn’t afford a reasonable attorney and the public defender assigned to me didn’t even try to hide the fact that if the case went to trial, I probably wouldn’t come out on time.

  Instead, I accepted a plea deal that allowed me to avoid going to trial and only put me behind bars for five years instead of four decades. Even if it wasn’t intentional, I did commit the crime so I was willing to suck it up and do the time.

  You always hear a lot of horror stories about prison, but it wasn’t as bad for me as it is for some people. A lot of inmates who may have flexed their muscl
es at a smaller guy left me alone because I had size on my side. Still, I was smart enough to stick to myself and not go looking for trouble.

  Now that I was a free man, I wanted to do things a bit differently. No longer was I interested in being rebellious. Instead, I wanted to focus on actually being a contributing member of society. There was just one problem. I had no fucking idea of how to do that. All I could do was focus on keeping my ass out of trouble.

  The reality of it all was that I wasn’t actually a bad guy. I wasn’t even all that much of a troublemaker. I just had a low tolerance for bullshit, and when people started shit with me, I made sure that I was the one to finish it. I guess you could say that I never really played well with others.

  All of that was behind me. I was leaving it all in the past. My buddy was going to let me crash at his place while I worked to save up a little money to find a place of my own. After that, there was nothing but potential for me.

  Chapter 2: Nick

  I have no idea how many miles I’d been walking, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. Although it was cold, I had gotten used to it, and the weather was little more than just a minor annoyance, at least until the sun went down.

  Everything changed when the sun disappeared from the sky. The wind chill plummeted, and it began to snow, leading all of the roads and sidewalks to freeze. I was getting chilled to the bone, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  Up ahead, I could see the lights of the city where I grew up and where my life changed when all the bullshit went down. When I was locked up, I told myself that I’d never return, yet there I was, walking right up to the only city I knew.