The Gathering

by Michael Timmins

  “Who are you?” the man questioned.

  “Christian Haptil?”

  The man hesitated before nodding.

  “Samuel sent me, can I come . . .”

  The door shut in his face.

  Ian stood staring in surprise at the door for a moment, then knocked again.

  No one answered.

  Ian pounded on the door.

  Still Christian didn’t open it.

  Ian raised his voice, shouting. “Mr. Haptil! I am only going to explain this once. I am sure you are aware of our mutual employer’s temper and what it would mean for him to become angry at you. So, I am going to give you one more chance to open the door before I call him.”

  He couldn’t know for certain how Samuel had interacted with the man, but something in the way Samuel acted — it held an implied threat, a warning. Ian did not doubt this man would have sensed it and was not astonished when the door opened again.

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  Ian stared at the man. He had no idea what the man was talking about. What wasn’t his fault?

  “Can I come in?”

  The man nodded and stepped aside to allow Ian entrance.

  The inside of the house appeared more like what Ian had expected. The stone walls, so evident on the outside, were absent inside. Warm colors, light blues, yellows and shades of white covered various walls of the various rooms which were visible from the doorway.

  A great room could be seen with a cobblestoned fireplace. The rock framing the hearth travelled up the wall to the ceiling. There were two green sofas and a black recliner arrayed in front of the fireplace. Red embers could be seen in the hearth; their red glow pulsed and throbbed eerily.

  Christian closed the door behind them, and Ian turned to face him. Now he could see the man fully, he quickly took in the expensive clothes the man wore, the $500 dollar watch and fine shoes. The man had expensive tastes. Christian’s eyes darted around nervously, and Ian could tell the man was frightened.

  “Could you please elaborate on what isn’t your fault?”

  The tension evaporated from Christian’s face. The tightness around the eyes, the clenched jaw. The skin off his face slacked and his shoulders slumped.

  “Oh, thank God!” It came out like a sob. “I thought he knew. I thought you were . . .” He paused, uncertain about voicing his suspicions.

  “You thought I was here to kill you?” Ian finished for him.

  The man nodded hesitantly.

  “I’m not. But you must tell me. Where is Cirrus?”

  The apprehension returned as again the man’s eyes darted around, as if he believed Samuel lurked somewhere close by and if he spoke, the man would attack. Of course, nothing Samuel could do would surprise me these days.

  “Out with it.”

  The man sighed. “He’s gone.”

  When Christian failed to elaborate, Ian put the pressure back on.

  “Look. I don’t have time for this, and if you keep wasting my time, you will have Samuel to deal with and not me. That is not something you want to happen.”

  “O.K., O.K. He left months ago. He gave me no indication he was leaving. I went out for groceries and when I returned, Cirrus was gone.

  “I didn’t think anything of it at first. He would leave sometimes and camp out in the woods for a couple days. Living off the land or some shit. I don’t know. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.”

  He frowned. “Perhaps I should have been more cognizant of where he went and what he did, but he was always so independent, and Samuel had told me to expect it.”

  The man paused again.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, after a few days went by I started to worry. When it got to a week, I went in search for him. I knew of the places he usually went, and I checked all of them.

  “It was then that I checked all of his accounts and found them all cleaned out. Most of his clothes and his, umm, gear? Was gone.”

  “Gear?” Ian had no idea what the man would be referring to.

  “The boy had a large assortment of weapons, tools, explosives and the like. All things he had gotten from Samuel.”

  Ian’s eyebrows raised.

  “He never used any of them. Or at least if he did, he didn’t use them on anybody.”

  Ian took in the man’s clothes again and a suspicion started to creep in. “Why didn’t you inform Samuel?”

  A bead of sweat trickled down the man’s temple and his furtive eyes told Ian all he needed to know as to why the man hadn’t come clean about losing track of Cirrus.

  “Well . . . I . . . it’s just . . .”

  “You decided to stay quiet and keep collecting the checks,” Ian pointed out matter-of-factly.

  Christian dropped to his knees, clutching Ian’s coat as he groveled. Tears held at bay until now spilled forth as the man began to plead for his life.

  “You can’t tell him! You can’t! He’ll kill me! I know he will!”

  Ian pried the man’s hands off his coat and stepped back before the man could bury his tear-smeared, snot runny face all over his expensive coat.

  In a way, he sympathized with this man. He understood he was one mistake away from being afraid of the same thing. Ian held no illusions about what Samuel would do if he believed Ian had betrayed him in some way. If he had any illusions before, they had been dashed by the conversation he had heard on the plane.

  “Do you have any of the money left?”

  The man nodded between sobs.

  “Take it.” Ian had no desire to be the cause of this man’s demise. He was most likely dead already. The only thing he could hope for was Samuel would be too busy with what Kestrel had in store for them to come after him. Christian stared up at him through tear-filled eyes.

  “Take it and go. Flee as far as you can and hide.”

  The man’s eyes widened in surprise. Still, he didn’t move as if waiting for the punchline of a joke that would see him dead.

  Ian sighed.

  “At some point, I will have to report this to Samuel. The longer you linger here, the easier it will be for him to catch up to you.”

  He didn’t have to say anything else. The man jumped to his feet in an instant and scurried upstairs.

  Ian made his way to the kitchen to see what remained in the fridge. He was, after his long trip, hungry.

  He could catch noises from upstairs. Loud bangs and scrapes as Ian imagined Christian quickly packing everything he owned.

  In what seemed like record time for one person to pack, Christian came back down the stairs and shot out the door before Ian had made himself a sandwich. He wasn’t used to making himself sandwiches anymore. Oh, he certainly made plenty before he fell in with Samuel, though.

  That earlier life seemed so far away now. He certainly didn’t think of himself as ‘above’ making sandwiches for himself. He didn’t need to do it anymore. Didn’t have sandwiches much at all. What a shame.

  Ian frowned and stared absently at the gray and tan granite countertop of the kitchen island he made his sandwich on. The glossy surface seemed to give an extra depth to the swirls and patterns of the rock. All those designs reminded Ian of tree rings. Not so much the configuration, for these were not rings, but how they showed the passage of time, like the footprints of ages past.

  Grabbing his sandwich, he made his way to the great room and sat in front of the fireplace and contemplated what he should do next. Samuel would be wanting his report about what happened with his son and Ian did not think it would benefit him to delay in giving that report.

  He would give Christian some time though. He could make excuses about arriving late and choosing to rest before heading out. That would give Christian at least a day head start. He didn’t think he could offer him anymore.

  It occurred to Ian the man might tell Samuel, Ian had let him go. He tsked at himself for not thinking of it sooner. He glanced toward the door. Should he go after the man?

  And do what, Ian? Kill h
im?

  Ian sighed audibly and shook his head at his foolishness. Samuel knew he was no killer. So, what could he expect Ian to have done when confronted with the truth of Cirrus’ situation?

  I could have beggared him. Taken all the money he had been siphoning off from Samuel these past months. He could have done that. Ian shrugged to himself. But he didn’t. There wasn’t much he could do about it now.

  Ian finished his sandwich and sat for a time, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace, lulled into a hypnotic-like state as the light from the coals wavered and danced in his vision.

  Shaking himself, he realized he had started to doze off. Fire had a way of doing that. Standing up, Ian stretched. Well, if he was going to give the man a day or so, he might as well take a nap. It wouldn’t be too much of a lie to say he had been exhausted.

  Striding to the open staircase, he mounted them and climbed to the second floor. After opening several doors, he found a bedroom which appeared to have not been slept in recently and undressed. When he had stripped down to his boxers, he slid beneath the covers. The sheets were blessedly cool and gave his body a satisfying comfort.

  His body exuded its warmth, held in by the thick comforter; he was brought to a pleasurable temperature and he fell quickly asleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  After they had fled the scene at the hotel, Kestrel had spouted what Shae had assumed were curses, spoken in the same language she used to cast her spells. Leaving Daniel lying on the pavement, Kestrel and she fled down a series of side streets.

  Shae had reverted to her human form, thankful, as usual, for the long duster she wore which covered up her mangled clothing underneath. They made their way out of an alley and onto a main road Shae had never traversed before. Kestrel flagged down a cab and they made their way to the O’Hare airport.

  They wasted no more time in Chicago and were in the air in under two hours. Shae understood their flight. They were known now. People had seen them. She believed images of them would appear all over social media, not to mention the news, in short order. The quicker they were gone from the scene of battle, the better.

  “Where are we going?” she had asked Kestrel in the cab.

  “Texas,” had been Kestrel’s curt reply.

  Shae hadn’t pressed for more information. Clearly, though Kestrel had healed herself from the gunshot wound, there was still residual pain. Shae could tell from her clenched jaw and the way she shifted how she sat in a futile quest to find a more comfortable position.

  As they flew over the plain states, Kestrel covered her lower half with one of the blankets the plane provided and quietly did her magic to do whatever she needed to do to heal herself properly. Afterward, she had slept, and Shae kept watch.

  They hadn’t run into any trouble buying the tickets and boarding the plane. The assumption being, the news hadn’t gotten out yet. But if it did, and they discovered they were on this plane, it was still possible for an Air Marshal to attempt an arrest.

  Foolish. Hopefully, their passage went unnoticed and unreported.

  Shae would like to avoid bloodshed if she could.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what was in Texas for them. Perhaps the job Kestrel had alluded she had for Shae? Fighting Kestrel’s war was not part of the bargain. Kestrel had said she had something else in mind for Shae.

  Shae glanced at Kestrel’s sleeping face. The woman was uncannily beautiful, like a goddess. She had pale skin, high cheekbones, and black satiny hair. The woman had a curvaceous form as well. Shae knew little about what men found attractive in a woman, but Shae had to imagine if she thought the woman beautiful, and she wasn’t attracted to women, men must find her more so.

  It certainly seemed likely from the looks Shae had seen her receive from men.

  Shae shook her head. She was confused. This woman was beautiful and powerful. What could she want with Shae? It would be understandable if she wanted to use her as a weapon, a way to help her win this war against Sylvanis. But she had told Shae she wouldn’t do that.

  Again, she wondered at what they were doing, and more importantly, what Kestrel’s plans were for her.

  Zach Van Stanley sat alone in his organization’s headquarters staring at nothing out the floor to ceiling glass windows which lined the west side of his office. It had been a long day leading up to the rally, as they usually were. There were so many things to organize and do at the last minute to make sure the event went smoothly.

  He sighed, loosened his tie and pulled it up and over his head to toss it on his desk. Rubbing his eyes, he powered up his laptop to check his emails and send some as well. There were plans.

  As leader and spokesperson for Earth, Anger, Retaliate, to Heal, or E.A.R.t.H., he stayed constantly busy. He had been the leader of the organization since his last stint in jail. Since then, he had used all his available resources and charm to consolidate hundreds of autonomous eco-terrorist groups into one significant group under the E.A.R.t.H umbrella.

  Some of the groups had only a half dozen activists, while others had hundreds of members. After meeting with Zach, usually only once, they came to understand his mission and the need for coordinated efforts.

  They had agreed he should be the face of the organization. He had the cred, having spent many years in jail after blowing up a pipeline. Plus, he had the look and charm to sway people to their side.

  A handsome man, tall and solidly built, he prided himself on his exercise regimen to keep himself fit and full of energy and it showed in his trim muscular frame. His face was warm and inviting, and yet, at the same time, masculine with a well-defined jawline and cheekbones. His dark brown hair was combed and sculpted. Bright blue eyes, which women enjoyed staring into, shined and twinkled or brooded, depending on what the occasion called for.

  He was a subtle mixture of characteristics which made working a room almost natural for him. He could be endearing when he needed to be, or somber depending on which group he entertained. Warm and inviting, or hard and uncompromising. All he needed was to understand who he dealt with. Which he always found out long before he would meet with them.

  A soft knock on the door outside the office caused Zach to frown. There should be no reason anyone would be here. He had sent all of the activists home after the rally.

  Standing up from his desk, he moved to the office door. He should let whoever it was believe there was no one there and let them leave, but curiosity motivated him.

  Possibilities ran through his mind. A fellow activist? The cops? They were always stopping by to ask questions about one of the organization’s members who had took it upon themselves to set fire to the office of a logging company or some other form of industrial sabotage. He would explain he had no idea why they would do such a thing; their organization did not condone such actions.

  They would try to blame him for what the activist did, and he would of course ask, ‘Did they name me as a co-conspirator?’ To which they would hang their heads and admit they hadn’t. That, in fact, they had no evidence linking him to the crime.

  He would tell them he appreciated they had apprehended the criminal and he would once again, remind his organization’s members violence was not allowed. They would always look at him with suspicion, but he had long ago learned to push aside their doubt. They had no evidence. And they never would. He was too clever.

  What he saw when he opened the door a crack to peer out, was not what he thought he would see. Not one of Dallas’ finest. No unwashed, unkempt hipster with pledges of loyalty to the cause.

  No.

  What stood out in the foyer to his office was a woman of surpassing beauty. She had pale, almost white skin framed by raven locks which held colored beads threaded within it. Her long face had high cheekbones and beautiful dark eyes. She wore a long flowing satin green dress which plunged deep at the front, revealing a full and ample cleavage, bordering on showing too much. Her breasts were the color of milk and as inviting as a cold glass of the liquid.

&nbs
p; The rest of her body was as shapely as any model and her dress clung to each curve, each plane. As much as he would have liked to show some restraint in his reaction to this beauty, he found he had little control over his eyes as they avidly roamed the woman’s body.

  When his gaze managed to return to her eyes, he found a knowing smile on her full red lips making his heart beat faster, if only to transfer more blood to a lower portion of his body.

  “Ahem.” A voice from the woman’s side dragged his gaze from the eyes looking at him with lurid promise and he found the woman’s companion. She changed the hue of the redness of his face to a brighter shade of embarrassment.

  The girl who stood next to the woman couldn’t have been more than fifteen. She had short, ruddy brown hair growing back from some poorly performed hatchet job, uneven in places and not well cared for. The girl was pale, but not like the woman. She was paler, wan even, with a smattering of freckles about her cheeks.

  She was slight of build, or at least, he believed her to be so. It was hard to tell since she wore a long coat which, given the heat in Texas, was an odd thing to wear.

  The look she gave him made it clear she had not missed the eye-roaming, nor did it leave any question as to her understanding of where his thoughts had been.

  “Ahhh,” was about all he could get out. He had no idea who these two were. Nor did he have any clue as to why they were here at this time of night. They clearly weren’t cops, and they did not have the look of activists.

  “Can we come in?” the woman spoke, her voice full, rich, and carried an exotic accent. Almost a crime to have such a voice to accompany such a body. Her accent was difficult to identify though. Zach believed it might be Irish.

  Absently, he nodded they could enter. Dammit, Zach. Get ahold of yourself. He cleared his throat.

  “Of course. Please, come in. How rude of me.” He swung the door wide and motioned with his hand for them to step inside. To his surprise, the girl ducked in first and quickly surveyed the room, before turning back to the woman and nodding.

  A slight frown crept up on Zach’s face and his brows furrowed at what had happened, and he gazed back at the woman. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and she rolled her eyes as if that was all the explanation she need give. When Zach realized this, he shrugged and again motioned for her to enter.