The Undoer

by Melissa J. Cunningham

  What is wrong with me? I have an opportunity here. I can seriously wound them and I’m feeling guilty? What kind of Cazador am I? I pace, making tiny corrections to my plan, my fingers tapping my leg as I walk. My sketches are still lying on the bed, scattered, so I begin picking them up, placing them in a pile, when the door slams open.

  I jump and freeze where I stand on the far side of my bed, my mouth gaping, the damning evidence hanging limp in my fingers, but Coem doesn’t look at my hands. He stares at my face.

  “Get packed. Now.” He breathes in heavy gasps, his suit askew and dirty. He still looks terrible.

  “Are you okay?” He’s going downhill fast and will need a new body soon, his skin a sickly gray and his thick head of white-blond hair falling out in clumps. In the two days he’s been gone, his body has grown thin, emaciated even… all from my infection? For the millionth time, I wonder how it is that I came to have this gift. I didn’t have it before I arrived, so it happened once I got here, but when was that magic moment? I can’t put my finger on it. Did God give me the ability to curse the demons? Or did the demons themselves… without knowing it? Surely, they wouldn’t endow me with such a weapon intentionally.

  No, if they knew about my gift, I’d be dead already. They are just as oblivious to the cause as I am.

  “Do I look okay?” he responds, glaring.

  “Not really. I’m sorry you don’t feel well.” I give him a weak smile and he shakes his head, rolling his eyes in derision, sufficiently wiping out any pity I felt a moment before.

  He starts to turn away, so I hurry to ask, “Did my blood test results come back?” This is something that has been on my mind. Maybe my gift comes from a virus in my blood, and like Spiderman, I’m now a superhero. It sounds childish to think of it that way, but still cool, and I hope that is what happened.

  “The results haven’t come back yet, and we don’t have time to wait, so I guess we’ll never know.” He stares at me for a moment as though trying to see inside me, trying to decipher what the results would have told him if we weren’t in such a hurry to leave. His eyes fall to the floor, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

  I go back to gathering my sketches. “So, where are we going?” I ask in a friendly, nonchalant tone. But he’s already gone. There’s a bag in my closet, and I place it on the bed. I throw in a few pairs of jeans, underclothes, and some of my favorite new shirts. I have toiletries of all sorts now, like an electric razor and toothpaste that tastes like licorice. I pack it because why not? I’ll only be spoiled for a short while longer, until they realize I’m cursing them with my art, and then I’ll either be back on the streets or dead.

  ***

  Within an hour, we’re sitting aboard a private jet with white leather seats and all the amenities you could ever desire while traveling. I recline, gazing out over the shrinking city of L.A., wondering if I’ll ever be back.

  I never had a chance to contact Jag and my heart sinks, knowing I’ll probably never see him again. I haven’t stopped thinking about Heidi either, and her face floats in my mind, so I decide to do something that will not only pass the time, but will make me happy too.

  I begin at the bottom of the page with her feet, drawing her in combat boots, making them black and sooty with thick soles. Heavy and strong, to keep her grounded and balanced. I sketch her legs, long and muscular, her cargo pants form fitting. I mean, hey, she’s sexy, and it’s my picture. I can draw her how I want. No one else will ever see it.

  I pencil in a thick leather belt over her hips, with plenty of weapons hidden in it. She’s loaded for bear, totally tough, and superhero sexy. I draw her stomach flat and the muscles flexed, a womanly six-pack. I’m already drooling and I haven’t even done her face. When I start on her arms and chest, I swivel my body so no one can peek at what I’m drawing. I have no problem drawing women, but Heidi’s different. She’s special and beautiful. Perfect and kind. I’m not just drawing her body. I’m drawing her soul. At least, that’s what it feels like to me.

  It isn’t hard to sketch her sleek and beautiful body. I’ve looked at her for so long that I have every inch of her memorized… at least in my imagination. The curves of her breasts are hidden by a snug-fitting vest that is sleeveless to show her muscular biceps. She holds her dagger in one hand, her arm stretched out as though pointing it like a sword. In the other hand, she holds an AK-47, just for fun. Her body is rock hard and she-woman fierce, a powerful demon huntress, if I’ve ever seen one.

  And then I begin her face. I sit there for a moment, trying to decide what kind of expression I want her to wear. It needs to match the rest of her, so I give her face a hard edge of fury, as though the demons have hurt her for the last time.

  Her eyes are narrowed and piercing as she gazes at me from the page, and her pupils follow from every angle. Her full lips are pulled back into a feral grin, but they still look sexy to me, and her teeth are straight and white, true to form. She’s ready for the apocalypse.

  Her dark hair whips wildly around her oval face as though there’s a storm at her back, and I fix the shading, adding a sunset-imbued tempest behind her.

  When I’m finished, I can’t quit staring at my masterpiece. I don’t think I’ve ever drawn anything so compelling. I ache to see her in real life, to hold her, to kiss her. To tell her that she is the one who saved me. That she is the reason I’ve held on. She is the reason I find meaning in life or for even wanting to exist.

  My heart swells, and an overwhelming surge of love fills me. I’d give anything to hold her just one more time, to feel her fingers threading through mine. If I ever do see her again, I’ll tell her how I feel. I’ll never hide my feelings again.

  Before anyone else sees what I’ve done, I hide the sketch between the other pages of my art book.

  This one’s mine, and mine alone.

  Chapter Forty

  Heidi

  My eyelids are heavy and the lights above me are too bright. I’m lying on a hard, cold table, and I try to roll off. Rough hands hold me down as I cry out. I feel like I’ve been drugged, and my stomach burns so terribly I can hardly breathe.

  “She’s septic,” I hear an unfamiliar voice say.

  “What?” Jag asks. I don’t hear anyone answer.

  Are they talking about me? I manage to peel open my eyelids long enough to see a man with very dark skin and a white, medical jacket leaning over me. He shines a light into my eyes. I bat it away, and then he jabbers in a language I can’t understand.

  I don’t want to be here, and they can’t make me stay. When I attempt to roll off the table, pain burns in my arm. Someone jabs me with a needle. I recognize that feeling. They’re drugging me! But I refuse to go down without a fight.

  “Heidi, stop!” Jag is in my face, his eyes only inches from mine.

  I grab his shirt and pull him closer. “They’re here, Jag. The demons are here. They’re trying to get inside me,” I hiss at him. I know this is happening. It’s the only way to explain it, the burning, being held hostage, but he doesn’t believe me, I can tell. He gives me a worried scowl, but that’s it. He’s useless.

  My head lolls to the side and I see Brecken out in the hall, pacing, running his hands through his hair as he always does. Why doesn’t he help me?

  “Help,” I whisper to him, trying to reach out. He doesn’t notice, and I feel the sensation of cold steel against my chest. My shirt is snipped off in less than three seconds. I’m practically naked with boys in the room. What are they doing? I fight them hard, determined to escape before they can do worse, but the room starts to spin. The lights above me swirl like a merry-go-round, and I fight the urge to hurl. I manage to hold it in, just barely.

  Jag grasps my hand and brings it to his lips. There are tears in his eyes. Actual, honest to goodness tears. But I don’t have a chance to say anything. My eyes are too heavy, my mind too fuzzy. My world goes dark.

  ***

  The fog lifts slowly, like a dream. I’m alone. The lights are dim, and I
’m surprised to feel no pain. I lie in a stark-looking hospital room, trying to figure out exactly where I am, and then I realize… I’m not in pain!

  Memories of the night before flash in my mind, and I remember everything. I blink as my heart lurches and adrenaline shoots to my fingers and toes. Jerking to a sitting position, I swing my feet over the side of the bed to wiggle my toes, the hospital gown bunching up to my thighs. I slide from the bed, unsure if my legs will hold me. They do. I’m fine. I feel strong, and still… no pain.

  And then I remember why I hurt so badly before. Yanking up the hem of my gown, I lift it up to my chest. My incision is gone. Completely disappeared. Totally healed. Like… miraculously. I run my fingers across the smooth skin of my abdomen and I swear, my stomach muscles look and feel more defined than ever before.

  How long have I been here? Have I been in a coma? It would take months for my scar to become so smooth. Did the boys leave me here to deal with the demons themselves? Is it all over? After yanking the IV from my arm, the alarm on my monitor begins to blare. A nurse rushes in and starts babbling, but I don’t understand a word she says.

  Brecken and Jag push past her, their faces stretched with smiles.

  “It’s about dang time those drugs wore off!” Jag throws his arms around me and picks me up, twirling me in a circle while the nurse tries to get me away from him. “You had us scared for a minute!”

  “For only a minute?” I joke, trying to figure it all out. How long have they kept me drugged? Why would Brecken allow it? Why would Jag?

  “Well, for about two hours is all.” Brecken waits by the foot of the bed, but he gives me a radiant grin. “They said you’d be out for six.”

  “What?” Two hours?

  “They anesthetized you to prep you for surgery,” Jag explains. “You were septic and going into shock, practically unconscious and totally out of it when we brought you in.”

  I vaguely remember that part, but even I know that if you are septic, you’re pretty dang sick, and sick for a long time. Nobody recovers from that in just two hours. “What happened?”

  “Nobody knows,” Bret answers. “They got you on the table to begin your surgery and your wound was gone. And I mean, just completely gone.”

  They all stare at me, and then Jag says, “So, what happened on your end? Do you remember anything? Any visions or near-death experiences?” He’s smiling like he’s joking, but I get the feeling he really wants to know.

  “I don’t know. I just know I don’t hurt anymore.”

  The nurse stares at me as if I’m an anomaly. Who heals that fast and how? It’s unexplainable, but I’ll take it. “Well, get out of here, you two,” I say to Jag and Bret. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

  They leave and I go over to the closet, expecting my bloodied, worn-out clothes to be hanging there. I find black cargo pants, combat boots, and a tank top with a black vest that fits snug around my chest. I’ve never worn one this style, but I like it. It has a ton of pockets. I find a combat belt, which sits low on my hips, and strap it on. Brecken must have put these things in here while I was sleeping, and I make a note to thank him.

  These clothes rock. I feel like Wonder Woman.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Dean

  Coem shakes me awake, and I have to wipe drool from the corner of my mouth when I sit up. “We’re here,” he says.

  I stand slowly, my body aching, and I have a crimp in my neck. Grabbing my art supplies, I shove them into my backpack and follow him out, down a flight of stairs that has been placed at the door of the plane. We walk across the hot tarmac. The first thing that hits me is the wall of heat that immediately dries out my mouth and throat. It takes my breath away for a moment.

  A man wearing a white turban and tunic stands next to a running sedan. He opens my door for me, bowing at the waist.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, but he ignores me and shuts the door. There’s a gray man inside him, and I wonder what the guy’s life was like before his body was stolen away.

  “Where exactly are we?” I ask Coem, knowing we’ve flown halfway around the world. We were in the air for at least eighteen hours. Will I ever get back home?

  “You’ll see, my new friend. You will see.” He smiles and goes back to flipping through a newspaper. He’s back to normal since I fixed his picture before we left on the plane. He was so irritable and grouchy. I had little desire to travel with Cranky Coem—a demon that was growing more and more enraged. I’ll make his malady come back later.

  My heart has felt heavy ever since this trip started. I’ll never see my friends again. It’s so unfair, but I learned a long time ago to not feel sorry for myself. Life isn’t ever fair, and it never will be. There’s nothing I can do about my situation other than to learn as much as I can about these demons and hinder their progress if possible.

  The car takes us through dusty streets of rubble and destitute people, but Coem seems completely unbothered by it all. I can’t tear my eyes away. Half-naked, alarmingly thin children sit in the streets, not even playing, but seemingly waiting. For what? I don’t know.

  We pull through some tall, dark gates and up to another magnificent house. How many of these does Coem have? The house is large, but not a mansion. It’s white and clean, with greenery along the drive and the front steps.

  My car door is opened for me once again, and I step from its air-conditioned interior into the stark heat of the desert. I hurry inside the house, which is cool and comfortable. The interior is open and airy—beautiful.

  “This way,” a man says. He wears a gray man inside, as well as a black tunic and matching goatee. He leads me toward the back of the house. “Dinner will be served in an hour. You may rest until then,” he tells me as he closes the bedroom door behind me.

  I set my backpack next to the double bed that is covered in a white quilt and walk over to the windows, pulling the sheer curtains back. It must take a ton of water to keep this place so lush and green. A yard that beckons me. I’ll have to sneak out there to draw.

  Walking back over to the bed, I sit down and pull my sketchbook from my pack, slipping the picture of Heidi from its pages. I gaze at those fierce eyes, her confident stance, and I can almost feel her presence next to me. She fills me with courage and the fire to go on. I can almost believe I can bring these fiends down. For her.

  Hiding the sketch under the pillow, I lie down and stretch out on the bed. It’s a little on the firm side, but I close my eyes, just for a minute. Exhaustion soon overtakes me, and it feels good to let go.

  ***

  The dinner table is spread with fruits, breads, cheeses, and wine. I eat very little as I can’t stop thinking about those starving children right outside the door. I know what they’re feeling, and I can’t get their pathetic faces and bloated stomachs out of my mind.

  All this excess. What gluttony! It makes me sick. When no one is looking, I hide food in my pockets for those hungry kids… if I can get it out there.

  “There are some very important people I want you to meet,” Coem says.

  “Okay.” I take a fig from my plate and bite into its juicy sweetness. I’ve never had figs before and I think I’ve found a new favorite.

  “They’ll want their portraits painted.” He smiles and wipes his mouth, watching me while I eat.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Good.

  “How’s Chumlento? Is she any better?” I ask.

  He cocks his head as he considers his answer. “I suppose she’ll dispose of that body and opt for a healthier one. She’ll meet up with us as soon as she’s able.” He smiles and rests his hands on either side of his plate, one eyebrow raised. “You have an important purpose in being here.”

  “And what is that?”

  “To make me a lot of money.” He smiles as though I should already know this, and then he takes a bite of bread with cheese.

  “You brought me halfway around the world, or wherever we are, just for money?” I stare at him, dumbfo
unded.

  He chuckles and shakes his head as though I’m very slow and stupid, like a dumb cow. “No. Not just for that, but it’s a nice perk. Money rules the world, you know. If you don’t have it, you’re nothing. How do you think you got here, into this beautiful desert land? With money. Why are you in this house? Money. How is it possible to wear those clothes?” He points to my outfit. “With money. And the food you eat? Money.”

  I place my hands in my lap and stare at them, noticing how stained and calloused they are… the hands of someone small and seemingly unimportant. But those stains come from something I love, from something that gives me untold happiness. It doesn’t cost a thing, but then I realize… it does. I can’t afford brushes, paint, and canvas on my own. He’s right about money in so many ways, but I’d like to think it’s the intention that matters. Coem could spend his money for good, for feeding the poor and creating shelters, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t help. He harms.

  “Money isn’t everything. Money won’t make you happy, Coem.”

  “Maybe not. But it helps.” His eyes are wide and watchful. The world is his oyster. He could buy and sell countries, or so he says. There is nothing and no one to stop him. He’s powerful, and his money makes him more so.

  He doesn’t comprehend what I’m saying. He can’t. His heart is shriveled and cold, evil. He thinks he can buy me, and in a way, he has, but I will stop him. If it’s the last thing I do before I die, I will at least stop him.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Brecken

  I have no explanation for Heidi’s miraculous recovery. I stare at her in awe as we walk out of the hospital. How is this possible? I’ve seen some amazing things, but nothing like this. It’s magic… and I don’t believe in magic. So then, it’s a miracle. There’s a reason for everything, but for the life of me, I can’t figure this one out.