by Angela Horn
As a battle raged in the living room, Sophie fell out of bed and crawled past the headless man to the bathroom where she locked the door. With her only escape route perched too high, she climbed into the bathtub, closed the shower curtain, and pulled her knees to her chest.
Shutting her eyes, Sophie tried to calm her nerves. Outside the bathroom, objects crashed to the ground and bodies bashed into walls. Then as quickly as the commotion erupted, the apartment fell silent.
Sophie considered taking a peek to see how the battle ended. She even thought to make a run for help. Instead of doing anything useful, she cowered and hoped for the situation to fix itself. This plan worked until the door crashed open.
Sophie cried out then shielded her eyes from the brightness as the bathroom light switched on. Just outside the shower curtain, a figure approached and Sophie could do no more than listen to her pounding heart.
Pushing back the curtain, her savior stared at her while holding a gun in one hand and a bloody sword in the other.
“You’re hiding? Really?” the woman asked. “We don’t have time for this. You need to grab your essentials, so we can go.”
“Go where?” Sophie asked, not budging.
“Not sure. East, I think,” the woman said, glancing out of the bathroom door with a grumpy expression. “All I know is we need to bolt before more of those villains show up.”
“Villains?”
“Yeah, that’s what we call the bad guys. Classy, huh?” the woman said, eyeing her reflection. Wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek, she turned back to a frozen Sophie. “Oh, you don’t know the score, huh? Well I’ll tell you in the car, but for now we’ve gotta hustle, Sophie.”
“How do you know my name?”
“God told me,” the woman said, slipping the gun into a holster. “Yeah, no more playing around. You need to get up now.”
Grabbing Sophie around the bicep, the woman yanked her into the bedroom.
“Get dressed and pack whatever is super important. We’re leaving in three minutes. Now, get to it.”
Sophie only stood where the woman left her, not moving, not getting to anything.
“Are you mental?” the woman asked. “When these villains work in packs, it’s bad news. And four of them just showed up to kill you. Who knows how many more are on their way?”
“Who are you?” Sophie asked, slowly pulling on a pair of jeans. “Why is this happening?”
“My name is Lila and you and I are the same although you clearly don’t know what that means. I’d loved to explain it right now, but like I said, we’re going to have company soon.”
When Sophie made no attempt to pack, Lila sighed.
“Fine, you want some details, I’ll give you some details,” Lila said, wiping the blood from her sword on Sophie’s bedspread. “An hour ago, I got a vision about you helping me find a rogue hunter named Joaquin. It seems these villains snagged that transmission and decided to foul up our big adventure. There, you happy? Hope so because that’s all you’re getting for now.”
Frowning, Lila snapped her fingers at Sophie. “I know you can move faster so do it.”
“The police will be here soon.”
Lila smiled, her hazel eyes clearly amused. “Yeah, it doesn’t work like that. Your neighbors didn’t hear anything and no one called the cops. It’s just you and me and a bunch of dead villains. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be joined by a bunch of live ones too.”
Sophie finished dressing then sighed loudly as reality took hold.
“I can’t come with you.”
Lila’s smile widened. “Look, I get that you’re scared. I totally do, but my vision from God says you’re coming with me. You get that, a vision from the Lord about you? So even though you’re not feeling all that helpful right now, your needs don’t supersede His. Now hurry up or I’m going to conk you over the head and drag you to the car. Either way, you’re coming with me, but why make it so adversarial so soon?”
Sophie studied Lila, certain the woman was insane. Yet Sophie had hungered for an adventure and one had shown up looking for her. Resigned to her fate, she threw a few essentials into a backpack.
Following Lila out of the apartment, she noticed how none of the neighbors seemed alarmed by the commotion and no sirens approached. While Sophie kept expecting reality to break into this new situation, the women arrived at an Escalade in the visitor parking lot without incident.
Despite no apparent threats, Lila hurried Sophie into the car and rushed to the driver’s seat, nearly in a panic. Speeding away from the apartment, Lila scanned the night for possible dangers. Next to her, Sophie relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy this new adventure.
“Is this your car?” Sophie asked, eyeing the pornographic dice hanging from the rearview mirror.
“Nope. Stole it off some gangbangers after I tore up my last ride. No worries though, those guys won’t be a problem. It’s the villains we need to stress, not to mention the rogue hunter.”
Nodding, Sophie watched Lila who used a red light as an opportunity to check her weapons.
“What are we going to do once we find this Joaquin guy?”
Lila glanced at Sophie with a grin. “I’d think that’d be obvious. We’re going to kill him.”
Chapter Three
Three Years Ago
In a desolate slice of Mexico, Joaquin watched the fire’s flames mingle with the sun’s roaring heat. The flames danced before him and his dark eyes were colored by their salsa. The image was hypnotic, but he was not hypnotized. His cluttered mind refused to enjoy the delicacy of the image.
As his blood soaked clothes withered under the heat of the flames, Joaquin buttoned a clean beige shirt. Scanning the horizon, he viewed only untouched despair as dirt whirled around his idling sedan. Lost in this place, Joaquin finally shifted the car into drive and headed in whatever direction it was pointing.
The first sign of life was a broken motel with a name that loosely translated into home. Pulling into the parking lot, he left the car to idle while his always vigilant mind surveyed the surroundings. His eyes paused on the motel sign which lay upside down after years of harsh weather, neglect, and target practice. Even with the overwhelming misery of this place, Joaquin sensed no threat here, at least not to him. Turning off the car, he enjoyed the silence for a few minutes.
Itching at his chin, Joaquin felt relief at discovering new facial growth. He was still human and his body could still change. A momentary reassurance after a wild day of agitation, Joaquin embraced it as he left his car.
The motel’s front office was accessible through an open frame with the door leaning against a nearby wall. Joaquin stepped through to find a couch with no legs and a bullet-ridden counter. Behind the counter though, two young people were in love.
They smiled at one another, never taking notice of Joaquin. Staring into each other’s eyes, they whispered sweet promises so easily made in youth. Once the young man broke his gaze from the pretty senorita before him and noticed Joaquin, all his youthful hope was swallowed by fear.
The young couple stared at their customer with a dread common for those who had dealt with the cartel. Whatever their suspicions, Joaquin wished he might do something to assuage their terror. Yet he was not a charming man and nothing existed beneath the darkness in his eyes. He just wanted a room and small talk felt pointless.
“Do you have a vacancy?” he said in Spanish.
The man considered his answer carefully, finally nodding.
“I would like a room then.”
“They are not nice rooms,” the woman offered.
Joaquin revealed a tiny grin on his otherwise stern face. “I should think not. Just a room with a bed will be fine.”
The man nodded and fumbled through a box of keys to find a suitable room for the stranger. Joaquin placed a few hundred dollars before the woman who glanced down at the money then back at him.
“Here, this is a good room. Clean and the bed is pretty good,” the young
man said.
Joaquin took the key and hurried away, only wishing to hide and submerge himself in despair. Even in his foul mood though, he could not help smiling at what awaited him in his room. Brown carpet, peeling red wallpaper, and a lumpy bed, the horrid little room felt fitting.
Standing in front of the cracked mirror, Joaquin studied his reflection. He was just a man, for nothing particularly special cried out about the face staring back at him. Dark rugged features and a thick head of chocolate brown hair, Joaquin was handsome, but he was looking for something more than superficial qualities.
“I’m just a man,” he whispered. “Not a ghost, not a monster, just a man of flesh and blood.”
His voice provided him comfort, but the words did not, for he knew the truth. After today, Joaquin knew he was something else and this realization brought him only despair.
Sitting on the bed, a gun cradled in his large hands, Joaquin burned with the unbearable desire for answers.
Was this all there was for him? Many people had many qualities, many uses in life. Then there were those who possessed no qualities or uses. He was neither. He had just the one quality, just the one use. He could kill and he could kill well. There had to be more.
He was not an animal, for he took no pleasure from his gift. A talent he stumbled upon while in a fit of vengeance as a young man in Columbia. While he was no longer a young man, he was not old either. Instead, he was nearing that point in life when people asked themselves many questions.
Joaquin asked only one as he sulked in the foul motel room, while an array of odors left behind from too many horrors filled his senses. It was a simple question, but he wanted the answer to come from God.
If he had no other use, then was it time for him to turn his gift on himself?
No one would miss him - this he knew, but did not mind. Joaquin did not sit in the sweltering room in the middle of nowhere, wishing he might have a family or friends. He did not hold the gun in his hands and ache for a soul mate. He just wanted to know what had made him this way. If God created him, then maybe Joaquin had some other use besides killing? If the devil was his maker, then maybe it really was time for him to end his life?
No one else could, this was obvious now.
His last assignment went wrong just minutes after entering the compound. Joaquin should have been dead this evening and his body disposed of in a most unflattering manner by the men he was sent to kill. Yet not one bullet - and there were so many bullets - had even grazed him in the blistering firefight. Joaquin realized he was invincible and this realization had brought him to this lost place and his question for God.
“I’m real,” Joaquin said, his voice startling him even as its authority gave him solace. “I exist. I must have a purpose beyond this emptiness.”
His outburst settled his nerves some, but not enough.
“I’m alive. I don’t deserve to be, but I am,” he said more weakly, falling into a whisper.
Outside in the world, men whispered about him in all of the dark locales where evil men whispered about assassins. They called him the Reaper, but Joaquin was not impressed by his own legend. It had been created too easily and thus had no worth. Nothing had worth to Joaquin, for he was an empty vessel. Unbreakable, but empty still.
The failing sun granted a peculiar light to the desolate land and to this miserable motel. Eyeing the gun in his hand, Joaquin wished he might call it his favorite, but he had no favorites. An empty vessel cares for nothing, longs for nothing, not even a fish taco or cold beer.
Around him the room shifted, the light creating shadows and donning illumination into dark corners. Even in moments like these in a place so awful, Joaquin knew God existed. The devil might be Joaquin’s master, but God still possessed power over it all.
Setting the gun aside, he knelt on the dirty floor and slapped his hands together loudly, welcoming the noise. Closing his eyes, he pondered his words.
“Lord, do I have any purpose beyond what has come before? Can I be redeemed or am I no more than the evil I commit? Please show me the answer or else I will stop myself the only way I know how.”
Joaquin kept his eyes closed another minute, waiting for a sign. Once sitting back on the bed, he wiped sweat from his dark brow with one hand and retrieved the gun with his other.
A small sign, something mundane even.
Maybe the long dead air conditioner might expel a puff of cold air? Joaquin stared at the unit affixed to the wall, willing it to burst to life. Salty sweat dripping into his eyes was the only response.
Joaquin pondered how long to wait for his answer. Deciding no entity powerful enough to create the universe should need this much time, he eyed his pistol again.
“I can’t say I blame you for rejecting me, Lord.”
Joaquin wasn’t afraid to die, even if he felt he should be. He should feel a lot more than he did holding the gun, but this was the point. He didn’t feel or need anything. Well he had needed an answer from God, but the Big Guy wasn’t taking his calls.
The gun felt cool against his chin, colder than anything else in the room. His finger ached to press the trigger, but something told him he might want to wait, maybe just to consider the gravity of the moment. Joaquin was finished waiting though.
An explosion startled him. For the slightest second, he wondered if he had somehow missed. The gun rested in his hand, unused. Yet another blast rang out. Slipping the weapon into his waistband, Joaquin sprinted to the window. Peering from behind the curtain, he immediately identified the cause of the ruckus.
An expensive car - the kind men with something to prove liked to drive - lurched towards the motel, finally groaning to a halt twenty yards away. Smoke billowed from the engine and Joaquin noticed more than a few bullet holes along the passenger side of the car. Easing his hand back toward the gun, he waited for the driver to emerge.
A pretty blonde fell out of the driver’s side before finding her feet. Standing in a panic, she threw her head in every direction, scanning for danger with her arms perched widely, ready for a fight. Her attention soon turned to the motel.
Whatever she feared was now approaching and she took off running away from the smoking car. Pausing in the open distance between the motel and a nearby burned out auto shop, the woman wiped her hands on her dirty Texas A & M shirt then made her decision.
Instead of choosing the motel, the woman dashed towards a large dumpster. Tossing open the lid, she hurled herself inside. A wisp of blonde hair was the last sign of her as she yanked down the lid, just a minute before two cars sped towards the motel.
Joaquin studied the eight newcomers - well dressed Mexicans carrying a lot of firepower – as they exited their cars and spread out around the motel. Joaquin wasn’t really interested why the cartel was chasing this woman or how she had managed to bring such trouble down on herself.
His mind was on God.
“Is this my sign?” he asked, eyeing the ceiling.
Uncertainty clouded his mind even as he heard the armed men making the rounds of the motel, banging on doors and kicking them open when the guests chose not to answer. The men would come to his room soon, but Joaquin could not fathom if this was the Lord’s answer.
When a woman screamed, Joaquin thought the American might have been discovered. Gazing outside, he found the dumpster untouched. Yet it was only a matter of time before one of the motel patrons snitched. Moving away from the window, Joaquin considered his options and realized he had none.
When a man thumped on the door, Joaquin answered and stared at him.
“Do you want something?” Joaquin asked.
“We’re looking for an American woman. Is she in your room?”
Joaquin did not respond immediately, instead gazing grimly at the man.
“There is no one in my room but me.”
“Can I look?”
Joaquin again hesitated, forcing the man to stew. He finally nodded his approval.
“What did this woman do?” Joaqui
n asked as the man rushed around the room, barely looking before hurrying back to the door.
“I don’t know,” he said, avoiding Joaquin’s gaze.
Nearby another woman screamed and a gun fired. Joaquin studied the noises then returned his gaze to the anxious killer before him.
“All this for one woman?” Joaquin asked with a slight grin.
The man shrugged, finding no humor in the comment or situation.
“I do what I’m told,” he muttered.
Glancing upward, Joaquin nodded. “I know the feeling.”
Joaquin’s right hand retrieved the gun from his waistband and fired before the man finished his breath.
For just a moment, nothing seemed to stir outside the room, even as Joaquin was on the move inside. As his muscular frame glided from the motel room door, Joaquin fired upon two approaching men.
Striding towards the front of the motel where other men waited, Joaquin took this opportunity to glance at the dumpster. At that moment, the woman appeared and took off running into the harsh landscape. He cocked an eyebrow at this development, but never paused.
Two men began firing before Joaquin finished turning the corner, but the bullets only chipped away at the decaying motel walls. He found himself lingering as they fired, pausing to see if he might finally feel the searing pain of a bullet ripping through his flesh. The wait might have been eternal, but his patience wore out. Joaquin fired in quick succession, each shot hitting its target.
On the move again, Joaquin retrieved a second gun from a holster inside his shirt and fired in two directions. He hit one man fleeing, the other blazing a weapon. Both men collapsed, but this only brought the total to seven.
The panicked cries in Spanish increased as he turned the last corner and peered into the front office. The young woman cradled what was left of her lover. Noticing Joaquin approaching, her cries stuttered as she processed his identity. He paid her little attention for one target remained and this one knew he was coming.
The man’s first shot missed badly, but the second one should have killed Joaquin. Firing once into the now fleeing killer, Joaquin noticed the man’s weapon and phone sail across the floor. The second object worried him.
