by R. M. Garcia
Everyone stared at one another, uncertain what would happen next. Espee squared off against the commander and his guards, and Nox moved up next to her. The guards rushed forward to guard their commander rather than chase after Donnie. “I got these two, boss,” Nox said, pointing at the guards, and added as he readied himself for combat by taking a martial art stance, “you take the smokestack.”
“Don’t underestimate estos cabrones, Nox,” she replied as she began to move against the commander. As the melee was about to begin, an all too familiar electronic chirp was heard. The commander held up his palm toward Espee, as if to say wait, and with his other hand, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a two way radio phone.
“What is your status?” he asked into the phone. A female voice responded through the radio, her German accent easily coming through.
“It is done, Commander von Bock,” she replied.
“Ah! Very good, Frieda,” he replied into his radio and took another drag from his cigarette. He then moved aside, allowing Espee free passage through the hall which Donnie had just ran down. “We are done here and no longer need to delay you.” He flippantly waved to his subordinates. “You can proceed. No one will stop you now.” With his orders, his subordinates simply moved aside. Nox and Espee cautiously moved past the soldiers fearing the worst and then proceeded quickly up the stairs after Donnie. Espee was furious at herself. Why didn’t she see it? She had failed to take into consideration that they were simply stalling. She never took into consideration that there would not be a fight. She had been outplayed once again, and she was now extremely pissed.
Donnie was moving up the stairs as fast as he could. The exertion of the chase, coupled with having to break free of the barge, had left him weakened. He had also not fed on blood in weeks, and that too was taking its toll on him now. He pushed those thoughts deep into the back of his mind. Only Abbie mattered now, no matter what, he needed to push on. As he reached the third floor, he encountered another guard. He was foreseeing a fight, but surprisingly the guard simply let him pass unmolested. Donnie didn’t stop to try and find out why the soldier put up no resistance; he just kept moving. As he reached the fifth and top floor, he came face-to-face with Abbie’s two abductors, the pair that had taken her. He was sure they had been in Tranquility as well.
“Look Hans, he actually made it in time,” Frieda exclaimed, genuinely surprised. Frieda was stunningly beautiful! She had flawless skin, full cherry-red lips, and long curly golden hair. Her uniform tightly hugged every curve of her voluptuous figure. Too bad, she was a psychopathic Nazi bigot.
“Frieda, Commander von Bock gave orders not to stop them,” Hans reminded Frieda without a trace of emotion in his voice. This German was truly massive, easily more than seven feet tall. Donnie had trouble believing how big he actually was. With his alabaster skin, he seemed more like a statue than a man, and Donnie knew what that meant. Hans too had blond hair, but his was so light that it bordered on white. He also possessed the same crystal clear blue eyes shared by all members of the Reich Bloodline, a trait Abbie also shared.
“Where is she?!” Donnie yelled as he moved toward the pair, expecting a fight.
“She is on the roof dummkopf,” Frieda informed. She added, “Hurry, you might make it in time before, well you know.” Her cynical smile and her ice-cold stare unnerved Donnie. He was not used to someone who was so vehemently evil. She gave him chills, but he couldn’t show any fear now.
Donnie made his move and attempted to run past the pair. Hans moved out of the way, but Frieda had other plans. She moved aside but kept a fixed gaze on him. At the last second, she dropped to one knee and performed a leg sweep. Donnie was easily leveled by the surprise maneuver. The outcome was exactly what Frieda had intended. Donnie went headfirst, slamming into the roof access door. With a sickening thud, he bounced off the solid metal door and landed on his back. He grasped his forehead as he lay on the floor and desperately tried to regain his bearings as quickly as possible. His face was now a crimson mask as a large gash momentarily opened on his forehead.
“Ha-ha-ha, how clumsy of you, I am sorry you are such an unbeholfenen jungen,” Frieda said laughing at Donnie as she stood back up, her fangs clearly visible as she mocked him.
“Hija del la gran puta!” Espee yelled as she delivered an expertly placed fist to Frieda’s face. Neither Frieda nor Hans had seen it coming. She seemed to have appeared out of thin air. The force of her blow sent the German hurtling twelve feet down the corridor, and she would have traveled farther, but she bounced off the wall, leaving an almost perfect impression of her shape in the drywall. Simultaneously Nox delivered a jumping sidekick to Hans. The blow was virtually ineffective, and the titan barely moved. The smaller Nox simply bounced off the mammoth; he simply looked at Nox and shook his head in disappointment.
“My orders do not include combat with you. Otherwise, I would love to finish this. She is on the roof, now go,” Hans said as he turned and walked away to render aid to Frieda who was even now still struggling to get up. Espee and Nox helped Donnie get up, and they hastily made their way to the roof. Donnie was frantic at this point. As he and his companions raced to the roof, he involuntarily started to remember all the events that brought him and Abbie up to this point.
CHAPTER 2
Tutor
IT WAS EARLY February in 2005. It had been a short winter, and it seemed that spring was just around the corner. It was senior year of high school, and everything was going remarkably well, considering all that had happened in the last year. Donato “Donnie” Guerrero was struggling to get through his study hall hour. He had nodded off several times and kept slipping into daydreams. He had deeply tanned skin and curly raven black hair. His build was athletic and was of average height. Many of the girls at the school considered him extremely handsome. Before this year, he had been involved in several sports and academic activities, but as of late, he participated only in basketball. His father had loved basketball, and it had given him great joy to watch his son play. Donnie had wanted to give it up too but was convinced to stay on the team as a second stringer. Today Donnie found himself in the school library for his study period. He had been struggling with one course in particular and was in danger of failing the class altogether.
“Shit!” Donnie exclaimed and added, “I just can’t get all these dates straight, Mr. S. 1492, 1796, 1947, might as well be in Arabic.”
“You know that’s not really a good analogy, Donnie,” his teacher Mr. Simmons advised. Parrish Simmons is both the student advisor and the history teacher at Joan of Arc High School. He was about forty-five years old and has long mostly gray hair, which he wears in a ponytail and a mustache. For the last year, he has been Donnie’s mentor and good friend, something Donnie had few of anymore.
“Huh? Why’s that?” he asked.
“Ancient Arabs were credited for the creation of algebra,” Mr. Simmons explained.
Donnie let out a quite audible sigh. “You see! I totally stink at history. I am going to fail this stupid class and end up going to summer school,” he declared in a defeated tone.
Mr. Simmons stopped grading papers and looked up. “Donnie, you just aren’t concentrating. You can master this. You’re smarter than this and you and I both know it. I’m not going to let you fail. You know full well you have come too far to quit now.”
“Yeah, says you, Mr. Triple masters’ degrees,” Donnie quipped and added, “have you ever had any trouble with any subject?”
“Yes, I do say so!” he quipped back. “Having three masters’ degrees makes me one smart cookie. So you should listen to my opinions.” He went back to grading papers and chuckled a bit, “Spanish.”
“What?”
“I had a hell of a time with Spanish, but I passed.”
“Really, you had trouble with Spanish?”
“Yes, I did, but I concentrated, and I made it through it and vowed never to take another language course ever again. I simply don’t have
your talent for languages.”
“I only speak four and Latin is useless, but I guess you’re right, Mr. S,” he said as he shrugged and went back to reading his history book. Mr. Simmons’s counsel had always been welcomed by Donnie; after all, Mr. Simmons had been there for him through the tough times of the last year. His mother, Muna, had passed away almost a year ago. She had lost her fight against cancer and died when he was only sixteen. She had been an incredibly attractive woman, both on the inside and out. She was an American Indian from the Cherokee tribe. He missed her every day as they had been extremely close. Early on in his childhood, she had instilled a deep belief in the spirits of nature and the beliefs of her people. She had always given him words of wisdom and taught him American Indian prayers. Her spirit and kindness seemed to have no limits.
His father, Ernesto, being a devout Catholic really didn’t approve of the instructions but saw no real harm in them either. His father had felt that Donnie should make his own choices regarding his faith and beliefs. He was a tall and muscular man; the phrase tall, dark, and handsome described him perfectly. He had also been a successful business man. The relationship Donnie had shared with his father had been very different from the one he shared with his mother. Where his mother had lavished him with love and warmth, his father focused on more practical things. His father made sure Donnie took his formal education seriously. He ensured Donnie had the skills necessary to survive in the real world. Math had been a principal focus as was economics. So by the time he was nine, Donnie could balance a checkbook and pay any of the household bills and speak four languages. It was a game he and Daddy played. Too bad, history ranked low on the Ernesto chart of important subjects to study.
Tragically, he was killed shortly after his wife’s passing. The loss of his wife had been extremely difficult for Donnie’s father to bear. He had loved Muna passionately, and in a misguided attempt to cope with his pain, Ernesto eventually turned to the bottle. A few weeks after Muna’s funeral, Ernesto had decided to visit a local bar, and his next decision turned out to be a fatal one. When the police came to his door, Donnie half expected them to tell him that his father had been arrested for a DUI. He never expected what the detective uttered. The police detective told Donnie that a pair of rapists had dragged a woman into an alley, and that from what they could gather, Ernesto had been walking home after leaving a bar. He had heard the woman’s cries and had not hesitated and went to help the victim. One of the assailants pulled a knife and stabbed him. Donnie could remember having trouble understanding how a small puncture to his leg could have caused his father to bleed out so quickly. The lead detective tried to explain something about the femoral artery and the amount of alcohol in Ernesto’s bloodstream, but honestly everything was a blur after he said, “I’m sorry, son, but your father is dead.”
Donnie had stared blankly at the officers in utter shock as he was notified. The female victim had said that Ernesto had died a hero, that he had subdued both men with his bare hands. That had been little comfort to Donnie then. He had simply closed the door on the detectives, turned around, and slumped down with his back against the front door. Donnie up to this point had not outwardly mourned the loss of his mother. He had tried to be strong for his father’s sake and not show any grief. Now the loss of a second parent left him completely shattered. As he sat on the floor, a rush of pent-up emotions overtook him. He curled up and sobbed uncontrollably.
During the weeks that followed, Donnie stopped attending school and barely left the house. His only constant visitor had been the woman his father had rescued. Her name was Camille. She was in her forties, quite attractive, and obviously watched her figure. She visited him every evening and brought him a plate of food. She did so unfailingly for several weeks. Camille was sure it was the only food Donnie was eating, and as it turned out, she was right. After the second burial less than a month apart, he became a shell of himself. Some of his school friends did try to get him out of the house, but he always declined. He’d lost his mother, who was his joy and comfort and his father, who was his security and his protector. He felt lost all of the time and didn’t feel like doing much of anything. This was a dreadful time for him. He felt as if he had been banished to darkness, and that feeling lingered with him for a very long time. He simply retreated into himself and shut out the world.
For the next few weeks, Donnie spent them virtually alone. He simply concentrated on making sure everything remained the way his father and mother would have wanted. It was only when child services knocked on his door did he realize it had been three weeks since his father had been laid to rest. The social worker that came to his door was surprised at Donnie’s situation. She had expected much worse. The house was clean, and everything looked in order. The only thing that seemed amiss was Donnie’s weight, which had dropped considerably. Her name was Charlie Summers, and she was a true angel. She was one of those really special people, who genuinely enjoyed helping others. She helped Donnie get conditionally emancipated through family court. He was able to stay in his home as he had shown that he was mature enough to pay the bills. He was monitored closely by Charlie and was required to return back and finish school.
Over the next year, Donnie barely smiled and mostly kept to himself. He refused to let anyone get close to him. He became distant and kept fewer and fewer friends. The kids in school noticed his aura of gloom and started avoiding him. He pulled out of most of his extracurricular activities, save one. One of his teachers, Mr. Simmons, took a special interest in him and became like a big brother to him. It had been exactly what Donnie needed to start his healing process, which up to that point, had been extremely slow.
“Earth to, Donnie,” Mr. Simmons called out. “Don’t make me throw another encyclopedia at you.”
“No, don’t!” Donnie cried out flinching, half expecting to see Mr. Simmons holding one of the behemoth books. He still vividly remembered the last time he was hit by a ten-pound book. “I was thinking about the rents.”
“Yeah, I could see that you were deep in thought,” Mr. Simmons replied. “Why don’t you go visit them after school?”
A sad look came over Donnie as he considered the suggestion. It had been a while since he made the trip to the cemetery and felt a little guilty about it now. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. I was just thinking how they would have been proud to see me graduate.”
“You’ve come a long way this year, and don’t think for a moment they aren’t watching, because they are. When you walk on stage to get your diploma, they will be there. Now we only have to make sure you graduate. So if you could concentrate for more than ten seconds on that book, we’d be making progress.” Mr. Simmons was right. Donnie could not concentrate. Anytime he came into study hall, his mind would wander. So yet again, he found himself daydreaming. His thoughts deviated toward his mother again. He started to wonder what words of wisdom his mother would have imparted on him if she would have been here.
“Donato,” Muna would say sweetly in her angelic voice. “Donato, whenever you feel lost or confused, just remember to breathe and say a prayer to the Great Spirit for guidance. Yowa has always been with our people and will always be with you too, my son.” Muna had always used his full name. Hardly anyone called him Donato anymore, and he somewhat missed that. Taking his mother’s advice, Donnie closed his eyes and began quietly praying.
“Yowa, Great Spirit, I am lost and cannot find my way home. Please light my way so that I can see my loved ones again,” he whispered. Just as he finished his plea, a strong gust of wind entered the room, and it carried with it the sweet scent of apples. Donnie looked up, and walking into the room was a beautiful young woman. He couldn’t help but stare at her as she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. He had seen her before once or twice, but he didn’t share any classes with her. He thought her name was Abbie. She drifted into the library and glanced playfully at Donnie as he sat at his desk. Her smile was unforgettable.
Abbie was not
very tall, barely five and a half feet tall, but her presence was overwhelming to Donnie. She had long blonde hair accentuated by thick flowing curls. Her body had all the right curves in all the right places. She could have easily been one of the cheerleaders, and again there was that sweet smell of apples.
“Hey, Mr. Simmons, have you graded my paper yet?” Abbie asked as she walked up to his desk.
“Yes, Abigail, you received an A,” he responded with a smile as he reached for her paper among the stack on his desk.
“Just an A . . . ?” she asked with a little crooked smile and placed a hand on her hip.
“A plus as always, Abigail,” he replied with a big smile. He had this strange look on his face, a look of pride. “Did you hear from Princeton yet?”
“Yes, sir, I did. I received the scholarship,” she informed. “Now I just have to figure out how to pay for the other things I’m going to need, like housing.”
“Well, congratulations! So are you going to major in history? Huh?” he jested.
“Ha . . . ha . . . Mr. Simmons, even though I love history, I don’t think I will major in it,” she replied as she gently stoked her chin. “I was thinking maybe something in the medical field, maybe nursing or even a physician. I’m not sure yet.”
“Well, whatever you decide, keep me informed, OK? I like to keep tabs on my brightest students.” Mr. Simmons was beaming. Donnie knew that his greatest joy was to see his students succeed. Abbie was an honor student and in the running for the class valedictorian.
“You got it!” she replied with a big smile on her face. “Well, I need to head out. I’m tutoring in fifteen minutes.” She turned around, giving Mr. Simmons a little wave. As she performed her spin, her long blonde hair floated upward, and Donnie was mesmerized and could not avert his gaze. Time seemed to slow down, and once again Donnie smelled the sweet scent of apples.
