Eve of Redemption

by Tom Mohan

  Martinez felt his anger begin to boil. “Have some respect. This guy’s been through a lot.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  Martinez’s desire to throttle the young officer was interrupted by the paramedics who moved to inspect Burke. After giving them a quick rendition of what had happened, he stood and gave them room to work. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the other officer. “Look, Hastings, that guy lost his wife and kid. Used to come by the precinct almost every day to see if we had any new information. Cut the guy some slack?”

  Hastings managed a sheepish look. “Sorry, man, but look at the guy. What a waste.” Martinez did look. Burke was sitting up and seemed to be allowing the paramedics to take care of him. Even now, knowing who this man was, it was nearly impossible to see the robust, athletic John Burke he had known in years past. Now it looked like a strong wind would pick him up and carry him away. What happened to you?

  “Nothing for you here, Hastings. Might as well take off.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Hastings said. “You coming?”

  Martinez thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “I’ll hang here awhile.” Burke had been adamant about not going with the ambulance, and Martinez felt he should wait around. Maybe he could convince the guy to do what was best for him.

  Hastings shrugged and took a few steps toward his car before turning back. “Look, Martinez, that guy isn’t who he was. Don’t let him get under your skin.” Then, seeing the look his comment brought to his comrade’s face, Hastings turned and retreated to his car.

  Martinez sighed. People just didn’t respect human dignity anymore. God, what is this country coming to?

  He hung around until the paramedics had done all they could on the scene. They tried to get Burke to go with them to the hospital, but he refused. Burke was on his feet, swaying as if trying to decide which way to fall. Both of his eyes were black and purple, the left swollen almost shut. Martinez stepped over to the group. “Let me talk to him a minute.” As the paramedics packed up their equipment, Martinez moved closer to the injured man. “Mr. Burke,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. Burke flinched at the sound of his name. Martinez held out the picture he had taken from Burke’s pocket earlier. The man reached out and grabbed it.

  “Where’d you get this?” Burke mumbled through swollen lips, his one open eye lit with suspicion.

  “Found it in your pocket,” Martinez said.

  Burke stared at the picture a moment before slipping it back into his coat.

  “You really should go with them,” Martinez said. “You’re not in good shape.” He watched as Burke slowly shook his head before taking a couple of shambling steps. “You’re in no shape to walk. Let them take you in for a quick once-over. Then you can give me a report about what happened.”

  For a moment Burke just stood there, staring at his feet. Finally he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “No report. Just leave me alone.”

  Martinez said nothing, just waited to see what would happen next. Burke remained quiet, as if unsure himself what he planned to do. He looked up at Martinez with his one good eye. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

  Martinez smiled. “Didn’t until I saw that picture of you with your family.”

  Burke dropped his gaze, and Martinez wondered if he might have said the wrong thing. “Yeah, my family.” Burke sagged in the baggy trench coat. Martinez took a chance, reached out, and put one hand on his shoulder. He was amazed at just how small and fragile that shoulder felt in his grasp.

  “Look, I know things have been tough for you since the disappearances, but…”

  Burke’s head snapped up. Anger radiated from his good eye. He shoved Martinez’s hand from his shoulder with surprising strength. “What would you know about it?” he spat. “You didn’t even care. No one cared.” He turned his back, and Martinez could see his shoulders shake as raw emotion took over.

  Martinez struggled for what to do next. God help me. Show me what to do. “Any place I can take you? Where you staying?” Burke just shook his head. “How ‘bout I take you to my place, give you a chance to rest and clean up a bit? Trinny wouldn’t mind a bit.”

  “I don’t need your charity,” Burke said. “I’m not the person you knew. You don’t know me at all anymore.” Though his voice was still hoarse and cracked, Martinez detected a touch of the man’s old spirit.

  “You’re right, I don’t. Never really did, but that doesn’t mean I never cared.”

  “Just forget you saw me,” Burke said. “Nothing is any different now than it was before. You have your life. I have mine. Just leave it at that.”

  “Can’t leave it at that. This morning when I got up the biggest thing I had to think about was that Trinny was ticked that I was working on Sunday. Things are different now. Seeing you again, like this, knowing what you went through. Can’t just walk away.”

  Burke turned back toward him, looking much like a prizefighter who had come up on the short end of a bout. “Admit it, Officer Martinez. You haven’t given me the slightest thought since you were pulled from the case. You haven’t wondered. You haven’t cared. Now you come along wanting to make things better. Well guess what? You can’t make it better. You can’t help me, and I don’t want you to try.”

  Martinez opened his mouth to say more and then thought better of it. He knew this was not the way to handle the situation. “If that’s the way you want it. You’re right. Life goes on, and we forget about those who aren’t in our lives anymore. I’m sorry about that.” He rubbed a hand over his smooth head and sighed. “Nothing seems right anymore.”

  Martinez sensed Burke felt the same way, though probably not for the same reasons. “It’s not much of an excuse, but we just don’t have time to think about much beyond surviving another day.”

  For a moment John Burke stood there, then shrugged himself deeper into his coat, buried his hands in his pockets, and limped away.

  THE MAN WHO called himself the Serpent watched from deep within the shadows. He wished he could hear the conversation, but that was not really necessary. He knew pretty much what was being said because he knew John Burke. A tight smile crossed his lips. Oh yes, he knew John Burke very well indeed. Of course, Burke didn’t know the Serpent, though he should. They had spent a lot of time together recently. Oh yes, a lot of time. Trouble was, and the Serpent knew this well, when people are feeling sorry for themselves, they really don’t pay attention to anything else. The John Burkes of the world bury themselves so deep in their pain that they don’t even know that there is a world around them.

  The Serpent had felt the presence of the other one this morning. He had been wondering when one of them would show up. Lord Denizen had said they would eventually. The other had appeared to Burke as a little girl, but the Serpent knew that it was much more than that. Much more, indeed.

  He had really been looking forward to Burke blowing his brains out. Had been almost giddy about it, actually. Not for the event itself—that was of no real consequence—but for what it would do to the plans of both sides in this little game in which the future of everything was at stake. No, it didn’t matter, not to him. It just made life more interesting. After all, he really didn’t care how this turned out, as long as it was not as it was supposed to. Chaos, after all, followed no plan. The Serpent’s smile grew larger as he turned and followed the inked punks into the shadows of the canyon. It was time to step things up a bit.

  Long after dark, John Burke pulled his car to the curb in front of his house. He turned off the headlights and motor and sat there staring into the darkness. His mind was numb with exhaustion, but he was not yet ready to attempt standing. He had no idea how long he had been driving, but night had fallen over the city long ago.

  Finally, he steeled himself, opened the car door, and pulled himself free. His body screamed as his bruised muscles straightened, throbbing. As he turned toward the house, something caught his eye. He blinked and watched more closely. There it was again—a flash o
f light through the second-story window. Aside from that, the house was dark. Burke tried to remember if he had left any lights on, but he wasn’t even sure when he had last been home. He ignored the pain coursing through his body as he limped across the street. His eyes scanned the stucco house for anything out of the ordinary. He felt the familiar pang of regret at the sight of the dead rose bushes that lined the front. Laura had been so proud of those roses. The way the bright red of the flowers popped out in front of the off-white stucco had been a beautiful sight. John wished he had taken better care of them.

  Another flash of light—this time he was sure the curtain in the master bedroom had moved. As he stepped up to the curb in front of his house, it occurred to him that anyone could be watching him through the dark windows. The quarter moon cast a faint glow, but the overcast sky allowed little light through. He felt vulnerable in the open and crossed the small front yard as fast as his battered body would allow. He peered in a living room window, but the darkness prevented him from seeing anything.

  Burke moved around the house and pushed open the iron gate to the backyard. The squeal of the gate started a dog barking behind the fence that separated his house from the neighbor. Burke pressed his body against the house and held his breath, willing the stupid dog to shut up. A rough drunken voice yelled for the mutt to, “Shut your trap.” Surprisingly, the mutt did. Once he was confident the dog was going to remain quiet, Burke slipped alongside the sliding door that led from the back patio to the family room inside. When Sara was young, the patio had been covered in chalk drawings and featured a playhouse. Now, there was only the rusty grill and an even rustier cheap patio set. He leaned over and peered through the glass door, but the darkness was complete. Then a flash of that same, dim light. It had only been there a second and had not been bright enough to be a flashlight or a flame. What was it? Keeping to the shadows, he moved back around the house until he could see the front door. He stopped again to listen. Except for a television turned up too loud somewhere in the neighborhood, the night was quiet.

  Burke pulled a set of keys from his pocket and slipped one into the key slot. He turned the key harder than he intended, and the lock made a loud click as the deadbolt slammed open. For a moment he just stood there, his heavy breathing and the neighbor’s television the only sounds. Finally, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Even through his swollen nose, he could smell the dry, dusty odor from inside. As he slipped through the door, he sent a silent apology to his wife, wherever she was, for letting the house and the roses fall into such a state. He flipped on the light switch. Nothing happened. The rest of the neighborhood appeared to have power. Only his house sat in darkness.

  Burke moved deeper into the gloom. He tried to remember where there might be a flashlight, but the only one he could think of was upstairs in the table beside his bed. That was too far to go in the dark. Matches? Cupboard by the back door. He used to keep some there for the grill before he replaced the bad igniter. Taking another step, he felt his shin smack against something hard. Gritting his teeth, Burke cursed under his breath. The coffee table that he had bumped made a scraping sound as it slid a few inches on the tile floor. At the same moment, he thought he heard another sound from deeper within the house. He bit his tongue to hold back his curses and listened. Nothing—all was quiet.

  “This is crazy,” Burke muttered as he felt his way toward the kitchen. He had taken only two steps when he heard a board creak above his head. He froze where he was, staring up into the darkness. Why was it so dark, anyway? He didn’t remember it ever being this dark in the house. He turned and looked back to where a slightly brighter spot betrayed the location of the window in the front door. Without light, whoever was in the house would be as blind as himself.

  The sound came again, this time from the stairs. He spun around and saw a ball of light slowly descending the staircase, illuminating the dark wooden stairs and white handrail. The light pulled his eyes toward it like a lifeline, floating, not bright enough to reveal whoever held it. Burke stood in the darkness, waiting for whatever was to come.

  Finally, the light reached the bottom of the stairs, only seven or eight feet from where he stood, and there it stopped. At first, nothing happened. Then, gradually, the light grew brighter. He saw a shape begin to take form, short and kind of square. As his eyes adjusted, the figure grew more distinct. Then the light flashed brightly, and the smiling face of the little girl from the park stood before him. Her outstretched hands held the light, but Burke could not tell its source.

  “Hi, John Burke,” she said.

  Burke blinked. “Who…who are you?”

  For a moment, her smile faltered, and then popped back on her dirty face. “Are you happy to see me?”

  Burke didn’t know what to think. He was in a very bad way all because of this little thief, and she was asking if he was happy to see her? He licked his dry, swollen lips. “You stole from me. You’re nothing but a thief.”

  Her smile faltered, and for a moment she looked as though she might cry. “No, John Burke,” she said softly. “I am not a thief. I saved you.”

  “Saved me?” Burke shot back. “Saved me? You stole from me. I got beat up because of you! What are you doing in my house?”

  Her dirty little face looked so innocent, so naive. She tried to put the smile back on. “But John Burke, you must be saved.” She sounded so certain of what she said, like it was just a common fact.

  Burke felt all his energy leave him, as though an invisible plug had been pulled. He fell to his knees and sagged back against the wall. “What if I don’t want to be saved?” he whispered. The loneliness and despair he had carried for so long welled up in his heart. He knew he had let his family down. He’d failed to protect them, and now they were gone. Sadness like he had never known gripped him. He thought again of the gun in the pawnshop. One bullet and his misery would be over.

  “Do you really think that’s the answer?” the girl asked.

  “What would you know about it?” Burke hated the weakness in his voice. He hated the guilt, the hopelessness…and most of all, himself.

  “Poor John Burke,” she said. “I will help you now.”

  Burke felt a light touch on his forehead. The touch was cool at first but grew warm, then almost hot. The heat spread through his body. He felt the tension he had carried for so long drain from him. The heaviness in his chest lifted, as did the depression that had become his constant companion. For the first time in years, his soul felt clean.

  “There,” the girl said triumphantly. “How do you feel now, John Burke?”

  He didn’t know what to say. Not only did he feel better, but the self-hatred was gone. He looked up into a blinding light. Putting one hand before his face, he blinked his swollen eyes. After a moment he could see that she was pointing a flashlight in his face.

  “Where did you get that flashlight?” he asked, surprised at the strength in his voice.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “I’ve had it all along. You saw it when I came down the stairs.”

  Burke shook his head. “No,” he said as he reached up and pushed the light from his face. Now he could see that she held a four-cell flashlight. It was so big that she had to hold it in both hands to keep it steady. “No, that’s not the light I saw on the steps or through the windows. What light was that?”

  She shrugged her tiny shoulders, causing the sack she was wearing to lift and fall. Burke pulled himself up so he could see her better. Even sitting on the floor he was as tall as she. She looked exactly as she had in the alley that morning, barefoot and wearing only a burlap potato bag as a dress. He looked up at her dirty face, into deep green eyes, which grew very large. Keeping the flashlight pointed at his chest, she leaned her face close to his. A smell like cinnamon penetrated his clogged nose.

  “You look terrible, John Burke,” she said. “Does it hurt?”

  Burke sighed. “Yes, it hurts. Can you fix that?”

  The girl looked puzzled. “Why wou
ld I fix it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. You fixed…the other.”

  “Ah, that was very bad. I had to fix that. But it can never be that easy. You will have to go through the pain, and it will be so much worse when the time comes.” Her voice took on an ancient sadness. “You have to go through the valley, through the pain, John Burke, to come to the other side.” Then as quickly as it had gone, her smile returned, and she was just a little girl again. “But not now.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and the grin fell from her face. She looked over his head, her eyes taking on a distant expression. “Be strong, John Burke,” she said. “Whatever happens, be strong.” Then the flashlight went out. Burke heard it land on the floor in front of him. He grabbed it and turned it on, but the girl was gone.

  The Serpent felt the presence well before he reached the dark house and knew it was a servant of the Enemy. Probably the one protecting Burke, he thought. His old friend John Burke was there as well. A smile crossed the Serpent’s lips as he thought of the gift he had brought his good buddy. It was time to up the ante, as the saying went. The Serpent had tried to be nice, had tried to give Burke an easy out, but the bum had messed it up. He’d done everything but put the gun in his hand. Well, that was quite all right. The Serpent was in no hurry. He could play these games forever, if necessary.

  Without warning, the other presence vanished. What are you up to? No matter, it was all part of the game. And the Serpent knew that, of all the players, he stood the best chance to win. He pulled the stolen old car to the curb a block from the house and sat there inhaling the polluted night air. Most hated the smell of the air in the city—those who still noticed it, anyway—but the Serpent thought it a lovely perfume.

  The perfume of chaos.

  The Serpent closed his eyes and focused his awareness on his old pal John Burke. His mind slipped into that of the weary man and he began working his magic. An encounter with the missing wife was just the thing to drag Burke even deeper into despair. The Serpent imagined the scenario, and then set it in motion. It still amazed him how he could make Burke experience anything his twisted mind desired. The best part was that—to Burke—it seemed like real life. The guy couldn’t tell the difference. Now, all the Serpent had to do was enjoy the show. And what a show it would be. It would also give him time to stash the surprise he had brought his old friend.