Blowback

by James P. Sumner

  She puts on a mask that was beside the screen. It covers her eyes, like something you would wear to a masquerade ball. Or like Catwoman. But not the good kind. The Halle Berry kind.

  She looks over at me, tilting her head ominously as she stares.

  “Normally, this club broadcasts a very specific type of show across the dark web,” she explains. “It’s available only to people willing to pay the high price this content is worth. It also operates its own online auction, open to people searching for organ donors, who are prepared to do whatever it takes to secure what they need. Understandably, these attract a certain type of… clientele. But today? Oh, Adrian! Today is different. It’s special. Today, a unique broadcast will air live online—in the public domain, for all to see! The feed will hijack news outlets and blog sites all over the world.”

  What’s she talking about?

  The urge to remove the knife from my body and throw it at her consumes me, overshadowed only by the frustration at the fact I can’t.

  “M-Miley… you’re insane. Stop this.”

  She races over to me, grabbing my throat and leaning close, baring her teeth like a rabid animal.

  “I’m insane? Really? After everything you’ve done? After all the lives you’ve taken without so much as a pause for breath? If anyone is insane here, Adrian, it’s you! You’re a psychopath! You deserve this!”

  The effort it’s taking to stay awake right now is frightening. I struggle to focus on her face, to stare into her eyes behind the mask. I don’t know what to say to her.

  I force a smile. “I… I know.”

  She recoils slightly. “What?”

  “I agree with you,” I say, smiling wider. “I do deserve this. I’ve done… terrible things in my life. I’ve lost everything because of the choices I’ve made. But I’ve… I’ve also done some good. I’m no saint. If there’s anything waiting for me after this life, it’s more likely to be red and warm than white and playing a harp. But I’m not sorry. Not for one damn bit of it.”

  She’s hesitant. Uncertain. She can’t look away but is struggling to make eye contact. Her hands are restless. She—

  My head snaps to my left as she lands a heavy blow to my face.

  “Fuck you!” she yells. “You will confess your crimes to the world, and then you will be executed in front of it.”

  She returns to the computer. Clicks a button. A red light flashes on the screen. She steps back, moving in front of me and positioning herself to address the camera. I see the gun tucked at her back. She stands with confidence. Her legs straight. Her hips cocked to the side. She could be a supermodel.

  “For too long, this world has been held hostage by criminals,” she begins. “Killers. Rapists. Psychopaths. Terrorists. The very essence of what’s wrong with humanity. As a society, we have endured suffering unlike any generation in recent memory. Each day, thousands of murders, sexual assaults, and robberies go unpunished across the world. But on a much larger scale, all of our lives have been affected by unimaginable tragedies. 4/17. The Cunningham assassination. The Vatican attack. Prague. Texas.”

  She begins pacing back and forth in front of the camera.

  “But those atrocities could’ve been averted. Every single one of them. You see, the truth is, everything bad that’s happened to this world in recent years is nothing but a consequence of one man’s life. The aftermath of his actions. Of his decisions. You all know him. The current U.S. president pardoned him on national television, despite his own admission that he assassinated their predecessor. But now, with help from my associates, I will finally bring him to justice, for the whole world to see.”

  She steps aside, gesturing to me theatrically.

  “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you… Adrian Hell.”

  Looks like I’m ready for my close-up.

  I stare right down the camera. I don’t do or say anything. I see the feed on the screen. There’s a counter next to it, showing how many people are watching this right now. My vision’s blurry, but there’s well over forty million.

  The power of the internet, eh?

  Miley moves to my side. She toys with the handle of the knife that’s still sticking out of me, tapping it playfully with a finger.

  “Now… I wanted to make sure everybody sees this. Sees that justice does get served. In a world where shoplifters get ten years in prison for holding up a convenience store, yet pedophiles get two years for raping a child, I feel it’s important to renew people’s faith in the concept of consequence. The courts of the world don’t have the guts to do what’s right anymore. They’re too concerned with appearing politically correct to actually punish anyone. So, I’ve taken it upon myself, as a victim of this man’s crimes, to do what even the U.S. government couldn’t. Kill Adrian Hell. And I will do it live!”

  Oh, shit. This isn’t good.

  Where’s Ruby? I hope to God she’s okay. I hate that I can’t protect her.

  This is a real crappy way to go…

  “But first, let me deal with any concerns you might have.”

  She paces slowly back toward the camera, obscuring me from view. She leans forward, staring right down the lens, acting as if she’s talking to a child.

  “For those of you outraged at the moral ambiguity of what I’m doing, I say this—fuck you. I lost years of my childhood because of that piece of shit behind me. What I’ve done to him, and what I’m about to do to him, is horrific and violent and the worst kind of wrong. But do you know what? I don’t care. I make no apologies for any of this. The right thing isn’t always good. It isn’t always the nice option. And I own that.”

  She shifts to the side, displaying me to the camera once again. I feel my head sag forward. The effort needed to hold it up no longer justifies the benefits of doing so. I’m beaten and tired.

  “You see him?” she shouts. “He actually thinks all the shit he’s done is right! That he should be allowed to get away with it because of some misguided moral compass. That’s the very definition of a psychopath! He’s one of the worst mass murderers in history, and he deserves to die. But no one seems to want to punish him for his crimes. Well, I do. And I will.”

  She marches back over to me. I feel her place a hand on the back of my head. The other on my forehead. She lifts me so that I’m staring right into the camera.

  “But before I do, he is going to confess his crimes to the world.”

  I smile.

  She hits me.

  “Confess!” she screams.

  I look at her and smile wider. “No.”

  She yanks the knife out of my gut and slams the blade down into my right shoulder.

  A cry of pain builds in my throat, but I can’t let it out. The agony is so intense, I’m not sure I can…

  I…

  Can…

  …

  …

  …

  Oh, Jesus!

  A wave of nausea hits me as a foul stench hits my nostrils. I snap awake to see Miley waving a small vial of something hideous in front of my face, presumably to bring me round after blacking out.

  “Ah! What the hell?”

  She tosses the vial aside, then grips my face, squeezing my cheeks together.

  “Tell the world what you’ve done, Adrian. Or I will!”

  “Go… for it…”

  She releases a guttural roar of frustration and anger before hitting me in the face again.

  The blow rattled something loose inside my head. A hidden cache of clarity and focus buried deep beneath the constant explosions of pain.

  All I have to do is stall her.

  While I never claimed to understand even half the shit Josh used to say to me, I know enough about computers to know that she’ll be hiding her location. No way this place, or what she’s doing in it right now, is legal. The Yakuza won’t want themselves associated with this, so they’ll be bouncing their signal all over the world to stay hidden from the authorities, the press, the hackers, and everyone else scrambling to figu
re out where this is taking place and who Miley really is.

  Someone will figure it out eventually. I just have to buy them some time.

  Which means I need to stay conscious.

  I look at the camera. Then at her.

  “Go on,” I say. “Tell them. Tell everyone what you think I’ve done.”

  She hesitates.

  “No. This is your confession. I will not give you the satisfaction of being your mouthpiece.” She grips the knife sticking out of my shoulder. “Now, tell them, or I will fucking gut you.”

  Here goes nothing.

  “Fine.” I stare at the camera. Take a breath. Draw on probably my last hidden reserve of strength. Spit out some blood to clear my throat. “Dear world. Um… hi. If you’re watching this, feel safe in the knowledge that I’m having a worse day than you are. This isn’t exactly how I envisioned my last day on this mortal coil, I’ll be honest. But when your number’s up, there’s not much you can do about it, y’know? Ironic that by killing me, this crazy bitch is doing the same thing she’s accusing me of. But anyway… my confession. Yes. I admit it. I was the gunman behind the grassy knoll.”

  Miley drives her fist into the side of my head. After everything my body’s been through in the last few hours, it barely even registers. But that doesn’t stop my brain telling me to switch off. I fight it.

  “I held the camera when they filmed the moon landing in Hollywood.”

  She hits me again.

  “I am Spartacus!”

  “Enough!” She rips the knife from my shoulder and gestures with it to the camera. “This bastard killed my mother, and he will pay for it with his life!”

  I tense every fiber of my body, preparing as much as I can for that knife being thrust into me again. She spins around and slashes it toward me, stopping with the blade pressing against the soft flesh of my throat.

  “Your death will be slow and painful and last for hours, and the whole world will see it. Your reputation, your legacy… nothing will remain. You’ll die with no dignity, and the last thought in your head will be of nothing but excruciating agony.”

  “Sounds… lovely.”

  She presses the blade harder against me.

  “But you can avoid all of that. I will grant you a quick and merciful execution… if you confess to all of your crimes right now.”

  Shit.

  Antagonizing her isn’t going to do me much good for much longer. I can’t move. I can’t feel anything besides the pain wracking my entire body, and this psycho is deadly serious about killing me in front of the entire world.

  I’ve tried to remain calm and casual about it. Figured I’d find a way out of this. But if I’m being honest with myself right now… this doesn’t look good.

  I try to move away from the knife as best I can. Squirming against my restraints to alleviate the pressure of the blade.

  “Look, Miley… I’m sorry for how things turned out for you. Really, I am. I did what I had to do. You want a confession? Fine.”

  I stare right into the camera. Take a breath.

  “Wilson Trent. The man terrorized the east coast for years with his corruption, his drugs, his reign of terror. The piece of shit murdered my family. I ran away. For a decade, I hid from my own fears. Until one day, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I hunted him. I beat him. I killed him. Hell, twenty thousand people saw me do it! And I’m not sorry. I respect the law. I respect society. But I’m incredibly good at a really bad thing, and when people like him can buy the law and rule society, someone should stand up and say, ‘Enough.’ So, I did.”

  I look back at Miley.

  “That’s who I am. That’s my legacy. And executing me won’t destroy who I am or what I leave behind. So, do whatever you feel you need to do. I don’t care.”

  “Except that isn’t your legacy, is it?” she says.

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Your legacy isn’t one of justifiable revenge. It isn’t one of you saving the innocent or the oppressed.” She grabs my face again. Forces me to look into her masked eyes. “Your legacy is death. You focus on the big picture because it means you don’t need to look at your own pathetic life. The real truth behind your legacy , Adrian, is that everyone you ever cared about died because of you. Your wife and daughter died because of who you are. What you did. You lost friends and loved ones in Texas because of your failure to act. Your best friend, Josh Winters—one of the world’s most influential men—was assassinated because he was standing beside you .”

  She paces away, walking toward the camera again.

  Her words sink in more brutally than her knife ever did.

  She’s absolutely right. All the people I’ve ever cared for. I’ve lost every single one of them because of who I am.

  She turns back to me and points at the screen. Pretty sure the viewing figures have tipped into nine figures now.

  “Forget about the world, Adrian. We were doing just fine before you came along, and we’ll damn sure be better off when you’re dead. I want your final moments to be consumed by the acceptance of the fact that every bullet you ever fired killed more than just your target.”

  Fuck.

  I take a deep breath, which sends pain pulsing around my body. I feel a single tear roll down my cheek.

  I’m a cancer to the people around me. I always have been, and I’ve always been too focused on justifying my actions to myself to see it.

  Another tear escapes.

  She’s right. About everything. All those lives could’ve been saved if I wasn’t involved.

  An image of Ruby flashes into my mind. Her eyes. Her smile.

  Wherever she is right now, the only chance she has of making it out of here alive is if I don’t. If I live, she will ultimately suffer for it, and I can’t have that. Not anymore.

  “You’re right,” I say quietly.

  Miley cocks her head to the side. “What was that?”

  She marches over to me, grabs the back of my head, and forces me to stare right down the camera. “Say that again, so we can hear you, Adrian.”

  Each breath pushes more tears down my face. My eyes sting from each droplet.

  “You’re right. She’s right. I’m… I’m sorry. For everything. I deserve this.”

  She lets go of me and faces the camera, blocking my view of the screen.

  “And there you have it, folks. Justice. The man behind me has, for almost two decades, been considered the world’s deadliest hired killer. And you just saw him break down to nothing. Because of me. He’s a murderer and deserves to die for what he’s done.”

  There’s a moment’s pause. I hear her breathing hard. Adrenaline, most likely.

  “But if you want to see him suffer… that’s gonna cost you extra!”

  Miley storms over to the computer and disconnects the webcam.

  “What… what are you doing?” I ask her, sniffing back emotion and frowning with confusion.

  She approaches me, playing with the knife in one hand. She stops a few feet from me, smiling.

  “Maybe you don’t deserve the audience. Look at you. You’re covered in blood from head to toe. Your face is a swollen and blackened mess. Your eyes keep rolling back in your skull. You’re barely conscious. And you’re crying, Adrian. You’re fucking crying! You are completely and irreversibly broken, and I did this to you. Me. The world’s greatest assassin, and you were beaten to your final breath by a nineteen-year-old girl. You’re pathetic. Having the death of your legacy publicized is too good for you. You deserve to die alone. Quietly. Knowing no one cares.”

  I manage to smirk before the pain in my face quells any further expression of emotion. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid. You’re tough. Just like your mom. She’d be proud of you.”

  Miley growls. It’s primal. Angry. She stabs the knife into the wood, inches from my head. Then it starts again. Blow after blow. Unrestrained. They connect to my face. My body. I can do nothing to defend myself. I don’t know how much longer I c
an—

  15

  ??:??

  “Adrian? Adrian, you gotta wake up! Adrian!”

  Huh? What?

  I ease myself upright. Pause for a split-second before opening my good eye. I’m on the floor, beside the stage with the pole in the main room. My right hand is trembling. I try to make a fist, but it’s cramping too much to allow it. My T-shirt is back on my body and stained with blood.

  What the hell is going on?

  “Adrian!”

  Huh? Ruby?

  I look around. All the doors in here are closed. There’s no sign of anyone. Everything has been removed from the walls.

  “Adrian!”

  I look behind me. There’s a pair of legs standing there. They’re nice. I follow them up. Ruby is stood, tied to the pole in the middle of the stage. Her dress is torn and stained with blood.

  Oh, no!

  I get to my feet, which is a slow and painful process. I can’t physically stand up straight. I hunch over, hugging my battered and beaten torso with one arm. Gradually, I reach up with my other and start working on her restraints. Her hands are bound above her head, and it hurts as I stretch to reach them. I go up on my tiptoes and lean over, trying to gain extra height and take some pressure off my ribs. Doing so puts my head and shoulders an inch from Ruby’s face. As I fumble with the rope, she momentarily rests her head on my shoulder, in the crook of my neck.

  “Jesus, Adrian—you look like shit,” she says.

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  “What did she do to you?”

  I manage to get her hands free. She places one gently on my face and smiles before bending over to untie her own ankles. I practically collapse back down onto the stage, thankful I’m no longer on my feet.

  “Until I passed out, she was beating the crap outta me,” I reply. “After that, who knows?”

  She sits beside me and places a hand on my leg. “I… ah… I heard everything she said in there. Kinda hard not to. You know she was just trying to get inside your head, right? You can’t believe her, Adrian. The things she said… they weren’t true.”