by Ethan Cross
“What’s your deal with putting their pants on their heads?”
Frank replied, “No reason in particular. I just find it hilarious. You truly must learn to appreciate the little things in life.”
64
Marcus felt hollow, like a trap door had opened up inside of him and everything that he was had fallen out. He felt like an empty shell. Ever since Maggie had gone missing, he had been walking through a nightmare that kept getting worse and worse. But he couldn’t imagine possibly feeling any more broken than he did now. Even his rage couldn’t seem to claw its way to top of the bottomless pit that had taken residence inside of him. His soul had been murdered so many times, but he feared that this was the final break, the moment from which he would have nothing left inside but a cold hollow void.
Marcus had positioned himself in the back seat behind Yazzie, as the captain occupied the driver’s seat of his Ford Explorer patrol vehicle. The main reason he had chosen to sit directly behind Yazzie was that he didn’t want the his captive to see him crying.
He would never truly be satisfied that she was gone until he saw a body, but after what Yazzie had told him in the basement of the ranch, he felt that seeing the corpse with his own eyes was merely a formality now.
Yazzie had explained how he had confronted Canyon about the whereabouts of the missing agent. Canyon simply replied that he had taken her up into the hills and disposed of her. He’d gone on to say that she had warned him that “The Brothers” would be coming for him. At the time, Canyon hadn’t considered much of the threat. But then a crazy man had walked into his police station covered in blood.
Marcus still wasn’t sure he could trust the police captain, but there was something about the story that rang true. Maybe it was that he had always known. Or maybe it was the warning she had allegedly given Canyon about brothers, a phrase she often used to refer to Ackerman and himself. But whatever it was, until he learned different, Marcus believed Yazzie’s story.
With a submachine gun sitting across his lap and tears in his eyes, he watched the desert landscape, lit by a slowly waking sun, fly past.
From the front seat, Yazzie said, “May I ask you a question, Agent Williams?”
In Marcus’s head, Yazzie’s voice carried a strange dreamlike quality. He responded, “Keep your mouth shut and drive.”
Ignoring him, Yazzie asked, “You didn’t mention my eyes. You didn’t even seem to notice.”
Of course he had noticed. Marcus noticed everything. But why would he say anything? Yazzie obviously was born with partial ocular albinism, which Marcus knew to mean that one of his eyes lacked normal pigment. He was familiar with several eye conditions like this that he had researched because of his own abnormality called sectoral heterochromia, in which one eye contains two different colors. Of course, he didn’t care to share all that information with Yazzie. He merely replied, “Why would I?”
“I don’t know, I guess it just seems to make people uneasy. Always has. That’s why I wear the glasses all the time now or colored contacts if I know that I’m going to be in a situation where I have to take them off. But when you had me tied to that chair, my glasses were off and you were looking right into my eyes. You didn’t even flinch. It’s actually been a very long time since any man has looked me in the eyes. My real eyes.”
“Is there a point to any of this?”
“I’m just trying to say that I appreciate that you didn’t make anything out of it. I was bullied a lot when I was a kid because of what they called my ‘ghost eyes,’ and it wasn’t until I was a teenager and started working for John that I was able to afford colored contacts.”
Marcus could definitely understand that. He had experienced the effects of bullying and psychological abuse firsthand, and he knew the kind of scars that such trauma could leave on one’s psyche. He said, “Being bullied isn’t an excuse for becoming a bully yourself.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I learned early on that you are either meat for the grinder or the butcher doing the grinding.”
Marcus said nothing.
Yazzie continued, “It seems pretty strange to me that your Agent Carlisle would come out here all by herself. Is conducting an investigation without any kind of backup typical for you feds?”
“Just shut up and drive.”
Yazzie said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“If you say another word, I’m going to hogtie you to the luggage rack.”
65
Staying far enough in the shadows and back from the broken front window to avoid snipers, Ackerman watched the two interlopers descend the stairs and begin the long walk of shame down to their comrades waiting at the base the bluff. He said, “I still think we should have removed their pants.”
Standing beside him, watching the reaction of their enemies through the binoculars, Liana said, “That’s just juvenile. If anything we should have kept them as hostages. Now they’re going to be down there holding two more guns pointed up at us.”
“It doesn’t matter how many guns they have or how many hands. And we have more hostages than we know what to do with,” Ackerman replied, as he pulled open the foil packaging of a MRE and began to eat, hoping to regain his strength. He had already downed several full bottles of water.
“I see you’re getting your appetite back. That’s a good sign.”
Ackerman said, “Did you know that insects retain the pathways required for cells to differentiate and reorganize at the site of a wound. It’s a trait that we humans have nearly lost over the millennia. Most insects are able to lose whole limbs and regenerate them without even losing much volition. While I don’t inherently have the same ability, I feel that I have gained certain traits through my various trials that would set me at the pinnacle of human evolution in regard to regeneration.”
“Please don’t tell me you think you can re-grow a limb like a spider.”
“Of course not. I’m merely observing that I don’t feel pain or fear in any way that your neurotypical brain can understand. Reality is what we will it to be, my dear. And I have a strong will.”
Liana responded, “If you’re not careful, those wounds are going to re-open, you’ll lose what little blood you have left, and you will die. That’s reality.”
“I’ve survived much worse. These are paper cuts in comparison to what I’ve endured in the past. The issue was blood loss, which caused my operational efficiency to fall below one hundred percent.”
“Is that so, Dr. Roboto? Here’s my diagnosis: If those wounds re-open, your blood reserves will be at zero percent.” Putting the binoculars down, Liana added, “Canyon looks like a tick that’s ready to pop.”
“Good, maybe he’ll finally realize to abandon this idiot’s pursuit and focus his energies on finding Agent Carlisle before his time runs out.”
“You were serious about that deadline you gave him?”
“I’m always serious.”
“What happens when time’s up?”
“I feel that’s self-explanatory. Time is the one attribute of reality we can’t escape. When your time is up, there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
Liana cocked an eyebrow and replied, “I sure did my best to give you more time. What do you think would’ve happened to you if I hadn’t showed up here?”
“I’m grateful for your assistance, but I’m also confident that I would’ve been able to handle the situation on my own. That being said, I’ve been continually impressed with how you’ve handled yourself throughout this evening’s events.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“An honest observation, and I’m not easily impressed.” He then reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, allowing the briefest caress of her smooth skin, the pigment of which seemed to be a blend of the colors of sandstone canyons and buttes that marked her ancestral lands. He whispered, “Please don’t misunderstand me. You’ve performed admirably, and I thank you, Officer Nakai.”
Satisfied that their guests h
ad been shown off properly, Ackerman turned his thoughts to the next phase of the operation. With that in mind, he made his way through the shadows to where they had assembled all of the weapons and armament cases on a series of countertops attached to one wall of the old storefront. Snatching up one of the tactical backpacks they had also brought along, he began removing grenades from the foam housing of one case and dropping them into the backpack. Liana, coming up beside him, asked, “What are you doing?”
He smiled. “I’m merely preparing for when Mr. Canyon’s time inevitably runs out.”
Marcus had procured three different types of grenades, each labeled in their own cases and coming in a slightly different shape than their counterparts. The first type was a smoke grenade. The second, a flash bang. And the third, a frag grenade. Only one of them would kill by itself, but they were all useful tools in their own ways.
Removing one of the ball-shaped frag grenades from the case, he unscrewed its cap in order to get at the internal workings of the device.
Liana hovered over his shoulder, probably brimming with more questions that he didn’t feel needed explanations. He supposed it was natural that she look to him as a rock to lean on. Unfortunately, the situation was fluid, and he had little to offer in way of assurances. She’d only known him a short while and was unaware of all of the other times that he had been the underdog and had still come out on top, an outcome that he mostly equated to his inability to feel fear. As she hovered beside him, he knew that a question was hanging on her lips. Although he wasn’t sure what that question was. Most likely something about the next step in his plan and all of its contingencies.
When she finally opened her mouth, the question she asked surprised him. Ackerman was not easily impressed, but it was only on the rarest of occasion when he felt true bewilderment.
She said, “Who is Itzel? You kept saying that name over and over while you are passed out.”
Itzel…a name he hadn’t heard aloud for many, many years. The name of his Mayan princess, his rainbow goddess.
He hesitated, unsure of what to say and how much to share. He had never felt the therapeutic results of talking about his problems or the pains of the past. But as he turned and stared down into Liana’s large brown eyes, which reminded him so much of those that had belonged to Itzel, he said, “She was a Mayan girl I met along the road to Cancún. She was the love of my life.”
66
John Canyon felt the blood pooling in his face as he watched his two climbers being sent back to him. All his muscles were tensed, and his jaw clenched. His head throbbed, and his brain ached. He wanted to break something. He wanted to hurt someone. But the person that he really wanted to hurt—the stranger, the man calling himself Frankenstein—always seemed to remain just out of reach.
The two men he had sent in as a surprise attack from the rear were walking down the long sloping driveway toward him. Not limping. And they still had their pants where they belonged. So, apparently, these two had fared a bit better against Frank and his new acolyte than the original two scouts.
Not wanting to think about it any longer, Canyon put down his binoculars and turned away from the trading post, heading to the rear of the siege camp at the bottom of the bluff. He’d also sent a few men around to the rear, to make sure that their quarry didn’t try to escape down the cliff face. He had twenty-four men in all on-site, a good size for a unit. They had positioned their vehicles along the roadway as barricades to make sure that the stranger didn’t try to make a run for it. Seeing his men with their rifles aimed up at the trading post or waiting at the ready behind cover made him think about his time in the first Gulf War.
Master Sergeant John Canyon had a lot of good memories of his brother Marines and the camaraderie, but his thoughts always seemed to turn to the negative side of things, to past mistakes and past sins. He thought of times when command had screwed the pooch and nearly gotten them all killed. Once, they had even sent the wrong uniforms, jungle instead of desert, which resulted in he and his men looking like a bunch of mulberry bushes marching across the sand. Other memories flashed through his mind. He recalled coming across an Iraqi encampment full of corpses sitting around the ashes of their fire, tin coffee cups still in their hands or on the ground nearby, cups identical to the ones he and his men used every morning.
With the enemy he had faced in the Persian Gulf, Canyon had recognized his common humanity. That wasn’t the case with Frank. He and the stranger were not of the same species.
Canyon stopped short as he noticed that three men were present who weren’t supposed to be. He had instructed his right-hand man, Todd Todacheeney, to take Ramirez and Slim, his original two scouts, back to the ranch for medical attention. As he passed by, he motioned for Toad to join him at the back. Waiting until a few feet separated them from the men, Canyon said, “I thought I told you to get those two idiots out of my sight.”
Toad was a barrel chested little man with no neck, dressed in camouflage fatigues and looking the part of a trained operator. Although, Canyon knew that Toad had never actually served a day in the military because of his flat feet and poor test scores. Having known Todacheeney from back in their gangland days, Canyon could spot all of his underlings mannerisms and their meanings, and Toad now displayed his nervous habit of rolling his neck and head back and forth, almost like an owl, when he was avoiding a question.
Toad finally said, “Ramirez refused to go. He’s a tough kid. He ended up patching himself up with glue and duct tape. He’s looking to prove himself.”
“If he wants to prove himself to me, he can start by following orders and completing missions.”
“I know, I know. But he can’t do either of those things if he’s back at the ranch in bed.”
Canyon whispered, “I wasn’t only sending you back because of them. I was also thinking that you could check in with Yazzie.”
“You don’t think he has the ranch covered?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s more that I’m not sure how much I trust our good captain anymore.”
Toad’s eyes went wide, and he immediately said, “Isn’t Yazzie family? He’s your brother-in-law.”
“You know, Toad, you may be the only person in this world I trust these days. I’m not so sure about my wife or her brother at this point.”
“What makes you say this?”
“There are signs, but mostly a feeling. A shift in the winds. Monsters and madmen have their places, old friend. But the thing about working with either of them is that at some point you have to expect the monster to be what it is and the madman to show his true colors.”
“And which of these is Yazzie?”
Canyon laughed. “Yazzie?… He’s both.”
Toad shook his head. “But I’ve known Xavier for almost as long as you have. I’ve never seen this from him.”
“You haven’t known him like I’ve known him. You haven’t seen the things that he’s done. The people he’s killed. The aftermath of his interrogations. You haven’t mopped up the blood. And I’m beginning to wonder if our real enemy is one that has been here all along.”
67
Ackerman had never shared Itzel’s story with anyone, including his brother and his now-former therapist, Emily Morgan. He wasn’t sure why he had chosen to share it with Liana. Perhaps it was a slight resemblance between the two. The dark hair, the big brown eyes, and the same impetuous nature of a free spirit. Ackerman noticed, not for the first time, that both Itzel and Liana were rare and beautiful flowers, ones yet to bloom and reach their full potential. Itzel never had the chance. But he was sure Liana would.
He wondered if a better question was why he had never shared the story of his first love with anyone else. As he thought back on several recent interactions, he realized that he actually had tried sharing her story with his brother and Maggie, but neither seemed interested once he started in on the gory details. But Liana didn’t need to know any of that. She didn’t need to hear about Itzel’s murder or th
eir crime spree together prior to her death. Or his revenge. All she needed to know was the story of their love.
Liana asked, “What happened to her?”
“She was prematurely taken from this world.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Itzel is a very beautiful name. Where was she from?”
“She was of Mayan heritage. We met in the Yucatan. That’s the culture from which her name originates. It means ‘Rainbow Goddess.’ The first time I saw her she wore a rainbow-colored dress with little fringy things at the bottom and looked exactly as her name implied. She possessed a radiant beauty that I found utterly captivating. I was only seventeen or eighteen at the time. I spent some time in her village and got to know her and her family. The two of us had an instant connection. She spoke a little English, and I spoke a little more Spanish. But we didn’t need words to communicate. There was this strange electricity between us. One where she knew what I was thinking, and I knew what she was thinking. The only thing close to that connection I’ve experienced over the years is when my brother and I are fighting side-by-side.”
“She sounds amazing. I’m sorry you lost her.”
“You keep saying that, but there’s really nothing for you to be sorry about. Events played out exactly as they were meant to. We can’t change the past, and I’m not one to do much contemplation of those circumstances over which I have no control. They are gone from this world, and there’s not a single thing I can do to change that.
“They?”
“Yes, I didn’t find out until later, after she was gone, but Itzel was pregnant with my child.”
Liana’s hand covered her mouth, and her eyes grew wide and wet. Realizing that he was also on the verge of tears at the raw memory, he decided it was perhaps time to change the subject. “Well, regardless, it was all a long time ago, in another life. I suppose in many ways it was a very different person from myself who loved and lost the Rainbow Goddess. I do know this. She was the only woman I’ve ever loved, or at the very least, the only one who’s ever loved me back. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Sometimes, I have trouble where I think that I’m saying something in my head, but I’m actually saying it out loud. Let’s move on with the—”
