by Sean Platt
But that wasn’t Boricio.
The man gathered his composure, then leaned down from the chair, lifted Boricio’s shirt, then dug the knife’s tip into his skin, starting at the shoulder and dragging it all the way down, nearly to his wrist.
Blood soaked the carpet as Boricio screamed, inside. Outside, he stayed silent, chewing his lip and vowing on mute that he would end the man in the most painful way his minutes allowed; splitting all 20 of his digits wide, peeling them back to shred tendon from bone, blooming pain and making sure the fucker felt raw hairs of torment with every flay.
“I’ve had a lot of time since you took Amber from me,” he said. “I’ve spent most of it searching for you, and when I wasn’t looking, I was dreaming of the day I’d finally find you. And I’m a man who likes research. Once upon a time I was a cop, now I’m a writer. I research what I don’t know. I get online and sift through mediocrity until I find the meaty stuff. If I’m writing about a city, I make sure I know everything about that burg, from who has the best chili-dogs to the layout of its award winning parks, before typing the first word on that first paragraph. If I’m writing about a mechanic, I make sure I know all there is to know about the Dodge Charger sitting on blocks in his driveway. If, however, I’m not writing, but say, looking to find someone deserving of torture, I make sure I know all there is to know about various torments and agonies, enough to elongate the pain and suffering, misery and anguish, so I can keep a fucker like you in purgatory, just long enough to get you begging for hell.”
“That’s so purty, I think I might weep,” Boricio said, daring to push him.
Time is not on ole Boricio’s side.
“You won’t be brave once I start showing you what I can do,” the man said, ignoring Boricio. “You’ll be screaming.”
“Well, Señor Sorrow, I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. I’m sure you’re a smart enough Officer Friendly to keep yourself from getting caught, despite the blood on the rug, but I start screaming and you’re trapped. You’ll hit traffic on PCH, soon as you leave the lot.”
“You won’t be screaming for more than a second.”
Boricio smiled, liking Señor Sorrow in spite of himself. “What’s with all the bullshit? Why not just kill me? You want me dead, why not just slice me up and get it over with, then run off into the night and cut your own wrists so you can join your daughter and the two of you can ever-after together?”
Señor Sorrow started to cry.
“Because,” he said, tears spilling from each eye and slopping down both sides of his face. “I want to know why. I have to know why you did what you did to Amber; I have to know why you took my daughter away!”
Boricio fell uncharacteristically quiet, doing what he rarely did — thinking about what he would say before it spewed from his mouth. He’d rather die than plead, but Boricio would rather live than die, and truth was, he felt for the guy, Señor Sorrow or not. Boricio could see the man’s grief in a way he never could’ve before, on the old world, or this one before his visit to that one; he could see things in a way he never had prior to Luca’s fixing. Boricio wanted to slip out of the danger, but he also wanted to explain things to the man, and maybe, he realized, to himself.
When Boricio finally spoke, he met the grieving father’s eyes and held them, staring into his anguish, owning it in a way that made his heart beat faster, his throat go drier, and covered his palms in a thin slick of sweat.
“Evil isn’t action, man. It’s a point of view. It’s perspective. God kills, so do His hunters. We’re random, indiscriminate. We take rich and poor, pretty or not. I was a different man when I met your daughter, and right this second I’m sorry about that, truly. I’m still a hunter to the bone, but now I’m more selective. I see evil and purge it, using my need to scrub the world one shit-stained tile at a time. But I didn’t do that with your daughter, because she wasn’t bad, and I didn’t know this version of me. I can’t give you a reason why I did what I did, but I won’t insult you by saying I didn’t do it, and I won’t beg you to spare me. Use that knife how you want to, the way your hand’s itching to start carving, then soon enough you’ll be no different than me. See, you’re already a hunter, that’s why you’re here, that’s how you found me, but you’re not a predator until I’m dead. So decide, Señor Sorrow, how much hell you want to live with for the rest of your life.”
Boricio braced himself, having no idea whether the man would go through with what he could do without blinking.
His face was wet, his hair sweaty, hands shaking with doubt. Then, Señor Sorrow found his resolve. Determined, he kneeled to Boricio, grabbed him by a thick clump of hair, yanking his head back with his left hand, and drawing the blade with his right.
“Any last words?”
Boricio had plenty, but before he could get a single one out, the door clicked with a key card, then opened to Rose.
She gasped, and froze.
Señor Sorrow dropped Boricio’s head and leapt for his gun. Before Rose could move he had the barrel aimed at her heart.
“Get in here,” he said.
Rose stepped inside and closed the door behind her, pale as she entered, as if already scared or bothered or upset by something that had nothing to do with the Tarantino going down in the room. Now she had piled terrified atop her pallor, body shaking and eyes bloodshot, skin so pale Boricio thought she seemed nearly see-through.
He wanted to comfort her, reach out and touch her, he wanted to tell Rose that everything would be fine if she could just trust him. But he didn’t say a word, not wanting Señor Sorrow to know he could wound Boricio without touching him.
He looked from Boricio to Rose and back, several times, calculating, knowing what Boricio didn’t say.
Still aiming his barrel at Rose, he sat and growled, “An eye for an eye. Now it looks like I have four.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
::Episode 24::
(SIXTH EPISODE OF SEASON FOUR)
“By Any Other Name”
Forty-Two
Luca Harding
“What do you mean you’ve been waiting for me?” Luca asked, stepping back from the weird naked man sitting cross-legged in front of him.
Roman didn’t stand or try to stop Luca from leaving. “I was a friend of Will’s. He told me in my dreams that you’d be coming.”
“Will?” Luca tasted the name and its familiar confusion. “Who is Will? I dreamed about him, but don’t know who he is.”
The man’s head turned sideways, as if struggling for recall. “You don’t remember Will?”
Luca shook his head, “Only from my dreams. Who is he?”
“He’s an old friend of mine. Gone now. But he came back long enough to show himself in my dreams; he wanted to let me know you were coming, that you were pure, and that I could trust you. So … can I, Luca? Can I trust you?”
Luca was more confused than ever, not understanding what Roman meant about “pure.” But as the question of trust settled, Luca started to vigorously nod. He had always prided himself on his ability to stick to his word. If Luca said something, he meant it, and always did as he said.
“Yes, Sir, you can trust me.” A slight pause, then, “But trust me for what?”
“To be a custodian, Luca.”
“What’s that? Is that like Mr. Randall at school?”
Roman laughed, shaking his head, “Not that kind of custodian. No, Luca, this is much, much different. You’ve been chosen as a guardian, a protector. This is a huge responsibility, and if I’m being honest, you look … young.”
“I’m 10!” Luca said, wanting responsibility, understood or not.
“Will said you’ve been touched by The Light.”
“The Light?” Luca asked.
“Yes, some of us have been touched by The Light. Will was. I was. A few of our friends from back in the day were. We’ve all been chosen. For a long time I didn’t know why or what for. I thought I was cursed. But now … now I see the blessing.”<
br />
“I’m confused, Sir, but OK.”
Luca felt certain that the crazy-looking man was in fact crazy. He remembered once when he was 6, walking with his family on the boardwalk after getting ice cream at Moosy’s. A weird, dirty-looking guy approached them and started saying wacky things about how the government was using mind control rays and adding stuff to our water. For a moment, Luca thought the man might hurt them, but his dad handled the situation, talking to the guy in the same voice he used when trying to talk Luca down from a tantrum, and using some of the same words, until they got away without having to fight. He dreamed of the crazy guy for months after it happened. Roman reminded Luca a lot of that man. Though he wasn’t making any threats, Luca thought the old guy might turn violent at any moment. He decided to follow his father’s example by using the “no-more-tantrum” voice and saying whatever was needed to find his way home.
Roman looked Luca up and down, “Are you pure?”
Luca tried to keep his fear from showing. As long as the guy stayed seated on the ground, Luca figured he was OK. If he stood, Luca might have to run.
“Yes,” Luca said, though he still didn’t know what the man meant by pure. “Can you tell me how to get back home?”
“The Light will return you,” Roman said.
“Good,” Luca said, hoping the man was right about that much, if nothing else.
Roman pointed at a spot in front of Luca where the sand piled slightly higher.
“They’re in there,” Roman said. “Dig them up.”
Luca dropped to his knees and started scooping sand from his body, not sure what was buried. He had so many questions:
Is this a dream?
How did we get here?
Why are you covered in poop?
But Luca dared not a word. He wanted to get whatever the man had to give him, then go home. Luca didn’t even care if the police were waiting. Anything was better than getting baked in the desert.
Luca’s hand found something hard in the sand, about a foot down. He swept grains aside until he could pry the object free. He pulled it from the ground and saw it was a black, metal box of some sort, about the size of the final Harry Potter book. It felt cold and weird on Luca’s fingers, more so once he realized it was vibrating.
“Weird,” he said, staring at the box. Luca looked closer, wondering if it was, in fact, a box, or some sort of meaningless metal rectangle, empty inside. It had weight, maybe like a bag of apples, but Luca couldn’t feel anything shifting inside. The box looked both new and somehow ancient, with no hinges, buttons, or clasps. Naked: black metal, smoother than anything he’d ever touched.
Pure.
“What is it?” Luca asked.
“That is The Light. Which you must protect.”
“Protect from what?”
Roman leaned closer to Luca and whispered his next words as if volume might invite nightmares. “The Darkness.”
Luca’s mind flashed on something, dark and ropey, moving fast, and gaining speed as it spilled across the streets of his hometown. He couldn’t tell if it was another one of his growing number of unexplainable memories, a dream, or just his imagination working to unknot the old man’s whispered words.
“How do I open it?” Luca asked.
“Put your palms on the top and bottom. It will do the rest,” Roman said. His face was pinched with wonder, waiting for Luca to open the box.
Luca placed his palms on what seemed to be the top and bottom, and felt the box vibrate, tickling his hands and wrist. Luca laughed. The box clicked and opened onto his palms like a book.
Inside the box, Luca stared at six glass tubes on the right side, inserted into a sticky looking blue strip of what looked like wet plastic. Each of the vials was filled with glowing, bright-blue liquid. Its glow lit his skin and, to Luca’s shock, eased the blisters from burning to gone.
“Wow,” Luca said, watching his knitting flesh repairing the sun damage. “What are these?”
“Vials of The Light. Notice: Six are missing.”
On the left side was a similar strip, but dried and gray. Luca saw spots for another six vials. “Where did they go?”
“I realized early on that I could never keep them all to myself. It was too dangerous. So I gave them to people I could trust, people who promised to never open them unless something bad happened in the world.”
“Bad?” Luca asked.
“Just … something bad I’ve been dreaming for a long time.”
Luca felt warm in a wave through his body, erasing the sun’s damage. He said, “This is amazing.”
“Isn’t it?” Roman laughed. “We’ve been blessed.”
Luca asked, “But why are you giving these to me?”
“Because I can’t open them. I’m tainted, not pure. Will said if I open them, bad things will happen. Very bad things. So it has to be you, Luca. You have to save the world.”
“Save the world? From what?”
“The Darkness is here, Luca. It’s been spreading. People going crazy, murdering one another. War, famine, chaos, it’s about to get so much worse.”
Luca was done with Roman’s crazy talk, and wanted to find a polite way to thank him, then find his way home.
“How do I get back?” Luca asked. Direct was best, while the man was still in such a good mood.
“You will … ” Roman stopped talking. He held a hand to his ear.
“Wait … do you hear that?”
“What?” Luca asked, hearing nothing but wind getting angry outside.
Roman stood and moved with surprising speed toward the igloo’s exit. “Who are you?” he asked to something outside.
A chill through Luca made him think that one of the things he had bumped into earlier had followed him. He closed the black box, clutching it tight as he stepped from the igloo. Dog Vader was outside, growling at Roman.
Roman put his hands in front of Luca. “Be careful, he’s evil.”
“No,” Luca explained, walking past Roman’s outstretched hand toward Dog Vader. “He’s my friend, Dog Vader. He’s a talking dog.”
Dog Vader looked up at Luca, and stopped growling, as Luca stroked him between his ears.
“You brought him here?” Roman yelled, angry. “You brought the evil here?”
He ducked back inside the igloo.
“Come on,” Dog Vader said to Luca, nodding toward a large, glowing, purple rectangle; a door of light sprouting from the ground just yards away. “It’s a portal, to get home.”
Luca smiled, glad to see a way home, but feeling bad because Roman got scared off by Dog Vader. He called into the igloo, “Hey, Mister. You can come home with us. Dog Vader found a way back.”
“Is that so?” Roman said, crawling back out of the igloo. His left hand was behind his back as he stared at Luca, crazy-eyed.
Luca started to step back, nervous, wondering what Roman was hiding behind his back.
The crazy, old man walked faster, quickly closing the distance between them. Dog Vader growled, stepping between Luca and Roman.
Roman revealed his hand, holding a pistol, aiming it at Dog Vader and fired, twice. Bullets whistled past the dog and slapped the dirt.
Luca was confused, his heart pounding in his chest, fear coursing through him, telling him to run.
Dog Vader turned and growled, “Run, Luca!”
Roman raised his gun and aimed it at Luca. “Stop!”
Dog Vader barked louder, viciously snapping at the man, and rising his rear as if he was about to jump Roman at any moment.
Roman laughed, ignoring Dog Vader. He said, “You’re not real,” then stepped through the dog and fired a shot past Luca.
“Give it back, Kid!”
“Run, Luca!” Dog Vader yelled.
It was impossible for Luca to reach the portal, unless Roman was a horrible shot. He had to return the box. As Luca turned, about to hand the box to Roman, Dog Vader yelled, “Don’t give it to him. He’s evil. Run, Luca!”
�
�Shut up!” Roman screamed back, firing a shot at the ghost dog.
Dog Vader rattled his body, like he was trying shaking water from a soaking coat. Luca stared, confused, watching as his fur darkened, then sloughed off in fluffs, floating at first, then gathering around the dog in a tiny tornado of fur. The fur multiplied, spreading upward, spinning a 12 foot by 12 foot wall between Luca and Roman.
Dog Vader, whom Luca could no longer see through the black tufts of swirling fur, called out, “Run, Luca!”
Luca ran to the portal, clutching the box tight in his fingers as Roman screamed, “Come back!” firing shots.
Luca reached the portal and was about to step through when he felt an eruption of agony, starting in his left shoulder and shooting through his entire back.
I’m shot!
He tumbled forward, inches from the portal’s shimmer. The pain was so intense, Luca couldn’t move. He wanted only to fall. But he dared not stop. Roman would keep shooting until he finished the job.
“Go!” Dog Vader screamed.
Luca forced himself to focus on moving forward, despite the pain. He fell to his knees, and heard more gunshots erupting behind him.
“Go! Go! He’s coming!” Dog Vader screamed.
Luca somehow pushed himself in a crawl toward the purple light. As it bathed his skin, Luca’s flesh began to ripple.
Keep moving! Into the light!
Luca continued crawling until the purple consumed him.
Forty-Three
Edward Keenan
Ed was preparing to leave Manhattan in a stolen Camry when he saw the black vans barreling toward Brent Foster’s street. He tried telling himself they were heading to Stan’s, following up on what happened with their fallen agents, but even if that was true, they’d still hit Brent’s next.
