by Peter Fang
Maria was surprised by the queen’s offer. Why would she let me go all of a sudden? She could not go back to her old self and pretend that nothing happened. Nothing would ever be the same again.
“No, Queen, I would like to serve you,” Maria replied.
The queen hissed, “Thank you, my girl, thank you. It is very tough to find blood children these days. Your old parasite will come out soon, so I’ll have to replace it with a new one. I can’t just take it out now by force, or it could cause nerve damage. It will come up soon enough on its own as it dies.”
Maria finally realized that the queen was testing her and never had intended to let her walk free. If she left then, she would have died without the parasite. She was now with the queen for as long as she lived.
“You are a perfect child, Maria. So many before you have taken the offer. I needed to know if you wanted to stay. I don’t need another runaway serving me again. If you run, you die.”
A block away from his apartment, Ansen texted a message to an unknown number to signal he was outside, then wiped the handset with his shirt to remove any fingerprints and threw the stolen phone into a gurgling storm drain. He went back to the nearby Starbucks and unwrapped Joey’s leash and started walking down the street. He tried to think about everything except Maria’s face. This time I got too close; there won’t be a next time. He felt his heart racing, a surge of emotions suddenly resurfacing and filling his eyes with tears. Damn it! Ansen stopped walking, paused, took a deep breath, and then started to walk again. He felt a tug on the leash and saw Joey backtracking home.
“Stop, Joey!” Ansen ordered sternly, but Joey didn’t stop on his command. Ansen reached out to grab Joey, and the snapped at his hand. Shocked, the reflex to the sudden pain was to let go of the leash. Joey started to run back to the apartment, but a delivery truck blocked the sidewalk.
Joey made a swift turn and started to run across the street. He’s going back to the apartment! Ansen realized. Got to stop him. Ansen started to run after Joey, but Joey was too fast. He darted across the street, barely missing the oncoming traffic. A yellow cab screeched to a halt; the cab driver poked his head out and cursed at Joey and Ansen.
Ansen desperately tried to catch Joey, but Joey had already turned the corner. Ansen was a regular jogger, so he thought he was able to keep his pace and tried to find a shortcut to intercept the dog, but today he felt lightheaded. He had to stop halfway to catch his breath, but he started to cough violently––one of the coughs made his lungs hurt; he didn’t have time to stop and think, but it still shocked him. There was a shortcut he could take that would intercept Joey around the other side of the alley. He turned and started to run as fast as he could into the alley, with his lungs burning to a new level of pain. When he reached near the other side, he heard a car blaring its horn, followed by the long screech of tires sliding against the road.
Ansen noticed a car was behind him, approaching slowly. He stepped to the side to let the car pass him, but instead of slowing down, the car sped up and angled for Ansen against the wall. Ansen leaped forward and avoided the crash just in time as he fell to the ground. He stood up, ready to curse at the driver when he realized that it was a van with tinted windows. The sliding door cranked open with one swift action, and several men in masks leaped out. One of the men grabbed Ansen by the collar with tremendous force and slammed him against the wall. Ansen heard the side of his head hitting against the rough surface. His vision blurred, and he tried to fight off the man that was still holding on to his shirt. The man’s gruff voice thundered, “Stay still, or it will hurt even more.” He yanked Ansen’s slender body away from the wall and slammed him against it once more to subdue him. Ansen vaguely saw the man make a fist with his other hand and threw an arc with his arm towards his face. Ansen instinctively ducked his head; the fist grazed his left temple and hit the concrete wall.
“Fuck!” the large man yelled in pain, but his left hand held on to Ansen's shirt and didn’t let go. He pulled Ansen's body away from the wall and threw him against the van. “Get inside, you mother fucker!”
Another man locked his fists on Ansen’s collar and tried to pull him into the van.
Ansen regained a moment of clarity and knew that the situation was not going to go well for him if he gets inside the van. He stomped on the man’s foot as hard as he could.
The big man cried in pain and lost his grip.
Ansen turned and punched the other man’s groin, then started to run.
Two other men caught up with him; one man put a stranglehold around his neck, and the other guy came around and punched him hard in his gut.
Ansen struggled to get free, but he couldn’t.
A menacing tall man approached Ansen and hit him across his head and knocked him unconscious.
“Shit, we should have waxed him on the spot.” The guy who had been stomped on wobbled back into the van.
The big man that was holding Ansen replied in a raspy voice, “No, this is a clean job, boss’s orders. We need to take him to the cleaner’s place. You can then have your way with him.”
“What? Our driver just tried to pancake him against the wall and you are telling me this is a cleaner’s job? Now my fucking foot is broken.”
The big man didn’t reply. He ignored the pain that was crying out from his right hand––now soaked in blood from both his injury and from Ansen’s broken nose. He dragged Ansen’s limp body back to the van and threw him into the landing spot. Two other men hopped into the van and dragged Ansen’s body inside. The big man looked around the alley to make sure there were no eyewitnesses. He looked to the left, then to the right. The twilight was settling in, replacing the azure sky with a hue of subdued violet and red. The alley had no street lights nearby; its pitch-black throat resembled a hungry dragon’s wide-open jaws, ready to swallow anyone. The large man’s hulking body was about to board the van when he heard a growling sound.
“Quite, everyone! Did you hear that?” The large man raised his index finger to get everyone’s attention in the van. He then looked around behind him to locate the sound’s source. Right behind him, there was a dark shadow. It looked like a dog, but something was different about the beast. Those eyes. It was staring right back at him and they were bright red, like two fireballs—reflective even without a light source.
“What the f—” Before the big man could finish his sentence, the fireballs disappeared, and he saw a large shadow covering him. What followed was a blur. He watched in slow motion as his chest was getting shredded by something that looked like jaws full of teeth; it happened so fast that he did not even have time to acknowledge the pain. He heard a muffled silencer go off and then the dull thud of the bullets hitting the shadow on top of him. The shadow shifted its weight on the man’s chest and then leaped into the van, starting to attack the people inside. The men screamed in terror as the beast shredded the bodies like paper.
The driver of the van tried to escape, but the door was jammed. He reached for the shotgun on the passenger’s seat, turned around, and pulled the trigger on the beast, but nothing happened. The gun was empty. He frantically looked for the shotgun shells, then remembered he had a sidearm with him. He pulled his pistol out but only made it halfway before the hellhound sank its large fangs into his arms. The man screamed in pain, but his voice was cut short when the beast ripped his vocal cords out. Two large rounds rang out, and the 35 magnum’s bullets went through the beast’s skull and shattered the side window.
Ansen recognized the beast was wearing Joey’s tags and collar, but it was no longer a dog––it was something demonic with long fangs that were too large to be canine, and paws with long talons. Ansen still couldn’t sit up, but was slowly starting to regain consciousness. His eardrums were ringing, but he could hear the large man behind him struggle to get up while grunting in pain. He then heard the man dial a number with his phone, and seconds later he heard him talking.
“This is Ronan…ugh….no….we were attacked by a
dog…a thing…no…not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him; just get help…check the GPS for my locale. Get here now!” He then grunted and dropped the phone.
Ansen could hear a person on the other side of the phone saying something, half talking and half yelling. He struggled to turn his body sideways to face the big man behind him. That’s when he saw himself staring down the barrel of a handgun. The large man pulled the trigger, but the gun misfired.
“Fuck!” The large man tried to eject the stuck bullet from the chamber, but he was too injured to slide the frame.
Ansen kicked the man in the face.
The man dropped the gun but caught Ansen’s right foot. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger.
Ansen tried to sit up, but a corpse was lying on top of him––what a heavy bastard. Ansen pushed the body with all of his strength while avoiding the dagger.
The man swung the dagger at Ansen’s leg but missed, gutting the van’s carpet. He struggled to right himself and checked himself for injuries. He touched his chest and saw blood oozing out of his clothes where he pressed. He winced and grunted from the pain, and coughed violently; more blood spewed from his mouth, but the mask on his face was suffocating him. He pulled the mask off and looked at Ansen with his crazy, darting eyes.
“You!” The man’s large frame slammed down onto Ansen's body and he sunk the dagger into Ansen's left shoulder.
Ansen cringed in pain but drove his right thumb into the large man’s left eye socket as hard as he could, crushing the eyeball into a pulp.
The large man screamed and let go of the dagger.
Ansen pulled the dagger out from his shoulder and swung at the man’s temple.
The large man’s body twitched violently before it slumped forward onto Ansen.
“Enough fucking bodies on top of me already!” Ansen grunted as he pushed and shoved the burly body away. He saw Joey’s still body next to his.
“Joey!” He put his hands over Joey’s head, caressing him. Joey was no longer the beast before.
“Why save me? Did you know I set everything up? And Maria…” Ansen suddenly realized he did not want Maria to die. And the fact that Mr. Reed was going to take him out only strengthened his decision. His watch showed that the assassin must be on his way to the apartment. He looked at Joey again and saw him lightly wagging his tail until it wagged no longer. He grabbed two handguns from the van, checked the magazines, and pulled himself out of the bloody pile of mess. He righted himself up slowly and felt a dizzy spell coming on, but he knew there was no time to waste, so he started walking along the wall. He stopped several times to regain his strength, and he used the meditation techniques he had learned to refocus his mind. Besides a broken nose and a stab wound, he was still functional. He walked briskly back to his apartment. The van would soon be cleaned up by Mr. Reed’s man, or shit would hit the fan if the police got to the scene first. Knowing Mr. Reed, he had only about a five-minute head start before they would alert the assassin. He reoriented himself outside of the alley, then ran as fast as he could.
Three blocks away, Maria rose from her bed. She felt Joey’s last breath—a wave of emotions flooded her consciousness, and it came with a warning. Maria was expecting visitors, but she was surprised the warning came from Joey: leave the house, now.
Maria closed her eyes and experienced Joey’s last moments. There was a frozen image of Ansen looking down at him––his face shocked and distraught at the same time. It sent a chill up Maria’s spine.
Something tickled her throat, and she knew the parasite inside of her had lay an egg, but the parasite is dying.
“My Queen, I can’t change now!”
“It will be okay; we have time,” the queen said calmly.
Maria needed to hide somewhere to change. She gagged violently and felt claws prying open her mouth. She forced her mouth close and ran to the kitchen and took out a chef’s knife. She tried to reach the front door, but the parasite bit her tongue and her muscle tightened.
“You leave, you die. Go upstairs and hide,” the queen said. “We have a key visitor that will tell us the location of the two remaining boxes. We need his blood to know where they are.”
Maria turned, then leaped upstairs and ran into the master bathroom; then her vision narrowed.
Blair drove past the apartment, saw the building number, and drove his car another block down the street. He found a lucky parking spot next to a residential house with a sweeping willow tree. Ansen told him that there were no security cameras in the building, but there was a part-time security guard on duty during the evening. It was best to check out the place before heading inside. He checked himself in the mirror, put on a baseball cap, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, then got out of the car.
He strolled back towards the apartment, but instead of straight up to the front door, he headed across the street and went inside a small coffee shop. He ordered a cappuccino, found a stool seat near the front window facing the apartment complex, and then waited. He sipped his drink while observing the building and planned several possible escape routes. There was no sign of a security guard, but he noticed security cameras on the outside of the commercial buildings around the apartment. He mentally created a route to minimize his exposure. But frankly, it meant less to him, because, after this job, he would be out of the country for a long time, maybe for good.
When he was done with his coffee, he tightened his cap, left the coffee shop, made a large loop around the corner, and headed for the apartment building once more. He dialed the number of Maria’s phone number; the line rang three times before the answering machine picked up the phone. There was a chance that Maria had already stepped out, but it was unlikely. It was more like she was screening the caller for telemarketers.
He waited for twenty minutes before approaching the front door. He pulled up a small piece of paper and punched in the written security code. An electric buzz whined from the door, and the front door’s lock opened with a clang. Once inside, Blair quickly took the stairs and avoided the elevator. As he swiftly moved upstairs, he could feel the items he brought with him jiggling about in the small backpack on his right shoulder. He held the strap closer to his shoulder and jogged upstairs. The excitement was brewing inside of him, and he was looking forward to the high from the wet job. He wanted this job to be messy, but he nevertheless had to do it quietly. The challenge of silently getting into the apartment without being noticed, then quickly overpowering his target in an intimate setting aroused him.
Blair had a copy of the front door key, but according to the instructions, Ansen should have taped the lock, so Blair would not even need to make a sound. Blair was now going through the mental exercises of how he would execute the deadly moves to end Maria’s life. Every job has its bonuses. The bonus for Blair was seeing the surprised look on his victims’ faces; the sudden shock, followed by some sort of realization that their lives were in danger. Some would put up a fight, but none had succeeded. Some simply gave up and waited for their fate to be realized. Then there was the final gasp for air, and the life in their eyes dimmed out as he finished his job. Those moments were made for memories. Some of those in his profession got burnt out from seeing people’s lives getting snuffed out. You would soon find out what you were made of––whether you had the stomach to see it through. He enjoyed those moments. To him, those were the moments he felt were magic––they made him feel truly alive.
Finally, Blair was on the fifth floor. He slowly cracked open the exit door and looked inside the hallway. It was empty. He quickly moved to the front door of number 56B. He listened inside and didn’t hear any TV going. Before going inside the apartment, he shut off his cell phone. It was time to power down and go dark.
Ansen noted in his memo that Maria was most likely upstairs in bed reading. Blair pictured her in the bed wearing a gown as he reached the floor. Quietly, he reached the front door and leaned against it to crack it open a narrow slit. He used his fingers to keep the
door’s lock from springing open, so he opened it silently and effortlessly. He moved his slender frame deftly into the living room without a sound, then sat down behind a couch and took out the Glock from his backpack. The pistol had a silencer and an integrated laser sight. He sat and listened for movements or footsteps upstairs, but nothing came. He moved close to the sofa and stood up slowly against the wall and next to the curtain, so slowly that if someone were downstairs, they would not have heard him. He waited for another minute before moving into the kitchen. He lined up his gun and waited for a target ahead of him as he entered the room.
The kitchen was dark as hell, except for a night light near the counter and the ambient light coming from the living room’s ceiling. He finished his sweep downstairs and found no signs of Maria. She must be upstairs, as Ansen mentioned. There was a slight disappointment from Blair’s barely audible sigh. He was hoping that Maria was downstairs, so he could make the intruder/robbery gone bad scenario more interesting. Now he had to go upstairs and confront Maria. He cleared his mind and visualized the bedroom layout and imagined where Maria was in bed, and then he raised his gun and went up the stairs. The door was shut. Damn. Opening the door was not a big deal, but this one surely would make a sound. The master bedroom also had a lock, and Blair could tell by the tension on the doorknob that the lock was indeed engaged. The doorknob had no keyhole, so there was no way to peek inside the room.
He knelt down along the bottom of the door and tried his luck, hoping to see a foot or something that could give him an idea where Maria was. Then he heard the faint sound of a shower running. A cold smile spread across his face. That was a chance for him to open the bedroom door. He took out a needle from a small toolbox inside his pocket and pushed the pin into the keyhole until the lock pushed open. The door lock made a crisp pop as it disengaged. Blair stood back and aimed his gun at the door, waiting. But no one came out to check. He inched closer and put his hand on the doorknob, slowly twisting it, and pushed the door open. His aiming arm first greeted the room and he quickly pointed at the bed, but the bed was empty. He could hear the shower’s noise louder now, and the glass door getting shut.