The Last Inferno

by Michael Cross

  “I am sorry, Ezra,” he says softly. “I am sorrier than you will ever know.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not going to bring any of them back, is it?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  We sit in silence for several long moments, and I soak in the warmth radiating off the fire. I turn and look at the fireplace as a log pops, sending a shower of sparks drifting upward.

  “So how does this end, son?”

  “You don’t get to call me that,” I say. “You lost that right a long fucking time ago.”

  “Like it or not, you are my son,” he points out. “And regardless of everything that’s happened, there is still a place for you by my side, Ezra.”

  “I am not your son. As far as I’m concerned, I’m an orphan. Been that way for a long time,” I snap. “And I would rather eat a bullet myself than sit by your side.”

  His shoulders slump slightly, and he seems to deflate right in front of me. He actually looks like he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes. He gives me a tight smile and looks saddened. Slightly remorseful. It’s almost as if some last shred of humanity exists within him and is trying to emerge. But it’s too late. Far too late.

  “Then how does this end, Ezra?”

  “I want to hear you say it,” I order him. “I want to hear you admit what you did.”

  “Fine. I put out the burn notice on you. I gave the order that resulted in the death of your wife and child,” he says. “I’m sorry Ez—”

  I fire three rounds in quick succession. All three hit their mark, punching into his stomach in a tight grouping. His glass falls to the ground and shatters, spraying small shards everywhere with a high-pitched tinkle. It reminds me of the sound of crystal windchimes stirring in a light breeze.

  His eyes are wide as he looks at me, but strangely, I see what looks like peace in them. As if he’s suddenly been unburdened. Like a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders. I sit across from the man who’d helped give me life. The man that, at one time, I called my father. But I feel no peace. Only the catharsis of revenge. I watch the blood flow from his wounds, and the light in his eyes starts to dim. His breath quickens, and his skin starts to grow waxy and pale.

  “Was it worth it?” I ask. “Was what you gained with the Hellfire Club worth everything you lost?”

  A small grin tugs a corner of his mouth upward. “Yes. Yes it was,” he says, his voice hoarse and ragged. “And the work we’re doing will continue long after I’m gone.”

  “I guess we’ll see about that.”

  “This is much bigger than just me,” he gasps. “I may be gone, but somebody else will take my place.”

  His voice is growing weaker. Breathier. I watch as a thick rivulet of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and drips down onto the collar of his blue shirt, staining it crimson.

  I know there are a million things I should be feeling right now. Some violent mix of different emotions should be colliding inside of me. I should be feeling triumph. Vindication. Satisfaction. Hatred. Remorse. Guilt.

  Something.

  Instead, I feel nothing but numb. It’s a coldness that starts in the center of my gut and spreads through every corner of my body. I get to my feet and look down at the man. I see the faces of all those I’ve lost. All I feel is hollowed out. Empty. I see them flash through my mind, but that cold numbness is all-consuming.

  I glance over at the fireplace and watch the flames dancing and writhing. Reaching down, I pull the grate aside and use the tools to grab a flaming log. I drop it into the chair I’d just vacated, then grab another and use it to light a tapestry that hangs on the wall. I grab several more flaming chunks of wood and toss them into flammable areas.

  I stand back and watch as the flames catch. The living room starts to burn. I watch the flames licking their way up the walls. Watch as the fabric on the chairs and sofa start to burn. And then I look at the man in the chair. He’s staring back at me, his eyes sparkling in the light of the flames. He sputters and gasps, his lips moving as he tries to speak, but no words come out. Nothing but a choked, wet, gurgling noise.

  “Goodbye.”

  I turn and leave his brownstone the way I came in, escaping the house the way I used to all those years ago, one final time. By the time I’m out on the street and am heading toward my car, I can see the flames glowing behind the curtains in the living room. I see that warm glow behind the windows on the second floor and know it won’t be long before the whole building is engulfed.

  I make it to my car, get in, and drive away, never looking back once.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I wake up to the light streaming through a gap in the curtains. I fumble for my watch on the nightstand and look at it in shock. It’s ten-thirty in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I slept this late. More than that, I can’t remember the last time I got such a good night’s sleep. For the first time in a long time, I wake up feeling refreshed.

  And yet, there’s still a knot of darkness inside of me. A heaviness in my chest and a pressure that weighs down on me. I thought that after what I did last night, I’d feel some semblance of peace. Some sense of closure.

  I avenged the murder of my wife and child. I found the man responsible and exacted my revenge. I thought it might help fill this gaping chasm in the center of me.

  But I don’t feel any of those things. All I feel right now is exhausted. I feel like I’ve been hollowed out. There’s no trace of satisfaction. No hint of closure. And no sense of peace.

  Maybe those will come in time. Maybe all of the feelings of grief and fond nostalgia will return one day. But right now, I just feel— empty. Numb.

  My phone chimes with the loud, high pitched sound of a new text message. I open it up and see that the message is from Justice. It’s a link to an article on the death of Logan Cheever, Deputy Director of the CIA. The article goes on to detail a late-night blazing house fire that claimed the lives of Director Cheever and his security detail, all of whom are believed to have succumbed to the effects of smoke inhalation.

  A wry grin flickers across my lips as I read the glowing tribute to the man I put three bullets in last night. It’s a fluff piece honoring a dedicated civil servant who made many sacrifices for his country. It’s an interesting bit of fiction if nothing else.

  I’m just about to put the phone down when I get another text from Justice. It’s a link to another article, and when I click on it, I have to read the headline a couple of times before it fully sinks in: Sudden Upsurge Of Cartel Violence, Second DEA Chief In Weeks Murdered.

  I read the piece quickly and learn that the bullet-riddled bodies of DEA Chief Molly Wilcox and her security detail were found in a shallow ditch just outside of Tucson. The article goes on to speculate about recent violent upheavals in the cartel due to the deaths of Wilcox and McGregor. The article calls it a revenge killing for an operation that killed former cartel boss Javier Vargas. Like the article on my now-dead father, it’s filled with fluff and a ton of glowing platitudes about her service and dedication to the country.

  The footnote to the story is that Temperance’s replacement has already been installed. No doubt somebody more loyal to the Tower and somebody able to bend the cartel to his will.

  I send Justice a quick message back just so she knows I’m alive and well and doesn’t worry the way she does. All the while, all I can think about is Nisha. I wonder if she pulled the trigger herself. I wonder if she was even there at all. Knowing what I know of her leads me to believe that she was at least there at the end with her friend. She may not have pulled the trigger herself, but I really doubt she would have let Temperance die out there in the desert all alone, at the hands of strangers.

  I know she’s going to take this hard. She’s going to be dealing with some heavy thoughts and emotions for a while. And she’s going to need somebody to talk to. Somebody to lean on. She’s going to need somebody who can just sit there quietly and be there when she needs to talk, needs somebody
to listen.

  As for me, I need to get the hell out of town. The Hellfire Club will be in disarray for a minute. Taking my father out has to be a big blow to them. But they’ll get their feet under them again quickly. And I don’t want to be anywhere near their center of power when they do. I’m sure I’m going to be number one on their list of suspects, so I don’t plan on making things easy for them.

  I quickly pack the few things I have out and zip up my bag, taking one last sweep around the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Satisfied that I’m good to go, I take my bag out to my car and toss it in the trunk. I turn and lean against the car, staring up at the sky for a long moment, letting my thoughts churn.

  It’s strange to me that I’ve spent all this time and worked as hard as I have to find out who I really am. To uncover those missing details of my past, thinking they would somehow make me whole. But it seems the only thing recovering my past and my memories have done is leave me feeling emptier than when I started this madness.

  I think back to watching the flames starting to consume my father’s house. The house I once called home. Fire can be destructive, laying waste to everything in its path. But it can also be cleansing. Healing. It can burn down the old to make way for the new. And I think that’s the apt metaphor for my life.

  I know my past, have my memories, and remember everything about my life, from the start to where I am now. That opaque wall in my mind has been shattered and lies in ruins. I remember all of the good as well as the bad. I know who I am now, though I think it’s more accurate to say I know who I was. I know everything about how my life used to be.

  I am no longer that person. And that is no longer my life. Everything that made me who I am is gone. Everybody who filled my life with the joy I once knew is also gone. The fire, searing and destructive, swept in and laid waste to everything I once knew, swept in and destroyed everything that was good about my life.

  But the fire has now cleansed me. It has cleansed my life. It has allowed me to burn down those few remaining things from that past existence, destroying those things that were bad about my life. The things that held me back. The memories— and the people— that soured my existence and brought misery to my world.

  Now I am free. I am a blank canvas. I am scorched ground that has been purified and is waiting for new growth. I know the past will always be there. It will always remain with me. But it will remain beneath what I choose to let grow over it. So the question is, what will that new growth look like? What will I plant and nurture? What will I allow to grow? Will I continue to work for the Tower? Or will I strike out and create a new path for myself?

  I don’t know right now. I don’t need to decide this instant. I can afford to take some time to think about it.

  I climb into the car and start the engine. As I let it idle, I pick up my phone and key in a quick text message: On my way. Have that drink ready.

  Then I hit send. I don’t know what’s next for me personally, but I do know that I can be there for Nisha, who is going to need somebody.

  Putting the car in gear, I pull out of the lot, and it’s not long before I’m on the highway, heading out of DC. I point my car west and look in the rearview mirror as I drive away from my old life. A life that is gone forever, destroyed by the fire.

  Ezra Kingston is dead and gone forever as well, the final victim of my power-mad father. My old life and my old name are dead. From now on, my name is Echo…

  Author’s Note

  Hi there,

  Thank you for reading The Last Inferno, book 6 in my debut series, I hope you enjoyed it.

  I want to continue bringing these fast-paced action novels for you to devour.

  However, I need your help!

  It would mean the world to me if you can please leave me a review so that others can find and enjoy this book as well.

  Additionally, if you haven’t read the prequel to this book, you can click here to grab your free copy of Burn Notice.

  If you want to connect with me or found any errors in the book you want me to fix, feel free to email me at Michael@MCrossBooks.com

  Warm regards,

  Michael Cross

  Keep An Eye Out For Echo’s next adventure!

  Also by Michael Cross

  Book One - Amnesia

  Book Two - Web Of Lies

  Book Three - Without A Trace

  Book Four - Mission Of Mayhem

  Book Five - The Tower

  Book Six - Last Inferno