Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  The hammer clicks. Akaso’s head fails to explode. He smiles triumphantly.

  Sunshine covers her face to hide the disappointment that fills her eyes. When she looks up, his eyes are blazing. He seems to have grown, as if his self-induced brush with death has somehow caused him to swell.

  She smiles unsteadily. The sudden dramatic release of tension causes her to tremble. But Akaso appears to be calm. His eyes bore into her.

  “Stand up,” he commands, hoarsely. There’s an unmistakable sense of urgency, of new-found purpose, in his voice.

  Sunshine stands. She can feel raw power emanating from him in waves. The balance has shifted. Somehow, he is in control. Suddenly, she’s helpless, frightened.

  Akaso smiles, but there’s not even the slightest trace of humor in it.

  “Take off your clothes,” he says.

  5.3.3: Aqevina

  And finally Sunshine understands, in some visceral way, that Akaso has used his perilous ritual as an aphrodisiac.

  He has challenged death, his ultimate rival, and he has emerged victorious.

  Now he will claim his prize.

  Slowly, with no fuss, Sunshine pulls her shirt over her head. For the first time in her life, she feels embarrassed by her nakedness. She wishes that she had worn some kind of undergarment, anything to delay the exposing of her flesh by even a few seconds.

  She finds that she’s unable to tear her eyes away from his as they devour her hungrily. There’s not even a hint of tenderness, of humanity, in his eyes. They’re so unfeeling. So hard. So cold.

  Although it’s quite warm in the small room, even stuffy, she shivers. She feels her nipples stiffen, and she grimaces as she realizes that Akaso is certain to mistake her sudden chill for sexual arousal.

  As she wriggles out of her pants she wishes that they weren’t quite so tight. Surely he will find her writhing provocative. He probably thinks I’m doing it on purpose, she suspects, exaggerating my movements just to excite him.

  When she’s totally naked, she can’t figure out what to do with her arms. They feel awkward dangling limply by her side. She places her hands on her hips, her weight on one foot, but that feels posed and artificial. She thinks about crossing them in front of her, but she guesses that Akaso wouldn’t want anything to obstruct his view of her breasts. So she drops her arms back to her side and stands stiffly, almost at attention, as if she’s poised for his inspection.

  “Lie down,” he says, and his voice has a new edge to it, an unnerving meanness that slices the remains of her faltering confidence to shreds. Confused, she looks around uncertainly. “On the floor,” he demands. As if there were anyplace else, she thinks.

  This will be over in a minute, Sunshine tells herself as she eases down onto the carpet. It won’t be so bad. He’ll do his thing, he’ll have his fun, I’ll moan a couple of times for his benefit, I’ll tell him what a wonderful lover he is, he’ll roll off me and go to sleep. Like I told Jill: I’ve been with other men that I haven’t been particularly fond of, and it hasn’t killed me.

  So why do I feel so distressed? Why have I suddenly broken out into a cold sweat?

  And then he’s kneeling beside her, and she feels his rough hands high on her legs, and she closes her eyes so she won’t have to watch. Don’t think about how it feels, she tells herself. Think about how you’re going to react. I’ve got to make him think I’m enjoying this. And that’s going to be a real challenge.

  And then she feels him rubbing her between her legs, and he’s long and hard… too hard…

  She opens her eyes and lifts her head. He’s… he’s…

  He’s rubbing the gun between her legs! He’s stroking her with the cold steel, parting her coarse hair with the long barrel, pressing it against her…

  Only a Herculean effort prevents the scream from escaping her lips. Dropping her head back onto the floor, she closes her eyes, grits her teeth. The pig! she thinks. The sick, demented pig!

  How can he do this to me? What’s the matter with him? Does he actually find this sexually stimulating? Does he think that I do?

  stop thinking about it try to relax act like you’re enjoying it…

  HOW CAN HE DO THIS TO ME?

  take it easy it will all be over soon think of something else anything else…

  NO! BY GOD, NO! I WON’T LET HIM TREAT ME LIKE THIS! I WON’T STAND FOR IT! I’LL… I’LL…

  i’ll just lie here and pretend that i’m someplace else and i’ll remember that if he weren’t doing this to me he’d be doing it to jill the sick twisted disgusting little…

  Oh, no…

  Oh, please, no. This can’t be happening.

  He’s trying to stick it inside me. Oh, God. Oh, it can’t be. But that’s what he’s doing. Now I am going to scream. I’m going to be sick. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to vomit. I’m going to strangle every ounce of breath out of his vile little body and I’m going to stomp on his head and…

  oh dear god he’s got it in me he’s got that disgusting filthy gun inside me i can’t take it i can’t take it i can’t…

  “This will seal our bond,” Akaso says in a low, reverent whisper. “Now you, too, will know what it means to look death in the face. It is the sweetest ecstasy there is.”

  And then she knows. Her eyes fly open. Her lips part in a soundless scream.

  oh my god he’s spinning the cylinder…

  HE’S GOING TO PULL THE TRIGGER WITH THE GUN INSIDE ME HE’S GOING TO KILL ME THE BULLET’S GOING TO RIP ME APART…

  She closes her eyes. The room is deathly still. For maybe the first time in her life Sunshine says a quick prayer, and her first-ever request of God is: Please, God, let me die quickly. Don’t let it be painful. Let it kill me, instantly. Let it be over.

  Akaso pulls back the hammer. The click shatters the fragile silence.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he says, soothingly. “God let me live as a sign that you and I are meant to work together. He will let you live as well. It is his plan. I know this. You have nothing to fear.”

  Her heart pounds, faster and faster. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Her heartbeat fills the room, nearly drowning out his voice. Blood courses through her temples, which throb so violently that she’s sure that they’re going to burst.

  Ever so gently, Akaso’s finger tightens on the trigger.

  And the hammer falls.

  And then, Sunshine does scream, a piercing shriek that fills the small room with the purest terror.

  And then, silence, blessed silence.

  “You see?” Akaso coos. “I told you that you had nothing to fear.”

  oh my god it’s over the gun didn’t go off i’m still alive i prayed for death but i’m still alive…

  “How do you feel?” Akaso asks, breathlessly. “Tell me what you feel at this precise moment. You must share it with me.”

  I feel, she thinks, a hatred more pure than I ever imagined I could feel. I feel happy to be alive – because if I were dead, I would never be able to take my revenge on you. And you will pay for this. Somehow, I will make you regret the day you ever thought of this insane, twisted act.

  “I’m alive,” she whispers. “I’m alive. Thank God.”

  But what good will revenge do? Nothing will ever erase this horrible moment. It will haunt me forever, no matter what I do. Revenge only perpetuates the cycle of violence, as Nathan would say.

  Nathan.

  It’s because of Nathan that this is happening. He’ll pay for this too, I swear he’ll live to regret this. As God is my witness.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” Akaso says. He’s breathing heavily. “It is so… so exciting, so life-affirming, this cheating of death. And the first time is the most pleasurable, the most intense. How I envy you.”

  You talk about it, Sunshine thinks, like it’s sex. And in your deranged little mind, maybe it is.

  As if to confirm Sunshine’s analysis, Akaso stretches out on top of her and roughly enters her. Caught off guard by the suddenness of h
is movement, Sunshine at first thinks that he’s thrust the gun into her once more, and she nearly screams again. And her realization of what’s actually happening comes as only a minor relief. Her stomach churns, and she’s afraid that she’s going to be violently ill.

  He’s hard as a rock, she thinks. He actually does find his perverted little game to be sexually stimulating. It’s probably the only way he can get it up. The sick little bastard.

  And the toughest part is trying to act as though she’s enjoying it. But after a few seconds, he buries his face in her shoulder, and at least she no longer had to worry that he might notice her facial contortions and discern her true feelings.

  She keeps telling herself to relax, that it’s not so bad. It’s just sex, she reminds herself. Not under ideal conditions, to be sure. But it won’t kill me, and it’ll be over soon.

  But a burning anger is growing inside her. And every time he moans with pleasure it fans the flames of her resentment and frustration all the more, until her nostrils flare and her eyes spit fire like lightning bolts.

  And suddenly, she’s back in the field, and it’s Billy Barton who’s on top of her, it’s Billy who’s grunting and moaning as he takes his pleasure, his piggish eyes glaring down at her, his lips twisted in a maniacal grin as he cruelly abuses her, devoid of any feeling, not human at all, but an animal, a hellish beast.

  And something seems to let go inside her head, some kind of restraint snaps so cleanly that the sound echoes through her brain. And then her rage knows no bounds, no limits. If she had a knife she would plunge it deep into Akaso’s back without hesitation, without remorse, because Akaso is no longer just himself, he’s… he’s…

  …he’s Billy Barton who raped her AND SHE DID NOTHING ABOUT IT!

  …and he’s Nathan, whom she had followed blindly, without reservation, and who rewarded her faithfulness with this abomination.

  …and he’s her father, who took her without any concern for how she felt about it, and she had been scared AND HE DIDN’T GIVE A DAMN!

  … and he was every man who had ever assumed that she was his to do with as he pleased, every man who had dared to presume that he could take her body with no consideration for her soul.

  …and Akaso groans loudly and he shudders and he calls out in his native tongue, and she feels his wetness squirting inside her, and she wants to shove him with all her strength and shout GET OFF ME! GET YOUR FILTH OUT OF ME!… and she bites her lip so hard that it bleeds because that’s the only way she can be sure that she won’t scream…

  …and then Akaso sighs and collapses limply on top of her. And then he rolls off, muttering softly, contentedly, to himself. And then he grows silent, and his breathing grows slower and more regular…

  And Sunshine lies on her back, her legs spread wide on the carpet, unmoving, exactly as he left her, as if she still bears his weight.

  Her brain is a riot of deadly thoughts.

  Her face is soaked by a steady flood of tears that she simply cannot stanch.

  No matter how long she lies there.

  No matter how hard she tries.

  5.3.4: Aqevina

  “It’s so dark in there.” G.W. squints to see if that will help sharpen his view through the eyepieces. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

  “It is dark because there is no electricity in the house,” Karnaga whispers back. He retrieves his binoculars and adjusts them to his vision. “The house has been deserted for many years. They may be using lanterns or candles, which we may not be able to see because the windows are boarded. Or perhaps they are all asleep. They are not expecting any trouble.”

  “But how can you be sure that this is the right house?” G.W. persists. “What if the girl gave us a bum steer? I mean – right here in Aqevina! Shit, the house I’m staying in can’t be more than a couple of miles from here.”

  “We have spotted a van in the rear of the house that matches the description of the vehicle used in the abduction. I have every reason to believe that your daughter and her friend are in the house.” Karnaga pauses, then continues. “However,” he admits, “you are correct in saying that Aqevina is an unlikely place for them to have chosen. We were concentrating our search activities in the poorer areas, not in the wealthy suburbs. Which, of course, is precisely why they selected this location.”

  G.W. squints again, as if by narrowing his eyes he might be able to see Jillian through the walls of the structure, which itself is barely visible in the first, dim glow of morning light. Ethereal wisps of mist rise from the foliage, hanging ghost-like over the tall grass. Off to one side he can hear a low rustling of men moving carefully through the underbrush. A lone cicada buzzes briefly, then is quiet, its hum fading into the steady drone that floats languidly through the sultry air. Crickets, G.W. thinks. Just like back home in Dallas.

  It’s like being on a hunting trip, he muses. We’re lying in the bushes, stretched out by the lake, waiting for the ducks to fly by.

  But this time, our quarry doesn’t fly.

  And this time, it shoots back.

  “What are we waiting for?” he whispers, impatiently.

  “Are you in a hurry, Mr. Kendal?” Karnaga shoots back, clearly annoyed. “You have an appointment somewhere, perhaps?”

  “Don’t give me any shit, Karnaga,” G.W. growls. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “There is nothing going on. We are waiting for more light. And even then, we are not in a hurry. The terrorists are not going anywhere,” Karnaga points out, dryly.

  I guess not, G.W. thinks. Hell, there must be a thousand men surrounding the house, and they’re toting a stockpile of weapons that looks healthy enough to overrun a small country.

  “How are you going to make sure that the girls aren’t hurt when you storm the house?”

  “Mr. Kendal…”

  “Please, Commander. I’m sorry. But I’m worried about my daughter. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Karnaga sighs, his expression suggesting that he’s having second thoughts about the wisdom of allowing G.W. to accompany him. But G.W. had been insistent: Hell, he had said, after what I’ve done, I’ve earned the goddamn right to see this thing through to the end. And everything was moving so desperately quickly – poring over the maps, loading the trucks and the helicopters, ensuring that the press was preoccupied – that Karnaga had finally agreed, just to get G.W. off his back.

  “First of all,” Karnaga says, “we hope not to have to ‘storm the house,’ as you put it. In another half-hour or so, when the light is better, we will call to them through the loudspeakers and order them to surrender.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I am quite serious, Mr. Kendal.”

  “But you’ll lose your advantage. The element of surprise. They’re probably all asleep. And they’ll never surrender, not these Red October people.”

  “Not at first, certainly. They will swagger and bluster for several hours to prove to themselves how brave they are. But once they accept the obvious fact that their situation is hopeless, they will begin to negotiate in earnest. I have seen it happen before. Many times.”

  “If all you’re going to do is talk to them,” G.W. says, pouncing on an apparent inconsistency, “why are you waiting for it to get light out? You can talk just as well in the dark, can’t you?”

  “Mr. Kendal, this is becoming extremely tiresome…”

  “Oh, come off it, Commander. You don’t have a goddamn thing else to do. You’re just lying around here and waiting, just like everybody else. You might as well shoot the shit with me. Help pass the time.”

  Karnaga tenses, then relaxes. The corners of his mouth turn up in the barest ghost of a smile. “I suppose that you are right,” he admits. “The waiting is certainly the hardest part of an operation like this. It seems interminable sometimes. It is very difficult to be patient.” He looks at G.W. sternly. “You are aware, of course, that were it not f
or the hostages we would not even consider negotiating with the terrorists.”

  G.W. is chilled by the reproach in Karnaga’s voice. If it wasn’t for your troublesome daughter, he seems to be saying, we’d be kicking ass already. And I wouldn’t be lying here in the grass talking to you.

  “But to answer your question,” Karnaga continues, “we wait for the light because we cannot predict how the terrorists will react to our presence. There is always the chance that they may feel obliged to fight. If any shots are fired, we will launch an all-out attack immediately. And if there is to be fighting, it is important that we be able to see as clearly as possible.”

  “But if you attack the house, aren’t you putting the girls in danger?”

  “To be sure.” Karnaga shrugs. “But their lives are in danger as long as they remain in the house. And if there is gunfire, we must assume that their lives are in even greater danger. In a situation such as this, my men have standing orders to attack at the sound of a single gunshot, without awaiting any further instructions from their superiors.”

  “Jesus.” G.W. shivers. In spite of the warmth of the sticky morning air, the dampness is giving him a chill. Or maybe it’s the thought of Jill getting caught in a crossfire that’s making his skin crawl. “I sure hope that none of your men get trigger-happy. What if one of them fires a shot just to get something started?”

  Karnaga glares at G.W. “My men,” he says, “are much too disciplined and professional to commit such a blunder. It is only amateurs, such as yourself, who would be so foolish. Which is, of course,” he points out, “why you are not armed.”

  And so they wait in the gathering light, G.W. worrying and fidgeting, Karnaga so relaxed that, at one point, G.W. thinks that he actually may have fallen asleep.

  The sun seems to be rising directly behind him, revealing more details of the house with every passing minute. He’s staring at a long, gray wall, its four windows are covered with what looks like sheets of plywood crisscrossed by lattices of thin boards. A gutter hangs down from the roof, one end resting on the ground. The chimney is tilted at an odd angle, leading G.W. to wonder whether it’s succumbing to the slow process of falling over or if it was built that way as some kind of design statement.