Jill’s in there, he thinks. And pretty soon, we’re going to get her out.
And she’s going to be okay, he reassures himself. Everything’s going to work out fine.
To take his mind off his daughter, G.W. mulls over his own predicament. I’ve killed a man, he thinks. Maybe I should have taken Karnaga’s advice and left the country immediately. But I couldn’t leave, not with Jill still in danger. And I think Karnaga knew that. From what he said, once this operation is over, they’ll release a sanitized version of the incident: The official story will be that the prisoner was shot while trying to escape.
And who will ever know the difference?
Karnaga and his men won’t talk. So that just leaves two witnesses to worry about.
The girl will talk, of course. The first chance she gets, Anna Q’Bara will blab the whole sordid story to anyone who will listen.
Or will she? Maybe she’ll be so ashamed that she ratted out her comrades that she’ll keep her mouth shut and go along with the official version. Or maybe she’ll be afraid of what the remaining Red October people would do to her if they learned the truth.
And even if she does talk, who would believe her?
Which leaves, of course, Stan Kennedy. I wish I’d have had more time to talk to him, to explain what I did and why I did it. To make him understand.
Although he didn’t seem to be in an especially understanding mood.
But although Stan might have been inclined to tell his story to the press if the police had killed their prisoner, I don’t believe he’d want to get me in that kind of trouble. He might not feel very kindly toward me right now, but we go back a long ways, and I can’t imagine that he’d want to see me spend the rest of my life rotting away in some squalid little jail cell halfway around the world.
I just don’t think that he could do that to me. If for no other reason than he wouldn’t want to deprive his goddaughter of a father.
Our friendship may be over, but there’s been too much water under the bridge for him to turn his back on me now.
Which is, of course, exactly what Karnaga was counting on.
The commander’s communicator crackles again, and he whispers a terse response. “Soon,” he says, nodding contentedly, more to himself than to G.W. His eyes brighten with anticipation. “Everything is ready.” Raising the binoculars to his eyes, he scans the house. “Everything is ready.”
G.W. greets the news with a mixture of relief and heightened anxiety.
Thank God, he thinks. Finally, something’s going to happen. Anything’s better than this lying around and waiting and waiting and waiting…
But what if something goes wrong? What if a fight breaks out? What if one of Karnaga’s men shoots Jill by accident?
What if one of the terrorists shoots her on purpose?
What if they’ve already…
He shakes his head to banish the train of thought. I’m not going to think about that, he decides. It’ll make me crazy. I’ve got enough real things to worry about without making shit up.
Still, I sure as hell wish that I knew just what was going on in that house right now, right at this very second…
5.3.5: Aqevina
The soft edges of the dots and streaks on the wall grow harder. The blurred patterns become increasingly distinct.
At first, Sunshine thinks that she’s looking at smudges of dirt. But after a while, she realizes that the smudges are moving, ever so slowly, like constellations in a lazy summer sky.
And then she understands: It’s getting light out. The sun’s coming up. And now that she’s paying attention, she sees that a few rays are squeezing through small holes and cracks in the boards that cover the window, creating a miniature light show on the far wall.
It’s a new day, she thinks.
At the ashram, they would all be gathered in the meeting room. Nathan would be leading them in a chant and in the ceremonial movements of the traditional Greeting to the Sun. But the ashram was gone, reduced to charred timbers and piles of ashes. And Nathan… well, for me, Sunshine thinks, Nathan’s gone too, destroyed just as surely as if he himself had burned to the ground.
This new day finds her a prisoner, captured and abused by forces more terrifying than any she had ever imagined. But this isn’t really anything new, she thinks. I’ve really been a prisoner all my life. First my parents. Then Nathan.
Not that I can really hold any of them responsible. I have no one to blame. Nobody ever forced me to do anything. Nobody ever held a gun to my head. If I was a prisoner, then I was my own jailer. I built my own cell, and I lived in it willingly.
And now, she thinks, this abominable creature has done unimaginably disgusting things to my body. But my mind is still my own.
And so, in a strange way, for the first time in my life, I’m free. I’m doing what I want to do. I’m sacrificing myself for Jill – but I’m not doing it because she wants me to do it, I’m doing it because it’s what I want to do.
And that makes all the difference in the world.
5.3.6: Aqevina
To Jillian, the difference is of little consequence.
It’s been several hours since Sunshine enticed Sammy out of the room. For perhaps an hour, Jillian had sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the door, as if expecting it to re-open at any moment. Then, with a sigh, she had eased herself down on the bed. And now she’s lying on her back with her head on the pillow, her hands clasped neatly just above her waist, her legs together, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
The candle flickers, sputters, and dies. Jillian doesn’t react at all, she just keeps staring up at the dark ceiling, her eyes wide. And even as a soft light begins to filter into the room, she does not stir, not so much as a twitch. She just lies there, as quiet as a corpse.
But even though her body is so still that it might as well be paralyzed, her mind is a riot of thought, a babble of incoherent images that are racing through her brain like a carnival ride gone crazy.
As far as Jillian is concerned, she’s not a prisoner in a lonely room thousands of miles from home…
…she’s in a race, running furiously, but everything is wrong, her legs are as heavy as lead, and the other runners are pushing and shoving her, pummeling her to the ground…
…now she’s walking through the trees, Sunshine by her side, desperately trying to find her way back to her house, but she’s confused, and she can’t find the path, and the branches keep snapping, stinging her arms, and the brambles rip at her legs with their spiny thorns, and she’s crying with frustration, but Sunshine is laughing – laughing! – her face a cruel mask of demonic pleasure…
…and now she’s back in the ashram, she’s peering through the door into the meeting room, bodies are intertwined everywhere, and the door swings open, and she tries to run away, but she seems to be glued to the floor, and now they’re leading her into the midst of the pile of bodies, writhing like snakes, and she’s so incredibly sluggish, so helpless, and they’re tearing at her clothes, stripping her naked, their lecherous faces a mass of unholy terrors, spittle oozing from their sneering lips as they drag her down…
…and then finally she is running, but it’s not a race, she’s running through the streets of Old Sataru, but this time she’s not being greeted by indifferent stares, this time everyone’s trying to catch her, to trip her up as she runs by, they’re grabbing at her arms as she speeds past, and she knows why, they’re after her body, they all share that one single-minded purpose, and even Sunshine, running right behind her, is not so much running with her as chasing her, just like the rest of them, but she’s faster than the others, faster even than Jillian, as impossible as that is, and she’s getting closer and closer, her breath hot and wet like a mad dog in angry pursuit…
5.3.7: Aqevina
Akaso Siko inhales with a loud snort.
You sound just like the pig that you are, Sunshine thinks. She props herself up on her elbows and looks at him as he lies on his back, his
mouth half open, his raspy breath a noisy buzz-saw drone. How could I have ever thought that he was even remotely good looking? she wonders. Now that it’s getting lighter, I can see how grotesque he really is.
How could he have done that to me, she thinks, anger suddenly flooding her in hot waves. She shudders. Sticking that filthy gun into me like that. How could any human being be so revolting? I’d like to take that gun and…
That gun…
…Oh my god it’s right there lying on the floor next to his hand…
She sits up with a gasp as a jolt of adrenaline careens wildly through her veins. Her heart pounds. Her eyes widen. Her breath grows short.
The gun. The instrument of her revenge. Right there, on the floor. So close. So inviting. It seems to sparkle, beckoning to her with a sudden glint of cold steel.
She’s sitting by Akaso’s right side. The gun rests on the other side of his sleeping form, close to – but not touching – his left hand. I could just reach over him and grab it, she thinks. But I might brush him. He might wake up. So she eases herself up onto her hands and knees. Slowly, painfully slowly, she crawls around him.
For several long minutes, she sits on her haunches and stares down at the revolver where it lies nestled in the carpet. Can I really do it? she wonders. He deserves it. But can I do it?
Timidly, she reaches for the pistol and strokes it lightly, just to see what it feels like. It’s hard and slightly cool to the touch. Gingerly, her eyes fixed intently on Akaso’s face, she picks it up, cradling it carefully in both hands, as if it were precious crystal. Akaso, snoring loudly, does not stir.
There’s only one bullet in it, she remembers. Maybe I should open it up and make sure that the bullet’s in the right place to fire when I press the trigger. But what if I can’t figure it out? Even worse – what if the bullet falls out while I’m playing with it?
And what if opening it up makes too much noise? Like that clicking sound it made when he spun it. Would that be loud enough to wake him? Or maybe just opening it won’t make any noise at all. Let’s see – did it make any noise when he opened it to take the bullets out…
The bullets! Where did he put the other bullets?
But even if I find the rest of the bullets, I’ll have to figure out how to open the gun, insert the bullets, and close it up again. And I’ll have to do all of that without waking him. Because if he wakes up while I’m playing with his gun…
No, I’ll just have to try it with just the bullet that’s already in there. But I will have to spin it – because if it’s still in the same position, we’ve already established that there’s no bullet ready to fire. She shudders as she remembers her stark terror when Akaso pulled the trigger. A wave of nausea sweeps over her, and she nearly swoons.
But maybe the bullets advance when you pull the trigger so that the next one’s in firing position. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? In the old Westerns, they just keep pulling the trigger and one bullet fires after another, they don’t have to spin anything. I hope that guns don’t only work like that in the movies.
But what about pulling the hammer back? Will the gun fire if I don’t do that? Will that single click wake him up? Well, if there’s even a chance that it might wake him, I need to be holding the gun, ready to fire, before I do it. But where? She glances down his body to where his flaccid, uncircumcised penis lies limply on his scrotum like an elongated egg. Well, that would be poetic justice, she thinks. Let him know what it feels like. Bang! Blow his balls off.
Shifting the gun to her right hand, she tentatively begins to stretch out her arm toward his genitals. Suddenly, Akaso stretches and lets out an incredibly loud snort. Startled, Sunshine jerks – and, to her horror, she feels the gun slip from her fingers. Clutching at it frantically, she succeeds only in swatting it in the air. Missing Akaso’s body by mere inches, it thumps to the floor near his right side, where Sunshine was lying just a few minutes ago.
She gasps and nearly screams. Both of her hands fly to her face in terror. But Akaso snores on, oblivious. Oh my God, she thinks, that was so close. It almost hit him. Maybe I should just forget about it…
Like I ‘just forgot about’ Billy? Let Akaso get away with it too?
No way. Not this time.
Crawling back around to where the gun now lies on the carpet, she carefully retrieves it and grasps it firmly in both hands. As if to test her grip, Akaso snorts again, even louder than before. But this time, although she’s every bit as startled, her grip on the revolver remains firm.
Don’t try to be too clever, she tells herself. Forget about this ‘poetic justice’ stuff. Just one quick shot to the head. Get it over with.
But I’m so close to him. He’ll hear it when I pull back the hammer. He’ll wake up. He’ll be furious. He’ll…
What will he do?
What can he do to me that’s worse than what he’s already done?
I know. I’ll move away just a little bit so there’ll be less of a chance of waking him. But I’ll stay close enough so that I can shoot him if he wakes up and tries to move. And then if he doesn’t wake up, I’ll get even closer…
Rising to her feet, she holds the pistol in both hands and points it at Akaso’s head, the end of the barrel no more than two feet from the tip of his nose. Her hands shake. The gun wavers. Concentrating grimly, she tries to steady the gun by sheer force of will – but regardless of her efforts, her hands continue to quaver.
It’s no use, she thinks. I have to get closer. From this range, even if the bullet is in position to fire, I could still miss him. And wouldn’t that be a disaster.
Straddling him, she sinks slowly to her knees, being careful to support her weight on her legs so that she will not press against his chest. Holding the gun with both hands, as firmly as she can, she presses the business end of the barrel against Akaso’s cheek, just below his right eye. Blissfully unaware, Akaso snores on.
And then he snorts once more and shifts his position ever so slightly.
Alarmed, she draws back her arms sharply.
She takes a deep breath.
I was ready, she thinks. I was really ready. I was ready to pull the trigger. I was ready to become a murderer. I was ready to splatter his brains all over the floor.
Stop it. Stop thinking about it. He deserves to die. He killed that reporter, and he kidnapped us, and he did that… that disgusting thing to me. And if I hadn’t acted quickly, he would have done it to Jill. And if I think about it too much, I won’t do it at all. This time, she thinks, this time I’ll do it.
And she’s about to press the gun against Akaso’s face where it had rested moments earlier, but his mouth is wide open, and it looks so inviting…
Carefully, she slides the slim barrel between Akaso’s spread lips. Although her shaking is much less pronounced than it had been earlier, her hands are still unsteady. The hard steel chatters once, lightly, against his teeth. Miraculously, he does not awaken.
Gripping the gun tightly with her right hand, her index finger resting lightly on the trigger, she uses her left hand to pull back the hammer. It clicks into place with a hollow snap that seems to reverberate off the walls.
Akaso’s eyes pop open. Wide. Then wider.
Pull the trigger, she thinks. Pull it now. Get it over with.
But nothing happens. Her finger simply refuses to tighten any farther on the trigger.
It’s no use, she thinks, miserably. I can’t do it.
And at that moment, Sunshine knows, beyond any doubt, that she’s defeated.
Akaso will reach up and pull her hand away, and he’ll meet with little resistance. Or maybe he’ll simply turn his head and dislodge the gun that she holds between his lips.
Their eyes meet and lock. Their bodies are motionless. Frozen. She’s holding the gun with both hands, which surprises her, because she has no memory of grabbing it with her left hand after she pulled back the hammer. She’s squeezing it so tightly that her knuckles have turned white.
&n
bsp; His eyes burn into hers like hot coals. They flash first with surprise, then with confusion, and finally with rage. Raw, undiluted, screaming fury. You lied to me, his eyes accuse, narrowing to slits. You betrayed me.
And then inexplicably, his eyes soften. He raises a hand, holding his index finger in front of her eyes, as if he were pointing at the ceiling. As if, perhaps, he wants her to look up. Then he lets his arm drop back down by his side. And then he waits.
For a moment, Sunshine is baffled. But then, in a flash, she knows. One. One finger. There’s one bullet in the gun. He’ll let her pull the trigger just one time.
She has one chance.
He’s still playing his sick game. Or, from his point of view, he’s still affirming his faith. God wants him to live. He has nothing to fear. In fact, to show fear would be much more than a simple act of cowardice, it would be clear evidence of his lack of conviction. It would be a betrayal of his own being.
Although it’s hard to tell with the barrel of a gun stuck into his mouth, Sunshine has the unnerving feeling that Akaso is grinning at her. Go ahead, he seems to be saying. Go ahead, pull the trigger. It will only prove to you that I am right, that God has sent me here on a holy mission.
Go ahead, do your worst to me. Then we’ll see what I can do to you.
“You bastard,” she whispers, her voice quaking with anger. “You lousy bastard.”
Suddenly, it becomes important to Sunshine that she be able to break that smug shell, to make Akaso feel the same kind of panic that he had made her feel, to experience some of the pain that he had inflicted on her. It isn’t enough that he dies. He has to suffer. If only for an instant, he has to suffer, just as he made her suffer.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says softly. “But you’re wrong.”
Akaso stares back at her, wary but unshaken.
“You think that there’s only one bullet in the gun,” she mocks. “But I loaded all of the bullets back into the gun. So you don’t have a chance. You’re going to die.”
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