Til Death Do Us Part

by Leonard Petracci

  “I’m sure you are,” she said, spinning away again and pressing an intercom button next to the jacuzzi.

  “Miss?” came the answer from the pilot.

  “I desire to be away at once,” she said. “I can’t stand another minute on this dreadful island.”

  “As you wish. Clearing for flight.”

  The engines roared to life, and the water in the jacuzzi sloshed, some of it running over the edge. Lingston reached for her as they rolled down the runway, kissing her again, his lip still bloody. As the plane started to tilt upward and ascend, his hands descended under the water, and Karen started to squirm again.

  "I wouldn't do that," I said, stepping from where I had been hiding in the plane’s bathroom closet, a pistol in my right hand trained on Lingston. He froze, and Karen inched away to the edge of the jacuzzi, climbed out, and slipped on a towel.

  "Move," I started, keeping the gun aimed at him, "and you're dead."

  "Was this all a ruse, then?" asked Lingston. “Or are you simply trying to steal her from me?”

  “As if you ever had a chance,” spat Karen.

  "Then a way to take my precious painting from me, I’m assuming." He leaned back in the jacuzzi, and raised his martini to his lips. "If so, I have to inform you that your plan has failed."

  "My plans never fail," I answered, the gun still trained on him.

  "It's quite unfortunate then that the painting is a counterfeit. Did you think I would be so foolish as to bring the original onto the property of the person who came in second in the auction? So if you’re after my painting, then you're out of luck. Should you release me when we arrive on the mainland, I assure you that I will not press charges. But should you attempt any more of this foolishness, I will hunt each of you down, and I will show you my wrath for several cycles to come."

  "That would be the logical conclusion," I said.

  "Then perhaps you should have thought it through if you had a shred of intelligence in that skull."

  "But you never let me finish, Lingston. I was never after your painting. I was after you."

  "Ah, is this for a ransom then? No amount of money will be worth the torture you'll face when I find you."

  "I'm not after a ransom, Lingston."

  "Then what are you after, fool? And who are you?"

  "We've met, you know. Long ago, Lingston. You thought you’d done me in. You thought you’d killed me forever. Well, you didn't—I lived."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Perhaps this will refresh your memory," I said, and I threw his painting into the jacuzzi. Bubbling in the water, the face stared upward. And Lingston's mouth opened as he stared at the four dark figures reflected in the face's eyes.

  "That's right, Lingston. I'm here for revenge."

  "If it is you," Lingston said through his teeth, "you took your sweet time, Jamil."

  Chapter 46

  I still remember the day of my betrayal. Even after all this time, after the years turned to decades, and the decades to centuries, it's still fresh in my mind. Perhaps fresher than any other memory.

  I had been in the map room, coordinating the chiseling of a new country's borders, when my friend had approached. The man who had helped me build the council. The man who had shared my initial dream.

  "Jamil," Lingston said to me, rushing into the room, "Jamil, we have a problem. An urgent issue requiring your attention at the border. King Ramses has ridden out to meet you, and has set up camp for the night as his horses rest. He claims to have seen the truth in your words, and he's interested in hearing how you might change his government likewise. But the other members of the council have heard of his arrival, and ride out to him as we speak. Those that wish to keep the old ways and to sway his mind."

  "Prepare the horses at once!" I shouted. Ramses was a key player on the council. He had been neither for nor against my new form of government. My government of the people. My government for a better life. Should he join my side, several more of the council would follow in his wake.

  “Marco,” I said to the man patching the map, so trusted that he coordinated changes in my absence, “you know how important this is to the future. Take charge until I get back.”

  “Of course,” Marco said before returning to his duty.

  The horses gallopped out of the city, Lingston and I streaking toward the border. Countries were smaller in those days, and the border was but a two-hour ride from the city gates. Ramses had set up camp where three countries came together, at the intersection of three border lines on the map. They converged in the mountains, and as the range grew before us, the wind picked up its pace and clouds wrestled far overhead. Lightning struck in the distance as the air thickened with humidity. Should the weather worsen, we’d likely be spending the night among Ramses' men. The slopes of the mountain would be treacherous in the night, especially during a storm.

  The first raindrops came down fat and heavy, and the path quickly turned to mud as we ascended. My horse stumbled twice, but quickly recovered, edging closer and closer to Lingston's horse as it grew darker.

  "Almost there!" Lingston called back when my horse slipped a third time, and we pressed forward, the way nearly vertical, until we crested the final hump in the land.

  Ahead there were cliffs that fell far away to a valley below before sweeping upward again in another mountain. Above, the storm raged. And below, the ground was rock, with a thick red triangle painted on it, approximately one hundred feet wide.

  There was no camp.

  But at the center of the triangle there were three bodies.

  "What's the meaning of this?" I shouted to Lingston over the howling wind. "Where's Ramses?"

  But Lingston only gestured ahead, pointing at the bodies at the center of the red triangle. So I dismounted and walked forward, moving slowly across the slick stone.

  I didn't recognize them at first. There was too much blood mixed with the rain, blood from a single stab wound in each of their hearts that had poured onto the rock.

  There was my mother, Amelia, her hand still held to her chest, her eyes still wide open and staring upward.

  There was my brother, Ingis, face down and bruised, his forehead scratched from where it had fallen against stone.

  And there was Maria. Maria, my wife. My first love. Her face frozen in horror, her hair stained strawberry blonde by the blood, and her skin pale and cold.

  My fists clenched as I recognized them, and I whipped around just as the heel of a boot collided with my nose, the heel snapping the cartilage. I fell backward as Lingston stood above me, his sword unsheathed and in hand.

  "We warned you, Jamil," he shouted. "We warned you about your governments, about you upsetting the balance of power. And you didn't listen!"

  "Lingston, stop this!" I shouted back. "This is insanity. All I tried to do was create a better world!"

  "You tried to destroy ours!" he screamed. "You tried to strip us of our royalty! You deserve this for daring to think you can take what belongs to us!"

  "Deserve what? If you kill me, I'll be back. You’ve already taken my family, but they'll be back too! And when we return, we'll pick up where we left off!"

  Lingston laughed, brandishing his sword, the lightning illuminating his face.

  "That's where you're wrong! You’ve been a problem for some time now Jamil, and the council has thought long on how to remove you. And we finally found an answer.”

  He gestured to the triangle painted on the rock below.

  “This triangle, this is uncharted territory! In the map room, there’s a speck of material where the borders of the three countries come together, a speck of no man’s land added by myself. A tiny blank spot with no name. Do you understand Jamil? Anyone who dies here will not have a country to return to. Until this land is claimed, there will only be the Void!”

  At that moment, my heart faltered. It faltered not for my own fate, but for those who had already died upon that stone. For my family.
/>   “You bastard,” I whispered, raising to one knee.

  “A fine choice of last words,” he answered, and he swung his sword, the metal flashing in the lightning as it cut clean through my neck.

  Back then, back before medical advances, the line between life and death was blurred. We believed that a man died instantly from decapitation.

  In reality, the life does not flee his mind for several seconds.

  While my body slumped over, and my blood mixed with the blood of my family, my head soared high above and was carried by the wind of the storm. And while Lingston laughed over my remains, it landed at just the edge of the painted triangle, and teetered over the edge of the cliff.

  I was reborn in the country in which my head had landed. But by the time I could return to the spot where my family had died, it was too late. They had been claimed by the Void.

  Forever I’ll remember that memory. The image of Lingston’s laughing face, and four dark figures reflected in his eyes. His shining moment later immortalized in a self portrait. The Elesni.

  Chapter 47

  “I always wondered if you had survived,” Lingston said aboard the plane, “but after centuries of your absence, I assumed the Void claimed you. I grew suspicious, yes, after other members of the council started to go missing, but not enough to act. I was wrong, Jamil. You aren’t dead—you’re just a coward.”

  “Cowardly enough to stab my own friend in the back?”

  “Are you not about to?”

  “There’s a difference between betrayal and retribution.”

  “Trivialities. Fine, then. What do you plan to do with me, then, Jamil? Torture me? Unleash your millenia-old anger?”

  “That’s too good for you,” I said, restraining my finger from the gun’s trigger. If I shot him, the entire plan would collapse, and his spirit would return to the mainland. Doubtlessly, that was what he wanted—an easy escape.

  “No, I have something better planned. The last few minutes, we’ve begun a slow descent. A descent until we are just above the ocean water. And soon to be beneath us is an island. An uncharted island. Where, should you die, only the Void awaits you.”

  “Little good that will do,” chided Lingston. “If you attempt to leave me on it, with the power of the council, I’ll just declare it a part of an existing country.”

  “Ah, yes, that would work. Under typical circumstances, of course. But you’re forgetting something, Lingston. The council never voted me out of power. And as leader of the council, my word supersedes yours, and only I have the right to declare a new country on my own.”

  I glanced at my watch, checking the time. For the plan to work, I had to act at the exact moment. And only one minute remained.

  Lingston’s face tensed as he thought, reddening as blood rushed upward and he raised his voice.

  “I’ll never give you time to land then! I’ll kill myself right here, right now! And my soul will flee to the mainland.”

  Thirty seconds.

  “I thought you’d say that,” I answered. “And I’ve decided not to give you the chance. Tell me, have you ever been aboard the Ann Swann?”

  “Obviously not, and I don’t intend to return.”

  Fifteen seconds.

  “I thought you’d say that as well. If you had, you would know there is no jacuzzi aboard it. In fact, I had it specially installed. Just for you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Time.

  “Clear!” the pilot buzzed over the intercom as I felt underneath the liquor bar, where a hidden button was waiting.

  “I, Jamil, as leader of the world council, declare the island below us to be an independent state. A monarchy, ruled by you, with no powers in foreign affairs. And I name her Retribution.”

  Then I pressed the button.

  Lingston screamed as the bottom of the jacuzzi gave way, the floor folding underneath him, and the water instantly draining below. The swirling current sucked him down toward the palm trees rushing by just a few hundred yards below, evacuating him from the plane and exiling him to his new kingdom, a kingdom of one.

  Chapter 48

  “And my work is done,” I whispered, staring as the hole in the floor began to close. “For you, Maria. May you rest in peace.”

  “But our work has only just begun,” said a voice behind me, and I turned to see the barrel of another gun, one much larger than the pistol at my side, trained upon me. “If either of you move, I will fire. And the last country you set foot in was Munia. I’m sure you would hate to spend the next few cycles there.”

  The speaker’s frame was small, skinnier than naturally healthy. As he spoke, Smokestack stepped from behind him, a smirk on his face.

  “And who, exactly, would you be?” I asked, my body still. “And how the hell did you get aboard this plane?”

  “I’m the pilot,” he replied, and he jabbed a finger at Smokestack. “He couldn’t fly this plane properly if the manual was in front of him. Anyway, he and I have come to an agreement.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember you now. Dennis, if I’m correct? Go on, what’s your agreement, then?”

  “Just get the financial information from him and shoot him,” interjected Smokestack, his face suddenly strained. But Dennis had already begun to talk.

  “Initially, he agreed to half of his earnings, but then—”

  “Well, hold on now. Already we have an issue. I was willing to give a portion of my earnings to Smokestack. And that’s not Smokestack. Rather, that’s an imposter, who will get zero earnings.”

  “And what would make you say that?” countered Smokestack.

  “I grew suspicious the first time I saw you smoking Almarettos, which I know the real Smokestack hates. And then Marco did some digging. We found the real Smokestack in Carcer, who was all too happy to fill us in on how you two were born in the same town after Carcer exploded. He told us all about how you both knew each other back at the prison, then how you turned him in to impersonate him and claim his share of the winnings. Hell, we weren’t very happy with him for revealing the plan, so he’s still in Carcer—though we did bribe the guards to give him an easier time.”

  “The way I see it,” said the imposter, “is that it doesn’t matter if I’m the real or fake Smokestack, does it? We’ve got a gun on you, and you have Lingston’s financial information.”

  “We want the full share,” finished Dennis. “Not just the forty million!”

  I laughed, and Smokestack’s face paled.

  “Oh, is that what he told you?” I said to Dennis, “Forty million? Dennis, that’s pocket change. Do you really think we would plan out a lifetime of preparation for that measly amount? Think about who you’re pointing that gun at, Dennis. I’m Frederick Galvanni, the thief of the century. And I’m insulted that you think I’d chase after such a paltry prize.”

  I pointed at Smokestack as Dennis’ eyebrows raised, then continued. “His share was one billion to start, and he didn’t even offer you ten percent of that. He’s screwing you out of the deal. Using you like a pawn. Less than a pawn.”

  “Is that… Is that true?” stammered Dennis.

  “Of course not,” said the imposter. “He’s lying through his teeth.”

  And for an instant, Dennis took his eyes off me to study the imposter’s face. That second was all Karen needed.

  In case things with Lingston turned too hostile, Karen had a gun hidden in the towel rack, a mere three feet from where she had been standing frozen at the bar.

  Two shots rang out, two shots that were near impossible to miss in the confines of the jet.

  "No!" I shouted after the first shot as a red dot of blood appeared in the center of Smokestack's forehead, and I threw myself towards Dennis. My shoulder connected with his waist just as the second shot fired from Karen's gun, the bullet embedding itself into Dennis’ upper arm as the impostor Smokestack collapsed. He shouted with surprise as he fell backward, blood already staining his sleeve. Before he could r
ecover, his gun was secured in my hands.

  "Oh God," he said, his eyes widening at the sight of the bullet hole. "Oh God, I'm shot!"

  Brushing myself off, I stood, turning to face Karen.

  "He’s the pilot," I said. “Do you want to land this thing yourself?"

  "Not my fault, he started it," she said, gesturing with her gun as Dennis whimpered again. "Besides, how hard can these things really be to fly?"

  "Smokestack, well, Smokestack's impersonator couldn't do it."

  "Judging by recent events, I'd argue that there isn't much he could do. How long did you know, then? And why didn't you tell us?"

  "Since he graduated aviation school," I answered. “We anticipated him turning, but didn’t know when. Someone had to fly the plane, so we assumed that he would turn after landing, at some point later in the plan. But looks like he surprised us with a stowaway while the plane was on autopilot.” I gave Dennis a nudge between the ribs.

  “In addition, he already had been our contact with the prostitutes and was in the process of collecting the necessary evidence. At this point, he was so embedded in the plan that, if he hadn’t betrayed us, we likely would have pretended that we never knew. The fool just screwed himself out of a billion dollars.”

  “So you let him do the work, and now we split his billion?”

  “Exactly. Well, eighty percent of it. You hear that, Dennis? I’m feeling generous. If you land this plane and keep your mouth shut, you can still get twenty percent of a billion. Think about how much more that is than what Smokestack offered. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here. But if I ever hear that you let this secret go then you’ll be joining Lingston on his little island back there. Got it? Land the plane, earn two hundred million dollars, and we’ll pretend you never existed. Or else you’ll cease to exist.”

  “But my arm! I can barely move it! How am I supposed to fly?”

  “Don’t give me that shit, Dennis,” I said, reaching down to pull him up and dusting off his shirt, avoiding the blood. “You’re the best, you said so yourself. I have full faith in you.”