RESILIENCE (Resilient Saga Book 1)

by Marcia DM

  “Why…? Why!? Why!? Three years as a prisoner! Three. Fucking. Years. Dirty, sick, starving, being tortured. Wasn’t all that enough!?” She’s falling apart. For the first time in years I don’t have answers; there’s nothing else I can do right now but hold her. She hides her face in my chest. I can feel her pain. She doesn’t yell or cry, she just grieves in silence. That is how I know she’s really hurting.

  An hour goes by since we arrived. The police are already here. We are now outside in the back of an ambulance. This ambulance thing might be becoming a bit repetitive for her. The house is packed with law enforcement personnel walking all over the place, dusting for prints, taking pictures, gathering evidence from the crime scene in an attempt to recreate what happened and hopefully have a lead on who did this. But I already know who did it, and I’m sure as hell not gonna tell them. There’s another thing I know— I failed my last mission… Failed? Fucked up would be a better way to put it…

  My fist is up, the squad behind me is waiting for my call. The mission ends tonight. This is when every single one of them dies. We will drop the curtain and end this shit show once and for all. On this day Cassandra walks free and Dante will be remembered.

  My fist is still up; nobody talks, moves or breathes. We are also radio silent until we breach, but we won’t go loud with breaching charges from the start. I’ve been studying their movements for the past three years and I know that this motherfucker will come out for a smoke in just five seconds.

  …

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The dead bolt clanks and the door opens but doesn’t slide back again— just as I expected. Abdel comes out, immediately gets a cig and lights it up, takes a few steps while smoking it. I sneak behind him quickly, I cover his mouth with my hand and easily slit his throat with the other like a hot knife through butter. I kick the back of his knee and when he hits the ground I roll him over to see his face. “I hope you rot in hell, you piece of shit,” I say. His face shows pain, but he’s also confused. He’s suspicious of me; maybe my voice rang a bell. In an act of pure arrogance, I move my skull scarf down for him to see my big ass smile. He looks mad now and tries to scream but he can’t: I made sure to cut the vocal cords, so the only thing coming out of his neck is a mixture of blood and smoke. I’m standing here watching him die. I want him to look at me. I’ve waited for this moment for a long fucking time and I needed this. Now it is done.

  Somewhat satisfied, I walk over his body and go back into position, scarf back into place. I ready my fist up and then open it. Almost in the same instant I can hear breaching charges going off and bullets flying.

  Operation bird cage is a go… and I’m coming for her.

  FUCK ME! I was so invested in the mission to rescue her that I completely forgot about the little shit. Somehow he connected the dots and figured out my connection to Cas… Sarah. The cause was never a thing for him; this is not business, this is cold ass revenge, because I murdered his father with my own hands.

  Imagine the most arrogant, elitist, piece-of-shit, lousy-at-his-job man you can ever meet, and you will get a pretty good image of Detective ‘dick-for-brains’ MacArthur. Clearly, he ain’t making my ‘most respected and loved detectives of all times’ list, that’s for sure. He’s now looking at me from afar and is either wobbling his head or trying to signal me to come closer. I decide it’s the latter, but my body does not want to move. Sarah’s sitting beside me, holding the same glass of water I poured for her. Not a sip has been taken from it. He keeps gesturing me to come over, maybe because Sarah is here with me. I really don’t give a shit; if he wants to talk to me, he can walk the distance.

  He finally does it.

  “Capitan D’Amico… Can we have a word… alone, please?” He asks in his distinctive and annoying tone, which in this particular occasion also sounds nervous.

  Even though he’s a complete moron, he knows that we can’t talk about the shit that just went down here in front of her. So I stand up, only to get my arm grabbed. “Stay…” It’s all she says, while looking down.

  “Are you sure you wanna take part in this conversation?” I ask her gently.

  She looks up straight into my eyes and without a word from her mouth, I understand her screaming eyes.

  “Let’s do it right here,” I say to the detective while standing in front of him.

  “Alright. What are you doing here, D’Amico?” His voice still sounds nervous.

  “I came to play bridge. What do you fucking think?” I realize this is not the time to get this idiot aggro, so I sigh and say, “She came to my place last night to talk things through. We had dinner and right after that she got a call from her mother.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “Then her mother told her that an old friend was waiting for her back here. That made me suspicious and I decided to give her a ride instead of calling a cab.” He gulps loudly. He’s even more upset than a moment ago, I can see small drops of sweat sliding down his neck and staining his shirt. His fake tanned face is in shock, because now he knows that I’m involved and I won’t stop until I find the assailant, which means more bodies will be found, and that equals more work for him.

  “What about the agents? What do you know about them?” He asks without thinking, old habit I reckon.

  “Dead, all of them.”

  “Do you have any leads on who might have done this?” Yeah, like I will give a lead to a stupid ass detective like yourself.

  “Nope.” He knows I’m withholding information, but he can’t prove shit.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive, one hundred percent.” Asad is mine and I don’t need the police in my way or line of fire when I find the fucker. “What do you think so far?”

  “Not entirely sure what to make of it… Yet, the forensic experts at the scene tell me that every angle is covered.”

  “So, you got plenty of leads.”

  “On the contrary, every shred of evidence you’re supposed to find in a murd— case like this is missing or, to be more precise, the entire place has been wiped out completely. So, no leads. This is the work of a pro.” Of course, he’s a pro, he learned everything he knows from me.

  “Did any of the other survivors experience an attack as well?” He moves his head sideways to try and look behind and get a read on Sarah’s body language. I take a side step like an idiot to block his line of sight and he notices it.

  “She can’t stay here anymore. I won’t let her. She will stay at my place, which is a lot safer. So, you better get me some top shelf security detail to work on the perimeter twenty-four seven.”

  “Uhm… We still have tons of legal paperwork to do and then there’s Sotelo’s approval… I don’t think that idea is appropriate—”

  I interrupt him. “Appropriate? Look around, you idiot, ‘appropriate’ and ‘by the book’ got us where we are right now. Listen, this is not up to debate, you don’t have to say it was my idea, just go back to HQ, tell Sotelo about it and make this shit happen, yesterday.” He can’t believe I’m actually saying this, and he also can’t believe that he already decided it is a good fucking idea from a security viewpoint. He might also think that I fuck elephants in my basement, but I really don’t give a fuck what he thinks. The only important thing here is for Sarah to be safe. “Done deal. We’re out of here. Let me know when everything is in place.” I turn around and say, “Let’s go, Sarah.”

  He grabs my arm. “Wait, I need to ask her myself. It’s protocol. You can’t make decisions for her, you know that.” The nerve in this one. I have to focus on not breaking his nose with my forehead, so I take a deep breath and just break my arm free from him.

  “Sarah, he needs to ask you a few questions.” I say while looking back at her.

  “Miss Fitcher, I’m so sorry for your loss. I want you to know we will do everything in our power to find the one responsible.” She doesn’t say anything to that statement. He only gets a stare from her,
which makes him even more uncomfortable. He turns to look at me trying to get a tip on how to get her to talk. Of course, I cross my arms and look away. He’s not getting advice from me today. Yeah, I know, I’m a mean son of a bitch. “Capitan D’Amico offered to give you shelter until all this is over. If you accept, we will need you to sign some papers for it to happen.”

  After a couple of seconds that feel like years, he gets an answer from her. “Yes, that’s fine. Where do I sign?” Her voice sounds muffled. It reopens the void in my chest and I hate that— it’s twice its size now.

  “I’ve got the papers in my car. I’ll be right back,” MacArthur says and disappears.

  He comes back, his raincoat is drenched, but luckily for us the papers are dry. He hands over the papers and she signs them without even reading them first. She never moves from her chair.

  “Sarah, we really need to get going, it’s not safe here. At all.” I beg.

  “No, I don’t… I don’t want to leave… I don’t want to leave her here, Bruno. Not like this.” She gets a lump in her throat.

  “It’s all taken care of, I’ve already made arrangements. You don’t have to worry about the body— I mean, your mother. We have the best professionals in this house. She’s in good hands now, Sarah.” She looks at me with some sort of relief in her eyes, and then tries to stand up using me as a support while we walk towards the car.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home, Sarah, we’re going home.”

  When we get home, I stop for a second to contemplate her being in my turf again and to wish we had met under different circumstances. I hand her over the bag I had stuffed with her clothes. She takes it and waits for instructions on where to put it down.

  “Right this way,” I say and lead her towards my bedroom. Once there I say, “This is my room, and now it’s yours.” She puts the bag on the bed while looking around. “If you need to move some stuff around, just do it. I hope you find the bed comfortable enough. If not, let me know. I’m sure we can work something out.” She sits on the mattress and tests it by jumping a little. I gave her my room instead of the guest’s room for one simple reason: she’s not a guest here, but a permanent resident.

  “Thanks, it’s perfect.” This is good, talking about normal stuff. She needs all the normal she can get.

  “Good. If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, I’m right here, just a few feet away. Just call out for me. Okay?” She nods. She’s tearing up, each moment that goes by makes me feel more and more uncomfortable. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is the key to this room. I assumed you’d like to have it.” She takes it without a word. We both know she’s not going to sleep tonight. “Okay, I’d better go… Oh! One more thing. The bathroom is behind that door, should you need a bath.” She’s still not saying a word, and it’s driving me nuts. I think she really wants me out of here. I walk out without saying anything else, not that I have a choice. I really don’t know what else to say. She walks behind me and when she grabs the doorknob to close the door, I turn around and our eyes meet… That takes me back…

  “A man of your reputation doesn’t need me to say this, but I have to. I’m sure you understand. Stick to the contract and we’ll get along just fine. After that, she’s all yours to do as you please. She’s in cell ‘M,’ cellblock two,” says Abdel, one of the leaders in this jihadist terrorist organization for whom the public enemy number one is the US. Abdel is your typical middle-eastern man with a big black and silver beard. He looks at me with respect through his brown eyes, brown as the desert he probably calls home. Dressed in the usual dirty shirt that once was white, same story with the pants and his kufiyya. This last is not dirty, in fact it’s impeccable and neat. To add more contrast to the situation, I’m wearing a tailored suit paired with the proper shirt and pants to complete the set. I have an image and a cover to maintain. Plus, I didn’t feel like dressing as a terrorist today. He calls me ‘the Professor,’ so does everyone else who knows a thing or two about me, starting with the idea that I will do pretty much anything if the price is right. They are not wrong there. “She’s your average American white girl. I think she will be of your liking,” he says as he pats my shoulder.

  They got in touch with me only because of my renown as an excellent torturer. That I am, and also not cheap. But I suspect money is not an issue here. After all, he has a gold AK-47 hanging on the wall. It always has been easy for me to torture people, an enemy. The only difference is that this time I will be doing it to an innocent civilian. But I have to do this no matter what and take this organization down. For my sake, for Dante. This is what will finally sate my thirst for blood.

  I’m walking down a dark hallway with cells on both sides: A, B, C, D… all the way to M. This is where I stop, but the letters go even further.

  Focus, Bruno! Just focus on this cell for the time being.

  Once I open the heavy iron door, it rattles loudly and echoes within the cell. I step inside and only see a woman sitting on the floor with her knees against her chest at the end of a concrete pillar that will serve as a bed. She’s completely naked and shivering because of the cold, or maybe she’s just scared shitless. She looks up in my direction. Her big light-blue eyes like the fucking Caribbean are fixed on me begging for mercy. Her jet-black hair surrounds her like a blanket, covering her back and chest. She has a unique beauty. Her dark hair contrasts with her white skin. Her body is petite but fit. My muscles jerk out of nowhere. I think I forgot to breathe for a second. Overwhelmed by her vulnerability, beauty and confusion, I have to fight an urge to protect her, an urge I feel propagating through my blood stream like a rampant virus.

  “Please don’t hurt me, please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me,” she begs and starts to cry hysterically. Her face is dirty with dry blood. I still have to fight the impulse to help her.

  I’m sorry, darlin’, I can’t do anything right now, these are the rules of the game.

  I have to keep my shit together, stop thinking about her and start working, I walk up to her, grab her hair and drag her through the dark hallway towards the torture chamber. This is going to be the first time I do this and of course, I have an audience waiting for me. They crave to see my art. She’s screaming from the top of her lungs. I’m trying to block her, but it’s harder than I had anticipated.

  We finally get to the chamber, small in size, no more than 45 square feet. The walls have mirrors from floor to ceiling. I’m guessing some of the them are one-way mirrors for them to spy. There’s an old dentist chair in the middle of the room, still covered in someone else’s blood. Convenient, for those cases where the victim’s legs give in first. Right next to it there’s a camera mounted on a tripod. There’s a butcher hook hanging from the top left corner of the ceiling. On the wall to the left there’s a fine collection of whips of all sizes and colors. Finally, to the right, a bed, for raping purposes. I hope I won’t have to use it.

  No, I won’t use it.

  I make her sit on the chair. She fights and screams in my ear begging for mercy, but it doesn’t matter. I tie her up, tight, really tight. I turn on the camera and adjust the lens to show only her entire body, making sure that my face isn’t in the shot. I hit the ‘REC’ button and start to work.

  I start slowly, jolting her with electricity. This is the softest thing I find. I want her to get used to the pain before I have no choice but to increase it.

  Her body contracts the minute I push up the lever, muffling her screams due to loss of muscle control. I count back from five, when I reach zero I actuate the lever again. Her body relaxes. If it weren’t for the bindings, she would have fallen to the ground. She can barely move her head; she’s trying to look at me, but her eyelids aren’t working.

  “Pleee…aase… sss…to…p” She’s struggling. “Tell me what you want from me, just say it.”

  I turn my back on her. I need a minute to gather my thoughts and then another minute to completely ignore her. “Do NOT talk to her, Bru
no,” I tell myself. Keep your distance, detach from your humanity, that’s always the way to go.

  I look down at my leather gloves, black, like my soul right now. I always have them on, first because I don’t want to leave any traces of myself around here— gloves mean no fingerprints. I don’t trust these fuckers, nor the government for that matter; and gloves also mean that I can handle sharp and slippery stuff without having to worry. I clench my fingers and the scrunching noise from the leather relaxes me, it empowers me to keep going.

  I pull the handle again… and again… and again… until she passes out. That’s why I have a bucket full of ice-cold water— to wake her up.

  “PLEASE!” She’s still screaming, even though it’s pointless— screaming will not ease things up. On the contrary, it forces me to be more brutal. They’re watching after all, and I can’t afford to raise suspicions on my allegiance or professionalism. I have no choice but to turn around and look straight into her eyes…

  “Shut up! The only thing I want to hear from you is pain.” A simple one-liner, direct, effective. The minute a victim hears that sentence, they immediately know it’s over. She finally goes silent and the only thing making a sound is my watch echoing around the chamber.