With both gradually increasing volume and increasing irritation in his voice, the longhaired man questioned, “Me? Jackass? Me?” Then, he growled, “I’m a Jackass?!” Simultaneously, he raised the 24-pack over his left shoulder. Now at striking distance, he lunged and swung the beer carton toward the side of the man’s head.
Perplexed, the man repeatedly pulled the trigger of his gun. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened agape in surprise. He saw the 24-pack coming, and there was a green bug staring its black-dot eyes at him, on the same side of the carton that was about to make contact with his face. The gunman’s eyes popped out. He seemed more afraid of the bug being flung into his wide-open mouth than the beer knocking him down. He let the old woman go while turning his body around to try to escape from both the mantis and the heavy carton. But the 24-pack pounded solidly into his head, snapping his head to the side and knocking him out. His limp body swayed, and then fell unconscious to the ground.
The angry beer-wielding vigilante loomed over the man on the ground. Immediately, he kicked the downed man in the rear, yelling, “This is for calling me names!”
He kicked him again. “This is for stealing and scaring the poor woman!”
Then, he pulled back his foot as far as possible. As he let it fly with all his energy, he exclaimed, “And this is for making me miss the kickoff!”
His foot landed at dead center of the man’s rear.
After his last kick, the longhaired man stood staring down, breathing deep and fast with excitement. To his surprise, he noticed something green and smashed on the side of the man’s head. It was the mantis. Its body was flattened and contorted, and its six legs spread out over and weaved into the man’s hair, while its dead eyes looked directly at him.
With a dismissive wave of a hand, the man turned away and said, “Ah, you’ll be ok, bug.”
The old woman ran into the Qiki Food to get the cashier to call the police.
The longhaired man knelt down and tore open the beer carton. He grabbed three cans of beer from it and transformed them into a long length of twine. With it, he tied the gunman’s feet, then hands, and then bound all four together behind the man’s back.
Standing up, he examined his work.
Afterwards, he bent down, grabbed the man by one foot, and walked backwards, with his back hunched, to unceremoniously drag the gunman into the store. Just as he reached the door, he had to stop and rest for a moment, while the door automatically opened.
Inside, the old woman was very thankful.
He was a bit tired from dragging his captive, so he merely raised his eyebrows at the woman, as he let go of the gunman’s foot. After tossing the revolver on top of the cashier’s counter, he tiredly made his way out, with his head slumped down and shoulders hunched.
As he walked through the door, the cashier called out to him, “Hey, way to go, man! You’re awesome!”
“Yeah, whatever…” he mumbled under his breath, interrupting the cashier’s voice in his ears. Then, with a loud voice and a fist raised in the air, he cheered, “Go Chargers!” The door closed behind him. He just wanted to return home and see the game.
While outside, he looked around for his carton of beer. It wasn’t where he had left it.
Quickly, he swung his head left and right to scan the parking lot. The one and only car in the small area was his Mustang.
His eyes then locked onto two teenagers, at a distance, running toward a car waiting on the street. One of them carried his carton of beer. Then, both of them jumped into the car, and it raced away.
His jaw dropped, and his shoulders hunched down further. He was exasperated and weary. Moreover, his beer was gone.
Conceding defeat, he turned around and looked up at the Qiki Food sign above the entrance of the store.
Raising his hands in frustration, he exclaimed, “What the hell is this place?”
* * * * * * *
That night, a metro train slowed to its last stop. Inside, only a handful of passengers stood, grasping either a seat or a handrail, to keep their balance as the train halted. The doors opened, and the passengers exited into the damp night air. They made their way to the end of the platform and headed downstairs to the exit.
The train closed its doors and sped away. There would be no more stops into the King Street station of Alexandria, Virginia, this late night. The area was lit by a few lampposts and by the lights coming through the windows of the hotel rooms nearby. The only vehicles passing were the infrequent taxis looking for a fare.
An old man and old woman walked down the stairs, and then through the turnstiles at ground level, and silently hobbled down the street. They passed two figures leaning against the iron fencing that surrounded the station.
One of the two figures wore a thick, black coat that reached below his waist. With the hood over his head, it kept his face unseen. He was the hooded man who schemed with the three entities, within the six-story condemned building.
The other was the young man named Sik.
The two had a common connection: the dark entity and its individual promises to - its bargains for - each of them.
As they faced the street, neither one spoke, until the train’s last passengers went by.
Then, the hooded man said quietly, “New York was excellent work. I stopped by and saw it myself. Excellent.” His voice was low and almost inaudible, and he added, “I know you’re disappointed that you couldn’t be like your father. But the way you’ve carried out your missions, your effectiveness, precision, and control…your father would have been proud with the manner in which you’ve done your work. You’ve been quite exemplary.”
With his arms crossed in front of his chest, Sik slowly lowered his head, and maintained a stern stare as he listened. He knew that the hooded man and the dark entity worked in concert and coordinated their plans. Since the hooded man seemed to look out for his wellbeing and ensured that he succeeded, Sik began to trust him more and more. In his thoughts, he said, I’m able to handle this now. Things are getting easier. I’m doin” it by disconnecting myself, just like him. On this next one, I’ll just focus on planning and executing. Nothing else. And whatever he needs me to do, I’ll get it done. This is what I need to be, and this is who I am now…in order to get to my end game.
A taxi made a turn onto the street in front of them. As its headlights briefly flashed across their bodies, the beams reflected from Sik’s plain brass belt buckle. Then, the taxi rolled quietly by.
In his thoughts, the hooded man knew he was directing and steering Sik into darker and darker streets. His bargain with the dark entity required it. The dark entity assisted Crystal, Crystal needed the victims’ blood, the hooded man identified the victims, and Sik was the pawn to acquire them.
The hooded man had a strong desire to manipulate beings and deceive humans, receiving a peculiar pleasure from it. Thus, steering Sik came with its own satisfaction. But he held himself back. In ways that he could, he even tried to protect Sik because he knew of Sik’s family history. A long time ago, he had become connected to the family’s past. However, Sik had his own bargain with the dark entity, in which the hooded man did not wish to significantly intervene; and of that bargain, Sik held sole responsibility of the consequences.
The hooded man proceeded, “Your third mission is close by. Just as before, recon the vicinity of the target. You’ll need to continue to play it by the book - so to speak - because I expect you will get some interruption on this mission and on the subsequent ones.”
Waiting for further instructions, Sik lifted his head.
“I know I can trust you,” the hooded man said. Then, speaking of the person he had begun to draw into his game, he added, “And I need to warn you about someone.”
* * * * * * *
That someone - the longhaired goateed man - stood in pure white light. It completely surrounded him, and he could see nothing else. He could hear nothing else, but his own heavy slow breathing. He felt a little disoriented, as if he had just woken up fr
om a long deep sleep.
Then, he heard himself say, “Why have you brought me here?” His words echoed back to him, as if he was in an enclosed space, but he saw no walls, floors, or ceilings. Everything was white light.
A thought came to him - an external thought. Just like the time when he saved Allen, there were no voices and no words. The thought went in him and through him, and he could translate it into clear, unmistakable ideas and meanings. It said, “Something has interfered. It has prevented you from being who you are.”
The power of the words was unexpected. Each word came to him as a penetrating, deep tremble in his heart and lungs, almost shaking him off balance as he stood. He took a step to widen his stance.
After gaining his balance, he held one of his hands flat against his chest. He could almost feel a residual shaking. Breathing slowly and deeply, he said cautiously, “Um…sorry to ask. But could you be a little less cryptic please?”
He braced himself for the answer.
But instead of an explanation, he received a question. “How do you know me?
After breathing deeply, he answered calmly, at an even pace, “I don’t…I don’t know…it seems I’ve always known you. You are God.” He surprised himself with his answer.
“This is when it interfered.” A soft command followed, “Remember…”
Immediately in front of him, he saw the scene from five years ago. It played in front of him, all around him, as if he was in the center of a sphere. Throughout its curved surface, images projected of the moments just before the death of his wife and son.
He saw himself inside their car lying down, on the passenger side, with his wife driving and his son in the back seat. Through the windows, he could see the trees and mountainside as they passed.
Watching, he slowly turned where he stood. Soon, he had turned completely around to view the scene. “Please, I don’t want to see this,” he said quickly.
In response, the images softly faded away.
Then, his apartment manifested around him. His position changed. Instead of standing, he sat on his couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. His arms were folded in front of him. The television was on, tuned to a news station.
“This room is your cell.”
With his chin on his chest, he replied. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I come and go anytime I want.” He took his feet off of the table and leaned forward, with his elbows at his knees. “Plus, I really don’t want to go anywhere. Plus, I’m on an extended vacation. Didn’t you get the memo?”
His voice grew louder, and its pace became quicker. He knew he was beginning to be defensive. As he felt a growing tightness in his chest, he said, “It’s the same memo I sent just before they fired me at work.”
There was a long silence.
Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm down. He stood up and paced to the photo of him, his wife, and son in Paris. His eyes gazed into the picture for a long while. Afterwards, slowly, and carefully, he picked it up. Using the hem of his shirt, he gently wiped the glass cover, and then he ran it softly around the gold frame. When he finished, he set it back down, with the same care.
Turning, he walked to his kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of wine, from beside the microwave and a foil cutter, from within a drawer. Turning around, he set the bottle on the counter and began to open it.
A command came, “Do not do this now.”
He stopped. After setting the foil cutter down, he put his hand on top of the counter and leaned. He said, “I…I’m sorry. It’s just habit now. I don’t know what to do about it.”
Suddenly, everything disappeared, and he was back within the encompassing pure white light.
He was calm once again. Strangely, a concern quickly came to him, and he found himself saying, “There’s something coming. Right?” He paused, and then continued, “I don’t want to do this.” Then, he concluded with resolve, “What is coming…I don’t want to do it. Like I said, I’m on vacation.”
There was a slight pause - a short silence. A reply came, “You were created for times as these.”
The statement was profound, but he decided to dismiss it.
“I don’t care,” he said, in a matter-of-fact manner. “I said…extended vacation.”
He stood waiting, wondering if he should brace himself for the response, almost wanting to take back his words.
Suddenly, an intense feeling came over him. It was clear and forceful, and it made his heart, lungs, gut, and complete body tremble. He shut his eyes, as he felt it overcome him, and he spread out his arms and bent his knees to retain his balance.
The response came to him, quaking his body, “What is coming…”
Each word shook his joints. Leaning down, he grasped at his heart, as it pounded uncontrollably. He opened his eyes and cringed. His lungs could not expand, and he choked to breathe in air.
The words continued, “…will burn you and those around you.”
The power in the words made him collapse to his knees. His hands slapped flat on the ground. It seemed as though the shuddering and quaking in him would not end. Then, just before he thought he would lose consciousness, suddenly, all light disappeared.
He was in a vacuum of both light and sound.
His body became still, and he could breathe again.
But then, his left wrist began to ache, and he lifted it up. The only light he could see came from a small, yet intensely concentrated fire, emanating from inside his wrist. Its flames were blue, surrounded by yellow and red. Then, he felt a sharp pain, as the fire began to elongate, becoming perpendicular to his wrist, and extending further out into the air. In order to prevent his face from being burned by the fire at his wrist, he had to straighten his arm out far in front of him.
As the flames extended, they suddenly burst. For a brief instant, blue, red, and yellow light completely consumed the area enclosing him.
The explosion forced him completely down to the floor.
Turning his head away from the light, he was on the ground, on his back, with his right arm covering his eyes. Trying to keep his burning left hand away from himself, he stiffened and straightened his arm away from his body. His hand wrenched in unbearable pain.
Gasping and heaving, he could think of nothing but the violent ache at his wrist, and he could do nothing to stop it.
Soon, the flames transformed into intense laser-like beams of light. They radiated perpendicularly from his arm and shot straight into the air.
His arm began to convulse because of the pain. As large beads of sweat formed on his face and neck, his face contorted, as he opened his mouth and gasped out loud.
He saw the light consume the small circular area of his skin. It burned through his flesh, through the veins, through the tendons, through the muscles, and down to his bones.
He screamed in shear agony.
Suddenly, he awoke, screaming with his eyes and mouth wide open.
It was the afternoon, and the sun’s intensity filled his living room.
He was on the floor, between the couch and coffee table. Panicked, he turned to his side and quickly looked at his left wrist. The unbearable pain was real and was still there, but the intensity had diminished.
Both his forearm and hand were completely red.
Painfully and cautiously, he closed and opened his hand, while his fingers, hand, and forearm quivered.
Again, he made a fist and opened it. Slowly, the redness began to dissipate. Soon, his skin color returned, and the pain diffused.
There was a distinct mark now, on the inside of his wrist, and it glowed with yellow and red heat. Soon, that too waned, revealing a symbol.
In fear and amazement, he looked at it closely.
At about the diameter of his wrist, the symbol was in the form of a circle composed of two thin and distinct black lines. The lines intertwined and formed a double helix that intersected six times.
Other shapes were present within the double helix circle, but they lo
oked like indistinguishable smudges.
Then, as his arm became limp, his head fell down on the floor. Closing his eyes, he gasped several times, with his heart and lungs still trembling. He breathed in deeply and exhaled, trying to ease his body.
Finally, he said, “Dude, next time…”
Sighing a weak laugh, he finished, “…watch what you say.”
Chapter 7
Half a world away from the waking longhaired man, at a mountain range in the Parachinar area of northern Pakistan.
On a mountainside far below one of the entrances to a cave complex, the two U.S. operatives, Malik Khel and Omar Malshar Gul, had just begun to perform their scouting duty. Wearing their combat fatigues, both men were in their thirties, bearded, and having dark unkempt hair.
With their Kalakov machineguns strapped over their shoulders, they deliberately made their way out into the terrain, without a word. Marching down the mountain, they reached a wide clearing, walked through it, and then entered an adjacent wooded area.
For another fifteen minutes, they proceeded in the same direction. Finally, they shortened their strides. Glancing around and feeling secure among the shrubs and trees, they stopped and began to speak in Arabic.
Khel, who was tall and slender, serious and almost humorless, passed on his knowledge. “Jalel is healing. He is angered about the attack in Afghanistan during his visit to deliver instructions and weapons. He does not want to be here and does not feel safe anymore.”
Gul was the shorter stocky one, always smiling, and full of life. He responded with raised brows, “Yes, it is not easy to be around him. His temper is too quick, and he is ready to beat anyone with his bear hands who does not immediately do his bidding. With my own eyes, I saw him beat a brother almost to death.”
But there was something causing Khel some anguish, and he was about to reveal it, saying, “He is questioning everyone’s loyalty. They are thinking now that one of the brothers is a spy…they suspect a brother gave information to the U.S. about the other cave.” Khel slowly turned his head to look around him, wanting to verify that no other person was anywhere near them. Then, staring at the ground, Khel disclosed, “I am very worried for myself, my brother. I am being treated differently now.” Khel was not one to smile or show emotions or even speak very much, but at this moment, he was visibly distraught.
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