Last Light Falling

by J. E. Plemons

  “Cecilia,” she says in a sweet, tender voice.

  “That’s a beautiful name for a rabbit,” I say. She must be warming up to me because she snickers a little.

  “No, I’m Cecilia, this is Mr. Buggles,” she says, correcting me. “Why don’t you come out so I can get a good look at Mr. Buggles?” I say.

  Her face becomes frightened again and she starts to whimper. “No, no. The evil people are out there,” she cries.

  “I tell you what; I’m going to make a deal with you. If you and Mr. Buggles come out from behind the couch, I promise with all my heart to protect you from the evil people,” I say. I extend my hand out to her, and she is reluctant to grab it, but she eventually takes my hand and slides out from behind the couch.

  She clings to me for dear life as she shakes in fear. I gently rub my hand on her back, trying to calm and soothe her. “Do you have a mother or father?” I ask. She nods her head. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” She nods her head again. “Do you know where they are?” She points toward one of the bedrooms, and cold chills creep up my spine. I quickly stop rocking her and rubbing her back. I’m hoping they are just hiding in there just like Cecilia was hiding out here.

  I carefully carry her to the front door where Gabe is watching. I tell Gabe to go get Juliana, as I hold Cecilia, swaying back and forth to calm her spirit. When Juliana comes, I try to pry Cecilia from my body, but she clings to me like a monkey would to her mother.

  I finally persuade her to go with Juliana back to the car where it will be safe. Juliana has a natural comforting motherly instinct that will be of much need right now. “Are you okay, Arena?” Juliana asks.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I say, as my heart begins to feel hardened, not knowing what lies in that bedroom. While Juliana takes Cecilia back to the car, Gabe and I go back inside the house to see if we can find the rest of the family.

  I explain to Gabe the situation as we walk toward the bedroom, but I’m too frightened to open the door because I have already feared the worst. I slowly open the bedroom door, but we find it empty and untouched. The other bedroom is left the same way with no trace of anyone being in here. The only bedroom left is the master bedroom, and I can only imagine what pain lies behind the door.

  My heart races faster and faster as I anticipate what that little, innocent girl had to witness. I slowly open the door preparing myself, but to our surprise, this room is also empty. Gabe sighs with relief, and I can’t understand where they might have run off to. I walk in a little further and thankfully see no one lying on the floor.

  I turn toward a large open closet and my body completely goes numb. I stand there frozen in horrific shock and dismay, as nothing like this could ever prepare a person to see.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabe asks as he slowly walks toward me.

  “Don’t come over here.” A cold sweat covers my face, my jaw clinches tight, and I grab the side of the bed, desperately holding back any emotional discomfort. I cup my hands over my mouth with unexpected fright as the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

  I look upon a family hanging by their necks from the ceiling of the closet. A sister and brother, no older than nine years old, dangle next to their mother, all of their eyes still open and staring into dead space.

  CHAPTER 27

  I quickly turn away, still clenching the side of the bed as I surrender to gravity. I fall to my knees and just sit on the floor, crying in agony. There are no scars or signs of a struggle on the bodies, which makes me even more sick inside, knowing that this family possibly hung themselves to avoid whatever wretched, sadistic things those men were about to torture them with.

  I can’t possibly imagine why a mother would do this to her own children, but because I’m determined to exclude the idea that one would do such a horrible thing, I curiously examine the bodies closer.

  I look at the little girl’s hands and notice some dead skin stuck inside and hanging off her fingernails. Blood runs from her fingertips to the inside of her wrist, and the few strains of black hairs stuck to the dried-up blood is evidence enough that this little girl made an effort to fight back against her attacker.

  I try to pull myself together while Gabe stands there speechless and stunned, when all of a sudden we hear a gunshot outside. We quickly rush outside and see Finnegan standing over a dead soldier, the barrel of his gun smoking.

  The man’s leg is seriously wounded from a knife cut, and his bloody jacket reveals a puncture wound to the side of his ribs. “He came stumbling out from behind one of these houses with a gun in his hands, shouting expletives. The girl started screaming, ‘It’s him, it’s him,’ so I shot him,” says Finnegan.

  I tilt his head over to the side with my boot, and I suddenly become filled with rage when I notice small claw marks on the side of his cheek, marks that could only have come from a child’s hands. While I feel lifeless on the outside, the thoughts swimming around inside my head darken with hatred. If I had any sense of calm before, it is quickly overshadowed by the wrath brewing in my heart as I stare down into his cold, heartless eyes.

  “You all right?” Finnegan asks.

  I can’t answer—I’m filled with too much fury, and all I can think about is General Iakov ordering such heinous acts of violence on these innocent people. I look down at the man’s uniform and notice a red skull pin attached to his front lapel and strange markings on the back of his collar. The words are written across in black stitching.

  “What is it?” Gabe asks.

  “This is a Russian soldier, and those are Russian markings.”

  “What does it say?” Finnegan asks.

  “I will not utter those words here,” I say. I walk away from Finnegan and Gabe and stare out into the city, trying to somehow grasp a moment of clarity. I’ve read many books about World War II history, but I would have never thought mistakes over one hundred years ago would ever be repeated. Those words stitched into that bastard’s collar bring forth a new fear on this land. It’s an old phrase that comes from the German word Schutzstaffel, infamously known as the SS. It means Protective Echelon. Apparently, a new paramilitary organization is among us.

  “Get in the car now,” I say, as I stand there motionless, staring into the soldier’s stony eyes.

  “Arena?” Finnegan carefully asks with a slightly concerned look on his face.

  “Take us back to the inn,” I say.

  While heading back, no one says a word. I never knew that silence could be so painful. My mind is racing with anger, and the only thing distracting my thoughts is the constant ringing in my ears.

  I explain to Maria the situation with Cecilia and understandably, she agrees to take her in as one of her own. I know what it’s like to be taken from your parents and thrust into another family, but I could never feel the pain this young girl must be experiencing right now. She’s going to need the love and emotional support that I know Maria will provide for her. I ask Juliana to take her inside because I’m too emotionally drained to say good-bye to this little girl.

  I turn my back toward the road to avoid any eye contact with Cecilia while Juliana takes her to Maria. I can’t stop crying and thinking about her family hanging there in the closet; what a pointless waste of life.

  Cecilia resists going inside and comes running toward me. “Arena! Please don’t leave me,” she cries out, hanging onto my legs.

  I can’t bear to look in her eyes, so I just stand there hoping she will release me and go back, but she doesn’t, and my heart finally gives in. I gently touch her face with my hand as I crouch down to hug her. I can’t hold back any tears, and she squeezes me tighter and tighter. I try to wipe my face clean when I look to her eyes, but it’s no use.

  “You’re going to be safe here, I promise. Maria is a great lady. She has a bed just for you,” I say.

  “And Mr. Buggles?” she says.

  “Yes, and Mr. Buggles too. You know who else has a bed next to yours?”

  “Who?” I turn
her around and point toward the door entry where Isabel is shyly peeking out.

  She finally releases her fingers from my neck and watches intently as Isabel walks over to her and introduces herself. Cecilia gives me one last hug before carefully taking Isabel’s hand and walking back into the house. I feel like a part of me has been ripped apart, and I have no way of knowing if it will ever be mended. When the door closes, my tears quickly change to fire, and the blood in my veins boils with rage.

  While the others stock up on food that Maria has so generously offered, I take some time to vent my fuming anger alone near the trees behind the inn. After an hour passes, Gabe comes to get me, but I’m so enraged I don’t even notice him there. I practice throwing knives into the gnarled trees, twisting them as if I were cutting into a soldier’s neck, and slicing through bags of sand, pretending I’m splitting open General Iakov’s gut. I stop and calm myself down for a few seconds. I eventually subdue my anger and walk back to the car, where everyone seems to be patiently waiting. I overhear Gabe and Finnegan conversing about me as I stand there waiting for them to finish.

  “Where is she?” Finnegan asks.

  “Trust me, she needs to be alone,” Gabe says.

  “Everything okay?” asks Finnegan.

  Gabe stands there for a moment before answering. “She’s pissed.”

  “Okay, we are all entitled to get mad every once in a while. She has every right to be.”

  “No, you don’t understand, she’s really pissed. She has a venomous look about her that I’ve never seen before. It’s a bit sadistic, and quite frankly, I’m a little freaked out.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, trying to ignore their conversation.

  “Good,” Gabe says. Before he gets in the car, I give him a half-smile to comfort his nerves.

  “I’m okay, really,” I say, trying to convince him. His tightened muscles relax, and his clenching white knuckles release from the hood of the car. He smiles back, but not convincingly.

  I open the passenger door where the front seat is empty and awaiting my arrival. I pull my swords out, strap in, and try to calm myself though my hatred for General Iakov deepens.

  CHAPTER 28

  We drive as far as we can into the night until everyone is too exhausted to go any further. The only place on this long lonely road welcoming any accommodations is a run-down Motor Inn desperately in need of renovation. As long as the thin walls keep the roof from collapsing, I’ll be happy.

  As evening approaches, I walk outside from the rickety structure to a few lively lights illuminating the lonely streets, and I can’t help but wonder how small towns like this function through such dark times. Brooding thoughts suddenly pique my curiosity and I’m desperate to know what has been happening outside of my personal hell.

  We haven’t seen a national news broadcast since we had left the den, so Finnegan, Gabe, and I decide to take a stroll in town to gather any information we can. The only part of this dilapidated town that appears to be somewhat alive is the local tavern that feeds these poor people an escape from the depressing realities.

  Regardless of the mild temperament of this humble-looking village, I conceal my weapons with the black cloak and pull the hood over my head. For my own security, I keep my dagger closely within reach before we walk into the tavern. Eyes gravitate toward me through the noise, but too many people are drunk to notice three strangers walking in uninvited. I lead Finnegan and Gabe toward a few empty seats at the bar, where I quickly notice a working television, but because of the commercials playing, I can’t tell if this is just a looped recording.

  Gabe looks around the bar, observing any unwanted trouble that may arise, while I desperately try to listen to the broadcast through all the obnoxious drunkenness around me. The commercial finally ends and a sudden elation comes over me when I see a cast of national news anchors take to the screen with a small logo nested in the right bottom corner that reads: live.

  “What can I get ya?” the bartender asks Finnegan.

  “Sir, can you please turn the television up just a bit?” I ask, interrupting. Gabe stops from his observing pivot and keeps his eyes glued to a table of burly men gawking in my direction as I pull the hood back from my head.

  “We don’t serve kids in here,” the bartender gruffly says.

  “We mean no harm, sir. They’re with me. We just want to see what’s going on in the world,” says Finnegan.

  “Order something and you can watch all you want, otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the bartender says.

  “Okay, I’ll have a Guinness,” says Finnegan.

  The bartender gives Finnegan a look of displeasure as he wipes dry a dirty, used glass. He pours the beer and turns the television up, slightly cutting through the bar noise just enough where I can make out the top stories:

  “All nations comprising the New World Order Organization will be reaching out to the rest of the remaining nations still teetering on joining. An Egyptian spokesperson recently aired caution on the deliberation of the Organization’s future endeavors and said not to look for a final decision from them anytime soon. Pakistan has also issued a statement of concern on whether or not it would join the organization due to their recent turmoil with India.”

  Nothing too intriguing is being reported that I didn’t already know, until a video shows President Kriel mingling with other dignitaries and international diplomats at a social function. I lean in to get a better listen of the coverage as the news anchor begins her story:

  “President Kriel has vowed to partner with the Russian government to end the corruption in Syria. This political stalemate has grossly caused an international upheaval which has led to the recent oil embargos that have significantly affected European countries. Two years ago, similar embargos devastated our nation, deterring this country from sustaining any support for the Israeli government and its military. These private talks will be addressed at a future summit in the next few days with joint leaders of the Arab nations attending, as well as the Chinese government.

  “In the meantime, President Kriel will be discussing his future tax plans for the nation’s newly reorganized regions at a special White House dinner party tomorrow evening. Among those attending the banquet will be some of the largest contributors and wealthy donors who have encouragingly proposed the recent changes and exercised their approval for the President’s future office commitment.”

  Gabe looks at me with concern as I turn my eyebrow up. “What are you thinking, Arena?” he asks.

  “I’m thinking we’re going to crash a dinner party tomorrow night,” I answer.

  “We might be a little underdressed for the occasion,” Finnegan sarcastically adds.

  I follow Gabe’s eyes, which are planted on a portly, brawny man approaching me from one of the tables. He slowly staggers up to me before retreating his eyes back at his buddies for what I can only imagine is some kind of egotistical boasting. It’s plainly obvious this man’s inhibitions have greatly been reduced by the alcohol.

  “I like ′em young,” he leers, grinning back at his friends. If it’s his lack of cunning wit that leaves him grounded from a successful pickup, his repellent halitosis gives him no room for improvement. He smiles at me with more teeth missing than he has to chew with, a failed attempt to charm me with his otherwise repulsive nature.

  “How about I buy you a drink, pretty girl,” he says as I try to keep myself from throwing up in my mouth.

  “No, thank you, I’m fine,” I say, rejecting his offer.

  He slides his hand onto mine as he persistently tries to garner my attention. Finnegan rises from his seat, but Gabe quickly settles him right back down. “Don’t worry, she can take care of herself.”

  “What do you say about you and me going back to my place? I’ll go real easy on you,” the man says as he gropes my backside. While his crass remarks aren’t a surprise, I will not tolerate being fondled—especially from this douchebag. Drunk or not, it’s time to end his pathetic and
crude advance. I slowly pull out one of the throwing knives and slam it down in the middle of his hand through the bar top. The man’s wretched scream immediately fills the bar while his bloody hand is painfully stuck to the varnished wooden top. He desperately tries to swing his other hand toward me but badly misses, most likely from the excessive amount of alcohol.

  I push his throat up with my right hand, then grab my scorpion dagger behind my back and thrust it in between his legs and into the wooden bar below. I leave him hanging over the sharp blade with a barb pointing directly underneath his scrotum. I stand back to watch him scream in pain while he dances on his toes like a ballerina trying not to puncture his testicle on the barb.

  “Come on, twinkle toes, you’re beginning to lose your balance,” I say as I watch him squirm. His buddies rise from the table and lunge toward me, but I quickly pull my guns and halt their advance.

  “Sit down,” I say. They sit back down, while the rest of the bar is a dead calm except for the creep who attempted to pick up a fifteen-year-old girl.

  “All you have to do is apologize and the pain will all go away,” I say to him.

  “You sick, twisted bitch,” he responds.

  “Now, that’s not an apology where I come from.” I begin to pull one of my swords.

  “Dude, just apologize!” one of the men at table shouts.

  “Perhaps Mr. Yoshihara here can teach you some good manners,” I say as I draw forth the katana against one of his kneecaps. Of course, I have absolutely no intentions of hurting this depraved man any further, but he rightly deserves to be scared shitless nonetheless.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he begs.

  “You see, now that wasn’t so bad.” I pull the dagger out from between his legs. I grab the knife still stuck in his hand with one hand, and hold onto his wrist with the other.

  “This won’t hurt a bit,” I say. I yank the knife from his skin. He holds his hand, then collapses to the floor, crying. “Now go put some alcohol on it, you big baby,” I say.