by Stuart Jaffe
But the more he observed of his life, the more he saw the bad he had done. Watching Dean Schooner die and not lifting a hand to help had been the worst, but the rest added up. Little by little, sin by sin, he saw the scale tipping toward the bad. He had never thought of himself as a bad person. He tried to be good. Even gave money to St. Jude’s and the Red Cross every Christmas. But each little transgression, seemingly minor, built upon the other transgressions until he faced a mountain of sin.
“I never realized,” he whispered. The weak sound of his voice scared him as much as the Darkness pressing upon him.
“Hello?” he called out. “Anybody?” His voice both echoed and deadened at the same time — an impossible mix that only made sense when he considered the limbo of nothing he floated within.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but he knew nobody heard him. “I didn’t mean to be so bad. And I did some good, too, didn’t I?”
He felt a shift from the dark. A response.
“I mean you showed me that happy moment with Jennie. I never hurt her or lied to her or betrayed her trust. I was good to her, right? And my dad and my brothers, I always helped them. Even when Dad had trouble with the drinking, I stood by him, helped him recover from every night he felt the loss of Mom over and over. I mean I can’t be all that bad. Can I?”
A pinpoint of light opened far to his right. To his left, he heard a growling from the Darkness.
Nathan stared at the Darkness, feeling it grow at his side. Instinct told him that should the beast touch his soul, he would be forever in this frozen, lightless place. Yet there was a light. Small, but it was there. Nathan whipped around and ran for it. The faster he moved, the larger the Darkness behind became. It loomed over him like a wave ready to crash upon a surfer. Nathan strained for a breath as he raced onward. But the light never seemed to get any closer. Tears welled in his eyes. Perhaps this was Hell. Perhaps he deserved it.
As the thought finished in his head, the pinpoint of light burst forth into a full doorway of blinding sun. He could hear voices in the distance and he smelled fresh air and life. Yes, he smelled life.
“I won’t waste this,” he said, hoping that a true second chance had come his way.
And he ran into the light.
Chapter Three
Nathan’s eyes fluttered open. His jaw throbbed while his vision came into focus. His head lagged behind. He tried to look around, but his head refused to move. Even his eyes would not turn in the direction he wanted. He tried to lift an arm, a leg, but nothing responded.
It felt the same as the time he was a boy and woke stuck in sleep paralysis. He couldn’t move — all his autonomy stolen. For a few seconds, his little boy mind feared he would never move again. He would be a prisoner upon his bed. But back then, once he fully awoke, the sleep paralysis ceased, and he went about his morning routine — shaken but free. This time, however, he hadn’t been asleep. He had been in the Darkness.
As his mind cleared, he discovered a strong desire to return to fogginess. A stunning woman with cropped blond hair sat opposite him, bound to a metal office chair, her eyes wide as she stared back at him.
He strained to move his arms, but his body continued to refuse to respond. Unbidden, his head turned in a slow arc, taking in his surroundings. He was in an office building. Along the walls were several gray cubicles, but twelve open workstations comprised the main floor layout. Dirty linoleum tiles, gray and white, checkerboarded the floor. A whiteboard on a metal stand had names and hash marks with the title January Sales at the top. Looked like Steven T. had a lock on best sales of the month.
He glanced down — he, too, was bound to a metal office chair. Nathan and the woman sat in the center. Through the windows, he saw that it was night, that they were several stories up, and that it was snowing. Snowing? How long had he been in the Darkness? Was it even the same year?
The woman had bright eyes clouded by running mascara, and a red welt formed on her cheek. Though she put on a show of fear, Nathan noticed her combat pants and the empty shoulder holster still strapped on. This woman knew something about fighting.
“Jake,” the woman said. “Snap to.” She looked around before leaning closer — as much as her bindings would allow. “We don’t have much time. Russo will be back any second. Did you succeed? Are we safe?”
Nathan tried to open his mouth, to ask this woman what she was talking about, who was Jake, and did she understand that somebody had made a serious mistake. But his mouth refused to respond to his mental commands. Only when he gave up trying did he feel his mouth open.
And then it spoke in another man’s voice with another man’s words.
“Crystal, you okay?”
“Oh, please, don’t get all mushy. Save it for when we kill this guy and get out of here. Then I’ll act like a helpless maiden who needs saving, if that’s what you’re into.”
“My head feels really weird.”
“You were drugged, Sweetie. We both were. I came to about twenty minutes ago — which is why I’m saying we don’t have time. He’s got to be coming back soon. Otherwise, why are we here? I mean, if he wanted to kill us, he would’ve done it already.”
“He won’t kill us. You know that. He can’t.”
“Not unless he’s ready to start an all-out war. And I wouldn’t put that past Russo.”
The Jake mouth stopped talking and once more took in his surroundings. Nathan felt every motion, heard the voices, but couldn’t put it together into anything that made sense. Was he still dead? Was he now some kind of angel sent to help this guy, Jake? But if that was the case, then why couldn’t he act? What good would it be for him to watch all of this and not be able to do anything to help?
An elevator dinged from behind followed by the opening of metal sliding doors. Crystal tightened her lips and straightened in her chair. Nathan heard several footsteps approaching — some quite heavy.
Jake turned his head to the side, and from the corner of his eye, Nathan saw four men. Three were burly types, each carrying a weapon, each wearing a permanent scowl. Bodyguards. Which meant the man in the middle was the man in charge — presumably Russo.
He had tight, curly hair and wore a black, pinstriped suit. He carried a cane with a gold handle that matched the gold silk tie around his neck. Gaudy but stylish. The cane was for show, and the man swaggered in with a slight raise on the corner of his mouth.
“I’ve been trying to determine the best way to conclude things between us,” Russo said, all the mirth on his face absent from his voice. Despite his ridiculous appearance, when he spoke, Nathan understood the menace rumbling beneath. This was a man who would have no problem killing people.
Jake’s mouth opened, and Nathan tried to will in shut. But Jake said, “You could let us go. At least then you’d have one less crime on your soul.”
Russo chuckled. “You’re cute. Not as cute as your partner, but amusing nonetheless. Well, let’s start with the simple way. Tell me what I want to know and I won’t cut a long gash in Crystal’s beautiful face.”
“You know that won’t work.”
Nathan wanted to scream. Why was this moron antagonizing Russo? He had no advantage tied to a chair. This was madness.
Russo pointed at Jake like a mentor approving of the wise words his pupil had said. “You amaze me. You say these words but ignore their full implication.”
Through Jake’s eyes, Nathan saw Crystal giving a slight nod. They were up to something.
“Look at us,” Russo went on, “chasing each other when our real enemy is out there. Why don’t you see that? They do. Look at the movies and stories they tell. You and I are the ‘other’ that they fear. We will always be that, and when we stop destroying each other, they will turn on us because that is what their fear makes them do.”
Nathan’s mind raced to understand what he should do. Surely, he had to do something. Why else did he pop into this man’s head? If that’s even what was happening.
Russo clicked his tongu
e. “But I can solve that problem. Mr. Larkin didn’t tell you that, did he? He often neglects the important information. Just sends you off to do his bidding but never gives you the full facts.”
“What?” Crystal said, her voice quivering. To Jake, she added, “What’s he talking about?”
Russo moved his face in close to her. “I’m talking about asserting our existence to the world. Make it known that we are here and that we deserve our rights. I’m talking about how Mr. Larkin keeps you all under thumb by trying to halt the progress many of us want to achieve.” With a long sigh, he straightened. “Guess I’ll have to kill you. What do you think, Jake? If I kill your lovely lady here, will you help me? I don’t mean just a simple bullet, either. What if I turn her into Swiss cheese, and you and I can watch her bleed out? Think maybe that might get you talking?”
“Please,” Crystal said. “I don’t want to die.”
Disbelief coursed through Nathan. He could feel Jake’s ambivalence. How could this man be so callous?
“Sorry,” Jake said.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please, don’t do this. Tell him whatever he wants. Don’t let him kill me.”
“He’s going to kill me, too. If I talk, I’ll be dead even faster.”
Russo pressed the muzzle of his weapon against Crystal’s head. She yelped when it touched her. “I’m not bluffing,” he said.
“I know,” Jake said. “You’re sick enough to do it.” Still, Nathan felt no remorse from this man.
With a frustrated pout, Russo pulled the trigger. He had never seen a person shot like that. Not even during his two years in bail bonds. Never so cold and up close.
Crystal’s head jerked away from the gunshot before hanging down limp and lifeless. For one fraction of a moment, Nathan watched the life leave her eyes. He swore he witnessed a faint mist float out and upward.
But he had no time to ponder any of this. Russo turned the gun on Jake — which also meant the gun had been turned on him.
“Last chance.” When Jake did not respond, Russo said, “Guess I’ll get a chance to see what you can do.”
Before he could pull the trigger, one of the back windows shattered. Snow and cold wind whisked through the office. A black woman, tall and athletic, swung in attached to a dark rope line. She wore a silver and white jumpsuit with a black belt that holstered two sidearms. She touched something on her belt and the rope line released.
As she dropped to the floor, Russo grinned. “Octavia. Mr. Larkin must be quite angry with me, if he sent you.”
She raised her head. “Maybe I just wanted to get out for a change.”
Like an electric charge, she soared across the room. Before Jake could turn his head to follow, one of the bodyguards lay unconscious. The other two whipped out their weapons — long-barreled handguns — but Octavia disarmed them with ease. They fought back, their bulk making it difficult for this woman in silver, yet she seemed nonplused by the challenge.
Jake turned to Russo. “She’ll kill you.”
“Maybe. But you’ll be dead, too.” Russo aimed at Jake’s chest and pulled the trigger.
The impact rocked Jake hard enough to send him and the office chair backwards. His head cracked against the floor and lolled to the side. Through his eyes, Nathan saw the scuffling feet of the bodyguards and Octavia. He watched blood pool around his head.
How could this be? He had only just arrived, and he failed. What was the point of sticking him in this situation when he couldn’t actually do anything?
He felt a painful tug on his chest, and he slipped out of Jake’s body. He rose toward the ceiling. And the cold came. The cold that poured around him like an ice bath and had only one source — the Darkness.
It wasn’t fair. He never got a chance to see Jennie, to tell her that he had wanted to marry her, that he loved her even after death.
As he rose higher, he shivered. The Darkness neared. Nathan wanted to throw up at the idea of returning to that frozen void.
Having no desire to even see the coming dark, he flipped over. He watched Octavia leap into the air, wrap her legs around the neck of a bodyguard, and take him to the ground with her bodyweight. She shoved off and went to work on the last one. Russo had disappeared.
And directly below, Nathan saw Jake — the same man who had killed him in the deli. The same strong face. The same lean fighter’s build. And even in death, the same confidence — as if he knew he would never see the Darkness. All the cold rushed away from Nathan as the heat rose in his body.
No, Nathan thought. He doesn’t get to do that to me again.
Running on instinct, Nathan reached towards Jake’s body. He started to draw in close when the pain in his chest flared. The tug grew stronger. Nathan could feel the icy touch of the Darkness reaching for him. He stretched forward, fighting through the pain by thinking of Jake’s gloating face.
Kill me twice? Not going to happen.
Jake’s head turned. His eyes opened. With a confused frown, he stared at Nathan. Nathan, however, was too angry to be startled. He took hold of Jake’s shirt, and Jake’s confusion shifted into worry.
Out of Jake’s eyes poured a thick mist. It swirled around, grappling Nathan like a trained fighter. Nathan snaked around the attack, his own body moving like mist as well, but a mist that he could control. Like two pythons constricting each other, Nathan’s mist-body fought Jake’s mist-body.
They swirled and dove and looped around each other. Their motions were sloppy and untrained. Apparently, Jake had as little control as Nathan when it came to fighting this way.
An idea struck and Nathan moved fast. He circled behind Jake, expecting his opponent to spin around to follow. As Jake moved, Nathan grabbed at the area within his own chest that hurt like fishhooks dragging him away. He figured that even if he couldn’t see the hook that tried to pull him into the Darkness, he knew it had to be there — the pain told him that. He thrust this pain into Jake.
The sudden shock on Jake’s face confirmed for Nathan that it had worked. As the pain receded from his body, he watched Jake get pulled into the ceiling. And he felt a new tug on his chest — a pleasant sensation like slipping into a warm bath after a hard workout.
Blinding light flashed before him. Then his eyes opened and he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. A sharp burning erupted in his chest. Nathan turned his head and saw a bullet shove out of his body and clink on the floor. His body? He was in Jake’s body again.
But his head had moved.
He tried again, turning his head to the side. It worked. He had control over this body. Nathan tried to sit up but his arms were still tied to the office chair. He heard a thud as the last bodyguard went down. Then the black woman rushed over and untied him. He slumped forward, and she helped scoot him up against a desk.
“You okay?” she asked with a charming smile.
Nathan lifted one hand before his face. It moved as he desired. He looked at the woman. “What the hell is going on? Who are you?”
The woman’s smile dropped. “Oh, shit.”
But before Nathan could say another word, his brain overloaded. He passed out.
Chapter Four
When Nathan woke, he thought he had died and returned to another body once more. How else to explain the warm breeze blowing into the stark white room? Except he had not returned to that terrifying cold space of nothingness — the Darkness — which suggested that he might not have died. If that was true, then where the hell was he?
He sat up, expecting his body to ache and swoon from the abuse it had endured, but he felt fine. His well-defined chest bore no scars from the bullets. He wore only boxers. Nothing made sense to him. He recalled the woman who had flown into the office like a ninja and took out three strong men with ease. Had she brought him here?
He looked around the room — Queen-sized bed with a white comforter, white walls, peach and white dresser and a white wicker chair. In a mirror above the dresser, he saw himself — well, Jake, really. B
ut now Jake’s muscles responded to Nathan’s thoughts.
He crossed to a sliding glass door that led to the balcony, and when he glanced outside, he understood a little better. His room was several stories up, and he looked out upon a long expanse of well-tailored lawn. Surrounding the area, he saw palm trees and further out, he spied sand and the ocean.
He was on a tropical island.
The door to his room opened, and a lovely woman entered carrying a wide, green box in her hands. Show wore a flowing white sundress, and she moved with grace like a dancer as she set the box at the foot of the bed. Flashing a bright smile, she opened the box and removed a white jumpsuit. She placed the suit on the bed and stepped back.
“Good morning, Mr. Flynn. I’m Victoria, your personal assistant during your stay here.”
Nathan knew his dumbfounded expression must have looked idiotic, but he discovered a lack of concern over his outward appearance. “Where exactly is here?”
“Have you not spoken with anybody yet?”
“I just woke up.”
Victoria nodded as if this explained everything. “You are on the island of Balhova.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Nobody has. It’s a private island.” She gestured to the jumpsuit. “Please, put this on.”
“Why? What’s going on here?”
“Everything will be explained to you, but I can’t allow you to roam around the island in nothing but your boxers. Once you’ve been cleared, I’ll be at your disposal for whatever you require.”
Nathan arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really.”
“No, not really. And if you insinuate that I’m a prostitute in any manner ever again, I promise you’ll regret it. I’m only acting as a personal assistant to help Mr. Larkin.”
“Larkin? I know that name. He’s the guy who … I don’t know. Is he the one in charge?”
Again, Victoria gestured to the jumpsuit. Nathan held still. He didn’t want to be mean or rude to this woman, but he needed answers and her evasiveness irked him. So, no matter how childish he felt in refusing to dress at her command, he still crossed his arms and stood his ground.